Hello, everyone! How are you? 😊 I'm here with a new chapter that, honestly, I couldn't wait to post. πŸ™ˆ I'm VERY nervous, and the explanation is in the warning, a few paragraphs down *evil chuckle*. I really, really hope you like it a lot, it's one of my favourites of the whole story 😍. It took me ages to write it and I've gone over it hundreds of times, I hope the result was worth it ha ha ha πŸ˜…

Thanks as always for your support, I couldn't be more grateful. Welcome to new readers and thanks to everyone who is reading this, I adore you! 😍😍

WARNING: this chapter contains a sexually themed scene. If you don't feel comfortable reading this kind of content, feel free to skip it and read the rest. Thanks!

And I don't think I need to add anything else *wink, wink*... let's read!


CHAPTER 40

Secret

The Quidditch pitch was completely silent. The sunset illuminated the place with an orange hue, lengthening the shadows corresponding to the three tall goalposts in each corner. However, the sunlight barely penetrated the wooden structure of the stands. A few rays crept through the beams, creating strips of light in which dust motes floated calmly. The temperature remained pleasant that summer evening, with the sun still shining on the edge of the mountains.

Draco didn't notice. To him, the place was below freezing.

He was in a hidden nook inside the stands, sitting on the wooden strips, his back resting against one of the beams, his legs drawn up. His arms were resting on his knees, folded. His eyes, wide open, gazed at the wooden floor before him. He wanted to be alone. He needed to be alone for a while. Or maybe forever. He couldn't bear to be surrounded by his classmates. Happy, oblivious to reality. Living their miserable lives with no worries, no doubts, no fear. That wasn't real. Real life hurt. A lot.

Although it was possible that the lives of many of them would end that very night. And Draco could find no comfort in that either.

A piece of parchment, heavily crumpled, lay next to him, face down. Its message hidden from his sight. He didn't want to read it again. He knew it by heart. He had received it that morning.

My inestimable Draco,

New, important guest house that

will serve us for the summer holidays.

Only your confirmation is missing.

Take care,

Henry.

P.S. I will soon send you the necessary documents to fill in.

Draco felt his heart pounding. But very slowly. He didn't know any bloody "Henry". The note made no sense at all, but it wasn't the meaning of the message itself that was important; it was what it concealed. His aunt had told the truth. They were going to be discreet. Draco, reading the parchment, was left in no doubt that it came from them. At school they searched owls for dark magic, any kind of magic. Trying to send a hidden message with a spell was practically impossible. They hadn't used magic to hide the message, but ingenuity. It didn't take him long to work it out. It bordered on the absurd, if you knew what to look for. Reading the first letter of each of the words, from the first two lines, the message was revealed. Subtle. Succinct. The last words, and the postscript, were just camouflage. Waffle.

'Midnight.'

His black Death Eater's robes lay, rolled up like an old rag, at his side. He didn't want to look at it.

He could almost hear the blood flowing through his veins thanks to the overwhelming silence of the place. He supposed it was normal to feel scared. Maybe he was allowed to be scared to death. But he couldn't. He was incapable of feeling anything. He felt that he didn't believe reality. That the time could not have come. He was finally going to have the life he had dreamed of since he was a child, and he couldn't feel a shred of happiness. He felt nothing at all. Just a tremendous emptiness, as if someone had punctured his stomach. He didn't understand what was wrong with him. Why he had so many doubts. Why he couldn't just do what he had to do to save his own skin. Without any major headaches. Why he had scruples now. Why he was thinking.

Hearing a creak in the wood around him, he was unable to move a muscle. The wind. A bird. Who knows.

Hearing a new, much closer tapping, he didn't even look up. The structure was old. Maybe there was more wind outside than he could feel crouched there.

Hearing footsteps, slow, sonorous because of the silence, and the wooden groans that accompanied them, his heart didn't flinch. It was his imagination. The wind did not walk. No one could have found him there. No one knew that place.

But when he felt a figure standing before him, he was unable not to look at it. He raised his eyes. She was there, like an apparition, ducking into the opening that led to the place, after walking along an unsteady passageway hidden among the stands. Her body glowing with golden stripes, as rays of sunlight streamed through the structure and reached her. Her thick hair looked like smoke, or cotton wool, surrounding her face. Almost like the halo of an angel. Had he fallen asleep? Was he dreaming about her? Was she no longer just tormenting him in reality, did he have to meet her in dreams as well? Why had it all seemed so real up until that moment?

Hermione looked around. Maybe looking for someone else, or trying to guess what he was doing there. She returned her gaze to his eyes, which hadn't left hers. They stared at each other for several seconds that seemed like an eternity. The girl stepped forward, entering fully into the hole in the structure. Draco remained motionless. Not reacting in any way.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione whispered, hoarsely.

Draco was silent for a few more seconds, shifting his gaze from one of her eyes to the other. His mind seemed to know the young woman all too well. That seemed like a question worthy of the real Granger. Weeks without speaking to each other, and her first question was an impertinent need to know everything. Things that didn't concern her.

He kept breathing. Hoping to see her disappear after every blink. To fizzle out. But she was still there. And she seemed so... solid. Was she real? Was she...? She was there. It was her. She was in front of him. Why?

"What are you doing here?" he heard himself whispering. His voice rough. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken aloud. Possibly that morning, when he had told Nott that he had received a message stating that the Death Eater attack would take place that very night.

Hermione took a step closer and leaned on a wooden beam with her hand. She was breathing heavily. Draco wondered if she had been running. If she had needed to run, too, to keep from going mad.

"I was looking for you," the girl replied, her voice still unsteady. "What are you doing here?"

Draco felt like he barely had time to take in her gaze. Granger was looking at him. And she wasn't looking at him with hatred, but with concern. As if they had never been separated. As if no time had passed. As if he hadn't made her hate him.

Why? She had to hate him. He'd torn himself apart so he'd never have her in front of him again. Making sure he never heard her voice again. Not alone. Not that softly.

But she was there. And he was barely able to assimilate in his flesh how much he hated her at that moment. It was amazing how overwhelmingly impotent she could make him feel.

"It's none of your business," he replied. His voice still sounded impassive. Distant.

Hermione didn't get upset. She continued to stare at him.

"You didn't come to the exam."

A couple of seconds of silence.

"What?" he replied, his voice now almost sounding incredulous.

"The Ancient Runes exam. You didn't come. And you didn't come to the Alchemy exam either. You love Alchemy, and you haven't been to the exam," Hermione's voice faltered. "I wanted to know if you were all right."

Draco didn't manage to get a word in edgewise. He didn't know if it was just that he had been alone with his thoughts for too long, barely interacting with anyone, but now he was finding it hard to follow another person's train of thought. Especially in the middle of a conversation he had never imagined he would be having. That he hadn't prepared for at all.

He blinked. She had noticed his absence. And she'd gone looking for him. Plain and simple. As if everything that had happened was water under the bridge. As if it wasn't relevant. As if his well-being was more important than any break-up. As if it invalidated it.

But it didn't. The whole thing was ridiculous. She couldn't be there.

"It's none of your business," he repeated, in the same impassive tone. He held her gaze. Trying to concentrate on how he should feel about her. On pushing her away.

Hermione shifted her gaze between his eyes. She pursed her lips. She seemed to be seeing something she didn't like. But Draco didn't look away. He wouldn't allow himself to show any sign of weakness. He could show her with his gaze that he didn't want her in his life. He could look at her without breaking down. He could do it. He could do it...

"Your eyes... Why are you looking at me like that?" Hermione suddenly whispered. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink.

"Like what?" he agreed to hiss.

"Like before. Like nothing had ever happened between us," her voice broke. Her eyes twinkled with anguish. "I hate that look. Those eyes. What happened to you...?"

She let go of the wooden beam and took two steps forward. Standing in front of him. She dropped to her knees. He just followed her movement with his gaze, letting his eyes free fall. He didn't move a muscle. Hermione reached out to him. She reached her hands up to his face. And pulled him towards her, forcing his back off the beam. To move his arms away from his drawn up legs. She pulled his head until it rested on her chest, close enough to encircle his back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. He was very stiff, his whole body in tension, as if he were an animal ready to attack at any sudden movement.

But Hermione wasn't afraid of him at all. She closed her eyes and hugged him with all her might. Feeling the known outline of his body. Familiar. Intimate. The very scent of his skin, his clothes, his hair... She didn't even know what she intended, but she couldn't think. She just needed to get those attributes out of his eyes. She cared little for her own half-scarred heart.

Draco let her do it. He should have pushed her away, resisted her closeness, but he had been fighting not to move for so long that now he was unable to. So he let himself be pulled until he buried himself in her body. He didn't fight back. He said nothing. And then he felt her tremble against him.

He felt her chest heave in front of his face, in the form of a distressed breathing. She was suffering. For him. She was worried. She wanted to protect him. He was in her arms. He was leaning against her. Hearing her breathing. Breathing her. Chestnut hair in front of his eyes. He hadn't allowed himself to lower his eyelids. If he did, if he let himself go...

He felt his neck losing strength. He let his head drop, just a little. Feeling her clothes better against his forehead. His own eyelids trembled. The girl's hands moved over him, trying to clutch his back, his clothes, hooking her fingers in the fabric. Holding him.

And Draco closed his eyes. And he let himself go.

He felt it all overwhelm him. All his muscles gave way at once. Tearing his armour apart. He lifted his own arms, feeling as if he hadn't used them in years. He found her body. And enclosed it. He held her against him. He squeezed his eyelids with all his might, never wanting to open his eyes again. So that none of it would go away. He couldn't breathe with his mouth stuck to her clothes. And he didn't need to. She was breathing. He heard her inhale briefly when he hugged her back. But she said nothing. Neither of them said anything for long seconds. They didn't need to. They were hugging. It was mutual. Whatever it was. It was mutual.

But despite every cell in his body screaming at him to prolong it until the end of time, Draco forced himself to be the one to stop it.

"Granger..." he muttered against her chest. Needing to say it out loud. Forcing himself to take in who he was with. All that it implied. Struggling to come to. To control the situation again.

"I'm here," she whispered in return. Her voice floating above his head. Draco squeezed his eyes shut again. She was.

"Why?" he hissed.

"Because I knew you weren't well," Hermione hugged him against her, no longer holding him tight. Just holding him close, keeping them close. "What happened?" she asked cautiously again.

"Nothing."

Draco's voice sounded suddenly gruffly. Cold. Hermione pursed her lips. And pressed her mouth against the top of his head.

"Don't be silly, why are you here?" she asked, her lips moving over her thin blond hair as she spoke.

"Because I wanted to be alone. Which you always seem to predict in time to prevent."

His tone was laconic now. Listless. A tone more like him. Hermione let out a heavy snort. Arguing while they hugged. The story of their lives. She pulled back, separating herself from him. Not breaking the bond entirely, keeping her hands on the side of his arms. But she wanted to see his face. He raised it to look at her. His eyes had changed. They were no longer opaque, unfathomable. They were his eyes. The ones that had looked at her in the greenhouse with a desperate gleam, as he told her that it wasn't enough to have an affair with her. The ones that had watched her with barely a barrier standing as they kissed in an unsteady boat on the side of the Great Lake.

"You attacked Ron," Hermione whispered. In an ethereal tone. Looking into his eyes. "So that I would confront you. You did it on purpose to get me away from you. I understand that now, but why...? If you wanted to end things between us, why didn't you tell me clearly? Why would you do such a thing?"

Draco allowed his eyes to blink absently. Scanning her entire face. Finding it hard to take in her words. Wondering how she could have found out. Despite all his efforts, his plans... How could she be so unbearable?

And he knew he'd lost. Because she demanded answers. She demanded the truth. And the truth was the very thing he had tried so hard to hide.

But he must have realised that it was impossible. To clear his name with a dastardly lie, though not as dastardly as the truth. Nott told him it had been cowardly, and he was probably right. But he had done it for her. Not for him. It was going to be easier for her, wasn't it? When they hated each other everything was easier. Hating him again would make everything easier. He really, really thought he was doing things right. Getting everything on track.

But, of course, with Hermione Granger it hadn't been enough. She didn't hate him like she should. She still cared about him. She was there. But he could sort that out. By giving her what she wanted. The truth.

What did he have to lose? Her? He couldn't even lose her, because she wasn't his.

And he was so tired of suffering for that fact, that it was that thought that gave him the strength to raise his right hand, and bring it to his left wrist. He unbuttoned the button on the cuff of his shirt, under the sleeve of his robe, and, having done so, lifted both cloths up to his elbow.

Hermione had followed his finger movements with her eyes. Quiet. Waiting for answers. She hadn't expected that. She couldn't quite understand. His arm. What did his arm have to do with it? Why his left arm? Why did it look as if...? No. No, no, no... His... his forearm. It wasn't possible.

The Dark Mark. Jet, incomparable, tacit. Glistening on his snowy skin. Altering his flesh. And everything Hermione had taken for granted.

Her mouth hung open. She could feel her jaw hanging, inert. She took the opportunity to puff out her chest and fill her lungs with air. And the cold air in her throat felt almost unreal. She heard herself breathe. Amidst the silence. As if she was underwater. Maybe she was?

She fluttered her eyelids. And her lips. Looking for something to say. She looked for his eyes. They weren't looking at her. He didn't even dare to look at her. And then she saw the black robes resting near him, on the wood.

He was one of theirs. He served Lord Voldemort. A power-hungry maniac, who stood for the supremacy of his people. At only eighteen, he was terrifyingly clear about everything. He supported a movement that sought to annihilate that inferior species, the Muggle-born. Her kind.

'In spite of what you are.'

Everything they'd done, the fight against the world they'd conducted in hiding within the walls of that castle, had been childishly stupid. A waste of time. She had deluded herself into thinking that maybe they could beat everything, that they could beat the world. That everything they had done had served a purpose. That they were really fighting against the world. But they weren't.

Hermione slid her hands down his arms until she released them completely. And it was then, as he lost his last touch with her, that Draco looked up. In time to see her get to her feet. Hermione watched him from above. Her hands dangling by her hips. Draco had expected to see her crying. He had anaesthetised his heart for it. But she wasn't. Her face was serious. More serious than he had ever seen it. Her eyes were tough. They bore into his. There was no fear in her. She just looked at him. As if she didn't know him. As if she'd just met him.

Draco had expected her to leave. In fact, he had expected a slap. If he'd ever deserved it in his entire life, he supposed it was now. But she would have done it by now. She'd just moved away from him. She wasn't leaving, though. She wasn't moving.

"When?"

Hermione's voice broke the silence. But it almost didn't sound like her voice. Draco wouldn't have recognised it if he hadn't seen her lips moving. It was harsh. Cold. Not a hint of indulgence.

"At Easter," Draco replied. And he didn't recognise his own voice either. It sounded steady. Dry. Flat.

"When we were already together?" Hermione articulated, unable to contain herself. Slightly incredulous. Surprised, more like. "Did you do it in spite of what was between us?"

"This was planned long before what happened between us," he clarified, not blinking.

"Planned?" she repeated. In a breathless hiss. "You knew you were going to join his ranks, it was clear to you, and yet β€” ?"

"Yes, Granger, I did," he spat in return, his voice rising in pitch. Toughening it. "I decided that I wanted to be with you, too. That you were something incredible, something I didn't expect, something that broke every fucking pattern in my bloody life."

She gasped at those words. But rage won the battle inside her, not allowing herself to give in.

"And you decided to be part of the Death Eaters as well," she mumbled. She allowed herself to swallow. And took another breath. "Tell me you didn't want to do it," she implored, in a vibrant whisper. Hearing herself delude herself. "That they forced you. That they threatened you. I need you to tell me you don't want to do this. Please," her voice broke off, watching him not flinch. "I need you to tell me that you don't believe in any of it anymore."

Draco let the air out in a huff. He closed his eyes for a moment, and his lips twitched into a lazy smile.

"You could say that my mother's safety was a rather persuasive enticement. But don't kid yourself. I've always believed in the cause. It's what I've been taught. It's the only reality I know, the only one that holds true for me. My duty has always been to protect magical purity, and the only way is to enlist in the ranks of the Dark Lord. That's the way it is, whether you like it or not, and you know it."

"No, I don't," Hermione blurted, her tone rising. Breathing again. "The Malfoy I've known these past few months has shown me otherwise. I'm a Muggle-born, and you would never have treated me the way you have if you hadn't β€”"

"Treated? How have I treated you, apart from outright lying to you about who I really am?" Draco interrupted, his eyes flashing as he faced her. "I've told you a thousand times, I can't doubt that fire burns just because of a flame that doesn't. Stop hiding behind every bit of benevolence you see in me to turn me into whatever you want me to be."

"I don't need to turn you into anything," Hermione replied, clenching her fists. Her eyes, determined. "I don't want to. And I know you don't believe what you're telling me. That you repeat it like a mantra without really believing it. You don't. Not anymore. I know you. I'm beginning to think I know you better than you know yourself."

Draco let out a dry laugh. Rough as sandpaper.

"Even after this wonderful surprise?" he sniggered, raising his forearm bitingly.

"Yes," she replied, firmly. "And I know you'll end up doing the right thing."

"And what is the right thing to do?" he replied, the sarcasm disappearing from his face. "I've always striven to do what was right for me, and now I don't know how to do anything else. I don't know how to function any other way. I don't know what is right."

"Certainly not attacking Ron to use me so that I'd end things for us," Hermione spat then, fiercely. "You can't risk people's safety for your own ends. It's not fair."

"I can't?" Draco repeated, wryly, unperturbed. "I can, and I will, if it will protect you."

"Protect me?" she whispered sceptically, narrowing her eyes. "Protect me from what?"

Three long seconds of silence. He had looked away in the midst of her questions. His eyes fixed on a wooden beam on the other side of that nook inside the stands.

"From me," he finally hissed.

"Why?" Hermione sputtered, undaunted. He dropped his head back, leaning the nape of his neck against the wood. "Why do you want to protect me from you? Why now?"

"Because now it is imminent that the Dark Lord will invade Hogwarts."

The wind howled through the wooden structure. The sound of rustling multiplied in her ears. Hermione felt an earthquake beneath her feet. Her foot slipped on the wood and she took half a step back. Her ears were ringing. All her blood was buzzing. And his grey eyes were ice sliding down her spine.

"What?" she forced herself to whisper. Her brain working at full speed. On nothing. Thinking of a thousand and one different scenarios. But it was simply impossible. All her logic screamed at her that it was impossible. He just stared at her. Seemingly almost curious as to what her reaction would be.

"I've helped him plan how to get into the castle. They will come tonight."

No self-defence of any kind. A simple statement of intent. He still had the back of his head against the wall, staring at her beneath his narrowed eyelids.

"How are you going to β€” ?" Hermione whispered, breathless. Out of inertia. Without thinking. "How did you β€” ?"

"I stole you. Your Hogwarts map, the one you had in the Library," he confessed, again nonchalantly. Calmly. Hermione jerked in surprise. Her eyes widened in horror.

"Harry's map? The Marauder's Map?" she repeated, astonished, holding a hand to her chest. "Did you take it?"

"Was it Potter's?" Draco murmured with mild interest, frowning. But Hermione was struggling for breath.

"He lent it to me," she forced herself to mutter. Her heart deafening her. "Please tell me that β€”"

"I still have it," he revealed, in a curiously softer tone. He patted his chest over the area where the inner pocket of his robes was located. He watched the girl close her eyes, filled with relief. "I was going to give it back to you. Actually, I had only planned to borrow it. I wanted to look through it. I found a passage in it that connected the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade with the Whomping Willow in the grounds. I told the Death Eaters of its existence. They'll use it to get in. They'll be here at midnight. They've sent me a message."

He reached out and picked up the piece of parchment resting beside him. He stretched his arm out in her direction, offering it to her. She hesitated for a moment, apparently still digesting the disappearance of such a valuable map and cursing herself for not having been more cautious. But at last she reached out and took it. Careful not to touch his skin. Draco forced himself to lean the back of his neck against the wood again. Trying to ignore that detail.

Hermione looked at the parchment and read what was written on it. Her quick eyes skimmed over the sparse words. Catching the coded message in a single sweep.

Midnight.

'Then wait until tomorrow. Please. Talk to him tomorrow.'

Nott knew. Bloody bastard. He'd tried to trick her until the last moment to avoid all that. To stop her from doing anything.

Draco stared at her. He didn't even need to explain how to read the real message on the note; he knew she'd figure it out in seconds. She was intelligent. The most intelligent person he'd ever met.

"Why?" Hermione stammered, her fingers tightening around the fragile parchment. Without looking up. Draco snorted through his nose again.

"Because he wants to get his hands on the castle, and β€”"

"No. Why did you do it."

He looked at her. Her dark eyes locked on his now. Trying to read him, decipher him, as she had done with the message on the parchment. Trying to recognise him again.

"He told me he would release my father from Azkaban if I helped him," he heard himself revealing.

Hermione crumpled the parchment in her fist. Straightening her shoulders. Her eyes glowed with a fire that Draco couldn't believe hadn't been extinguished by now.

"I'm going to warn about this," she said with sudden assurance, voice and lips quivering. "Dumbledore. The professors. I'm going to do it, and if you want to stop me, you'll have to kill me."

Draco stared at her, his grey eyes flashing. He didn't look surprised at her passionate words. As if he'd expected them.

"If you do, He'll kill me," he said, calmly.

"That's a lie!" she shouted suddenly, without stopping to think. Too upset to realise the reality. 'Because you're going to put him in mortal danger.' "Don't try to blackmail me like that! Don't you dare do such a dastardly thing!"

"I'm not trying to blackmail you. It's the plain truth," Draco continued. With exasperating serenity. "I am the only person in the castle who knows what is about to happen. If anything goes wrong, it will be my fault. He will kill me without batting an eyelid for failing him. This mission is important to him and it has to go well. And if it doesn't, the people responsible will pay."

Hermione was shaking her head.

"I don't believe any of β€”"

"Oh, I forgot Nott," he added, almost cynically. "He knows everything, too. He'll kill him too if we fail. Our lives are in your hands, Granger."

"Enough!" Hermione shouted, her voice echoing inside the stands. She was suffocating. "Don't do this, don't you dare, you're not going to make it! I'm not going to give in to your bloody extortion!"

"Why on earth would I lie to you?" he protested, his voice rising in pitch. Starting to get annoyed. "Use your bloody logic. You've got plenty of it. Can't you see I'm telling you the truth?"

Hermione was panting. Refusing to believe it. Refusing to believe she couldn't do anything. Not like this. Not by risking his life. She had to. She knew she had to. But she wasn't sure she was capable. He was there, in front of her. Sitting on the floor, at her feet. And he looked so young all of a sudden... He looked again like the teenager he was. And she realised how lonely he was.

"You want it to go well so he'll release your father," she accused, undeterred. His eyes flashed with anger. "And I can't allow that. I won't allow innocents to die so that a Death Eater can be released from Azkaban!"

"He's my father!" Draco exclaimed, rising to his feet in one swift movement. Standing up in front of her.

"They're innocent!" Hermione shouted in return. "I'm sorry, but I won't allow it! We have to warn them! We have to evacuate the students, call for reinforcements β€” !"

"I don't care. You're not doing any of that," Draco hissed. He approached her, raising a hand. "Listen to me β€”"

But the young woman recoiled at full speed. Her face contorted with resentment.

"Don't come any closer," she whispered, pulling away from him the arm he seemed to have been about to grab. "Don't touch me."

Draco froze instantly, unable to reach her. He looked into her eyes, again at their usual height, several centimetres above her. The ceiling of the tight place almost touched the top of his head. After two seconds of anticipation, of digesting such a request, he let his hand fall. He pursed his lips. And managed to control his expression.

"Stay here," Draco murmured then. She blinked, confused. "Now that you know this, don't go back to the castle. He'll storm it, and take all the Muggle-born prisoners. You're right, he'll kill them for sure."

"He'll kill us," Hermione corrected in a dry voice. "I'm one of them. I'm a Muggle, too."

"You're different from the others," he protested dismissively. As if it were obvious. "You're an exception."

"No, I'm not," she replied, taking half a step towards him. "I'm a Muggle. The daughter of two humble dentists. No one in my family has ever had the slightest contact with magic. My mother nearly fainted the first time I levitated a cup, and my father thought it was a hidden camera when I got the letter. I'm no better than any of the others. I'm just one more. And proud to be who I am." She took a sharp intake of breath and spoke more quietly, "Malfoy, we can do something. Find a way to stop it. Give me time. We just have to β€”"

But Draco was shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair as he stared at her, on the verge of losing his patience. His breathing was quickening as she spoke. His jaws were tense, the result of clenching his teeth.

"We don't have time," Draco interrupted in a suspiciously unsteady whisper. His fingers twitched around nothing, next to his hips, as if he needed to clench something. "Don't you understand that, even if I wanted to, I can't stop this and protect you at the same time? That every minute we're talking, it's more and more memories, more fucking feelings, that he can use against me if he finds them in my head, and he will, if I betray him?"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione whispered uncomprehendingly, squinting her eyes.

"If I betray the Dark Lord, he'll use Legilimency on me to find out why. And he'll find you in my head. He will see all of this," he gestured vaguely around them. Without taking his eyes off her. "He will see what you mean to me. And you will be in mortal danger."

Hermione exhaled in despair. Sceptical.

"Do you expect me to believe at this point that you care more about me than your beliefs, than your own safety?" she questioned in turn, her voice trailing off in disbelief. "That you do it for me? That you want to protect me? That you care about me in spite of what I am?" she snarled bitingly. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, frustrated at the use of that expression that he himself had used for the sole purpose of making her hate him. To remind her of who she was dealing with.

"Yes, Granger," he let out between his teeth. And it almost sounded like a surrender. "Just imagine. How crazy. How stupid of me. To care about you in spite of what you are... Well, I do. In spite of that. That, which is what I believe in. What's made me who I am, what I've been taught. And I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I can fight against it. That I can change my convictions. That I could. But I can't. Not in my situation," he swung his left forearm, showing the world his dark mark. "Do you understand now why I did what I did? Why I pushed you aside like that? Because you are my fucking weakness. And I can't afford to have weaknesses. Because if the Dark Lord gets inside my head, and he sees you, he'll do whatever he wants to me. He'll kill me, at best. He will use you. He will use me. And I am not willing to allow that. He won't get inside my head, though, he won't find out anything, if I don't fail him. And I'm not going to. I'm going to let him into the castle. And fall whoever has to fall."

Hermione clenched her jaws. Trembling in sharp jerks. Of rage. Of pain. Of the greatest sense of impotence, of despair, that she had ever felt in her entire life. Of hearing that he felt such a way about her, and that it meant allowing genocide. To protect her.

"Don't do this to me," she whispered now. In a broken voice. "Don't make me make this decision. I can't put you ahead of the school. Of Dumbledore. Of my friends. I can't. Don't fight for Voldemort, don't join his ranks. Stay here and tell all. Hide. Dumbledore will protect you. He'll sort it all out. There's still time to do the right thing..."

"It's not the right thing for me," he argued, impassively. "If I fail him β€”"

"You'll save the school," she said, emphatically. "Everyone."

"Not you. You're the risk," he replied. Quietly. Surly. "And I'm not willing to take it."

She shivered. Her lips trembled.

"It's the right choice. And I'm telling you to do it," she raised her voice, disgruntled, "You can't put me ahead of all of this! The school! Everyone!"

"I can. I can do it, I am doing it, and I would do it again," Draco also spoke louder. He shrugged and raised his arms before dropping them back against his hips. With a reluctant bitterness. "I don't care."

Hermione let out a low moan. Of desperation. Of indignation. She raised her hands, clenched into fists. Wanting to hit him. Wanting to push him. To make him understand that he couldn't do that. Put her before the world. It wasn't fair.

"You have to!" she cried, desperate, moving forward. But he reached her first. He wrapped his hands around her arms, digging his fingers around her, holding her still. She tugged to break free of his grip. "You have to care! Why would you do β€” ?"

"BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT YOU!" Draco bellowed, tugging her closer. His loud voice reverberating around them. "YOU, DAMMIT! ONLY YOU!" He shook her lightly. His eyes flashing. So much. Too much. "More than... than anyone, for fuck's sake! Don't you understand that, whatever I do, I'm failing everyone? You think this is a fucking game to me? I have to be part of this war! I can't back out, not having come this far! Especially not at the cost of risking your life! I can't even think, I don't even know what I want at this point! I can't stand anything that's been happening to me since you've been in my life!" His voice was shaking, though he was still shouting. The evening light flickered in his eyes. Creating stars. On a watery surface. "The only thing I'm capable of doing is breaking into pieces and separating from you. Because I've put you in danger, and I can't protect you. I don't know how to protect you. Not you, not my mother β€” I'm not β€”"

He lost his voice. He went mute, struggling to catch his breath. To no avail. Enraged with himself, he let her go abruptly, taking a step back. Hermione had stopped struggling, she couldn't even remember when. She stood still, very still, unsure if she was leaning against something or not. Draco clenched his hand into a firm fist and pressed the back of it against his panting mouth. Hiding his trembling lips. The moisture in his eyes diminished as a thick tear slipped from his right eye, sliding down his cheek. Draco, frenetic, still wheezing, ran the back of his hand over his face, wiping it away quickly.

Hermione couldn't speak. She couldn't think. She could only look at him. Her mouth gaped open. She'd never heard him scream like that. But even his words became secondary. She could only see his tears.

Because Draco was crying. At the thought of being separated from her. Of not being able to be with her.

"Don't cry," she pleaded in her mind with mindless desperation. Unable to find the breath to ask it out loud. "Please don't cry..."

"M-Malfoy, don't β€”" she tried to articulate. To tell him not to cry. Her own voice suddenly sounded broken. Hermione realised then that she was crying too. As she tried to speak, she felt the lump in her own throat. She felt the tears leave her eyes and slide down to her chin.

But Draco was still so upset that it seemed he hadn't even heard her. And the fact that he was succumbing to crying seemed to infuriate him even more. He continued talking as if he couldn't stop anymore.

"Don't tell me to do the right thing, because trying to protect you has been the only right thing I've ever done in my whole damn life, and it's also the most unbearable thing I've ever felt," he managed to articulate, frantically, between rapid breaths. Another thick tear escaped from his left eye, which he managed to intercept halfway down his face. His chest convulsed violently. "Doing the right thing doesn't feel right. And I know I'm going to walk out of this castle and I'm never going to feel the way I feel when I'm with you again in my whole fucking life. And I-I'm an arsehole because I still don't know how to get used to the idea. And if that's the right thing to do I swear I want to go to fucking hell. And I hate you with all my soul, because you're not the one who should be able to do this to me. Anyone but you. And you don't know how... how much I'm pissed off by all this," he tried to swallow. To keep talking angrily. Frantic. Broken. "Because it's not even right for you and me to be here, talking! And I can't stand it!" he raised his voice, raising it to a hoarse pitch. "Not being able to change anything... Do you think I care about the fate of this bloody castle, of people I don't even know, compared to losing you for the rest of my life? Well, I'm sorry, but I don't. And you can think whatever you want about me. That I'm a coward, a selfish..., I don't care," his voice was faltering. He couldn't shout anymore, no matter how hard he tried. "But you... I care about you. Only... Only you, damn you..."

And it broke. His voice broke. All of him broke. His body broke. A body that now shook in sharp, rhythmic jerks, wrapped in a deep, hard-to-control cry. Struggling to catch his breath without it turning into sobs as they left his mouth. Draco lowered his face and opened his hand, covering it with his palm. In a vain attempt to hide himself. Hermione sobbed along with him. Loudly. Letting out the air she had held in with his words.

Draco was a sandcastle at that moment. One touch from her, and he would collapse. They both knew it. And, despite that, Hermione did it.

Without stopping to think, forgetting everything else, she walked the short distance between them. She reached up with both hands and took his face between them. He tried to pull away with a sharp gesture. As if he could not bear for her to approach him in such a state. Far from being in control of himself. But she didn't give in and pulled decisively, forcing him to bend down so she could hug him tightly by the neck.

She touched him, broke him, shattered him. He fell apart in her arms.

Draco's legs gave out. He fell to his knees on the wooden floor, pulling the girl with him. Hermione didn't release him. She kept her tight embrace, pressing the boy's face to her chest. Sobbing against his shoulder herself. Not wanting to take in what was happening.

She hadn't thought about his feelings. She really hadn't. About what it meant for an eighteen-year-old boy to hold the lives of hundreds of people in his hands. On a scale. Her on one side. The others on the other. And he had chosen her.

He could betray Lord Voldemort. He would have. The reasons he gave for doing what he did were Hermione's safety, his own, and that of his mother. And his father's release. They were personal, individual reasons, far removed from a simple ideology of blood purity. He needed to hold such convictions for the life that awaited him beyond midnight. But try as he might to convince himself otherwise, it was no longer an absolute truth for him; Hermione had been able to read it between the lines. But he would do nothing at the cost of endangering her. She was his boundary. The one he couldn't cross. His exception.

She closed her eyes tightly and pressed herself against him. She couldn't accept it. Voldemort couldn't take the castle. There had to be a way. She had to be able to do something. She tried to think, as she listened to the boy's breathing against her clothes. She was willing to compromise her life if she had to. But not Draco's. He couldn't die. She couldn't let him be killed. Not him. She couldn't save anyone if it meant his death. It was a purely emotional way of acting, and she knew it. That ignored any irrefutable reasoning that plagued her head. But it didn't matter. The reality was that she wasn't capable of it.

"I love you," Hermione thought, with all her might. Running out of it. Praying that he would hear her thoughts. Because she needed him to know, but she knew he shouldn't. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

There had to be a way to protect him. Voldemort had to keep trusting Draco. And Nott. He needed to be sure that they hadn't betrayed him. That if one part of the plan went wrong, it would have nothing to do with them. So he wouldn't search their minds for the reason for their betrayal. He would not find her in Draco's head.

The Death Eaters had to get into the castle. They had to get inside, that was insurmountable. And then, perhaps, they could stand up to them. The castle would defend itself, but Draco would have done his part in getting them inside. Maybe that was the solution... It had to be subtle. They could have no doubt that Draco was on their side, that he had done everything he could.

She had to warn the castle. But the timing was important, they couldn't be waiting for the attack or it would arouse suspicion. Midnight. She would warn them then. When the Death Eaters were already there. She could pretend she'd seen them in the grounds, or anywhere else. That was the least of it. She had to be quick. It would be a dangerously short time frame. And maybe it would all be useless, and there would be no way to defend themselves at this point. Maybe they would lose the castle. She was almost certain they would lose the castle. But maybe she could save lives. And, just for that, she had to try.

Her own tears had dried. Now she had a plan. She wasn't going to stop fighting, with whatever she was capable of.

But she would not involve Draco. If he did not know, they could not extract such information from him. They wouldn't even look for it. Because he wasn't going to betray them.

Draco was breathing more normally now. Hermione could feel his shoulders rise and fall calmly. She gently pulled him away from her chest, but held his face down and buried her lips into the top of his head. Staying there for long seconds, pressing her mouth into his hair. Doing everything in her power to comfort him. The only way she could thank him for his words without breaking down.

'Because I've put you in danger, and I can't protect you. I don't know how to protect you.'

'But you... I care about you. Only... Only you, damn you...'

She broke the kiss and allowed him to straighten up. They looked at each other. Draco's eyes were still bloodshot, and his face had pink spots here and there. But his expression was much steadier. Stronger. He had managed to regain control of himself.

Hermione, knowing that her own face would look similar, cupped his cheek with her hand. Dusk had moved on. The sunlight had turned from orange to reddish. The shadows of the wooden beams were longer.

"What's the plan?" Hermione whispered. He blinked, not moving. "They're going in through the Whomping Willow, and then?"

"Granger β€”" he mumbled, closing his eyes. In exasperation. But she interrupted him.

"No," she hastened to deny, softly. "I won't stop it. I promise," she assured him, stroking the side of his hair around his ear. "I just want to... know. I won't stop it. I really won't."

She muttered, looking at him pleadingly. He had to believe he had won the argument. Or Voldemort would know. Draco let out a slow sigh through his nose. Believing her.

"They'll be arriving in Hogsmeade at midnight," he reported, in a dry whisper. His voice had steadied. "They will enter through the Shrieking Shack. I'll open the entrance to the Whomping Willow for them."

"You know about the stump that stops the branches?" Hermione asked curiously. He nodded, not asking how she knew. "All right, and then?"

"Then they'll enter the castle."

"The front door will be locked at that time," she protested, frowning. As if it annoyed her that he hadn't thought of that.

"I've left the door behind the greenhouses open. Filch rarely watches it," Draco confessed reluctantly. Hermione nodded slightly, taking in the information. Pretending to find it interesting, but not overly so. Hogsmeade. If she could warn the castle while they were still in Hogsmeade they'd have much more leeway... Would it be too risky? Would the Death Eaters believe that someone from the village would have tipped off the castle?

"And what would they do... inside?" she managed to whisper, controlling a shiver. Draco was unperturbed.

"He wants to go back to the old days. To the old magical ideals," he explained half-heartedly. "He wants to reshape the school and teach only those he deems worthy, and in subjects he feels are appropriate. The true values of wizards." But then something flashed in his eyes and he frowned. As if he had remembered something. "He also spoke of a... weapon," he uttered slowly. Blinking. "He wants to get hold of a weapon in the castle."

"A weapon?" Hermione repeated. Fiercely interested. "What kind of weapon? What for?"

Draco let out a faint, limp snort. As if he was amused.

"I haven't the faintest idea."

Hermione looked away. Not enough time to dwell on this new revelation. They really didn't have time for anything.

Midnight. They had until midnight. And their paths would part. In opposite directions.

She felt her heart grow louder. Beating with momentum against her ribs. Struggling to come to terms with the idea of never seeing the young man before her again. With a very specific thought floating through her mind, she turned her left wrist and looked at her wristwatch. Draco watched her do so without saying anything, glancing at her watch absentmindedly as well.

"It's nine o'clock," Hermione whispered. Draco scrutinised her expression as he noticed that her voice had trembled. She was still staring at her wrist. "We have... a few hours until midnight," she looked into his eyes. "Let's make the most of it."

Draco didn't blink. He held her gaze, mute, confused at her last suggestion. Not quite understanding what the girl was up to. The poise in her gaze. It seemed to him that she wanted to tell him something, but he didn't... he didn't understand her. To make the most of it? How?

Hermione reached out and placed her hands on his torso, on top of his robes. His chest heaved in surprise. But he didn't move. The girl ran her fingers over the Slytherin crest in a caress full of curiosity, before clutching both lapels and pulling them to the side, revealing his clothes. Draco tried to make eye contact, to no avail. Her gaze was fixed on his shirt. She seemed calm. And that, oddly enough, worried him. He reminded himself to breathe as he felt his lungs begin to burn suspiciously.

The girl slipped the robes over his shoulders and arms, until she managed to get it off. He moved just enough to finally get it over his wrists. It bunched up around his waist and legs. Hermione placed her hands on him again. Running down his shirt, up his shirt, feeling the outline of his collarbones under her palms, until she reached his neck, the nape of his neck. Draco felt his muscles spasm, his skin getting goose bumps, reacting to the delicate touch. She didn't blink. She wasn't looking into his eyes. She was following the path of her own hands. She bent her body forward, tilting her face so as not to collide with his jaw. And her lips reached for the skin of his throat. Draco closed his eyes, reminding himself again that he had to breathe if he wanted to stay alive.

His hands left his own lap and encircled her body. Hesitating on what to do. Torn between caressing her or clutching her against him. Not being able to think, feeling her mouth, her breath, on his Adam's apple. His hands decided of their own accord to caress her back, over her robes.

And when her small hands grasped the knot of his tie, the few doubts he could harbour about what Hermione was up to disappeared.

But... this... Could this happen?

A faint exhale escaped Draco's half-opened lips. He opened his eyes. He wanted to say something to her, but he couldn't see her face. Her lips were still dancing on his throat. She managed to loosen the tie, but she didn't take it off completely. She let it hang around his neck, seemingly in a hurry to get to the first button of his white shirt, the one closest to his throat. She pulled away slightly, just enough distance to look him in the eye. Her face was still serene. Draco stared at her. Trying to read her eyes. Read her intentions. But they were clear.

Draco's hands were shaking. His fucking spirit was shaking.

Hermione continued to unbutton his shirt. She opened another button. And another. And another. Reaching halfway down his abdomen, she ignored the remaining ones and slipped her hand through the fabric. Brushing against his bare skin for the first time. And Draco was sure she could feel his heart leaping inside him. Were her hands cold, or was he on fire?

"Here?"

Draco heard someone whisper that nonsense. And it took him a moment to realise that it had been himself. He felt slightly deafened. Dizzy.

Hermione stared at him. And it was a look that was terribly akin to a rush of hot air, one that had permeated Draco to the bone. A look he had never seen before in those frank, round, dark eyes. Which, despite everything, he wondered if he wasn't imagining. A piercing gaze, full of confidence, of... desire.

"Anywhere."

And her soft voice seemed like a spell. Because Draco's body reacted instantly, triggered by her words. He tilted his face to one side and leaned down to meet her lips without hesitation. Nervous lips beneath his. Moist lips, rushing lips. It was her mouth. He was in her mouth. He was there again. In her. She wanted him there. He dug his fingers into her brown hair, skirting her ear. Pulling her in tighter. But slowing down. Allowing himself to feel. Not running. They had time. Not as much as they wanted, but that night was theirs. And they would lie to themselves, behaving as if they really did have all the time in the world.

Draco felt anticipation sweep through him. As did the girl's hands fumbling to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. He moved his jaw, securing the kiss, seeking her tongue with his own. He bit her lower lip hard, eliciting a sigh. He felt the young woman reach up and wrap her arms around his neck, taking his tie along the way. Taking it between her fingers and dropping it behind him. It landed on the wooden floor with a muted rustle of silk.


"Fred and George said that the passageway was blocked while they were studying here," said Harry, as he and Ron moved metre by metre through the narrow place. "I think they said it was in their third year. And that's why they couldn't use it again..."

The stone walls of the tunnel made it narrow, but at least they could pass one at a time with relative ease. They had left their bags at the entrance, so they could move around more easily. And they had made sure to fix the mirror behind their backs once they were inside the tunnel, so as not to alert any students passing through that corridor on the fourth floor.

"We haven't encountered any obstacles yet. And we've been walking for a long time. It can't be far," Ron estimated quietly, moving after his friend. They both held their lit wands aloft.

"Look! I think that's it," Harry blurted out, trying to shine his light further away to get a better look.

Sure enough, the passageway was blocked entirely in front of them by what appeared to be a landslide of stones. They couldn't be sure, but it looked like the ceiling had collapsed. And it looked as if it had been that way for a long time. It looked solid, and even some mould had formed on the shallower stones.

"What now?" Ron sighed, looking at it dejectedly. "It's... very blocked. How do we get through?"

"We'll have to clear a path," said Harry, examining the rocks with the light of his wand. Droplets of moisture glistened before them on the bluish ruins.

"Is it worth risking the whole thing falling apart?" Ron asked, shining his light on the ceiling. "I mean, this might not even be the passage that leads to the dragon?"

Harry started to open his mouth but didn't manage to say anything. His head was pounding again. The passage spun around him. The voice in his mind sounded loud. As if a radio had suddenly tuned into the right frequency.

"Harry Potter... Go ahead... Closer..."

"It's here," Harry snorted. He reached out a hand to brace himself against the cold wall. Ron made to hold him, but he didn't need to. "The dragon is this way."

"And you know this because...?" his friend was surprised, now pointing his wand at Harry to get a better look.

"He told me," he pointed to his head, still wheezing. "He's helping us. Guiding us."

"Fucking hell, he's helping us now?" Ron protested nervously, rolling his eyes. "He could have said that before..."

"Communication's better down here," Harry commented, his mind whirring. "I heard him better. We're getting closer," he pointed at the rocks again. "We've got to get through no matter what."


Draco's white shirt lay on the floor, next to his black robes with the Slytherin crest embroidered on it. Hermione's robes was nearby, with her Gryffindor lion on it. As were their ties. They had left them out of sight, not wanting to see the House colours that separated them. That night they refused to be themselves. They were not Malfoy and Granger. They weren't separated by rules and social norms, they weren't at odds with each other out of obligation. They were just two people who wanted to be together.

Hermione's shirt was still on her body, but not for much longer. Draco's fingers were already working on it. Each button that left the buttonhole was a new barrier disappearing, another step forward. Towards the point of no return they wanted to reach, fighting against everything they were up against. Stubbornly facing the world.

Draco was in the same position as her, on his knees facing her, sitting on his heels on the hard wood of the floor. He opened the buttons one after the other, aided only by his sense of touch. Every time he tried to separate from her mouth to look at what he was doing, Hermione would steal a kiss from him again, refusing to let his lips escape. Causing his eyelids to flutter shut again and again.

When he managed to unbutton it completely, Draco pulled it away from her body, opening it and slipping it over her shoulders; leaving her bra, and her skin, exposed. The girl didn't close her eyes for a moment. That night, there was no room for shame. Nor for promises of love or sweet compliments. It wasn't the style of either of them. Silence was all they needed. Only silence. Just their gazes.

The boy threw her shirt aside in a gesture so quick, so impatient, that Hermione felt her face heat up. Flattered at the desire such a gesture hid. Draco's eyes wandered down her torso, her neck, her eyes. His white hands caressed her now bare arms. As if he didn't know where to start. Where to touch her. Hermione could hear him fighting for breath.

The girl returned her own hands to the front of his torso. Touching his skin. His musculature. With more confidence than she expected to have in a situation like this. Her fingertips ran over the sinews of his neck, his collarbones, the line between his pectorals, the relief of them, his dark areolae...

And then Draco's chest jolted under her touch. Pulling away from her involuntarily. Breath escaped from between his lips, in a ragged way. Vibrating.

Hermione looked into his eyes, her hand in the air. He was staring at a point near her shoulder. His jaws clenched. Hermione's lips stretched, suppressing an incredulous smile, and she brushed his chest again. No hypothesis could be confirmed if the results were not reproducible. And she got the same. He pulled away slightly again, throwing his shoulder back. He had closed his eyes and pursed his lips in palpable frustration, but before that the corners of his mouth had stretched briefly. In a restrained smile. His breath escaped through his nose again, ragged. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so much like smiling.

"Ticklish?" she whispered, touched. Draco pursed his lips, saying nothing. Without looking at her. Visibly irritated with himself. Hermione laughed softly, almost sounding like a sob. Treasuring such information. That she would never need again. She stopped stroking the most sensitive area of his chest, giving him a break, and brought her hands to his neck. She sought his mouth. Wanting to kiss away the shame.

The boy seemed to pull himself together. He slipped his hands under her arms and brought them to her bare back. He stroked upwards, leaving a trail of sparks that made the hair on her body stand on end. He met the clasp of her bra halfway. He searched for her eyes, amidst the gloom. Hermione responded with a smile, barely a slight lift of the corners of her mouth. Did he really think she would stop him now? Her hands caressed his white throat with her thumbs. She felt his pulse in her fingertips. She could see it beating inches from her eyes. Nothing could be more intimate than that.

She noticed that the boy was rummaging with his fingers in the clasp, trying to open the garment. Trying to guess what mechanism it hid. Hermione moistened her lips and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his throat, over the flutter of his pulse, which she barely had time to repeat a second time when she felt the tension of the bra around her torso loosen. Hermione moved away and pulled her hands away from his body for a moment so that he could remove it completely, allowing him to run the straps down her arms. The harsh night air lashed her bare chest, getting goose bumps almost instantly. Draco's gaze fell almost against his will as he set the garment aside. His face remained unchanged, but Hermione felt him urgently take in air through his nose, also feeling his chest swell under her hands. She felt a pang of gratitude at his genuine gesture.

Draco's light eyes rose again, like a silvery gleam, to look at her briefly. One of his hands came up to cup her face with his palm, and Hermione almost flinched at the subtlety of the contact. Then he lowered his hand, closing his fingers, using the back of them to trail down her throat and across her cleavage. Arousing the electricity in her spine. His hard knuckles grazed the skin of her breasts, the most sensitive area, standing on end from the cold and from him. So gently, Hermione felt her chest melt away. She shivered, she was sure visibly. She scrutinised his face. She saw his throat move up and down.

Draco leaned down until his lips reached the area under her ear. Grasping it with tongue and teeth. His hands roamed her bare back again, now with no clothes to interrupt. Pressure with his palms on the lower area, and the young woman was pulled towards him. She rose up from her ankles, and he pulled her close until she was sitting astride his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely. Pressing their naked torsos together for the first time. Sharing the warmth of their bodies, balancing their temperatures. Hermione closed her eyes, overwhelmed, as she felt his warm breath behind her ear, his arms wrapped around her, and the steadying support of his shoulders under her own hands. She circled his neck, wanting to get as close to him as possible. Letting the sensitivity of her breasts increase as she pressed them against his rigid chest. She could feel the rough fabric of his uniform trousers on the bare skin of her thighs, under her skirt. And she also felt the tear that fell from her eye.

She prayed it hadn't fallen on the boy. She wiped her face in one swift, discreet movement, out of his sight. Blinking rapidly. No. Not that. Not now.

Hermione lowered her face, seeking his eyes, wanting to focus on him, and him alone, again. And the boy conceded. He left her neck to look at her with his face raised, two grey storms sweeping across her features. There was no arrogance. There was no superiority. But it was still his gaze. And it was the most sincere look he had ever given her. Her tear didn't seem to have left a visible trace, since Draco didn't say anything about it. And Hermione lost herself in him. In his eyes. In what was behind them. In the way he held her against him. In his closeness. In his bare skin. That skin that, for one night, was hers.

Midnight. They had time until midnight.

Hermione stopped wrapping her arms around his neck and dragged both hands down, so that she could scratch the back of his neck and then cup his face with them. She caressed his ears with her fingertips. She pushed his hair back from his forehead, combing it back. And she thought it was a wonderful feeling, to ruffle that sleek, straight blond hair. She wanted to see his eyes better. She wanted to touch every part of him.

Draco let her do it without taking his eyes off her. Hermione's hair had fallen around them because her head was bowed, but neither of them pushed it away. When Draco felt her fingers return to his cheeks, and her face pressed to his, he reciprocated her kiss without hesitation. He secured an arm around her and sat up, no longer sitting on his heels, but kneeling on the floor. With her held tightly against him, he leaned forward, resting his weight on his free hand and letting her fall backwards in a controlled manner.

Hermione expected to feel the cold of the wooden planks, but instead felt the soft touch of the fabric of a robe. She didn't know which one it belonged to, and she didn't care. Her school skirt was raised, crumpled at her hips from the movement. Draco lowered himself down with her, lying across her body, keeping his place between her spread legs. Hermione caught a discreet movement on his part, adjusting his trousers before resting his elbows on the sides of her face. And then, seeing him on top of her, she was fully aware of what was happening. What was about to happen. Not thinking for a moment to stop it.

He sought her mouth. Their lips fought a battle they didn't care if they lost. Draco's hand moved back down her torso, cupping her breast. Using his thumb to check that her sighs weren't deceiving him. And then he felt her shudder beneath him. He could feel the skin stand on end under his hands. And her laughter against his mouth.

Draco pulled away from her lips, seeking her gaze. Possibly surprised that they were ticklish in the same area. Tickles she hadn't expressed before. Hermione chuckled again.

"Your hands are freezing..." she whispered apologetically. Smiling against his mouth. And Draco noticed then. She was shivering. From the cold. Despite being sheltered from the wind inside the stands, the temperature had dropped considerably. And they were halfway undressed. He confirmed that she was telling the truth by clenching his fist and rubbing his fingers against his palm. How could they be cold when his chest was burning?

"I'm sorry," he muttered. Unsure of what to do next. How to touch her in this state without making her uncomfortable. But promising himself in a smug outburst that he would make the young woman beneath him sweat that night.

She dismissed his apology with another smile and pulled his face in for another kiss. Her hands felt just as cold as his, and so did her nose against his cheekbone.

Draco reached down further to caress the outside of one of her bare legs with his palm, from knee to hip. Feeling her goose bumps at the temperature of his fingers. Convinced it wouldn't be for long. His hand ran up the back of her thigh and lifted it, holding it at the level of his own hip. She let out an unsteady sigh, overcome by the sensation of his hot lips on her mouth and their bellies pressed together, even over their clothes. Draco then rocked on top of her. Fitting their underbellies. Pressing. Feeling the fabric of her skirt, and the heat of her underwear, sliding against his trousers. He repeated the motion, thrusting against her. Achieving friction. In a gentle back and forth never before practised, but one that felt as natural as breathing. In a foretaste of what was about to happen. Hoping she liked it. The girl corroborated that fact as she let out a gasping sound. Squirming from head to toe. And that wasn't because of the cold. It was because of him. Only because of him.

Hermione felt her face heat up at the sensation. At the overt, intimate movement. A mute but open declaration of intent. It would have been enough for her to stay that way. The simple skin-to-skin closeness in that hidden place. But he reminded her and showed her that there was more. He knew what needed to be done. And he was going to do it to her. They had carte blanche over each other's bodies that night.

She let one hand rest on the blond nape of his neck, tangling it in the short hair there, and brought the other lower, wanting to feel the cool skin of his back. Feeling his muscles tighten as they contracted, as he moved his body over hers. Exploring his masculine build for the first time. She reached for his buttock above his trousers. And felt it tighten as he moved his hips against her. She pressed the area with her palm, asking him to push his belly against hers again. He did. And her hips rose without being able to contain herself, rubbing against him, giving him back his proximity.

Draco had to stop. Gasping for breath. Accepting that he had to slow down. He didn't know how much he was capable of keeping himself under control.

But Hermione didn't stop. She reached down to feel the edge of his trousers. Then she brought her other hand down and traced the outline of his belt with both, until she reached the cool silver buckle. She manoeuvred with difficulty as he was pressed completely against her belly. He then felt her hands rummaging between them and parted his hips slightly. Stretching his elbows and lowering his gaze to contemplate what she was doing. She herself had to crane her neck slightly to see. The girl released the buckle, opening the belt, and the metallic tinkle rang in both their ears like a song. Her trembling fingers then struggled against the tight button of his trousers. The boy's belly, under the back of her hands, undulated each time her skin brushed against it. When she managed to release the button, uncertain how she had done it, such was her trembling, she caught the small zip between thumb and forefinger. Unzipping it. Revealing part of his dark underwear. And the outline of what was hidden beneath it.

Hermione looked up, seeking his eyes and his permission. He wasn't looking at her. He seemed petrified, staring at her hands. Not moving. Letting her do whatever she wanted. She dug her fingers into the edge of his trousers, intending to pull them down. The back of her fingers then brushed the velvety surface of his underwear. And his hardness. She saw his ribs cave in as he exhaled urgently. She saw him close his eyes, too, as his hips moved a few inches away. As if it was harder than he'd thought to bear her touch and not lose control.

Hermione watched him swallow saliva and drop back down on top of her, still with his trousers almost in place. Forcing her hands away and back to his back. Hermione felt Draco's hand go under her hair to hold the back of her neck, and his lips moved down to trail down her throat, side to side, under her jaw. She felt the boy tense on top of her, and suddenly he shifted as if he was not comfortable, resting his weight on one elbow and then another. His legs moved, but Hermione couldn't see what he was doing. Then she heard a thump, and then another, and realised that he was taking off his shoes with his own feet.

And then he began to descend, spreading open-mouthed kisses down her cleavage. He reached the valley of her breasts and moved steadily down it, with brief but firm kisses. Without lingering, in a straight line to the south of her body. Leaving a fiery trail with his lips in his wake, so different from his cold hands, that it made Hermione's mouth open in a muted moan, overcome by the sensation. She had to close her eyes. She was still shivering. But she was no longer aware of the cold.

Draco slid his mouth down her stomach, which tightened under his lips in surprise. Hermione let out a giggle with her throat, the tickle taking over such a sensitive area. Draco smirked against her skin. She insulted him under her breath as he paused in that area on purpose, making her writhe her hips to hold back the tickling. He agreed to move further down, circled her navel, and reached her lower belly, covered by the high-waisted school skirt. He kissed it over the fabric, pausing there for several seconds. And Hermione's soul trembled.

"Do you want to leave your clothes on?"

Hermione looked down. Draco was watching her, waiting for her response, his mouth still close to her skirt. The girl was aware that her skin was still standing on end. She was freezing, though she was less and less aware of it. Not even such a passionate situation could completely overshadow the chill of the night, but she didn't care.

"No," she murmured. And then she realised she was short of breath. "Take it off... Take it all off me."

Draco's eyes danced over hers. She felt his breath crash against her belly as he took in and exhaled a deep breath. He sat up, looked down, and the next thing Hermione felt was his fingers finding the side zip of her skirt. Then she felt him tug at the edge of the garment, the fabric suddenly sliding down the surface of her legs. But he stopped when he reached her knees. Though there was no need to remove it, Draco crawled to her feet, settling himself better, and began to remove her shoes. Fighting the numbness in his cold hands. The girl could appreciate that detail judging by the long seconds it took him to undo the buckle of his uniform shoes. Hermione stared at him, still lying there, fighting the choking in her chest. She was jerking in discreet convulsions, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the low temperature of the environment.

He was undressing her.

Draco finished with the shoes, dropping them near his own. And then he busied himself pulling down her long, regulation grey socks. His fingertips running along the skin of her legs, creating circles on her ankles to untangle the socks from the area, forced the girl to close her eyes. She couldn't hear Draco's breathing. Only her own. Breaking the silence of the night.

He finished removing the skirt then, sliding it down her legs. He set it aside, on the thick planks, not looking where it landed. His eyes fixed on her skin. On her naked body, with only her most intimate garment before him. A blank canvas, on which he didn't know what to paint.

Hermione watched him blink slowly. His eyes wandering over her. His mind lost in his own thoughts. The girl wondered what they would be. Now she could clearly see his chest rising and falling. She hoped he thought of her the same way she was thinking of him.

Still with his trousers unbuttoned, apparently forgetting that undressing himself, or allowing her to do so, was the most logical step to take, he knelt closer again, between her spread legs. His hand, and his eyes, settled on her bare ankle, beginning to run up her flexed leg in an upward direction. His eyes following his touch, confirming it visually. Without seemingly remembering that she was watching him. As if he was alone. Alone with her body. And Hermione would entrust him with her life if he cared for it like he was caring for her skin.

His hand reached for her hip. The elastic of her underwear. And then he seemed to remember that she was there. He looked back at her, saying nothing. He leaned down and turned his face to kiss the smooth skin of her inner thighs. Hermione shivered at the sensitivity of the area and tensed her legs. Assimilating then that this was nothing. That he had only just begun. And she forced herself to breathe deeper.

She stretched her hands out to place them on his, resting them on her hips. Wanting to feel him. Wanting to touch him. He'd descended so far down that now she couldn't even touch his body with her hands. She didn't know which of them had the colder hands.

He looked up, making sure her gesture didn't mean she wanted him to stop. But she didn't give him that impression. Her hands were caressing the back of his. She was breathing open-mouthed at what he was doing. And Draco caught himself trying to mimic her rhythm.

She was practically naked. In every way. She was giving him her skin. She was giving it all to him. To him. Hours before they were separated forever.

It wasn't fair that he could only experience this once in his life...

Draco felt the heaviness of the situation climb on his shoulders. It was the last time he could do something like this to her. It would all be over in a few hours. He would never see her nakedness again, never hear her breath escape her lips with urgency for him.

He forced himself to grit his teeth, swallowing. Swallowing it all down. They had this one night. And he was going to make it worth every second.

He pulled down her last missing garment. Without further ceremony. Her true nakedness was in her eyes.

He climbed back up her body with firm kisses, rougher than on his way down. Until their eyes were at the same height, until he reached her lips. But one of his hands did not go up with him.

"Tell me if it feels good..." he whispered against her mouth.

And when Draco's fingers were lost between her legs, Hermione's first moan echoed inside the stands.


"Ruled out blowing it up?" Ron asked, undecided. Harry, beside him, was pacing impatiently up and down the passageway, not knowing what to do.

"I wouldn't. We might cause another cave-in," he stood still and looked at the stone wall intently. "We might get trapped. And no one knows we're here," he looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. Ron grimaced in agreement.

"Can a Diffindo cut through these rocks?" suggested the young Weasley, taking a closer look. "We'd make a tunnel..."

Harry hesitated, thoughtfully.

"I'm afraid to break them," he muttered, "Maybe the whole thing will destabilise. What if we just lift them up?"

"A Wingardium Leviosa?" Ron wanted to clarify, somewhat sceptically.

"Can you think of anything better?" Harry replied, grumpily, a hint defensively. He looked rather overwhelmed and couldn't seem to control his patience well in that state. Ron was uncharacteristically tolerant.

"Better, I don't know," Ron hesitated, unperturbed. "Faster, I'm sure. Won't we lose too much time?"

"I'd rather take a little longer than risk being crushed to death," Harry opined laconically. But in a more peaceful tone. Ron gave a lazy smile.

"Seen like that... You've convinced me."

His friend returned the smile with difficulty. With a sigh. And patted him on the shoulder, apologising for his bluntness.

"Let's see what we can do. If it does not work, we'll try something else. C'mon..."

He walked over to the stone barrier and felt some of the stones with his bare hands, checking to see if he could lift them or if they were an important pillar to keep the whole thing from crumbling. Ron joined him and searched as well. Little by little, minute by minute, they dared to move some of them with the help of magic, which were not too heavy and somewhat loose. They decided to try to open a hole in one of the sides. After removing several stones and finding themselves surrounded by them, it occurred to them to transform some of them into pillars, which they placed as buttresses. Ron held and stabilised them against the wall, while Harry kept levitating cold, wet rocks.

After several small unexpected collapses, sounds that made them hold their breath, and a lot of wand-waving, they managed to open a tiny hole at ground level that would, with any luck, be enough.

"You go first, mate," Ron offered with a polite wave of his hand, trying to joke.

Harry took a breath and lay down on the floor to crawl through the dirty little hole to the other side of the passageway. Ron pushed him off his feet to help him the last bit.

"Did you make it to the other side?" Ron questioned, crouching by the hole when the whole of Harry's scrawny body had disappeared. "Or do we need to remove more stones?"

"No," said Harry's voice on the other side. "I've arrived. It's right here, the blockage wasn't very wide. The passage continues."

Ron sighed and wondered whether or not he was glad they'd made it. He looked back into the darkness one last time, then crawled through the hole after Harry.


Hermione was trying to use her fingertips, but her nails insisted on prevailing. As a fresh shiver of pleasure shook her, she dragged them down the back of her lover's neck, aware that she was leaving burning red trails. The whimper she emitted against his mouth was barely audible in the silent place.

The dim light of the now almost non-existent twilight, especially as they were inside the stands, prevented them from appreciating each other's bodies in detail, but it was enough. The girl was still lying on her back. Draco, still dressed in his unbuttoned trousers and socks, lay down beside her, pressed against her, supporting his weight on one elbow and encircling her head with it. He resumed at the same time, with his other hand, the task he had begun between her legs. Now at a better angle. He intended to stay there as long as she would let him.

He kept his face over hers, their profiles pressed together, not wanting to miss a single one of her expressions. Wanting to absorb every stifled moan, every careless kiss, every restrained smile, every surprised inhale. Every look.

Draco's long fingers were running over her, caressing her, sinking into her. His teasing hand occasionally wandered away from such a precious area and caressed her hips, played with his knuckles on her inner thighs, her groin, and ran his short nails across her belly. Exploring her completely, knowing it would be the only time he could do it. Learning everything he would never do to her again.

Hermione was letting out urgent moans without managing to control herself. Without putting much effort into it. She had never heard herself moan out loud before. But with him, she could do it. With him, she could do anything. She was cupping his face, holding him close to her. Needing his closeness to cope with the pleasure.

"Oh, God..." Hermione mumbled against his mouth. Pulling his face to crush his forehead against hers. Draco nearly lost his balance on his elbow.

"There?" he managed to whisper. His chest was shaking. His hand was shaking. His voice was shaking.

"There…"

Draco tried to swallow, but only half succeeded. He had to close his eyes. Exhaling against her heated face. He tried to please her. Faster. Deeper. There.

Hermione tried to close her legs, thrusting at the same time against those fingers, deep inside her. Going with him in the movement. Barely aware that she had done it. She allowed her body to do whatever it wanted with what Draco was giving her. She was in his arms. And she trusted him.

'If there's anything you don't want to do, just tell me.'


"The passage seems to be coming to an end," Ron commented, squinting and trying to see several metres ahead. He raised his wand to shine it further. "Or not? What's there?"

"I can't see," admitted Harry, behind him, trying to look over his shoulder.

"Oh, no, it... splits."

The tunnel came to a crossroads that connected to two different passages. Both looked equally ancient, roughly hewn out of the rock. The one on the left seemed to lead to a sharp bend a few yards further on, and the one on the right went as far as the wand's illumination could reach.

"Great," Ron grumbled, pointing the light down each of the corridors. He was breathing with some effort. The air down there was beginning to feel saturated. "Which way do we go? One of these passages would be the one Fred and George used to get to Hogsmeade. Let's hope we don't take that one, or we'll be delayed getting back."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. He scratched his head and narrowed his eyes. "But it doesn't make much sense. Your brothers must have taken the other passage at some point, just to see where it went. If it had led them to the dragon, they would have β€”"

Harry didn't finish the sentence. He stopped listening to himself. The voice of Wyvern of Wye boomed in every cell of his brain.

"Right!"

"Fuck," the boy complained aloud, with a weary sigh. Ron pointed his wand at him, quizzical. "The dragon says it's to the right. He could warn before he spoke, damn it..."

Ron grimaced with empathy for his friend and they both started walking towards the right-hand passageway, no longer hesitating. But then Harry gasped again. He put his hands to his head, stopping.

"RIGHT! HURRY UP!"

"We're already going right!" Harry complained loudly. Ron looked at him blankly. The dark-haired boy raised his wand higher, examining the passageway. He turned slightly, facing the dark wall to his right. "Could it be that...?"

He approached it. Ron followed. It was shrouded in shadow, like everything else down there. But the light from the wand illuminated it. It was solid rock. He reached out a hand to feel the surface, or even tap it to see if it was hollow on the other side. But he found that there was no surface. His hand met no resistance and sank to his elbow. It was just a smokescreen, it was magic. There was no wall there. It was a third passageway, hidden from the eyes of anyone looking in. A perfect optical effect. He glanced over his shoulder at Ron, still with his arm inside, and saw that his mouth was ajar. After exchanging a fleeting glance, Harry advanced down the newly discovered passageway, carefully stepping through the false wall. An opaque cloud blinded him for a few moments. His feet lost their balance and he felt as if he might fall forward. The shock took his breath away. He stretched out his hands, feeling the air in desperation, until he found a wall to his right. He regained his balance and let out a curse word. He pointed his wand at his feet.

"What's going on?" Ron alarmed at his back. His voice reverberated around the place.

"A staircase, be careful," Harry murmured, descending another step, making room for him. Ron stepped through the false wall and, forewarned by his friend, managed to keep his balance until he could see the stairs. Their wands illuminated a steep spiral staircase, narrow and worn. In the light of the wands, they could barely see the beginning, so they did not know how far down it could go. The walls were damp, and algae and moss hung from the ceiling. The cobwebs blocking the passage glistened white in the light and billowed almost imperceptibly. Harry heard Ron groan.

"Are you sure it's this way?" Ron questioned, heavily.

"There's nowhere else," Harry whispered back. "Or the dragon would have tried to smash my brain again..."

"Why do there have to be cobwebs?" Ron complained plaintively, trying to move away from the thin, black creator of one of the spider webs, not far from his head.

"There seems to be some air current," opined Harry, ignoring him, watching the fluttering of the fine white strands. "This must lead somewhere outside. The air reaches this far. Let's go."

Lit wand in hand, he began to descend the narrow stone staircase, brushing aside the cobwebs as he went. Ron groaned again, but followed.


Draco's breathing was too loud for his own ears. And he was unable to remedy it. There was too much silence. And he couldn't breathe without gasping at the moment. In any way he tried. Instead, every shuddering exhalation the boy emitted was a shiver of joy for young Hermione. Now he was the one lying on his back on the ownerless black robe, having switched places. Hermione had forced him into it, and had managed to remove his thick trousers in that position, and his socks, and his underwear as well. He had helped her manoeuvre, almost reluctantly, by raising his hips. And, from that moment, a fiery flush on his pale face accompanied them, barely visible in the gloom. Hermione was aware of his eyes scanning her expression, as if trying to guess what she thought of him. She merely laid her hands on him in response.

Hermione's hand, trembling, cautious and novice, roamed over her lover's member in long, slow strokes. Obeying her own instincts, the faint instructions provided by him, and the reactions she saw in his body. He was propped up on his elbows, as if intending to watch. But his grey eyes, mirrors of what he was feeling, were hidden behind his closed eyelids. His lips were half-open, emitting unsteady, uncontrollable, low sighs. Not allowing himself to let out any moans. But, with every movement of her hand, the boy's belly shivered. Revealing the reality of how he felt. His fists were clenched tightly.

Hermione held her weight on her free hand so that she could lean over him. Thus using her lips to explore his body. She placed a tentative kiss in the centre of his stomach. On his cool skin. She felt it tighten under the heat of her mouth. She wanted to know what he liked. Wanted to make him tremble. She wanted to leave not a single barrier in her path.

Her auburn hair fell around her as she bent down, accompanying the brush of her lips. Draco's abdomen stiffened as he supported his weight on a single elbow and reached out with his other arm, intent on pushing her hair away from her face, as if he feared she was uncomfortable. Or as if he needed to do something. Distract himself. He tried to hold it behind her ears, but ended up draping it over her shoulder, as best he could. She gave him a smile, her cheek almost touching his skin.

"Lie down," she whispered, looking into his eyes.

It took him a few seconds to comply. But he ended up leaning his back against the robe, having to stare at the ceiling. Hermione saw him change his arms position a couple of times. Blinking rapidly. As if he didn't know how to position himself. As if lying there, hands still at his sides, was too embarrassing for him. He seemed to feel the need to return her caresses. To do something. Hermione tried to silently show him that he didn't have to. That this was for him.

Her lips traced the skin of his pectorals, making him close his eyes again. She tried tracing over the area that had tickled him before and got the same result. His chest quivered under her touch in a restrained chuckle. She smiled and ran over another area. All the areas. The centre of his chest, the skin over his sternum, seemed to be his weak spot, judging by the way his breath staggered, leaving him. Jotting that information down in an intimate corner of her mind, even though she knew she would never need it again, she moved down his body again, reaching his ribs. Without her hand ceasing to move over his most intimate skin. In different patterns and places, as she learned what he liked and lost her shyness. A twist of the wrist to accommodate, and an uncontrollable, hoarse moan suddenly escaped Draco's throat. Until then he had successfully managed not to move, but then his hips jerked briefly, in the direction of the ceiling, as if begging for more contact. His fingers reached for hers, but he managed to restrain himself before interfering with her caresses. He himself let out a harsh gasp in disbelief at the reflections of his own body. He opened his eyes hesitantly, seeking her gaze, as if he feared he had done the wrong thing. As if showing that he liked what she was doing was inappropriate.

But Hermione pretended not to notice his embarrassment, downplaying it, and continued to cover his abdomen with kisses. Feeling it tighten under her mouth, each time his breath left him. Her hand didn't stop. It sped up. Matching the beat of his heart. She longed to hear him moan again. To hear his petulant voice breaking into such a human sound. To hear him lose control.

Her mouth brushed the skin underneath his navel. It caved in beneath her lips, almost fleeing from them, and a new moan surrounded them. Louder than the last. More desperate. His hips jumped again.

The belly in front of Hermione tightened and rose. Draco had pushed himself up into a sitting position, inviting her to pull away from him. Hermione did so, seeking his gaze, and the only word that came to her mind as she met his eyes was fire. Living confirmation that ice could burn. Because his silver eyes had always looked like two icicles. And in that moment they burned. Filled with a new animal force she hadn't seen in him before. And she felt her own body ignite.

Draco did not ask permission for his next move. He wrapped an arm around her body and spun them both around abruptly, placing himself back on top of her. Spreading her bushy hair over the wood in a messy fashion. Every inch of Hermione's skin stood on end at the passionate movement. Seeing herself at his mercy again. Draco's lips found hers, sinking into her mouth to kiss her hard. Their teeth collided. Hermione let out a giggle. She felt his lips stretch into a quick smile before he kissed her again. Gasping, biting, ravaging her. Hermione stopped smiling, her lips busy following her lover's delirious rhythm. Almost panting, she held him by the face, holding him against her. Forever, if possible.

Predictably, to no avail. Draco released from her grip and moved his face to her chest. Seeking her breasts urgently, decorum aside. Hermione felt her breath catch as she felt his teeth on her receptive skin. Her back parted from the floor, entranced, meeting his torso on top of her. She stared up at the dark ceiling, lost in his caresses. For a moment she thought she saw the stars of a clear night against the black background. But she realised that it couldn't be. She couldn't be looking at the sky, not even through the slits. There were about three storeys of stands above them.

Her hand gripped his bicep, but it wasn't enough. She couldn't squeeze it as tight as she needed to. It would hurt him. She reached out to the side, groping for something to clutch desperately. Her fingers found the fabric of the robes beneath her, and she couldn't help but tangle them there, clutching it so tightly that her fist trembled. He, however, reached out one of his hands and interlaced it with hers, forcing her to let go of the robes. He pressed it against the wood of the floor, holding it still, not neglecting his task.

Hermione stopped staring at the false stars her eyes were planting on the wood of the upper stands, to turn her face and look at their interlaced hands. Guessing their outlines amidst the gloom. His long fingers gripping hers tightly. His white knuckles. He would never hold her like that again. They would never walk holding hands, in full view of anyone. She would never see their hands interlaced in the light of day. Something darker than the boy's pale skin caught her gaze. On his white forearm, despite the darkness that already pervaded the place, she caught a glimpse of the black shadow of a skull and a snake. Hermione turned her face away instantly. She closed her eyes tightly. No. Not at that moment. She didn't want to come back to reality, didn't want to burst the bubble they had built around themselves just yet. They would in a few hours. But not yet. Just a few more hours.

The boy's mouth left her satisfied breasts and descended even lower. Sliding his body between her legs. Without letting go of her hand. Running his lips over her stomach again. Running his lips over her lower belly. Spreading her legs wider with his free hand. Crawling down over the robes.

Hermione opened her eyes and tried to lower her head. Looking for him. Where was he going?

"What…?"

Her voice was barely audible. But she didn't have to ask again. Draco had sunk his face between her bent legs without any hesitation. Determined to run through the whole of her.

And Hermione couldn't control the sound that came from her. The half-moon marks her nails had made on the back of his hand would remain there for the rest of the night.


"I think we're reaching the bottom," remarked Harry, taking careful steps down the unsteady stone staircase. Wand in his left hand, and holding onto the wall with his right for balance. The sharp treads of Ron's big feet behind him told him that his friend was following close behind.

"Shit, thank goodness," Ron let out with noticeable relief in his voice. Harry could almost feel his panting breath on the back of his neck. "My knees hurt. It's endless, this staircase. How long have we been going down it?"

"No idea," his friend admitted, not bothering to look at his watch. He didn't know what time they had started. "But the caverns can't be far now. Look, yes, it's almost over..."

They reached the bottom of the steps and took a breath, grateful to be on solid ground at last. Ahead of them was a short passage with walls of unspoilt stone. The cold there was more intense. And the air, thicker. Hard to breathe. The passageway ended in an opening that led to another place they could not see. They pointed their wands there as they took one step at a time. The ground was dirt, dotted with small rocks that made them twist their ankles when they stepped on them unintentionally. All was black and grey around them. The silence was thick. But a faint murmur of water reached them. Two metres from the wide opening they were still unable to see anything, but they heard it. Movement on the other side. Wherever that opening led. There was something there. And the sound was very particular. As if something gigantic, and very heavy, was moving slowly over a floor of pure rock.

Harry and Ron stopped at the same time. Wands still held high. And then they really heard it.

A roar. So dreadful, so irrefutable and so thunderous that it made them cover their ears automatically, leaving the entrance once again in darkness. The light of wands pointed in random directions. When the sound ceased, both friends pulled their hands away cautiously. Very, very slowly. They looked at each other. Harry could read the same panic in Ron's eyes that he felt.

"Harry Potter..." The deep voice was clear in his mind. Crystal clear. As if he were talking in his ear. "Come in..."

"He's in there," Harry reported, his voice trembling.


Hermione squirmed, undulating her hips, trying to get comfortable. She felt her lower belly burning, stretching without much success trying to shelter this new invasion. Draco had taken complete possession of her insides after a slow, tentative process. And it hurt. The pain kept her tense, still and uncomfortable, but definitely satisfied. Feeling Draco deep inside her was something she wouldn't trade for anything in the world at that moment.

The boy was covering her, pressed against her body. His arms, on either side of her, felt like a fortress. Night had already fallen and they were barely able to see each other. Minutes ago they had had to light one of their wands, leaving it on the floor a short distance away.

"Let me know anything..." he murmured in a quiet voice, against her mouth. Hermione nodded her head instantly, before he had even finished speaking. She could feel him trembling.

She tried to spread her legs a little wider, allowing him to get more comfortable on top of her. Draco did so, and he too believed that by readjusting his weight he would stop shivering. But that wasn't the case either. All the more reason not to make a move just yet. He needed to take a few more breaths before even considering such a thing. In fact, even breathing felt reckless. He felt abnormally weightless. Wondering if the rest of the world was really still out there. Wondering what for. They weren't needed. She was more than enough. She was all he could perceive. She was floating wherever he was too. She was there, and she was solid. Real. The only thing that seemed real at that moment. The only thing he wanted to be real.

He was lost in watching her face. Her grimaces, her almost frustrated sighs as she clenched her muscles gingerly, trying to get used to him. He shivered slightly at the sensation. Hermione froze immediately.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, worried. Perhaps thinking she had hurt him. He merely shook his head, reassuring her.

Their eyes met in the gloom. Examining each other. Making sure the other was all right. And then Draco realised that the rest of the world still existed. Because it had just spun around him, with the girl's eyes as a fixed point.

He felt the lump in his throat suddenly tighten, choking him. He began to find it hard to breathe. He was going to lose her. He was never going to hold her in his arms again. He was never going to be able to do any of that again. He would never have her near him again. That face. Those eyes. Her eyes. He felt an almost unbearable stinging in his nose and a crystalline rim appeared in his field of vision, on his lower eyelid...

Hermione, unaware that the boy above her was threatening to break down, gave him a warm smile. And a discreet caress on his back. As if everything was all right. Even though they both knew it wasn't. Draco gritted his teeth, and pressed himself against her as well. He kissed her mouth hard, as he thrust his hips into her, exploring inside her. He closed his eyes tightly, and the tear that had formed in them slid by gravity from the tear duct to the bridge of his nose. Staying there. Mute. Unnoticed. Hermione choked for breath as she felt him try a first thrust.

Needing to get the ghosts out of his head, Draco began to move cautiously. Without a rhythm. Searching for one. Adapting to her. Fighting against his inexperience. Swallowing the primitive moan that ran down his throat, wanting to hear her, and only her. Hermione, for her part, let out a halting groan and threw her head back. Her hands twitched at his sides. It hurt. He could tell it hurt her.

He tried to change the rhythm. The angle. The speed. Begging that it was only a matter of time before she liked it. That she'd feel it like, fuck, he was feeling it. Hermione turned her face until her cheek was almost pressed against the robes covering the floor, eyes closed, struggling for breath. Writhing her back. Draco kissed her temple and breathed against her skin. It still hurt. Maybe he wasn't doing it right. He didn't know how to do any better. They only had that one chance, but he didn't plan to continue if it hurt her. He was about to decide whether to ask her what he could do for her, or just stop it altogether, when she let out an urgent moan that didn't sound like pain. He watched her, still moving tentatively. She moaned again. She shivered and her expression changed. Her eyes searched for him. Oblivious to his concern, she gave him a smile. Almost incredulous. As if he was doing something incredible to her.

She was fine. She was enjoying it. She was shaking with pleasure. He was making her feel like this.

Draco took the opportunity to drop his torso further, pressing it against hers. Brushing against her sensitive skin as he swayed against her. And to kiss her cheek and neck. He tried to think what else to do. But the sensations that were taking over him were tearing little lights before his eyes and slowing his mind. Friction. Heat. Her. He brought a hand to where their bodies were connected. Doing something she'd liked before, verifying that she continued to like it when the girl's torrid insides clenched around him. Tearing out a swear word from him. He was doing it well. He wanted to do more. He wanted to do as much as he could. He wanted her to enjoy it. That she wouldn't regret this.

If only he knew that the last thing Hermione was thinking about was regretting any of it... The pain was the least of it. She didn't care. It wasn't the worst pain she'd felt that night. And she knew that in a few hours she would feel a much worse one. Surrounded by the boy's passion, lost in him and in the situation, she wasn't able to think. She didn't want to think. She wasn't the objective, analytical Hermione Granger she always was. She was just a girl giving herself body and soul to the person she was in love with. And she allowed herself to be like that. There was no time for shame, no room for regret. They only had until midnight. So she allowed herself everything. To give free rein to her emotions, to her desires. She allowed herself not to think at all. She allowed herself to feel. She allowed herself to love and be loved by Draco Malfoy.

His hands were on either side of her face, and Hermione felt his thumb stroking the hair at her temple. Catching her eye. Perhaps wanting to make sure she was alright. Hermione agreed to focus her gaze on his eyes. She let out a smile, interrupted by a need-laden moan as she felt him quicken his pace. Overcome by the touch, she pressed her fingers into his skin. He continued to stare at her insistently, his breath leaving his lungs harder. He slipped out of her unintentionally a couple of times, and returned inside her amid soft chuckles from both of them.

His thumb brushed the side of her head again. His palm resting on her cheek. Making sure that this was right. That she would let him sink into her body like that. That it felt spectacular to her too. Keeping his mind clear to stop or slow his movements at any gesture from her. But Hermione merely covered the hand he held to her cheek, so he wouldn't pull it away, and turned her face so she could kiss the palm. Draco made the mistake of trying to look away, of looking down, towards the union of their bodies. In the name of Merlin... He jerked on top of her, opening his mouth to let out a breath that hit her jaw. He had to leave her insides for a moment, to pull himself together. Trembling from head to toe. That had been close...

After several seconds, as a precaution, and some distracted fondling, he was inside her again and gained confidence in his movements. Hermione then became aware of how the burning she felt in her lower belly was no longer intermittent. It was building and growing, uncontrollable, powerful, spurred on by her lover's thrusts. Making the skin beneath her skin tremble, tightening her whole body. She could feel the bones of his hips colliding against her thighs, and it was a sensation she never thought could feel so good. She realised that she was losing control of her limbs. That, soon, she wouldn't be able to control her body at all. Her grip on the boy became more needy. She clenched the back of his neck, pressing him against her. The echo of her irregular moans competing with the sound of their hips. His breath against her jaw, his quick, urgent kisses, his body on top of hers, inside her, warm, tightening, moving over her... It was too much.

"Are you all right?" Draco managed to whisper against her mouth, breathless, as he felt her shake beneath him.

"Oh, my β€” God, yes..." Hermione moaned, between gasps. She pressed her knees against his sides. "D-don't stop..."

His skin stood on end at the urgency in her voice. His forearm moved until his hand could tangle in his brown hair. Clenching his fist over it. Needing to hold on to her. To hold on to something. Refusing to move away from her face in the slightest. Her lips sought his so desperately that he almost had to force himself to recite the line-up of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team in his head. Urgently needing to have some control of his own body, just a little bit, just a little bit more...

"Draco..."

His name escaped the girl's lips in a sobbing moan. As she trembled in delirium against him. As she felt her skin buzzing. And there was no reaction from him at all. Or, if there was, she wasn't aware of it. Not as she tried not to disintegrate, anchored to his back.

And it exploded. Hermione's world exploded, her insides exploded, her burning exploded, spreading through her body, spreading beyond her belly. She held her breath for an instant, in which time seemed to stand still. A cry of venting from the excess of sensation rose in her throat and, later, she wasn't sure she had been able to silence it. Her back arched in trembling. Her head fell back, away from his face. But Draco stayed on top of her, watching her unravel beneath him. Not knowing if he should stop for her, but also not knowing how to ask. His body decided for him and he was forced to stand still, in a desperate attempt to last a little longer. Digging his nails into his palms also helped. He gazed down her heated throat, waiting for her to feel able to look him in the eye again. Thankful that she wasn't. Wondering, his jaw slack at the unexpected sensation, how he could bear to see those darkened eyes boring into his own as he felt her clench around him.

Hermione, as if she had read his mind, lifted her eyelids and locked her eyes on his, descending from her peak. Making sure he was still there. He was. And he was watching her. While she felt like an intruder in her own body.

"Can I go on?" Draco hissed against her jaw, as he met her eyes. In a choked voice. She was quick to nod, unable to open her mouth.

Still shaking uncontrollably from the vestige of what she had just experienced, Hermione was able to sense him trembling more violently, still thrusting against her. She felt his musculature stiffen under the still desperate grip of her hands. He was breathing heavily. Discontinuous moans interspersed between the breaths leaving his mouth. He seemed to be trying as best he could to silence the approach to his own peak of pleasure. The hand in her brown hair suddenly released it and clutched the black robes they were lying on, close to her ear. Very tightly.

He pulled away from the girl abruptly. Pulling out from inside her. Throwing a hand towards his own skin. Hermione, her mind foggy, took a couple of seconds to take in the loss. And another couple of seconds to understand. To guess what had crossed the boy's mind. And that they hadn't mentioned at any point.

But they'd never do anything like that again...

With an impulsive spark, Hermione stopped him. She had to hold him tightly. He managed to get her focus and look into her eyes, panting, trembling, uncomprehending.

"No," she whispered, hurriedly, close to his mouth. "Not like that. Keep going. Come back. Please..."

She saw his throat rise and fall, struggling to swallow. She saw him searching her eyes with persistence. As if her words didn't convince him at all.

"I'm not going to β€”" he murmured, his voice faltering. Harshly.

"Please," Hermione interrupted. In a heartfelt plea. Determined. "Do it... There are... there are spells. I know there are. I'll sort it out tomorrow. I will." She cupped his face with both hands. "Keep going."

Her voice cracked. Draco took a deeper breath. Still looking at her. Waiting to see her change her mind. But, for a change, her eyes were unyielding. And he understood what she was thinking. They wouldn't do something like that again. Not together. And she wanted to live it all.

Very slowly, as if he was still hesitating, he pushed himself into her body again. Hermione closed her eyes at the sensation. It was as if a limb had been ripped from her body. And taking it back felt genuinely appropriate. He resumed everything. Taking back a rhythm. Taking back her lips. Taking back the point of no return. He rested his mouth on the pulse of her throat, breathing raggedly against it. Hermione's hands didn't let him go.

"Fuck..." she heard him mumble through his teeth. "F-fuck..."

Hermione managed to turn her face until she could see his. She was determined to watch the ecstasy wash over him, despite the darkness. Finding his eyes tightly closed, Hermione contented herself with tracing the wrinkles that had formed in his brow with her gaze. Holding back her urge to kiss his blond eyebrows to relax them. She could see him being seized with pleasure, but she could also feel it. And it felt almost as if it was happening to her again. The fingers clutching the robes trembled. She saw him hold his breath. His mouth opened in a silent moan. And then in groan after groan, barely stifled. She sensed the feeling inside her change. His movements became erratic, increasingly random, until they stopped almost completely. Draco dropped his head until his forehead rested on the robes, out of Hermione's sight. Shuddering, wheezing warm, unsteady breath near her ear. She combed the hair at the nape of his neck, as she gave in to the urge to kiss his throat. In an instinctive attempt to stop him shaking.

They both lay still, panting hard, awkwardly entangled in each other. Unable to say half a word. As everything stopped, the girl allowed her body to soften, relaxed and placid after the intense sensations. Gradually she became aware of her surroundings, and of herself. She felt her hairline pearly with sweat. Dampness inside her. She could not breathe. Her face burned. Her legs ached. And her back. Her heart was pounding in her throat. And she wouldn't have changed a thing.

Draco's body had relaxed over her just the same. Hermione was aware then of his weight and the heat he emitted. She realised it was one of the reasons she couldn't breathe. His heavy torso was on top of her. If he moved away, she would be able to fill her lungs again. But she didn't care. She had a lifetime to breathe. And only a few hours to feel him. To feel his chest swell against hers rhythmically, in an urgent search for air. She could still feel him trembling.

"Hermione..."

The girl felt her heart sink. If it hadn't been for the silence of the place, she wouldn't have heard it. Draco's voice was barely a whisper. A hoarse murmur, muffled against the skin of her neck.

He didn't seem to be trying to tell her anything. Just to say her name.

She closed her eyes, trying to control the trembling in her jaw. She tried to move her hands, but she could barely feel her fingers. She must have pressed them against her lover's skin with great force moments before. Or maybe they were freezing, though she couldn't tell. She ran her palm down his back. Feeling the perspiration that covered it. His skin was warm.

"Draco," she murmured, in another low whisper. Her own voice sounded no steadier than his.

He raised his head, leaving the crook of her neck, so he could look into her eyes. He leaned better, trying not to be heavy on her, though his elbows were trembling. But Hermione forgot to take the opportunity to catch her breath. Draco was still breathing heavily, visibly out of breath. He was flushed to the chest, the paleness of his skin making it more noticeable. There were beads of sweat on his temples and neck. His expression was controlled. His light eyes, darkened by the dilation of his pupils, were glassy in the light of the Lumos Charm.

"Hermione."

He barely said it out loud. He merely hissed it, in a quiet voice. The girl almost read his lips. It felt so strange... To hear her name from his mouth. She understood then why it had been so hard for him to get to that point. She never thought her first name could be something so intimate. But it was. And she felt there was no going back. With trembling hands, she brushed his sweaty fringe, the colour of wet gold, away from his eyes. Combing it back without any success; it fell back hopelessly over his forehead by gravity. More dishevelled than before. Messy, just like himself.

Draco dropped his face to hers and pressed his lips against hers in a soft, gentle kiss, barely a tender, tired caress. He moved against her, just a little, rocking his hips very slowly, as if he wanted to prolong the sensation of feeling her around him as much as possible. Hermione sighed against his mouth at the trace of pleasure that coursed through her. She reached up to kiss his cheekbone and then his ear, as he repeated the movement. It didn't feel like before. Neither of them had enough strength left. But it felt like the most intimate thing they had done all night. To prolong what cannot be prolonged. With no purpose except to feel.

Draco rested his forehead on her jaw and held still, trying to regulate his breathing. He couldn't be comfortable in that position, Hermione thought, still propped up on his elbows, but he didn't move. He didn't separate from her. His fingers were in the roots of her hair. Unable to come back to reality, he still had no intention of letting go of her. To pull himself out from inside her. Hermione brought a hand to the damp nape of his neck, to caress it. She forced herself to concentrate on the beating of his still fluttering heart against her chest, and not on the blinding fear that was beginning to overcome her.

A few hours. That was how long it would take for her whole life to fall apart.

A few hours, and they would have lost everything.

A few hours, and it would be the end of Hogwarts.