The Moon had moved halfway across the sky when his name reappeared. She nearly missed it; she was leaning uncomfortably against the headboard, trying to stay awake, rifling through the map in case he happened to return by a different part of the castle. She had no idea what time it was, though it must have been well past midnight, but she was determined.

"I promise, I'll watch the map. You've seen how it works. I'll make sure you've returned safe."

"It could be hours —"

"Then I'll watch it for hours, Draco!"

She didn't regret that promise, but God, she was tired.

Then, he came back.

For a second, she didn't even see it; her eyes were so tired and the light from her wand cast funny shadows across the parchment. But it was real: Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape, standing in the latter's office as if they'd never left.

They didn't move very much. Were they talking? Was one of them injured? Hermione couldn't breathe.

But then Draco left, his inkblots travelling through the corridors alone, except he was not going in the direction of his common room. He was going to the stairwell — then he was going up, and he was running.

Hermione scrambled out of bed, shoved her feet into her shoes, and pulled Harry's Cloak from where she'd hid it under her bed. It was silky, slippery in her hands and difficult to put on as she stumbled down to the common room, but she managed. Holding it closed across her chest with one hand, the map and her wand in the other, she ran through the cold, empty castle.

He beat her there, and when she stumbled into the Room, winded, she found him sitting very still on the sofa. She was struck by how routine this felt now, to be in this comfortable room, the heat from the fire and the scent of lavender hanging in the air. Draco looked hollowed out, but he was alive, and the relief that notion brought was a testament to how much everything had changed in the last few days.

She shrugged off the cloak and set the map on the little table.

"It went fine," he offered without prompting. "I think he just wanted me there — I dunno… as a symbol, I suppose… remind me I'm still one of them… and remind the others I'm still there, too…"

Hermione didn't know what to say to any of that. The images of Voldemort sitting at a dinner table — or maybe in some sort of reception room? — with Draco and the Death Eaters out of Azkaban kept running over each other in her head, never quite resolving. She couldn't help but stare at him and found herself holding her breath. The air on his clothes — had it been breathed by Voldemort?

"He barely asked about me, actually," remarked Draco. "He didn't question the plan I told him. Your poison. I don't think he cares. He's just waiting for me to fail."

"So it worked. It worked, see? You're alright!"

It worked. It worked. It worked. He's alright. He's alright…

Draco gave a half-shrug, his eyes still far away. Hermione wanted more than anything to bring him back. But when she tried to reach for his hand, he stiffened, and so she let him be.

"He's like…"

Draco was quiet for so long Hermione wondered if he'd forgotten he said anything at all.

"He's like… fear incarnate. It's strange… being around him it's like — it's exhilarating, just like I was always told it would be, when I was small…"

Every part of Hermione revulsed at this. She didn't want to know what it was like to be in Voldemort's company. Not like this. Not to admire and — and respect. But Draco needed to say it, and how could she stop him?

"Every time he looks at you, it's an adrenaline rush — the next thing you do — literally anything — a look or a word or a gesture — could be your death warrant. Th-the first time I met him in the summer, I saw someone die right in front of me. He made sure I saw it. And I was so excited b-because it must mean that — that I'm good enough to carry on where my f-father disappointed him… Though I'm not sure that's why he wanted me, not anymore…"

Draco's eyes went to the fire and stayed there, the rest of his body as frozen as ever. Hermione had gone cold all over, except she was sweating. She wanted to scream and rip something apart with her bare hands.

"He'll kill you in a second if he feels like it. Even if you tell him what he wants to hear. And every time you walk out of there alive it's… I can't describe it. Not like euphoria, but close, maybe. It's addicting. Like the most insane game of chess. I was so fucking proud of myself, too, those first few weeks…" He swallowed. "But then… I dunno… it wears off. It stops being new and exciting and it's just… terrifying.

"You know, my parents always told me that everyone exaggerated the Dark Lord. What he did, I mean, because they — Dumbledore — were just — because they were so sympathetic to Muggles they hated their own magic and so they tried to paint him as this — this monster. You know, why would the wizard who really cares about us be so violent when it's the Muggles who are violent against us? Propaganda… and I believed them.

"You don't have to tell me I was stupid. I know I was. Fuck, I was so stupid! It wasn't until — until after I'd been Marked that I realised — the violence is non-negotiable. All the crap about the family name bringing esteem and privilege — bullshit. Honestly, I'm not sure if my father was too proud to admit he was no better than a dog at the Dark Lord's feet, or if he was genuinely too deluded to realise he was being used." His breaths turned shaky. "And the weirdest bit is I can't tell how many other people there feel the same way. I know I'm not the only one who thinks he's mad — who doesn't want to do any of this — but it's too late, of course." For the first time, his eyes closed, tightly, and he forced a slow exhale. "My aunt never got out of the honeymoon stage… every time she meets him it's a fucking thrill. She lives for that bliss of not getting murdered at your own dining table." His laugh was bitter and short. "I envy her a little, I think."

When there was nothing left to hear but the crackling of the fire, Hermione let her rigid posture uncoil a little bit. Something was tight in her throat. Fear, maybe. She wrung her hands in her lap until she thought she could speak with enough steadiness.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said. "I am so relieved that you weren't hurt, o-or worse. And I'm going to help you, to make sure you survive this and don't get sucked into something horrible, because I don't think you deserve that if you don't want it. And I care about you." Her voice finally broke. "I do! I care about you so much. B-but if you ever expect me to feel sorry for Voldemort and the people who endorse him — the people who want to kill me — have tried to kill me! — I — I won't do it, Draco. I mean it."

He turned to her abruptly, eyes wide and clear, and she became aware of the hot tears on her cheeks. "I'm sure it's difficult for you, to have been raised like that a-and now finding yourself in this position," she went on before she ran out of will, "but if you expect me to stay around, then I refuse to hear a word of it. To be perfectly honest, there is far more at stake."

He looked like he'd been broken from a trance. His eyes were cool and clear, and the unnatural rigidity of his body had given way. "Yes," he insisted, and his voice, too, was strong. "You're right. I'm sorry. I — I'm sorry. I won't — I won't talk about it like that. Ever again."

His earnestness took her by surprise. The look he gave her was like surrender; whatever she asked, she knew he would grant it. Affection flooded her so intensely she felt dizzy.

"'More at stake,'" he repeated, and brushed his hands against hers. When she didn't pull away, he brought them into his lap with great care. His eyes stayed downwards, watching as his fingertips explored the ridges and crevices of her fingers. "I'm not brave like you."

"Then you had better learn."

He met her eyes, taken aback.

"If you're in this with me, you're going to need to be brave."

He nodded. "Okay. I am. I'm in this with you."

"Okay."

His hands were cold against her skin, and he held her gaze with the most open vulnerability she'd ever seen. She couldn't look away.

And she didn't, really, though she didn't recall exactly how they ended up like they did, tangled up in each other on the sofa. She was nestled against his chest, though somehow still holding him, and between the warmth of him and the fire, all the fear gave way to tenderness and safety. She felt it in him, too, the way every part of him seemed to grow heavier and settle. They kissed each other slowly, endlessly, but the haze could not last forever and eventually the real world beckoned. He half-seriously asked her to stay, but the risk of not appearing in their respective dorms was too great. And what if someone else sought the Room of Requirement before morning? No, it was too risky.

Aided by the map and the cloak, she crept noiselessly through the castle. The quiet shrouded her comfortably, following her into her empty dormitory, and guided her to sleep.

The next day found them in the library. This time, they secluded themselves at a table in the back by a window. Subtle distraction and muffling charms ensured they would not be bothered, and the map open on the table kept watch for any possible intruders. Hermione sat hunched over two blank diaries and several texts on advanced charmwork, whilst Draco nibbled on a roll she'd nicked from the Great Hall.

"Proteo!" Hermione eyed the diaries. "Right. Okay…" With caution, Hermione dipped her quill in ink and drew a short stroke on the page. It instantly appeared on the other diary.

Draco watched, quiet and curious as Hermione scribbled more notes on her parchment and checked the three textbooks splayed across the table.

"Alright, so…" She lifted her wand. "Proteo reflexio!" She repeated the experiment, except when she marked one diary, the mark not only appeared on the other, but continued to manifest ink strokes across both diaries in a rapid feedback loop which quickly covered the first page entirely in ink. "No, no, no! Finite incantatem!" The loop stopped, and she tore out the ink-soaked first pages of both diaries and sat back with a huff.

"I'm still not sure what you're trying to achieve here," remarked Draco as he fiddled with an apple.

"I told you: It's for Padma and Parvati. They want a way to communicate with each other from their dormitories, since they aren't in the same house. I told them I'd try to make these diaries work as a sort of mirrored communication device, and I know it's possible — I just haven't worked out how to layer the charms correctly…" Frowning, she pulled one of the bigger books closer and rifled through the previous chapter. "It's not like the galleons I made… That had one master which the others mimicked. I essentially need these to master each other…"

She lost herself in thought, and Draco seemed happy to let her. The morning went into afternoon, and they remained undiscovered. While the castle's unnatural quiet was unsettling, it was also the first time in months Hermione felt she could breathe deeply.

And Draco was eating.

When she leaned back in her chair with a victorious "Ha!" he raised an eyebrow.

"Breakthrough?"

But she was already moving again, pulling more ink bottles and quills from her bag. She shoved them to Draco with one of the diaries and instructed, "Here, take this and go across the library."

He disappeared into the stacks. Hermione followed him on the map and when he came to a stop, flipped open the cover of the diary and began to write.

Hello. Can you see this?

A second passed, then letters wrote themselves an inch below her handwriting.

Yes.

She silently cheered.

Excellent! Is there any problem with the mirroring? Are other pages affected?

Several more seconds went by, during which Hermione flipped through her own diary to check for errant ink or feedback loops. When she returned to the front page, a new line had appeared:

No problems that I can find. Well done. And then, underneath, like an afterthought: You look nice today, by the way.

Heat flooded her everywhere and she was suddenly grateful he couldn't see her. Her hand faltered over the page while she scrambled for a suitably witty retort.

Are you flirting with me from the opposite side of the room?

She didn't dare blink until his writing curled across the page, her heart battering her ribs with some sort of nauseating excitement.

Is that a problem? If you make another pair of these, I'll flirt with you from the opposite side of the castle.

The noise that escaped her was downright embarrassing.

Stop abusing the Patils' present and come back here, she scribbled hastily. On the map, his inkblots immediately moved in her direction. She heard his footsteps, and then he appeared around the bookcase, dropped the diary on the table, and sat down.

"Well, I'm glad they work." Hermione tore out the pages they'd written on and inspected the diaries for any imperfections. "It would be nice if I could make them private, somehow, but it's Christmas Eve tomorrow and I was meant to send them days ago. Besides, even if I thought I knew how to add a password, I wouldn't want to risk ruining all the work I just did…" Hermione stacked the diaries carefully and pulled out a large sheet of coloured parchment to wrap them in. I wonder if Lupin would be willing to tell me how they made their map so secure…

"Don't forget there's a potion that needs us soon," Draco said as he watched her wrestle some twine around the parcel. After a moment's thought, she charmed it a tasteful purple. "You know, if you sold the idea to your other twin friends, I imagine they'd do well."

Hermione scoffed. "I'm not giving any ideas to Fred and George. They're causing enough problems at this school as it is, and they're not even students anymore!"

"Oh? They seem honourable; I'm sure they'd give you a nice percentage."

"Still not interested." Hermione slipped the parcel in her bag. "Besides, it was Padma and Parvati's idea, really. I just carried it out as a favour." Never mind the fact that the last thing the world needs right now is unregulated secret communication devices!

The walk down to the lab was solitary and uneventful. Hermione hardly needed the map to ensure their privacy; barely anybody strayed from their common rooms these days, except for meals. Without the rest of the student body present, the castle simply didn't feel safe.

The now familiar, heavy scent of completed Wolfsbane greeted them inside. Hermione was pleased to note it looked spot-on; viscous, and a deep indigo contrasting the pearl-like silver of the cauldron. The world may have been falling to pieces around them, but they could damn well brew a potion. Draco set to work polishing the tools whilst Hermione fetched the flask from the shelf and carefully decanted the potion with a silver ladle. The silence was comfortable, and the soft clinks of metal as they worked didn't break the peaceful bubble they'd made for themselves.

With the laboratory prepared for the next cycle, they took the flask to Professor Snape's office and subsequently found themselves alone in the dark corridor.

"I've got to go to the owlery," whispered Hermione.

"And I've got to go to bed, I suppose." He laughed in a startled sort of way. "Wouldn't do to fall asleep at the Dark Lord's Christmas party, would it?"

"W-what?"

"I've got to go Tuesday night. Just for Christmas dinner. Snape will bring me back again, like last time."

"Oh." Something turned heavy inside her, like everything in her body had slowed down. She hadn't realised how much she'd counted on spending the holiday with him. How had she been so stupid? Despite what it felt like, the rest of the world had not forgotten about him. And now she would be alone at Christmas, without any of her family or friends, in a cold, empty castle.

Draco mistook her reaction for fear. "Don't worry," he insisted, reaching to hold her arm. "It won't be like last time. It's not like — like a meeting. There's going to be loads of people — all the other Slytherins in my year. I won't be in danger. I'm not afraid." He gave her a little smile and if she hadn't been so profoundly sad, she probably would have returned it.

"Alright, then. If you promise me you'll come back in one piece —"

"I do."

"— then it's okay." She swallowed. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I may have to spend some time with Snape —"

"That's fine. Don't worry about it."

"I want to see you, though." He frowned at her in the darkness, and she wished they were secluded somewhere so she could hide in his chest. She suddenly felt very small. "But if I don't… Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"Happy Christmas, Draco."

The castle may have been deserted, but the corridor was still too exposed, so they parted ways without so much as a handshake. When she was out of his sight, Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak from her bag and wrapped herself in it. It was comforting to know the world couldn't see her.

Maybe that was what she needed for a little bit. To disappear.