Winter had seized Hogwarts in their time away. Fat snowflakes flurried past the windows while Hagrid's massive trees stood watch in the Great Hall. It was exactly as Hermione remembered, and she looked at it all with bittersweet sadness as she realised that, regardless of which way the war went, this would be her last Christmas at Hogwarts. And as much as she would have liked to spend it revising for exams with Crookshanks in her lap and gorging herself on tarts and pies, there was strategizing to be done.
Hours were spent in the Room of Requirement, honing their skills. When they were free, their seventh-year comrades — mostly Neville and Dean, though occasionally Ginny would sneak in with Luna, despite the headmistress' age stipulation — would join them in exhausting duelling practice. Hermione more often than not found herself practicing disarming dummies, relearning how to rein in her errant magic after so many weeks being bedridden by the echoes of Cruciatus still trapped in her scar.
But her eyes would inevitably wander to the cacophony of flashing sparks as pairs and triads faced off. Draco was improving rapidly, and Hermione doubted he was oblivious to the way her Gryffindor friends seemed to relish the opportunity to have a go at him.
But he didn't complain, just grit his teeth and gave as good as he got.
Hermione hurried down the corridor, keen to get to breakfast. The Hospital Wing could feel so lonely with nothing but the stern matron for company. She'd woken late (a side-effect of so many medicinal potions) and was hoping to catch her friends before they had to trot off to morning lessons — or Ron ate all the toast.
She was thoroughly surprised, then, to find the trio of Ron, Harry and Draco barrelling around the corner towards her.
"There you are!"
Hermione came to a faltering stop. "What's going o—?"
Harry's hand seized her bicep and began to drag her along. "Minerva's office. Now."
Dread pooled in Hermione's stomach as she obediently fell into panicked step with the rest of them. She felt a sweaty hand slide around her fingers and found Draco beside her. He looked distressed, but not afraid, and that in itself soothed her anxiety somewhat.
Her unspoken questions were partially answered when they came to a halt before the gargoyle and, as they caught their breaths, Draco handed over a crumpled newspaper.
It was The Daily Prophet, of course, and for a moment Hermione couldn't understand its significance. The front page was dominated by an image of a hole in the ground, the only thing betraying it was a magical photo were moving dust particles floating up from the detritus.
Then she saw the twisted remains of what had once been the fence and her mouth dropped open.
It was Grimmauld Place.
Not just Number Twelve, but the whole square had been obliterated. Hermione had scarcely begun to fathom the Muggle casualties when the gargoyle stepped out of the way and Harry led them up the stone steps at a frantic pace.
"Come on," Draco whispered into her hair and gave her a gentle push; she'd frozen to the flagstone floor. Too stunned to do much more than blindly follow, Hermione stumbled up the stairs.
They burst into the office to a cacophony of arguing voices. Hermione quickly noted the presence of Minerva, Snape, Remus, and an irate Alastor Moody — or rather just his head — in the fireplace.
"Harry!" called Minerva as the four of them entered. "I trust you've seen?"
"Yeah, I've seen," Harry retorted sharply, "and I want to know exactly how this happened. What about the Fidelius Charm?"
"We did warn you, Harry, that it was a possibility — likely, even — that the Black home would be targeted. I, certainly, am grateful we got you out when we did!"
"How many Muggles?" demanded Harry.
"Boy —" growled Moody from the grate.
"How. Many. Muggles?"
Hermione swallowed thickly, dreading the answer she could see on their faces.
"Seventeen," breathed Minerva after a strained moment. "Seventeen Muggles."
"And," added Snape carefully, "one house-elf."
"Kreacher," breathed Hermione.
Snape cleared his throat; he looked exhausted. God, had he been there?
"Rest assured, the elf was not compromised. He was killed before any information could be extracted. In fact, I am led to believe he was quite… defiant."
Hermione thought of that horrible, prideful little elf, fruitlessly standing by the memory of Regulus in the face of a fleet of Death Eaters who had already marked him for dead…
Hot tears pooled in her eyes, briefly blurring the room into swaths of grey.
Beside her, Harry was trembling with fury, seemingly unable to speak.
The adults in the room continued their conversation, referencing coded procedures and aliases Hermione couldn't understand even if she'd been clear-headed. To think — Grimmauld Place — the Order's fortress —
Gone.
"You get it, don't you?" snapped Harry suddenly, his voice cutting through the hum. "He's ticking off targets one by one. And he's running out. He'll come here next. Soon."
He crumpled up the newspaper before tossing it on the floor and leaving the office.
Hermione did not sleep that night. The Hospital Wing felt unusually unsafe — far too open, exposed — as she lay there, tossing and turning between nightmares. Though she'd reacquainted with Crookshanks since her arrival, he was too averse to the medicinal smell of the Hospital Wing to spend time there. Her daily dose of potions was not enough to counter the sinister feeling of doom which made her scar flutter hungrily as images of the violent destruction of Grimmauld Place flashed through her mind.
Seventeen people.
She didn't know how they'd done it, didn't particularly want to. Her imagination came up with plenty of possibilities, each worse than the last.
And if they hadn't left via the portrait?
She'd still be bedridden. She would have been a sitting duck.
Though her hospital bed was treated with Warming Charms, she couldn't stop the shiver of fear and dread which rattled her spine. Harry was right. This would end, and soon. Whether she was ready or not.
She woke wondering if she'd actually slept at all. Dawn light had yet to invite itself through the tall windows, leaving her in cool winter darkness. Hermione sighed, knowing she was far too awake for the hour but there was no hope of falling asleep.
Sitting up, she saw that her morning potions hadn't materialised, either, and the little clock on her bedside table told her that sunrise was still hours away. Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes, longing for her room — their room. She didn't like spending the nights alone anymore.
If he were with her now, she imagined Draco would wrap his arms around her middle and leave sleepy, slow kisses on her back, trying to soothe. She wanted him so much, could feel the hollow space where he should be.
Suddenly, her hospital bed felt intolerable. Being the only current overnight patient, she didn't worry to be particularly quiet as she shoved back the blankets and pushed herself off the mattress. She eyed the matron's office as she pulled on clothes, not bothering to hide behind the privacy screen, but all was quiet.
The heavy door mocked her, suffocating her with its dark presence. She knew Madam Pomfrey had not magically compelled her to stay within the Hospital Wing, and as an adult witch she should have been able to leave without triggering any wards.
Besides, Hermione wasn't Harry; she wouldn't neglect her treatment. She'd come back in a few hours for her morning potions. The alternative was torturous.
With her cloak drawn around her shoulders and more Warming Charms applied, she set off for the door and found it cracking opening for her without so much as a creak. Deftly, she slid through the gap and into the corridor.
Only a few of the sconces were lit as she traversed the castle. She supposed that was a reflection of the strict curfew enforced, though as a non-student, Hermione supposed that technically the rules didn't apply to her. Whether Minerva would see it that way if she caught Hermione out at this hour was another issue — one Hermione hoped she wouldn't have to worry about.
Her feet carried her to the stairwell and she found herself moving upwards. The sleeping portraits were unbothered by her light footsteps and the soft glow of the castle was enough that she didn't light her wand.
Without a destination in mind, she continued up the endless staircases at a slow pace, wary of tiring herself when she hadn't had her potions. She encountered no-one, not even a wandering ghost.
She thought of going to Gryffindor Tower, but it didn't feel quite right. Not yet. There was the Room of Requirement, or the Prefect's Bathroom, but after weeks sequestered in Grimmauld Place she found herself longing for clean air and starlight.
Mind made up, she continued her trek upwards until she reached the familiar narrow stairway to the Astronomy Tower. She'd done it countless times as an Astronomy student, laden with heavy books and shiny telescopes, but now she came alone.
Except she wasn't.
She saw the shadow first, distinctly human shaped amongst the angular silhouettes of balustrades. Her first instinct was to freeze before she was spotted, then sneak back down the stairs and curse herself for not borrowing Harry's Invisibility Cloak.
But then they shifted, ducking their head into a shaft of pale Moonlight and all the tension left Hermione in a sigh as she saw Draco's pale hair gleaming in the night.
Careful not to startle him, she let her footsteps grow heavier as she ascended the last few steps. She saw him stiffen when he realised he was no longer alone, his wand hand twitch for his pocket, but the hostility similarly bled from him when he turned and saw her waiting for him.
He held his arms open and she ran to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and relishing the feeling of his own around her. She wondered how long he'd been standing up here; she could feel the cold on his cloak.
His lips traced her hairline, the warm puff of his breath gracing her forehead in a cloud of condensation. "You alright?" he asked softly, pulling back to look at her with worried eyes.
Hermione smiled up at him. With him now, the nightmares seemed so far away. "I'm fine. I'm — I'm better than fine."
Draco frowned. "You're sure? You've seemed better, since we got here, since Madame Pomfrey was able to give you what you need…"
Hermione nodded. "I feel much better. The pain — it's nearly gone."
She saw Draco's eyes trace her clothed front, where her scar lurked beneath, but though it still flashed in unnatural colours, it no longer leaked blood or rose in an angry red flush at its borders. And especially here, with him, like this…
With the stars above them and the grounds of Hogwarts below, she'd never felt so safe at his side.
Her hands, growing colder in the night air, came up to cup his jaw. "Draco," she whispered. His eyebrows rose a fraction in silent question as he let her pull his face nearer. For a quiet moment, she searched his beautiful face, all its pale angularity and the shining silver of his irises.
She breathed in.
"I love you."
She heard his inhale, saw his pupils widen as he looked at the brilliant smile she couldn't wipe off her face. For a moment, it seemed he couldn't move. Then he murmured, low and hesitant, "You… do?" He swallowed. "After all of it? After everything I did to you?"
Hermione's grin broadened. "Yes," she breathed, "even after all that." With her thumb, she traced his cheekbone and his eyes fluttered shut.
She thought of the years of torment, of their antagonistic first days as brewing partners. Of his misguided first attempt to kiss her, and the second one which had left her in a breathless, confusing haze of want.
All those hours spent together over a silver cauldron, the stolen touches, the ballooning trust as he offered up his deadly secrets and she her scarred body.
All of it.
His hands slid from around her to beneath her cloak and settled on her waist, pulling her close against his front as he leaned his cheek into her palm, eyes still closed. "I'm not letting anything happen to you, Granger," he swore.
Her smile turned sad. "You may not be able to stop it," she said softly and felt his fingers tighten on her waist. "But it doesn't matter. I love you, Draco."
No matter what happened, that would be enough.