Rose and Sword

by SanaNGU

Draco Malfoy, due to the prolonged absence of the Ancient Runes teacher, has been stirring up the class as he pleases with the help of his cronies, preventing the other classmates from studying. Hermione Granger, a responsible and persevering student, is not going to sit idly by.

45. Blucher Street

Hello everyone! How are you? 😊 Hopefully very well and looking forward to reading, because... We're continuing the story! And this chapter comes with a warning *evil giggle*. Oh, I'm nervous ha ha ha 🙊

As always, thank you so much to all of you who are reading this story 😍😍 It means a lot to me. And a special hug to all of you who take the time to leave me a comment, I adore you! 😍

Thank you so much in advance for reading! Huge hugs 😊

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!

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CHAPTER 45

Blucher Street

Nurmengard Castle. A remote and gloomy building, carved entirely out of the stone of a cliff, located on the coast of the Adriatic Sea. A prison created by the notorious dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in the 1930s, in the midst of his reign of terror. A magical prison in which to imprison anyone who dared to oppose him. Composed of hundreds of cells in subhuman conditions, those walls had sheltered Grindelwald himself from the sun, after he had been defeated by Albus Dumbledore in the famous battle of 1945.

The cliff on which it stood always seemed to be engulfed in mist. The waves of the sea crashed against the base of the fortress. No entrance was visible. No one could enter on foot. On one of the jet-coloured walls, unremarkable on the simple, uneven façade, was engraved the phrase "For the Greater Good". Worn and almost erased by the passage of time, fortunately far from the reach of the waves, but not from the wild sea breeze.

The prison had lain derelict, due to its deplorable state, since the death of Grindelwald, its founder and last prisoner. No one had paid any attention to it, until Lord Voldemort had remembered its existence.

He had seized it in secret, abandoned as it was, and unclaimed by any Wizarding State. It was the perfect place to safely imprison anyone who really needed long-term imprisonment. He was dealing with too many prisoners to keep them all in one place. Besides, it would have been risky. That's why he set up temporary prisons at different points on the map. For prisoners he only needed to hold for a couple of weeks, before they would be useful to him otherwise. The Order of the Phoenix members in charge of rescues had no knowledge of what was going on in Nurmengard.

The Ministry of Magic had Azkaban. Lord Voldemort had Nurmengard. And his Death Eaters, loyal followers, guarded the few valuable prisoners there.

The hooded Death Eater suddenly straightened, pulling himself away from the wall, noticing that he had company. He had been standing next to the bars of that cell for hours. He was beginning to find his breathing extremely annoying. The silence in that place was inhuman. Maddening.

He peered behind his mask to see a companion, also masked and hooded, crossing the stone doorway that served as a door to his left. Walking towards him with purposeful strides.

"Are you the relief?" the Death Eater asked the newcomer as he approached. And only then did he catch a glint. A small, inconspicuous brooch, about the size of a Sickle, was clipped to his robes at chest level. It had the eerie appearance of a realistic silver skull, and a green ribbon resembling a snake protruded from its mouth. The man let out a regretful grunt. "Sergeant... I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you..." he apologised, mumbling, straightening slightly. It didn't cross his mind to address him informally again. The sergeant arrived at his side without saying anything. "I didn't know you'd be here today... What can I do for you?"

"Go to the ground floor," ordered his superior, in a low voice. A faint cloud of mist escaped from his mouth as he spoke, through the slits in his mask. It was freezing cold in there. "And bring me three men. We're moving the prisoner to another cell."

"The — ?" His interlocutor frowned and pointed to the bars with a thumb gesture over his shoulder. "Again?"

"Orders from the Dark Lord," the sergeant replied. In a cooler tone. The Death Eater struggled with himself for a moment. He seemed determined to protest, emboldened by the youth of the newly appointed sergeant, but he restrained himself. He was not going to belittle him, as others had done. He knew what that young man was capable of, and had no intention of experiencing it.

"Is the Dark Lord here?" he asked then, cautiously, still not moving. His superior stared at him for a few seconds. Icy eyes boring into his.

"If you have something to say to the Dark Lord, you can say it to me," he hissed finally. The other stirred helplessly, trying to control the shiver down his spine. He looked away, grimacing impatiently beneath his mask. Fucking kid, he certainly had balls...

He had nothing to gain from this. That spoiled brat had played his cards right. He'd made sergeant, ahead of many others far more experienced than him. Over Death Eaters who had already fought in the First Wizarding War. But Lord Voldemort thought him efficient. Perhaps he wanted new blood at the front. So now he was above him. And he could lock him in one of those cells with the snap of two fingers.

"Nothing in particular, sir," he finally said. With consideration. "You misunderstood me. I was just curious. I was asking because he's been around a lot lately. He hardly ever goes to Hogwarts school. He used to be there all the time."

"The Dark Lord is everywhere," the sergeant replied, his tone dry. The other man tried to give a hearty laugh.

"Of course he is. But, one question, between you and me..." Nothing pissed him off more than licking a brat's arse, but he knew how to play his cards, too. He lowered his voice and his tone was likeable as he added, "Why is the Dark Lord keeping this scum alive? I don't even understand what makes him so dangerous at this point?"

"The Dark Lord has more than enough reasons," the sergeant said, with indifferent smugness. As if he had no need to share information that the Dark Lord, and he, knew all about.

The Death Eater was thankful he was wearing his mask, for he could barely contain an angry grimace.

"Sure, sure, of course..."

"Do you think you can go and get those three companions I asked for ten minutes ago?" the sergeant asked then, with icy patronisation. The Death Eater feigned a forced chuckle.

"Of course, sir. My apologies. I'll be right back..." He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them, as he moved down the corridor. "Oh, but, Sergeant Malfoy..." he added, turning around, now walking backwards. "Tell the Dark Lord that I will resign my post if he does not send me to the battlefield soon. I'm sick of being stuck here. I wasn't born to be the nursemaid of any of those bootlickers who fraternise with Mudbloods."

He gave an amused chuckle to which his interlocutor did not respond either. Giving up, seeing that he wasn't reaping much deference, he finally complied and walked away down the corridor.

Draco leaned his back against the bare wall next to the bars and let the back of his neck fall back. Resting for a moment. His hands were shaking. The cold in there was getting into his bones. He reminded himself that he should cast a Thermal Charm on all his clothes as soon as he had a free minute. Only the sound of an old metal lamp swaying in the wind somewhere broke the silence. The atmosphere could not have been more sinister.

He hated having to go there. He hated that place.

He couldn't look that prisoner in the face. He had been responsible for finding and catching many of the people there. But that one in particular... He couldn't bear to be in his presence. Not after what he had done to him...

Why was the Dark Lord keeping him alive there? He had no idea. But it was inhuman. Possibly the greatest act of compassion towards him would be to end his life in the quickest possible way...

The Magic-Inhibitor Spells surrounding the prisoner's cell were so strong that even Draco felt his own magic weakening. He didn't even want to imagine what it would be like to be under those spells twenty-four hours a day. In fact, they were so strong that they were not long-lasting, nor were they renewable; that was why he had to be continually moved from cell to cell, to cast the spells again. He did not understand how the prisoner could continue alive under such circumstances.

A pitiful murmur was heard from inside the cell. Draco was startled and his eyes snapped open. What was wrong with him? He had never made the slightest sound in his presence. In fact, on more than one occasion Draco had thought he was no longer alive.

He looked up and down the corridor. He was alone. Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, he had no choice. He turned his head over his shoulder and scanned the interior of the cell.

It was the first time he had looked him in the eye in two years. Whenever he was given the task of moving him, he always made sure to call in several comrades and put someone else in charge of supervising it. He wouldn't go anywhere near him. And now there he was. Lost in his piercing blue eyes.

It didn't look like him. He was a skeleton. A simple skeleton, with a very long white beard and threadbare grey robes. His skin was so dirty it almost looked as ashen as his clothes. His mouth, a crooked grimace. His blue eyes, wide open, flashed, the only proof that there was any life left in that old body. They were as bright as ever, though they didn't look the same if they weren't behind half-moon spectacles. He was staring at him.

Albus Dumbledore's parched, sore mouth opened again and made a gruff sound. Rough. As if his vocal cords were worn out. He tried again.

"... fo... f..."

Draco stared at him. His heart was beating like a drum.

"What?" he gasped, before he could even think of restraining himself.

"... fo... od..." the older man tried again. Heat crept up Draco's neck.

"Food?" the young man repeated, in a whisper. Understanding. He looked away, leaning against the wall again. But it was only so the prisoner couldn't see him breathe a sigh of relief. Though he had his mask on, he sensed he could see through any disguise. It was just that. He was just begging for food. Draco cleared his throat and tried to make his voice sound deeper than normal, "No food today. They'll bring you some tomorrow."

He fell silent. The old man said nothing more. But Draco could hear him breathing. Fatiguedly. Draco nibbled his lips under his mask. Food. Since when didn't he eat?

"Later..." he heard himself say then. In a thankfully steady voice. And with his back still pressed against the wall. "I'll tell them to... bring you something. They're moving you to a new cell, you old geezer. Go pack your bags."

He was silent again. Gritting his teeth. Straightening up a little more. He was a sergeant, someone important in Lord Voldemort's ranks. His old headmaster was just a prisoner, weak and useless. He was in command. And yet his own nervousness was making him nauseous. And he hated himself for it. Because he hated feeling himself in possession of that cowardice that he had worked so hard to eradicate. That so many battles to the death had taught him to control.

"Thank... you... thank... Dra... Draco..."

Albus Dumbledore's voice, breathy and lifeless, but as frustratingly kind as ever, chilled the boy's blood. He closed his eyes tightly and had to restrain himself from ducking his head, overcome with sudden embarrassment. The temperature of his face rose. He had recognised him.

He wanted to say more, wanted to have the last word, but his throat was tight. In an outburst, he strode off down the corridor, in search of his troops. Proving to him, or so he hoped, that he cared nothing for his welfare.

---

Hermione's bare feet made no sound on the old planks. Despite their disrepair, they didn't creak. And that was lucky, because Draco had fallen asleep.

She realised this as soon as she returned to the room they shared in Blucher Street. The fragile light that filtered through the boards that covered the windows allowed her to appreciate it. She didn't know what time it was. But she knew it would be dark at night. The light was probably coming from some distant lamppost. The adjoining alley had no lighting at all.

But the distant light was enough. She could see Draco's face almost clearly in the gloom. And she saw that he was sleeping. In the few minutes it had taken Hermione to go to the bathroom upstairs and return, he had surrendered to sleep.

Nothing in the place was working, and that included the bathroom. The plumbing was clearly not working. But being wizards had its advantages. They had both agreed that they should be as inconspicuous as possible. That everyone should continue to believe that this Muggle building was abandoned. The less they protected it, the less attention they would draw. Therefore, they had forbidden themselves to use magic unless it was strictly necessary. A few minor, one-off spells. But they hadn't cast any spells to repel wizards or Muggles. Magic always left traces.

The girl, clutching the thick blanket around her body, trying to lift it off the floor so as not to trip over it, walked across the room back to the mattress. She scrutinised her options and decided that the boy had left her enough space to lie down. She set the wand on the floor to one side and carefully sat down on the rickety mattress. It was thin, old, and uncomfortable, but they didn't care. It was the best they had. It was theirs. Their hideout.

Draco had fallen asleep in the same position in which he had been chatting with the girl. On his side, facing her, his face resting on his own arm, flexed as a pillow. His eyes were now closed, his shoulder and chest rising and falling in accordance with his breathing. His blond fringe fell messily over his eyelids, hiding them but not disturbing him. He looked relaxed.

Hermione stayed seated, wrapped in the blanket. Watching him. She hadn't expected watching him sleep to be such a magical feeling. She remembered seeing him sedated in the Hospital Wing, after Crabbe and Goyle's attack during the Quidditch match, but it was only for a brief period of time. It was the first time she had been able to watch him sleep peacefully. Knowing that, even if she didn't have all the time in the world, she had the whole night ahead of her to do so.

Draco never slept. The first time they met there, after their sides had confronted each other on Privet Drive, it was Hermione who slept for a couple of hours, but he stayed awake to keep track of the time to leave. The second time, it was at that fortunate meeting days after the battle at the Riddle House. That night, neither of them slept. They talked for hours, lying on that mattress. They discovered, little by little, that they could talk about their lives. About the war. Talk about things in the public domain. Without revealing anything about their respective sides that the other could use. Neither of them was willing to be a spy. They did not intend that. Their meetings had nothing to do with winning that war. They just wanted to be together.

Their third meeting had been three weeks ago. A peaceful night in which they didn't sleep either. They chatted for hours, interspersing conversation with intimate sessions of passion. That night, Draco had to leave even before dawn to fulfil his obligations. They arranged to meet again three weeks later, and had managed to see each other again. After what had happened at the Riddle House, they had agreed that if one of them was unexpectedly unable to keep the appointment, and had no way of notifying the other, they would leave a week's margin, as a precaution, and try to meet again in seven days' time. But that night they had been able to keep the appointment without major complications.

It was always a mystery, every time they arranged to meet there, whether the other would turn up. If they would be alive and come back.

Hermione didn't lie down yet. She just stared at him a little longer. Pausing to appreciate how handsome he looked like that. Looking so unusually innocent. So natural, with his nakedness covered only by an old blanket, tangled around his body in a messy way up to mid-chest. Had he always been so handsome? She had never stopped to really consider it. She had always thought that, well, he was. But now she thought that he really was.

She wanted to touch him, but she was afraid to wake him up. He deserved to rest. Still, temptation won out over her. She brought her fingers up to his face, caressing his cheek as gingerly as she could. Just a fearful touch with the backs of her fingers. Groping for contact. He didn't flinch. Hermione repeated the gesture, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb, and his lashes quivered. She hastily removed her fingers, but luckily he didn't wake up. Encouraged by this, she waited a few cautious seconds, and brought her fingers to his hair, with all the steady hand she could muster. With the practical intention of brushing a few strands away from his eyes. Combing them gently.

He was real. He was there. She still found it hard to believe.

She wondered what it would feel like to do that every night. Watching him sleep every night. To wake up next to him. Without fear. Without controlling the time.

She closed her eyes and forced the thoughts away. They did her no good. She knew it would never happen. She should be grateful that, given their situation, they had at least found a way to steal those fleeting moments.

She sighed through her nose and wrapped the blanket around her better. They had managed to bring a blanket each, with which they covered themselves interchangeably each night. Either both with both blankets, or one with each, or with none at all. That night, they had each taken one.

Hermione told herself she'd better not lie down. She felt too relaxed. There was a risk that she might fall asleep. And it would be wise for one of them to stay awake, just in case. She looked around distractedly, scanning the room. The cold white light of the moon, mixed with the yellowish light of the lampposts, created shadows here and there. It was cold. It was late April, but this spring had been very wet. And being in a place without any kind of insulation, or heating, wasn't exactly inviting. Those blankets they had managed to get were little help against the night-time chill that was creeping in through the dilapidated walls. Hermione suspected that, if she wasn't still feeling slightly heated from the intercourse she and Draco had just had, she might be shivering. She had seen some small glass jars, dusty but intact, in the next room. She wondered if they could build a small fire with the Fire-Making Spell, to raise the temperature slightly, or if it would be risky. If they would expose themselves too much. When he woke up, she would tell Draco about it.

She sat closer to the bottom edge of the mattress. She was grateful that the window was low enough that she could see part of the street through the slits in the bottom boards, even as she sat on the old mattress at ground level. A nocturnal mist was all around. There was no one crossing the dark alley, making the lack of light a non-issue.

Hermione then felt a presence move behind her, shifting the weight of the mattress. She smiled to herself with resignation. He was stubborn even for that. He should have slept a little longer...

She saw his legs disappear beside her. She made to turn her head, but felt a body close behind her, so close that she couldn't see it. A white arm, almost gleaming in the gloom, wrapped around her waist, leaving the hand resting on her stomach on top of the blanket. Hermione brought her own hand to that forearm, running her palm along it, squeezing it affectionately. She leaned back slightly, finding a hard chest against which she rested her back.

"Are you all right?" Draco murmured hoarsely over her head.

"I didn't want to wake you," she replied in a whisper, accompanied by a subtle smile that he didn't see.

"I didn't fall asleep," he denied, scornful. As if it was ridiculous. Hermione didn't reply, nor did she wipe away her smile. Of course he had fallen asleep.

Draco hated to admit it in his mind, and would never admit it out loud, but on the days when they both saw each other there, not giving in to sleep was a Herculean task. In his day-to-day life, it was the opposite. For years now, he had hardly slept at all.

Supporting the cause of the Death Eaters was one thing; watching people die before your eyes, known and unknown, day after day, was quite another.

He couldn't remember what it was like to sleep for several hours at a time. There were nights when he would drift into a disconcerting doze, and then wake up more tired than he had gone to bed. And other nights he would watch the hours go by one by one, until the sun's rays finally made him sit up. Getting into bed at night had become more of a habit than a necessity.

However, on nights when he was with Hermione, he could fall asleep next to her in a matter of minutes if he got distracted and relaxed. And he had just discovered by accident that it could be a sound, restful sleep. But he didn't plan to find out any further if he could help it. They saw each other once a month. He didn't plan to waste that time sleeping.

He suspected that simply having her by his side filled him with such a restorative serenity that his body allowed itself to rest. As if everything was in the right place. But he was more comfortable thinking that the exhaustion following the sexual relations they used to have managed to exhaust him physically, or relax him mentally, enough to appeal to his drowsiness.

"There's no one in the street," the girl commented, still looking out the window. And she imagined, because she couldn't see him, that he was also looking into the gloomy alley.

"Be careful of shadows," Draco muttered then, seriously. Hermione laughed low in her throat.

"How poetic," she teased, playfully. His chest shook with resigned laughter.

"I mean it," he replied, gruffly. He pointed with his free hand through the slit closest to them. "I meant it literally. The shadows. The dark corners. They've used magic to enchant them."

Hermione swallowed. Biting her lip. Worried now. She hadn't expected such information. It wasn't particularly important, nor would it shape the course of the war, but he was telling her something about his side. A small betrayal. The Order had no such information.

"What kind of magic?" she dared to ask. Not knowing if he was going to tell her. Indeed, he hesitated for a few moments. As if sizing up his words. But he finished by adding:

"The Dark Lord has used dark magic, very old magic, to enchant them so that they devour all who hide in them. They kill for real. The body disappears. Never hide in the shadows from now on. Always carry your wand lit in dark places and stay away from those shadows that do not disappear in the light. He's already using them in many places," he explained, his voice quiet. Hermione was holding her breath. Wondering what to say.

"Can I tell my people?" she questioned. Practice. It seemed to her that the boy sighed above her head.

"I figured you would. I don't care about them. I want you to take care of yourself."

Hermione smiled wistfully. She stopped stroking his forearm and reached for his fingers, intertwining her hand with his and squeezing it.

"Thank you," she whispered, stroking his cool skin with her thumb. He didn't say anything back. Instead, he settled himself better, leaving her body between his spread legs, and letting go of her hand so that he could lean his weight back on both hands. As if he had just been too affectionate and needed to put some distance between them to compose himself. It used to happen to him.

She turned a little in her place, standing sideways so that she could see him. She gazed at his face, his eyes lost in the boarded-up window. The girl scrutinised a detail she had been watching all night. She raised a hand and brushed his lips with the pad of her thumb, pinching his chin. She was careful not to touch directly the small, almost healed wound on the young man's lower lip.

"What happened to you?" she dared to ask at last, in a whisper, looking at the small crimson scab.

"It was you..." he hissed, smugly, still with her thumb against his mouth.

"That's not true," she replied, resigned, in a threatening tone.

"Oh, of course it is. You're a beast..."

"Malfoy."

He let out a chuckle through his nose, showing her that he was joking. He pursed his lips to kiss her thumb before turning his face away slightly, wanting her to let go of his chin. Agreeing to answer.

"Yesterday I got in the middle of a fight. I had to restore order among my men," he agreed to explain, calmly, looking back at the window. "And let's just say it got out of hand. They've... punished whoever was responsible."

Hermione watched him carefully. Taking in the information. His men. She wondered what to say. How much she could say about it. What she could ask.

"Do you have men at your command?" she finally questioned, in a low voice. Assuming it was something he could answer. He nodded reluctantly, in fact. "Because of the change in rank? How's it... going?"

"Fantastic," he hissed wryly, running his knuckles over the wound in his lip. "Two more promotions and the wizarding world will be mine."

Hermione didn't smile. She looked worried. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, and that he couldn't tell her. But he was all right. He was alive. He had made it.

She reached out a hand and caressed the bare leg he had stretched out beside her. Almost distracted.

"Shall I call you Minister Malfoy from now on?" she agreed to play along, wanting to make him smile. His expression had become distant despite his sarcastic remarks. He agreed to lift a corner of his mouth at her teasing. His eyes were following the movements of her fingers on his knee. But he looked thoughtful.

"Sergeant," he muttered then, barely moving his lips. She looked up into his eyes, surprised. He looked back at her. Looking serious. "I'm a sergeant."

Hermione tried not to let her face show that her heart had sunk. She knew he was scrutinising her reaction. Trying to figure out how much it affected her.

The girl knew the hierarchy of Lord Voldemort's army. The one he intended to impose on the entire wizarding world, in place of the current Aurors. Everyone knew it. At the lowest rung were the so-called Knights of Walpurgis, after the original name of the Death Eaters themselves. They were the bulk of their infantry. Above these were the Black Sergeants, leaders of squads oriented to different missions. Then there were the Generals of the Shadows, who were in turn the patrons of the sergeants. And finally, the Captains of the Magic Brigade, the closest to the Lord. All of them aimed to bring peace to the ordinary people of the wizarding world. The peace that favoured Voldemort.

Despite knowing the hierarchy, the Order had rarely discovered the identity of any of the important leaders. And now Hermione knew the identity of one of the Black Sergeants.

Draco had just revealed to her information that the girl's side could use against his own. Information that, of course, Hermione would never use.

She squeezed his knee tighter. Still coming to terms with the fact that the young man was working his way up the ranks in the enemy army. He'd had enough merit to make it. He had told her so himself. Draco was being useful to the Dark Lord.

And he was looking at her with a veil of uncertainty in his defensive eyes. Afraid of what she might think of him.

What was she going to think, besides the fact that he had agreed to a position of greater responsibility that he didn't really want, for her, so that he wouldn't meet her in battle?

She ran her hand up the skin of his bare thigh. Almost instinctively. She felt his muscles tense slightly at her touch. She searched his eyes and saw that he was already looking at her. Two mercury-coloured orbs that pierced her without blinking. And the girl felt her own legs tingle.

"Is the Fire-Making Spell easily detectable?" she asked then, quietly. He knew more about spell tracking than she did, and she trusted his judgement. The boy only hesitated for a second, at the change of subject.

"It's not the most obvious, but a skilled wizard can pick up its trail if they know what they're looking for?"

"I saw some empty jars in the next room," she explained. "Would it be dangerous if we lit a fire? To warm this up a bit."

He looked at her without seeing her, as he emitted a long grunt, appraising the idea.

"It is a considerable —"

"Oh, wait!" she interrupted, her face lighting up. "I have a lighter," she said, almost to herself, looking around. Looking for something.

"A what?"

"Lighter. A Muggle gadget. You can light a fire, though you need a flammable surface. But maybe we don't have to cast a Fire-Making Spell," she explained without much detail. Rummaging through the clothes around the mattress. "Shall we try it?"

Draco made a resigned sound of agreement. Though he still didn't know what the girl was talking about at all. He broke away from her and dealt with the awkward position he was sitting in to stand up, removing his blanket in the process.

"Where have you seen the jars?" he questioned, locating his underwear on the floor beside the mattress and putting them on.

"In the next room. On the way out, the one on the right," she said, pointing to the wall in front of her with her index finger. She smiled gratefully at him as he followed her directions and walked barefoot out of the room. She watched his bare back as he left. Still smiling without realising it. And she allowed herself to joke with herself that, against all odds, they might not end up killing each other if they ever lived together...

Pushing such nonsense out of her mind, she reached down, finally locating her beaded handbag under her trousers. Ever since what had happened at the Riddle House, Hermione had told herself that she needed a change. To feel more prepared. To try harder. So, in addition to the standard belt with various battle tools that all members carried, she had created her own arsenal. She cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on an old beaded handbag her parents had given her years ago, and filled it with all sorts of items that might come in handy in an emergency. She carried some reference books about first aid and various spells. Also some very basic healing potions, which she knew how to use despite her limited knowledge of healing, and which Terry Boot had been kind enough to make for her at the young woman's direct request. A couple of clean changes of clothes, and even an old wand that they had once found on a mission, which she could use in case of life or death, even though her bond with it was not as if the wand had chosen her. And, also, among other non-magical items, a torch and a lighter.

As she waited, lighter in hand, for the boy to return, she looked out of the cracks in the window again. Thinking about what he had told her about the shadows hexed by Voldemort. She had to inform the Order as soon as possible. He really did seem to have more and more dark magic. They couldn't compete with that. That wasn't how the Order worked. And Hermione was beginning to doubt that it was a smart strategy. Would they be able to win like that?

Draco came back into the room. He was carrying two jars in his hands, of two different sizes. Hermione looked around for a piece of cloth to light. She considered tearing a piece of her blanket, but found it wasn't necessary. He crouched down beside her and held one of the jars out to her. The girl saw that he had come prepared and had already stuffed a couple of pieces of cloth inside. Possibly remnants of a threadbare curtain from the other room.

The young woman inserted the lighter into the jar and flicked the wheel a couple of times with her thumb. The flame appeared and the cloth instantly caught fire. The warmth of the flames caressed their faces. The orange light gave an instant homely tone to the place. It was amazing what fire could do. He arched both eyebrows, trying to disguise his astonishment with a patronising expression. As if that was not bad, for a Muggle thing. He put the jar away and brought the other, larger one closer to her. She repeated the same process. Draco stood up again and took a few steps away to place them on the other corner of the mattress so that they weren't in front of the window.

They both watched the effect and saw the light of the flames projecting on the walls. The darkness of the night amplified any faint illumination. They looked at the window at the same time.

"It is too visible," Draco objected. Not looking convinced. "Someone could see it from the outside."

"No one comes around here at this time of night. And they might even think it's some homeless person," Hermione commented, practical. Although she also sounded unsure.

He was still scanning the room with his observant eyes. An idea seemed to cross his mind and his features brightened. He bent down to pick up the blanket he had left on the mattress and walked over to the window. He used the forefoot of his bare foot to rest his weight on one of the lower boards, gather momentum and reach out to hook the blanket onto the upper boards. As a curtain.

Hermione made to get up to help him, but it wasn't necessary. It took him a couple of weary attempts to do so, but he did it. Then he moved back a little to see the effect. The blanket was opaque. No one on the outside would see anything.

The girl wondered how it hadn't occurred to her.

Draco looked at her with open smugness. Sensing her surprise.

"Impressed by my advanced intellect?"

Hermione smiled at him, pursing her lips. Mischievous.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Very."

The corner of the boy's lips twitched in a treacherous, biting smile. Cheeky witch. He dropped into a sitting position on the mattress beside her, still panting slightly.

"You think you're very funny?"

"I am very funny."

"Delight me with the best joke in your repertoire, please."

"Why are ghosts bad liars?" Hermione questioned instantly. Sounding as if she were relating a particularly interesting Transfiguration lesson. Draco, caught off guard, merely arched an eyebrow. "Because you can see right through them."

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd succeeded in leaving Draco speechless. He was looking at her like he was having a major conflict with himself. He ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Watching her as if he didn't know what he should do with her. The girl let out an embarrassed giggle that put an end to Draco's dilemma. She was fully aware of how bad the joke was.

"You are," he began, slowly, shaking his head, still looking at her, "the most," he wrapped an arm around her body and pulled her down against her will. She let out a chuckle as she landed on her back on the mattress, "unbearable woman I have ever met," he managed to lie on top of her. Letting his weight fall, pretending to crush her. Pressing his mouth against hers hard for long seconds, before adding, "And, on top of that, you're not even funny."

Before she could defend herself, he buried his face in the curve of her neck. His tongue under her ear made her laugh helplessly. She tried to turn her face this way and that, between protests, but she couldn't get away from him. Her throat was his. She squirmed instinctively under his body. Out of sheer pride. Though she didn't really want him to pull away.

Draco didn't usually show how... wild he could be. That Hermione had found out he could be. He always tried to be elegant and haughty, even polite, in his own way. Despite his teasing and sarcastic nature, he kept his composure. His parents had brought him up in good, almost aristocratic manners. But there were times when he got carried away, and Hermione loved it.

Only the girl's threat to knee him in his most valuable area seemed to deter him. He finally broke away from her neck and propped himself up on his elbows, taking some of his weight off her. His eyes glinted with mischief. She gave him a falsely offended look in return.

"You can't do this after calling me 'unbearable'. Get off me immediately," she ordered, regaining an adamant tone. She managed to point her index finger in his face, menacingly, despite the little space she had to move her hand. But her lips were fighting not to smile, and he, of course, noticed.

"Tell me a good joke and I'll move away," he retorted, smirking victoriously.

And Hermione's lips gave out. She laughed, resigned to defeat. She didn't tell him to move away again. Instead, once her laughter subsided, she returned his knowing gaze. In silence, enjoying the closeness. She stroked his back with her hands. He was naked on top of her, covered only by his underwear. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the messy blanket that still covered her.

They didn't usually allow themselves moments like this. Moments to be completely distracted. Moments when they allowed themselves to stop being soldiers, stop talking about the war, and just joke about anything silly. Their conscience would not allow it. In fact, the girl felt her eyes water with embarrassment at the very thought of it. She did not consider it ethical to laugh, to have a good time, in the middle of a war. She had no right to. Not when so many people were suffering. When people were dying at that very moment. And guilt swept over her without her being able to help it.

But they were human. And they couldn't just suffer continuously, without any kind of relief. No one could survive like that without going mad.

Draco seemed to realise what was going through the girl's head. The veiled guilt in her expression and the sudden redness in her eyes. He leaned down and kissed her jaw, in silence. Comforting her. Hermione tried to smile, grateful, though he didn't quite see it. She closed her eyes as she felt his mouth go down her throat again. But this time he was no longer playing.

She raised a hand and stroked the back of his head, combing the hair in the area. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, as if he had forgotten to breathe. The girl felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. And her whole body shuddered at the sensation. She clung to his back instantly. Her legs moved under his. She felt him exhale again, and the weight on top of her increased. His hands were now on the top of her head, in contact with her abundant hair. And his mouth seemed determined to take a piece of her throat.

Hermione let out a moan and her body squirmed again. She reflexively bent her legs, leaving his body between them. She managed to pull one out, tangled in the blanket, and reached for the back of his thigh. Pressing down with her heel. Urging him. Trying to bring him closer. He gasped, his fingers twisting the roots of her hair. He moved further down with his mouth, reaching her collarbone. Covering her breastbone with firm kisses. His hips finally thrust against hers and the girl vented with a sigh.

Draco reached down with a quick hand and pulled down the blanket covering her. The cool air of the room hit Hermione's breasts. But Draco's warm breath replaced the warmth of the garment moments later. By then she was panting.

Hermione raised her hips, chasing his, and felt his moan burning the skin of her chest when she found them. Draco's hand then slipped between the folds of the blanket, running down her thigh in a firm, swift caress. Reaching with his fingers to the silky hollow between her legs.

Hermione threw her head back, startled.

"Jesus. Draco..." she moaned without thinking, almost pleading. Barely voiceless.

She didn't need him to spend too much time on foreplay. It hadn't even been two hours since they'd had sex. Her whole body was still sensitive and receptive from the recent activity.

But he didn't care that she didn't need it.

He removed his fingers from inside her. His mouth began to spread kisses over her stomach, over the crumpled fabric. No time, no need, to pull it away. He ran over her ribs, her belly, as he descended with his whole body. The textile barrier that separated them was increasing the girl's longing. Startling her every time his lips contacted her. She needed to feel him against her skin. It was agonising.

Draco lowered himself further down, kneeling outside the mattress on the cold wood. He pushed aside the bottom edge of the blanket covering her, just enough to discover what he needed. His hands gripped her now naked hips. And he reached down further. He dived between her spread legs. And her stomach contracted as if she was in free fall.

Oh, God...

And it didn't matter in the slightest that Hermione was already expecting it. The actual sensation overcame her. And her entire nervous system was shaken. She choked back a scream and arched up instantly, throwing her hands straight for the back of his neck. His mouth. His breath. His tongue.

She tried to gasp for air, but her breath was shuddering. His mouth felt as wet and soft as the area of her he was roaming; two equal poles that did not repel. Draco allowed her, thank God, to move at first, taking in the sensation. But it wasn't long before he was gripping her more firmly, holding her in place. He possessed more strength than the young woman would have wished, managing to keep her still despite her body's efforts to twist in every direction. Bearing with difficulty the effort he was putting into his task.

"Draco, for — oh, for God's sake..." she stammered, breathless. Without lucidity.

Her legs tried to close over his head and her back curved as his attention focused on a certain knot of nerves. She had lost control of her thighs. She tried to pull her hands away from him, with the sudden thought that she might be suffocating him. And she used them to pull the blanket off her, hastily, panting, struggling to untangle it from under her body. She didn't need it at all any more.

She raised her head, wheezing, to meet two grey eyes fixed on her. She gasped at the burning of his intent gaze, and her belly lurched in a tremble. She tried to swallow her saliva and at least control her grimaces. She wondered what expressions she had been composing seconds before. None deliberate. And none attractive, that was for sure.

She ran her hand through his hair, pushing back his fringe. Caressing his forehead. She felt him growl against her briefly, almost as if by accident. Hermione dropped the back of her neck against the mattress again. Whimpering at what his mouth was still doing, out of her sight.

Draco, without abandoning his task, released her hips to position his hands on her inner thighs. Spreading her legs wider. All of her. Damn him...

Hermione sobbed, throwing her head back even further. And returning her hands to where they belonged. The back of his neck. She felt Draco let out a chuckle that hit her like a hurricane.

Between encouraging monosyllables, halting pleas, need-laden sobs, and incoherent murmurs, it took only a few minutes in contact with her lover's solicitous mouth to feel her lower belly become the lord and master of her body. Feeling her chest completely rigid, unable to take a breath, she could only expel what little breath she had. Her body jerked in sharp tremors, in time with the waves that coursed through every fibre of her being. Her back curved out of her will, trying to resist on its own. Making it even more difficult to gather enough air to let out the sounds her throat was generating. She was bursting all over, and she didn't know where to hold on.

For a moment she thought it would never end, but her body seemed to decide clumsily that enough was enough and she began to feel like she could breathe again. That was the first sign. Then it was seeing herself able to let her back fall back onto the mattress. Then it was finding the sanity to stop digging her nails into the back of her partner's head.

Even after she loosened her surely painful grip, Draco didn't stop. He broke the contact for a few moments and took a breath with audible need. His heavy breathing mingling with hers in the silence of the place. But then he continued his task, more cautiously, playing with her sensibilities. Tearing placid moans from her. More uninhibited. He continued until he felt her thighs, under his hands, shudder, demonstrating her discomfort.

He released her, allowing her legs to relax. Staying still between them. He supported himself with his palms and pushed himself upright. His eyes fixed on the exhausted spirit occupying the mattress. He sought his way in the direction of her upper body, still using his mouth. Giving her time to catch her breath.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, where his fingers had left some perishable marks when he held her. Then he placed a long kiss on her lower belly, and another on her hip. His grey eyes scanned the surface nearby. Searching for anomalies that had escaped him that night. He'd seen the small, elongated, white scar on her right knee on previous nights. And another tiny, round one on her shin. He kissed her stomach, which was rising and falling rapidly. There was a scar over her ribs, three fingers below her right breast. A thin pink line. It didn't appear to have been a deep wound. "That's a new one..."

He bit his lower lip, hard, and kept going up. Recognising other small scars from old battles he'd seen before, but about which she hadn't told him. The one on her right arm. The one on her left wrist. The one under her collarbone. He had his own, too. And he knew that she also checked his body every time they met, looking for new ones.

He kissed her breastbone, her throbbing throat, and spread himself over her again, supporting his weight on his elbows on either side of her face.

She was flushed to her neck, and Draco lost himself in the line where her blush faded and her breasts began. Her forehead glistened with perspiration. Still struggling for breath, Hermione smiled lazily at his contemplative gaze. She raised an unsteady hand and cupped his cheek with it. She felt his stomach heaving against hers, revealing his laboured breathing. He, too, was breathless.

She reached up, wanting to kiss him, but Draco pulled away as soon as he noticed her intentions. He held his weight only on one elbow and brought his free hand to his mouth. Wiping as best he could of the telltale wetness that glistened on it. Hermione was impatient and merely pulled his face with both hands to kiss him without further delay, not allowing him to finish. How silly...

He closed the distance further when she tugged at the back of his hair, pulling him tighter against her mouth. She felt him growl against her lips. Rock against her. She felt his weight, the front of his naked body against hers. The underwear that still covered him. But which could not hide the reality.

Hermione sat up, pushing on his chest, signalling for him to straighten up as well. She got out from under him and rolled him over, forcing him to lie face up on the mattress. Draco arched both eyebrows, a half-smile curving his mouth, but he agreed to drop meekly. She loomed over him. Resting her weight on her still trembling hands on either side of his head. Her face at the same level as his.

Draco didn't like to be static while she pleasured him. Hermione knew that. He had never told her, but she could see the veiled embarrassment in his restrained expression. It mortified him to see himself so exposed. Unable to conceal or hide his own pleasure.

She pressed a comforting kiss to the centre of his lips and then lowered her mouth to spread slow kisses down his neck. She felt and heard him exhale. And lift his chin unconsciously, giving her more space. She felt his throat move under her lips as he swallowed saliva. His hands gripped her hips. He couldn't stay still.

Hermione lingered over his sternum. Drawing predictable shudders from the boy beneath her. She knew he liked that area. She saw the movement of his chest increase. She glanced up through her lashes. He wasn't looking at her. And he wasn't smiling anymore. Not even with malice. She saw him exhale through pursed lips and give a quick glance at the ceiling, as if gathering the strength to endure it. The girl made up her mind that this appeal to the gods was justified. She crawled lower, forcing him to release her hips. Shifting his grip to her arms.

She kissed his ribs, and the centre of his stomach, enjoying the nooks of his abdomen. Her hands moved ahead of her intentions and reached for his underwear. A caress over it, and she heard the boy hiss. She moved aside so she could pull it away and down his legs. He was trying his best to breathe normally. But his efforts stuttered as Hermione's hand took over his arousal, no barrier in between. He couldn't hold back a long, deep breath of air.

But then he could breathe no more. Because he felt her lips return to his skin. To his stomach. And they kept descending. He felt them leave his navel behind, and his lower belly too. They went beyond his blond pubic hair. And they reached his groin, cutting off any coherent thought.

His eyes snapped open. She had never...

No one had ever...

"May I?"

Hermione's voice came through the sonorous murmur of his blood roaring in his ears. He tried to prop himself up on his elbows. He needed to see.

His unfocused gaze was lost in the girl's abundant hair, surrounding her face, just as it always did. In her mouth close to his skin, in her hand already helping her, in her bright dark eyes searching his gaze. Silently questioning him if everything was alright. Making sure it was all right for him. Because she was sure of what she was doing. The only real concern he saw in her eyes was for him. Fuck.

"May I?" the girl repeated, in a whisper, when she got no response. And a staccato exhale was all the answer she got. But it was enough.

Draco's whole body trembled when she started. When he felt her soft lips on his most sensitive skin. And her tongue exploring him. He felt his legs gain free will, jerking in ridiculous tremors. He tightened his throat to keep from letting out a moan. But watching her repeat the movement was too much.

"Shit..." he let out in a gasp. He closed his eyes tightly, throwing his head back. But all he could see behind his eyelids was the image of the girl between his legs.

The girl's lips stretched into a smile, watching him swallow saliva twice in a row. Watching him choke on his own breath. She opened her mouth. Sucked. And Draco's elbows failed. His entire nervous system failed.

"Fuck... shit," he hissed again, involuntarily, his own voice sounding embarrassingly hoarse to him.

He dropped back down again, resting his back on the mattress. He covered his eyelids with his palms. Pressing on. Concentrating on regaining some of his control. Unsuccessfully. Needing her to pause for a moment so he could gather his wits and pull himself together. And, thank Merlin, she did.

He stopped sensing her mouth. And he heard her let out a giggle.

"You're going to have to help me," the girl muttered. And he guessed from her tone that she was smiling. "I don't know what else to do..."

Thank goodness.

He didn't answer immediately, busy swallowing again. He wouldn't have minded helping her, giving her some indication. As they had given each other so many times before, every time they had had sex. But he didn't know what else she could do, either. Not much more, he hoped. Or he would be done for.

He had a vague idea of what was usually done, of course. He knew what he liked to do to himself. But he didn't know what someone else could do, not like that. He didn't know what she would want to do.

"Whatever you want," he muttered. And he was grateful that his voice sounded a little steadier.

The girl's only response was to try it again.

Sweet Merlin…

He felt her mouth. Her breath. Her movements. His own body reacting. His blood rushing to meet her. His heart was about to burst out of his chest. His face was burning.

He felt a sharp stab of pain jolt his waist. Which he was almost grateful for, under the circumstances. But the girl hastily backed away.

"What?" she asked. And she sounded frightened.

He removed his hands from his eyes and lowered his head in her direction, ready to tell her that he had no idea. And that it didn't matter. Seeing her between his legs again in the real world made his body react noticeably. He saw her bite her lower lip, waiting anxiously for his answer. And a light went on in his head.

"Teeth, I think," he replied. His voice was rough. How long had it been since he'd spoken aloud? She blinked and her mouth opened in understanding.

"God, I'm sorry..." she whispered, frowning. Focused. And the boy knew she was plotting a new plan of action. Great...

Draco lay back down. Gritting his teeth, closing his mouth. Forcing any noise to be muffled in his throat.

He felt her testing different things. Testing herself. Seeing what she was capable of. And Draco hoped she understood that she was capable of killing him.

He didn't feel anything else. He didn't feel the mattress beneath him. Someone could have plunged a dagger into his chest and he wouldn't have noticed. All his nerve endings were under her hands and mouth. He was sweating. He was suffocating.

More heat. More wetness. A stifled moan from her crawled through his entire being. Draco's heels dug into the mattress. He clenched his thighs with all his might to keep from thrusting against her.

"Like that..." escaped from between his lips, before he could stop himself. The heat in his face rose. But she said nothing about it. She only complied with his request.

He moved a hand to her face. To her head. He stroked her forehead with his thumb. Her hair with his fingers. Tangling them in it. Like she always did with him. Hoping she liked it. Breathless to ask. He would have kissed the top of her head if he could have reached it. But he couldn't move. He couldn't move at all.

He could feel one of her hands resting on his belly. Draco let go of her face and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly when he found it. He needed it. It was a little easier to bear it this way. He used his free forearm to cover his closed eyelids.

"Are you okay?" he heard her ask. Her fingers returned his squeeze. He almost, almost, laughed.

"No."

She did laugh softly.

"Am I doing it wrong?"

Now he did, he let out a languid laugh. With his forearm still against his eyes.

"Fuck off, Granger..."

"I mean it. I'd welcome some advice..." she repeated, again sounding amused at his resigned tone.

"I wouldn't."

Hermione laughed again. She moved her lips to the side and kissed his hip.

"Do you really like it?" she asked in a quieter voice. Touched. He didn't answer. What was the point. She could see he wasn't breathing. That he was flushed red, he didn't even know to what extent. That he was sweating.

He dared not open his eyes. With them closed, his sense of touch was heightened. But seeing what she was doing was even worse for his self-control. His throat went dry as he began to let out short, low gasps. He had to groan at the need to move, to thrust against her. His toes curled. Combustion. Tightness. A precipice before him that he could almost visualise.

"You should — oh, fuck..."

Draco couldn't even finish the sentence properly. He had to tighten his legs again to control himself. He also squeezed her hand harder. And dug the nails of his other hand into his own palm. He heard the girl let out a crystalline laugh against his skin. Without stopping. Her hand, the one he wasn't annihilating, reached down to caress his stiffened thigh, signalling him to relax. But he did not relent. Fearing what would happen if he did.

When the girl's name escaped his mouth, in the form of a choked moan, he had to admit to himself that he would soon succumb to the whitest pleasure, thanks to his lover's ardent mouth. His loins quivered again, confirming it.

Making the greatest effort of his life, he let go of her hand and reached up further to locate her face again. He reached for the angle of her mandible, and her chin. Oh, Merlin... He caressed her skin fleetingly, by way of thanks, and then gently pushed her, indicating to her to please stop. She caught his signal and obeyed silently. It was only when he felt her move away that Draco felt able to open his eyes. He saw blurry. Ridiculous little lights. He forced himself to blink and focus on the old ceiling of the darkened room, staring up at the firelight creating ripples on the surface. His chest swelled and deflated for air, in a way that seemed to him almost unseemly. And his thighs were trembling. His whole nervous system was trembling, with the echo of what the girl had done to him still recent on his skin.

He felt her climb back up his body. And Draco stopped looking at the ceiling. He saw a bush of coppery hair. She was lying on top of him again. Their faces were facing each other. He felt a kiss on his cheek and saw her eyes on his. Bright and beautiful.

Encouraging him to speak. As if he could...

"Fuck… Fuck, I love you…"

Draco gulped at his own thoughts. With no improvement at all. His throat was still dry.

"The spell," he reminded her, now out loud, in a whisper. It took her two seconds before she knew what he was talking about. When she did, she smiled, silently agreeing with him. She kissed the corner of his lips, perhaps thinking that he wouldn't want to be kissed at that moment. But he instantly sought her mouth and plunged into her without even thinking about it.

As soon as they broke the kiss, Draco reached for his wand, feeling around the edge of the mattress until he found it. He placed the tip on his lover's belly, which contracted in surprise at the contact. A murmur from him, and the tip of the wand glowed for two seconds, then extinguished.

Contraceptive Charm, prior to the act. They had learned how to cast it. And it was one of the few they allowed themselves to cast in that place.

Each sought the other's eyes at the same time. Draco's glittered with evil intent and threw his wand over his shoulder in a theatrical gesture. Hermione bit her lip longingly. And then she turned him over onto his back again. Laying herself on top of him.

Draco gasped before he could control himself. Lost in the image before him. Hermione was staring at him with two eyes that lit up brighter than the jars a few feet away. Sitting astride his hips, her legs on either side of him. Her nudity glistened in the half-light, in the yellowish firelight, creating inviting shadows on the curves of her body. Her tousled hair framing her flushed face, framing her beautiful smile. And Draco, if he hadn't felt the young woman take advantage of the position to press their needy bodies together, could have stayed that way. Without asking for anything more.

She tried to give him room to manoeuvre. Making it easier for her lover to guide himself inside her. Guttural, poorly synchronised sounds of pleasure accompanied the process.

Hermione trembled on top of him. Undulating her hips gingerly. Adjusting herself. Becoming accustomed to him, stretching her out, working his way in. Occupying every corner. Grateful that this was the second time they'd been intimate that night, which made everything a little easier. A little bit.

"Merlin Almighty..." Draco growled for his part, all in one go, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. His hands wrapped around her thighs, urgently needing to hold on to something. Waiting for her.

Hermione let out a laugh that turned into a sudden inhale as she felt his hips lift treacherously in her direction. As he grabbed her thighs. And the sensation overflowed her. She contracted all over herself, digging her nails into his stomach. Squeezing her thighs together in an involuntary attempt to close them, his hips beneath her body preventing her from doing so.

"Fuck..." the girl caught herself moaning, uncontrollably.

Now it was Draco's turn to laugh at such an expletive. Unusual coming from her. When Hermione managed to open her eyes again, she gave the boy an indignant smile. He moistened his lips indolently, returning her a smirk laden with arrogance. She, silently swearing to him that he would regret it, began to move. Not looking away from his eyes, not wanting to miss how the smile disappeared from his face.

But Hermione soon abandoned her desire for revenge. Abandoning herself, instead, to the sensation. To the intimate touch. To her warmth, and to the boy's warmth. Quickening her pace when she felt it wasn't enough. Her trembling legs struggled to keep up, but she didn't care. Not as long as she felt his hands run through them. All over her.

Draco ended the journey down her body in her hands, which rested on his chest for support. He caressed the skin on the back of them. Encompassing them with his large hands, squeezing them with his slender fingers. Hermione leaned closer. She felt under her hands the echo of the sounds he was making. And she wanted to kiss those sounds. She lay on his chest, her forehead resting on his and their lips touching again. Surrounded by brown hair. Her hands slipped from his and cupped the blond nape of his neck. His hands encircled her back. And their hips found a way to keep meeting.

But kissing required a breath they didn't have. So they just breathed the air between them. Holding on to whatever bit of skin they had of the other person.

Hermione buried her face in his neck, whimpering in staccatos, desperately, close to his ear.

"My god... Draco..."

He gasped in response, unable to find enough breath to speak on the first attempt. Nor the second. He ended up letting out a grunt, and used all his willpower to straighten up, pulling her with him, sitting with her in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her better, keeping her close to his torso. Still resting his forehead on hers.

Hermione smiled at the change in position. Losing herself in the situation for a few moments. Losing herself in his body. She combed his hair. Gazing closely at her lover's face. Draco's eyes were narrowed, partially hiding the darkness of his dilated pupils. Glassy-eyed. His lips letting out unsteady, restrained moans that hit against her mouth. His face, reddened. His hands digging into her back. And his ever-present smug expression, gone. Hermione found it fascinating to watch him in such situations. He became so human, so transparent. Unable to control himself, despite being a person adept at pretending to be cold and indifferent to his surroundings. She could spend a lifetime watching him melt in her arms.

She covered the boy's cheeks with her hands. Holding him close. And sought his lips. Trying not to hurt him in the almost healed wound. Stifling in them a moan provoked by a particularly pleasurable movement. He tried to pull her lower lip up with his teeth but didn't seem disappointed when he didn't succeed. His hand came up to encircle her forearm. And he turned his face, burying his mouth on her wrist. Two quick kisses on such tender skin. His tongue on her pulse. His breath warming her blood. And the girl didn't even hear the sigh she emitted.

Hermione felt her insides urging them on. Her hips stumbled. She lowered her face, seeking his white neck, burying herself in it to deliver clumsy, desperate kisses. Everything was overcoming her. It wasn't long before she began to tremble again, outwardly and inwardly, approaching the abyss once more.

"D-Draco..." she pleaded, almost in a sob, against his neck. Because she was no longer able to move. But she needed to go on. And she couldn't breathe. But she could feel against her lips the moan he let out, reverberating inside his throat.

She didn't need to repeat it. He was already moving. He held her tightly against him, quickly shifting the position of his legs so that he could lay her on her back on the mattress. Laying himself on top of her. Rescuing the rhythm imposed by the girl. Satiating the madness in both of them.

Draco wrapped an arm around her back and kissed the shoulder in front of his face, then breathed against her skin. She enveloped him with both arms, tightly, pressing him against her. Still buried in his neck. He could feel the skins of their torsos sliding clumsily against each other. And her cavity clutching around him. Letting out an expletive, contradicting logic, following his most basic impulses, he moved faster. Her body arched as best it could under his weight. Approving of his decision. And she let out a cry against his ear. A cry. And Draco reached the tipping point, with no chance to brace himself to control it. He barely managed to resist two more hasty movements before he pressed his mouth hard against her shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to hold back a stifled shout that nearly burst his throat.

Hermione could feel her lover's body toughen and loosen against hers, inside her, and his uncontrolled breath against her skin, and those sounds, and her whole world turned upside down. She jerked gracelessly as she was thrown into her own precipice. Her moans turning into screams against his skin, pressing him against her with every part of her being. As warm wetness seeped between them. As he fought against the tightness inside her, trying to extend the girl's climax as long as possible. Forcing her to hold on to him, trying not to leave the earthly life without his company.

And then everything came to a gradual halt. They lay still, clutching each other, listening to themselves, and to each other, trying to breathe. Groaning residually, almost with every exhalation. Their torsos fighting to be the one to catch air and take up space. Writhing feebly. Immersed in a wonderful confusion. Hermione was aware then that she was digging her nails into his back. Still wrapping both arms around him, holding him tightly against her. But she couldn't let him go. She didn't want to let him go. Ever.

Draco pulled his mouth away from her shoulder so he could catch his breath. Noticing that the girl's hair was getting into his mouth with each inhalation. He could hear her hitching breath in his ear, and feel it against his collarbone. He moved his face to the side, just a few inches, meeting her cheek with his. Hers burned against his skin. And her insides still clenched around him every few seconds. The pleasurable vestiges of his own release still kept his belly tense and his heart racing. He was trembling, and he couldn't stop.

He managed to locate his own limbs in space. He still had one arm under the nape of her neck, around her shoulders. Keeping her head elevated and pressed against his chest. He moved those fingers and caressed her shoulder. He felt her skin damp with perspiration, not very slippery. His other hand was holding her hip. Or holding on. More like that. And he still needed to. He wasn't sure he was on solid ground.

He suddenly heard a faint chuckle against his ear that almost brought a smile to his face. He realised then that he had not yet opened his eyes.

"Oh my God," Hermione mumbled, choking for breath. Her lungs were pumping so hard for air that it almost hurt. "Oh my God, I screamed."

Draco's chest shuddered against hers in silent laughter. A mocking laugh. She noticed how he turned his head from side to side discreetly. Probably pulling her hair out of his mouth.

"You did," he muttered, between gasps. And she guessed he was smiling. Hermione giggled again. She didn't know why, but she couldn't stop laughing. Maybe because it was almost ridiculous that she couldn't catch her breath.

"You're too good at this," the girl whispered. She loosened her fingers and ran the palm of her hand down his back. She could feel the half-moon grooves her nails had left on his body.

Draco smirked smugly against her skin. Exhausted. He was still plunged into her. His face in her neck. Her warmth embracing him all over.

"We are," he allowed himself to murmur, sure that she couldn't see his face. Finding it easier to say such things feeling hidden from her eyes. But he also added, in a more controlled voice, not allowing her to respond to his veiled compliment, "Are you all right?"

She knew what he meant. She could still feel herself intermittently clenching around him. And it felt spectacular.

"I think so," she confessed, incredulous. Happy. "I don't know. I'm — I can't — stop shaking." She let out a tired laugh. "I'm shaking all over. I don't think I've ever let myself go like this."

Neither have I, he was about to say. He felt too tired and too satisfied to look excessively cocky. And he wasn't sure he wanted to allow himself to speak freely in such a situation.

"Am I hurting you?" she then asked, sounding a little concerned. He just shook his head. Not in the slightest.

Fighting the daze, he forced himself to be lucid enough to add, smugly, "Give me a break, and in a minute I'll make you forget even Saint Potter's first name."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself at such a promise. She relaxed against him, loosening her legs, finally releasing his hips. Turning her face just slightly to kiss the cheek of his that was pressed against hers. And his ear too. Burying her nose in the blond hair at his temple.

"Is there any water left?" she murmured, her mouth pressed to his skin.

Draco managed to summon what little energy he had left and send it into his neck muscles to raise his head and look around. Hermione then had a more accurate view of his countenance. Out of breath. Sweaty. A mess. Gorgeous.

"Yeah, wait..." he replied then, locating the glasses they'd left by the mattress hours ago.

His concentration was directed downwards as he separated their bodies completely, taking his time. She barely let out a faint sigh, getting used to the loss now. Draco propped himself up on unsteady hands and knees to steady himself so he could better stretch over her. Reaching for one of the glasses, half full of water. Hermione took the opportunity to get out from under his body. It also took her two attempts to get her hands to support her weight so she could lean on them until she could sit up.

He handed the glass to the girl, who took it with a grateful smile. She took several avid gulps as Draco dropped back down to lie beside her, propped up on his elbows. He was still breathless.

His eyes roamed over the mattress. They would have to clean it later.

"Do you want to go to the bathroom?" he questioned, in a murmur. Realising that maybe she'd like to clean herself up. But Hermione shook her head lazily. She held out the glass to him once she had finished, with some water still in it.

"Do you think me capable of taking a single step right now?" she replied in return, holding back her laughter. Lying on her side on the mattress. Draco snorted through his nose in a chuckle and drained the rest of the water in one gulp.

"Shall I accompany you?" he offered, distracted. As he stretched to set the glass aside again.

"No need. I'll go later. You?"

"Later, too."

Draco lay down next to her, facing her. She gave him a shining look, demure and tired, but satisfied. He ran a hand down her cheek, stroking it with his knuckles. The sweat on their bodies was slowly drying, but the flush on her skin was still there. His fingers trailed down to her throat. To her pulse. Feeling it. She was alive. She was still alive. He hadn't lost her yet.

Hermione seemed to guess what he was doing. She lifted her own hand, pulling his away from the area, and kissed the back of his fingers. Letting him know that everything was all right. That he didn't have to worry about her. Silently lying to him. And he agreed to just look at her.

She was so dishevelled. So wild. So beautiful.

Damn, he'd give anything to stop time and stay like this, with her, forever...

Time. Oh, shit.

"Hey, what time is it?" he questioned, uneasily. Hermione's eyes clouded over with slight concern, noticing that his countenance had changed, becoming worried.

"Wait..." Now it was she who straightened up to look in all directions. Finally, she stretched an arm towards the edge of the mattress and found her wristwatch, which she had taken off when she had undressed earlier in the evening. "Quarter past four," she said, showing it to him.

Draco snorted, still looking frustrated, but also calmer. He relaxed his head back against the mattress.

"Do you have to go first?" the girl wanted to know, cautiously, lying down as well. She could not hide her disappointment. He nodded, without looking at her.

"Not yet, but at five I'll have to get dressed," he confessed in a mumble, reluctantly. She didn't ask any questions, and yet, possibly without realising it, he continued speaking quietly, "Samantha was in my room when I left. And if I'm not there when she wakes up, she'll worry. I didn't tell her I was leaving early. And I don't want her to alert Nott that I'm gone."

Hermione stared at his face as he spoke without looking at her. Listening to his distracted words. Taking them in with a delay. Freezing as she did so.

Samantha? Room? Wake up?

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. This time in one fluid motion. He looked at her as he noticed her change of position. And her suddenly pale face took his breath away.

"Samantha?" Hermione repeated, in a trembling whisper. Of anger. "Are you — ? Have you — ? Are you cheating on that poor girl with me?" she questioned, indignation tainting every syllable. She was breathing hard. And she seemed to be barely restraining herself from punching him directly.

Draco sat up with a jump. Eyes wide.

"No!" he exclaimed, instantly. "No, bloody hell, of course —"

"You can't do that to her!" she shouted in return. Her face contorted. Lips quivering. She pointed a firm finger at him, "I don't know who she is, and — and — God, I don't care! Don't you dare — !"

"Hell, no! It's nothing like that..." he protested, more emphatically. He raised both hands and grabbed her arms. Forcing her to look him in the eye. "Listen, it's not that. It's nothing like that. There is nothing — we are nothing."

"She was sleeping in your room..." she protested, now in a disbelieving hiss. As if that sentence spoke for itself. Agreeing to stop screaming. But looking at him with the same indignation. She was furious at the idea of him cheating on another girl with her. She was outraged for that other girl. Draco was barely taking it in. She was nuts.

"I know — fuck, I explained myself like shit — that's not what I meant," he insisted, squeezing her arms tighter. And his voice sounded so imperious that it finally made her mute. "Listen to me. She's just a... friend or something. She's not even that. She's a prisoner of the Dark Lord, okay?" he confessed, without thinking, his grey eyes glowing with urgency. Revealing that he was telling the truth. He couldn't let her think something like that. "And Nott and I — we — get along with her. Just us. Sometimes she doesn't feel well and just comes to sleep with me. Or with Nott. That's all. It's just —"

He wanted to say something else. Explain himself better. Explain himself properly. But the girl's arms had relaxed under his hands. Her shoulders too. Her eyes were now lost in his chest. Considering the information. Her face still looked tense and upset. But she no longer looked angry. Just confused.

"A... prisoner?" she repeated. In a more leisurely tone. He nodded. Still looking at her.

"She just feels... lonely. She just wants company. That's all. Really," he added, in a serious whisper. Hermione inhaled sharply, pulling herself together. She was quick to nod her head. An indication that she believed him. More in control of herself. Draco then cupped her face with both hands and pressed a firm kiss to her lips for several seconds. "I'm sorry," he murmured against them afterwards.

Hermione shook her head quickly, as much as she could within his grip. And her lips forced a smile. She caressed one of his hands, while he was still holding her face with them.

"Forgive me. I was hasty," she whispered. And her voice sounded steadier. He shook his head.

"I've explained myself worse than your stupid Weasel friend on one of his bad days..."

Hermione smiled in spite of herself, distracted. Now with another worry on her mind.

"I know you can't talk about it, but I need to ask... What — kind of prisoner can get that close to Death Eaters, as to even visit their dormitories?" she questioned, gently, slowly. Confused. Draco bit his lip and sighed through his nose. Pondering what to say.

He couldn't tell her more. Explain anything to her. He was talking too much. He was providing information to a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It wasn't safe. For either of them.

"She's a valuable prisoner. She has some... privileges, you might say. And right now you're in no position to get your hands on her," he said, with reluctant disdain. A proud gleam came into the girl's eyes. As if that was a challenge in every way. But he added, "She's in a place you can't get to, believe me. Even I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. I really couldn't."

Hermione swallowed. Believing him, despite herself. Resigning herself to that fact with some difficulty. Her eyelids fluttered, with a thousand doubts behind them.

"I don't remember anyone of value with a name like that," she admitted, recalling. Rummaging through her prodigious memory. Almost annoyed that she didn't know. "There's no one by that name who has disappeared lately..."

"It's been in our possession for several years now..." the boy revealed, half-heartedly. Watching her carefully. Watching her reaction. Making sure to control everything he revealed.

"Years...?" she repeated. Shocked. She didn't like not being privy to something like that. A long confused look from the girl, a dazed blink, and a sudden inhalation, told the boy that something had come to her mind. "What's her name?" she questioned then, hastily. "Her full name."

Draco sized her up. Annoyed at her stubbornness. But maybe it wasn't such a big deal that she knew something. They certainly couldn't free her. The Order of the Phoenix didn't know that Malfoy Manor was Death Eater headquarters, and he wasn't about to reveal it.

Besides, he knew that Hermione Granger would never betray him.

"Samantha Minette. She was a student at Beauxbatons."

Hermione was speechless. She stared at him with her mouth open. Connecting the dots.

"I... remember her. She was in The Quibbler years ago. My God, I remember her," was the first thing she muttered, her heart racing, instantly sympathising with the young prisoner. Draco said nothing. "She's the French girl who disappeared for months. When she reappeared, she didn't remember anything. I knew she was just a victim, I knew it... My God, poor girl... And then they kidnapped her again... Why did they do it?" she asked, out of the blue, without thinking. He arched an eyebrow, indicating that he wasn't going to answer. Hermione sighed in frustration. But she nodded her head. Realising that he was already giving her too much. "Right. I'm sorry. It's just that this is... important. This is —"

"You can't tell any of this," Draco then objected. She looked at him in open frustration. "You can't, Granger. Don't even think about it. Is that clear?"

The girl nodded her head slowly, looking him in the eye. Silently promising him that she wouldn't do it. She understood that she couldn't do it. It would put him in a dangerous position. Draco and Nott seemed to be the closest to this girl. In the unlikely event that she was rescued, all eyes would be on them...

She wasn't going to win that war at the cost of risking Draco's life.

Hermione shifted slightly, crawling over to sit better on the mattress, pressing her back against the wall. The surface was icy cold, since it communicated with the outside.

"How's Nott?" she questioned in a low voice, softly. Draco sighed through his nose, listlessly. Looking irritated. At himself, though, it seemed. For revealing to her that Nott was also on the enemy's side. Though he sensed she had already assumed as much, judging by her lack of surprise.

Draco moved in turn, before answering, grabbing the blanket that had been left abandoned by the mattress minutes before. He handed it to the girl as he crawled over to sit beside her. Hermione pulled it over her lap. She was shivering from her complete nakedness and hadn't even realised it until that moment.

"Alone," he replied vaguely, not looking at her. He sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder. "Like everyone else."

Hermione continued to look at him intently. She waited until he was sitting more comfortably beside her and pulled some of the blanket over him as well.

"Are you in touch with any of your old school friends?" she asked discreetly. "You don't have to tell me who."

Draco thought about it as he pulled the blanket over his legs, though it wasn't really necessary. No, he wasn't. Not with friends.

Many pure-blood wizarding families supported Lord Voldemort and believed faithfully in the cause. And they had secretly joined his ranks. Among them, some of Draco's acquaintances such as Vaisey and Higgs. Both of whom had defected some time ago, and whose fate he did not know, nor was he sure he wanted to know.

But many others, seeing the prospect that awaited them in the times ahead, decided it was better for their safety to disappear and take no part in either side. Some that Draco was aware of, such as the Parkinson, Greengrass and Zabini families, had fled without a trace. Since he had left Hogwarts, Draco had not heard from Pansy, Daphne, Astoria or Blaise. He didn't know if they were alive or dead. And he had a depressing intuition that he would never hear from them again.

He knew that Crabbe and Goyle were not particularly far away, but he hadn't spoken to them directly at any time. They had been on crowded missions together, without a word to each other. And Draco had no intention of changing that.

"No," he admitted. And he added, since he'd already made that mistake, "Only with Nott."

Hermione stretched her lips in an attempt at a smile. Thoughtful. Looking at the boy's serious profile, silhouetted against the near-darkness of the room. The orange flames of the glass jars tinged his pale skin a warmer shade, creating faint ripples. She felt her own heart racing. And she allowed herself a few seconds to summon a courage she didn't know if she possessed. She needed to know if... It was silly. It didn't make any difference, let alone change anything. But she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything.

She let out a halting sigh that sounded strange to Draco.

"And you haven't met anyone?" Hermione managed to articulate, almost hastily, before she regretted it.

Draco just frowned. Confused. His brain tried to decipher the question for several seconds.

"A lot of people..."

"No, stupid, I'm talking about... You know... You haven't been with anyone?"

Draco suspected he was particularly tired, because he still didn't understand what she was saying. He stopped staring at the bobbles of the old blanket that covered him and turned his face towards her. He met her eyes. She was sitting with her back very stiff. Unnaturally stiff. She almost seemed to be forcing herself to look as self-possessed as possible. And she was staring at him. Curiously.

"What are you talking about?" he insisted, feeling almost angry at his own stupidity.

She snorted in angry frustration at his obtuseness. Her nerves were threatening to finish her off, and he wasn't doing his part.

"Draco, we haven't seen each other in two years. I'm asking if you've met any girls in all that time. If you've had a partner. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I was just curious," she explained, impatiently, as feignedly mature and calm as she could. Though she had to lower her voice to control it. And she hoped he'd understood it that time, because she couldn't say it out loud again.

And, yes, Draco understood. And he almost laughed. He almost did, but he realised in time that she was asking him seriously. And he had to rethink his reaction. At that moment he understood that she was right. It was a coherent question. In theory, he could have been with any other person. They had ended their relationship at Hogwarts, everything that had bound them together, when they had broken up the night the Death Eaters had attacked the castle. They had separated, never to see each other again.

He had been aware of it all that time. Entirely. And yet...

"No," he answered, dryly. Of course not. He looked away. He wanted to say something more thorough, but it was easier to reaffirm it, "No."

She didn't say anything. And Draco, in the silence, suddenly became more aware of his own heartbeat. Suddenly his chest was burning. He began to feel very hot. The blanket was making him very warm. That casualness with which she asked him about some other girl...

"Have you — ?" he started automatically, abruptly, without thinking about it beforehand. "Have you been with someone?"

His initial intention had been to approach it in a gentlemanly way. He wanted to have added, as she did, that she did not have to respond. But he wanted her to. So he just stuck to the direct question. He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't even agree on what to feel. He couldn't look at her either. His eyes were fixed on the stupid blanket full of bobbles. His heart was pounding. And he felt ashamed of himself. Very much so. Of the sudden, selfish need for her to say no. He was pleading with every cell in his body for her to say no, and he was remotely capable of understanding that it wasn't fair. But he couldn't help it.

Had she fallen in love with someone?

He bit his lip, hurting the badly healed wound. And he guessed that was why his eyes suddenly became watery. It hurt. Something hurt a lot. And he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why his body was reacting independently of the coherent ideas rumbling around in his head. The heat of jealousy searing every bit of skin that covered him. And it wasn't justified. And he knew it. But it was what he felt.

Why hadn't he asked her about it before, why hadn't he even thought about it? Because he hadn't been with anyone... But it had been two fucking years. Surely she'd met someone in all that time. It was only natural. How could he blame her? He wouldn't. He never would. But... shit, just imagining it was... He... he didn't want to...

"What did you expect, moron? Did you expect her to have been pining for you for two years, knowing, or at least believing, that the two of you would never see each other again? Don't be an arsehole..."

She laughed softly beside him. And Draco was seconds away from taking back his question. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to know. He did want to. But he couldn't hear it...

"No. Me neither. With anyone," she murmured, serenely. And smiled as she added, "It's not the best time to fall in love."

Draco tried to control himself, but he couldn't help but take an urgent breath through his mouth. A deep breath. Silent. Cooling his insides. His heart was now beating faster than before. He managed not to close his eyes, so as not to reveal his dishonest relief openly.

"Is it ever?" he scoffed, instead. And it surprised him that his own voice sounded so naturally biting despite having had to pick and shovel through the lump in his throat in order to make a sound. She laughed under her breath.

"What a pair," Hermione teased. Draco managed to look at her then. And saw that she was smiling to herself, staring at the back of the room. She looked cheerful. "We're so bad at falling in love."

A smile escaped Draco's lips that she didn't see. He dropped the back of his head against the wall. Relaxing. Realising that his whole body had been tense for a long time.

"We suck at it."

Hermione laughed again. She leaned her head against his shoulder. And having her against his body again was the best sedative.

"Then it seems to me that your marriage, and the children to perpetuate your bloodline, will have to wait," she joked in a low voice. Draco sighed as quietly as he could. Remembering that conversation about their respective love affairs, that peaceful day at the Boathouse. So much had changed...

He looked up at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his ears. Letting his imagination run wild.

"It would have been nice," he confessed, smiling haughtily as he imagined it. "A big wedding, the most lavish in recent times. Front page in the tabloids. And the great influences of the wizarding world would have come. I would have lived in my family manor, with my wife and children... I would have taught them everything my father taught me. How a Malfoy should behave. The power, the pride of the Malfoy family. We'd be a family known all over Britain..."

"Sounds good," Hermione agreed with a warm smile. "You could still do it," she added, a little confused that he was talking as if it was unlikely to happen.

"Don't be silly," he replied with languid contempt.

"Well, not in the short term, that's for sure," the girl protested, arching an eyebrow. "Not while this war lasts. But one day it will end. And if Voldemort wins, you can have that future, I suppose."

Her voice didn't sound accusatory at all. It was simply a fact. And, perhaps because of that, Draco felt as if she had stabbed him. A future... without her. Suddenly his whole body snapped back to reality. He remembered that they were on opposite sides, fighting for opposite goals. He remembered that if one won, the other would not.

What they were living was an illusion. They could never be together, regardless of the end of this war. Even if the Dark Lord was defeated, the deep-rooted beliefs of pure-blood wizarding society would not die with him. What was between them would remain indecent in the eyes of the world.

"Even if my side wins, I won't have the future I want..." Draco caught himself thinking. Not quite understanding the full extent of such a conclusion.

Was he fighting for a future he didn't want?

He clasped his hands together. Trying to hide the fact that they were shaking. He had to stop. It wasn't the time to think. He couldn't think such things.

"What about you?" he asked, sharply. Without much kindness. But his thoughts were suffocating him. "Would you start a family?"

Hermione thought for a few seconds. Or, rather, she was thinking about how to phrase what was already on her mind.

"Not if Voldemort wins. If that happens, and in case I survive," the calm logic in her voice at such a possibility made Draco's skin crawl, "I will not bring children into a wizarding world dominated by darkness, where they would be considered less than rubbish. They don't deserve that," she said, adamant. Draco was silent, feeling that, to his own regret, he understood her.

But it was madness. A child of someone like Hermione Granger could be one of the best wizards in the world. She was one of the best witches he knew. And if the side fighting for wizarding supremacy and wizarding rights won, that child would never exist. When had it all become so absurd?

"What if we don't win?" escaped the boy's lips. Without thinking. "What if you win?"

Hermione smiled. Draco didn't see it, but he felt her cheek twitch against his shoulder.

"I'd love to get married," she confessed, her voice soft. "And I'd love to have children, too."

They both fell into a few seconds of comfortable silence. Draco glanced sideways at her, as she stared at the back of the room, relaxed. Unaware that he was fragmenting inside. Or so he felt. His chest felt heavy. He had to make an extra effort to breathe. He felt his own eyes fill with moisture again. And he blinked furiously again, staring at the ceiling. Trying to get rid of the tears before they fell. Shit, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"I want to be with you," he thought then, suddenly. Without in any way considering uttering those words out loud. "I want to have children with you. I want to live with you. I want a normal life..."

And that thought shocked him more than any threat of death. He didn't want anything he was fighting for. He didn't want to be the Dark Lord's right-hand man. He didn't want to be a soldier. He didn't want glory. Not like that. He didn't want to get renown that way. He wasn't gaining any of it. He wanted a normal life. With Granger.

But he couldn't choose her. That option wasn't valid. So he had to move on.

The girl's voice brought him back to reality. Luckily. Because he was going into a well of thoughts so deep that he wasn't sure he could get out of them on his own.

"Can you imagine the war ending tomorrow?" she asked, in a defeated voice. He looked at her again, just for visual support and to get further away from his own thoughts. "Just like that. That it all ends. So much death and darkness..."

Draco moistened his lips. If the end of the war meant never seeing her again... He didn't want it to come. He would fight for another hundred years in the midst of death and darkness. Just to see her every three weeks in that Muggle hole they were in.

"Whoever wins," Draco began, giving voice to some of his darkest thoughts. Needing to voice them out loud to bring himself back to reality again. He was pondering too many impossible things that night, "you and I would still be unable to —"

He silenced his argument completely, unable to finish it. Regretting having started. She was not impressed. She looked up, entrancing him with her beautiful, shining dark eyes.

"I know that."

Draco looked back at her, understanding that she knew. She'd taken it in. That fate was teasing them, putting them in each other's path over and over again. But not allowing them to be fully together. What was between them remained precarious, despite all their efforts. And that could not be changed. And he realised that he was having a much harder time coming to terms with it at the moment. Would the day really come when they would never see each other again?

"Will you marry me?" Hermione suddenly murmured in an ethereal whisper. Draco almost choked. He focused his eyes. Wondering in panic if she was reading his mind. But she was gazing at him with complete calm. Expectantly.

"Granger, don't fuck with me, you know we —" he began sharply. Almost angrily. What was the point of such nonsense?

"We can't. I know," she protested. And there was a strange determination in her eyes. An unusual rebelliousness. "But no one can hear us here. No one can forbid us. We can say whatever we want."

Draco turned his face away. Looking at the back of the room. Furious with her. For even making him consider such a thing.

"It's still a stupid question," he muttered.

"Just tell me yes or no," the girl despaired, exasperated. "It's just a joke. I don't have a priest hidden in my robes to go out and marry us..."

"And you're stupid too," he spat in a louder voice. Irritated. Impatient. "Because of course I would, Granger. Of course I'd marry you. Stop asking stupid, pointless questions."

Silence fell. Draco was staring at a crack in the wall in front of him. Not daring to blink. Let alone breathe. Shit, why...?

"Would you?"

He heard her whisper it. In a tiny voice. As if she hadn't expected such a thing. As if the joke had gotten out of hand. He needed to close his eyes, to hide from the world, but he did not. He also had an urgent need to add an arrogant comment. To regain his territory. His aloof personality. A "I would do you the honour of marrying me," or something like that. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything else.

"What about my ring?" she demanded next. Draco caught the affectionate humour in her feignedly stern voice. She could see through his walls, and she could see that he was deeply ashamed of his own words. And she wanted to reassure him. She wanted to make him laugh. And the boy could not contain the grateful snort that left his nose.

"I forgot it in my spare Death Eater's robes."

Hermione laughed. A lazy grin broke out on his face. She leaned better against him, and Draco lifted his arm so that she rested against his chest. To hug her against his body, wrapping his arm around her cold shoulders.

'Of course I'd marry you.'