Chapter 29

That night, in the stifling heat and darkness of the forest, Hermione dreamed of Ron. How long and shaggy his flaming red hair had gotten in the six months after Harry's death. How an orange beard had grown seemingly overnight. It had made Hermione burn with fiery passion every time she saw him, his ruggedness turning her on in every way. When the world is ending, and every day could be your last, they had thrown caution to the wind, and explored every inch of their bodies together, passing the time between fretting of the future, trying to plan how to survive, and using their bodies to distract from the pain and loneliness of the world. She had felt so lonely after he was taken, not just for his body, but for his presence too. He was her best friend and partner, the one source of light in the dark world around her. But he was gone now, and she doubted she would live long enough to see him again. In her dream, she was grabbing for him, kissing him, running her fingers through his hair with wild desperation. He smelled like the burrow, and campfire, and security. His hands were strong and reassuring, firmly grabbing her shoulder and pulling her into him. His mouth was hot, melting to her, but when she pulled her head back to look at him, Ron wasn't there. It was Draco's hollow eyes and white, blonde hair staring her back, his cheeks red, his lips wet. Guilt tightened like a noose around her heart.

"What's wrong Granger?" Dream Draco asked her in a syrupy way, his voice distorted and thick in her ears. "Why can't you shoot to kill?" He asked her, as she tried to push herself away. She was frantic to get away from him, but she didn't seem to be able to move. She realized they were in the living room of The Burrow, but it was dim and dark. No candles were lit and only a thin amount of light was coming through the windows. She looked back up and Draco's face, and the dream version of herself longed to kiss him again despite the guilt.

"What is wrong Granger?" Dream Draco asked, his voice sharper and rougher this time.

He reached a hand out and shook her by the shoulder, startling her. Hermione's eye fluttered open as she realized this was the real Draco trying to wake her up.

"What-What's wrong?" She sputtered out, trying to catch her bearings, her eyes spraining to adjust to the darkness.

"You were thrashing about and being very annoyingly vocal. Can't really sleep with such a scene," Draco said, peering down at her carefully.

"Vocal?" She responded, cheeks flushing.

"Yes. Are you Alright or not?" he asked, voice thin with impatience.

"Yes, erm, sorry. I was having a bad dream.." She trailed off, feeling goosebumps spring up across her arms.

Draco didn't respond, only moved back into a reclining position against his tree. It was pitch black around them and Hermione wondered what time It was. Time and dates had become such an abstract concept this last year, she found herself amazed every time a holiday passed that she had no idea was coming up.

I really hope I didn't say anything revealing like Ron's name...or his... Hermione thought discontentedly. How embarrassed she would have been if she had said his name. She wasn't exactly happy to have Draco traveling with her. Or was she? If she really dissected the situation. It wasn't awful. He had saved her from the Impius Cogitationes. He had fought alongside her and her friends when the Death Eaters invaded Grimmauld Place. He had helped her win the Stone. But why did I dream about him? She wondered perplexedly. Maybe it was guilt, for she knew none of this would sit well with Ron when he found out. If he finds out. Hermione added, marveling at her own mortality. Her mind dragged her back to them tangled up together in Susan Bones guest bedroom, and the moment of bliss Hermione had felt before her senses took back over.

Hermione relaxed back against her tree, pushing some rogue curls out of her face. She doubted very much that she would be able to sleep again any time soon. Her heart was still racing a little from Draco's appearance in her dream and her sudden pull into reality when he woke her up.

The forest around her was buzzing with nighttime noise. Bugs chirping, the slow swish of leaves as a lazy breeze blew through them. It was humid and muggy where they were, and she was sweating a little bit. Which was odd, considering the forest was usually chilly, if not outright cold. She supposed that was a good sign, as it meant no dementors were nearby. She had been slightly worried about dementors the whole time she was in the forest.

I suppose I had better start coming up with a plan, she considered soberly. Volan and Bremelle would be expecting something in the morning, and Hermione was loathe to be on the Centaurs bad side.

If she had had spare parchment, she would have begun a rough draft. But she had only a few scant pieces in her bag, and she wanted to save those for an emergency. How frustrating this all was.

I need to end up in that castle, that is my main goal for the foreseeable future. But how? I suppose I could transfigure and fly into the owlery until morning mail drops. That could be a good start. But would anyone be able to tell I was an animaggus? Could the dementors? She shuddered at the thought of one flying after her and revealing her. She also didn't want anyone to know she was an Animagus, so how would she explain her plan to Draco? 'Hey sorry I gotta run off for a bit..Keep an eye on the castle for me!' He was so pushy and expectant that she doubted she could get away with it.

A noise to her left snapped her out of her thoughts. It sounded like hooves on compacted dirt. Probably Firenze or Volan keeping watch of the area, she guessed, waving away her anxiety. But the sound brought an image to her head, an image of a horse. In the theater of her mind the Horse changed from one of living flesh to one made of crude wood, hulking in size, and being pulled by Greek soldiers toward and ancient Troy gate...