"Well," Hermione shuffled her feet, "I suppose this is goodbye."
Malfoy stood stoically before her, dark bags under his eyes and his posture stiff like marble. "Yup," he deadpanned.
She twirled her wand between her fingers. She wanted to go, had to go — she had a job and obligations to attend to — but a part of her felt guilty for leaving him. Did it make her cruel to walk away, knowing how long he'd been alone, with only the skeletons in his closet?
But he wouldn't come with her even if she asked, would he? What would they do together, anyway? Argue or force the other into magical bonds beyond the coerced party's understanding? She couldn't bring him back to the real world, but could she find a better place for him than this?
Malfoy leaned against the wall next to her. He radiated heat that felt like the summer sun. She wanted to melt.
She convinced herself it was from a life debt or the blood oath or Stockholm syndrome — temporary feelings she would get over in his absence. But now, her every instinct called for him, more of a desire than a magical obligation. Malfoy had gone to great lengths to care for her, told her more about the Forest than she would have learned otherwise, and things between them… Well, they had changed significantly during her stay.
There were still barriers between them, but their decay felt imminent, their structures showing signs of crumbling.
Hermione had so much she wanted to give him but knew that Malfoy would be a reluctant recipient at best. It didn't seem like Draco would allow himself any happiness, even if he wanted it. If she wanted to thank him somehow, she would have to do it without asking. An idea came, something she noticed was missing from the den to make it a home.
"Before I go," Hermione murmured, brushing past Draco's tall, melancholic frame. He straightened but kept his eyes averted, though Hermione felt them on her back the moment she turned.
Her magic was more than happy to stretch after so many dormant days.
Hermione began creating a home more suitable for a wizard from the scraps of his broken things.
First, to address was the horrific way he kept books piled in stacks on the floor. Wooden planks flew to the walls, followed by metal pieces to serve as support. The books arranged themself in a flurry, jumping from all corners of the room until they sat in an orderly fashion on the shelf.
A writing desk was also missing, so she made one. Quills and ink bottles, stolen from her, made their way to the drawers of the desk. His table looked much better when clear of parchments. She hoped the tidier space might help his mind, too.
Next was to make it homey. Scraps of fabric slithered together, coiling tightly into a mass until they formed a rug under his armchair. Other scraps fashioned themselves into blankets, towels, joggers, shirts, and, her specialty, socks. A few pairs of boxer briefs, too, but she tried to do it discreetly, hoping Draco wouldn't comment on it.
At a certain point, Hermione was just enjoying herself. After not even having her wand for over a week, her magic was pent up and needed an outlet. She had no practical use for transfiguration in her line of work and welcomed the opportunity to practice. It was a subject she had always enjoyed but didn't use during her monotonous life.
The more she transfigured, the grander her vision grew. Cooking things made out of tin cans. A footstool. She even managed to fashion him an ornate mirror that hung itself on the wall. There was just one last thing she wanted to add.
Malfoy kept piles of stones in a far corner of the room. Perhaps he had further plans for them — there was only the quidditch pitch mural on the wall, and some parts of the floor were bare — but Hermione didn't care to ask. She summoned them in succession until they assembled before her, their oblong shapes encroaching on each other as the mass grew. With a flick of her wand, they rapidly heated, melding together into a viscous fluid.
She carefully sent the material to the center of the room. Short strokes of her wand pulled out bricks of the material. They stacked, piling themselves on top of one another until they formed Hermione's vision: a sizeable base, a deep hollow with enough room to hang a cauldron, tall and proud sides, and a grand mantle. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, wiping a trickle of sweat from her brow.
The hearth was a fluid mixture of all the stones, their colors mixing and melding in places, giving it the look of poured paint. Specks of mineral gave it a sheen, as if polished and beautiful, though it was from nothing but loose rock.
Hermione conjured a cluster of bluebell flames, the only fire that would not burn down the tree, and stuck them to the stone hearth. Their light cast a faint blue glow on the den and made the room feel comfortable and warm.
She watched the flames for a moment with resolve. The fire could be manipulated by a wizard, but otherwise, the flame would never change. It would never burn out. It struck her then that a piece of her magic would live here in perpetuity given that Malfoy hadn't a wand.
The den had evolved during the time she spent there. Furniture created from the broken things he'd scavenged, including a proper place to lay his head. Supplies restocked — Hermione didn't have the heart to take back what he'd stolen from her; she'd gotten back her mother's pearls, the only thing she cared to regain. The roots themselves had even moved; Hermione shivered. Her impact on Malfoy and his home went far beyond a hearth and flame.
"There," she declared before she stowed her wand and dusted off her hands, ridding them of their clamminess, "that's better."
His shadow moved across the room until Malfoy was at her side, perhaps called in by the warmth she gifted him. His expression was blank, indecipherable. Hermione wasn't even sure if he blinked. He just stared unendingly into the flames.
Finally, his lips parted as if to speak, but he shook his head and said nothing. She could feel how close he was to her and there was that pull again, drawing her in.
She moved a step closer – unconsciously, of course – and swallowed against the lump in her throat. "Anything else you want to tell me before I go?"
The fire burned in his eyes, the only place he'd look to avoid her stare. Malfoy took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. He spoke so quietly that had it been a real fire, she would have missed his quiet words over the crackling flame.
"I'm going to miss you."
His voice was hollow, but shaky, as if he fought an internal battle between two states of emotions, and maybe he did. There was much duality to him that Hermione was coming to find.
She wanted to reach for his hand, to say something to cure the melancholy in his voice that stemmed from his heart. It was always in Hermione to fix things, even if the situation were difficult or damn near beyond repair. Call it her Gryffindor trait or the blood oath in her veins, but she felt a sense of responsibility for his well-being, a duty ingrained in her soul to care for him. A spot in her heart was opening for this damned, impossibly broken version of Draco Malfoy. The realization almost took her breath away.
She must have gasped, causing Draco to look at her. They stood facing each other before the fire. Despite the warmth, Hermione shivered when he reached out and gently toyed with one of her curls.
"I'll be here all summer," Hermione breathed, "you don't have to stay away."
Draco bit his lip, eyes tracing her face. He released her hair and let his fingers trail down her arm before falling back at his side. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I think it's for the best."
Hermione furrowed her brow, "Why? I can't turn you in. I'm not plotting our shared demise."
He huffed, "Not our demise, but mine would be quite certain if we spent more time together."
She didn't know what he meant and wanted to ask, but couldn't string together coherent thoughts with him so close. His heat, his presence, and his tall and strong frame were overwhelming. Though Hermione's leg felt stronger, her knees were suddenly weak.
One of them had stepped forward. Hermione's fingers grazed the side of his hip. Draco brought a hand to rest on her shoulder.
"There's something between us," Draco's words were barely a whisper, "some pull that is driving me mad."
Hermione licked her lips, knowing exactly what he was talking about.
Draco shook his head, "But I'm sure you think of me as a monster, no better than a wild creature."
"You're not the worst," Hermione admitted, which earned her his laugh and a small smile, "and you can't claim to know my feelings when you haven't asked."
"Well?" he drawled. His eyes showed that Hermione could devastate him with her next words, but she couldn't break him even if she wanted to. Hermione would not become one more person to add to the emotional torment in Draco Malfoy's life.
She placed her hands against his sides. "I don't want you to be alone."
"I don't want to be alone either."
Draco's hand moved from her shoulder to the side of her neck. Hermione found herself leaning into him, her gaze turning up as he looked down until their lips met again.
The kiss was slow, tentative. Hermione could practically feel Draco quiver, whether it be from fear or restraint she did not know. It was an invitation, Hermione realized, an invitation into his world. She had become so curious about him, so enamored with his storytelling, and so empathetic for the suffering he'd endured. A deep sense of desire for him flickered in her like a spark.
When Hermione wrapped her arms around him, Draco sensed her interest, her budding eagerness, and took over. Arms wrapped tightly around whatever they could find while every emotion they'd had in the past weeks poured into each other.
In no time they were against the wall, their breathy sighs and smacking lips turning into something more needful with tongues, teeth, and scratches along his back.
Everything felt so good it was almost overwhelming. Presently Hermione could think about nothing but his lips on hers, the taste of peppermint in his mouth, and the strength of his muscles leaning against her frame. It was dizzying, deliciously intoxicating, but it didn't last.
Malfoy broke away, leaning his forehead against hers and panting. She held on to him, though she knew what would come next. He pulled away, turning his back on Hermione and raking a hand through his hair.
He thumbed to the den entrance. "It's time for you to go now, Granger. It's over, it's…" Malfoy turned back. Hermione could tell he had started occluding, "It's better if you don't come around anymore. I don't want to see you again."
His pain was palpable — to him, her leaving must have felt like losing another person, another abrupt and painful goodbye.
Hermione scoffed at his assertion, again demanding the truth she knew the blood oath would give, "You don't mean that."
Her lips still stung from his kiss; it didn't feel like he could mean it after what they'd shared.
"No," his chest heaved as he caught his breath, "I don't. I want you so badly," his eyes shut tightly at the admission, taking a moment before carrying on, "but in my life, good things don't last. You should go now when things have only gotten this far. Before—"
Draco shifted to the wolf, not finishing his sentence, but he didn't need to. Hermione could almost hear the words in her mind.
Before I get hurt again.
The wolf sat before her. He wouldn't meet her eyes, so she grabbed his chin gently, holding it in place. It was clear by his expression that she had his full attention. As guarded with his emotions as he was, Hermione could see them there, just beyond the silver clouds in his eyes. It must have been dreadful to live in such an isolated state: a lone wolf with the human inside safely tucked in a corner of his mind.
"I'm going to go like you asked, and I'll leave you alone forever if you want me to."
It was an option Hermione could live with. The wolf trembled at her words.
"If you decide you might like some company," she said, "you know where to find me."
She let her hand drop. The wolf dropped, too, laying before the fire and staring intently at the blue flames. He was shutting down, too busy fighting battles in his head or his heart that he wouldn't share with her. There was no other option; it was time for her to go.
Hermione knelt and stroked his white fur from his head down the back of his neck. The wolf perked up at her touch, leaning into her hand. She stood. The wolf came to sit, watching her go. It took all her resolve to leave him there like that. She hoped it wouldn't be the last time she saw him.
"Take care of yourself, Draco."
She gathered her things, the few items she didn't want to leave behind, and used her wand to boost herself up and out of the den. The bright light assaulted her, burning her eyes that had adjusted to the darkness below ground. She leaned against the roots of the oak tree while regaining her senses.
It was a good thing she had gotten out of the way, too, for not a moment later. Draco — Silver — leapt out through the hole. The wolf stood before her, blocking the sun behind him that gave him a mystical glow. When he shook out his fur, it was like flecks of golden light scattered off him. He gave her one final look before running off into the forest beyond.
Though alone, visions of the white wolf accompanied her on the trek through the Forbidden Forest. After a slow and tiring trip, Hermione made it back to her tent, where, try as she might, thoughts of Draco Malfoy could not be kept at bay.
Draco walked the paths in the northern wood until the pads of his paws were raw and bloody. The Wood tried to direct his travel twice, dumping him at the entrance to a cobweb-riddled path. Just gazing down it set a chill to his bones. Each time he turned away, desperate to keep walking until Granger was no longer a thought in his mind.
He walked and walked and walked, mind unaware of his surroundings, just a blur of occluded emotion. It was easier to be this way, obscured from humanity and alone. The last three years he'd been alone and managed just fine, or at least that's what Draco convinced himself. Though no rational being would ever classify the way he'd been living as "fine."
Too troubled to think of the present, his focus turned to the last three years and after the death of his family. The memories sped through his mind as fast as he ran through the trees. With every rustle of leaves, he would look for another wolf despite knowing he was the only one left. Draco missed how he and Regulus would run and play, their pants and barks bouncing off the trees as they made the Forbidden Forest their playground. He even missed his mother and her nagging — it would have been preferable over the deafening silence that accompanied him every night ever since, alone in the den, just counting the days until he died.
The leaves surrounding him now reminded Draco of the oak and the mountains of leaves she shed before winter that dreadful year. Scared of the wood and with no one to keep him company, Draco had spent time watching and counting them as they fell until not one leaf remained. At that time, it felt like his own will to live had fallen, too.
Everything around him just seemed to die.
Until recently, that is. At least one nasty pattern of his life had changed, even if it were by Hermione Granger. She couldn't live forever but didn't die at Draco's hand; that counted for something. Though she had yet to leave the forest. There was still time for his plight to afflict her, still a chance for him to screw things up. That felt certifiably inevitable.
Swearing to stay away from each other had been a noble intention, but it suddenly wasn't so easy to be back living in isolation. With her, he had felt so warm, so… alive. Being alone in the woods now left him rather cold.
The lonely forest was a familiar cloak for the wolf to wear, having spent years in it. Creatures avoided him as if his despair was a contagion that spread via proximity. Sometimes Draco felt like the last being on Earth. The Forest had become desolate around him, with only the hum of insects or distant sounds in the woods indicating that life was moving on around him… without him.
After he lost everyone, Draco stayed the wolf for years, never showing his face above ground and hardly transforming even while in the den. It was easier to be in his animagus form, where he could stay occluded from his memories. But as the wolf, life lost meaning until Draco didn't know what he was living for.
Alone and dead to the world.
Years dragged on under his bleak observation.
Until Hermione Granger came into the woods.
Necessity had brought him back out of his animal shell, with her dying the need. Draco could feel the cool air running over his bare arms like he had that night when emerging from his animagus form for the first time in years. The feeling alerted Draco to the fact that, at some point, he had transformed, tucking the wolf away just as he had some weeks ago to help Granger.
Draco blinked away his haunting past, clearing away the clouds in his mind, only to find himself back at the start of it all.
The bottom of the ravine.
He transformed into a wolf again and started exploring.
Hermione's blood no longer soaked the ground. No evidence lay to show that she had almost died there. There were only the memories within him, calling so strongly until the wolf allowed them to take precedence in his mind. They warmed him, burning his chest with something that felt suspiciously like pride. He saved her, but the victory was pyrrhic.
What would torture him more in the years to come, missing those dead and gone or missing someone alive and well but just impossibly out of reach?
The wolf lowered his head and made a steady walk back home. Closing his eyes, he could almost feel her in his human embrace. He traversed the same path he'd taken her that night and could almost feel her weight on him, her warmth, but then he thought of the horrific state her body had been in and could bear the fantasy no more.
The memories assaulted him, demanding Draco's attention. Fatigued, the occlumens was powerless to their insistence. It was all Draco could do to get home first, find a swig of Ogden's, and fall firmly in his chair before they overtook him.
He relived them all, every moment of saving Granger's life and limb. Oddly — given that he'd found himself in a precarious situation where his fate was in the witch's hand — Draco found that he regretted not a single one.
The Workings of Magic and Fate, The Forbidden Forest, May 2005
Three weeks of dodging around each other, with Granger closing in and bound to discover him any day. He had been ready to fight Granger if necessary, but Draco never thought it would end like this. Draco had been running to escape her, not running to taunt her into following him and falling.
Well, that solves the witch problem, Lucius's voice intoned inside Draco's mind. She jumped. It was an accident. Walk away, go home.
The reasoning of his conscience was harsh and cold, every bit reminiscent of his father. However, Draco often felt a warmer presence wrapped around him while in the forest. One that reminded him so dearly of his mother. It was hard to explain: streams of hot air floating through the breeze, guiding him, some magic influencing him to make decisions he would have never made otherwise. Present now, it drove him to the edge of the bluff. He peered over the edge into the deep fissure, watching the witch fall helplessly to the bottom until she crumpled with a sound that Draco would be lucky to forget.
Could someone even survive such a fall? It had gotten too quiet for a moment; Draco worried that the impact had killed her. She cried out again in a sound that personified pain, but at least she was alive for now.
In a moment, something switched inside him. The cold, self-preserving man he had grown to be was replaced by someone more altruistic. It was no longer a question of if he should try and help Granger. Suddenly, he was willing to save her no matter what the cost.
Stupid boy, let her die, the man inside the wolf shouted as four furry legs padded down the side of the ravine cliff.
Her screams had called to him like a siren, pulling him further and further from safety and closer to both danger and his destiny. Draco skittered down the path and further until he slid down a rocky slope. He found her at the bottom. The sight before him was more horrific than anything he had ever seen.
His movements were instinctual, not sparing a moment before jumping into action at the first sight of her. Immediately, he shifted from his wolfish form, revealing the man inside for all the forest to see. Draco hadn't been himself above ground in years. The feeling was shocking, almost surreal. He wanted to bask in the fresh air. He yearned for the light of day to warm his skin, but now wasn't the time for visceral pleasures.
"Fucking hell!" He hissed.
From what he could see, Granger had broken her leg in two places: one above the knee and the other just below the hip. The bone at the top of her leg had popped through her skin. It took everything inside of Draco not to pass out when he saw the jagged end of her femur and the blood that poured from the wound.
If he didn't act quickly, she would bleed out on the forest floor.
Strength he hadn't felt in years coursed through him. Powerful magic sat at his fingertips, ready to act on his command. Draco summoned her wand first, hoping that channeling through it would allow him more stamina. Simultaneously, he prayed that he wouldn't have to add Granger to the list of people who died in the forest under his hand.
"You fool," he spat, choking back the emotions that were flooding him, the ones he had kept at bay for so many years.
He hadn't cast in years; a small part of him wondered if he remembered how. Once he did, he needed to act quickly and efficiently, for his magical stores would not last long. The goal was to stabilize her first and then move her to a secondary location to heal her further.
It took all of his magical strength to wield her wand, yet he was surprised by how easily it yielded to him. By the time he ran a diagnostic to assess her and attempted a crude spell to slow the bleeding, his core atrophied after years of disuse. With the last of his magic, he cast a full-body bind.
Draco steadied his breathing, readying his body as if to occlude, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins was too strong, not willing him to relax under the circumstances that were becoming dire.
"Fuck!"
He wouldn't have the magical strength to levitate her, which left him no other choice.
Draco bent to her stiff body, lifting it gingerly so as not to disturb her wounds. His movements were slow and arduous under her weight and the awkward rigidity of her body. Her cries had dulled to stuttering whimpers. They weren't far from home and thank Gods for as he hiked swiftly out of the ravine, Granger began looking gray.
Carrying her this way reminded him of doing the same for his mother. Both witches were bloodied and heavy in his arms, but this one was still alive. It was only when the rain stopped that Draco realized he had been crying, sobbing actually, as he gazed down at the woman clutched in his arms. They were close to home, but she wasn't looking good.
"Please," he whispered, "don't die."
His wards took no persuasion to allow Granger to pass through, clutched tightly in his arms. He deposited her gently on the floor before rushing to the stock of potions he had stolen from the witch's tent. The immobilization charm lifted, allowing her to writhe in pain. With the last of his ability, Draco stunned her as gently as he could, stilling her motions so he could work to contain and hopefully repair the damage.
Draco had learned intermediate combat healing while serving in Voldemort's army but was still no healer. Three blood-replenishing potions had her cheeks returning to a warmer color, but the wound in her leg continued to bleed. Draco dumped a whole bottle of dittany there, hoping it would do something while he worked to reset her leg.
First, he had to see what he was working with. Draco pulled at a tear in the denim, splitting her pant leg wide open. Sweat slicked his palms as he gripped her calf and maneuvered her lower leg back into a more natural position. He cursed himself for not being stronger as this would have been much easier if done with magic.
Satisfied with the alignment at her knee, Draco considered the more pressing problem: the bone that poked out of her leg and the blood that continued to pour from it. He doused the leg in a wound-cleaning potion, waving away tendrils of purple smoke to see the problem. The dittany was working to stop the bleeding, thank Merlin, but didn't work to return her femur to the correct position.
A decision had to be made quickly, the dittany was working too fast. If he didn't act now, Granger's leg would be broken permanently. He clenched the foreign wand between both hands, shaking and covered in blood. Draco took four deep, strengthening breaths before channeling all his energy, pushing his power to the point where he thought his magical core might snap. He had one chance to make it right and a great probability of fucking it up.
Draco jabbed Granger's wand against the protruding bone before the dittany could heal it out of place: "Ossio Dispersimus!"
The bone before him vanished, Granger's skin healing over where the wound had been moments ago. Her flesh sunk in between her knee and hip, deflating due to the lack of support her bone had previously provided. Draco gagged at the sight, bending over and dry heaving uncontrollably.
He gasped for breath, but darkness closed in on his peripherals, quickly winning the fight for dominance and sending Draco to the floor.
At first, Draco thought that he was dreaming, partaking in just another one of his nightmares, when he awoke in a heap next to a moaning Hermione Granger. Even more disorienting was the wand clutched in his grasp. He dropped the stick as if it burned, eyes rapidly assessing his surroundings and the witch before him.
They were in his den and she was… sweaty, whimpering in pain. Mercifully he had woken before the stunner wore off, though it seemed to be fading rapidly. Draco caught sight of her compressed leg and had to fight tooth and nail to remain conscious.
His vision swam momentarily at the sight, but Draco knew if he were to pass out then that was it- he'd be done. This whole half-baked plan would be pointless and he would have a one-way ticket to beyond the veil, or worse, Azkaban. He was too weak to stun her once more, but luckily he had something that would do just the trick.
Potion bottles sat nearby. He grabbed two. First, a pain potion for Granger. Second, a calming draught for himself. Draco would certainly need one if he were going to accomplish anything under the given circumstances.
It had been a long time since Draco had taken a potion. The bottles had been taunting him since the moment he brought them home. The supply was finite but felt bountiful compared to the magical remedies he usually kept on hand — read, none.
He had fought the temptation thus far, reasoning that he would need them at some point and that it would be best not to waste them on recreational purposes. He considered taking the single Draught of Peace but worried the effects would have him too subdued or unmotivated to heal Granger properly. He settled on the calming draught, popping the cork between his teeth and taking a small sip of the blue liquid.
The effect was instantaneous, dulling his squeamishness enough for him to assess the situation with a clinical eye. From there, Draco dosed Granger with the last blood-replenishing potion and drizzled Murtlap essence over her exposed thigh.
Had he more strength, Draco would have cast a diagnostic on her. Instead, he sat there watching, waiting to see if Granger would make it. Sweat pooled on her brow as her body began the process of healing or dying — it was hard to tell.
Dutiful at her side, Draco hardly slept as he watched Granger. He ripped a cleaner piece of his shirt and used it to dab at the condensation that accumulated on her face. A few times Draco dozed off and awoke with a star, half expecting Granger to be gone as if she never existed at all. Other times, he found himself lost in thought until her sounds of discomfort pulled him back to reality.
Draco kept feeding her potions until the supply ran out. How the hell was he going to get out of this one?
Draco would have to do something to ensure his safety. But what options did he have? He could just stay the wolf and never reveal himself to her, but chances were she already knew who he was anyway. And it wasn't in him to kill. How could he successfully rid himself of her while not causing her much harm while keeping himself and his secrets safe?
The minute the witch got her wand back it was likely lights out for him.
What a boring, predictable ending.
In tune with the steady labor of her breaths, Draco found himself riding a wave of emotion. His anxiety crested: where would he land when this was all over? What shore would he find himself washed up on?
He lamented the inevitable loss of freedom or life until a desperate part of his psyche took over — thinking through any possible way he could get out of this.
Running away was an option, but the prospect of leaving the woods was risky, if not impossible according to Regulus. Besides, it didn't seem fair for Draco to leave his home just because a curious witch came crashing through the forest, overturning stones she had no business inspecting.
One fact had not changed over the last seven years: the only place left for Draco Malfoy was the Forbidden Forest. He wouldn't allow himself to be eradicated from his home like some common vermin. He was a Malfoy for Circe's sake — survival was in his blood.
Through his fear, anxiety, and utter exhaustion, an idea struck him as fast as lightning
Blood.
Draco spent the rest of the day practicing Occlumency, pulling forth memories of dusty books in old libraries of his mind, books that told tales of old magic he hadn't thought of in years.
The wave of emotion swelled once more: this time with an undercurrent of anticipation and — damn him for even thinking it — hope.
For the first time since she found out he was alive, Hermione went days without seeing Draco, but that didn't mean she didn't think about him. She thought of him every bloody minute.
She trudged back to the Moon-Gazer Clearing, moving slowly with her newfound footing. Her magic was comforting but weak after so long without being used. Hermione vowed to learn wandless magic; she would never feel so powerless again. She arrived at the tent unceremoniously but couldn't be relieved to be back, not when her mind kept toiling over the new reality she now lived in.
Draco Malfoy was alive and Hermione Granger was the only person who knew it.
They had said goodbye forever, but something about it didn't feel quite final. Hermione wondered if it'd be possible for them to be apart when there were forces, strong forces, that seemed to be pulling them together. Nevertheless, she had much business to attend to that had nothing to do with Draco Malfoy, though the whole time she made attempts to plan the rest of her census project, she thought about him vigorously.
He would be able to help, she surmised, and tell her what she was doing wrong. There must be an easier way to find all the creatures — where had they gone, anyway? Save from the thestrals and the centaurs, Hermione had not seen many.
She thought of the centaurs and her exile from their land. It put a wrench in her work assignment, but she still hoped that she'd figure out what to do – either make up with the centaurs or figure out how to census without their cooperation. How was it that Draco could travel about their territory so freely? What were the chances he already knew all about the centaurs, just like he had kept tabs on her?
Hermione was too proud to ask. Besides, he wanted her out of his hair, out of his woods, and out of his life. It was their agreement, one she intended to keep, but that didn't keep her from thinking of him. For of thinking about him, she could not stop.
When she settled down to sleep, her mind spun with the newfound truths she'd come to learn.
Everything Hermione thought she knew about the Black family — admittedly, slim — was shaken by Draco's story. Regulus Black, the Horcrux Hero, had never died? She wondered if Kreacher knew and had lied to Harry to keep his master's secrets. From the tale she'd heard, Narcissa hadn't been surprised to see him. Draco claimed that everyone in his family who became an animagus was a wolf. What was it with wolves and the woods, anyway? Pyronesia had even mentioned them in the origin story she told.
Too many stars were aligning for any of it to be a coincidence. She cringed at the metaphor; stars spoke of divination and divination spoke of fate, the future. Hermione had pointedly avoided thinking about the prophecy, too busy with other world-shattering events. Hermione found herself entwined with something bigger than her, which she was only beginning to understand. It felt suffocating, as if ropes had wrapped around her lungs and were being pulled tightly in opposite directions, and the more she fought against them, the tighter they restrained. It left her chest feeling heavy, her core leaden with the feeling that what she was doing was wrong.
But what was wrong? Aiding and abetting a Death Eater? Or was it staying away from the man that had Hermione feeling off-kilter? How about skiving off her work assignment in favor of following the instructions of a questionable centaur? Jeopardizing the Ministry's relationship with the centaurs? Unfortunately, she could go on and on.
Though her moral compass was restlessly whirring around its axis, she closed her eyes to sleep, praying for some reprieve from everything she had to deal with tomorrow when she woke up.
Sleep was hard, but finally came. Draco was looking forward to waking up for the first time in weeks, knowing that Granger wouldn't be in the den and that she would be doing as she promised and staying far, far away. Though not even her distance could keep the memory of her from haunting him.
He awoke to the scent of her on his sheets. He dragged himself out of bed, seeing Granger in every improvement made to his home with her wand. He filled the kettle with water and set it over the fire.
The warmth from the hearth wrapped around him, but Draco wished it was her instead. He wondered if tea would be enjoyable anymore; if anything could ever compare to the taste of her lips. Never to be had again, nothing but another memory. Loneliness flooded him, only to be disrupted by the kettle whistling.
He made his tea and turned to sit down at the table when he saw it. An eagle feather quill was dancing over the wooden table top. It was one of the items he had stolen from Granger, charmed to draw from memory while the user is asleep.
Slow steps brought him to the table's edge where he set his mug aside. Draco watched in agony as the image before him formed. The details were almost life-like, better than a painting. If only it were real.
Pouty lips, dainty ears, a wave of messy curls, and a pair of soul-searching doe eyes. The mirror image of the woman who had haunted his dreams, nightmares, and every waking moment for weeks on end.
It was just one more thing to remember her by.
It should have made him angry. It should have made him sick. Instead, he smiled. She'd told him that he could find her if he wanted. And while Draco was unsure, having the option felt like enough for now.
It was more of a choice than anyone else had given him in years.
Draco could feel the inevitability of their reunion. She had entwined into his everyday life. He thought of her constantly, dreamed of her even. And though it scared him, he knew nothing he could do would stop him from finding her again.
It was a familiar feeling to fear his fate. He had feared stepping into the shoes worn by the man of the manor. He had feared becoming a Death Eater and an animagus. He had feared Mother's escape plan. Feared discovery and capture. Fear had driven his life at this point. He was growing tired of it.
But now he had something new to fear: falling in love with someone he could never have. However, there was no point in fearing what he was powerless to do. Draco was falling. Had fallen? Did. There was nothing to do now but wait for her to break his heart.
The quill dropped. Draco leaned the table on its side, allowing her image to face the bedroom. He studied her likeness as he finished his tea, mind wandering over every moment they'd shared. Not enough to leave him satisfied.
He went back to bed, warm and surrounded by every bit of Granger he could find.