Hello everyone! How are you? 😊 Here I am again heh heh I've had holidays this week, but the weather is really bad in my city, so I've had time to prepare another chapter ha ha ha every cloud has a silver lining!

We have a long chapter ahead of us, and with quite a lot of things of all kinds. There's action, there's love... I think you're going to like it! 😍 As usual, it consists of several scenes, so read it at your own pace, when you feel like it. I hope you like it a lot... 😊

As always, thank you so much to all of you who let me know that you like the story 😍. Thanks of course to all of you who add it to alerts or favourites (it makes me so happy! 😍), and, in general, to everyone who is reading this. A thousand thanks to all of you! 😍

Grab some popcorn and tissues, here we go...!


CHAPTER 44

The Riddle House

Hermione realised she was waking up when some light began to seep through her eyelids. She tried to raise them, but her eyelashes were heavy. Her eyes were determined to stay closed. Her brain was going slowly. Urging her to go back to sleep. Reminding her that it hadn't been enough rest. She didn't want to move. She was comfortable. She was lying on her side. Her surroundings were warm. There was a mattress under her body. An unidentified barrier behind her back. Something solid but soft under her cheek.

She forced her eyes open, with effort, taking several attempts. She was level with the floor. She could see the sober wall and door on the other side of the rickety room. Shy rays of sunlight slipped through the slits in the shutter and the boards that blinded the window, making the empty room less melancholy. It was no longer raining, it seemed. She could tell the place was cold, but she felt good.

She was leaning against smooth skin. An arm. The bicep area was under her cheek. She saw an elbow bent before her eyes. A forearm enclosing her.

She was not alone.

She stood still a little longer. Staring at that pale limb. She could see the fine blond hair that covered it. The grooves that outlined its musculature. It was real. It had been no dream. He was there.

She was naked, but she could feel layers of fabric over her. The woolly texture of her jumper just covering her torso, and her robes over her entire body. She remembered that they had covered themselves once their clothes had dried, to protect themselves as much as possible from the chill of the early morning.

Without thinking that she might wake her companion by moving, she rolled over. Trying not to uncover herself. But to lie on her other shoulder. Looking for him.

Draco was lying on his back on the narrow mattress. He had placed his left arm under her, like a pillow, and his right arm was raised and flexed, supporting his own head. He, too, had pulled his clothes over himself as blankets. He was awake. His clear eyes wandered across the dirty ceiling. Self-absorbed.

He felt the girl stirring beside him and lowered his head in search of her. Their eyes met as she managed to turn in his direction. And, for two slow breath cycles, they said nothing.

"Did I sleep for a long time?" Hermione wanted to know, confused, her voice thick. Drowsy. Luckily, she didn't need to raise her voice. Her head was resting on his shoulder. She was pressed against his warm body. Her face lifted in his direction, less than an inch away.

Draco shook his head almost apathetically. He turned his face to continue staring at the ceiling.

"No more than two hours," he murmured, his tone neutral. She snorted faintly. And he seemed to sense her frustration, because he added, almost excusing her, "You must be tired."

It didn't sound like he meant it as a taunt, but Hermione still couldn't help but smile to herself. Embarrassed. She wasn't sure if he was referring to the hard battle on Privet Drive, or to the acts they had both performed hours ago on that mattress.

And what acts. She felt as if she hadn't breathed through the whole process. She could still feel her lower belly buzzing. Her pulse between her legs. In her fingers. Her brain working slower than her body. Her limbs flimsy. Her whole body heavy as lead.

She was definitely tired.

"What time is it?" the girl questioned then, feeling her heart racing. Her body tensed. If the sun had already risen...

"It's after seven," he replied, without having to check. Apparently, he was checking the time. She relaxed against him, swallowing. Thank goodness. It was early. But she should be back soon. If she could help it, she'd rather no one noticed she'd gone out that night. She knew Ginny, with whom she shared a bedroom, would; but it wasn't unusual for one of them to spend the night out for one reason or another. Sometimes their duties were extended and they slept over in one of the other safe houses. She had no reason to suspect the truth, by any means.

She let out a long yawn that flooded her eyes with tears. Her deluded body begged her to curl up against the boy beside her, close her eyes and surrender to sleep. To sleep for hours and hours against that warm, firm body. But she made an effort to raise her eyes. She gazed at the boy's pointed profile. The angle of his jaw, as he stared up at the ceiling. His neck, his ripped muscles; tense from the, surely, uncomfortable position. An unexpected thought shook her chest.

"Have you slept at all?" she asked. Fearing the answer. Draco shook his head again, distracted.

"Someone had to make sure we didn't fall asleep until twelve noon."

Hermione sighed through her nose. She pursed her lips. Feeling guilty. She was sure he must feel even more exhausted than she did.

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have fallen asleep..."

He didn't say anything back. But Hermione did feel the arm that now rested behind her back press against her. And she gave in to his discreet gesture. She moved closer to his body, pressing herself against him. Leaning her cheek better against his chest. Snuggling in. Leaving her fist clenched on his bare chest.

Once she was close enough, Hermione felt a touch at her hairline. His soft lips against her skin. Breath escaping through his nose against the root of her hair. Her heart swelled in her chest. And the sensation surprised her. It felt as thrilling as if it was the first kiss he'd given her in a long time. But the reality was that they had shared many in the last few hours. And she told herself that she might never get used to his lips, no matter how many kisses he gave her.

After pulling her close enough to give her a brief kiss, he loosened his grip on the curve of her back again. She looked up, searching his grey eyes in close proximity. He returned her gaze. And they stayed that way. Without speaking. They knew they had a lot to say to each other. Or maybe there was nothing they could say to each other. Maybe he, like her, didn't know how to deal with the situation.

Hermione could see the exact moment when his eyes caught something unusual on her face. She saw his eyelids narrowing ever so slightly. His eyebrows drew closer to each other.

"You've grown freckles," he commented then, confused. Still staring at her skin. Barely raising his voice. As if expressing a thought aloud without realising it. Hermione blinked and her lips stretched.

"What?" she whispered, amused. He closed his eyes instantly. Resentful of himself. As if he was cursing that having gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep was taking its toll on him. He turned his face to look at the ceiling again.

"Nothing, you have β€”" He allowed himself a deep, irritated sigh through his mouth. Assimilating that there was no escape for him now. He agreed to look at her again, almost out of the corner of his eye. "You didn't have so many freckles before. Not so noticeable. Or moles, or whatever they are. Here..." He removed his arm from under his head briefly to illustrate the area, giving a quick stroke of his fingertip across the top of her cheek.

Hermione smiled and ran her own fingers over the area.

"I hadn't noticed," she admitted. He made an unspecific noise with his throat, staring at the ceiling.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you," he mumbled, sarcastically, defensively. Like justifying why he'd noticed such a minor detail.

She looked at him. Yes, indeed, it had been a long time. Two years. Years. At the time, it seemed incredible to her. Almost a dream. Had she really been two years without him? It seemed as if no time had passed... How could she feel the same by his side, with all that had changed?

"I spent almost a whole day in the sun," Hermione commented quietly. Draco didn't look at her, but she knew he was listening. "We were waiting for the right moment for β€”" She fell silent. Hesitantly. But what was the point of hiding something that had already happened? It wasn't information the enemy could use, "β€” a scheduled rescue that was delayed. I guess the sun gave me more freckles. It wasn't that long ago. They'll probably fade soon."

"What rescue?" he questioned, in a whisper. Almost as if he wanted to divert the subject a little. The girl hesitated only a second before answering.

"The one at Holywell Industrial Estate," she confessed. Draco gave a grunt of understanding.

"In Watford?"

"Yes... You were there?" Hermione asked, not even managing to contain herself. She felt her breath become laboured. But he shook his head, slowly, without looking at her.

"No."

Hermione sighed to herself, looking down. Unsure if she was relieved or not. Logic told her she should, but that wasn't what she felt. Fear was taking over. She tried to regulate the tremors that were taking hold of her. How many battles to the death would they have fought against each other during those years without knowing it?

She felt fingers reach out and run along the skin of her upper arm, and realised that Draco had encircled her better with the limb resting against her back. Perhaps out of concern for her silence. Or because he'd noticed her trembling.

"Are you all right?" he murmured, then. In a slightly lower voice. "I think earlier I've been a bit β€”"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. Though she could guess what he meant. And she could barely keep her skin from shivering with a shudder that almost made her writhe with pleasure at the mere memory. How he had broken her bracers with one wild tug, his body on top of hers, heavy, warm, urgent, his muscles, the strength of his arms, of his movements, his ragged breathing in her ear, his strong fingers clutching her flesh...

Hermione understood that, by implicitly asking her if he had been too rough, he was apologising for it. She smiled at him, reassuringly, and shook her head.

"Not at all. In fact, it was β€”" she hesitated, reflecting, but she couldn't come up with a qualifier. A deep, unintended sigh escaped her. "Good Lord..." she ended up exhaling, mischievously.

Draco found it hard not to smirk arrogantly. Full of satisfaction. It had been a long time since he'd felt particularly cocky... And remembering the old feeling was like a shot of energy.

"'Lord' is a bit presumptuous. You can just call me 'Draco'."

Hermione grinned wider. And she let out a laugh against her will. His sense of humour hadn't changed. What a show-off...

"Stop it..." she scolded him, still smiling.

He looked up at the ceiling again, with a restrained but satisfied smile. More relaxed. Hermione then noticed his chest puff out beneath her cheek as a sudden yawn came over him. She looked up at him as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand, to then blink, wiping the moisture from his eyes, and realised that she could see his face better now. His features. The room was getting brighter and brighter. And she forced herself to realise that they couldn't prolong it forever. Which wiped the smile off her face.

"I have to... leave," Hermione muttered. Almost far away. Knowing that was what she had to say. But not fully aware of its implications. She felt Draco's chest fill with air again. This time due to a discreet sigh.

"Me too," he corroborated, serious. Now without mockery. She waited, but he said nothing more.

They didn't move. Hermione forced herself to breathe slowly. An anguished tightness was pushing at her eyes from the back. And thickening her throat. She could feel the boy's fingers stroking a small area of her upper arm, distracted patterns on her bare skin. The tightness in her chest increased. What now?

The same old problems. The same dilemma. The same choices. The same stakes. No, the stakes were higher than ever. If that was even possible. It was no longer just a matter of reputation. Of people's opinion. Their lives were at stake. They were in a war.

She gritted her teeth. Loosened her fist, opening her palm over his pale chest. Feeling the skin warm under her own. She could hear him breathing. She could see his chest rise and fall right before her eyes. He was alive. He was in her arms.

And did she have to give him up again?

Her fingers moved. Lightly brushing his skin. Making sure he was real. How could he not be, when she had touched the cosmos hours ago, and only her grip on that skin had kept her on earth?

Responsibility. Commitment. Duties. Good judgement. Good sense.

That was who she was. That was what she owed to the Order.

And yet her heart was trembling.

She pulled her face back. Wanting to see him. Searching for his eyes. Searching for what to do. Arguments. Answers. Draco met her gaze silently. And his eyes boring into hers was the best reason of all. It was all she needed.

"We should bring a couple of blankets next time," Hermione proposed shakily. Letting herself go. Maybe it was all the exhaustion of the day, the lack of sleep, the frenzy of sex, plus the magical feeling of waking up next to him for the first time in her life, but she didn't want to think about it any more. No more. She didn't want to weigh the pros and cons. The extent of her own betrayal. She didn't want to worry about the same reason over and over again. She didn't want to recalculate the dangers of loving the man next to her. She just wanted to act. She just wanted him.

Draco was silent for a few seconds. The chest beneath her moved more discreetly. He was barely breathing.

"Are you sure?" he murmured. And she knew he wasn't talking about the blankets. She nodded, not looking away.

"We're not hurting anyone," Hermione whispered. Almost as if she'd just realised. Making her position clear. And it was true. They weren't. Only they would know. Only they would get hurt.

Draco blinked absently. As if he was actually sizing it all up for the first time. As if her determination had suddenly made him hesitate. But she lowered her face, placing a kiss on his chest. And her hair fell against his skin. And Draco's brain stopped.

He rolled over, lying on his side as well, in a more comfortable position, but keeping his arm under her head. The mattress was so narrow that they couldn't lie on their backs next to each other. At least one, or both of them, had to be on their sides. Thanks to Draco's change of position, they were face to face. Wrapped in their cloaks. And Hermione's world shrank to that tiny mattress at floor level.

Draco could stop holding his own head and used his hand to cup her cheek, running his thumb over her skin in a slow back-and-forth motion. And Hermione surprised herself by breathing in the same rhythm. He was looking at her so intently as if she was going to vanish at any moment. As if he was waiting for her to change her mind. But she didn't.

And Hermione couldn't resist the closeness. She broke the inches that separated them and kissed him on the lips. Slowly. Possibly the slowest kiss they had ever given each other.

The girl broke away when she noticed that a lock of her brown hair had slipped between their mouths. She smiled when it was Draco who pulled it away from her lips for her, taking advantage of the presence of his hand on her cheek; though he didn't try too hard to push it away. It wasn't worth trying to control it. The girl's hair, having air-dried through the night, after having been soaked in the overnight rain, was a real calamity.

"Two weeks?" Draco proposed then. She took a breath, lost in his nearness. Returning to the real world. Taking in the decision they had made. She blinked, concentrating, forcing herself to think rationally. Doing the maths.

"Three?" she replied, her voice a little gloomy. "Just... just in case." He nodded silently. In agreement. "What day is it today?"

"Twelfth of February."

Hermione looked away, focused. Her lips moved silently for a few seconds. Counting. Draco, watching her, could see her articulate things like 'seven... two... one, two, three... twenty-eight...'. He felt her light fingers, clenched between their bodies by the closeness, tap against his chest as she used them to help herself count mentally.

"The seventh of March? It's Wednesday," she proposed at last. Out loud. Draco thought about it for a moment. Then he nodded.

They looked at each other, silent. As they lay there, facing each other. Taking in together what they were planning to do. The madness they were going to commit. They were going to see each other again.

The seventh of March. On the seventh of March, they would defy the world again.


Ron let out an expletive as he nearly spilt the bottle of ink on the table, on top of all the parchment. Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the sight of it too, and it took a while for her heart to return to a normal beat even though her friend had the reflexes to make sure there wasn't a catastrophe. They had been there too long. Tiredness was taking a toll on them.

"By the skin of my teeth," Ron mumbled, pulling the bottle upright in time and finally pulling out the map he needed from underneath it. He held it out over the others and Hermione leaned over a little to get a better look.

They were both sitting in Mad-Eye's office on the first floor of Grimmauld Place. The retired veteran Auror was the one who used it most often, most of the time along with Ron, when they were planning combat strategies for confrontations against the enemy. But it really was available to any member who needed it. That afternoon, it was Ron and Hermione who had sat side by side in the two guest chairs in front of the large desk.

That room had been the bedroom of Walburga Black, Sirius's mother, but they had ended up moving the old bed into the hospital ward, and placed in its place a desk, chairs, and dozens of shelves and cupboards, now filled with all sorts of classified Order documents. From invoices for supplies, to blueprints of enemy locations.

Hermione pointed her finger at the line around a darker ecru rectangle in the centre of the blueprint.

"Is this the outer wall?"

"Yes, this is the wall, this is the entrance gate, and all of this is the gardens," Ron confirmed, pointing to them, then picking up a quill and dipping it in ink. "It's at the top of the hill, but the slope isn't too steep. Here's the gardener's cottage." He made several 'X' with the quill. Hermione scrutinised the blueprint with her keen eyes.

"We confirm that there is no human surveillance?"

"Everything suggests there isn't, just magical protection," Ron corroborated, handing her the parchment containing the list of protective spells they had to break. "But it would be wise to Apparate as far away as possible. This is the nearest village, the one Harry was talking about," he pointed to it with the quill. "Little Hangleton. It would be a good place. It's only about a mile away. It'll be about thirteen minutes' walk at a good pace."

"We usually Apparate in threes," Hermione reminded him. "Where did Harry say we could meet until we regrouped?"

"The graveyard, but I'm not convinced. It's too open..."

"Which one?"

"The one next to the Riddle House. It's just outside the walls," he pointed to it, and drew a 'G' next to it with his quill.

Hermione drummed her fingers on the blueprint. Undecided. She picked up the magic opisometer, and tried to measure the distance between the graveyard and the manor. Ron frowned, watching her assess it.

"According to Harry, there's a good visibility from there," Hermione murmured to herself. "He could see the house..."

"It's risky."

"But it's the best place, Ronald," Hermione sighed, resigned. Her friend was looking at her sternly. Not convinced. "We can't be wandering around the village. The graveyard's a bit remote. We'll attract less attention."

Ron was still looking at her in frustration but agreed to continue organising and summarising the plan they'd been working on all day. He pulled out another piece of parchment to place on top of the others. One that contained a scale map of the grounds belonging to the manor house.

"Square metres of the house?" Hermione asked, scrutinising the interior of the place, and beginning to memorise the location of the rooms.

"Three floors, plus attic, and about three hundred and fifty square metres." Ron arched an apologetic eyebrow. Hermione sighed in frustration. "How many people do you have in the end?"

"There are seven of us, at first. Three more in reserve."

"All right," Ron muttered. He brought the quill back to the blueprint. His blue eyes glittered with concentration. "It's... complicated. You have to be very, very quick. You only have fifteen minutes. You can't dawdle at all. There's a secondary entrance at the back, leading to the kitchen," he marked the spot with an 'X'. "Here, here and here are the windows." He made several smaller black 'X', almost talking to himself. "You can leave the front ones. Two watching at the back door... Two coming in... You'll need at least three or four more to cover the ground."

"I'd rather three of us go in," Hermione commented, nibbling on a fingernail that was already too short.

"I agree. Even better, you can divide up more ground. The kitchen can be a quick peek, there doesn't seem to be anything underground. And neither does the living room. There's no basement or anything like that. Just check the rooms. Look for Masking Spells."

"Got it," Hermione muttered. "What about the escape? What area is outside the Anti-Apparition Charms?"

"The barrier goes this far. Outside this perimeter you can Apparate," he made a wide circle in a dashed line, encircling the manor. Illustrating the barrier. It coincided with the outer wall. Hermione nodded, taking it in.

"I'll take ten people, then. I'd rather not handle that many people, but there's no choice. They've got a damn strategic location."

"The inside's a problem, Hermione. There's practically nothing to work with," a frowning Ron pulled out another piece of parchment knotted with string and unrolled it. "We've only got these blueprints, but they're from the sixties. And we don't know if any of the later owners have done work and altered it. Everything suggests they haven't, but I think it's risky to make a definite plan based on this alone... Tonks has asked Great Hangleton for information, but insisting on it could put her at risk. Oliver told me earlier that they might have something in a couple of weeks..."

"We can't wait that long," Hermione replied, without even thinking about it. "No way. We'll figure it out once we're inside. Do we even know how many β€” ?"

A knock at the door interrupted them. Both friends looked up to find the aged face of Aberforth Dumbledore standing in the doorway.

"Can I have a word with you, Hermione?" the man asked by way of greeting. His mouth was barely visible beneath his long grey beard. The girl opened her mouth but hesitated, looking at Ron. He stood up immediately, understanding.

"I'm going to ask if Oliver has sent anything else. I'll come up when you're done," he offered, heading for the door, his lips stretched into a tight smile.

He was nervous. Very nervous. Hermione knew it. Hours ago they'd had a heated argument about it. He didn't like working with so little information. He liked having more days to plan such battles. Oliver had reported the day before the exact location of the new prison they had been trying to find for weeks. And it had turned out to be located at the old Riddle House in Little Hangleton. The old home of Lord Voldemort's paternal family.

Hermione had wanted to get to work immediately. They had to save these people. It was urgent. Lord Voldemort was making his way across the United Kingdom at full speed. Battle after battle. And the Order was not doing well in the last few. They were outnumbered by the enemy, among other difficulties. They could not allow more Inferi to swell the enemy ranks.

The fact that Hermione was the leader of the division in charge of the rescue mission didn't make things any easier. Ron hadn't slept at all the night before, gathering blueprints and planning various strategies that he and Hermione had been discussing, agreeing and negotiating all day. He was going to give everything for her.

Aberforth closed the door behind Ron, and went to sit in the hard wooden chair the boy had been occupying. He looked tired.

"How are you doing?" the man wanted to know, in his sullen voice, looking at the girl with his piercing blue eyes, identical to those of his missing brother. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath.

"Finishing details," she said, looking at the blueprints absently. "We're lacking information about the interior, but I think we can work with what we've got."

"When are you going? Tonight?"

"No, tomorrow night," she corrected. With a racing heart. The fifth of March.

It was three days before she was due to meet Draco again. It had been three weeks since their meeting on Blucher Street, hours after the confrontation on Privet Drive. She wanted to think that the three weeks had taken forever, but she had to admit that they hadn't. In fact, they had gone by rather quickly. The day-to-day was very fast in war.

Returning to her current life had felt almost unreal after what had happened. She made an excuse for Ginny, who was not at all suspicious. And she no longer had to settle accounts with anyone. Only with herself. Everything was relegated to her conscience.

Oddly enough, remorse did not come to haunt her. She isolated Draco to a corner of her brain, but it was a different corner than the one he had been in for the past two years. It was a less hermetic corner. She allowed herself to think about him from time to time. She allowed herself to get excited to know that it would only be a few days before they would see each other again. She allowed herself to miss his company. She could do all that without neglecting her life. Her day-to-day life. Her focus on the battle.

She was tired of fighting her heart. Yes, they were going to resume their clandestine encounters. Yes, in the middle of a war, in the middle of both enemy sides. Exactly, without any concrete purpose. Prolonging something that would never come true once the war was over. It didn't matter whose victory it was. They fooled themselves again, like when they were at school, thinking they could take on the world.

But now they were adults. Warriors. And they knew perfectly well that none of it was forever. And yet they refused to separate as long as there was a measly way to stay in touch. They were a pair of unreasoning fools...

"Would you be willing to make a last-minute change?" Aberforth wanted to know, without blinking, scrutinising her from behind his spectacles. Hermione did blink, indecisive.

"Maybe, but it's not the best circumstances. What's it about?"

"Vaisey," the old man summarised, arching his bushy, grizzled eyebrows. Hermione shuddered.

"My God, is he also β€” ?" she asked instantly, shocked.

"No, no, nothing like that," the man assured her, waving a wrinkled, blotchy hand. "He's alive and kicking. In fact, he has expressed an interest in becoming more active. He would like to be useful to the Order. Help us."

Hermione frowned, taking in the information. Vaisey had been a student at Hogwarts, in Slytherin House, a few years older than Hermione. She knew him by sight. He had also been a Chaser on his House Quidditch team for a couple of years. And he had been a sworn enemy of the Mudbloods. At some point during the course of the war, he joined Lord Voldemort's side, only to defect some time later. The Order took him in and kept him safe. He was one of the few Death Eater defectors still alive, as was Terence Higgs. And now he seemed to have officially switched sides. Now he wanted to help them win the war.

"In what way?" Hermione wanted to clarify, cautiously. Aberforth leaned back in his seat, pensive.

"He has mentioned to us that he has duelling skills to offer. Apparently, he was involved in quite a few skirmishes when he was still on the Dark Lord's side. He would like to participate in open battles."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Staring at the Moody's Foe-Glass on the wall behind Aberforth. Diffuse shadows reflected on the surface.

"That's too risky. He could betray us," the girl protested, bluntly.

"We know. That's why we've come up with a halfway point," the man offered, tilting his head to one side. "To include him in your division, if you agree. On rescue missions, under your command. He wouldn't interact as directly with the enemy as he would in an open attack. In your case, stealth counts more. At least if all goes well. Treason is more unlikely. More complicated to commit."

"It's still a tricky business," Hermione objected, folding her arms. "And you want him to be part of tomorrow's mission?"

"If you agree," he repeated, staring at her. "It would be a way to test him."

The girl blinked and ended up nodding, still in thought. Redemption was possible, she had no doubt about that. She had seen fanatical Death Eaters leave Lord Voldemort's ranks, repentant, and be killed for treason. And, if it had been up to her and her own safety alone, she would not even doubt that Vaisey's intentions were honourable. But she was not an idealistic person, and all caution was too little. She had people in her care, and she did not intend to risk them.

"Besides," Aberforth added, making her look at him again. "He has the Dark Mark."

Hermione straightened in her seat. Her eyes sparkled.

"Are you talking about the Cursed Barrier?"

"He could get through it if you came across it," the man said. "And perhaps remove it, and then you could continue with the mission instead of abandoning it. Think about it."

Hermione did, indeed, think about it. The Cursed Barrier was an invisible defensive barrier that Death Eaters often used to protect their territory, and which only someone who possessed certain characteristics set by them could pass through. Usually the Dark Mark. This way, they made sure to keep out the Order of the Phoenix. They had had to abort a considerable number of missions because of that fact, since they had not yet found a way to trick such a barrier.

Ron wasn't going to approve of that by any means, but perhaps Vaisey's presence would be useful to Hermione's division.

"I don't want anything to go wrong on this mission," the girl said, nibbling her fingernail again. "Does Vaisey know how many people will be on it tomorrow?"

"No, he doesn't know anything yet."

"In that case, I need to ask for two more. From any other division. Just to keep an eye on him," Hermione said firmly. "I'm not going to put my squad at risk."

"I think that's reasonable. I'll talk to Remus, then I'll confirm who he can offer you."

"And I want to talk to Vaisey," she demanded. "Before he meets with the others and we catch him up on the plan. I want to know how much of a problem it might be that I'm a Muggle-born for him to respect my orders."

"Also reasonable." Aberforth looked at her over his spectacles. The corners of his mouth lifted under his beard. "As soon as he's spoken to you for two minutes, he'll follow you to the end of the world".

Hermione, realising then how stiff she was, and the raging determination in her own expression, relaxed her body. Being the leader of her division was a great responsibility. She had people at her command. She had their lives in her hands. And she was going to protect them with her last breath.


The night was cold, but cloudless. Hermione would have liked the clouds to hide the moonlight. The thicker the darkness, the less visible they would be.

She was squatting in the grass, her back pressed against an inconspicuous stone mausoleum, blackened with age and covered with moss. The name of the family buried there had long since been effaced. The grass was dry beneath her feet. Dozens of gravestones stood around her, leaning at different angles and in various states of disrepair. She could see another large mausoleum to her right. And a large hooded angel to her left, about twenty yards away. The grave of the Riddle family.

Hermione could feel shivers run down her spine at the funereal atmosphere. Her breathing sounded louder inside the Phoenix Mask. And, for the moment, she could hear nothing else. The manor house towered before them, moonlit, high on the hill. She saw no shadows moving around. No light in the windows of the house. No trace of magic around them. They had checked, and there were no Inferi in that graveyard. There was not a soul. It was late at night, and, of course, any possible visitors, locals from Little Hangleton, would be peacefully asleep in their homes.

"Hermione?" whispered a voice to her right. The girl looked away from a shadow-shrouded corner of the graves she was scrutinising from her position. Lavender Brown was crouched beside her, also leaning against the mausoleum, wand in hand.

"Yes?"

"Red sparks," her former roommate muttered. Hermione looked in the direction she was pointing. Indeed, reddish glows were breaking the darkness to her right, at the far end of the graveyard. "Jackson's group. Miller should be in position as well."

Hermione nodded in agreement and looked the other way. Waiting. A few seconds passed when they saw more sparkles illuminate the night in the distance.

"Blue sparks," Roberts said effectively, crouching down beside Lavender. "There's Moore."

"Gear up," said Hermione. Feeling her heart racing in anticipation of what was to come. "Are you ready?"

Roberts and Lavender confirmed softly. Hermione took a breath and waved her wand, creating golden sparks. The rescue was beginning.

They got to their feet and broke into a run. Their feet stealthy over the thicket. Clumsily over the badly cut grass. Always in the direction of the manor house on the hill. They left the gloomy graveyard behind, approaching one of the thick stone walls that surrounded it. They jumped over it, helping each other. They landed softly on the gravel on the other side. They heard the rest of their comrades catch up with them. They ran along the path, which began to slope as the hill began to rise until they reached the entrance gate in the wall surrounding the Riddle House.

Roberts positioned himself in front and began to wave his wand. Hermione stood with her back to the wall, on one side of the gate, and Lavender on the other. Watching the path. She could see the village in the distance, most of the lights out. She also saw shadows approaching that she knew were her comrades, coming up behind them, taking up their positions. A shadow which she knew to be Moore leaned next to her on the wall.

Several seconds passed in which Roberts worked at quick spells, uttered in a half-voice. Breaking down all the barriers and traps he had been told the manor possessed. Removing curses. Scrutinising and analysing the magic of the place to see how the property was protected.

"Done," he whispered at one point, halting his movements. "Spells countered. The information was correct. I detect nothing else. No Cursed Barrier this time. We'll have fifteen minutes, as usual, until everything works again. On your signal, Granger."

The girl nodded, turning to the figure beside her.

"Moore, timer," she said, and the woman waved her wand, creating a golden clock that hovered next to the wooden handle. Both hers, and all of her companions'. Hermione raised an arm, making sure it was visible to the rest of her comrades. "Go ahead, Roberts."

"Good luck, everyone," the man muttered and waved his wand in one final complex motion, opening the gate with a metallic creak. "Go!"

Hermione lowered her arm in a warning and was the first through the gate, running across the grounds. The imposing manor house rose in front of her. The roof was missing tiles. Formerly reddish brick walls, now covered with the same ivy that had taken over the garden. Tall windows, many boarded up, one in each room, covered the faΓ§ade. Hedges everywhere. Hermione walked around the main faΓ§ade of the house without stopping, making her way to the back door. She didn't look back. She knew that her comrades were moving into the agreed positions. Lavender and Jones staying at the front; Jackson and Westenberg, halfway, by the late Muggle gardener's cottage; the rest were following her to the back. Without speaking, knowing each other's task. Stealthy shadows in the night. They had only fifteen minutes before the Death Eaters knew they were there.

Hermione walked up the porch steps and reached the back door, which was almost entirely covered in ivy. She stepped to one side again, keeping an eye on the perimeter. Meanwhile, Roberts arrived behind her, panting, and repeated the procedure he had done at the entrance gate. Breaking the protections and spells on the door. Vaisey and Miller were a few yards away, crouched by the bushes, scrutinising their surroundings. Morrison stood to the side, waiting as well. Moore stood beside Hermione.

"Thirteen minutes," Moore whispered. Hermione nodded, between gasps.

"Clear," Roberts said, stepping aside.

Hermione pushed open the door and darted inside. Moore followed, and so did Morrison. Roberts stood guarding the door, waiting.

"Homenum Revelio," was the first thing Hermione uttered as they entered the dingy, ramshackle kitchen. The incantation didn't reveal anything, and she hadn't expected it to. But one always had to be sure.

It smelled of decrepitude in there. She kept running, rounding a large dining table in the direction of the corridor before her. Moore and Morrison were on her heels. They came to a wide hall, covered in dust and windblown leaves. It was dimly lit by the mullioned windows that lined the front door. A shattered chandelier lay on the floor in the centre of the room. A grand marble staircase curved up to the upper floor.

Morrison went straight upstairs. Hermione peered through a doorway on the ground floor, peering into a completely empty room. Wand in hand, waving it continuously, searching for spells. She and Moore wandered around the different rooms and found themselves in an unlocked living room. Old, rickety furniture. An armchair standing. An unlit fireplace, broken in one corner. Graffiti on the walls perpetrated by Muggle graffiti artists. Cobwebs everywhere. Dust floating in the shadows. Creaking sounds all around them, caused by their footsteps. There was no one. No footprints on the dusty floor.

"Upstairs," Hermione said hurriedly, retracing their steps to the hall and starting up the grimy stone steps two at a time. They lit their wands. Up there, the windows were mostly boarded up.

"Ten minutes," Moore said. Hermione didn't answer. They were running late. There was still a second floor. And the attic. The mission was getting complicated. The manor was bigger than they had calculated they could walk through.

They reached the first floor. Morrison was already there; they could see the light of his wand moving through the rooms to the right. Breaking the protective enchantments that blocked the doors. Hermione darted into the rooms before her. She was sweating. She was very hot. The protective enchantments inside the shelters were usually easier and quicker to counter than those protecting the outside, but it was equally frustrating to find nothing every time they managed to break them and see the deserted interior of the rooms. There were charms everywhere. Just to put them off the scent. To keep them busy.

Empty rooms everywhere. Bedrooms with mould on the walls of peeling paper and bare mattresses. A grimy bathroom, with a huge brass-legged bathtub and a broken mirror. A kind of library where not a single book was left, just overturned bookshelves and tables.

"Here!"

Morrison's voice had broken the silence of the house. Both Moore and Hermione came out of the rooms they were checking and followed the man's warning. He had found five people in one of the rooms. Sitting on the dirty floor, ignoring the single bare bed and the splintered bedroom furniture. Dressed in robes that should have been clean weeks ago. Their faces were dirty and their hair greasy. Eyes staring at them in astonishment. Hermione wondered how much they had been fed in all that time. But she sighed in relief. They had found them. They could go now.

"They say there are more people, but they don't know where," Morrison told them urgently as the two women entered the room. One of the prisoners, a young man, nodded his head in confirmation. His eyes glittered with hope.

Hermione, her heart pounding, checked the timer on her wand. Less than three minutes.

"I'll go get them," Moore said instantly, panting, heading for the door.

"Moore, two minutes left," Morrison protested, raising his voice. "We're at the limit. We've got to go."

"We can't leave them here," the woman replied, her voice choking as she stood in the doorway.

"Go to the grounds, Moore," Hermione ordered, her voice firm. "I'll get them. Go downstairs."

"No way. You can't go alone. I'm going to search the rest of this floor, you go up to the second," she said, leaving the room decisively.

"Moore!" Hermione protested with a shout, but her companion was already gone. She snorted and turned to Morrison, who was busy pulling the prisoners up. "Go downstairs, quickly. Take them to the Apparition Point and go with them. You don't have time to come back. Evacuate the rest of us as well."

She watched Morrison nod reluctantly. Realising he had no choice. The girl intended to go after Moore, but something held her in place. A reddish light had illuminated Morrison's Phoenix Mask for an instant. And another whitish light did so seconds later. Hermione stared at it. Confused. She looked around her afterwards. The skin of the prisoners was flashing, too. The whole room. As if some fireworks were going off somewhere.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realised something was wrong.

The prisoners started to walk out the door, but Morrison didn't follow them. He had noticed the same thing as the girl. He looked equally worried. They looked at the window at the same time. Boarded up. Glimpses of lights through the cracks.

Morrison went there first. Pulling the boards away with a flick of his wand. The flashes of light became more evident. The whole room filled with lights of every colour. Shouts were heard.

"We're under attack..." gasped Morrison, dumbfounded, his face pressed against the dirty glass. Watching his comrades fight with eyes wide behind the holes in his mask. Hermione needed a moment to take it in. She looked at the timer. Breathless. It was at zero. They'd been trapped.

The last prisoners who were leaving the room had stopped at the sight of the illumination coming from the window. Paralysed with terror.

"HURRY, DOWNSTAIRS!" Hermione shouted, pouncing on Morrison and tugging his robes to pull him towards the door. "We're running out of time! You've got to get outside the wall!"

"Shit, fuck... Downstairs! EVERYBODY DOWNSTAIRS!" shouted Morrison in turn, pulling himself together and regaining his efficiency. He pushed the last of the prisoners from behind to get them to move faster. They all rushed down the corridor.

"Tell everyone to withdraw! Get back to the headquarters any way you can!" Hermione ordered, not following them down the stairs. Instead, she ran down the corridor on the same floor. "Moore! We have to go! MOORE!"

No one answered. Hermione moved up and down the first floor, stopping in every open room she saw, poking her head inside. Calling out to her with no response. The woman was nowhere to be seen. And she wasn't about to leave without her.

She retraced her steps and darted up the stairs to the second floor. Perhaps the rest of the prisoners, whom she intended to rescue no matter what, were there. She could hear the battle raging in the grounds more clearly now. The light from the spells was pouring through the cracks of every poorly boarded-up window, illuminating the stairs and the upper landing.

"Granger!"

Hermione spun around at the sound of the call, halfway to the second floor. A masked figure was calling to her from the first floor. The Phoenix Mask raised in her direction.

"Moore?" she asked instantly, out of reflex, full of hope.

"Vaisey," the masked man replied instead. And she realised with difficulty that it was true. It was a male voice. The young man was panting, but his tone was firm, "They need you outside. We're surrounded, we can't take the prisoners outside the walls to Apparate..."

He could add no more, for Hermione had jogged down the stairs to his position. Vaisey could see her dark eyes gleaming more than the silver of her mask.

"I'm going downstairs. Find Moore and the rest of the prisoners," Hermione said in a firm voice, pointing up the stairs. No chance of a retort. "Help her. We're going to clear a path for you to get to the gate."

Vaisey looked at her. The girl could see the uncertainty in his eyes. As if he didn't at all expect the trust she was placing in him. In a defector Death Eater. Who had also despised her when they were teenagers because she was a Muggle-born.

"Got it," he whispered.

Hermione didn't add anything else and just walked around the boy and ran downstairs. On her way to the outside, and thus to the battle.

She descended the marble staircase, her feet echoing in the silence. She could hear herself panting. Adrenaline buzzing in her ears. It had all gone wrong. They had made a rookie mistake, timing it awfully. And now they would have to fight to get out of there alive.

She reached the hall. Down the corridor to her left, she could see one of her comrades in the kitchen. Blocking the entrance of a Death Eater. The light of the spells showed that they were fighting fiercely. Hermione waved her wand and the shattered chandelier resting on the floor flew up into the air. Several loose pieces of glass clinked and fell to the floor. The girl advanced down the short corridor, towards the kitchen, with long strides, carrying the floating chandelier with her. As she entered the room, she saw the large dining table lying in the corner, smashed to smithereens and broken in half. Possibly used as a makeshift barrier. The windows in the room had also been blown out.

"Out of the way!" Hermione shouted to her comrade as she took up a position behind him. He obeyed almost instantly, as soon as the Death Eater gave him a second's respite. He leapt out of the way, and Hermione found herself facing her unprepared enemy. With a swift flick of her wand, she threw the chandelier at the Death Eater, hitting him full on. Her adversary fell backwards with a scream, collapsing under the weight and the sharp edge of the glass.

The girl came out of the kitchen, passing beside him. Her companion, who she guessed was Roberts, once she had him by her side, bound the fallen Death Eater with a swift Incarcerous Spell.

The glow of the fire blinded her as soon as she set foot outside. The gardener's cottage was in flames to her right. More adversaries were before her. The prisoners were to her left, trying to hide behind one of the columns supporting an upper balcony. The skilled Morrison was in front of them, protecting them from two Death Eaters at the same time with fast incantations. Roberts came to their rescue, throwing a Fainting Bomb that freed Morrison from one of his enemies.

Hermione looked the other way. She saw the dark-haired Miller standing alone against another Death Eater, and, judging by the way they were fighting, she recognised Westenberg and Jackson, closer to the house than they should be, defending themselves against a bunch of enemies. She could not recognise Lavender or Jones. She could not see what was happening in front of the house from her position. The smoke from the magic bombs that had been used glistened in the blinding light of the spells, rising very slowly into the sky. Reflecting white light as it approached the moon. In the distance, distorted by the darkness, more robes and masks intermingled. They were trying to corner them at the back of the manor. Pushing them back inside the house. Pushing them away from the exit gate. They couldn't Apparate inside the grounds.

Hermione gripped her wand tightly, grabbed two bombs from her belt with her free hand, and advanced between the combatants. She countered a spell to her left. Another to her right. She felt her thigh being hit, over her leg guard made of Blast-Ended Skrewt armour, but she felt no pain. She blocked a curse, and cast a Stunning Spell that missed its target. But Jackson went out to meet her and covered her. She threw a Freezing Gas bomb to her right, stopping two approaching Death Eaters. In one swift move, she created a long-lasting Shield Charm to her left. She knew it would endure two curses. Three at most. Every second counted. Without hesitation, she pointed her wand at the area of the wall closest to her, ten metres away.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

And it worked. The spell flew through the air and hit the stone with force. It exploded, rumbling in her eardrums. And into the night. And, she was sure, in the village of Little Hangleton. Debris and enemies flying through the air. More dust, hampering what little visibility there was at night. An exit, closer than the unreachable gate.

She saw a curse slam into her Shield Charm, sending sparks flying. But it endured. And the Death Eater responsible was trapped in a huge bubble generated by the girl. Then she spun around. Searching for the prisoners from her position.

A second spell hit her shield. It blinked, but did not fall apart. She saw another enemy before her. She waved her wand in a sweeping motion, almost like a conductor's baton, and flung some of the burning debris from the gardener's cottage at them. A third curse then hit her shield. And this time it vanished.

Instantly she threw the other bomb she held in her hand. Garrotting Gas. The Death Eater who had ended up undoing her shield squirmed in on himself, falling to the ground. Hermione advanced back towards the manor, locating the enemy. The air burned and smelled of ash.

"RETREAT!" she shouted, at the top of her lungs. Her throat was tearing out above the noise of spells, fire and explosions. "Retreat! Get out of here!"

Then she saw the prisoners. And Morrison. He was pulling them out from behind the column while protecting them from the enemy. He had seen the hole in the wall and was heading that way. And Hermione set out to cover their retreat.

She threw an Impediment Jinx at a Death Eater who was trying to attack them. She managed to hit them in the back and send them flying through the air. Morrison then had a clear path and managed to run with the prisoners towards the hole in the wall. Others of their comrades also retreated towards it, while still fighting. She had to go to the front of the house to look for Lavender and Jones. He didn't see Vaisey, or Moore, or the rest of the prisoners. She did see one of her people fall to the ground. She made out another lying over there. She didn't know who they were. She could see nothing. The flames were rising. The undergrowth was beginning to catch fire. It was only a matter of time before the fire reached the old house, covered in vines.

She didn't see the Death Eater who attacked her. But suddenly she felt herself being pulled roughly. As if she had been caught with a rod. She stopped feeling the ground beneath her feet and saw everything around her spinning. The wind whistling in her ears. She saw the porch column approaching. She crashed against it like a rag doll. She felt someone trying to rip out her left shoulder. She didn't know if they succeeded. She landed sprawled on top of the porch steps. On her side. Breathless. The steps digging into her. She was sure she'd broken into pieces. She lay still. Very still. Fighting against a body that didn't respond to her. She tried to gasp for air, desperately. But it brought a pain she had never felt before. A sharp, electric blast was born from her chest. That took what little breath she had managed to take. That made her scream. She heard other screams. She kept seeing spells. But her eyelids were closing. And it all disappeared.


Silence. That was the first thing Hermione heard. And then a continuous faint murmur. As if she were in a place with many people, all talking at once, in hushed tones. Dozens of conversations. She was aware of her own breathing. She could breathe. But her body was too heavy to do so. She was lying down. On a soft surface. She felt her heart racing. Was she alive? She opened and closed her fingers. She could move them. She tried to move her feet too. They responded. Her body was responding.

"Hermione, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

There was someone speaking softly beside her. She was going to answer, but it took too much effort. She chose to raise her eyelids, proving that she could do it. It took her several attempts to get it all the way up. The light was subtle, and yet it blinded her.

The murmur of voices came more clearly to her brain. A high, dark ceiling above her. She lowered her head slightly, trying to see something closer to the floor. She was, indeed, in a bed. She could feel the linen sheets under her hands. The bedside table light was on. She could dimly see that there were more beds around her. Many occupied, as usual.

She was on the third floor of Grimmauld Place. In the hospital ward.

A face came into her field of vision. A hand on the skin of her arm. She recognised the face. Hannah Abbott.

"You're safe," the girl assured her, with a tired smile. She was dressed in the grey robes worn by the Order's Healers, and her short blonde hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. "You can relax. Everything is fine. How are you feeling?"

Despite her old schoolmate's soothing words, Hermione felt her breath catch. The Riddle House. The rescue. Her comrades. The prisoners.

She made a sudden attempt to sit up, and Hannah, already prepared for it, carefully stopped her. It didn't take much, though, because as soon as she tried to put her weight on her left elbow, her shoulder protested with an almost unbearable sharp pain. With a gasp, she let herself fall back down again.

"Hermione, lie still," Hannah pleaded, her expressive brown eyes fixed on her face. "We've reduced your dosage of sedative potions, and painkillers too, because we wanted you to tell us how you're feeling. But don't move."

"Hannah, what happened?" asked the girl in turn. Desperate. In a hoarse voice. "Please, the mission β€” I need β€”"

"All right, I know, listen to me," Hannah grabbed her hand tightly. Leaning in a little closer. "I'm going to call someone who can inform you. But you have to be still and quiet, okay? Miriam, she's awake," she added, turning to someone at her back that Hermione couldn't see.

Hannah walked away, and losing the touch of her hand felt almost like abandonment. But Hermione found herself looking at another familiar face. That of the Healer Miriam Strout.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" asked the woman in a motherly manner, waving her wand over her. Generating diagnoses that Hermione didn't have the strength to try and decipher. She saw runes, coppery and glowing, appear above her. Charts ascending and descending. And different coloured lights illuminating the tip of her wand, depending on which part of her body she held it suspended over. But she didn't care about all that.

"Madam Strout, what happened...?" she insisted once more, breathless. She was alive, she could think, she could talk, she could walk. That was all she needed to know about herself. But she had to know what had happened to the others.

"What happened is that you had a rather serious injury," the woman replied, sarcastically, reading the runes expertly, without looking at her. "We thought it was a spell, and even considered a curse, but I think you hit your body pretty hard against something. You suffered a displaced fracture of the anatomic neck of the left humerus, the lateral third of the clavicle, and the first three ribs, the tenth and twelfth. This has caused a collapsed lung, an ipsilateral hemopneumothorax."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth. Then she pursed her lips in frustration. She wanted to keep pressing for information about the mission, but she knew she wouldn't get it from Healer Strout.

"What does that mean?" she finally questioned, in a breathy whisper. The woman smiled calmly, seemingly pleased that she was finally interested in her own health.

"It means you've broken your shoulder, and your collarbone, and your fractured ribs have punctured your lung. Take a deep breath, please." Hermione reluctantly did as she was told. She felt a twinge of pain in her left side, but that was all. And so she told the Healer when she asked. "Do you feel dizzy? Fatigued? Short of breath?"

The girl shook her head, even though she felt all those things. But she knew it wasn't because of the injury. She needed to know what had happened. Anguish was overflowing her chest.

"Everything is progressing well. It won't take long for the ribs to heal completely," the Healer said, as she ran her wand over them very slowly, like an X-ray scanner. "You won't even notice it in a few days. The collarbone looks very good, and there's been no vascular damage, no nerve damage," she placed the wand on a couple of points on her arm, and Hermione winced at each as she felt a Stinging Jinx. "Sensitivity is fine. Let's check the mobility of the shoulder..."

But a thought had just flashed through the girl's lethargic brain. Choking her breath away. Draco.

"How long have I been here?" she interrupted, before the Healer could do more than grab her arm at the wrist and elbow. The woman looked at her sternly, urging her to calm down.

"Only four days, my dear," she replied, beginning to move her arm in different directions gently, checking the range of motion. "We've kept you sedated with Calming Draught so that your breathing would be steady and your ribs would heal sooner. Your collarbone has been fully regenerated with Skele-Gro, because β€”"

But Hermione wasn't listening to her anymore. Four days. That meant it was the ninth of March. And she'd missed her meeting with Draco. It couldn't be possible...

Her throat muscles thickened. Tears rushed to her eyes. She had to bite her lower lip to hold back a sob. It was as if all the pent-up tension wanted to escape from her. But she didn't allow it. She blinked rapidly and a discreet tear escaped from the corner of her eye, sliding down her temple.

"Hermione..." gasped a familiar voice from a distance. Sprout interrupted her explanation of a treatment Hermione wasn't paying attention to, and before she could react, Ron was beside her. He was rounding the bed in a hurry to reach the edge where the Healer wasn't working. Hannah, who had apparently led him there, walked away in the direction of another of the hospital's occupied beds, to continue with her duties.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione moaned, sinking into her friend's shoulder as he bent over her in an attempt to hug her. He slipped an arm under her neck, trying to wrap it around her without hurting her. The girl wrapped the hand Strout wasn't holding around his thin back. She felt the tears bite her eyelashes again, but she breathed hard through her nose, controlling herself.

"How are you feeling? Are you all right?" he asked softly, still holding her close. Hermione nodded her head, unable to speak, and allowed her friend to sit up, releasing him. They looked into each other's eyes, and she caught the boy's deep sigh. As if he had just discovered a shy glow in the midst of a dismal darkness. She looked at Strout.

"Please, I need β€”" she began, desperate. But the woman was already nodding.

"We'll continue later. I'm going to get a Strengthening Solution for your muscles and a Wiggenweld Potion for you to take, no excuses," she said, looking at her with her eyebrows raised censoriously, then walked away, leaving them alone. "And don't get up," she added, over her shoulder.

Hermione turned to Ron, who was pulling up a small stool next to the empty bed next to him so he could sit down.

"Harry had to go to Aunt Muriel's to see his aunt and uncle, but I just told him you'd woken up and he said he'd be right back," he began to tell her, with nervous efficiency. "Aberforth will be here soon, too. How are you?" he asked again, looking at her carefully. Hermione noticed that his skin was dull, and his hair badly combed. As if he hadn't slept a wink, or paid any attention to himself, in the last few days.

"Ron, what happened at the Riddle House?" she asked in return. Telling herself that if she had to ask again, she would jump out of bed and Apparate into Little Hangleton. "Please tell me all about it. Is everyone all right?"

Her friend took another deep breath, which kept her on the edge of what she could bear. Then he nodded his head very slowly. But as if he didn't want her to appreciate the gesture.

"The manor has ended up in disrepair. It was justified to the Muggles in the village who heard the wall explode by claiming a gas leak or something like that. You rescued seven prisoners. Four were brought in by Morrison. And another three were brought in by Moore a few minutes later. We're checking right now to see if there were more," he began to explain. And Hermione, her heart pounding, didn't appreciate the hidden coldness in his voice.

"Morrison saved five," she replied confidently. Ron hesitated but ended up shaking his head.

"No. He lost one. He only brought four."

Hermione allowed herself two seconds of silence. She was having trouble breathing. And it wasn't because of her newly healed lung.

"Morrison, Moore... And the others?" she then added, in the firmest voice she could muster.

Ron blinked and swallowed. His eyes were lost in the girl's sheet.

"We've lost Jones and Westenberg. And Miller is like... we've lost him too. He won't recover."

Hermione didn't move a muscle. She couldn't separate her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She felt as if the crowded hospital ward had fallen silent. Three people. She had lost three members of her division. Three comrades. Three friends.

It wasn't the first time she had lost people in battle. They were at war. It was inevitable, though it was never easy to take. And they had lost a greater number of people in other, bigger battles. But three in one night, on a rescue mission? It was chilling...

Her chest began to heave with restrained weeping. She pursed her lips, feeling her face redden. She couldn't break down. This was not the time. Her task was not yet finished.

"What about the rest of the squadron?" she managed to articulate, her voice breaking. "Lavender? Roberts? Vaisey?"

Ron's blue eyes glittered suspiciously.

"Lavender's in the hospital," he glanced over his shoulder, at a bed Hermione couldn't see. "But she'll be all right. Her left hip was hit, and it'll take her a while to walk and run again. It was a pretty bad injury, but she'll be fine. Roberts brought you. The others are unharmed to a greater or lesser extent. And Vaisey..." He ran his tongue over his lips. "They say he was a great help. He helped Moore get the prisoners out, but he didn't leave with them. He went back to help. He was the one who brought Westenberg's body back."

Hermione could hear the audible irritation in his voice now. But she didn't understand why. And she didn't have time to worry about it. Taking a breath to compose herself, she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Time got away from us. We're used to working with fifteen minutes, but not in prisons of that size. We couldn't find anyone. There were Anti-unlocking Charms to confuse us everywhere. The place was huge, and it took us a long time to locate only five prisoners. And then we were told there were more, and Moore β€”"

"You rushed it."

Hermione looked him in the eye. Ron was very serious. His eyes sparkled with a resentment that was impossible to hide.

"What?" she gasped.

"I told you it was risky to do the mission so soon," he spat. His shoulders squared. "We were missing information. The blueprints of the interior β€”"

"They were correct," Hermione hissed, fiercely. "There were only minor structural changes. But there were a lot of interior protections to counteract, and β€”"

"We could have known that in more time. And it wouldn't have ended like this."

"Are you holding me responsible for what happened, for their deaths?" Hermione spat, her voice trembling and her face twitching. Ron stammered as he tried to speak. His eyes were locked on hers. And that instant of hesitation shattered Hermione's heart.

"I would never... No, of course not," Ron whispered. Having to look down. Ashamed. "I'm just saying that the prisoners had been in there for weeks. And they could have possibly held out for another week."

"That's inhuman," Hermione mumbled in dismay.

"And maybe you trusted the wrong person. What if this Vaisey knew where the prisoners were hidden? What if he deliberately delayed you by keeping it from you? How can we be sure he's not one of them anymore? Why is he still alive, when so many other defectors are dead?" added Ron hastily. Raising his voice with each question. And it was obvious that he was eager to put that card on the table. Hermione looked at him with shock.

"You just said he was a great help..." she began, furiously incredulous. Trembling with rage.

"That doesn't answer my questions," Ron muttered, between his teeth.

"How dare you?" the girl was shocked. Almost rising to her feet in sheer indignation. "You're accusing him without any evidence! This prison was set up long after he asked the Order for asylum. There is nothing to suggest that he has betrayed us, on the contrary β€”"

"Perhaps Harry doesn't think so," he replied sharply.

"Fortunately, I'm in charge of my division, not Harry," Hermione huffed, her voice choking with anger. "And, since there's not a shred of evidence to incriminate him, Vaisey stays."

Ron added nothing. But he looked at her for long seconds. Visibly displeased. Also embarrassed.

Healer Strout then approached, the promised potions in her hands.

"It's over, she needs to rest," the woman spat, giving Ron a censorious look as she set the vials down on the bedside table. "Health comes first. She'll be ready again after she's had a couple of hours' sleep. Tell anyone who wants to talk to her."

Ron's face softened instantly. As if, having been arguing heatedly with his friend, as was often the case with them, he had forgotten that she was convalescing. Running his tongue nervously over his lips again, he reached out and groped a quick caress on her wrist.

"Rest as long as you can. The rest of your division will come later, they were worried about you. And I'll... see you later too."

Hermione nodded her head stiffly. With her jaws clenched. And still stubborn expression.

Ron walked away with a sorrowful gait, and the girl forced herself to keep breathing vehemently through her nose, fighting the stiffness brought on by the anguish. Unsure if the pain drilling through her chest was her broken ribs or remorse.


Hermione held onto the handrail to keep her balance on the gloomy staircase. Despite pointing her lit wand at her feet, the steps of building seven on Blucher Street were narrow and treacherous.

That afternoon she had finally been discharged from the Grimmauld Place hospital ward after a six-day admission. It was one o'clock at night, already the twelfth of March, and she knew Draco wouldn't be there. But she had to go to their hideout on Blucher Street. She had been thinking all day about what to do, how to sort out what had happened, but she couldn't come up with a definite plan. How could she contact him to explain the reason for her absence? She considered leaving a note there explaining everything, but the fear of someone intercepting it was beyond her. She wasn't even sure if he would return to that place. Whether he would have deduced that her absence was a veiled statement that she had regretted her decision and did not want to see him again.

She let out a sigh, reaching the upper landing. What if she had missed her chance to make contact with him again? She couldn't believe it would end like this... She refused to believe it. To accept it. If it wasn't a note, she had to at least leave something there. Something personal. An object that, if by divine intervention he decided to return, when he saw it, he would understand that she hadn't backed out.

They had promised to bring blankets. And she had a stupid blanket under her arm that she intended to leave there. Would that be enough?

She opened the door to the almost empty room they had occupied last time. And then she startled so badly that her wand fell out of her hands, extinguishing as it hit the floor. Luckily Draco's was lit.

Hermione, completely paralysed, her hand still resting on the doorknob, could only watch as Draco leaned with one hand on the flimsy mattress in the corner, where he had been sitting, to help himself to his feet with a nimble leap. The girl felt the blanket slip from under her arm, landing on the floor as well. She had no strength to hold anything.

"W-what...? What...?" Hermione tried to babble, without rhyme or reason. But he was moving before she could react. So fast that she hadn't even gotten a good enough look at his features to put a name to his inscrutable expression. She saw his eyes flash in the gloom and it only took three strides of his long legs for him to stand before her. On her. His arms wrapped around her waist with the strength of a vice. He also ducked his head so he could press his face into the hollow of her neck. Hermione held onto his shoulders as best she could, out of inertia, so as not to be thrown off balance. As he squeezed all the air out of her by pressing her against his own body.

The girl gasped through a mouth she could not close. This time she didn't utter a single word. She could feel him exhaling hot air against her body. His shoulders moving in rhythm with his heavy breathing. He was breathing as if he had run a long distance.

Hermione found it hard to think. She couldn't, having him suddenly in front of her, hugging her with such urgency.

"What are you doing here?" the girl managed to ask, her voice trembling. Clutching his shoulders tighter. Closing her eyes. Beginning to take in the situation. "My God, what are you doing here? What β€” ?" she interrupted herself, trying to steady her voice. They had agreed to meet four days ago. "Have you β€” come here every day? Since Wednesday?"

Draco didn't answer. Hermione wondered if he was even hearing her. He was just pressing her against him and breathing against her. The girl tried to breathe in turn, running a hand over the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to the shoulder in front of her, on top of his regulation Death Eater robes. Reassuring him.

"Are you all right?" he murmured then, speaking for the first time. Without relaxing his grip.

The girl closed her eyes again. He had been worried about her. He hadn't doubted that she wanted to go back there. His voice had been calm, but the way he held her tight against his body left no room for doubt. She couldn't remember anyone ever hugging her so tightly. She didn't know you could get a hug like that.

"I'm fine. I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, running her hand over the back of his neck again, stroking his hair. "I couldn't come, and I couldn't let you know. I didn't think I'd find you here today, I was planning on leaving β€”"

"What happened?" he interrupted, more sharply. The girl swallowed hard, and, without time to think it through, decided to be honest.

"I was... injured. On a mission for the Order," she murmured calmly. "I've been receiving treatment from Healers for a couple of days now, but β€”"

Draco suddenly loosened his grip, pulling back just enough to look at her. His face was tight. Controlled. But his eyes were two hurricanes.

"What mission?" he asked, barely moving his lips. The girl's mouth pursed and she looked away, hesitant. "Granger, what mission?" he repeated instantly, more emphatically. Clearly enunciating. Demanding an answer.

Hermione looked at him again. Somewhat confused at his insistence. Agreeing to answer at the urgency of his unexpectedly intense gaze.

"A rescue at the Riddle House," she murmured, cautiously.

Draco remained motionless for several seconds. His eyes fixed on hers. But he didn't seem to be watching her. The girl could almost hear his brain racing. Draco's gaze fell, settling on her lower body. And the storm in his eyes burst.

He reached out with both hands and released the clasp of her robes with a little careful tug. Once they fell behind her back, he reached down and began unbuckling her belt as fast as he could. His eyes fixed on his task.

Hermione froze in place. She made no move to stop him. Her eyes were locked on his face as she struggled to understand what the sudden urgency was all about. Did he want them to β€” ? Now? His usually unperturbed eyes were discreetly wild. The speed and haste of his gestures unsettled her.

"Draco..." she whispered, but he ignored her. He seemed almost in a trance as he focused on undressing her from the waist down. She placed her hands on his forearms, trying to wake him up. "Draco," she repeated.

Her belt, with her battle equipment, fell to the floor on top of her robes. Draco's fingers then reached for the button of her trousers. Hermione just watched him do it, wanting to see what he was getting at. Putting off stopping him. Realising that she must be missing something.

He'd never been like this. He used to be calm. Passionate, but calm. And suddenly it seemed that the need was consuming him. And she didn't understand why. It didn't make any sense.

He undid her button and unzipped her zip. He tugged the trousers down a little, and the edge of the girl's T-shirt up. Revealing the skin of her lower belly. The top edge of her underwear. Draco's fingers tugged a little more of her clothing on the left side of her body, revealing more skin from that area. Wanting to see her full side. Her hip.

He then stopped short. His eyes locked on her even skin. Examining every inch. Several seconds of silence. And then he seemed to wake up. He breathed again. And realised that the girl's hands were on his forearms.

He looked up, searching her eyes. She didn't move a muscle. Silently questioning him.

"Where were you hurt?" he asked then, in an unsteady murmur. Slurring the syllables more than usual. Hermione blinked. Realising all at once. His intention was not to be intimate with her. Far from it. He was looking for her wound.

"On my left shoulder," she confessed, her voice as low as his, still scrutinising his face.

Draco dropped his eyelids. Inhaling sharply through his nose and swallowing saliva before exhaling. His hands, slow now, went back to pulling down her T-shirt and zipping up her trousers to button them. Hermione moved her hands closer to help him, to button it again herself. Still looking at him.

He took advantage of the fact that she was getting dressed again to move away a little, backing up a couple of steps. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, still breathing hard.

"I thought it was me," she heard him mutter, still rubbing his eyes. Hermione continued to stare at him. Her heart was pounding. Him?

"You were there? At the Riddle House?" she questioned, her voice trailing off. Feeling the dread creep up her legs and into her stomach. He nodded silently, now scratching his jaw. Apparently, just for the sake of doing something. He wasn't looking at her.

"I hurt someone. On the left hip. And when I saw her fall to the ground, her hair β€”" He glanced at Hermione's hair briefly. "I thought I hurt you. I tried β€” to get closer, but I was far away. There were too many people; every two steps I had to fight back. And one of yours took that person before I could check."

Hermione was trembling. Listening to him talk with his eyes fixed on the wooden floor. She could see the battle flash in his grey eyes.

'Lavender's in the hospital. But she'll be all right. Her left hip was hit...'

"It wasn't me," Hermione muttered, almost in a trance, remembering her comrade's brown hair. "You hurt another person."

He looked into her eyes. Static. Realising that she knew who he was talking about.

"Did I kill her?" he asked quietly, in an icy tone. She was quick to shake her head.

"She'll be all right."

Draco turned on his heel, his back to her. Breathing more loudly. He took several steps around the place, aimlessly. Running both hands through his hair.

"It could have been you," he mumbled, breathless. Fingers tangled in his own hair. "I could have killed you..."

"Draco..." she argued, sternly, taking a few steps closer. But he wouldn't let her continue.

"I can't do this," he uttered, in a louder voice, turning suddenly to look at her sideways. His expression was impatient now. "I can't go out there and fight knowing you might be under one of those stupid Phoenix Masks. I can't fight like this. I can't kill you," he emphasised, glaring at her. And he seemed unable to say another word after that. Hermione sent strength to her own legs, needing them to keep her on her feet.

"I don't want to hurt you either," she managed to reply, with difficulty. Almost in a choked whisper.

She hadn't even thought about it. It was such a terrible idea that she had refused to consider it. Meeting in battle. Again. Attacking each other without knowing it was them. But he was right. Probabilistically, it was difficult. But it could happen. It had already happened. Once, as far as they knew. On Privet Drive. But it could happen again.

He snorted through his teeth. Exasperated.

"Then leave the Order," he demanded then, without any compunction. Hermione frowned sceptically.

"I will do no such thing," she said, louder. Offended. "You leave the ranks of the Dark Lord," she exhorted in an outburst.

Now it was Draco's turn to scowl and exhale in surly disbelief.

"Are you making fun of me?" he spat with contempt. Hermione looked away, annoyed. Realising, but not admitting, that it really was silly. She could leave the Order. He couldn't do so without putting a price on his head. "At least tell me what your duties are. What missions you're on," he demanded, trying to convince her in a calmer tone. She looked at him again. With a defensive, yet cautious expression.

"I can't," she said, her voice calm. Draco's jaw twitched. He ran his hands through his hair again.

"Then tell me what we do," he demanded between clenched teeth. Without much success in containing his impatience. "I thought β€” I thought I'd hurt you in battle, then you didn't show up here, and I've been sure for four fucking days that I'd killed you. I can't β€”" He fell silent, swallowing rabidly, and Hermione guessed that the end of the sentence was 'endure something like that again'. "After I hurt whoever the hell that other woman was, I... I wasn't able to attack anyone else. I couldn't fight any more."

"What?" she said. Not sure she understood.

"Perhaps I'd killed you," he repeated, with angry emphasis. "Or maybe you were still out there. I didn't know. I had to, but I couldn't attack anyone else. You could have been any of them..."

Hermione forced herself to breathe. A thousand and one consequences of something like this running through her frantic brain. But she only cared about one thing.

"What did they do to you?" she interrupted him, stepping closer. Draco looked at her, and it seemed to confuse him to see that her face had fallen apart.

"Do?" he repeated, in a curt whisper, not moving.

"You're saying you couldn't fight your enemies after you 'hurt' me. You couldn't do your part. Your people had to realise that. Did they do something to punish you?" she asked again. Her voice choking more and more with each sentence. She stood in front of him and scrutinised his body with desperate eyes. The fact that she got no answer confirmed that she was right. She stepped forward and took one hand in hers and rested the other on his chest. She felt it almost instantly. His whole body was in subtle spasms. Sporadic. Not visible to the naked eye. She hadn't noticed it when he'd embraced her. Muscle damage from repeated overexertion.

He pulled away from her touch, looking annoyed, aware that she had noticed. Now it was she who was trembling.

"Cruciatus Curse?" she whispered, breathless. Draco ran his tongue over the surface of his teeth, his eyes fixed on the boarded-up window so he wouldn't have to look at her.

"I ended up convincing them that I was under an Imperius Curse and that's why I didn't keep attacking. They believed it. It wasn't Him," he clarified, calmly, knowing that was going through her head. "The Dark Lord doesn't know anything. He still trusts me. They all do."

Wanting to get away from the girl and her worried gaze, he walked back to the mattress with languid steps. He dropped into a sitting position on the edge of the uncomfortably thin and not very soft surface, feeling the ground beneath his backside. With a sigh of despair fighting to get out of his chest. Not having a fucking clue what to do next.

"Rescue missions."

Draco looked up again, as he heard her. Hermione was standing where he had left her. Her face turned towards him. Pale, but with a new determination squaring her shoulders.

"Rescue?" he repeated in a whisper.

"It's my task. I take part in rescue missions. In the temporary covert prisons you set up here and there."

Draco considered that information in his head. His brow furrowed.

"What about the Privet Drive mission?"

"That was a... personal matter. It involved Harry personally, so I went in his place. It was an exception."

Draco said nothing. His brain was racing. Hermione saw a new light, cold as the moon, illuminate his eyes.

"I can try not to go to the rescues," Draco muttered, almost to himself. He sighed deeply through his nose, making decisions in his head that were beyond her knowledge. "It's an option. And I think I know how to do it."

"How?" Hermione muttered, taking a few steps towards him.

"A change of rank was offered recently. And I know there's no involvement in the rescues; not directly, at least. I wasn't going to apply, but... I will. I've got enough merit, I know they'll give it to me."

"What kind of position?" she asked instantly. Scanning his face as if she could read it in his concentrated features. Draco had the nerve to laugh through his nose.

"You don't think I'm going to tell you, do you?"

She dropped to her knees on the floor in front of him. Looking up at him pleadingly.

"Why weren't you going to apply before? Is it more dangerous than what you're doing now?" she wanted to know again. The boy's corner of his mouth turned up in a listless smile.

"Much more."

"Please, I'm serious..."

"Granger, I can't do it this way," he sputtered then, enunciating clearly. "I can't be on the battlefield with you, that's what's dangerous. If I see you there, if I see you fighting, I'm going to β€”" he had to inhale deeply before continuing, running out of breath. "I'll kill anyone. Either side. I know I will."

Hermione blew out her breath sharply. As if it was ridiculous.

"Don't talk nonsense. You can't protect me like this, and you know it. It would be utterly foolish," she protested, emphatically, her voice cracking. Forcing herself to speak rationally.

"Yes, believe me, I know it would be. But I also know I'm going to do it. I already have," he added, calmly, eyes on hers.

Now she was unable to refute him. Nor to utter a word. His words, his warning, his promise, were wrapped around her heart like tight ropes.

He had already done it. He'd cut the throat of one of his own on Privet Drive. He did it.

'You won't be needing them anymore... I'm going to protect you.'

"You're only doing this for me. That change of rank," Hermione muttered, regaining her voice. And a resigned smile returned to Draco's lips.

"Who am I going to do it for, if not for you?" he hissed, listless. Almost scathing.

"And how do you think I feel?" she mumbled, growing angry. "You're making me responsible for risking your life even more when you could just as easily not do it."

"Responsible?" he replied, his tone rising. His eyes narrowed, as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Are you aware that you're in this bloody war because of me, that if the Dark Lord hadn't conquered Hogwarts because of me none of this would have happened? Don't tell me about responsibility."

"I'm not your responsibility," Hermione whispered breathlessly. With a tightness in her chest that had her almost speechless.

"I want you to be."

She gasped, discouraged. Shaking her head as she looked up at him. His eyes piercing hers. Looking at her as if she really was.

"Please, this isn't a game," Hermione whispered, closing her eyes. "You promised me nothing would happen to you."

"That's exactly why I'm doing this."

Hermione gave up. Her skin tingled with unease. With fear for him. Not knowing what he was going to face. But she had to trust him. Draco was sensible. Unlike Harry or Ron, she had never thought of him as someone who was driven by his emotions. He was a cunning and shrewd person. And not necessarily in a negative way. He knew how to survive. He thought twice before he acted. But he was sure he couldn't hold back in battle. He would not think clearly. He was convinced he would protect her if he saw her in danger. Putting it all on the line. Exposing them. Saving her life at the expense of ruining his own.

Hermione had always thought the two of them were similar in that way. Methodical. Thoughtful. But wasn't it just the other way around, how they'd been behaving all this time? Driven by emotions? Logic would never have driven them to do everything they had done to be together...

She rested a hand on his knee and stroked it with her thumb. Restoring peace.

"You'll be all right?" she questioned one last time. Looking into his eyes. Needing to know for sure. He nodded, silently. Reading the remorse in her expression. He lifted one of his hands and ran the back of it along the side of her face. Comforting her. Managing to elicit from her a hesitant smile.

"Do you remember when I started going to classes after the bell rang at school? I did it to avoid being close in public," Draco remembered, his voice calm. Hermione nodded slowly, lost in his soothing tone. "Well, this is the same thing."

She smiled dejectedly. Closing her eyes.

"It's not the same..."

"Yes, it is," Draco ran his hand over her face again. And tried to sound more light-hearted as he tried to change the subject, "So, rescues, huh?" he commented, quietly. She pursed her lips in an affirmative smile. "Hermione Granger, the saviour."

The girl snorted weakly through her nose at such a title.

"Don't mock."

"I wasn't mocking. You saved about ten prisoners, from what I hear."

She ducked her head. The lump in her chest rising to her vocal cords. The remorse overwhelming her. The saviour. It wasn't true. She hadn't saved everyone. Miller... Jones... Westenberg...

"I lost three comrades in the rescue of the Riddle House," Hermione muttered, her voice cracking uncontrollably. "And one of the prisoners. It all went wrong. We didn't have enough time. We timed everything wrong, and you found us. My people think β€”" Ron thinks, "β€” that we rushed it. That I rushed it. That they would have learned more about the protections inside with more time. That none of this would have happened if I'd waited..."

"That's bullshit," Draco protested before her. She looked up at him, and he was watching her closely, his eyes narrowed in censure. "With 'more time', different problems would have arisen. You can't completely control anything. Just sitting around waiting for the planets to align doesn't strike me as a smart strategy in a bloody all-out war."

Hermione knew he really meant it. He would never tell her what she wanted to hear, not even to reassure her. He never had. And that was why she trusted his opinion more than anyone else's.

Still, the girl could barely control the trembling of her jaws at this point. A sudden weeping threatened to devastate all her self-control. She hadn't allowed herself to cry about what had happened for days. And she wasn't even sure why she was allowing herself to now. She wasn't really. Her body was simply deciding for her.

"I only wanted to avoid further damage. And I achieved just the opposite. I really thought the plan was solid enough," she replied, sobbing. Quick tears welled up in her eyes. "But maybe it wasn't. Maybe I rushed it. Maybe they died because of me..." she stammered, affected, covering her mouth with one hand.

"Don't go that way," Draco muttered. Running his hand over the side of her now flushed face again. "Don't do that to yourself. It's not fair."

"But I-I have to be consistent with β€”"

"Don't feel guilty about surviving because others haven't," Draco argued bluntly. "I've seen you fight everyone for as long as I've known you. Don't feel guilty for doing everything you could and not succeeding."

She found no words to refute that. She stared at him, still sobbing. His face. His body. His presence. His support.

"What if I do e-everything I can and lose you too?" she let out then. Her chest rumbling in irregular shudders. Her body asking her to expel everything. Not even letting her catch her breath. Suffocating her. And she didn't even know why she let out something like that. She just did.

But he got off the mattress with a quick gesture, sitting on the floor closer to her. Pulling her to him. Pulling her into his chest between his spread legs.

"Breathe," he demanded, contradicting himself by squeezing her back tightly, making it difficult for her to take a breath. "Listen to me, breathe. I'm here, okay?" he whispered, a little quieter. "I'm here."

He was. He was. Hermione repeated it to herself as she sobbed and coughed against his chest uncontrollably. She knew he wasn't going to lie to her. That he wasn't going to tell her that she would never lose him. But he was there now. And he was doing everything he could to be there. He was fighting. And she was going to keep fighting too.

With that conviction echoing in her mind, the girl's disconsolate crying subsided before long. She managed to breathe again, with some difficulty. Barely hiccupping. She wiped away all the tears, but she still didn't want to leave Draco's chest. He remained silent, simply holding her against him. Not speaking. She could feel his fingers digging into her back. And his thumb making distracted sweeps. Now that she was calming down herself, she was noticing the subtle spasms in his body again, temporary after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Can I see your shoulder?" he asked suddenly, in a harsh whisper, when he noticed that she was already breathing slowly in his arms. That she was simply sniffling every now and then. Hermione blinked, taking in his request. She reluctantly pulled away from his body, sitting upright again, so that she could look at him. Her face felt hot and flushed, but he didn't say anything about it.

"There is nothing to see. It's almost completely cured," she assured him softly, hoarsely. A sequel, too, to the desperate cry. He looked back at her and arched an eyebrow wryly. Indicating that he hadn't asked that.

Hermione smiled somewhat sheepishly and brought her hands to her T-shirt. She tugged it upwards, and pulled it off over her head, but kept it pressed against her chest demurely. Though she knew Draco would notice the unusual absence of her bra. Indeed, he questioned her with his eyes, with polite curiosity.

"I broke my humerus, collarbone, and some ribs, and they punctured my lung," she said, with a reassuring smile. "My ribs still hurt, and wearing a bra is torture. Besides, this gesture β€”" she illustrated the movement of bringing her hand back, as if she wanted to scratch her back or fasten her bra, "β€” is still a little difficult for me."

He emitted a measured sound of understanding through his nose. Nodding absentmindedly. His grey eyes then scanned the bare surface of her shoulder. Running his fingers along the skin of her arm. And down the back, near her shoulder blade. Perhaps searching for a wound or scar by touch. He also ran his fingers along the edge of her collarbone. Looking for irregularities. Making the girl shiver at his delicacy.

"Are you a Healer?" she questioned, in a teasing whisper. The corners of Draco's mouth turned up in a discreet smirk, not looking at her.

"Not at all."

Then he tried to look at the skin on her side. Her ribs. He raised her arm slightly, barely tugging it by her wrist to do it, urging her to keep it that way. He tilted his face, scrutinising the white surface. He reached a firm hand up and cupped her breast gently, without removing the T-shirt that covered it. Lifting it up and to the side, wanting to see the whole area as best he could.

Hermione couldn't take her eyes off his face. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest. It was by far the most private and intimate thing she had ever experienced. Draco's eyes were shining with concentration. Studying her body inch by inch. Making sure she really was all right. There was no lust in them, despite her partial nudity. Nor any intention of arousing her or provoking anything as he held the weight of her breast in his hand. He was just concerned. He was just taking care of her.

Draco finished his exploration and searched her eyes again. Apparently realising at that moment that she had been watching his face throughout the whole process. He made no comment on the matter and merely nodded his head, an indication that he was done. Now he did seem to be feeling a little embarrassed.

She, for her part, smiled and put her T-shirt back on. This time she did notice that Draco's eyes were drawn to her breasts as she pulled the garment back into place. When their eyes met, the girl's knowing smile widened. And the corner of his mouth lifted to reciprocate. And Hermione needed to kiss that smile.

She leaned forward, just enough to reach his lips. A long contact, which they barely needed to deepen. Just enough movement to alternately take possession of each other's mouths.

"Have you really been coming every night since Wednesday?" Hermione asked against his mouth when they broke the kiss. Still with their eyes closed. Face to face. She sensed that he nodded reluctantly in confirmation.

"Only for a few hours each day," he specified, almost defensively. She exhaled through her nose with emotion. She felt Draco's mouth move up to rest on her forehead. "Can you stay the night?" he asked against her skin.

Hermione smiled and nodded. She turned her face slightly, just enough to rest her temple against his jaw. Keeping the closeness. Her eyes then caught something white, standing out against the gloom of the room, on one side of the mattress. With the intensity of the previous conversation, she hadn't even paid attention to it.

"What is that?" she asked, pulling away from him again to get a better look. It was some kind of rectangular piece of cardboard. With numbers on its surface that took her a few seconds to recognise. "Have you brought a calendar?" she asked, looking at him again, astonished. He grunted in confirmation, looking at the object out of the corner of his eye. Embarrassed. She smiled again. "For the date of the next meeting? How I calculate it doesn't work for you?" she protested, pretending to be offended, crossing her arms. His eyes glittered with smugness as he turned his attention back to her.

"I didn't want to humiliate you by mentally calculating it in half the time you do. You're too competitive, and you'll probably leave me without a shag afterwards," he retorted, arching a blond eyebrow mischievously. As she snorted with mock indignation, but holding back her laughter, he glanced over her shoulder. He added, speaking again in a normal tone, "Did you bring a blanket?"

"Uh-huh," the girl corroborated, searching for it with her eyes. It was still lying by the door, where she had dropped it.

"I couldn't bring one," he commented with a snort, falling back to lie across the mattress. Meanwhile, she got up to get the blanket.

"Never mind. One is enough for now," she glanced over her shoulder at him as she crouched down to take it. She smiled disapprovingly, "But don't forget it for the next time."