Eleven
Ara

Emotions wage war within Hermione.

Firenze's burning herbal blend does little to help. Clarity and nausea rise in tandem, but she keeps her eyes closed.

Inhale. Exhale.

She remembers she can. She is alive.

Hermione recalls more with each breath. Memories surface without confusion or fading awareness.

The truth is solid, as if it never was fleeting like wisps in the wind. This is overwhelming, humbling, and debilitating.

"We will move her back to the castle at nightfall," Vasades says from close by. "Hermione will need rest. She will cycle between sleeping and being awake as she continues to recover. Be sure she is not ever alone."

"Thank you, Vasades." Mother's voice is laden with affection. "For everything."

"I would do it a thousand times over. For her."

"I know," Father says. "Where will you be?"

"There are matters here I need to tend to for a few days. The king has come to an agreement with the elders and he has tasked me to remain behind to begin the process."

"I did not know you knew King Draco well enough for him to trust you with such a task."

"The king was a student of Firenze when he was younger. I was the one who told Queen Narcissa the truth about the choice she needed to make regarding her cursed condition; the price she would pay for her lie. I met Draco then, he was only a child, and when he slept at her side, I told her of his future. I knew she would not live to see it come to pass. It brought her peace. Understanding. Strength to continue the journey to her inevitable end."

"She knew about—"

"For years, Firenze and I shared visions of entwined prophecies. He saw Draco and the pain he was predestined to endure. What would happen to him, should he continue in the ways of his fathers. And I saw Hermione—before she was named. What would come to pass, should she ascend too early or die before taking her rightful place as queen. What would happen to you without her at your side, Harry."

"I would have died five times over," Harry says.

"Yes, and with that, Voldemort would have what he needed to gain dominion over all."

"I thought centaurs did not interfere with the wars of man." Harry sounds curious. "Firenze used to say that to interfere is to set yourself against the stars."

"There are always exceptions." Vasades pauses. The tap of her hooves as she paces the hut is faint. "We cannot survive if we hide in the forest, battling for lands in a world destined to burn without action. As the final hours of prophecy grow near, there is hope. More and more of my kind are rising instead of waiting for the fallout."

Silence settles for several heartbeats.

"Much has happened," Father says. "What do we do now?"

"We prepare for the coming war," Vasades says fiercely. "Voldemort is not gone. He will regroup and return. We all must be vigilant. The pieces of Hermione's memories that were broken during torture will likely be enough for him to make the connection to you, Harry."

"I will play my role." Harry speaks with the heaviness of prophecy on his shoulders.

"But only when the time is right."

"There is another matter we must speak of while the king is not here." Father lowers his voice. "Seventy heads line the palace walls, with more to come. Harry, reason with King Draco, if you can, before the dungeons are empty."

"I do not have the empathy required to argue with him on this, Father," Harry admits. "I lost it that night. I have seen the memories of some of the captured. So many dead and injured, like Sirius."

"He will recover fully," Vasades says. "Do not let your heart be blackened by the ash of the past."

"I will try, but right now, it is fresh. I am too raw for reason." Voice dark with anger, Harry breaks off for a tense moment. "They laughed while Hermione was being tortured—cheered when her heart stopped! They deserve the same mercy they showed my sister. None."

"Harry." Mother tries to temper him. "Have you rested?"

"As much as the king."

Vasades sighs. "Then not much at all."

There is a long pause.

"I cannot stop thinking about it," Harry says. "Voldemort possessing the old King Rodolphus' body after Hermione's touch turned his first host to dust. Goldstein said there is already talk amongst the soldiers who bore witness during battle. I would not believe the account myself, had I not seen Lady Daphne's memories. Hermione is strong, but I have never seen that kind of power."

"The only way Voldemort could inhabit another is if he is allowed," Vasades answers.

"As for Hermione's touch, love is not only a feeling, Harry, it is powerful magic," Father says. "Prince Neville is not the only one whose parents sacrificed their lives so their child might live. Hermione's birth parents did as well. Their actions marked her with a protective charm."

"I have never heard of such magic."

"The protection is not well known but also not uncommon in times of war. Those with this type of charm rarely see it in action."

"How did it work with her?" Harry asks.

"It is agony for evil to touch a person marked by something good," Mother says. "Love in its purest form is sacrificing everything, even when you know it will cost you your life."

"Did you know?"

"Yes. I knew." Father sounds tired.

His hand slips into hers. Hermione keeps very still, eyes closed and listening.

"It was the only thing that saved her from the destruction of her village," he continues. "I worry she will wake up a different person. I fear experiencing such evil will change her good heart."

"Our family did not ask for this fate." Harry's anger is palpable. "We were marked because we would not bend the knee to tyranny. She is a fighter. If given the choice, Hermione would do the same. Over and over, you and mother have tried to tell her, but the spell did not allow for it, just as the Vow made it impossible for us to remove it. In time, she will understand, just as I did when my block was lifted."

"It does not ease my guilt." Father squeezes her hand. She feels his teardrops on her knuckles. "I hate that she is learning so cruelly."

It is daylight.

Hermione is in her chambers, but the familiar medicinal herbs still fill the air.

Draco stands in the large window, tall and austere with a crown on his head. The bruises on his knuckles are as fresh as the smear of blood he rubs away from his jaw.

At his side, Astoria sighs.

"Will you air your grievances or will you continue to sigh?" he asks without looking.

She casually hands him a handkerchief. "I did not know you were dirtying your hands. You are a king, Draco, not an executioner. You are not a—"

"Tyrant?" He gives her a cold look. "I am merely making an example of the enemies that did not have the good sense to die in battle."

"Why are you here? It has been three days since you returned with her and still she sleeps."

"Why are you here?"

"Pansy asked me to keep her company while she continues the queen's duties in her absence, but I doubt I am someone she wishes to see."

Draco clenches his jaw. "Neither am I."

"Yet here you are. Just as you were during my bouts with my malediction." She looks at him. "You never care about those you feel nothing for. You never fight—at least, you never fight the way you do with her."

"What do you speak of?"

Astoria gives him a knowing look. "The guards outside the room heard your argument before the attack."

Draco's silence rings odd to Hermione, but she keeps still, watching the scene unfold.

"It does not matter what I feel," he eventually says. "She wants nothing from me."

"It matters. But this is also your fault. You pushed her away." Astoria smooths down the front of her blue gown. "Who counselled you, Draco?"

"Snape told me to keep my distance or she will be marked by my enemies. It seemed wise at the time, given the many threats on my life."

"He is a damn fool, and so are you for listening to him. I suggested that you give her time, yes, but not to protect her too much. I told you to allow her to learn, to get stronger. On our walks, I encouraged you to talk to her. I did not expect you to be a coward who would rather seal her behind stone than face your own fear. I know you think of what happened with your mother—"

"My mother's death has nothing to do with this."

"It does and you know it, Draco," Astoria argues. She quietly adds, "You must know it was not your fault."

"My mistakes and failings have been thrown in my face repeatedly. I—" Draco lowers his head and cards a rough hand through his hair. "I will speak no more of this."

"Your ability to detach from your emotions does not work with her. Fascinating. Let this be your reckoning. It was your rejection that created Millicent, who terrorised your friends, family, and subjects for the attention you never paid her. Do not let history repeat itself."

Hermione startles awake.

Twisting with fresh nightmares tormenting her, she tries to cry out or fight but cannot do either.

There is a monstrous dog at her side. With fur as black as night and fire red eyes, its razor sharp teeth glint in the light. Translucent, it vanishes before her eyes.

Hermione catches her breath.

Then notices Andromeda approaching the side of her bed. She looks exactly like the terror in her mind.

Only different.

Softer.

Her touch is kind rather than cruel. "Hello again, Queen Hermione."

"T-the hound."

"Ah, you can see it?" At her slight, quivering nod, the woman rests a hand on her leg. "It will not hurt you. I will explain later."

"Where—"

"Relax. Your emotions are wild and suffocating. Breathe."

Hermione does, turning to look for a familiar face. She finds Daphne asleep next to her.

And others.

Luna sits at the end of the bed with Ginny. Both leaning on each other. Pansy is on a bench on the other side of the bed, fast asleep, neck bent uncomfortably. Cho's head is on her lap. Her fingers are laced with Daphne's.

They are holding vigil.

"Rest," Andromeda says.

Gentle fingers guide Hermione back, hushing her with more drink to heal her damaged mind and body. The rhythmic beating of wings nearby soothes her. Just before she drifts off, she hears the older witch again.

"Your friends are never far."

Seeing her parents with all her memories intact is harder than Hermione expects.

They are as mournful as she is conflicted.

The shock of her mind filling in the empty spaces has not passed. She fakes being asleep while her parents talk.

"I do not think it wise to leave just yet," Mother whispers.

"There is no telling where they will go," Father says. "They know our identity. Dumbledore thinks they will gather their forces and come for us."

"All the more reason to remain."

"We are too concentrated and our absence runs the risk of endangering the lives of everyone in the duchy." Harry is a third voice Hermione does not expect. "We need soldiers patrolling in every town in the kingdom. Father, can the duchy spare any?"

"We can but we must go back. We have been gone far longer than anticipated. There is much to do at home. First, we must fortify the town's wards, then our estate's. The Unspeakables will assist in concealing the duchy's location and the surrounding forest with magic. The duchy has enough goods for us to not rely on trade and the king has suspended our family's tribute."

"I do not feel comfortable leaving Hermione." Mother sounds sad. "It has been a nearly week and she is still not herself."

"She will be safe here."

"How do we know? She nearly died." Mother's inhale is sharp. "The king cannot keep watch as he does now with Death Eaters being spotted all over the kingdom during their retreat. I cannot leave the elves to clean her and her Ladies to care for her yet. Not without her knowing how much we love her."

Love has never been a question.

Sometimes in love one must make hard choices. Hermione understands this, yet the truth is still too fresh and difficult to process. But that does not stop her from opening her eyes and squeezing her mother's warm hand in hers.

"I love you, too," she whispers.

Mother's tear-filled eyes are all she sees before darkness returns.

Hermione wakes to the swish of wind as Kaida flies closer than normal, startling Astoria by the window.

Gasping, she clutches her chest. "I thought she left."

"She circles the castle, day in and day out." Draco's voice is at her side. She opens her eyes to mere slits, seeing little but hearing everything. "She rarely eats and sleeps less."

"How long can Kaida last?"

"As long as she needs to."

"Is she communicating with you?"

"Her normal insults and chiding."

"Did she—"

"The rumours are true," Draco interjects with a tired sigh. "Kaida went to her aid. I do not know how she summoned Potter's hippogriff or the other winged beasts, but they found her from the sky while we were searching on land."

Silence returns long enough for Hermione to begin drifting off. Just as she does, a tentative hand covers hers. The touch is so quick it startles her. When it returns, like the current of the ocean, Hermione's heartbeats double.

"Kaida torched every Death Eater on the river's edge and burned down over a third of the forest in a rage I did not want to stop." His words earn him a shocked glare from Astoria. "The centaurs were livid at the destruction, but Firenze has tempered their ire with our offerings of restitution. I gave them the untouched forest lands my forefathers refused to relinquish. In good faith. And for their alliance."

"A bold decision."

"I need them on my side for the coming fight."

Astoria sighs. "It seems your rage has finally ebbed."

"I assure you, it has not." Draco's hand leaves Hermione's. "I have merely run out of heads."

"Except one."

"She must live."

"All this fury for Queen Hermione," Astoria tsks. "It is curious for many reasons."

"How so?"

"I do not disagree with your lack of mercy. I am more curious about Kaida. Her interests have only ever pertained to herself and keeping you alive. How is it that she acquired your dragon's favour when your familiar can barely stand you?"

"You are jealous."

"Not of her, but…" She huffs in annoyance. "Kaida has hated me for years. I have done everything except bribe her, yet Hermione arrives and your dragon is suddenly fond of her?"

"She saved us both from poisoned arrows and has been healing Kaida's wing tears for a month or so. She has been entertaining her with stories, with no ulterior motive. They bonded quickly and without my intervention."

"And when Hermione lay dying—"

"She gave up a heartstring in sorrow."

Astoria gasps sharply. "You allowed that bond to exist?"

"I was not given an option." Draco pauses, a small sound escaping him. "The only time I thought to interfere, Kaida dumped me into the sea. Like my sister, she berates me constantly about the distance I keep from someone I chose to wed… Never mind."

Astoria stares as if he has gone mad but eventually softens. "Now that I am looking, I see it clearly."

"See what?"

"I am conflicted. As your friend, I should remind you of what matters: the war, avenging your parents, your goals. I should tell you to stay focused until you can secure your rule with an heir. But as someone who once loved you, I should be envious that I was not enough."

Draco sighs. "Astoria—"

"I know." She smiles sadly. "Just as I am happy with my choice to leave heartbreak behind with Theo, I am happy that someone has finally rattled you… even if it is her."

"I am not rattled." Draco's petulance sparks amusement in Hermione, but the odd quality of his voice after dims the light. "We agreed to terms, freedoms, and nothing more. It is impractical—"

"As king, you needed a compliant queen for stability," she recites. "Likeable and loyal. Easy to please with negotiated freedoms. These are your words, not mine."

Kaida makes another swooping appearance.

"I slept better on the battlefield," Draco admits. "At least there I knew exactly where to find the threat. Can you blame me for wanting different in a wife?"

"No. If anything, I am happy you have realised this. Your mistake was in underestimating both yourself and her. I do not care for your choice. I never have. Queen Hermione and I share a mutual distaste we do not bother to hide."

"I am aware," he says dryly.

"However, any woman capable of answering your questions and not backing down with your wand pointed at her, any woman who shows such strength of character against your advisors and you will never be docile enough to fit your ridiculous requirements."

"I am practical."

"And yet you made the most impractical choice in a wife." A small smile appears on Astoria's face. "You saw her in Potter's memories, more when his mind was clear of his family's block. You were curious when she was never presented to Court, and after two more failures, you eliminated the exemption and took a chance. Luckily, she answered your questions."

"Asto—"

"You wanted your enemies to think she is insignificant and does not matter, when the truth is she does—not only because she wears a crown but also to—"

"Enough." Draco takes a deep breath. "That is enough. You may go."

Astoria shakes her head and steps back. "Tragedy has made you a coward, Draco. If you do not face your fears, if you do not face yourself, it will not matter how many battles you win. You will always lose this war."

Hermione groans and tries to sit up.

Pansy is at her side. "Thank Merlin!"

She calls out, and everyone except the king comes.

Hermione doesn't think much of it as Pansy sits her up and steps back to let them work. Firenze checks her mind and declares the worst is over, but more needs to be done to seal the fissures in her mind and body. Healers check her for signs of long-term damage but find nothing irreparable. They are confident she will continue to heal. Vasades notes her need for ongoing recovery, which requires mental rest and less stress.

Andromeda lingers by the door while the others work, remaining behind as they leave. Vasades stays, and when the king's aunt approaches, she looks to the centauride for permission.

It is given with a nod.

"May I have a word, Your Highness?"

"You may."

Andromeda laces her hands together. "Do you recall much of what you saw in your previous state? Perhaps a dog?"

"I do. You told me—"

"A dog?" Vasades is interested, but instead of asking Hermione, she turns to Andromeda. "The Grim?"

The woman gives a solemn nod.

Hermione looks between them, growing panicked as realisation dawns. "The Grim is the Bearer of Death, said to bring about the demise of the person who sees it three times. Does that mean—"

"No, Your Majesty." Andromeda shakes her head, appearing almost humoured. "They are not always a sign of imminent death. That is a story told to children so they behave."

"Then why did I see it?"

"We are all fated to die—the time and hour are predetermined. Hellhounds, or what you know as The Grim, spawn when a person sees Death outside of the natural order. Like you did."

Vasades stands beside Andromeda. The two exchange a look before the centauride speaks. "Until it is time to rightly reap your soul, you are in the hound's charge. You may occasionally see it from the corner of your eye. If you are ever in imminent danger, it will become corporeal to warn you. In dire cases, it may even protect you."

Hermione struggles to digest this. "H-how do you know?"

"I can see every beast that lingers in the forests, even when you cannot. I know when danger is near." Vasades glances out the window. "Another hound lurks in the forest close to the palace."

"My nephew earned his too early in life," Andromeda says mournfully. "But that is his story to tell, not mine. I cannot see them myself, but as an empath I can feel when they are near. Yours is. It will likely remain so until you fully recover."

Hermione's eyes widen. "An empath? You can sense my emotions?"

"Among other things." Andromeda sits on the edge of the bed. It stirs a memory from one of Hermione's waking moments. "I cannot stand life in the palace, it is much too intense for me, but it is hard to deny my only nephew's request."

Hermione does not know how to feel, much less what to say. Instead, she remains silent.

"If you allow me, I would like to look," Andromeda says.

"Why?"

She takes Hermione's hand and looks deep into her eyes. They are much kinder than the face in her nightmares.

"Hermione."

Outside of family, it is the first time she has heard her name spoken with such care. The moment arrests her soul. All the conflicting emotions and secret feelings she cannot express—everything settles.

Calms.

True peace brings tears to her eyes.

"Your wounds are not entirely physical or mental." Andromeda touches her face.

Hermione closes her eyes, leaning into the contact.

A kindness she craves.

A touch she is desperate for.

"Oh, my love." She sounds as shaken as she looks. "You are healed, but there are struggles ahead as you begin to cope with all that has happened and all you have learned. The body and mind do not forget so easily. And neither does the heart."

The sound of Vasades' hooves on the floor startles her from the warmth of Andromeda's presence. A familiar hand slips into hers, and Hermione locks eyes with her oldest friend.

"She speaks the truth." Vasades smiles sadly. "You have been to the darkness but you have not quite found the light. You have not yet unlocked your true potential."

"I do not wish to return in order to learn."

"Place your hand in mine." Andromeda tells her. "Do not be afraid."

Hermione hesitates, nerves rising when tears slip down the woman's cheek. As if it burns, she abruptly releases her hand, turns away, and dabs her eyes, calming her shaky breath.

"What did you see?" Hermione has to know if what she feels is real and not conjured by her own pride.

"There is only so much loneliness a person can take before it depletes the spirit. You have been tortured, hunted, pierced by my sister's dagger, and put back together, but your heart still bleeds. Even now, your misery is loud."

Hermione breaks.

Unravelling.

Shattering into pieces, she sobs in the arms of a relative stranger until she is exhausted.

"You must not suppress your emotions." Andromeda strokes her hair; a concerned Vasades holds her other hand. "If you are tired, rest. If you are sad, find happiness, even if you have to create it. When you are lonely, reach out. There are those who will answer, some you may not expect. Like my nephew."

"I—"

"You are a queen, but you are also a woman with wants, needs, and desires. You give and give until there is nothing left." Andromeda looks into her eyes. "Loneliness is a fatal disease if left untreated. It is already killing you."

There is a knock on the door before Harry enters, smiling in relief upon seeing her.

"I heard you were awake and—" He stops, concern etching his brow. "What is the matter?"

"She will be fine, Harry. This is recovery."

Andromeda's smile is the last she sees before Harry swallows her in a hug. She returns it just as tight, tucking her face into her brother's neck.

Not long after, Harry leaves to find Ginny and her Ladies to update them on her condition. Winky levitates her to the bath while other elves change her sheets and clean her room.

She cannot help during this. Her body is sore and stiff from lying down for so long, but Winky is careful and kind. The elf is unable to stop weeping over the fact that she lives.

Hermione wants to weep as well when Winky is done. The feeling of being clean is indescribable. When she is dressed and back in bed, Andromeda brushes her wet hair, careful with the tangles. She dries it with magic while Vasades replaces the herbs in the smoking bowl above her bed.

The doors to her chambers open and Draco enters. His command is wordless.

Winky vanishes with the snap of her fingers, as do the other elves cleaning her chambers. They leave the window open. Both Andromeda and Vasades leave after bowing, but not before the former gives Draco a long look that speaks volumes Hermione cannot interpret.

"Patience, love." She smiles at her nephew. "You deserve more than you believe. Set your own course without fear. Choose the unknown and become the man you were destined to be."

Once they are alone, Draco remains by the door, jaw tight, stance rigid, and expression hard as if he struggles with his aunt's words.

Hermione looks down at her hands.

The clip of his shoes echoes as he approaches. "The Healers say that you are to limit your activities in order to fully recover."

"Yes."

Draco sits in the empty chair beside her bed and she studies the tired eyes of a man who carries far too much weight. He is the source of her anger, yet his determination is the reason she still draws breath. She tries to separate the man who hurt her from the man who saved her, the one who anchored her, who burned with her.

But she cannot.

They are the same.

"Perhaps I should not be here," Draco says. "I should be with my knights, hunting all who escaped."

"Bellatrix?"

"Blinded but not dead. Imprisoned. She is the only one who remains in the dungeons."

Draco offers her a water goblet. Hermione accepts it with trembling hands, but her grip is weak. Before spilling it everywhere, he takes it back and helps her sit up, moving to the edge of the bed and guiding the cup to her lips. It is refreshing, but Draco does not allow Hermione to quench her thirst. She understands why when her stomach rolls.

"How?" she asks after a quiet moment.

"Potter's hippogriff carried her off and pecked her eyes from her skull. She was found at daybreak wandering in the forest."

"And Voldemort?"

"Escaped with his new host, Rodolphus. Rabastan is with his brother at long last." His expression tightens. "I suspected my uncle of treachery, but I did not know it was so extensive. Voldemort's ranks have suffered greatly. Over a hundred of his followers lay dead in the forests, whether by magic or dragon fire. The ones captured were executed. He will go into hiding to recover and recruit."

"I think I fear that more."

"What did my aunt say to you?"

Shifting uncomfortably, the answer is not one she wants to voice.

Hermione feels him at the rebuilt doorway of her mind. This time, she does not fight the intrusion.

She shows him everything.

From the beginning to now. What she has seen and heard. All she knows.

Hermione is too tired to hide.

He must know her entirely.

Draco withdraws, red in the face and gasping at a phantom wound, as shaken as she feels. But then he wills the emotional turbulence away.

"You should rest," he finally says.

Hermione's racing heart renders her dizzy.

Draco stands to leave. Something shifts. Twists. Hermione considers letting him go, but—

"Wait," she says before she can reason her way out of it.

She stands poised on the cliff of a choice.

She can either continue down this road of loneliness, letting her feelings eat her up and change her into a person she is not.

Or she can take a different path.

Draco stands silent beside her bed, waiting for her to speak.

The choice is not easy, but Hermione has been through torture, pain, darkness, and fire. More than tired, she is weary and raw. It leaves her vulnerable in ways her stubbornness has never allowed.

Being dragged back from the brink of death has allowed her to see life.

Andromeda is right. Hermione can endure. She knows how, but she no longer wants to do this alone.

The shedding of her pride starts with acknowledging how she feels. "I have been angry with you. Lonely and miserab—"

"I meant what I said when I found you."

I am a fool.

Hermione is momentarily speechless at his words.

Draco exhales, rubbing his temple and looking slightly embarrassed. "Perhaps this conversation can wait until you are fully healed."

"We have waited long enough." She looks down at her hands then back at him. "I heard everything you said while drifting. I saw you in my mind. Felt you at my side. I need—no, I will invoke one of my terms."

The words stop Draco cold. "Very well."

"I wish to make an amendment."

"What is it?"

"I want honesty," Hermione confesses, feeling her face flush with warmth. "One conversation where we do not hide what we think or feel. You owe me this."

Draco tenses and looks towards the window. "Very well."

Hermione builds her resolve before shedding all her layers until she feels bare, vulnerable. "You and I have drawn terms and freedoms, but I no longer wish for any of it."

Hints of pain vanish as he squares his shoulders. "I will leave you t—"

"I am not dismissing you." Hermione grows bolder with each passing second. "We are bound, not only by marriage, but by forces that are bigger than the sky and deeper than the sea. Prophecy, fate, destiny—yet none of that matters to me."

"I care not for the stars."

"Neither do I." The corners of her lips quirk at the memory of him saying this to Harry. "Perhaps we are destined in that regard as well. The stars do not shape my needs nor my wishes. I do. And I desire… more."

Draco still looks guarded. "What does that mean?"

"I want you."

Three words root him to the spot. "I am many things you do not like."

"You are right, but there is more to you. I have seen it for myself. This marriage can be more than emptiness. It can be real."

He looks torn. "I have never had such an offer."

"And I have never made such a request. I answered your questions, I accepted your hand, but perhaps I need to accept you." Hermione's voice dips. "I have always been curious about you. Not only as a king, but… as a man."

"You want… me?"

She has never heard him sound so uncertain. "I do. As you are. But I do not know what you want."

"I want…" Draco stares at her for what feels like an eternity before he looks down. "I am not sure how to do this."

"Take my hand." She offers it shakily. "Choose me."

It is easy in its complexity.

Full of uncertainty, he takes off his crown, places it on her bedside table, and does as she requests. Slowly. Sitting on the bed, his gaze does not stray from her. Hermione settles back against the pillow and Draco follows, turning on his side.

"And then what?" he whispers.

"We look for more." Hermione tentatively seeks his lips and finds them soft and pliant against hers. "Does it exist?"

His wall of resistance crumbles on an exhale. "Yes."

"Tell me."

His next touch is soft, like he is equally afraid of her and himself. "I kept my distance and it angered you, but when we are together, I hurt you more."

"Keeping your distance did not work."

"I know." Pain reflects in his eyes. "Forgive me."

"I did when you burned with me." Her lips brush against his. Anticipation tingles her senses as she waits with bated breath for much-needed affirmation.

"There has been this pull," Draco quietly confesses. "First from Potter's memories, then the field. I felt it when I saw you at Court. Then I was certain it was not my imagination when you answered my first question. Madness, I know."

She remembers the beginning. Their creation. "Perhaps not."

"I was sure of my choice, but I have never been sure about you. Aside from anger and jealousy, I was not certain that you wanted anything from a king you never intended to marry before the circumstances forced it."

Hermione pauses. "I was never quiet about my displeasure at being chosen."

"No, you were not."

"But you must understand my life was changing beyond my control."

"I do understand. I was no different when I became king. I hated the crown when it was placed on my head." His eyes soften for a moment, but his voice is thick with resolve. "There are enemies all around me. There always have been. I am the last in a line of tyrants. When I became king, I knew what I needed to do. I needed vengeance for my mother and to finish this task so I may be free. I want to eliminate the threat against the realm and the threat against my crown."

Hermione's eyes narrow. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you should know that I forgot all of that when you were taken." Draco struggles but closes his eyes as if he cannot look at her while baring his soul. "It is only through your demand for honesty that I can confess—I am torn between what I know and what I want. Duty and distance. Or desire and you."

His admission is far more than she expects.

The wall between them has collapsed and she sees him clearly.

"I am tired of feeling like this." Anger edges Draco's voice. "Trapped by you. Wanting you. Only you. Always you."

He looks ready to flee to avoid her response, but he does not. They remain connected by their threaded fingers.

By their touching foreheads.

By their beating hearts.

"You are not alone," Hermione says. "These feelings threaten to suffocate and swallow me whole, too. But let us not hide from them. Stay with me and I will stay with you. Build your trust in me, just as I will build my trust in you."

Draco searches her face just as intensely as she does his. Sincere sentiments are all she finds.

Unadulterated truth.

Darkness.

Passion.

Hermione wants it all.

The shift from effort to surrender takes one breath.

Lips touch once in agreement, then again in invitation. Each kiss grows more demanding.

But she does not yield.

Despite her exhaustion, despite her body's discomfort, Hermione gives back everything she can. She is as parched for him as he is for her. Something rough breaks free between them, and her ache of need is met with bitten lips. Her sharp gasp at the stab of pain makes Draco pull back and shake his head, guilt casting shadows over his face.

"Why did you stop?" Hermione leans in, but he turns his head. "I—"

"I do not know how to want you without gorging, without consuming."

"Then learn."

Ara means "the altar" in Latin. The constellation represents the altar used by Zeus and other Greek gods to swear a vow of allegiance before they went to war against Cronus and the Titans.

A/N: And here it is! Hope you enjoyed! So much revealed, hope it answered a lot of questions, but welcome to the absolute necessary conversation between Hermione that couldn't happen unless they were on the brink like they have been and humbled. The alter in the chapter title is the bed they lay on, the allegiance they make to each other. Happy Holidays. We likely won't be updating until after the new year to enjoy the holidays with our families.