Beta: Manda, Michelle, Cklls… Best ladies evar!
Notes: HIIIII from 2024. I can't believe I am back to finish up this fic. Happily, I will be uploading the rest of my fic as well (and this includes Learning to Love).

Their Secret: Three

Sixth Year
April
-

Harry's news shocks her.

She feels her stomach drop; her heart beats twice, fast, and then jolts back in rhythm when she realizes just what has happened. Tears form, but she holds them back because it is Harry she's sitting in front of and not Draco.

Not Draco.

She has said this to herself several times in the past two years, but never has it meant so much to her right now, right this second, when all she wants to be is next to him. Hermione is almost ready to jump from her seat and race to the hospital wing, but Harry's presence stops her completely—she has kept hers and Draco's complicated relationship a secret from him, and though it drags on her conscience more than she thought she would allow, she knows it will do no good to finally let the truth fly.

If ever, she'd tell him after the war. Harry didn't need to worry about something like this, on top of everything else in his life.

So she sits, heart hammering, worry increasing as the minutes pass, while Harry goes over the details of what he'd done. Ron thinks he deserves it. While they argue about how Harry feels as opposed to how he should feel, Hermione's nerves break and she stands, excusing herself to go study for her classes. It is a clean excuse and she feels confident that, since she has been frequently doing this at all hours of the night, when she steps out of the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry and Ron won't glance to each other questioningly, like she is hiding something.

But oh, she is. And it is huge.

Once the portrait closes securely, she breaks into a run, unable to wait the few extra minutes walking would take to find out how he is doing. Hermione feels the uneasiness deep within her, afraid of what she may find when she gets there, but more so confused by how strongly she is reacting to the news of someone she is supposed to hate, avoid, and never talk to again.

To someone who had tried to severely injure—perhaps to kill—both of her best friends.

The thought hits her hard just as she approaches the Hospital Wing doors, and she comes to stop in front of them, uncertain. Should she really go through with this?

It has been years since he'd started everything, and two since the first time he'd approached her, touched her, and changed her assumptions about the Draco Malfoy she thought she knew. They'd argued months before, set the precedent of what they couldn't do, and had her yearning to talk to him, help him, simply be with him in the aftermath.

She still isn't sure what it is they have between them, but she knows there is more to it than just his gazes. It is still, Hermione wants to think, something deeper. Too deep to ignore.

That thought alone has her opening the doors, quietly stepping inside, and deducing in which bed he ought to be lying. There are a few with occupants, but none with hair as bright as his. Her eyes catch on an area at the back, curtains drawn around what must be a bed and Draco. She opens one side, peeking in to make sure she isn't wrong.

Draco has his back turned to her, and instead of lying in the bed like she had assumed, he is struggling to shove his belongings into his book-bag—obviously, he is attempting to leave.

Her presence stops him, however, when she whispers a quick Silencio charm.

Before she even steps forward, he has turned his gaze toward her, and his shirt drops from his hands when their eyes meet. Hermione sucks in a breath of air, not as prepared for this encounter as she thought, and watches him slowly turn around. He doesn't quite look mad, but his jaw clenches tight, and she knows that he is more than unhappy at having her here in front of him.

If only because it is trying on his true feelings.

The thought starts her heart, and she gulps another breath, forcing her attention to stay on task.

"You shouldn't be here," he whispers, glancing past her.

"I know," she clips out, only a little louder than he.

His concentration returns to her, magnified, and suddenly she feels like crawling deep within her own skin, a front, but she has always kept her heart on her sleeve and this time is no different. However much it unnerves her (excites her), there is no backing out with a simple 'Oh, you're alive then? Well, have a great evening!'

Their relationship wouldn't allow it.

"You still shouldn't be here." Draco pulls a hand across his eyes, cringing, and she nearly smacks herself for being so overwhelmed by his presence alone to bypass his injuries, his bruises, his pain. The entire reason she is here in the first place. "You know-"

"Don't say it, Malfoy. Just don't."

She is fed up with being stuck between not talking to him at all and being absolutely aware—all the time—of wanting to. Hermione has hurt too much because of this, and has only let it slip her by simply because she has seen it through for so many years already, but this…this is too much.

Even his voice sounds tired, and when she allows herself to look away from his eyes—from the pure intensity in them, pulling her in—she finds the marring of his body, the blood seeping through the white bandages, and the ghastly bruises in the surrounding area. Draco's eyes squint helplessly, she realizes, probably from pain, and it seems like he is fighting sleep or trying to fend off that pain just by thinking he could.

All she wants to do is help him.

She shakes her head, overcome with emotion, and resists the urge to cry for him.

Hermione looks away, because merely seeing him is causing all types of guilt and sadness and regret and memories lost to coil deep within her, making her uncomfortable. But Hermione forces herself to stay stronger than this, be the bigger person—after all, he was the person to stop it all. She glances back to him, ignoring the warning that is always in his eyes, and slowly steps closer.

She is almost overwhelmed—it is constantly like this when they are together, but he is hurt and she can feel the lack of barriers around him. That difference changes everything.

"I can't believe you've done this," is what she says next. It is what she has wanted to say since the beginning of sixth-year, and sometimes fifth-year. Hermione has always imagined she would be yelling it, of course, given how angry she'd gotten with every single action he took against her, specifically, personally. "I can't believe… And now this. This isn't… Life doesn't have to be like this, Malfoy. You don't have to make these choices."

"Of course I have to make these choices!" She is surprised by how fast his tired voice turns into such a profound exclamation. "You don't get—" Draco cuts himself off, scoffing. "You won't ever get it, Granger. You don't understand what it's like for me, for us, and what we have to deal with at home, no fucking matter what our real opinions are.

"It doesn't matter. Everything in my life. Doesn't. Matter. You especially. I can't— Granger, you were never supposed to be this curious. You were never… Why are you doing this to me?" Draco pulls his hair in agitation, clearly irritated, and she watches, transfixed, as the usually stoic Draco Malfoy loses control. "You shouldn't be following me, checking up on me, or yelling at me when I…I try to do things that I have to do. I can't have you doing that. And it's killing me that you are."

Hermione is quiet for a moment, contemplative, but she sees the desperation in his expression and feels it herself. His glances have been reciprocated for years now, but she has confronted him more times than he can handle apparently. All she wants is to help him through whatever he's been struggling with since fourth-year.

"You knew I wouldn't be able to stop myself," she whispers. "Not after that first time. You knew. Making yourself go against it as much as you have, fighting that feeling of…of wanting to be with the other has only made it harder on both of us." She bites her lip. "I can't even imagine what the past few years have been like for you, but I haven't had it so easy either, and… I don't care that you're Malfoy, that you have orders, or tasks to complete. I've only ever wanted to help, even knowing- Jesus, Malfoy, you tried to kill my best friends! And I'm still standing here in front of you. I still want…want whatever it is I can get from you, no matter what you have done already, because I know you haven't wanted to. Don't you get that? Don't you get that I'm willing to help, no matter the things you've been forced to do?"

Hermione reaches for his wrist, but she's surprised to feel the warmth of his hand on her waist before she even grabs hold, and then she is surrounded by his heat, his breath, and his scent. Draco pulls her into a hug, and she automatically claims his body and sinks into him, wrapping her arms tighter and tighter because he lets her.

"You don't even…" he chokes on his words, but she can hear the emotion clogging him, and gets that he has been hurting much, much more than she, "—don't know what it's been like…"

She nods against his shoulder, tightening her grip, and she feels him exhale against her neck. Hermione is not sure if he is crying, or if he is simply so overcome by the situation that is he shaking—ever so slightly—against her. She attempts to settle his nerves by running a hand along his back, his waist, and then again, again, and again, and he responds by bringing her closer, even further into his warmness.

She can hear his breathing get quieter as he settles against her.

They stay this way, breathing together, and she is reminded horribly (unforgettably) of the time in fourth-year, but the feel of him is different, the atmosphere itself crackling with emotion unlike years previous. Before, there had been hesitancy—if only slightly at the beginning—in his touch, but now he is grabbing onto her as if she is the last person he has left to trust, to simply have.

As if, she realizes suddenly, she is the only reason he is fighting so hard to stay alive, to be able to be here, like this.

It is only a minute or two later when Malfoy pulls away from her, taking his heat with him. She makes a noise like she is going to stop him, but his eyes meet hers. It looks almost like he is going to yell at her again.

"Malfoy, I want to help," she rushes out before he can say anything else. "Please, let me help."

Malfoy turns his back to her, tight-lipped, and leans over the hospital bed to grab his belongings as if to leave. He turns around and peers at her through his bangs.

"If you help…" he starts, running a hand through his hair. "I will never let you go."

Hermione swallows, heart stopping, and steps a foot closer to him. He looks so close to breaking she can hardly wait another second. "I don't want you to."

He rushes forward then, just like he had five minutes before, but this time his lips meet hers.

Hermione makes a noise against his lips from the sudden movement. In an instant, his left hand is gripping her curls and the other arm is pulling her waist against him. It is only a second later that she pulls her arms up and moves to hold his face against hers—not letting him go.

When their tongues touch, he groans and gathers her further into his arms, sparking something in Hermione that felt even better than his glances had.

Malfoy is nibbling on her bottom lip and she is sighing into his arms when they both realize there is someone walking on the other side of the curtain.

They slowly pull back, looking to where the noise is coming from, and Hermione realizes two heartbeats later that they are still covered by her Silencio. She looks back to him, hands still framing his face, and almost sighs again. She had been waiting for this for far too long.

His arms tighten around her and they stare at each other. Her thumb is caressing his face, so slowly, gently, mesmerized that he is allowing this to happen.

"Are you…" It is whispered, hesitant. He gulps. "Are you sure about this, Granger?"

Hermione nods, slowly. Didn't she already say that?

Draco sighs like it hurts him and he leans forward, resting his forehead against her own. Hermione breathes out, finally.

It is a week later when she searches him out again.

She heads to the alcove and peeks through the opening, keeping her attention on passers-by with blond hair. Hermione isn't even sure if he comes down this way often, but she is more than accustomed to these hallways and the frequency of which they are used, and she thinks there is some significance in him having used this place in fourth-year.

She might be late to class, but she sees it as something she must do—he is hurting, far past broken, and the only way to fix this is to make sure he has recovered after Harry's last stunt. To talk to him after he nearly broke down in front of her, hugged her to him so completely, kissed her breathless—all obviously not Malfoy-ish.

Somehow, she knows this is what he needs.

Hermione finally spots him, walking directly behind a group of gossiping girls. He is alone, which is as strange as it would have been years ago. She pushes the tapestry out a bit, hoping to catch his eyes, and holds herself still, serious. She catches too many other people's attention though, and because she is not searching them out like she is Draco, they keep walking past, staring curiously.

Until he notices.

She darts behind the tapestry the second they make eye contact, and she knows she doesn't have to wait long before he understands. A smooth hand slips between the crease, pulling back the curtain of fabric, and he ducks through as fast as he can before they are both shadowed in darkness. The alcove is still as tiny as she remembers, but he is a few years older now, bigger, and she felt the heat of him the moment she saw the width of his shoulders.

She casts a quick Silencio and turns her attention back to him.

He is already there, bringing her into his arms, and she breathes out in relief.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better now," he whispers against her, gripping her hip. "I was going to find you tomorrow."

"How come?"

"I'm going to go to Dumbledore." He pulls back and their eyes meet—his eyes molten silver, serious. Heavy. "I'm going to change sides."

"Are you sure?"

"I told you…" He brushes a kiss against her forehead. "I'm not letting you go."

Fin.