The next morning, Hermione discovered that at some point during the night, both she and Draco had moved closer to one another in the bed, and Draco had wrapped his arms around her.
She was warm, and cozy, and happy. Draco's arms were solid and secure and she felt—well, she felt safe.
Hermione shifted minutely so she could see Draco. She found him sleeping peacefully beside her on the pillow. He looked more relaxed than she'd ever seen him, and she fought the urge to push his hair off his forehead and kiss him awake. He had a long day ahead of him, she remembered. Content, Hermione burrowed back into his arms.
This, unfortunately, woke him. He stretched beside her, yawning, then pulled her closer. "You have cold feet," he murmured, his eyes still closed.
Well, since he was awake—Hermione lightly kissed his jaw. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said.
He hummed, burying his nose into her hair. "I'm a very light sleeper."
This did not surprise her in the least. She burrowed back into him. "It's early," Hermione replied. "Go back to sleep."
"No. Can't," he mumbled. "This might be the only time I have to spend with you today."
She wondered how many times he pushed through his exhaustion simply because he had to. How much longer he could keep doing it before he finally broke.
The other thing that struck her was that he was pushing himself so he could spend some time with her.
From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed the handle of his wand beneath the pillow.
"Okay," she said, running her fingers down the length of his arm. When she reached the tips of his fingers, he twined their hands together, bringing hers to his lips for a brief kiss.
"I wish I could stay here all day," Draco admitted.
"I do, too," Hermione replied. She didn't want him in danger or occluding himself into exhaustion. She wanted him safe and happy, with her.
But he wasn't safe here with her at all, she knew. Ultimately, he was safer if he played his part.
She sighed, closing her eyes.
"What are you thinking about?" Draco asked.
"I just want you to be safe," Hermione said quietly.
"I'm as safe as I can be," he replied.
Against his chest, she nodded. She knew that, of course.
"As I'm sure you know, the Greengrasses are part of the Sacred 28, and Marlow Greengrass is a particularly generous benefactor when it comes to The Cause. Appearing to date his youngest daughter gives me certain protections I might not otherwise have," Draco continued as he absently played with her fingers. This was a habit he had, she noted.
Hermione had several questions. First: "So he's supporting Vol—Him—" she corrected immediately "financially?"
Draco nodded before kissing her forehead. "Almost entirely as far as I'm aware."
And then: "Appearing to date his youngest daughter?"
"Appearing," he replied firmly. "I'm only interested in one girl."
That helped assuage her fears somewhat. She was the girl currently in his bed, after all. Not pretty, faceless Astoria. Hermione, however, had to be sure. "And it's not a Astoria?" she asked.
Draco grinned at her. "Not Astoria." He kissed her. That was a good enough answer for her.
"Okay," Hermione said, settling against his chest.
He could have accused of her of being jealous. He could have, and he would have been right. But he didn't, and Hermione appreciated him all the more for it.
"Your hair looks ridiculous, by the way."
He was still Draco Malfoy, after all. "Be careful," she warned. "I will kick you."
Draco chuckled. "I'm aware. I still have the bruise from last time."
"You deserved it," Hermione mumbled.
"Yes," he agreed before kissing her again.
They laid in bed together like that for a while, cuddling and kissing and talking. But eventually, Draco had to get ready for work. He left Hermione in bed while he quickly showered and changed into a crisp black button down and trousers. She watched him pull on his Death Eater robes with a distinctive sense of dread.
"I'll be back tonight briefly to change," he said before he kissed her. "I'll see you then."
Hermione captured his face in her hands, kissing him harder. "I'll be waiting for you."
She spent the day the same as she had the previous day. She showered. She read. She worried about Draco. She wondered if he was occluding, trying to hide her away in the back of his mind.
It was a confusing thought. Wanting him to think about her, but hoping he was not.
As the day drew to a close, Hermione was so anxious that she found herself pacing back and forth in Draco's living room, book in hand.
To her dismay, she had still learned nothing about Horcruxes.
When Draco returned, he was visibly tense. She greeted him, and he kissed her hard. "I can't stay. I'm sorry."
"I know," she replied.
He disappeared into the bedroom, returning only minutes later dressed impeccably in a set of pristine set of dress robes. "I have to go," he said. "Don't wait up."
"Come here."
"I have to—"
"I know," Hermione interrupted. "Come here.
Draco took several steps towards Hermione.
When he reached her, she straightened his dress robes minutely before pushing his hair away and out of his face. "There," she said. "That's better."
When she looked up at him, he no longer seemed as tense. "I'll be late. Don't wait up," he repeated.
Hermione grinned up at him. "No, I think I'll wait." She kissed him.
When he disapparated, he was grinning.
Hermione tried to wait for him. She really did. She drank countless cups of tea and buried her nose in his books. But when he wasn't back by 3 a.m., Hermione felt herself begin to waver. Every time she blinked, her eyes were closed for longer.
She had really wanted to wait. But the words were swimming in front of her eyes and she just wanted to close them.
It was the smell that woke her.
Him. Mahogany and teakwood. It was Draco, and he was carrying her. The soft silk of the duvet being pulled over her. Finally, she opened her eyes. Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking completely exhausted as he stared down at her.
Hermione pulled the corner of the comforter up and, looking relieved, Draco slid in beside her, pulling her into his arms.
She didn't need to ask if he was okay. She knew he wasn't. She found his lips, and kissed him softly. "I tried to wait," Hermione said apologetically.
"You shouldn't have," he replied. "I told you not to."
"I don't like being told what to do."
"My stubborn witch," Draco said affectionately.
Hermione yawned against him. "I thought you were being dramatic with how late you'd be."
"Unfortunately, no. When I was 10, I had the misfortune of attending a dinner party that lasted until nearly 6 AM ."
"What time is it now?" Hermione asked, curling into him.
"About 4:30."
"So an early night, all things considered?"
Draco laughed tiredly. "Yes," he replied. "An early night."
He was silent for several moments and Hermione was certain he had fallen asleep until he let out a heavy sigh. Hermione tilted her head to look up at him. The expression on his face was tense. "What is it?" Hermione asked.
Draco closed his eyes briefly, and Hermione could tell he was thinking. She let him. Finally, he replied, "Some days, I wonder how I'm able to handle it all. Today was one of those days."
She didn't want to admit to him that she'd had the exact same thought just earlier that day. He was strong, and brave, and she believed in him. He didn't need to know her fears. Instead, she asked, "How can I help? What can I do?"
He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering. "You already help more than you know." Draco was quiet for a moment, and Hermione could he was choosing his words carefully. "I'm less angry," he said finally. "Less hopeless. It feels like there is maybe a point to all this, after all."
Of course, she should have realized. He had become a Death Eater because of his father, and he had turned spy to protect his mother. Of course, they were both dead now. She should have known he felt his actions were futile.
Hermione was alone, too, but at least she felt she had a purpose: to find and destroy Voldemort's last Horcrux.
But what was Draco's purpose? Especially since he didn't appear to trust the Order entirely. Was it just to stay out of Azkaban? It was then that Hermione realized how little Draco really had. She pressed her face to his chest, and she could hear the steady strum of his heartbeat. "There is a point to all of this. I promise."
Because there had to be. There had to be.
Draco nodded against her. "I almost believe you."
Hermione caressed his cheek before running her hand through his hair, then down the back of his neck. "Get some sleep," she said.
Draco nodded. "Yes," he agreed.
When Hermione woke the next morning, she found Draco was already gone. Instead, she found a piece of parchment on the pillow beside her. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hermione read the note:
H-
You were sound asleep this morning and I didn't want to wake you. Had to work—I'll see you later.
P.S. you're pretty
Beneath this was a very small, very precisely drawn heart. Hermione couldn't help her smile, and clutched the piece of parchment to her chest. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and there was nervous, excited flutter deep in her belly.
P.S. you're pretty
It was official, Hermione realized. She'd fallen for Draco Malfoy—hard. And perhaps, he'd fallen for her, too. It should have been an utterly ridiculous realization—it should have made her laugh. It should've made her anxious. But instead, she suddenly felt incredibly calm.
She'd fallen for Draco Malfoy, and it most certainly did not feel ridiculous. It felt important.
Hermione carefully folded up the piece of parchment and placed it in her pocket of her jumper, right next to the Galleon he'd given her.
At the very bottom of Draco's book collection, Hermione found an ancient-looking tome about the construction of Hogwarts. With some difficulty, she pulled it free from the stack and settled herself on the couch.
She spent nearly the entire day reading, engrossed in an early history of Hogwarts. It was a book that would have been useful two years ago, when she, Harry, and Ron had been on the hunt for Horcruxes.
But it wasn't particularly helpful now.
Hermione sighed in frustration and took a long shower.
P.S. you're pretty
As she rinsed the conditioner from her hair, her face tilted into the stream of the shower, Hermione could feel herself absolutely beaming.
The sun was just beginning to set when Hermione returned to the couch, fresh from her shower. She was certain that Draco would be back at any moment.
Hermione read another 100 pages about the early life of Salazar Slytherin. The sun had fully set, and Draco was not back.
Nerves prickled in her stomach. Truthfully, Hermione wasn't certain if he had a set schedule, but he'd always appeared in the clearing at about the same time. Perhaps he had a longer day. Perhaps something had come up. Perhaps it was too soon to worry.
Except she was starting to worry. Hermione began to chew nervously at her lip.
She tried to return to reading, but found herself reading the same page multiple times before she firmly closed the book.
It was now completely dark and Draco was still not back. Hermione pulled the Galleon from her pocket—perhaps he had tried to contact her?—but there was nothing. She stared at the folded piece of parchment from that morning. "Where are you?" she asked the note.
By midnight, Hermione had nearly worn a hole in the floor with her pacing and had chewed through the right side of her lip.
She was nearly on the verge of tears when she heard the crack of apparition. "Oh, thank gods—" Hermione began, before the apparition was followed by a harsh thump and the violent sounded of retching. "Oh my gods—"
Draco was on his hands and knees, retching forcefully. He was disheveled and his clothes were ripped.
Hermione rushed to him. "Oh gods, Draco," she said, gently placing her hand on his arm. She could feel his muscles spasming violently. He groaned in pain as she touched him. Hermione grew cold at the realization that he'd been tortured. She recognized the symptoms acutely.
With a groan, Draco collapsed on the floor. He was spasming so badly, he could have been having a seizure. With every twitch of his muscles, he groaned.
Hermione pushed down her initial panic. He was hurting. He was hurting and she had to help him. "Draco," Hermione said calmly. "Do you have any pain potion?"
Draco attempted to nod, but his muscles seized. "Top shelf. Blue bottle," he said through gritted teeth.
Hermione threw open the doors of his pantry, desperately searching for a blue bottle. When she found it, she promptly ripped the cork from it, returned to Draco, and poured it down his throat.
His spasming eased minutely. He curled up around himself on the kitchen floor, twitching.
Hermione banished the mess on his floor before returning to Draco. His eyes were tightly closed, his face grey with pain. She sat down next to him, bracing herself against the kitchen counter before helping him lay his head in her lap. His body kept twitching and spasming.
She was not going to cry, Hermione said to herself as she stroked his hair.
"E-everything hurts," he groaned after a particularly bad spasm.
"I know," Hermione said quietly. "I'm sorry."
She was not going to cry, Hermione repeated to herself.
"D-don't be s-sorry," Draco said through chattering teeth. "I us-usually—have—to do—this bit—a-alone."
Of course, he'd been tortured before. She was a fool to think he hadn't been.
Hermione twined her fingers with his, even as his twitched against hers. "I'm not leaving you," she said firmly.
He squeezed her hand weakly. "I know," Draco replied. His whole hand spasmed.
She wondered what he'd do if she wasn't there—and Hermione was immediately struck with an image of him curled up on his kitchen floor all by himself. In his current state, would he even have been able to reach for a pain potion? She highly doubted it.
When he eventually fell asleep, she was probably going to cry.
Despite the pain potion, Draco continued to twitch painfully over the next hour. Hermione could do nothing but hold his hand and whisper assurances that everything would be okay.
Finally, the twitching seemed to subside and Draco's breathing began to grow heavy. She gently stroked his hair, hating to wake him. "Draco?" she murmured.
"Hmm," he mumbled.
"Do you think you can stand? You'll feel better if you get some sleep in a bed instead of on the floor."
Draco groaned, but nodded against her. "This is my least favorite part," he muttered.
The fact that he was tortured enough to have a least favorite experience of it broke her heart. She shifted beneath him and took both of his hands, helping to pull him to standing. Draco staggered and sagged again. Hermione felt her spine bow back in an effort to keep him upright. "I've got you."
It took Draco a moment to regain his balance. When Hermione was sure he had, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and slowly helped him to the bedroom.
Draco promptly collapsed on the bed fully clothed. Hermione removed his dragonhide boots and tossed them to the corner of the room before crawling onto the bed next to him and wrapping him in her arms. She settled her chin against his shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he repeated.
"Stop saying you're sorry. Why are you sorry?"
"You're—upset," Draco said after a moment.
Hermione held him more tightly. "Yes, I am upset," she said quietly. "You're hurt. Of course I'm upset."
He attempted a grin, but it was more of a grimace. "So, what you're saying is that you do fancy me?"
Hermione knew he meant it as a joke, but she was having a hard time finding anything funny. "Yes, Draco," she said seriously. "Yes."
Draco's muscles spasmed again and he groaned in pain. "Good," he murmured, his voice more serious.
Hermione burrowed herself against him. She could feel his heart beating erratically. "What happened, Draco?" she asked, unable to help herself.
He twitched, then sighed. "I did my job," he said simply. "It was just a few minutes of Cruciatus. Not the first time, and it probably won't be the last."
Hermione had known. She remembered the feeling of the Cruciatus Curse with disturbing clarity. All she could remember was pain. Every nerve, flayed and on her fire. The sensation of her muscles being torn to pieces, and her bones crumbling as they went. She remembered screaming. Screaming until her throat was raw, and that was the least of her pain.
She tried to imagine continuous minutes of it. On more than one occasion. Inadvertently, she shuddered.
Draco clasped her hand where it rested over his chest. "I'm sorry that happened to you in my house," he said quietly, as if he had read her thoughts.
"How many times?" Hermione asked.
Draco audibly swallowed. "Upwards of t-twenty, if I had to guess."
Twenty.
The idea of Draco in that much pain—twenty times.
She swallowed. Voldemort had to fucking die. For Harry, and for Draco. She had to kill him. She had to.
Hermione held him tighter.
Finally, Draco fell into a deep sleep, and Hermione finally let herself cry.
And for the first time in years, it wasn't about Harry or Ron or her parents.
No, she was sobbing about Draco Malfoy as she held him in her arms.
And it wasn't ridiculous at all.
Hermione didn't sleep well. She'd doze for several minutes before Draco would inevitably twitch and wake her. And when he didn't twitch, Hermione would still wake to make sure he was still breathing.
His twitching finally ceased just as the sun began to rise, and content he wasn't imminently on the verge of the death, Hermione allowed herself to relax against him.
It couldn't have been more than a few hours before they were both awakened by someone forcefully knocking against the door of Draco's flat. "Malfoy!"
Draco groaned. "Fuck."
Another knock. Louder this time. "Malfoy!"
Draco blinked several times before he sat up, wincing as he did so. "Fuck," he repeated.
Hermione sat up. "Draco—what do I—?" she whispered.
Draco kissed her before whispering against her lips: "Grab your wand. Disillusion yourself and get into the book closet. There's a small space in the back. I'm sorry—" he paused, then shook his head. "I'm sorry.
Hermione didn't question him. She slid off the bed and grabbed her wand, instantly disillusioning herself.
Another knock, more forceful. "Malfoy! Hello!"
"Nott, give me a minute!" Draco shouted back. "I have to piss and I'm moving a bit slowly this morning, as I'm sure you're aware."
Hermione ducked into the crowded closet, finding that there was a small space in the back that she was able hide in. She tucked her knees into her chest.
Hermione heard Draco laid his palm against the door of the closet. It felt like he was squeezing her hand.
"Nott, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Draco asked as Hermione heard him open the front door.
"Fucking took you long enough," Nott growled.
Nott. Hermione tried to place the name, because it sounded familiar. Nott, Nott, Nott. Theodore Nott, perhaps? She remembered the name from Hogwarts, but she couldn't conjure a face. He has been a Slytherin, the same year as her. He had been quiet—and tall. Otherwise, nondescript. It had to be the same Nott that was currently in Draco's flat.
"Well, I'm sure you've heard the news by now," Draco replied coldly.
"About France? I have, unfortunately. You're an idiot, Malfoy," Nott scoffed. Hermione resisted the urge to jump out of the closet and throttle the man. "You should study your geography better. I know France and Luxembourg are close, but they are different places."
"I had it on good authority that the Order would make an appearance," Draco replied, so tightly Hermione was certain she could hear his jaw click. "Again, Nott. Why are you here?"
Nott audibly sighed. "Your girlfriend was worried about you. She wanted me to check in on you."
Girlfriend. Hermione's stomach turned briefly before she remembered what Draco had told her: He was interested in one girl, and it wasn't Astoria.
"Interesting that she sent you check up on me, isn't it?" Draco asked icily. Hermione wondered if he was occluding.
"Perhaps," Nott drawled, his tone neutral.
"Satisfied that I am alive and well, then?"
"Indeed. I'll be sure to inform her."
"Oh, please do."
"Good day then, Malfoy."
"Good day," Draco replied.
"Oh, and Malfoy?" Nott continued. "Something always rises from the ashes."
There was something about the way Nott spoke made Hermione's stomach churn and she wasn't sure why.
She heard the door close behind Nott, promptly followed by the click of a lock and a deep sigh from Draco. "Hermione?" he called out.
Hermione threw the door of the closet open and launched herself at Draco, knocking several books over. She was immediately wrapped in his arms. "Draco, what did you do?" she asked.
"I told you," he said quietly. "I did my job."
Hermione pulled away from him and took his face in her hands. "What did you do?" she repeated more forcefully.
His eyes darted away from hers for a moment before he swallowed and looked back at her. "I told Him Order forces would be appearing in Luxembourg," he finally replied.
"But they appeared in France, didn't they?"
Against her hands, he nodded.
"And you knew?"
Draco nodded again. "They're not very large. I gave them some time. I hope they used it wisely." In her hands, his jaw twitched.
Hermione stared at him in horror. He had lied to Voldemort. He had lied to give the Order—the Order, who didn't even trust him—some semblance of an advantage. And he had been tortured for it. Tortured for what Voldemort saw an as error.
I'm a coward, he had told her. But Hermione was certain he was the bravest man she'd ever met. With his face still cradled in her hands, Hermione kissed him, hard.
Draco didn't hesitate and he was kissing her back, his lips frenzied against hers. When they broke apart, Draco rested his forehead against hers. "She's not my girlfriend, Hermione. I swear."
Hermione laughed against his lips. That's what he thought she cared about? No. She didn't care about Astoria. Not anymore. "I was actually thinking about how you could've gotten yourself killed."
"I saw a chance to help the Order. I took it."
If there had been doubts in Hermione's mind that Draco was loyal to the Order, he'd just banished them entirely. She'd fought with herself internally, wondering whether she should tell him about the Horcruxes.
Finally, she had decided on yes. She would tell him everything. She kissed him again. "Draco," she said quietly.
"Hmm?" Draco murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"What do you know about Horcruxes?"
Draco tensed against her. "Enough," he replied shortly. There was a long pause before he spoke again, "He has one." It wasn't a question.
Hermione couldn't help her laugh. "He has one now. We destroyed the rest."
"The rest?" Draco asked in disbelief.
"He had seven."
"How—how is that even possible?"
Hermione shrugged. "He looks like a monster because he made himself into one."
"So if we destroy the last Horcrux, we can kill him?" Draco's eyes gleamed.
"Yes."
"Fine. Then let's destroy it. What is it?"
Hermione looked up at him, lightly chewing on her lower lip. "That's the problem, Draco. I have absolutely no idea."
