Thank you all for the lovely and encouraging reviews. I'm happy my story resonates with you. It really keeps me going to read them and I get so excited to read them every time. And agreed, that Elmer Fudd review was something else :') You guys are the best!

Chapter 11 - Bittersweet

"Because I am telling you, he is UP to something, and if you don't do something about it our whole family and friends will PAY THE PRICE, Bill!" was the only thing Draco distinctly heard. Ron had left the breakfast table in a huff after Hermione had passed Draco the maple syrup with a smile on her face, and Bill had followed him into a room upstairs where they had locked themselves in. The others stared at Draco when Ron's eruption loudly resonated through the house, after ten minutes of indistinct angry whispering coming from the room. He looked down at his bowl of porridge, his neck growing hot. There were days like this but he'd give anything to have a free pass to go back to his snarky self. His mind was racing with things he wanted to say about how Ron was clearly insecure about the bond between him and Hermione, about Ron's stupid accent and the way he always had a bit of porridge at the corner of his mouth after breakfast. But there'd be no use to it. He stared at his bowl, feeling more and more hateful every passing second at the idea that Ron was trying to compromise not only his wellbeing, but also his physical safety, by spreading false rumours about him to the head of the house. If he were to be kicked out, he could die. As he was about to get up and join Bill and Ron to speak, no, shout his mind about the whole situation, Luna piped up.

"They're having a conversation about the hidden leader of the Rotfang conspiracy, who is no other than the Minister of Magic himself. Those are some dark times we live in."

"Sweetheart, they're discussing Mr Malfoy's presence here in our house," kindly replied Ollivander. "But you'll have to tell me more about this, um, conspiracy."

"Draco? Up to something? Oh, it's the Hermione thing isn't it."

Hermione's spoon clanged against the table.

"Hermione thing?" feebly asked Harry.

Hermione loudly cleared her throat.

"Neither Draco nor I could sleep last night, so we had a cup of tea. Ron has been somehow irate since then. I'll talk to him later. Let's talk about something else. Mr Ollivander, why don't you tell us more about your health? Are you feeling better today?"

"It's not the cup of tea, Hermione," said Luna. "It's the warm light inside your stomach that makes him shout."

On those words, Hermione and Draco got red in embarrassment, and quickly moved on to a different conversation about Hogwarts.

Draco did not end up talking to Ron that day. He knew that it was no use. He also knew that if he did, he risked letting his words go beyond his thoughts, and get kicked out for good. But to his surprise, it was Harry that came to him.

"Walk with me," said Harry.

If the inside of the house was warm and comforting, the outside had an heart-achingly beautiful violence to it. The wind stretched the tree branches into all directions, they creaked and howled in unison against the pearly colour of the sky. The waves crashed their white noise on the dark sand, and seagulls screamed as if in want of blood. Harry looked as distant as ever. He had never had much innocence to begin with, as a direct victim of the Dark Lord since birth. But his face was more drawn in that ever, and with the shadow of a beard, he looked like an adult. Draco has been putting on some muscle from swimming every day in the sea, but he felt weak in comparison to him. Morally, physically, and spiritually. It crossed his mind that he had perhaps always felt that way.

"You have an undeniable bond with Hermione."

Draco nodded, unsure of what to respond.

"I can tell from the books you're reading, and your change in attitude, that she has had a good influence on you. But I can't say that the opposite is true."

Draco's heart sank in his chest. He knew he wasn't good for her. By nature, he wasn't good for anyone. But for a few blessed moments, he had thought that perhaps he was good for her too, in the way he made her laugh and smile.

"She's been crying more often lately during our meetings. She's distracted. She takes things more personally, especially when they come from Ron. I've been trying to get to her, but she gets defensive."

Harry turned towards Draco, his face tenser, paler, as if he was going to hit him.

"Have you been bullying her?"

"Bullying… Hermione?" Draco repeated feebly.

"Yes. Have you been making her feel bad about herself? Doubt herself? Have you been telling her what you always used to? She won't tell us. My guess is that because you took that knife for her, she feels personally responsible for your security."

Draco shook his head, indignation building up inside of him.

"Why would I bully Hermione?"

"Why wouldn't you? It wouldn't be a first."

Draco went quiet. They walked in silence. He was so sick of having to prove himself at every turn. But Harry wasn't giving in, and kept quiet too.

"Even if I wanted to bully her, what could I even say about her? That's she's too smart, too kind, too generous?"

"What about her looks?"

"What about them?"

"You always made her feel terrible about her hair and teeth."

Draco snorted, which made Harry take a step towards him, Monitus growing louder. In his face, Draco saw the defensive expression of a loving brother.

"Listen Pot - Harry. I - I have nothing bad to say about her looks." To his embarrassment, Draco felt himself blush. "Why is Ron so pissed off at me? Does he also think that I bully her?"

Harry was the one who derisively laughed this time.

"No, he thinks quite the opposite. He thinks you guys are into each other."

Draco could tell by Harry's tone that he thought it to be a ridiculous idea.

"You know, Hermione and I… we just talk. We sit down and talk. Sometimes we read or craft together. I don't bully her. I owe her my life. We don't snog either if Ron wants to know that. We just talk. I don't know why she's been distracted. She said you guys were up to something crazy. So maybe that's just it. Wouldn't anyone be scared?"

"What else did she tell you?"

"She said there was a high chance of failure. But don't tell her I repeated it."

Harry scrutinised Draco for a few seconds, before asking:

"Do you have any information about Bellatrix' vault?"

"Of course not, it's one of the most well-guarded vault in all of Gringotts. They'd never trust me with —"

Draco suddenly felt the blood drain from his face. He could physically feel it storing itself away in his limbs, as if readying him to run away. The edges of his vision blackened, and he felt his lungs shrink, just like they did when he dived into the morning's icy sea. A vision of Hermione getting eaten by the dark creatures in the pits of Gringotts hit him, along with the realisation that this was war, and that war was death, and that if Hermione was to attempt what Harry was hinting at, she had a 100% certainty of dying. How many more weeks would he have with her? Or was their time to be counted in days?

"Please don't tell me that's what you'll be attempting." Draco didn't recognise his own voice as it left his throat. It was pale and slim, as if forced out by outside pressure. "How would you even —"

"Think about it. Just any information. Even something subtle."

Harry didn't seem concerned with Draco's unease.

"You're sending her to her death. That's all the information I have. If she goes there, she will die. You will all die," replied Draco.

Harry frowned.

"How do you know that?"

"It's the way — the way they talked about it. They have magical protections of the highest degree. They have creatures. If she goes there she will die."

"What creatures? What protections?"

"I don't know! All I know is that you can't get it. It's a certainty. If you attempt to get in, you WILL die."

"Griphook has an idea as to how to get to it," said Harry.

Draco shook his head.

"Griphook does not care about you. He —" Draco's voice narrowed into a silent trail. "She can't go there."

"She won't let me go alone with Ron, that's for sure. That's why I need her focused. And it seems like you're distracting her."

"Are you stupid?" blew up Draco. "Of course she's distracted if you're trying to break into Bellatrix' vault, because she's clever enough to know that you. Will. All. Die." Draco shook his head. "I won't allow it. I'll talk to her."

"And tell her what?"

"I'll say — she can stay in hiding in Shell Cottage. She can stay safe."

Harry gave Draco a long, pitiful look.

"For someone who claims to be close to her, it's like you don't know her at all. Yes, she's soft, and yes she's kind. But she also has the strongest backbone out of any of us here. It's her best quality. Perhaps you could learn from it."

That evening, Draco didn't talk to her nor look at her, nor anyone. He spent most of his time in the sea, trying in vain to wash away the rage tearing at his stomach, at his lungs. She had given him pieces of life, and she was going to tear it away in the name of a war she couldn't win. "What's the point?" he kept asking himself, the cold water numbing his skin but not his pain. Any thought of her was intolerable, and yet 'Shadowboxer' was cruelly stuck in his head. He dipped his face under the water to sob, hoping Dobby's ear couldn't catch the sounds of his despair from the beach where he patiently waited for his former master. Wild thoughts ran through his mind. Perhaps if he incapacitated her to some extent, she wouldn't have to go. He couldn't use magic, but she trusted him enough for him to find ways to push her down the stairs, or knife her in a way that would require her to rest. But even if he delayed her by the few days that a potion would take to heal her, what next? She would still go, but this time with hatred for him inside her heart. And perhaps that was a good thing, but he couldn't take the idea that she could die hating him. He couldn't help her, because he genuinely had no further information about the vault. If he asked Dobby to Apparate with him in his old house, he could try to kill Bellatrix, but then what? It wouldn't make the vault any less dangerous to access. In fact, it would make it more difficult for them. What could he do for her to stay? What could he do to help her?

He didn't join them to prepare dinner. He didn't join them for light conversation on the couch. He stayed in the sea until the sun set, trembling from limb to limb, his fingers blue and wrinkled. In the dark, her silhouette appeared at the end of a Lumos spell. She looked purple outside the bright orange-lit house.

"Draco!" she called.

He hesitated, before swimming back to shore. The wind beat her hair wildly against her face, and it was unbearable, how beautiful she looked even then.

"Dinner is almost ready," she said.

Draco got out of the water, his entire body suddenly prickling under Dobby's warming spell. She lightly swung her wand, clothing him with a smile.

"What's so interesting out there?" she asked.

He considered shouting at her. He considered ignoring her. He considered locking her out of his heart and burying the key under his old house, where suffering was best suppressed. But she disarmed him with the light that lived inside her eyes, and instead, he burst into tears.

"Dobby, would you leave us please?" she whispered.

"Can Dobby do anything else for former Master Draco and lady Hermione?"

She shook her head.

"Just don't tell anyone."

Dobby slid back inside the house. Draco looked out to the sea, hoping for his tears to dry before he could humiliate himself further.

"Let's walk," she said, and Draco wondered why it was others who always walked him around, and he wondered to which extent Harry was right, when he told him to learn from Hermione's courage.

"Draco, what's going on?"

The wind howled so loudly, it drowned parts of her words, took them on its path. Draco sniffed.

"Harry told me about your plan. Entering Bellatrix' vault. He told me."

"Why did he tell you that?"

"So it's true?"

"Yes, but why did he —?"

"Hermione why would you do that to me?"

Her face, already darker by the second as they walked away from the house, got even more somber.

"I know it's your family but we have to find an object in it. We won't… do anything to hurt her."

"I don't care if you kill Bellatrix! God, you don't understand me. Don't you understand you are going straight to your death?"

"Griphook will be with us and —"

Draco wanted to rip his hair out in frustration.

"You will die. And I'm not — I'm not some — like your Muggle parents. You can't erase my mind."

She took a step back.

"What does them being Muggles have to do with anything?"

"Well, they didn't know, did they? They didn't know you could Obliviate them. But I know. And I won't let you. Because I don't want to forget you. Please Hermione. Please, I've never begged someone before but please. Don't go. I don't care if it makes me a coward to say so. Don't go."

Her lips trembled, and she pursed them in an attempt to hold her own chin up, to not succumb to tears like him.

"Didn't we say small moments only?" she whispered. "You knew the war came first. You knew I was always ready, and will always be ready, to die for this."

He stared at her determined eyes, and it struck him how desperately he needed her. In the dark. He needed her.

"Small moments with you are big moments to me."

Before she could say anything in return, loud voices roared at them from the house, artificially amplified by magic.

"Come back you both! Right now!"

With tense stomachs, they ran back. This could only mean bad news. Draco saw in there a glimmer of hope, the possibility that things could be so bad that she would have to stay longer with him, give him more time to convince her. As they crossed the door's threshold, Professor Lupin's beaming face appeared in Draco's line of sight, one bottle of mead in each hand, roaring in delight.

"It's a boy!" he screamed. "We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!"

Hermione brought her hands to her mouth.

"Wha —? Tonks — Tonks has had the baby?"

"Yes, yes, she'd had the baby!" he shouted back. And as backs were clapped and mead was poured, and Harry was asked to be godfather, and as Hermione hugged Fleur and Luna hugged Dean, Draco felt his heart descend deeper into the cave of his chest. A baby was born, but his Hermione would soon die before she had even had time to live. He accepted a glass of mead. He looked at her long crazy hair as she hugged Lupin tight. And he thought to himself, bitterly, that he loved her with every last bit of life he had.