Hermione slammed the bedroom door behind them. Draco promptly sat on the edge of the bed, his head in head in his hands, his brow deeply furrowed. "What the fuck was that?" she asked.
"Oh, you're one to talk," Draco shot back, rubbing at his brow.
She wasn't even going to dignify that with a response, because he was not incorrect. "So, what's the plan, Draco? How are you going to vanquish The Dark Lord? And why hadn't you discussed it with me first?"
"I don't fucking know the plan, Hermione. And I—I wasn't planning on—but for fuck's sakes these people couldn't make a plan if their arses depended on it—which need I remind you, it does—and I—I need to be the one to do this," he replied solemnly.
"The prophecy is about you, but you're not the one with the power to vanquish The Dark Lord," Hermione replied.
"You think Potter is better equipped?" he scoffed, then shook his head. "Five minutes ago, you were totally on my side."
Hermione softened and took several towards him. "Of course I'm on your side," she said quietly. "I just didn't know you were plotting a murder."
"I spend an inordinate amount of time plotting a murder or two, Hermione," Draco replied sardonically.
So, this really was his fight now.
She sighed and sat next to him on the edge of the bed. "So, we're going to kill Him," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "What's the plan?"
"There is no we in this, Hermione," Draco replied.
"Well, that is where you are dead wrong, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said. "You want to do this, then you are not doing it without me."
"Hermione—"
"No," she interrupted. "I know you want to keep me safe and all that, but this is—this is too big. I have to be a part of this. I have to help you." She paused, swallowing. "Because if you get killed, it will kill me."
Draco was quiet for several seconds before he reached out and intertwined their fingers on the top of the bed. "Okay," he agreed.
"Okay?" Hermione asked, surprised.
He nodded. "I need your help," he said quietly. "I need you to help me be strong."
Hermione squeezed his fingers. "You are strong."
"Stronger, then," Draco replied.
"What is the plan then?" Hermione asked.
"I kill Him." Draco shrugged. "Haven't thought much further than that. And even that was a sudden plan."
"I think you are the right person for the job," Hermione said quietly. "As much as I hate it. It was going to end up being you or me, I think."
"Of course it was going to be us, Hermione," he replied. "We're always the ones that clean up everything. We're the liquidators." Draco laughed bitterly.
"You and me, though," Hermione said quietly. "We always said we could do this."
"We did," he agreed.
"So, we will," she said, squeezing his hand. "We need a plan."
Draco sighed heavily. "Hermione, can I—" he cut off, swallowing. "Can I have some time to think? Alone?"
"What?" she asked.
"Some time with my thoughts," he replied.
He's been different lately. Distracted. Sloppy, Hermione remembered Theo saying. "Okay," she said after a few moments.
"Okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
"Yes, okay?" Hermione replied questioningly.
Draco shook his head. "Sorry, I expected an argument," he said. "But that's not you, of course."
Hermione stared at him. Then she grinned. "You and I are forever. I'm not Pansy Parkinson. A few hours won't kill me."
"Forever, huh?" he asked, smirking.
She knew he was trying to be funny. But now was not the time. "Yes, forever," she said seriously.
Draco's smirk immediately disappeared. "Come here," he said quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You're my fucking soulmate, Hermione. And I've never been more certain about anything in my entire life."
"Forever." Hermione kissed his cheek. "Now, I am going to go downstairs to get drunk and watch the telly with George,"
"I do like you drunk," Draco replied, grinning. "You're extra cuddlesome."
"Goodbye, Draco," Hermione said, slamming the bedroom door behind her, attempting to hide her grin.
She headed down the stairs and predictably, found George sitting in front of the telly, glass in hand. Hermione sat down next him. "Pour me one, will you?" she asked.
He gave her an amused look before pulling a flask from his pocket and summoning a glass. "In a fight with the mister, huh?" he asked, producing a glass and pouring her several fingers of alcohol.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "We're not fighting, George. Draco and I don't fight. Well, not really," she replied.
George waggled his eyebrows. "Kinky," he said, taking a sip from his own glass.
"I will hit you. George," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes again.
"Even kinkier," George said. "Will you tell your boyfriend?"
"Oh, my gods, George. Never mind, I'm leaving."
Hermione made to stand, but George gently touched her wrist. Hermione flinched and pulled away.
"I'm sorry," George said solemnly—sadly. "Stay. Don't go."
Hermione sighed but sat back down. "I'll stay if you don't make any more gross jokes about me and Draco."
"No more gross jokes," George said, seriously.
Hermione took a sip from her glass and grimaced. "Let's watch some telly, George."
"Fine by me," he replied with an easy grin. "A promising howdy doody movie just came on. You know, the one with the horses and boys that carry those metal things that go pew pew."
"A gun?" Hermione asked, nearly sputtering on her sip of alcohol. "George, you know what guns are."
He nodded. "I do. I just like making the pew pew noise," he said, holding up his thumb and pointing out his index finger, imitating the shape of a gun.
"You're ridiculous," Hermione replied, laughing. She was already feeling rather buzzed, owing to George's homemade alcohol.
Hermione had wondered about Molly Weasley's fate, now she was suddenly wondering about Arthur Weasley's. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but she found herself asking, "George, where are your parents? Are they—?"
George's face hardened for a moment, his jaw locking tightly. He stared down into his glass. "Mom's fine. Dad's gone."
"I'm sorry, George," she said quietly.
He grinned bitterly, still staring down at his drink. "'S fine. I have more than most people have these days."
"That doesn't—make it okay, George," Hermione replied gently.
"No, it doesn't," he agreed.
"No, it doesn't," Hermione said more emphatically, taking his hand and squeezing it gently.
George gave her a sad smile before turning back to the television. "Let's a watch a movie, while you and your boyfriend aren't fighting."
"Deal," Hermione replied, smiling back at him.
Hermione watched two movies in comfortable silence with George before she found herself wanting to go check on Draco. She knew she had promised him some time alone—she had, of course. But she had spent so much time actively fearing for his life that she couldn't resist the urge to at least check on him. She was about to excuse herself from the couch, at least temporarily, when she heard a creak from the stairs. She could tell from the pattern and the sound of his dragonhide boots against the wood that it was Draco. Hermione smiled and waited for him to appear.
It only took a matter of moments before he was standing directly in front of the television, his arms crossed over his body, his eyes hard. "Excuse me, Weasley," he said coldly. "I'm going to need my lady back."
It was threatening. It was menacing. It would have scared most people. Hermione knew it was completely fake.
Apparently, so did George, because he merely laughed. "Apologies, Malfoy. I was attempting to steal your woman. Shall we have a go?"
Draco's eyes narrowed for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth quirked, and his cold expression dropped. "You know, Weasley, you aren't so terrible yourself."
George conjured another glass, pouring a drink and handing it to Draco. "You may have your lady back if you have a quick drink with us first."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, my gods," she said. "You guys are annoying."
Draco grinned, accepting the glass. "I'll drink to that. Cheers, my love," he said, clinking his glass to hers before doing the same with George's.
Gods, he was so annoying.
But she loved him beyond reason.
And he was making a friend.
"Since you two are clearly not fighting, I must assume it's official Order business?" George asked.
Draco's eyes narrowed once again, and he took a quick sip. "What makes you think that?" he asked.
George shrugged. "People say things around me because they think I can't hear. I get lots of tidbits. There's something afoot, so it's just a hunch."
Draco raised a brow. "That's bloody idiotic. You're missing an ear, not a brain stem."
"Thank you," George replied emphatically.
Draco shook his head. "Idiots, the lot of you." He looked towards Hermione. "Not counting you," he said.
"A foregone conclusion," George replied. "Hermione was always the smartest of us all."
"Still is," Draco replied, his voice gentle. He winced visibly and drained the rest of his glass before setting it on the coffee table so hard that it cracked. "Speaking of brains, I still require that you relinquish my girl."
"Is this how men bond nowadays?" Hermione asked in disbelief, standing. "Harry and Ron just bonded over food."
"Hey, Hermione?" George said as she made her way to Draco.
Hermione turned around to find a serious-looking George. "Yeah?" she asked.
"Thanks," he said seriously.
She grinned at him. "You're welcome," Hermione replied.
"Mate, I will duel you," Draco said, his tone barely threatening.
Hermione took Draco's hand. "Bye, George," she said, giving him a subtle wave.
"What was he thanking you for?" Draco asked as they were halfway up the stairs.
Hermione shrugged. "He's like us," she said quietly. "He's—lonely."
Draco paused and turned to face her on the stairs. His hands landed on her hips. "I'm not lonely," he said fiercely.
"Not anymore," she said quietly. "But you used to be. And I—I want more for you than just me."
He furrowed his brow, looking confused. "What do you mean?" Draco asked, his voice full of concern.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. "I want you to have more than just me," she said quietly. "I want you to have friends."
Draco's fingers on her hips flexed briefly. "Friends?" he asked.
"Friends," Hermione repeated. "You used to have a lot of them."
"I did," he said uncertainly, looking boyish and conflicted. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
Hermione's nerves flared. "What!? No!" she exclaimed. "I love you. I just want you to be happy."
"I am happy," Draco replied earnestly.
"I want you to be the happiest you could ever possibly be, Draco," she said gently. "I can't don't that alone."
He softened, seeming to understand her. "I like George," Draco said quietly. "He seems to be the least offensive Weasley."
"I kno—" Hermione began, just as she heard the creak of the stairs behind her.
It happened in seconds: Someone was coming down the stairs, then suddenly someone was pushing her to the side and into Draco, who caught her immediately, just as she lost her footing on the steps.
"Stop snogging on the staircase. You're in everyone's way and it's disgusting."
It was Dean.
In another instant, she was behind Draco, who suddenly had Dean pinned to the wall by the throat, his face murderous. "Did I not make this clear the first time, mate?" he asked, his voice cold. "Because I thought I was perfectly crystal. Touch her, and I will kill you without a second fucking thought."
"Draco—!"
"No," he said coldly. Dean was beginning to struggle against the wall. "I'm tired of people thinking they can touch you without consequence."
Suddenly, Hermione realized that perhaps she wasn't the only one with trauma when it came to the Snatchers.
Draco wasn't immune. He cared about her. He loved her. He'd seen her hurt.
Now, he was positively feral.
Hermione took a step towards Draco, touching his arm gently. "Draco, stop. Let him go."
Draco instantly let go of Dean, who began to sputter and choke. He nearly fell down the stairs in his rush to get away.
When Draco turned towards her, he was breathing hard. He cupped her face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry." His eyes were wild.
"It's okay—it's okay," she said quietly. "Come on, let's go to the room."
He seemed to be in shock as she led him up the rest of the stairs. She closed the bedroom door behind them and found the room absolutely littered with parchment. Scribbles, notes, diagrams, maps. He'd been hard at work.
"I'm sorry," Draco repeated. "They'll kick me out, won't they?"
She wrapped her arms around him. "It's okay, Draco. It's okay."
"I didn't—I don't—I can't have people touch you. Not when it scares you. You know what it does to me."
It makes me murderous.
"I'll protect you," she said quietly. "And if they kick you out—well, then I'm coming with you."
He stared down at her. "No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
He pressed his forehead against hers. "No," he said again.
"Yes," she said back. "You told me you couldn't do this without me. Well, guess what? I can't do it without you either. If you're done, then I'm done, too."
Draco sighed and exhaled heavily. "I want to kill Him, Hermione. I want that more than anything. I don't—want anything to get in the way of that."
She kissed him, attempting to sooth him. "I will protect you," Hermione promised again. "I will always protect you."
"I just want to protect you," he murmured, kissing her back. "All I want is to protect you."
"I know," she breathed against his lips.
The parchment littering the bed was shoved onto the floor within seconds as Draco pushed her gently down onto it, undoing his pants simultaneously.
Hearing the clank of his belt, Hermione hurriedly removed her leggings, tossing them to the floor.
"Wait," Draco said, when she winced as he began to enter her. "You're still sore."
Hermione shook her head. "No," she said. She was still aching, but she didn't care. She wanted Draco.
"You're lying," he said, pulling away and tucking himself back into his pants.
"Wait—"
"No," he said firmly. "Not while you're hurting."
"Draco—"
He shook his head. "No," he said adamantly. "I have plans to discuss with you anyways."
"Draco—"
Draco leaned forward, kissing her deeply. "I love you. I love sex with you. Thing is, I want you to enjoy it."
"I do, too—"
"It's not happening today, darling," he replied immediately.
"I thought men always wanted sex," Hermione pouted.
He raised a brow. "Did I say I didn't want to have sex?" Draco asked. "But I prefer you not being in pain more."
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm a wee bit drunk."
Draco sighed. "Don't be sorry," he said gently, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I thought so. But I wasn't sure if the drunk one was you or Weasley."
"Both," Hermione admitted.
He sighed again. "Perhaps we're in a need of a nap. You're drunk and I'm irritated. Come here," Draco said, wrapping his arms around her asked nuzzling her shoulder.
"Irritated with me?" Hermione asked.
"No," he said. "Never with you. Well, actually—almost always with you—but no. Not with you, love."
Hermione grinned and curled into him. "You'll have to make up your mind whether I infuriate you or make you happy."
"It's both," he said, kissing her forehead. "I love you, and you make me happy. You also infuriate me."
She grinned against his chest. She was drunk and, predictably, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat and his scent. "You infuriate me in the best way possible."
He kissed her again. "Same."
Hermione yawned against his chest. "Sleep now, plan later."
"Sleep, sweetheart. I'll be here," Draco said. "I'll always be here.
When Hermione awoke, she was surprised to find that Draco was gone. Immediately, she began to panic. Where was he? She pulled her leggings back on and opened the bedroom door. She was surprised to find Ginny across from it, looking pale and grim. "Ginny?" she asked.
Ginny stared up at her. "They've been fighting for about twenty minutes now.
She glared at Ginny. "And you didn't think to stop them?" Hermione asked. "For fuck's sake."
"Hermione—" Ginny began.
"—Get out of my way," Hermione said coldly.
As she stepped out into the hallway, she could hear shouting. Apparently, the meeting room door had been left wide open. As Hermione looked down the other side of the hallway, she saw that there were several people standing idly, clearly listening in. She narrowed her eyes. "Scatter," she said as she made her way to the meeting room.
"Oh, fuck off, Weasley," Hermione heard Draco say. There was a sound of a solid smack and a sickening crunch.
Hermione ran the rest of the way up the stairs. "What the fuck is going on right now?" she exclaimed.
Draco's eyes met hers, he was rubbing at his nose which was crooked and dripping blood.
Someone had touched him.
He didn't like when people touched her, and she found she very much did not like it either. Hermione went to him, gently pulling his hand from his face. She gently wiped the blood from his nose with the hem of her sleeve. He winced in pain.
It made her murderous.
Hermione turned around to take in the scene around her. Ron was standing opposite of Draco, his face nearly purple with rage and his fists tightly clenched. Harry was on the side, standing between the two, his arms outstretched as if trying to prevent them from fighting.
She focused in on Ron, feeling an acute sense of betrayal. They'd just had a conversation. She'd thought they'd be okay. Clearly that wasn't the case. "You hit him," Hermione accused, feeling dangerous. "Ron—"
"Yeah, well he attacked my roommate on the stairs!" Ron shot back
"Your fucking roommate pushed her on the stairs," Draco replied coldly. "And it wasn't an accident."
"Did I not threaten to kick his teeth in? I threatened that, right?" Ron asked.
"Ronald, shut up or I will actually kill you myself," Hermione said.
Draco was still rubbing blood from his face, smearing it into his pale skin rather than cleaning it. "She will, too. She'll do it."
"The same goes for you, Draco."
Draco narrowed his eyes briefly, then tilted his head slightly, shrugging. "Eh, probably still true."
Hermione exhaled deeply. "Someone explain to me what's going on," she said, attempting to remain calm.
When no one answered her, she looked to Draco, who was watching her carefully. Then to Ron, who was still staring at Draco.
She turned back to Draco. "Draco?" she asked.
Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Fuck!" he swore.
"I—" Ron began.
"—Shut up, Ronald," Hermione interrupted coldly.
Draco rubbed his forehead with his hand as his blood continued to stream from his nose. An attempt Hermione suspected, at ignoring the pain of his nose. "You had just fallen asleep," he said quietly, looking away from her. "There was a knock at the door and instead of waking you I decided to answer it." His face went hard. "Then the Weasel drags me out and up here and begins to fucking throttle me."
"You started it?" Hermione asked, turning towards Ron.
"He choked Dean," Ron said coldly.
"Dean pushed her on the staircase. What if she had fallen? What if she had gotten hurt?" he asked. "People need to stop touching Hermione. She does not like it."
"And Dean—"
"Dean can get bent," Draco replied.
"So, you just get to choke out whoever you want, Malfoy?"
Draco took several steps towards Ron. "People seem to think that they can touch Hermione whenever they want," he replied coldly. "I fail to see the difference."
"Can everyone just get a grip?" Hermione asked. "Can we just calm down?"
"No," Draco replied. "I want the Order's promise that the people who touch you are punished."
"Are you on that list?" Ron asked, tauntingly.
"Ronald!"
"Do you want to die, Weasley?" Draco asked coldly. "Because I will kill you."
"Draco!" Hermione shouted.
There was the sound of footsteps and Hermione turned around to find George at the the top of the stairs. "Why is this even an argument?" he asked. "We can all hear you by the way."
"George—" Ron began.
"People need to stop touching Hermione," he said firmly. "I've seen it happen once, and I heard it happen the second time. Maybe—people should just stop touching her."
"George, how are you here?" Ron asked.
"You left the door open," George said quietly. "Everyone can hear."
Hermione took this distraction to go to Draco. He was still bleeding, and his face was crusted with dried blood.
"Thank you, George," Draco said, still rubbing at his skin.
"She's a part of the Order. She's in charge. Why do people keep touching her? Here's a thought—stop letting people touch her," George said.
"Again, I thank you, George," Draco replied. "You appear to have the only bit of common sense around here."
George nodded solemnly at Draco.
"You're on his side?" Ron asked, disbelievingly.
"I'm on Hermione's side," George said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "People shouldn't be touching her. They shouldn't be grabbing her, and they shouldn't be pushing her on the stairs."
Hermione shook her head. "This has to stop," she said sadly. "Because I can't do this. This is The Order of the Phoenix. We exist for a purpose. We exist to destroy Him. All this infighting—it's going to get us all killed." She sighed and looked away. "George is right. I need people to stop touching me. I don't like it. I believe I mentioned that I was almost raped by a pair of Snatchers? I don't like being touched."
Draco had come up behind her, resting his hand on her hip.
George had paled. "Hermione," he said quietly. "I didn't know."
Hermione shrugged. "I don't advertise it. But I guess now everyone knows." She shook her head. "I'm so disappointed," she said quietly. "All I've wanted for two years is to be with the Order, and now that I'm here, I've found that I hate it."
Harry, who had appeared to be in shock, finally began to speak: "Hermione—" he began.
It was too little, too late.
"I don't want to hear it, Harry," she said quietly. "Everyone is so focused on hating Draco that they can't even see the truth. I, for one, am done. Get yourselves killed on your own. I'm leaving."
"Hermione!" Harry and Ron shouted in unison.
Draco and George were eyeing each other, but they remained quiet.
Hermione shook her head. "I'm leaving," she said quietly. "I'm not doing this. I'm not fighting for people who won't even consider my basic rights."
Hermione turned on her heel, and walked out the door and down the steps, heading towards her bedroom. Predictably, she heard Draco behind her. She hadn't realized she'd begun to cry until her vision began to blur, and she had to wipe at her eyes before opening the door.
"We're leaving then?" Draco asked, as he closed the door behind them.
"I'm leaving," Hermione said quietly.
Draco shook his head. "We're a package deal, remember? You leave, I leave."
She burst into tears. "I want to leave."
Draco wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her hair. "Then we're leaving."
"You're okay with this?" Hermione asked.
"I'm okay with whatever will make you happy, Hermione," he replied gently.
There was a knock at the door and Draco sighed. "If that's Weasley, do I have permission to break his nose in return?"
"No," Hermione replied, wiping the tears from her eyes.
He sighed. "Fine."
When Draco opened the door, there was a Weasley on the other side of it. But it wasn't Ron—it was George.
"You guys are leaving?" he asked.
"We're leaving," Draco replied firmly.
"I want to come with you."
"George—" Hermione began.
He shook his head, his expression serious. "They treat me like shit, too. And I've been done for a while. You two—you don't treat me like shit. I want to come with," George said.
Hermione looked to Draco, whose brow was deeply furrowed. "You want to come with me and Hermione?" he asked.
"Yeah," George replied.
Draco looked back at Hermione and shrugged. "I'm okay with it," he said. "It's up to Hermione, though."
"George, do you know what you're doing?" Hermione asked.
He shrugged. "No. But do you?"
He had a point. Because no, she didn't.
"All I know is I'm tired of playing house when we should be out there killing Him. Since you two have been here, it's been—it's been something else. I don't want to play godsdamned house anymore."
"Okay," Hermione said. "You can come. Get your things."
George grinned. "Got it," he said, turning and heading down the hall.
"This is what you want?" Draco asked quietly, leaning against the door. "Really?"
"For now, yes," she replied firmly.
"For now," he agreed.
There was another knock at the door.
"Now," Draco began, his brows raised, "if it's the other Weasley, can I break his nose?"
"No."
"Worth a shot," he said, shrugging before opening the door.
On the other side stood Harry. Hermione ignored him as she began to shove their things into her bag.
"Hermione—"
"No," she said quietly. "I get grabbed and pushed and looked at like I'm crazy. Draco had his nose broken—I'm out, Harry."
"So, you're just abandoning us?" he asked disbelievingly
Hermione paused and took a deep breath. "No," she said quietly. "Draco and I will still be working on how to kill Him. If you need me, look where you should've looked in the first place—The Forest of Dean."
"Hermione—"
"You've been dismissed, Potter," Draco interrupted, slamming the door in Harry's face. "Boy, that felt good."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Gather up all your parchments that you want to take."
Immediately, Draco sprang into action, quickly rolling up the parchment that was now littering the floor.
It didn't take long for the room to become completely bare. Most of their things existed inside Hermione's bag, anyways.
They headed downstairs and found George waiting for them with two duffel bags. "Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," Hermione replied.
"Hermione!"
Hermione turned around to find Ginny running down the stairs.
"You're leaving?" she asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied. "If you need me, ask Harry. He knows where to find me."
Hermione pushed open the door and took Draco and George's hands, apparating them instantly.
The change in the atmosphere was immediate. It was quiet. There was the smell of fresh grass. The chittering of birds. The rustle of the trees. Wide open space, and the sky. The sun. Finally, she could breathe again.
"Welcome home, boys," she said, grinning.