When George and Astoria eventually reappeared, they had a flask of George's homemade liquor and four small tumblers. "Well," George said, his genial tone appearing once more. "I believe that rousing conversation calls for a round of shots."

Hermione nodded eagerly. Thanks gods for George, she thought bitterly.

Immediately, George poured two shots, handing the first to Hermione and the second to Draco. Hermione instantly tossed back her shot, grimacing as she did so. No matter how many times she drank George's liquor, the initial reaction to its flavor would probably never get any easier. Next to her, Draco took his own shot, a flush of pink instantly creeping up the side of his neck.

Hermione held out her glass for another shot, which George obediently poured. Then she asked for a third, and a fourth.

She was sad, and exhausted. She felt—empty. She just wanted to sleep. Hermione looked at Draco, who was watching her carefully. She could tell he was concerned.

Hermione knew he was trying to say something to her, but she didn't want to hear it. Not right now. She stood, wobbling, and headed back towards the tent. She knew instantly that Draco was behind her. "Draco—" Hermione began desperately.

"Hey," he interrupted quietly, stepping in front of her. "I know you want to be alone. That's okay. But just tell me if I have to sleep outside tonight."

"What!?" she asked. "Draco, I'm not—you don't have to sleep outside. I just—I would like to go and cry by myself right now, is that okay?"

He tilted his head and quirked his lip. His eyes were gentle and affectionate. She knew he understood. "Yeah, that's okay," he agreed softly. "I'll keep them entertained."

"But come to bed, okay?" Hermione continued quietly. "I want you there."

"Hey," he said seriously. "I love you."

She nodded, feeling the tears about to burst from her eyes at any second. "Me, too," she replied.

Draco took several steps forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Go," he said. "I'll see you later."

It was just another reason that she loved Draco. He knew her; he understood her. She scoffed to herself, remembering the day that she had cried and sulked because she thought that he didn't. She thought about how much it had hurt at the time.

But these days, it seemed like Draco was the only person who understood her. He knew when to follow her, and when to walk away. He knew when to push, and when to pull. He knew exactly the amount of pressure to apply to ease to her wounds.

He knew her.

Draco hated to see her cry, she knew. But she needed to, and she wanted to do it alone. He knew that, so he was going to let her. And later, when she was done, he'd come to their bed and wrap his arms around her.

Hermione went to their room and closed the door behind her. She removed only her shoes and promptly crawled into bed, pulling the silk comforter over her face. Immediately, she began to sob.

Ugly sobs that hurt her ribs and made her grateful that the room was silenced.

When had things gotten so messed up? Was is when Harry died? Or when everyone believed she was dead? All of it? All two years of it? Two years of being alone? Had everything really changed that much?

Of course it had.

Two years ago, she would have never considered being with Draco Malfoy, and the same probably went for him. But now—

I'll ask you.

And I'll say yes.

She'd wanted Harry back so desperately that it had hurt, but now it seemed to hurt even more when he was around.

He wasn't her Harry. He didn't understand her. He'd always understood her before.

Hadn't he?

Was it the loss of Dumbledore? Of Snape?

Couldn't Harry do anything on his own?

No, of course not.

He'd always been led. Harry had been strong in his own ways. But he was weak, when it truly came down to; it was why they had lost.

It was Hermione. It was Draco. They were the ones. They hadn't been led to kill to Voldemort. They were just determined to.

Because they had to. Because they had lost too much.

Her thoughts were jumbled, and she was sobbing harder than ever.

Harry's parents. Her parents. Draco's parents.

All of them—gone.

Because of Him.

Hermione and Draco remembered their parents. Harry did not. She felt guilty that she even had the thought. Because certainly, remembering them—that had to hurt more, right?

Right?

It all hurt, of course.

It didn't matter. They were her thoughts. She was allowed to have them, and she was allowed to cry.

And then, Ginny—

She couldn't. No more. Her head was already throbbing. Ginny could wait for another day. She'd had enough. Hermione wiped at her eyes and curled around herself, burying her face in Draco's pillow, comforting herself with his familiar scent. She closed her eyes and eventually fell asleep.

Hermione awoke when she heard the bedroom door open, then close. She opened her eyes but didn't move.

"I wanted to check on you," Draco said quietly.

Hermione swallowed, wiping at her face.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

Hermione realized it had been several moments, and she hadn't spoken at all.

Against Draco's pillow, she shook her head. "No," she replied quietly. "Please stay."

Draco nodded, taking several steps forward and kicking off his shoes before crawling into bed next to her and wrapping his arms around her.

Immediately, she began to sob again. She missed her mom. She missed her dad. She missed Harry and Ron. She missed Ginny. She missed Lavender, Padma, Katie, and Angelina. She didn't even like half of them, especially now, but she was still sobbing.

She missed being a Gryffindor. She missed being brave.

But she'd always been insecure, and she was really feeling insecure right now.

Hermione hadn't wanted him to see her cry, but it was far too late now. She buried her face in his chest, wetting his shirt.

Draco merely held her, muttering reassurances and pet names—love, baby, sweetheart—as he kissed her forehead. "It's okay," he murmured. "I've got you."

She sniffled. "I obliviated my parents, Draco," Hermione said quietly.

"I know," Draco replied gently.

Hermione nodded against his chest. "Harry and Ron both know. But it's like they've forgotten. Like it was just a thing I did some day. Like it was nothing. Those were my parents." She laughed bitterly. "Then they were just forgotten, by my fucking friends, no less. I'm just expected to give everything up for this stupid war."

"No," Draco said quietly, but firmly. "You are not, and I will not let you."

Hermione looked up at him expectantly.

"I told you before that you weren't alone anymore and that I would not let you be. I also won't let you give up everything. This is not all on you."

"But why does it always feel like it's on me?" she asked quietly.

"Too much time with Potter, I imagine," he mused, grinning. "Like me to go smack his head in?"

Hermione laughed through her tears. "Draco, shut up."

He smiled. "There's my girl." He stroked her hair. "It's not all on you. I promise you. You have me now. You have George and Astoria, too." After a few moments of silence, he swallowed, suddenly looking uneasy. "When this is done. When I've—when it's done. I'm going to try and get your parents back."

Hermione sat upright. "What!?" she asked.

"I can't make any guarantees," he replied quietly. "But I'm going to try. I've been researching since the day you told me. And you know I'm—good—with mind magic."

"After this many years—" she began.

He nodded. "It might not work," he replied gently. "But tell me I'm not the best person for the job."

Hermione felt herself tearing up again. "You'll try?" she asked.

"I was always going to try," he replied, wiping her tears away. "I don't want to get your hopes up. But—at the end of this, there's going to be something good for you. I promise you that."

"And for you?" she asked quietly.

He grinned. "I've got you."

"Is that enough?"

"More than I ever thought I'd get," he replied, grinning.

She swiped her tears away again, laughing. "The next time you feel like hitting Harry or Ron, I'll claim temporary blindness."

Draco's eyes lit up in amusement. "For just one, or both?"

Hermione laughed again. "Consider it a two for one," she replied, sniffling again. "But only if it's deserved."

He stroked her cheek. "Only if it's deserved," he agreed quietly.

"He'll come back, right?" Hermione asked, feeling pathetic.

"Potter?" he asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Yeah," Draco replied. "He'll come back. He will. Hopefully after a good shag or two."

Hermione laughed. "He could use one. Or several," she agreed.

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Maybe I pissed him off enough. And if you ever tell anyone what I did, I'll break up with you."

She grinned. "No, you won't," Hermione replied.

"No," Draco agreed. "But I would be supremely pissed off."

She stroked his jaw. "Your secret is safe with me," she replied. "They all are."

He softened. "You're sad tonight," he replied, pulling her back down onto the bed. "Would you like to hear another secret?"

"Only if it's a happy one," Hermione agreed.

"Not entirely, but I think you'll enjoy it," he said. Hermione nodded, and he continued: "It was my first birthday after Dobby had been freed. And my mother, well, she grew up with house elves, too. Hadn't the slightest idea how to cook. Much less bake." He sighed. "But she was determined to make me an apple pie for my birthday. I know, very American—"

"Green apples," Hermione interrupted.

Draco smiled. "Yeah," he agreed, kissing the top of her head. "She made me one. And it was the worst thing I've probably ever eaten. Uncooked apples, raw flour, chewy dough. It was horrible." He laughed. "But it was the best birthday. Well, the best until I got to kiss you."

"You ate a whole slice, didn't you?" Hermione asked.

"Nearly three," Draco replied. "Didn't have the heart to tell her it was godsawful."

"Next year, you get a real birthday," Hermione said.

He tilted his head. "Next year?" The corner of his lip quirked, his eyes shining.

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Yes?" she asked in confusion

"Meaning we aren't all dead, is all," Draco clarified. "Means another year with you."

"I told you that I believed in you," she replied quietly.

Draco smiled. "I know," he said, kissing her briefly.

She sighed, curling into him. He simply held her tighter. "I don't even know what time it is. Where are George and Astoria?"

He shrugged. "Not too late. They're outside by the fire, properly smashed."

Hermione titled her face up towards his. "And you?" she asked.

Draco laughed. "I have imbibed far less than those two."

"Draco," Hermione began, hesitating. She suddenly felt insecure again, and she didn't know why. This was Draco.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Can we go and watch the telly and pretend like everything isn't terrible?"

He kissed her soundly. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," he said. Draco stood from the bed, holding out his hand for her. Hermione took it and found herself being pulled from beneath the covers and into him, their chests pressed together, his arms wound tightly around her.

She was supposed to tell him that he was sexy. That she like that he was a seeker. Not sob all over him. She was supposed to hang on to her thoughts from earlier. In the meantime, she'd forgotten all about them. "Draco —" she said suddenly, her fingers resting lightly on the band of his trousers.

Draco promptly removed them, curling his fingers into hers. "Later," he said quietly. "You wanted to watch the telly."

She did. She really did. She wanted to curl up in Draco's lap and forget about the world for a minute. Of course, Draco knew this. Hermione nodded. "Later," she agreed.

He led her into what had become their living room by their conjoined hands, gently pushing her down onto a chair that George had apparently transfigured from—well, something. "Sit," he said gently. "I'll make us some tea."

"Hey, Draco," she said, as he was walking away.

He turned to look at her. "Yeah?" he asked with a raised brow.

"I love you," she said.

He grinned at her. "Back at you."

Hermione found the remote on the arm of the chair. She turned the telly on, flicking through several stations of static before finding a public service channel that had just started a showing of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.

Draco returned minutes later, two steaming cups of tea in his hand. Hermione stood, taking one cup from his hands, gesturing for Draco to sit down on the chair. With Draco seated, Hermione perched herself on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and curling into him. She pressed a kiss to his temple.

Draco wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. "We might need some more seating in this room," he said quietly.

"Are you complaining?" Hermione asked.

Draco smiled up at her. "Currently? No. But I would if George had to sit on my lap."

Hermione laughed. She couldn't help herself.

Draco looked up at her, surprised. "What?" he said. "No admonishments this time?"

She buried her face in his neck, shaking her head. "Not today," she replied.

He kissed her jaw. "What's the film, love?" Draco asked.

"The Birds," Hermione replied. "It's a horror movie."

"About birds?" When Hermione nodded, he muttered, "Muggles."

"Hey!" Hermione exclaimed in exasperation, nudging him.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "But they're just birds. How terrifying could they possibly be?"

Approximately an hour later, Draco spoke again: "Actually pretty terrifying, apparently."

"I disagree," Hermione replied. "I'm with you on your original stance. They're birds. Why did no one just tell them to shoo?"

"Well, because they'd have their eyes gouged out, 'course," Draco argued.

"They don't weigh anything! Just pull them off!" Hermione argued back. "They're birds!"

"Okay, but hear me out, they have a lot of very sharp things attached to their bodies!" he returned. He quieted then, staring up at her, his gaze soft.

"What?" she asked, confused.

He kissed her, gently. When he pulled away, he smiled. "This is nice. With you," he replied. "Feels—normal."

"Arguing about a dumb movie?" Hermione asked, even more confused.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice thick. He kissed her again.

"But it's so silly!" Hermione continued. "What even is it about?"

"Oh, please," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "It's about how humans have no respect for nature—there's a meaning there, you're just being stubborn and refusing to see it—" he broke off, smiling. "Yeah, arguing with you about a movie. It feels good."

At that precise moment, Astoria and George stumbled into the tent, holding hands and laughing hysterically. It was immediately obvious that they were incredibly intoxicated. As they laid their eyes on Hermione and Draco, George began to laugh harder, turning towards Astoria, so close their foreheads were nearly touching. "See," he said, laughing. "They really are like that all the time—!"

Draco scoffed. "Come off it, you two," he interrupted. "We're just watching a movie. Which you are both welcome to join, by the way."

George and Astoria continued to laugh together, ignoring Hermione and Draco all together. Suddenly, George kissed her, and Astoria immediately took George's face in her hands. When they pulled away from each other, they were quiet, staring at each other intensely.

"Are we even here?" Draco asked quietly.

"Shush," Hermione replied.

Hermione watched as Astoria gently bit her lip, before twining her free hand with George's. George promptly led her into his bedroom.

"What on earth have we done?" Draco muttered.

"They like each other," Hermione replied quietly, staring at their closed door. "You caught it the instant they started arguing with each other."

"Well, yeah," Draco agreed, disbelievingly. "It was the spitting image of us."

"It was?" she asked.

He raised a skeptical brow at her. Really? he was asking.

"Oh, my gods," she replied after a moment of thinking. "It is the spitting image of us."

From George's door came a low moan. Draco's brows quirked further. "It appears they made better time than we did."

"Oh, my gods," Hermione groaned. "Should we tell them that we can —?"

"Hear them?" Draco interrupted. He shrugged when she nodded. "Depends on if you're tired or not. I could use some fresh air."

"Me, too," she agreed.

He grinned at her. "Then let's leave the children alone, eh?"

There was another moan, louder this time. Hermione shot out of Draco's out lap. "You've got my vote on that," she replied, taking his hands and pulling him up.

Together, they left the tent to find that the fire in the clearing was still burning brightly. "Irresponsible gits," Draco muttered.

"Good thing we came out here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, look, they also left the booze."

Hermione giggled. "They were a bit preoccupied, it seems."

Draco pressed a kiss to her temple. "I like seeing you like this," he said.

"Like what?" Hermione asked.

"Laughing," Draco replied, settling himself in front of the fire and patting his lap.

Hermione obliged, resuming the position that they has been in inside.

"I don't hear it very often," he continued, as Hermione wound her arms around his neck. "It's nice. And I know you were just crying, but you seem more relaxed. A little happier."

She wasn't happy. Not truly. She was happy with Draco, of course. But she did feel better. She did feel more relaxed. "I guess I am feeling that way," Hermione replied.

"I know it's not much," he said quietly. He took a swig from the flask before offering it to her.

Hermione took the flask from Draco and took a sip, groaning as she swallowed.

Draco laughed, his lip quirking into an easy grin. The way he was staring up at her made Hermione shiver. "You're different, too," she said quietly. She could it feel it from where she was perched on his thighs, from where her arms were wrapped around his shoulders. He was more relaxed, too.

The Order had been toxic.

They were better off without it.

"Am I?" Draco asked.

"You're less tense, too," she replied.

"That's because you're less tense." He sighed. "I'm going to do this, Hermione. We're going to do this," Draco said quietly. "

"We, huh?" she asked.

He stared at her seriously. "There has never been a single scenario where I'd ever be able to beat Him without you."

Hermione took his face in her hands, kissing his forehead. "We're going to do this," she repeated. She believed in him.

"We are," he agreed. "I don't have a solid plan, Hermione. But I've been thinking about it a lot."

"Talk to me," she said quietly. It didn't all have to be on his shoulders. That's what he had told her, and she wanted the same for him. She could help him.

Draco sighed. "Even if I had a solid plan," he said. "Would the Order even follow me?"

It was a fair question. Draco certainly wasn't the Order's favorite person, and that seemed unlikely to change. "I don't know," she said quietly.

Draco gave her skeptical look. "Yes, you do. I'm not Potter," he replied, looking away from her. He sighed. "I've thought of a thousand different ways, a thousand strategies. The one problem is that they're unlikely to follow a godsdamned word that I say, and I don't trust them not to get me killed." He smiled at her, though. "But I do have something better."

His smile made her stomach flip. "What's that?" she asked.

"I do have you. You're my number one. My right-hand man. The only person I trust to have my back. Do you think you can do an Avada?"

"If something happened to you?" she asked quietly. "If I had to protect you?"

Draco nodded, staring up at her.

"Without a doubt in my mind," Hermione replied seriously. "If something happened to you, I think I could blow up the whole world."

"Then I'll need you to blow it up, baby," Draco said. "I need you to have my back."

"I'll always have your back, Draco," replied quietly.

"Potter will lure Him out, that's always been the plan. Astoria gets the snake. Which, I don't think we can figure out a plan for that until the unicorn returns anyways. "Or Astoria." A loud moan came from the tent. "And I'm not bloody interrupting her."

"Are we that bad?" Hermione asked, motioning towards the tent.

Draco shook his head. "Oh, no," he replied, grinning. "I guarantee you we are much, much worse."

Hermione laughed again. She nuzzled into his neck.

"I don't know. Maybe Potter had the right idea after all. Just go, run, jump—just kill. Think later."

"No," Hermione said seriously. "That's not you. Everything is just so up in the air at the moment. You're thinking about it seriously—that's more than what Harry would ever do."

"Would Order members even kill Death Eaters?" he asked. "They have a a history of, well—not—"

Hermione shrugged. "No," she said bitterly.

"Then none of my plans matter, really. Potter was right."

"That's not true," Hermione replied. "You planned for back up. Me and George."

Draco sighed. "Without Him, the Death Eaters are all pathetic. He's what matters. He's the important bit. If we can lure Him out, and I can kill Him, we can worry about everything else later."

"You sound like Harry right now," Hermione replied harshly.

"I resent that!" Draco exclaimed.

"Well, this is just winging it, isn't it?" she asked bitterly. Only moments ago, he was completely confident in his ability to kill Voldemort. In the absence of a concrete plan, however, he had begun to question everything. She could see it in the uncertainty in his eyes. Suddenly, he appeared to be very vulnerable. He was no longer looking at her. "You're doubting yourself. Stop it," she continued, softening. "I'm not doubting you."

Draco tilted his head, staring back up at her.

"I believe in you," Hermione repeated.

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her clothed shoulder. "I know," he said. "Always have my back, huh?"

Hermione's fingers trailed down his spine. "Always," she agreed. "We can regroup in the morning, when we're all sober and rested. And we all have our clothes on."

She removed her fingers from his back, running them over his face, he was pale to the point of being nearly grey, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Draco was exhausted and had clearly spent a lot of time worrying. He was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, some of the weight being hers. He leaned into her touch, groaning.

Hermione frowned. She wanted to help him carry it—the way he did for her. "You need sleep."

He had buried his head in her shoulder. He shook his head against her."You're not tired," he argued.

Draco was right. She wasn't tired. She had cried, and slept, and her nerves were on fire now that he was beginning to doubt himself. She needed Draco confident, and whole.

Right now, he didn't appear to be whole.

But Hermione understood it. She was insecure—she had spent the entire day thinking as much. Draco seemed so confident, so secure, all of the time. But he was tired and currently had too much in his head. He was feeling insecure. "I'll read," she replied. "You're exhausted. I don't mind just lying with you."

"You sure?" Draco mumbled into her shoulder.

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "Let's go to bed, love."

Hermione felt him grin against her at the use of his pet name for her. "Okay," he agreed.

They walked back to the tent together, Hermione's arms wrapped around Draco's waist and his arm flung loosely across her shoulders. George and Astoria had quieted somewhat, but as they entered the tent, Hermione immediately heard the faint sound of a cot creaking. She winced, and immediately cast a silencing spell on George's room. "There's no way we're that bad," Hermione repeated.

Draco chuckled softly. "No," he agreed. "I told you, we're much worse. George and I will have to have a little chat about silencing charms tomorrow."

"Yeah," Hermione replied, grinning. As they entered her room, Draco immediately stripped down to his underwear as slid under the comforter.

Hermione stripped down to her own underwear before pulling on one of Draco's t-shirts over herself and selecting a book from her bag. She crawled into bed next to Draco and he waited for her to make herself comfortable with her book before wrapping his arms around her and settling his head against her stomach. Grinning, Hermione absently began running her fingers through his hair.

It didn't take long for Draco to begin lightly snoring.

A few hours later, Hermione set her book to the side and stared at him. He had changed, she thought, since she had first met him. She remembered the first night she had gone home with him—the night the Snatchers had found her; the night she had first slept in Draco's bed, albeit without him. He had been sleeping with his shoulders drawn up tightly, his wand clenched in his fist.

His eyebrows still furrowed in his sleep, and Hermione doubted that would ever stop. But his bodywas relaxed against her, his shoulders loose. Most notably, his wand was on the nightstand next to hers. Within reach, of course, but not clutched desperately against his chest.

It used to be that any amount of movement would wake him from even the deepest sleep, but he was currently asleep as Hermione continued to run her fingers through his hair. She suspected his newfound restfulness was three-fold: he was more relaxed away from the Order and Voldemort—and because she was more relaxed away from Order as well. And perhaps, she suspected, he had simply gotten used to sharing his bed with her.

He had always provided her with respite when she had needed it. Perhaps she did the same for him. The thought made her heart swell.

Sighing, Hermione shifted in the bed, hoping the movement wouldn't wake Draco. Luckily, it did not, and Hermione wrapped her arms around him, curling around him protectively. It was the way he always wrapped himself around her. But tonight, when he was exhausted and doubting himself, it was Hermione's turn.

Gods, she loved him. He was her very nice, very dangerous boy. Her soulmate. Her man. The man. The man who was going to kill Voldemort and save the entire world. She believed in him, even when he didn't, and she would always have his back.

"I love you," she murmured quietly.

"Mmm," Draco agreed sleepily, nestling into her embrace.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and closed her eyes, pulling him in tightly.

They'd work on saving the world tomorrow.