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Chapter Text

 This World or Any Other: Book I

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Summary: Malfoy's handsome face was contoured into a condescending smirk. "No faith in that giant brain of yours, Granger?" She looked up at him defiantly. "Maybe I don't have faith in you!" she said, raising her voice. Malfoy only looked at her. "You'll find I'm very surprising." Dramione AU, Year 6 with a slow burn and a killer twist. Book I of "This World or Any Other" series. COMPLETE.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, these characters were created by J.K. Rowling and sadly, I was not involved in any way.

a/n: This work is the first in the This World or Any Other series and must be read prior to Book II, Marked.

Chapter One: The Assignment

Ron and Harry were late; no surprise there. Hermione drummed her fingers absentmindedly on the desk, simultaneously bored and anxious. As much as she disliked being late, she especially disliked tardiness in others.

She glanced up, biting the inside of her cheek as she narrowly avoided the direct blow of Professor Snape's signature scowl. His eyes darted quickly from her to the empty seats beside her, and she shifted uncomfortably to avoid his sullen glare.

"Not minding Potter and Weasley quite so successfully this term, are we, Miss Granger?" Snape drawled lazily. "Perhaps the Christmas holidays have had a detrimental effect on their ability to travel through space and time?"

She heard a snicker behind her, and she turned sharply to glare at Theodore Nott and the Slytherins that made up the minority of the class. As soon as she did, she regretted it; she should have known that the simple act of acknowledging Nott's derision would have been fuel enough for his usual taunts.

"Temper, temper," Nott mused condescendingly, his eyes narrow slits under his furrowed brow, "Or are you upset that Gryffindor's golden boy and his weasel boyfriend have finally chosen each other and left you on your own?"

Hermione moved to turn coldly away, reminding herself that neither Nott nor any other member of his house was worthy of her time or attention. She was troubled, however, at the slight pang that resounded from his words. She had, after all, just been with them in the common room; why would they now disappear on their own?

"Hit a nerve, have I?" Nott snickered, garnering the appreciative jeers of his fellow Slytherins. As he turned to the seat next to him, however, his haughty face twisted in surprise to find that its usual occupant – his teammate in pathetic sneering and derogatory heckling – was absent.

"Malfoy not so perfect either then, Nott?" she scoffed, turning her back on him decisively. She grinned slightly to herself then, relishing in the moment. She didn't expect much wit from Theodore Nott, and was pleasantly surprised by the ammunition of Malfoy's absence.

She had had just about enough of Malfoy this year; his absence was out of character – he had, after all, come close to her performance in his O.W.L.s and seemed to find a bit more value in academia than did her two best friends – but Harry simply would not stop talking about him since their run-in on the train. Hermione found Harry's preoccupation with Malfoy utterly laughable; at his best Draco Malfoy was competent. Maybe intelligent. Possibly – and this was already a major stretch - skilled in some areas of wizardry. But capable of carrying out serious damage to anyone, particularly while under Dumbledore's watchful eye?

Doubtful. Very doubtful.

At the sound of feet shuffling in quickly behind her, she turned to face Harry and Ron, red-faced and breathless.

"What did you do, run here from Surrey?" she hissed quietly to Harry as he sat on her left, scrambling for his notes. "Where –"

"We got distracted," Ron interrupted, sitting on her right.

"Obviously, Ronald, I have eyes –"

"Miss Granger. Surely your lecture can wait until after mine is through," Snape said curtly. Hermione blushed, though she fought furiously to prevent it. "and Potter, Weasley – perhaps we should start class on your schedule? Or better yet, perhaps excuse you from my instruction, seeing as you have dealt so many crushing blows to the dark arts already."

Snape was positively dripping with sarcasm. Hermione snuck a nervous glance at Harry, noting that his posture was alarmingly erect while he stubbornly maintained an insubordinate glare. He didn't speak, and Hermione fought the urge to check if he was breathing.

After an uncomfortable silence, Snape returned his attention to the remainder of the class.

"This year," he began slowly, "Professor Slughorn and I decided to attempt a collaboration between Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts." Even without the heavy black robes, Hermione suspected Snape would have a darkness about him. His words, often deliberate to the point of excessive articulation, had the overall effect of being menacing but intelligent. She couldn't help but admire his mind, though she often doubted his character.

"I, of course," Snape continued, "will be the one to determine your success, though if you have any questions pertaining to his subject, you are free to approach Professor Slughorn for . . . assistance."

He said the last word as though the concept of turning to Professor Slughorn was laughable; Hermione hated to agree with him, but it would be a stretch to place Slughorn's abilities above Snape's.

"The assignment is to create a draught that would aid or cure a curse, if you are ever to endure one at the hands of the dark arts," Snape said, with the same vocal caress with which he'd described the dark arts on their first class – that which is unfixed, unnatural, and indestructible.

"Both the curse and its corresponding potion are open to your choosing."

Hermione had to admit; she was intrigued by the assignment, her mind already buzzing with a mental checklist of the potions in her arsenal. Several years with Harry had left her more experienced at the production of rare potions than she cared to admit (partially out of sheer desire not to be shipped off to Azkaban). On her left, Harry stared forward, eyes glazed; on her right, Ron was picking at his fingernails. Hermione sighed inwardly, shaking her head. This would be yet another assignment that she would have to hold their hands through. It wouldn't be the first time that their homework, even perhaps their academic career, fell to her.

"You will have one month to complete this assignment with a partner, as potions of great difficulty can require some additional time and skill. I advise you to push the limits of your ability, as I will not award points tolazy" – his eyes fell on Harry as he paused, emphasizing the word – "or unoriginal work." That time, he let his eyes sweep over all three of them.

Hermione smiled ever so slightly to herself at that. Snape had a much better understanding of their dynamic than she had ever given him credit for.

She turned her attention to determining the better option of her two best friends. There was Ron – he would listen to her, and do what he was told, but he was entirely unmotivated, and not quite the wizard Harry was. Harry, on the other hand, easily had the skill to complete the assignment, but was headstrong and unreliable – not to mention occupied with private lessons with Dumbledore whilst trying to catch Malfoy in some nonexistent plot of evil. She also considered the possibility that Harry and Ron would choose each other, but it was only a small chance, since she doubted that either of them would pass on an opportunity to have her do the lion's share of the work.

When Hermione refocused her attention on Snape, he was still looking in their direction.

"Do I dare break up the Holy Trinity?" he sneered, tapping his chin with his pointer finger in mock deliberation. Harry had resumed his sullen glower; Hermione poked him sharply in the ribs, a reminder to control his temper.

As she did so the classroom door flew open, revealing the tall, lithe figure of Draco Malfoy. She found herself letting her eyes follow his confident stride, the ghost of an infamous Malfoy smirk on his lips. He had gotten so . . . so striking as the year had gone on. He had always been more polished than the other boys at Hogwarts, even as a nasty first year with slicked back hair, but now it seemed he had grown into his looks; his facial features were chiseled rather than pointy, and his lanky Seeker's build had filled out nicely. Predictably, the line for his amorous pursuit was practically unending, and the Malfoy heir had the complete collection of Slytherin girls in the palm of his hand.

Hermione herself hated Draco Malfoy. She wondered, actually, whether he was even really handsome at all; the appeal of his appearance may have been purely misdirection. He was rich, he was tall, and he had an alluring elegance about him, but that doesn't make someone handsome.

Hermione glanced briefly at the gangly redhead on her right, then back to Malfoy. No, she thought. She was right the first time; he was attractive, and had definitely grown more so as of late.

Stupid git.

As a general rule, Malfoy reeked of wealth and privilege: his uniform was always neatly pressed, and his silver and green prefect badge was always gleaming on his lapel. Today was no different; he looked as frustratingly impeccable as always.

But then she noticed the few silvery-blond hairs framing his face were ever so slightly askew, and there were dark rings under his eyes. She noted that his face also had an unusually odd, ashen hue. The overall effect of these anomalies was that the prince of Slytherin looked a bit more tired than usual this morning.

Perhaps his completely intolerable egotism is finally starting to affect his complexion, she mused.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, you're just in time," Snape said, unfazed – Hermione rolled her eyes; Harry being five minutes late was unforgivable, but precious Malfoy, fifteen minutes late, was nothing but unadulterated joy to receive – "I've just been assigning partners for our latest assignment."

Malfoy remained standing, saying nothing. Not even an apology? Hermione thought. His arrogance truly knows no bounds.

Snape glanced back at Harry, Ron, and herself, his calculating eyes narrowed.

"Ah Mr. Malfoy, who should we choose for you . . . Weasley won't do, that's not even worth discussing; Potter –"

Snape paused, bringing his hand to his face to cup his chin, staring intently at Harry.

Don't say Harry, don't say Harry, please don't say Harry . . .

"Not Potter either," he announced finally. "You would only try to murder each other – again."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She fully agreed with Snape on that count.

"That, of course, leaves Miss Granger."

Her initial exhalation seemed to get caught on the way back in, and Hermione nearly choked. Malfoy's eyes, darkened with displeasure, sought her out, finally resting on where she was sitting. His handsome face contorted itself into a grimace, which she found distasteful. It was a new and unpleasant variation of his usual smirk.

Snape turned on his heel, his robes settling behind him as he retreated to the front of the classroom.

"Potter – you'll be paired with Nott. Weasley – you're with Corner."

Hermione wanted to slam her head on the desk; it was as if Snape was trying to bring about a new and entirely different war. Harry with Theo Nott? Already the two were sizing each other up, the inevitable clash of personalities already visible on the horizon.

Against her better judgment, she turned back to where Malfoy had been standing. He had taken a seat in the back – surprisingly, away from his friends and his on-again, off-again girlfriend, that insufferable twat Pansy Parkinson – and was looking out the window, clearly distracted. Snape had continued to list off pairs, and the entire room became slowly engulfed with the sound of shuffling students, all rearranging to join their corresponding partner.

The noise wasn't enough to break Malfoy's reverie; Hermione frowned as she realized she would have to go over to him, aware that Snape hadn't bothered to actually assign him the assignment. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, unwillingly eyeing her partner; Ron patted her sympathetically on the shoulder, mouthing "I'm sorry!" as he joined Michael Corner.

Hermione was acutely aware of the sound of her footsteps, though she shouldn't have been. Malfoy wasn't listening. She cleared her throat loudly, perhaps a little obnoxiously, as she hesitantly sidled up to his desk. Malfoy finally looked at her, setting his sharp jaw aggressively as she approached.

"What?" he snapped. His eyes were a dark shade of grey, with what she thought might be some flecks of green – Slytherin green, she mused. Even while in a daze his eyes were alert, not dreamy or pensive.

She turned her attention away from his more enviable features to his much more relevant and insufferable sense of self-importance.

"Don't you want to know the assignment?" she said exasperatedly, placing her hands on her hips – like a child, she thought regretfully.

He rubbed his forehead, smoothing his brow impatiently. "Yes, fine."

"We have to brew a potion that would heal a curse."

"Fine," he said dismissively. "Let's talk about it later."

Hermione gaped at him as he stood up to leave.

"You're joking," she said flatly.

He looked her dead in the eye, and all she saw was exhaustion, though it was cleverly masked with bravado.

"Granger, when I tell a joke, believe me, you'll know."

"It's one thing to not take me seriously but it's completely another to ignore an actual school assignment!"

He brushed her shoulder as he pushed past her, unfazed by her frustration. Hermione looked helplessly to Snape, who was occupied, and then to her friends, who were oblivious. She emitted a small groan of frustration and stalked after him, her footsteps heavy with fury.

"Draco Malfoy, you horrible, vile, egotistical, narcissistic, loathsome excuse for a man!" she shouted as the door to their classroom secured shut behind her. "I don't want to work with you any more than you want to work with me, but you will NOT get in the way of my grades! You WILL come back here and you WILL do this assignment!"

He stopped walking, though he kept his back to her.

"Sanare Pura."

"I'm not finished with you, I – what?" she said, as his words registered. "Sanare Pura?"

"Yes. Sanare Pura." He turned now to face her, expressionless. "It heals wounds."

"I know what Sanare Pura does," she exclaimed in frustration, her hands returning to her hips. "You realize – "

"Yes," he said curtly. "I realize that it will be difficult."

"That potion is more than difficult, it's nearly impossible to make – "

She stopped as he finally saw fit to walk toward her, his stride aggravatingly confident. She became uniquely aware of every inch of herself as he reached her, stopping no more than a foot away. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders.

"Granger," he said quietly, "are you telling me that the 'brightest witch of our age,' has a crack in her bookish facade?" His handsome face was contoured into a condescending smirk. "No faith in that giant brain of yours?"

She looked up at him defiantly. "Maybe I don't have faith in you!" she said, raising her voice.

Her words echoed through the hall as they stood in silence. Hermione shifted her weight nervously; Malfoy only looked at her, vaguely amused and thoroughly unimpressed. Should she apologize? She wasn't sorry. She didn't really mean it, either; she doubted anyone else in the class would even know what that particular potion did. Harry and Ron certainly wouldn't. The fact that Draco Malfoy knew, and seemed to comprehend how to make it, shocked her.

"You'll find I'm very surprising," he said, his tone even.

Then he turned on his heel and walked away from her, without looking back.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: The Nightmare

Draco stood at the door to his parents' lavish estate, his posture uncharacteristically slumped. Malfoy Manor had recently been filled with an exhaustive number of undesirable – and unwelcome – guests. He snorted humorlessly at the stark contrast between last year's holiday and this one. No longer would he find Christmas morning a source of joy. He'd abandoned what was left of his childish material needs.

He strayed from his usual confident stride as he attempted to pad softly to the dining room. He hoped not to attract attention, although he should have known that would be impossible.

"Ah, Draco!" 

The Dark Lord curled a long, bony finger his way, beckoning him to sit at his left hand. Draco warily complied, taking his place beside his father. Across the table, his mother, as impeccable as always, nodded ever so slightly in solidarity. Her hands were shaking. 

It is said that sons look to their father for protection, and to their mother for comfort, but Lucius's eyes, averted from his son, were emotionless and cold.

No, Draco thought. My father's protection no longer applies. 

"Draco, you seem so unhappy, and on such a joyful occasion!" Voldemort exclaimed, goading him with false sincerity. "Are you, perhaps, finding your task unsavory?"

"No my Lord!" Bellatrix interrupted, rising from her seat at Voldemort's right hand. "It is an honor, a privilege for our family to serve you!"

Voldemort leaned towards her, his long black nails scraping along her jaw to caress her cheek. Bellatrix shuddered in response, looking as though she would explode in ecstasy.

"Do you agree, Lucius?" he asked. "Is it an honor for the Malfoys to serve Lord Voldemort?"

"Yes my Lord, the highest honor," Lucius said instantly, reduced to a mere puppet. Draco decided then that his already waning affection for Lucius had evaporated. He only resented his father.

"Draco, Draco," Voldemort continued, raising a goblet to the light and fingering the jeweled M of the Malfoy family crest. "How are you progressing with your . . . assignment?"

Draco swallowed hard, trying to meet the Dark Lord's eyes. He did not wish to show fear or uncertainty in front of Lord Voldemort, though it was inevitable.

"My Lord, I – "

To his relief, the heavy wooden doors opened and Jugson, a Death Eater assigned to the Ministry of Magic, burst into the room.

"My Lord, we have fai – " he started, then corrected himself. "We were unable to gain control of Meadowes."

Seeing Voldemort's dispassionate expression, Jugson hurriedly continued, "We will locate him shortly, no doubt. He is not so skilled that he would succeed in hiding for long."

"Perhaps not . . . and yet," the Dark Lord sneered, "You are not so skilled that you would succeed in restraining him."

With a flick of his wand, Voldemort raised Jugson in the air by his ankle, allowing him to rotate him slowly. Draco, seated close to where Jugson had been standing, tried to block out the hollow echo of his whimpering. Wand still raised, Voldemort turned back to his youngest servant.

"You have nothing to fear, Draco," he said silkily, "if you do as I ask. If you do not, however, you'll find that Lord Voldemort is . . . not so merciful."

And with a slice of his wand he slit Jugson's throat, his body falling limp onto the floor. 

There was so much blood . . .

Draco Malfoy jerked awake, gasping for air. It had been the same dream – same memory – every night since he had returned to school.

His breathing was labored, uneven. He doubted he would fall back asleep.

Draco had made too many mistakes already, and with every passing day he became more aware of the likelihood that he would not succeed in pleasing the Dark Lord. Still, his mother and father's lives depended on him; as did his, he thought, instinctively rubbing his throat.

Draco found no solace in the Prefects' dorms tonight. He slipped out quietly, making his way to the dungeons.

He was surprised to find the Slytherin common room still dimly lit; he hadn't expected anyone else to be awake at this hour. He hoped it was Theo, or even Blaise; unfortunately, he was frustrated to find the dark features of Pansy Parkinson materializing from one of the rear-facing armchairs.

"Draco!" she purred. "Just what I was craving."

Draco attempted to conceal a wince. Among her numerous other faults, Pansy also lacked the art of subtlety. Perhaps it was not so wise that he'd fucked her earlier that year. It was the impulsive act of a simpler time; a time before he'd become intimately familiar with catastrophic failure and crippling guilt. She was a remnant of that time, and not in a good way.

"Pansy," he said simply in response. "A bit late, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "Daphne is snoring."

She sauntered over to him, placing her hands on his chest and attempting – and failing, he thought – to smile seductively.

"Conveniently for us," she said, "Everyone is asleep. "

Draco took hold of her wrists to lightly push her away. "I don't know, Pansy – I'm really not in the mood."

He braced himself as she scowled threateningly. Per usual, her long black hair looked harsh against her pale skin, framing her face in darkness. The problem wasn't so much that Pansy was unattractive; the larger issue was that she was perhaps too aroused by the nobility of his pureblood name, and the way that their families had so unabashedly encouraged their relationship was disturbing. He had no desire to marry Pansy Parkinson. He had no use for someone whose mindless devotion, much like his father's, now disgusted him rather than empowered him.

It had been a much simpler time when he hadn't had to consider such things.

She pursed her thin, pale lips. "Looking to replace me? Maybe with that filthy mudblood you're so conveniently partnered with?"

He rolled his eyes. Pansy was constantly jealous, but this accusation was beyond unmerited. It was completely beyond consideration, not to mention entirely out of his control.

He thought briefly of his interaction with Granger earlier that day, recalling her silly rage at his apathy toward their totally irrelevant school project. As if I don't have more pressing issues at hand, he had thought. He pictured Granger's flushed cheeks and betrayed himself with a tiny smirk.

"So you do want that filthy, whorish mudblood!" Pansy hissed. "You are a disgrace to your name, Draco Malfoy."

He sat down on the leather couch, facing her. This argument was exhausting in itself; perhaps, in the end, he would manage some sleep tonight.

"Calm yourself Parkinson," he said tiredly. "As if that would ever happen. As if I would stoop that low."

She smiled then, her accusations suddenly forgotten (How quickly she forgave! Had she no pride? Draco thought, shaking his head). She climbed onto his lap, placing her knees on either side of his hips as she rocked back and forth on him. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his face into her not inconsiderable breasts.

He felt himself get hard; he was a man, after all, and one with a pressing need to unwind. She unbuttoned his trousers, reaching her hand under the band of his boxer briefs to take his – again, not inconsiderable – member in her palm.

She inhaled sharply, gasping. "I didn't think it was possible, but you're as big as I remembered," she breathed.

He smirked again at that, choosing to ignore the cliché, and placed his hand under her skirt, cupping her arse. She leaned forward, lips pursed; a quick turn of his head landed the unsuccessful kiss on his jaw.

Is she delusional enough to think this is romance?

With one hand he tore her panties aside, making room for him to lazily stroke her clit. Slipping two fingers in and slowly rotating them, he decided she was ready for him; one look at her, head thrown back as she moaned, would have easily told him as much.

He lifted her slightly and lowered her onto his cock, perhaps not as gently as he should have. He bucked into her rhythmically as he used her waist to maneuver her body up and down his shaft. He wasn't going slowly by any means, but she didn't seem to mind; he felt her close around him as she stuttered his name.

Seeing her face contorted in ecstasy was suddenly very distasteful to Draco, but at this point, he'd come too far to simply walk away. He picked her up, pulling out of her briefly, and turned her so that her back was to him. He reentered her aggressively as she leaned forward, seating herself on his lap and using his knees to brace herself.

He grasped a thick handful of her hair, pulling it roughly. He ignored her repeated strangled cry of pleasure while he encircled her hardened nipple with his thumb. As he continued to fill her with unenthusiastic thrusts, he found his mind wandering.

He had chosen a particularly difficult draught for Snape's assignment because he knew it might be necessary soon; he had no actual reason to suspect he would need to cleanse or heal a flesh wound, but it was certainly more useful than, say, something to reanimate a petrified person– after all, anyone could make a mandrake draught and as far as he knew there were no more basilisks wandering the castle. Besides, if anyone was going to be able to keep up with him in potions, it was almost definitely Hermione Granger.

She was so ridiculous today, all riled up over nothing, he thought again. Granger was confusing Potter and Weasley's incompetence with his.

Granger's hair had been tied back in a low bun today; perhaps that was why Draco was able to see her face clearly. Her features were petite – kind of dainty, he thought – and her brown eyes, widened with disbelief as she glared at him, were difficult to look away from. She may be a mudblood, but she was still a girl, and he was still apt to notice. How could he help but take in the slight upturn of her coral lips, or the flush of her golden skin?

Draco was jerked back to the present as he suddenly and unexpectedly found his release, roughly holding Pansy still as he came. He was sputtering from his orgasm even after she finally stood, and was just barely alert enough to return his spent cock to his trousers. Pansy looked pleased with herself – because of course, how could she know whose face had flashed in front of him at the moment his arousal came to a head?

He stood. "I have to get back."

She nodded, stepping forward to stroke his cheek. "Will I see you again soon?"

He considered it, tilting his head.

"No."

And with that, he returned to his bed.

"Hermione."

She opened her eyes groggily. "Enngghh?"

"Hermione, are you awake?"

She rolled onto her back, groaning in frustration. "Go away, Ron."

"I thought you might like an early breakfast," he called from the other side of her bedroom door, unfazed.

She hadn't slept well at all, or else she would have already risen by now. First she'd woken up to the sound of a door closing down the hall, and again perhaps an hour or two later. The disturbance had caused her active mind to run wild, ticking off the potion ingredients necessary for a draught of Sanare Pura. She currently had, she estimated, only about 30% of what they would need, and if Malfoy failed to match her in skill, the likelihood of her gaining top marks would be slim.

She still couldn't get over her curiosity of what could possibly have possessed Malfoy to choose such a complex potion. She'd never worked with him before, so at best she could only hope from the results she'd seen – and his Outstanding O.W.L. – that he would be capable in that area. And even if he was, the potions they had mastered up until that year had been nowhere near as demanding as this one; it consisted of a few materials they would probably have to grow themselves, and it was highly sensitive to timing and temperature, which meant they would both have to be there to monitor it regularly.

She groaned again, grabbing her pillow and throwing it at the door.

"Well?"

"Fine!" she barked. "I'm getting dressed."

She sat up slowly, stretching. As a child she had gone to a muggle public school, and now she had a unique appreciation for the simplicity of the Hogwarts uniform. It was a simple pleasure just knowing she didn't need much more than a few minutes to get dressed.

She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror as she stripped to her underwear and started to dress. She stood then, scrutinizing herself from front to back.

She wasn't displeased; her golden tan from summer had faded, but some of the glow remained, and the evidence was there from the tiny spattering of freckles along her collarbone. Her shoulders were narrow, and her waist was narrower. She frowned slightly when she placed her hands around the cups of her bra. She supposed her breasts could be bigger, but they were still proportional and full; it was a pleasing overall effect.

She had developed a body she was proud of, though she kept it hidden under her usual uniform. She thought perhaps she was saving it; what would Ron think, if he saw it? Or Malfoy?

Malfoy?!

She threw a hand across her mouth with a petrified gasp. As far as she was concerned, she was more likely to light Malfoy on fire than she was to strip down in front of him.

She hurriedly threw on the rest of her clothes and straightened her duvet.

Completely ridiculous, she thought. Malfoy! Never.

"Mione, I'll meet you downstairs, Harry's already gone down – " Ron mumbled, his voice fading.

"Ronald Weasley!" she yelled, throwing the door open. "I may never forgive you for waking me up if you – "

She stopped short as she walked directly into a tall, dark figure, clad in emerald green.

"It's barely fucking morning, Granger," Malfoy snapped. "Please try to contain your disappointment in Weasley until at least the afternoon. I know it's difficult. I do it every day."

"Shut up, Malfoy." She was already frustrated over her lack of sleep. "You are clearly also awake, you don't need – "

She stopped short, taking in his pallid face. "Did you even sleep?"

"It's none of your business what I do, Granger. If you're in the mood to be nosy you'd better catch up with the Potter-Weasley traveling circus," he growled, turning away.

"Hey – hey, stop!" she said, grabbing his arm. He turned his head slowly, looking first at her hand, and then directly at her, his eyes narrowed threateningly. She pulled away quickly, horrified with herself.

"And what is it, exactly," he said through clenched teeth, "that you could possibly still need from me that would be worth my time, mudblood?"

He'd used the derogatory word to rile her up, she knew. There was no enthusiasm behind it, no real punch. He clearly expected her to leave her alone purely because he'd said it, but he was wrong.

"Like it or not we have a potion to brew. I want top marks, and if you don't play nice, I'll learn how to turn you into a ferret by myself this time," she said, poking the bear. She could hit below the belt, too.

He looked away from her then, feigning apathy. "We're not children anymore, Granger," he said warningly, his voice low. "I'll meet you this evening."

"That potion – "

"It can only be made at night."

"I know, I've read the text th – "

"This evening," he said curtly, turning to leave.

She hated Draco Malfoy. She hated that he was constantly interrupting her, as though his time was more worthwhile than hers. She hated the incessant smirk on his stupid face. She hated that he was so acutely aware of the girls that threw themselves at him (and more than that, she hated those girls for throwing themselves at him). She hated how he constantly belittled her. She hated that he thought his words had any effect on her. She hated how he constantly felt he could simply turn his back on her without a second glance.

She had continued following him with her eyes, fuming, plotting to throw knives into his retreating back. So she was watching when, right before he turned the corner, he paused, inclining his head ever so slightly in her direction. He met her eyes for the briefest possible moment before he snapped his head forward and increased his stride. It dawned on her, after he disappeared, that she had not been meant to catch his hesitant glance.

She brought her hand to her lips, running her finger along the ghost of a victorious smile from their verbal sparring. She instantly grimaced as she realized that, right now, what she hated the most about Malfoy was that smile. It was her unwanted evidence of the residual enjoyment he had left.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: The Best Friend

"Are you even listening?"

"What?" Hermione snapped unceremoniously.

"I'm trying to tell you about Malfoy – "

"Harry James Potter," she seethed intensely, "if I hear another word about that smug bastard, I might lose my mind. Can't we have a normal breakfast? Surely there is something we can discuss that doesn't relate to that loathsome cockroach."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances from across the table; as usual, Ron was sitting to her right.

He patted her knee. "Sure, Mione. How are the, er . . . ancient runes?"

Hermione looked down at Ron's hand on her knee and thought about placing hers on top as an indication of gratitude. With every passing year (and every harrowing near-death experience) her relationship with Ron had crawled at a slow, syrupy pace to something more, but neither had been able to put a finger on it. Her relationship with Harry had always been very cut and dry: they were friends, practically siblings, and she doubted that would ever change. But it was always a little bit different with Ron.

Ultimately she grimaced, deciding against it. It was sweet of him to try, but that conversation clearly wasn't going anywhere. They had never had an academic discussion at any point in their friendship, and neither Harry nor Ron was even taking Ancient Runes.

But Malfoy was.

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed affectedly. "Nevermind. Carry on."

Excitedly, Ron turned back to Harry. "So what did you see?"

"He was with two girls, first years maybe – "

"Ugh!" Hermione interrupted. "Of course he was. Is every girl here completely stupid?"

"That's not it, though," Harry said, leaning in and whispering. "I think they were keeping watch for him."

Hermione shot a wary glance at Ron. He knew that she found Harry's obsession with Malfoy to be at best unwarranted, and at worst a complete waste of their time. He had even agreed with her – albeit quietly – on a number of occasions. But seeing his eyes wide while entertaining Harry's conspiracy theories, she knew he would never openly disagree with Harry. She supposed she would have to play along.

"Where were they?" she asked.

"Coming back from the seventh floor, I think," Harry guessed. "Not sure."

"So you don't actually know anything about what he's been up to, then," she said, pursing her lips slightly. As much as she wanted to make an effort not to be obtuse, she couldn't contain her irritation. "This is all just another fun game of 'further discussions contemplating Malfoy's evil genius,' is it?"

Harry simply glared at her. She caught Ron's pleading glance and sighed.

"I suppose he has been a bit distracted lately," she conceded. "I tried to get him to focus on our potion this morning bu – "

Harry snapped his fingers excitedly. "Brilliant!"

"What's brilliant?"

"You're partners with Malfoy," Harry said, grinning mischievously. "You can tell us what he's up to."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course," she said with mock enthusiasm. "No doubt he will open up to me, his very favorite person and closest confidante. Should be no problem at all!"

"Still, it's more than either of us are going to get off him," Harry mused absentmindedly. He turned around as Dean Thomas called his name, rushing out a hurried "be right back" and clambering over to where Dean was sitting. Hermione was somewhat relieved at his absence.

Ron was silent, pushing food around on his plate. "Did you say you spoke to Malfoy this morning?"

Hermione was startled by the question. "Yes. I ran into him in the hallway."

"While you were supposed to be meeting me?"

She groaned. "You left before I was ready! I quite literally bumped into him."

Ron nodded, not making eye contact. "Yes, that's true. And I suppose you'll have to talk, considering the potion you're making, the sanero – "

"Sanare," she corrected. "Sanare pura."

"Right, whatever – "

"Where is this going, Ronald?" she asked, pressing him.

He chuckled a little. "Nowhere, I guess," he admitted. "I don't suppose you fancy yourself a bad girl, eh?"

"I don't know what that means," she said slowly, with perfect understanding. "Nor do I know why you would care."

"I don't," he said quickly. "I trust you."

"You trust me?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "Whatever would I need your trust for?"

"Just – I trust that you'd know better, than, you know," he stammered. "To – to get involved, or – or to. To feel – "

"That is," she said, pausing for effect, "a disgusting thought."

He smiled, relieved. "Right. 'Cause it's Malfoy."

"Yes," she said emphatically. "Because it's Malfoy."

She waved her hand over her coffee, causing the spoon to stir in a bit of cream.

"Although – Ronald," she started innocently, "I do wonder why you would feel any concern at all as to my involvement with him."

"I thought that was pretty clear," he rushed out. "I mean it would be so – so repulsive if you and Malfoy – "

"Is it only about him?" she prompted. "Or does it maybe have a bit more to do with me? Maybe you and me?"

She felt her cheeks flush. She wasn't sure what had emboldened her to bring this up.

"I guess – I suppose I – "

"Nevermind, sorry," She said hurriedly, "I . . . I don't know why I asked that."

The two of them sat in silence. Hermione let herself be distracted by the sounds and movements of the Great Hall; she glanced over where Harry and Dean were discussing Quidditch maneuvers and past Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil (was Lavender looking at her strangely? she thought. Must be her imagination), finally settling her gaze on Pansy Parkinson at the Slytherin table. She watched Pansy light up as Draco Malfoy sauntered into the hall, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

Hermione couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at Pansy's enthusiasm, though it made sense. Pansy was a horrible bully, and the undisputed leader of the pureblood groupies. She and Malfoy deserved each other.

Hermione watched as Pansy slid over on the bench, gesturing Malfoy to a seat on her right. Crabbe and Goyle joined her, but Malfoy strode forward without stopping, choosing instead the empty seat across from Theo Nott. His conspicuous lack of eye contact seemed deliberate and telling, even to Hermione as a third party observer. Pansy, in response, seemed to droop, crestfallen.

"It's about you."

"What?" she asked, startled.

"It is about you," Ron explained quietly. "I don't want anything to happen between you and anyone else. Not again.

"And I know," he continued, after a beat, "I know that nothing could ever happen between you and Malfoy, because – "

"Because I have standards!"

" – because that would be completely insane of you, but I just worry that one of these days while I'm trying to get the timing right, someone else will beat me to it. But I just don't know what this could be, Mione, and I don't want to ruin what we have," he finished, trailing off.

She put her hand on his. "You'll always have me," she whispered, smiling at him.

"You know what I just realized?" Harry exclaimed, slamming his books on the table and causing Hermione to quickly draw her hand back.

"What?" said Ron, with just a tinge of irritation to his voice.

"Malfoy, he just walked in with Crabbe and Goyle," Harry said, pointing. "What if those two first year girls he was with are actually Crabbe and Goyle?"

At this, Hermione barely concealed an abrasive snort. She couldn't stand the idea of the conversation returning to Malfoy, not after she was finally making a breakthrough with Ron. If she could just get him alone . . .

"Harry, Ron and I have to go . . . fetch something," she said urgently. "Right Ron?"

"Mmm, right," Ron mumbled guiltily, rising to his feet. Harry either failed to notice or failed to care; he was simply staring at Malfoy as though he would be able to read his thoughts if he focused hard enough. Eventually, Malfoy looked up and caught Harry's glance.

"Enjoying the view, Potter?" he called, smirking. His eyes traveled briefly to Hermione before returning to Harry.

Hermione stood, attempting to block Harry's view. "Snap out of it," she whispered. "Leave it alone."

Harry brushed her off; frustrated, she took hold of Ron's wrist and pulled him along behind her. She thought she heard Harry yell something back to Malfoy, but she didn't want to hear it. She deserved a little attention for herself.

She kept walking, briskly, with Ron in her wake. Eventually they reached an empty courtyard and he turned to face her, his blue eyes nervously taking in her features.

"What is it you wanted to fetch?" he asked, grinning.

She shifted her weight, her bravery spent. "I just . . . I guess I just thought we should talk about . . . about us. Whether there even is an us."

He studied her as she chewed her lower lip nervously.

"I guess, maybe," she continued, "maybe if one of us could just admit it, we could really have something, you know?"

The truth was, she was a little lonely. She might have grown into her looks, and she might even be considered pretty, but she'd been branded a "bossy know-it-all" from the moment she entered Hogwarts and every boy knew it. She felt ostracized when her female friends talked about their relationships, or their prospects. The sad fact was that she had none. Even if she spent enough time with someone to allow him to see her as anything other than purely brainy and bookish, nobody would ever try anything. She belonged to Ron and Harry, and while that was wonderful, it also limited her chances at getting close to anyone else.

Besides, she and Ron had been through so much together. If it wasn't going to happen with Ron, then it probably wasn't going to happen with anyone. She willed herself to wait quietly while he pondered his response.

"Hermione," he said slowly. "I think I can admit it. Can you?"

"Yes," she breathed, attempting to contain her excitement. "I can."

Ron put his hand out, as though he might stroke her cheek; instead he took one of her curls in his hand, smoothing it behind her ear.

She thought she knew what was coming. Viktor Krum had done something similar right before he'd kissed her for the first time. She hadn't had a lot of experience since then, but since it was Ron, the least intimidating person she knew, she didn't dwell too much on her nerves.

She frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed.

"You're taking too long," she said, exasperated.

"What?"

"Just kiss me, Ronald!" she sighed, stepping forward. He smiled uncertainly, taking her face in his palms and tilting it towards him.

She could smell him, that comforting oaky musk he carried with him everywhere. She placed her hands lightly on his narrow hips, rising onto her toes to reach him as his lips touched hers.

It wasn't much, at first. Just a little touch; she smiled slightly at the coffee on his breath. Emboldened, he kissed her again, pulling her close. The motion swept her curls over her shoulder, and she happily leaned in further. She felt his lips purse more forcefully against hers, and she tried to respond in kind.

She wasn't sure how long they were kissing. She looked up at him for a moment to try and read his expression, but finding his eyes closed, she quickly shut hers as well. She felt his tongue press against her lips, so she opened her mouth slightly and tried to mirror this action as well. Their movements felt uncomfortable, and somehow mismatched. Her attempts at creating some kind of rhythm in their kiss only made him more enthusiastic, and eventually she began to feel slightly suffocated.

She tried to pull away inconspicuously; Ron was instantly on guard.

"Did I do something? Did I . . . did I go too fast?" he whispered, his grip on her tightening.

"No, no, of course not," she said brightly, sing-songily. "I just thought I saw someone over there."

As he turned his head to look she quickly wiped her sodden face on her inner sleeve, smiling brightly when he turned back to her.

It's fine, she thought. We can work on it. 

"That was great," he said, grinning.

She smiled back as widely as she could. "Definitely."

In reality, it was fine. Its not like Viktor had been much better, and it was only a first kiss. There was a lot more to life than just kissing, anyway. Ron was loyal and affectionate, he understood her, and he would always be there for her. Hermione often suspected that Harry had known too much darkness, had too much turmoil inside him to be able to live a normal life. Ron, on the other hand, was more given to the same feelings she had – loneliness, mostly, and the capacity to be fulfilled in a relationship with another person.

"So does this mean we're a couple now?" Ron asked sheepishly.

"I don't think we need to broadcast it, but I suppose," she said weakly. "Maybe this can be something we have, just for ourselves?"

"But we'd tell Harry, of course," he said seriously, looking intently at her. It was a question, but not entirely.

"Yes, yes . . . of course."

She brought her hand up to play with her curls. She hadn't exactly thought this through.

"Maybe . . . " she started, trailing off.

"Maybe what, Hermione?" Ron laughed.

"Maybe we don't tell Harry yet." Seeing Ron's panic, she said hurriedly, "Just until we knew it works! No reason to make him feel, I don't know – awkward?"

Ron sighed, apparently with relief. "Okay, sure. That makes sense."

There was an awkward silence while she continued to play with a ringlet of hair. Gently, Ron took her fidgeting hand away from her face, squeezing it tight.

"This will work, I'm sure of it," he said softly, kissing her hand.

That's sweet, she thought. This will be good.

"Do you want to head back in?" he asked, gesturing to the hall.

She nodded. She quickly crossed her arms, just in case he'd been thinking of holding her hand. That fell under the list of things she considered "broadcasting."

They walked into the hall in silence, a goofy smile on Ron's face. She couldn't help but smile back when he glanced at her. Unfortunately, the moment was very short-lived.

"Ah, excellent," sneered Malfoy, stepping sideways into Hermione and Ron's path. He was once again standing uncomfortably close to her, and she was forced to shove Ron aside as he attempted to shield her from Malfoy's aggressive stance. "Comforting to see your standards are as low as ever, Granger."

"Back off, Malfoy!" Ron snarled.

Malfoy pursed his lips in false interest, briefly inspecting Ron from head to toe. The contrast between them couldn't be more striking. Both were tall, nearing the same height, but even with Ron at his most intense, Malfoy seemed bolder, more impactful. Ron, always slightly disheveled, looked noticeably agitated, while Malfoy remained emotionless.

He's like ice, Hermione thought, taking in his pale, silvery features. Smooth façade. Nothing in, nothing out.

Malfoy, evidently deciding Ron wasn't worth responding to, fixed Hermione with his piercing grey eyes and a bemused expression.

"Granger, when you're done consorting with Weasley, you can meet me in the second first floor classroom around eight tonight," he said, smirking as he took note of Ron's flaring temper.

"What makes you think you can go around telling Hermione where to be at night?" Ron demanded.

"Oh I'm sorry," Malfoy drawled, inspecting his fingernails. "Are you in the business of occupying her at night?"

Ron lunged forward, forcing Hermione to hold him back.

"Don't talk about her like that," Ron hissed, seething.

"I'm merely making observations. Don't worry, Weasley," Malfoy said, smiling silkily, "I never thought for a second that you were actually giving her – "

"Eight works for me, Malfoy," Hermione interrupted quickly. Turning to Ron, she added quietly, "It needs to be at night, Ron. The potion requires moonlight."

"It also requires a particular temperature, and that room has the most controllable atmosphere," Malfoy said curtly. "I made arrangements with Snape to maintain it for a full moon cycle."

Hermione blinked, surprised. "Malfoy, you sound almost . . . prepared."

"And you, Granger," he imitated, "sound almost impressed."

Malfoy turned to Ron, adding, "By the way, that's what it sounds like when you do something right. You may not be familiar with that particular inflection." He grinned devilishly as Ron once again fought to rush past Hermione.

"I'll see you tonight, Malfoy," she said loudly over Ron's stammered protestations.

He gave her an unfriendly nod, smirked once more at Ron, and strutted out of the hall. She then gave Ron a gentle shove, motioning him towards Harry.

"Did you see that?" Ron fumed as he resumed his place across from Harry. "Did you see how he treated her?"

"Oh stop, Ronald," Hermione said, sighing. "That was actually better than usual, I think."

"He was – " Ron paused, quieting to a whisper. "He was sexualizing you."

Hermione burst out laughing. "He was not sexualizing me, he was simply egging you on! And you fell for it."

Harry grinned. "He's an arrogant prick, Ron," he said. "You can't let him get to you too much." Then, leaning in conspiratorially, he added, "Besides, we want him to be able to work with Hermione. She needs to be able to pick up on any clues, and he'll be too guarded if you keep picking fights."

"I am not picking fights!" Ron insisted. Hermione shook her head.

"You're both being ridiculous," she announced, rising to her feet. "I'm not a spy, and I'm not a damsel in distress." She paused, fixing them with one final glare. "I'm going to go to class now, if you'll both be so kind as to let me carry on living my life."

She turned away, a small smile dancing across her lips.

Boys.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: The Potion

Her large brown eyes snapped up at him as he flung open the door.

"You're late," she said flatly.

Draco smirked in response, brushing a few errant hairs out of his eyes.

"Were you missing me, Granger?"

"Hardly," she snorted, crossing her arms. "Did you even bring anything we needed?"

He shut his eyes, massaging his temples. So this is what he had to look forward to, every night for the next month?

Brilliant.

"Yes," he sighed, exasperated. "I have the cauldron – "

"Copper, not pewter. Correct?" she asked primly, her lips pursed delicately.

"Correct," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not Weasley, you don't have to assume I've made a mistake before I even walk in the door – "

"If we're going to do this," she interrupted, "I won't have you making fun of Ron. Or Harry."

"Or else what?" he mocked. "You're going to put your hands on your hips and give me a stern talking-to?"

She already had her hands on her hips, as she normally did when speaking to him. He saw her look down and readjust her position.

"No," she said, unconvincingly.

As much as he wanted to revel in the glory of silencing the great Hermione Granger, he was in a hurry. He had been working on something when he looked up and saw the time, and he was anxious to get back.

He did, however, take a moment to take in Granger's appearance. She had pulled her hair into a ballerina bun high on her head, some wisps floating around her face. She was still in her uniform, although her shirt was now untucked and rolled up at the sleeves. She stepped forward, taking the cauldron from his hands, and sat cross-legged on the floor. He watched her skirt ride up as she took a seat, taking in the view of her slender legs.

"Are you going to help me?" she asked pointedly.

"Don't beg, Granger," he replied, taking a seat across from her. "Let's do this as quickly as possible."

"Oh don't worry Malfoy. I have no intention of lingering," she snorted.

For a while they didn't speak outside of the necessary; she merely listed ingredients out loud and he handed them to her.

"Do we have, er . . . lionfish spines?"

"Yes, next to the salamander," he replied, impatient.

"Salamander?" she echoed, startled. "But we only need salamander blood."

"Yes, and where do you suppose that comes from, Granger?" Draco asked, eyebrow raised.

"Are you telling me we have to murder this salamander?" she asked, horrified.

Draco shook his head, exasperated. "No, we don't have to murder it," he sighed. "If you want, we can stupefy it. We only need to extract a small vial."

She looked at him curiously, tilting her head. "Hmm," she murmured.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," she said melodically.

"What?" he snapped, annoyed.

"I'm just surprised," she said, shrugging. "That's very humane of you."

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "So because I used my considerable intellect to come up with a way not to kill a tiny lizard, I've somehow risen in your estimation of me?"

"My estimation is so low, you see," she said sweetly, "that nearly anything would raise it."

He mouthed her words back to her in an exaggerated imitation. "Just hand me the salamander, then – keep stirring, coun – "

"Counter-clockwise, I know," she snapped, groaning. She swatted her hand at him, adding, "Just take care of that."

She looked away, focusing on the cauldron in front of her. The initial ingredients needed to be added with extremely precise timing; he could see the concentration furrowing her brow. She occasionally mouthed along the number of seconds as she kept time, trapping her lower lip between her teeth as she paced herself.

Draco pulled out his wand and cast a simple charm on the salamander, quickly knocking it unconscious. Really, this is what impresses her, he thought, shaking his head. Somehow all my prowess as a wizard comes down to this.

He muttered an incantation to remove a small sample of blood, moving the tip of his wand from the salamander to a glass vial. A dark, spidery thread of liquid began to form in front of him; he swallowed hard, willing himself not to look away. Lizard or not, blood was still blood, and he had yet to drown out the sound of Jugson screaming in his ear.

Don't, he'd begged. Don't. . . Please . . .

Draco felt a sharp pain in the base of his skull. He blinked rapidly, eyelids heavy. The pain seemed to be spreading over his scalp, like a frost. He felt himself grow cold, as a shiver flew up his spine and shot into the depths of his mind. Attempting to shake it, he quickly and forcefully shut his eyes as a foggy vision at the forefront of his thoughts began to clear.

He was standing alone – 

No, not alone. There were people circled around him, maybe hundreds of them. They were all watching, their eyes hungry and expectant. 

Draco had his wand raised; he was vaguely aware that he had just cast a spell – 

Nothing strong enough to kill – 

Maybe he didn't know yet that his life was in danger? – 

He was awaiting a response –

He couldn't see his opponent, whose face was darkened. He was distracted by something on his right, by someone – that was his mistake. 

He didn't hear the spell, he didn't shield himself in time. 

He felt himself thrown backwards, suspended in the air; 

He saw his veins burst open

And his blood run down his arms 

And pore out of his chest –

As he hit the ground he heard a scream, a woman's scream. 

He knew that voice . . . he tried to stop her, to reach her, but his eyes, they were so heavy . . . 

and the blood . . .

"Malfoy!" Hermione was shaking him. He heard panic in her voice. "Malfoy, wake up! Can you hear me?"

He was lying on his back like a corpse, limp. Hearing her voice, he tried to sit upright; but feeling his head swim, he shut his eyes quickly.

"Don't, don't try to sit up yet," Hermione urged, her hands on his arm. "Just – just take a minute."

He swallowed, his throat dry.

"Did you – " she whispered, "did you see something?"

He turned his head slowly to look at her. Hair had come loose, framing her face; from the clutter of overturned materials behind her, he could see that she had rushed towards him, forsaking the potion. She must have been doing something right up to that point, though, as it now had a metallic hue, like liquid gold. He looked back at her and thought he saw the same gold in her wide brown eyes, wider even than usual with concern for him. He felt her palms on his arm, steadying him.

"Why – " he started, wincing as his voice broke, "Why would you think I saw something?"

She tucked a chestnut tendril behind her ear, biting her lip anxiously. "Malfoy, you were . . . you were screaming."

He only looked at her.

"Sometimes," she began slowly, "sometimes, when Harry gets visions – "

At this he shot forward, ignoring the dizzying pain and the roaring in his ears.

"Don't," he hissed, teeth clenched, "don't compare me to Potter – "

"It's not a comparison, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, agitated. "It just happens to him sometimes, I didn't – "

"I'm not your friend, Granger, I'm not one of your gal pals like Weasley – "

"What does that even mean?" she cried, frustrated.

"It means leave me the fuck alone," Draco finished bluntly. He didn't plan to share that particular vision with her.

There was a palpable silence for a moment as she rose gracefully to her feet, smoothing the creases in her skirt.

"Would you like me to help you up, or should I save that for my gal pals too?" she asked flatly.

"I'm fine," he responded, standing. He was equally expressionless. "Did you – "

"Yes, I got it," she said, gesturing to a small vial. "You passed out right after collecting it."

He nodded, leaning over to dust himself off. When he returned upright, he found her still staring at him.

"What, Granger?"

"What, are we just supposed to carry on like nothing happened?" she said, hands raised. "I mean, are you . . . okay?"

He ignored her. "What step of the potion are we on now?" he asked, deliberately obtuse. She sighed, putting her hands on her hips in resignation.

"Just have to stir every ten minutes for the next hour," she responded quietly. She perched on a desk behind the cauldron, which sat in the middle of the classroom floor; he took a seat on the desk opposite her, rubbing the base of his head.

The first ten minutes went by in absolute silence; every now and then he would reach over to test the viscosity, or she would adjust the temperature. As they watched the clock tick to the first time increment, they both reached for the cauldron at the same time. Ultimately he conceded, allowing her to stir the potion.

Resettling herself on the desk, she exhaled loudly, causing him to snap his head up.

"What, Granger?" he growled for the second time.

"Why does it bother you so much that I would compare you to Harry?" she asked, looking at him with genuine curiosity. "Why – "

"I don't enjoy being compared to your incompetent friends, Granger, and I'll thank you not to do it again," he said curtly. "And if that's all – "

"I just don't see why, after all these years, you still can't acknowledge that Harry really is a great wizard – "

"Harry Potter is not a great wizard," he snorted. "He just sticks his nose into everything and then relies on luck and better wizards. Even he can't say why he lives every time he faces You-Know-Who, he just has to wait until afterwards for Dumbledore to explain it to him – "

"Everything he's done, you think it's just luck?"

"It is absolutely dumb luck," he said back emphatically. "What has he actually accomplished? Look at the philosopher's stone – "

"He took that right out from under You-Know-Who's nose – "

"Not by skill! Just by being pure of heart," he sneered. "I should think you would recall that without you and Weasley – oh, and speaking of Weasley – "

She sighed, frustrated. "Do you have to bring Ron into this?"

"What is Weasley without Potter, exactly?" Draco asked, leaning forward. "What would Weasley have accomplished on his own, without Potter dragging him along, or without you clearing the way for him – "

"What do you mean – "

"Oh shove off, Granger, we all know what you did to McLaggen," he said pointedly. "Weasley is nothing without his friends."

She was silent for a moment. "So you're upset that I'd lump you in with Harry because, what, because he's – "

"Don't think for a second that I won't notice you changing the subject," he said, standing. "You have nothing to say to defend Weasley, do you?"

She scoffed, not meeting his eyes. "Of course I do! Ron is – he's – "

"Mmhmm," he said, smiling. "Of course he is. You know, we are who we associate with, Granger – "

"Oh that's rich!" she exclaimed, lunging forward. "You're one to talk about who we associate with! You really think Crabbe and Goyle are so impressive – "

"Crabbe and Goyle do what they're told," Draco replied, unfazed.

"And you – of course you'd turn out to be such a bully, just like your father – "

She had gone too far. He instantly began stalking towards her, relishing the look of anxiety that darkened her eyes. He kept walking until he'd forced her backwards, colliding with the desk. He slammed his hand down on the desk behind her, maintaining eye contact, while his heavy M signet ring clanged onto the hard surface. He wanted to make sure she never forgot.

"Do not," he said, in a harsh whisper. "Do not, ever, talk about my father."

She looked up at him defiantly.

"If you think you're going to intimidate me, Malfoy," she said, "you're very wrong."

He ran his tongue along his lower lip and bit down, holding back an angry retort. He could see the barely perceptible freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, the brilliant flash of her gold-tinged eyes, the look of rebellion under her long lashes. She smelled like vanilla, and maybe some kind of flower. Either way, it was intoxicating.

They both seemed to notice at the same time that he'd put one hand low on her hip, pinning her to the desk behind her. The other remained near the small of her back, where he'd brought his hand down behind her. She, in response, had put her hands flat against his stomach, gripping his abdominal muscles. He flexed instinctively and her eyes widened as she dropped her arms to her sides. He released her quickly, taking a few rapid steps back.

He stared at her, watching her cheeks flush, before finally turning to stir the cauldron for the second time.

"Counter-clockwise," she called, voice cracking.

"I know that, Granger, this isn't my first day," he said, back still turned, secretly relieved at the break in tension. Arguing with her felt much more natural than whatever had just happened.

When he turned to face her again she had resumed her seat on the desk. He suddenly felt a little lightheaded as he withdrew from the cauldron.

"A bit wobbly, are we Malfoy?" Hermione called.

"A bit too much proximity to the early stages of the potion, I think," he said back, smirking. "Don't stay too close, Granger, you might find I have the same effect."

She rolled her eyes. "As though you'd have any effect whatsoever on me, Malfoy."

"Of course not," he said mockingly. "Not when there are such gallant men like Weasley in the world to keep you moi – "

"He's a much better man than you are," she retorted, cutting him off.

"He's barely half the man I am, Granger," he replied derisively.

"Hardly! Ron is kind, and sweet, and funny – "

"All the same characteristics of, I don't know, a bunny rabbit?" Draco guessed.

"Not just!" she insisted. "He's also brave, and – "

"Is he, say, smart?" Draco interrupted, facetiously pondering aloud. "When you talk, does he keep up with you, intellectually? Does he challenge you?"

She looked stunned. "I – well, I – "

"Is he driven? Does he have goals, desires? Does he have any aspirations?"

"I – "

"When you're with him," he continued, "does your heart race? Do you feel an ache to be closer to him?"

"Just let me – "

"Does he excite you? Does he push your limits, does he test you, does he keep you on your toes?"

"Malfoy, you're not – "

"I'll answer for you," he said curtly, grinning mercilessly. "He doesn't."

"There are a lot more important things than all that," she said unconvincingly.

"Oh?" he smirked. "Like what?"

"Like . . . like friendship! And compassion – "

"Ah yes," he said sarcastically. "Friendship and compassion. The sexiest of all desirable qualities." He couldn't roll his eyes hard enough.

"Why does it have to be about sex?" she demanded.

"It doesn't," he shrugged. He was quite enjoying winding her up a bit, especially after his unfortunate show of weakness earlier. "Forgive me. I didn't realize the sex was so appallingly bad."

"It isn't bad!" she squeaked. She coughed, clearing her throat. "It's . . . well, it's quite good, act – "

"Oh!" he laughed. "You don't know, do you?"

"What?"

"You don't know if it's good or bad because you haven't fucked him yet," he said, smirking as he twisted the knife.

She drew herself up, affronted. "Whether or not we've – we've fucked" – this she said in hushed tones – "is none of your business, Malfoy. And not that I care what you think, but you're wrong about him."

"Doesn't matter if I'm right or wrong about him," he said casually. "I'm not the one who has to sleep with him."

At this point, Granger was fuming. The tendrils of hair that had escaped from her bun were hazily forming a halo around her face, framing her fury.

"Just get out, Malfoy," she said threateningly. "I don't need you for anything until tomorrow."

Draco didn't hesitate. He shrugged, flicking his wand to bring his bookbag up to his shoulder. "Don't fall in," he called over his shoulder.

Her anger was very convenient for him; he had better things to do, and as enjoyable as it was to rile her up, that wasn't his priority right now.

He fought very hard not to look behind him, though he was more than curious about the expression on her face; he pictured her, her sleeves pushed up, holding her hands on the curves of her hips, biting her lip in frustration. He imagined her loosening her school tie, cursing him, raking her fingers through her hair to return the wayward locks to their normal position.

He imagined his name on her lips and felt a shiver creep up his spine.

But he knew better than to look back. He wouldn't make the same mistake he did this morning, when he'd needed one last glance at Granger's big eyes, to see them ablaze with the fire he had lit.

It was late when Hermione finally headed back to her dorm. She collapsed onto her bed, feeling the weight of her exhaustion, fighting the urge to think about what Malfoy had said.

He really is a stupid git, she thought.

His arrogance, his condescension, everything about him was infuriating. The way he argued with her over nothing. The way he mocked her and the people she loved. The way his touch burned through her body. The way her heart pounded when he drew up next to her ear. The way she could see a storm in his piercing grey eyes.

Stop it. Stop it now.

Hermione stripped down, putting on a thin robe. If there was ever a night to need to relax in the prefects' bath, this was it. She tucked her wand into the pocket of her robe and tiptoed quietly out of her room. She stumbled, briefly; her head felt like it was quietly spinning.

Even in her thoughts she saw Malfoy's face mocking her. The things he'd said about Ron . . .

Well, was he totally off base? As he'd been firing questions at her, she had given actual thought to the answers. Was Ron the most intelligent person she knew? Perhaps not, but that wasn't important.

Not yet, a voice in her head said. But in a few years?

She shook it off. Perhaps more irritating was that Malfoy had implied she didn't feel any chemistry with Ron.

He's crazy. Of course they had chemistry. Ron was –

She realized she had stopped outside of Ron's door.

Does your heart race?

Of course it does, she told Malfoy's face, stubbornly imprinted in her mind.

She knocked quietly on Ron's door, trying to steady herself.

"Hey Mione," he said brightly, opening the door and gesturing her in. "You're up late."

"I had . . . some things on my mind," she said evasively.

Ron raised his eyebrows, waiting. "Things?" he prompted, bemused. "Things like . . . ?"

She let her eyes sweep over him from head to toe. She'd always liked his height; it was certainly an attractive feature. His wavy red hair was thick and tousled in a good way, more carefree than disheveled. His eyes were bright and kind.

Not everybody's eyes need to be so penetrating, she thought, fighting the comparison between the blue and stormy grey.

"Ron," she started slowly. "Do you think I'm attractive?"

He seemed taken aback. "Of – of course I do," he admitted. "I think you're beautiful."

"But what about the rest of me?" she pressed. "Do you find me" – she waved her hands up and down, gesturing to the silk that clung to her body – "attractive?"

How she was saying these things, out loud, with no apparent modesty, was truly beyond her comprehension. Maybe Malfoy had been right – maybe the potion had a strange residual effect? She did feel a little bit lightheaded.

He swallowed. "Of course," he said, pausing. "How could I not?"

She smiled slightly, pleased. "I want to . . . to try something."

His smile faltered. "What – "

She stepped close to him, bringing herself up onto her toes and lightly grazing the side of his neck with her lips.

"I want to know what it feels like," she said, whispering into his ear. "I want to know what you feel like."

She thought she saw his hands shaking as he gently pushed her backwards. She couldn't decide if she was disappointed or grateful.

"Hermione, are you sure you know what you're saying? We only just talked about us, today . . . Have you – I don't know, were you – were you drinking or something – "

"I was not drinking or something!" she sputtered, annoyed. "I was working on my potion and I was . . . I was thinking about you."

When his expression didn't change, she turned to leave, humiliated; she felt her cheeks turn red and she pulled her robe closer to her body. Why hadn't she just taken a bath, like she'd planned? She stumbled slightly in her attempt to run – away, far away – out the door.

"Wait, you were working on your potion?" he asked, drawing her back.

"Yes," she answered steadily. "That's it."

"You mean you were with Malfoy."

"What? For a bit, yeah, I guess," she said, faltering.

Ron bit his lip, considering her answer. She could see the wheels turning inside his head.

"You're sure?" he asked, wrapping his hands around her upper arms and gripping them tightly. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she said breathlessly. "I want to." She reached out her hand, dragging it lightly from his chest to the waistline of his trousers. "I want to do this with you."

She couldn't imagine where she was getting this from; it felt more like something she must have read while accidentally picking up one of her aunt's muggle romance novels. But, she'd started, so now she had to commit.

Ron sucked in a deep breath, holding it. Hermione let her fingers linger on the waistband of his boxers.

"Are you – "

She took a step back and slowly untied her robe, letting it fall to the floor.

"I'm sure," she whispered.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: The First Time 

Ron gaped at her limply, limbs dangling.

Hermione instantly regretted being so forward; she covered herself awkwardly, the seconds ticking by loudly as she waited for a response.

"So . . . are you . . . er," she started. "Ready?"

He swallowed. "I just – " he rasped out. "I just don't know what to do . . . you know. I don't know what to do with my . . . my hands?"

She made a face. "Are you asking me?"

"No, I just – " he laughed. "Wow, Hermione. Look at you."

He stepped forward, taking her hands. "Look at you," he whispered again.

She smiled, blushing. "Take off your clothes, Weasley."

He hurriedly complied, shedding his t-shirt first. She took in the sharp curves of his slim hips; his normal gawkiness was still present, but in the moment, his form seemed him willowy, graceful. She watched the slight flex in his arms as he removed his trousers, yanking them down impatiently, revealing the tented evidence of his rapid arousal underneath. Hermione cocked her head slightly, taking it in; she wasn't much of an expert in the area of male anatomy (meaning, of course, that she wasn't familiar with it at all), but she would have guessed he was sizable. His skin was creamy and marred only by a spattering of freckles across his chest.

He dropped his boxers quickly, kicking them to the side and settling into a firm, widened stance, accommodating his girth. He raked his fingers through his thick red hair, grinning sheepishly at her.

"So . . . what now?"

She let out the breath she'd been holding, waiting for him to match her in anticipation. She walked to one side of his bed, settling herself slowly on top of it and inching herself forward on both knees. "Come here," she beckoned softly.

He leapt forward, matching her movements until they were both kneeling on his bed. They faced each other without touching.

This is it, she thought. This is happening.

Abandoning her nerves, she leaned forward, catching his lips. In return, he gripped her arms, pulling her into a clumsy impact that deepened as he drew her in. She felt his teeth repeatedly knock into hers in the midst of their struggling rhythm and she winced, closing her eyes. Ron moved his hands from her arms to her waist, finally close enough to let his arms encircle her and his hands drag down her spine. His kiss was frenzied, suffocating; she placed her hands on either side of his face, trying to slow him.

His touch on her back brought her to a similar movement from earlier that evening.

Malfoy.

She shivered.

She had watched him stalk towards her with a mix of fear and excitement, knowing both that she could defend herself if she needed to, but also that he wasn't going to harm her. She could see in his captivating grey eyes some kind of madness she had never seen before. He wanted her attention, so he commanded it. He wanted to be closer to her, so he gave her no other option. He wanted her, so he took her.

She moaned into Ron's mouth, parting her legs and slipping him underneath her most sensitive spot. He eagerly complied, dragging her closer by the waist until her breasts ached from pressure against his chest.

The feel of his breath in her ear had been intoxicating; the slam of his hand behind her had brought a tormenting shudder down her spine. She was angry – furious. She felt the blood rushing in her ears as her heart pounded relentlessly. How dare he?

She wanted more. 

She brought Ron's hand down, placing it on the most responsive part of herself, using her hand to guide him. When he seemed to understand, slowly circling the area with the pad of his thumb, she sighed into his mouth. "There," she breathed.

She didn't know how it happened, his hand gripping the curve of her hip. She didn't know if he noticed the pressure he'd put on the small of her back. But his touch had marred her, burned her, so that she didn't know if she'd ever forget where his hands had been. She felt him with her . . . she felt him all over her.

She pulled away from Ron, lying on her back. She didn't know what was worse: what she was doing, or what she was thinking of while she did it. He clambered over her eagerly, and she reached between her thighs to take his full length in her palm. She knew enough about how to do this; she felt a bit of liquid at his tip and instinctively used the pad of her thumb to create broader and broader circles, finally grasping him and dragging her hand up and down his shaft. He groaned loudly.

She had put her hands on his chest as a way to shield herself, but the impact of his ring hitting the desk had startled her, and she dropped them lower. She had felt a jolt of arousal sear through her as she felt the hardened curve of his abs under her touch. 

"Now, Ron," she rasped. "Now."

He looked at her nervously. "I haven't . . . I don't know . . . if I . . . "

She didn't know her body, or his, but she was acutely aware of her need, and the fire building inside her. She felt a searing heat in the base of her belly, and instinct told her this would be her release. She drew him in. "It's okay," she said, nodding reassuringly.

He held himself against her, hesitating. She angled her hips upward, pulling the tip of him against her opening. At her second nod, he took a deep breath, entering her slowly. She inhaled sharply, unprepared.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, eyes wide.

"No, no," she said, her voice hoarse. "Keep going. Please don't stop."

She looked into his eyes and she knew he felt it too. His eyes were passionate, darkened. His grip on her had tightened. 

When it happened earlier this evening, the moment had ended quickly; he moved away from her, repelled by whatever surge had come between them. But tonight, in her mind . . . 

He moved his hand from her hip and reached it up to her face, curving around her jaw, sliding it down her throat, reaching around and grabbing the hair at the nape of her neck, forcing her face towards him. She saw his smirk and heard his growl. 

"Granger."

Ron's teeth gnashed into her lip and she cried out. He immediately paused, mid-thrust, looking horrified.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Hermione – "

"It's fine!" She moaned. She thrust her hips forward, reaching around to dig her fingers into his back. "Ron, just – "

He didn't need much prompting; she could see that he was probably close, his expression a mix of effort and pleasure.

"This is – it's so good Hermione, you're so – "

"Shut up," she said breathlessly, yanking his face to hers and kissing him hard. She felt him smile while she shut her eyes, concentrating.

He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her lips to his, taking her lower lip between his and sucking it lightly. 

She whimpered, pulling Ron in further. "More."

He picked her up and deposited her roughly on the desk behind her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, using her heels to pull him closer. He released her hair and moved his fingers lightly up and down her back, floating, while she struggled for breath against his lips. She felt a shudder down her spine, rushing through her body, as she –

Hermione's eyes snapped open as Ron suddenly sputtered loudly. Leaning forward and bumping her forehead against his, she felt a twitch inside her. Realizing he had come; she fought back a disappointed sigh, quietly muttering his name instead. "Oh, Ron."

He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her neck, breathing heavily. She patted his back softly, soothing him.

"That was amazing," he announced, his voice muffled by the contact with her skin.

"It really was," she said, not entirely lying. She had been so close . . .

She realized then what she had been doing while she had been making love to her best friend. An overwhelming sense of guilt flooded her, bringing a dark cloud to hover over the forefront of her mind. Malfoy? Again?

She fought back a groan.

It was just her imagination. It was an imaginary Malfoy. She had taken an appealing façade and turned it into a sexual experience. So what? She felt the strength of him, the firmness and the hardness – his eyes, those penetrating greys – and the physical embodiments of his unimaginable intensity, and she turned it into a fantasy.

That's all it was. Fantasy.

Nobody had to know.

Draco couldn't sleep. Again.

He was failing. So many things had already gone wrong. He'd already learned he didn't have the stomach for what was required for him. What now?

And Granger – what nerve she had, to compare him to his father. He pictured his Lucius's face in his recurring nightmare, the blank look that had overtaken the man's once proud exterior.

There had been a time in his life when Draco wanted nothing more than be like his father. His family had always been independently wealthy; a long tradition of pureblood status that kept their coffers full and their members respected. Lucius had been an avid collector of items of magical significance – his study included books as far as the eye could see, all rare and expensive, while family heirlooms were priceless and lusted after by guests. Lucius had kept Narcissa in the finest clothes and jewels so that she was the most beautiful woman in the room, without fail. Everything Lucius owned had been an expression of his refinement, his elegance; in many ways, Draco had felt part of that. Lucius was a proud man, and a strong one – or so Draco had thought.

But it takes more than vanity and a hard exterior to show strength. Draco was slowly learning that lesson, against his will. Lucius's willingness to allow a maniacal psychopath to rule his home, to make hostages of his beloved wife and only son, was not a convincing show of the values Malfoys had prided themselves on for centuries. It was certainly not what Draco had foreseen as part of his inheritance.

Draco had always been proud of being a Malfoy. He had had every intention of carrying out his family's values – their bloodline, their superiority.

But now, he only wanted to survive.

He blinked away his blood-tainted memories and tried to focus on something else.

He wasn't his father. He wouldn't be so easily ruled by another.

"If you think you're going to intimidate me, Malfoy," she'd said, "you're very wrong."

Granger.

He scoffed. Easy for her to think she was strong; she was stubborn, difficult, proud – she was too used to being the smartest person in the room. Easy for her. She was born on the right side. She would always be able to find support and protection. Her side believed themselves to be right, to be noble, to be moral. His side – his side would kill him if he made a mistake.

Granger had no idea what it took to be strong. She barely understood what it took to be skilled, outside of books. Draco was exceptionally talented in occlumency, which had been his saving grace. Every moment he spent in the presence of the Dark Lord required every fiber of his ability; he had to fight to hide his fear, and his anxiety – and most importantly, his disgust, for who the Dark Lord was, and the conscience he had so long ago abandoned.

Lord Voldemort was a skilled legilimens, of course. He could see through Draco if he wanted to. But why should he feel the need? He mistook Draco for being as weak and pitiful as his father.

Draco would do what needed to be done. He would protect his family. He would sacrifice his soul to do it, but regardless, he would find a way.

He shut his eyes, scraping through his brain for any other thought, pleading silently for any hint of pleasure, any relief he could take from his mind.

Granger.

Of course.

He used to see her through his lens of blood purity. He had always identified her as inferior, and hated her even more for her association with Potter and Weasley. He didn't know who was worse; Potter, who had spurned him at first advance for no particular reason other than to show his incomprehensible moral superiority – or pathetic, talentless Weasley, who didn't deserve her.

He shook away the thought their smug faces; that, too, was not in the realm of thoughts he welcomed.

Granger.

He'd made her smile, once. He saw it on her face when she watched him leave, when he'd foolishly turned for a final glance. Her eyes . . . they were warm. Golden.

He fell asleep, for a few precious moments, with the ghost of that smile whispering through his mind.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: The Error

"So how was last night?"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, panicked.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "How was last night?" he repeated. "You know, with Malfoy and the potion."

"Oh," she said, exhaling. "It was – it was fine."

"It was 'fine'? What, did you and Malfoy discuss the weather?" Harry asked skeptically. "You look sort of . . . crazy."

"I do not," she snapped, slamming her book shut. "It was fine. Just a normal, unusual amount of fine."

Harry continued looking at her, though she actively avoided eye contact.

"Is there something bothering you?" he asked, venturing gently.

She sighed. "Sorry," she conceded. "Didn't mean to snap." She cocked her head, remembering. "Actually, something strange did happen."

Harry leaned in conspiratorially. "What happened?"

"You know, honestly, I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "He sort of passed out for a few minutes."

"Okay, wasn't expecting that," Harry said, shaking his head. "He just . . . passed out?"

"Yeah. One second he was sitting there, the next he was screaming on the floor."

"What was he screaming?"

"I couldn't really tell, honestly," she admitted. "I was startled and I just got up and ran to him. Maybe 'no' or 'stop'?"

"You 'got up and ran to him'?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "Were you overcome with concern for Malfoy all of a sudden?"

"For goodness' sake, Harry Potter," she snapped. "He was screaming. Forgive me for my natural human instinct."

"Fine. Did he tell you what happened?"

"No, but it did kind of remind me of what's been happening to you, with the visions."

"He reminded you of me?" Harry said, scoffing.

"No, I just – "

"You think there's a chance that Malfoy is also hiding a scar that's creating some kind of twisted connection between him and Voldemort – "

"That's enough, Harry," she said, irritated. Stupid boys, she muttered under her breath.

"I thought not," he said smugly. "Okay, so you think he had some sort of vision."

"Well," she said, pausing. "Maybe not. It seemed like more of a nightmare."

"Hmm," Harry said, pondering. "Clearly he's under some kind of stress."

"I asked him if he saw something, but then he just sat up and said something rude," she said, rolling her eyes. "Typical Malfoy behavior."

"The rudeness yeah, the passed out screaming, not so much," Harry corrected. "Malfoy usually just occupies his time showboating around being rich and egotistical."

"True," she said. "The first part, anyway. He has been a bit more serious as of late." She paused. "He is very intense."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Gross, Hermione," he said, visibly disturbed. "Intense?"

She felt her cheeks flush, remembering the thoughts of him that had flooded her mind the night before.

"I just – I just meant that he is a bit less childish. Though," she added quickly, "he's definitely still a prick."

"No debate there," Harry said emphatically. "But nothing else? No explanation, he just passed out screaming and then woke up and continued being Malfoy?"

"Yep," she said, falsely cheerful.

He just woke up and continued being Malfoy, with no effect on me whatsoever, she thought. And then I continued being Hermione, and it was a totally normal day of absolutely no consequence.

"Hmm," he said again. "Maybe you'll get more out of him."

She rolled her eyes. "I really don't think I'm going to get you anything you'd find useful. We're just making a potion, nothing else."

"You didn't talk about anything else?"

About you, or about me and Ron, or about his father? Nope.

"No. What would we possibly talk about?"

"When do you see him again?"

"Tonight. Every night for the next – " she paused, counting. "29 days, approximately."

"Ah, so plenty of time," he said, grinning cheekily.

"Sure," she grumbled. "All the time in the world for this unending nonsense."

There was a pause while they briefly returned to their respective books.

"Have you seen Ron?" Harry asked, looking around.

Did I seduce Ron, have sex with him while imagining myself with Draco Malfoy, and then slip out while he was sleeping to avoid speaking to him?

"Nope," she said. "Haven't seen him."

"I'll go look for him," Harry said, standing. "I'll just tell him to come down here – "

"Actually, Harry," she said hurriedly, "I think I'll just – I told Ginny I'd meet her in a bit."

She wasn't sure about when she'd be ready to face Ron. He'd fallen asleep rather quickly, his arm snaked around her. She'd felt suffocated, though, and didn't sleep; when he'd started to roll away, she took that as her opportunity to slip out quietly, returning to her room well before morning. Leaving hadn't done much to help her sleep, though. The crippling guilt felt like a sharp, unrelenting stomachache.

"Ginny . . . You're – yes? Right," Harry stammered, looking away. "She's – well, I've – it's been a bit, you know. Since – since I've seen her."

"Yeah, and you can just – just tell Ron that," she mumbled. "You know. I – you know. Hi, I mean. Tell him – I said hi."

They eyed each other suspiciously.

"You look weird," Harry said.

"You look weird," Hermione retorted.

"I don't look weird."

"Neither do I."

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he said suspiciously.

"No," she said hurriedly. "You?"

"No," he replied, laughing uncomfortably.

"Right."

"Right," Harry said, nodding. He coughed once, loudly.

She stood, knocking into the table. "See you!" she said brightly, bounding away without looking back.

She didn't have to meet Ginny, of course; she'd have done anything to avoid seeing Ron. It was hard enough, knowing that he would be in class with her.

So would Malfoy – and she had already had quite enough of him.

She wandered around the castle aimlessly, wasting time before Potions. Deciding to visit the Gryffindor common room, she approached the east staircase, stepping lightly on the marble absentmindedly. It immediately shifted, rerouting her to an alternate wing of the castle.

She groaned, cursing the errant staircase. Continuing her path upward, she stepped onto the landing. After a quick scroll through her memory of the layout of the castle from "Hogwarts: A History," she deduced that she was somewhere on the seventh floor. With no particular destination in mind, she wandered quietly, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

Hermione stopped short when she heard voices around the corner.

"How is your assignment progressing?"

Snape, she thought. There was no mistaking his signature low baritone.

"I assume you're not referring to your class," a second voice responded.

Malfoy?

"No, not at the moment," Snape replied. "Though you're wasting my time if you're going to be difficult on purpose."

"I don't need you to babysit me," Malfoy snapped. "I'm doing fine."

There was a brief pause.

"You're doing well blocking your thoughts from me, though I think ultimately you may find that a poor decision," Snape said quietly. "I swore to your mother that I would help you – "

"And I will come to you when I need help," Malfoy replied brusquely. "Professor."

"Don't be so quick to indulge in pride, Draco," Snape warned. "To do so would be extremely unwise, given the circumstances."

"The circumstances are unavoidable. But if you'll excuse me, I have a class to attend – as do you, I believe."

At the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, Hermione ducked into an alcove. This was no innocent conversation. Perhaps Harry's suspicions had been merited.

She knew from the pace of the footsteps that it was Malfoy who had abruptly exited the tense conversation; there was no mistaking that saunter. Once the sound of his echoing footsteps faded, she resumed her walk through the hallway, moving briskly. From her position behind him, she could only see the back of Malfoy's silvery blond head, immaculate as always; nothing about his posture revealed any reaction to his pseudo-argument with Snape.

His shoulders never seemed to slump, she realized. She only now acknowledged that as time had passed, he had adapted a certain cool headedness; even when losing his temper, she remembered, his demeanor was controlled. Whatever he was working on, whatever had happened in the last year, it had clearly changed him.

She paused only when Malfoy opened the door to the classroom, timing her entrance to a few more seconds after his. She opened the door breathlessly, barely arriving on time.

Harry and Ron looked up as she entered; they had left the seat for her between them. Her heart sank when she saw Ron's face light up at her entrance. Sitting between him and Harry was the last place she wanted to be right now.

"Ah – not there, Miss Granger," Snape said with irritating condescension as she moved toward her seat. She was startled to see him – she assumed he would have arrived in the classroom after Malfoy and herself.

"I'm sorry, Professor?" she said, confused. "Where would you like – "

"Take a seat next to Mr. Malfoy," he said curtly. "That will be your seat for the duration of the assignment."

She fought the urge to protest, holding back a frustrated sigh. Ron looked crestfallen; Hermione, realizing that even sitting with Malfoy was a better option than interacting with Ron, turned quietly and took her seat.

She snuck a quick look at Malfoy. His face was expressionless, his head deliberately facing forward without looking at her.

And so it begins, she thought. The worst month of my life.

Draco had had an extremely challenging day. Not to say that any of his days had been significantly better, but it was out of the norm for Snape to be pestering him about his task for the Dark Lord.

As if it wasn't already the only thing consuming his thoughts.

It was equally unusual for him to be so close to Hermione Granger, and it was particularly uncomfortable that he hadn't quite recovered from their encounter the night before. Despite himself, he felt a pang somewhere in his chest, reacting to the familiar vanilla scent; it was a powerful reminder of how close he had been last night, touching her.

He distracted himself from the way she thoughtfully chewed on her lip by attempting to visualize her family tree.

Think of all the muggles in her bloodline. All the dirty, barbaric muggles. 

Dirtier or more barbaric than Voldemort?

No, he conceded. Probably not.

Thankfully the day was almost over; he walked briskly to the first floor classroom, catching Granger's form walking from the opposite direction as he turned the corner. He opened his mouth to say something, but was abruptly interrupted by someone hurrying along behind him.

"Mione!"

It was Weasley, of course.

Mione? What a stupid nickname. Like she's some kind of small child, or a pet rodent.

Granger went pale, which piqued Draco's interest. He stepped to the side, exaggeratedly gesturing for Weasley to pass him.

"Hi – hello, Ron," Hermione muttered uneasily.

"I just wanted to see you; you've been busy all day," Ron said, pulling her to the side. Clearly he didn't want Draco listening in.

Too bad, Draco thought. This is already very interesting.

"I have to work on my potion right now," Granger said, simultaneously gentle and impatient.

Draco raised his eyebrows curiously as he thought he saw Weasley reach for her hands; she quickly crossed her arms, turning back toward the classroom.

"Maybe I can see you later?" Weasley asked, smiling. He was attempting to whisper, but failing badly. Draco noted his excitement with amusement. Clearly his enthusiasm was unmatched by Granger.

"Um, it depends," she said, licking her lips uncertainly. Her eyes continuously darted from the floor to the classroom door; anywhere but Weasley. Draco knew that look – it was the same one he used to give Pansy, before he gave up and dismissed her completely. It was all he could do not to laugh.

"Weasley, it would be best if you would just scamper off," Draco announced. "Granger and I have quite a bit of work to do, and there's really no telling how long it will take."

He'd meant to be significantly more dismissive towards Weasley, but found that instead he was covering for Granger much more than he was insulting her companion. He kicked himself mentally, despite the satisfaction of seeing her look of gratitude. He almost felt sorry for Weasley. But of course, he didn't.

"Sorry Ron – I'll let you know if we finish early," she said apologetically.

Weasley nodded, a pathetic look of disappointment on his irritating face. "Sure, Hermione. See you later."

Weasley looked as though he might lean forward – Was he trying to kiss her? Draco thought, disgusted – but thought better of it, turning around. He glared at Draco, knocking shoulders with him as he passed.

"Enjoy your evening, Weasley," Draco called brightly, relishing the reaction he got as Weasley's shoulders tensed. He turned back to Hermione, grinning.

"Been a bad girl, Granger?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Malfoy," she sniffed, "but you'd be wise to leave it alone."

Draco was getting very tired of everyone telling him whether or not they thought his actions wise. He pulled opened the door briskly, almost aggressively.

He heard Granger gasp before he looked closely at the classroom, but he picked up on her concern immediately. The potion was had lost its milky consistency and was thin and metallic, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. The room now had a dizzying atmosphere.

"Something's wrong," she said instantly.

Draco was first to reach the potions textbook they had left lying open to the relevant page.

"Something must have gone wrong with the timing," he guessed.

"Are you saying this is my fault?" she said angrily.

"If I say no, will that help?" he said sarcastically, smirking. "According to this an error in timing can cause the potion to present itself with top notes of a love potion." He kept reading, scanning the page quickly. "Just the lust stage, it appears."

Looking up, he grinned mercilessly at her. "Make any errors in judgment last night, Granger?"

She immediately went pale, though she recovered quickly. "If you hadn't been such an awful prick last night, I wouldn't have had an issue adding ingredients and stirring at the same time!" she insisted.

"Oh, so it's my fault you unceremoniously kicked me out?" Draco drawled, looking at her pointedly. "Finally realizing you were a bit overconfident that you could do it alone, then?"

She made a face, imitating him. "If you hadn't been such a – "

"Calm down Granger, it's an easy fix." He leaned over the cauldron, inspecting the potion. "It will, however, set us back about an hour, which is too bad. Clearly Weasley is expecting you." He turned his back as he tried to hide his amusement; he knew she'd react explosively.

"Shut UP Malfoy!" she yelled. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"No, of course not," he said smiling. "Silly me, I should have known better than to interpret your obvious discomfort with him to mean you were – "

"Not another word, Malfoy," she hissed. She grabbed the book from his hands and quickly sat cross-legged at the cauldron again, flipping the page back and forth to identify a solution.

They sat in silence for several minutes while they tried to backtrack, fixing their mistake. She muttered to herself every now and then ("lacewing flies" – "ten seconds clockwise" – "golden hue") and Draco left her to her concentration.

Draco had been correct, of course; it took about an hour to reset the potion to its state from the night before. They resumed their seats on the desks, watching the potion marinate.

"I'm sorry about last night," she said quietly. "But you shouldn't try to bully me. I won't put up with it."

"Fine," he said curtly.

"Fine?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have let you ruin the potion – "

"Malfoy, for heaven's sake – "

"Fine, I'm sorry I wasn't here to help," he said. Though he couldn't help but add, "Because clearly you needed me here – and of course you needed me to bail you out of seeing Weasley – "

She groaned. "Will you let it go, Malfoy?"

"Probably not."

She shook her head. For some reason, he felt it was less funny. It certainly wasn't clever anymore, so he decided to move on.

He inspected his fingernails, buying time as he considered what to say next.

"You've read all the books," he started. "Explain to me why a healing potion would mimic a love potion."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "That's a really good question Malfoy – "

"Don't patronize me, Granger."

She put her hand to her forehead, sighing. "You're exhausting, Malfoy."

"You haven't even begun to know how exhausting I can be, Granger."

She shook her head, ignoring the innuendo. "I think . . . I think maybe because love is meant to be healing," she ventured. "Isn't it supposed to be cleansing, in a way?"

Draco shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

She eyed him skeptically. "Centuries of love stories would probably confirm my theory."

"Not something I concern myself with."

In truth, he thought she had a point. His parents loved each other; that he could say with certainty. Despite his father's poor choices, he knew that what was between his mother and father was sincere, and – maybe he could use the word pure. Yes, he thought. Perhaps love was cleansing, in a way.

"It's not a true love potion, though, you were right," she said, glancing back at the book. "Just enough," she said, pausing, "for very poor decisions." Her cheeks were flushed, giving her a rosy glow. Embarrassment and regret suited her.

"I wouldn't know, being someone who isn't familiar with poor decisions," he taunted arrogantly, in an outrageous lie.

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking this is sharing time, by the way," he added. "I'm not interested in whatever is going on with you and the weasel – "

"Shall I save it for my gal pals?" she mocked.

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Are you ever going to move past that?"

"It was just so poor," she said, grinning. "So very Malfoy of yesteryear."

"There really was no better way to describe Weasley," Draco said, adopting his most derisive tone.

"I expect better from you next time."

"Next time?"

"I assume over the next month you'll find some other opportunity to throw stones of people who are better and less slimy than you," she said, fixing him with a knowing stare. It was a much more unsavory look on her.

"Slimy is in the eye of the beholder, Granger."

She smiled. He bristled, realizing the conversation had begun to border on civil.

"By the way," he began casually. "Do you think you could call off the dogs for me?"

She cocked her head, genuinely confused. "Call off the dogs?"

"Potter," he clarified. "He's been following me for weeks. It's very tiresome."

"Harry is not following you," she said, clearly lying. "Don't be so narcissistic."

Draco ignored this. "Whatever he's looking for, he's wasting his time."

"He's not – "

"This isn't an argument, Granger."

"It's always an argument, Malfoy."

She wasn't wrong there.

He looked at the potion. "This round of ingredients is reacting much more quickly than I expected."

She craned her neck to see the cauldron, nodding her head. "You're right." She seemed to slump visibly. "I guess we won't need to be here very long after all."

He didn't know what possessed him to do it.

"We could stay a bit longer. Try and get ahead," he suggested. "We don't need the mandrake until next week but we could repot it now."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good idea."

"Those are the only kinds of ideas I have," he said brusquely.

Another lie.

He watched her as she busied herself with the potion, the stress of whatever was going on between her and Weasley clearly lifted. She was almost smiling to herself as she hovered once more over the textbook, moving her finger quickly from line to line.

Despite himself, he was curious about what had happened to create such a burden on her. Why would she avoid Weasley after last night, specifically?

"Granger, are you a virgin?" he asked bluntly, cutting the silence.

"I – that's really none of your business!" she exclaimed, blushing. Her eyes widened in anger and panic.

He really did relish that look on her face.

"I see," he said. "So you and Weasley have run into a bit of a problem in the bedroom then, have you?"

"Malfoy – "

"Honestly," he continued, "I'd be much more surprised if you weren't having problems."

"We are not having problems, Malfoy – "

"Do you enjoy it, Granger? You can't tell me it's any fun for you," he said, smirking.

"Malfoy, you're seriously crossing a line – "

"Come on," he laughed. "I'll give him some credit. I'm sure he's very gentle."

She was clearly fuming.

"As a matter of fact – "

"Ugh, don't go into detail, Granger, I just ate."

The truth was, a part of him did want to know; not about the weasel, obviously, there was no doubt in Draco's mind that Weasley would be entirely inadequate. But Granger, with those legs and that petite frame . . . and she was so tightly wound, surely she needed some release –

"Malfoy, you are disgusting."

"You know perfectly well that I'm not, Granger."

Was he flirting with her? Clearly it had been a bad day. He was resorting to using Granger as his entertainment.

"As if you're any better than Ron!"

"You don't believe that, Granger," he said smugly. "Even you know that I'd be much better than Weasley."

"Oh really?" she said, challenging him. "But of course I could never call you on your bluff, could I?"

"You, mudblood?" he taunted. "As if I'd waste my time."

"Sure, Malfoy, use that as an excuse," she said, standing. "Because I'm a mudblood you think you're so much better than I am."

"As a matter of fact, I – "

"Shut up, Malfoy." Before he knew what was happening, she whipped out her wand. Instinctively he reached for his, but the force of her unexpected spell knocked him backwards.

"Expelliarmus!"

She quickly accio'd his wand, taking it in her left hand. She walked over and leaned over him, pointing her wand between his eyes.

"You think that because I'm muggle-born I'm somehow inferior to you," she hissed, "but you're wrong. Because even as a muggle, I'd still be smarter than you."

"As if that means anything," he snarled back, trying to ignore her wand in his face.

"You're right," she said. "It doesn't. Because I'm not a muggle. I'm a witch. Whether you like it or not," she spat, "and whether I'm a mudblood or not, I'm a far better witch than you are a wizard." She lowered her voice. "And there isn't a name in the world you could call me that could change that."

For a moment they simply stared at each other, breathing hard. Suddenly, without thinking, he knocked her wand aside, grabbing her wrists. She yelped as he pulled her, hard, onto the floor, rolling over her and pinning her to the ground.

"Don't be so sure, Granger," he whispered menacingly.

His heart pounding and his sensitivity heightened, he was aware of every inch of her body that touched his; he held tightly to her wrists and positioned himself securely over her, his face inches from hers. Her breath intermingled with his, and her defiant golden brown eyes bore deep into his grey ones. Her lips were slightly parted, prepared for a retort, but she was breathless. He was acutely aware of the way her chest rose and fell against his, their breathing labored.

He wanted her beneath him. He'd die before acting on it, but he wanted to hear her call his name, over and over.

He jumped up abruptly, snatching his wand from the floor where she'd dropped it after he'd pulled her to him.

"I'm leaving. Don't fuck up again."

He left her behind without another word.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: The Lesson

It had been a difficult week for Hermione.

First, there was Ron. So far she had done a poor job of dealing with the situation, opting instead to avoid him, and that was not an easy thing to do. Before the night she'd had with him, they had spent almost every free moment together. Now, she was forced to make excuses to be elsewhere between classes, making a point to avoid places Ron might be. The one time she didn't have to worry about dealing with Ron was every night around 8 pm, and then she had her own, entirely different set of concerns.

Because, of course, that meant time alone with Malfoy. It was almost a lucky thing that the potion was so difficult – the previous night, they had essentially no need to speak to each other. They'd had a wailing mandrake, a series of escaped flobberworms, and some errant leeches infecting the fluxweed, all of which they'd had to juggle while shouting instructions. They hadn't had the opportunity to discuss her brandishing her wand in his face, much less his response. To some extent, she was relieved; it was much easier to pretend it hadn't happened.

But it had happened, and as much as it relieved her that he was ignoring it, the more it haunted her that she couldn't forget. Whatever it was about him that she couldn't identify – whatever that "intensity" was that she'd tried to convey to Harry – she'd seen it up close when he'd pinned her to the ground. She thought she'd seen something in his eyes with him that close to her; his glacial cool had threatened to crack.

It certainly wasn't helping her concentrate.

She wasn't particularly focused at the moment, lazily holding her head up with on her palm as she traced mindless patterns over the pages of her book. She'd finished her work ages ago, but hiding out in the library seemed like the wisest place to keep to herself. She had tried spending time with Luna or Ginny, but she found that without telling them what was going on in her personal life, she was forced to tell more lies – or at least, omit more truths – than she wanted to.

She picked up her quill and let it linger over a piece of parchment, dripping ink while her mind wandered. She should be furious at Malfoy for manhandling her like that. Why wasn't she?

Maybe because I wasn't totally innocent, she thought. She smiled in spite of herself. She'd felt victorious for a few moments, before he'd wrestled her to the ground, and even after he'd left, she still felt a sense of triumph from hitting Malfoy where it hurt. She'd been right, of course; in many ways she surpassed him in ability and intellect. But while she'd spent so many years hating him, she had spent the last week or so finding that the more she learned about him, the more interesting she found him.

"Does he challenge you?"

She heard Malfoy's words about Ron echo in her mind and she shook her head vigorously, trying to erase the thought. If Ron wasn't a challenge, then why couldn't she look him in the eye?

"Hermione! There you are."

She suppressed a groan as Harry enthusiastically pulled out a chair next to her. Ron followed closely, smiling tentatively at her.

"Hi Harry. Hello Ron," she said, nodding politely at him. She immediately felt guilty when she saw him stiffen.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked quietly, pulling out a chair for himself. She opened her mouth to speak – reaching into her vast library of excuses – but Harry interrupted, ignoring the tension between them.

"So – tell me about your potion."

"Oh really, Harry?" she said, a bemused smile on her face. "You're interested in discussing my work?"

"Fine," he said, shaking his head in concession. "I want to hear about Malfoy."

"Now hold on just a second," she said quickly, straightening. "What about you? What about your potion? Haven't you tried getting anything out of Nott?"

She pretended not to notice that Ron was sulkily staring at his lap.

"No," Harry said with frustration. "Theo Nott is an absolute arse, we haven't even worked on our potion yet – "

"You haven't started?" she exclaimed, mortified.

"He's a git, I can't work with him," Harry said impatiently. "So what if I fail Potions, it's not a big – "

"It's not just Potions, it's Defense Against the Dark Arts, too – "

"Which I'll probably fail anyway, considering Snape is grading – "

"He wouldn't fail Nott, you know he wouldn't – "

"Stop bickering and just tell us what you and Malfoy have been up to," Ron yelled suddenly, scowling.

Harry and Hermione both stared at him.

"What's gotten into you?" Harry asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nothing," growled Ron. "That's what we're here for, aren't we? That's all she's got time for, apparently."

"But you're being so . . . shouty," Harry said back. Harry was looking suspiciously between the two of them, trying to solve the mystery of why Hermione was averting her eyes and Ron sat tight-lipped, crossing his arms aggressively.

Thank goodness, Hermione thought, Harry is so wildly oblivious.

"I'm sorry Ronald, did you say you wanted to know what Malfoy and I have been up to?" she said slowly, facing him. "You're curious what we, as a unit, have been doing?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," he said bluntly. "Holed up in there every night – "

"Listen," she retorted impatiently, "Obviously you and Harry have, as usual, opted to ignore your schoolwork. Have you looked at the instructions for Sanare Pura?"

"Yes, but – "

"Have you noted the time requirements?"

"I did – "

"So you know, then, that I have no choice but to spend all my time working on it?"

"Ye – "

"And you were there, were you not," she pressed, "when Snape assigned Malfoy as my partner?"

"Okay, I – "

"So we are all clear, then, that whatever you're accusing me of is entirely ridiculous," she exclaimed. "I don't want to hear it again!"

Ron's face reddened; he mumbled a quiet apology. By the time they both returned their attention to Harry, his eyes simply darted between them, still trying to put the puzzle together.

"Before either of you say anything else stupid," Hermione continued, "I did overhear something strange between Malfoy and Snape."

"Malfoy and Snape, really?" Harry said greedily, eyes wide. "Tell us."

Ron remained passively uninterested.

"I was on the seventh floor," she began. "By accident."

"Oh really, by accident," Ron sneered. "I'm sure – "

"Shut up, Ron," Harry interrupted. "Go on, Hermione."

"I overheard Snape asking Malfoy how his – I don't remember exactly how he phrased it. I think he asked how his assignment was going," she said, squinting slightly as she tried to recall.

"Assignment?" Harry exclaimed. "That's it. I knew it. Malfoy's a Death Eater."

"Don't you want to hear anything else?" Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"Fine. What else?"

"He said something about Malfoy 'blocking his thoughts.' I think Malfoy might be using occlumency."

"Malfoy was blocking his mind from Snape?" Harry bit his lip, pondering. "Why would he do that?"

Hermione shrugged. "It was difficult to tell whether or not they were on the same side. Whatever help Snape was offering, Malfoy wasn't having it."

Harry shook his head, bewildered. "I guess," he said slowly, "if Snape is on our side – "

"Which he is, Harry, for the last time, Dumbledore trusts him – "

" – then Malfoy as a Death Eater makes sense. Maybe he's trying to talk him out of something."

"I really don't think that's what it was," Hermione said, cocking her head slightly. "It really seemed like Snape was trying to help him with whatever he was doing."

There was a pause as they all considered this information.

"Why would Malfoy need to use occlumency?" Harry said, after a few moments of silence. "Seems unnecessary. And he's good enough to repel Snape?"

"Sounded that way," Hermione said, nodding. She hadn't considered this; Malfoy using advanced magic against Snape? She fought hard not to be impressed. "And Snape is a very good legilimens, isn't he?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Better than I am, definitely," he said. "But then again I'm not a slimy git, or a two-faced – "

She raised a hand to stop him. "We see your point, Harry."

"I think, objectively," Harry began, slowly, "and as much as it pains me to admit it, Malfoy being a good occlumens might be important information. Who would he need to hide information from? And well enough that he could hide it from Snape?"

"I really don't know," Hermione said, shrugging.

"And who did he learn it from, if not Snape?"

"This is all very boring," Ron said suddenly, standing. "Hermione, I need to talk to you."

"Ron, we're in the middle of a conversation, can't it wait?" Hermione snapped. She realized she and Harry had been leaning towards each other, edging Ron out.

"No, it can't."

Harry shrugged, sitting back in his chair. "By all means, carry on."

Hermione stood slowly, gathering her things. "See you in class, Harry."

"Yeah, see you," he said absentmindedly, his thoughts already consumed elsewhere.

Ron gripped Hermione's arm, pulling her into a quiet corner of the library.

"You're avoiding me, Hermione," he said. His blue eyes were wide with accusation.

She shook her head, sticking to her lie. "I'm not avoiding you, I have a lot of work – "

"Do you think I don't know you, Hermione?" he said, placing both hands on her shoulders. "Do you think I don't know when you're lying to me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I – "

"You've had your work finished for days. And maybe you're telling the truth about your potion," he said, as though he didn't fully believe it, "but that still doesn't explain why I've barely caught a glimpse of you for a week."

"Maybe I'm telling the truth?" she scoffed, knocking his hands away. "Ronald Weasley, you have some nerve."

"You're not answering the question."

"What question? There's no question here. You're being unreasonable," she insisted, trying to keep her voice calm. "And if you think this is how I want to be spoken to – "

"Something amazing happened between us, Mione," he said, softening. "I want more of you, not less."

She finally looked into his eyes, gaining a bit of clarity.

"Okay," she said lamely. "I'll make more of an effort."

"Good," he exhaled, relieved. "So maybe tonight I'll – "

"Look, nothing has changed," she said hurriedly. "I still have a potion to make, every night, and I still have work to do."

"I know," he said, grinning broadly. "I just feel like things are ready to fall into place for us."

Oh boy, she thought. This is not good. 

"Right," she said.

Liar.

"Let's go find Harry, shall we?" she prompted. "We don't want to be late for class."

"Right, but Mione – "

And then he pulled her back, placing both palms flat against the sides of her face, kissing her roughly. She winced as his teeth knocked into hers, again. She pulled back instantly.

"We're in the library, Ron, this is all a bit much – "

"Right, sorry," he said, grinning.

In class, she once again experienced the usual horror-turned-relief at leaving Ron to sit next to Malfoy, who got there shortly after she did. He wasn't actively rushing, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere; she got the impression he had been interrupted.

"Quiet down," Snape announced unnecessarily.

"I hope you are all progressing smoothly with your potions," he continued. Hermione thought she saw him look pointedly at Harry. "Professor Slughorn seems to be pleased . . . so far."

The door opened suddenly, the fresh rush of air bringing with it the flowing robes of Professor McGonagall. Hermione looked briefly at Malfoy, who had no reaction. The dark circles under his eyes were still the only thing about him that didn't seem unnervingly perfect.

"Quiet, children," Professor McGonagall said, again unnecessarily. Nobody had spoken for several minutes.

"Professor McGonagall is here to announce the House Dueling Tournament," Snape said curtly. "As I'm sure you all have heard by now."

McGonagall turned her head sharply to look at Snape. "Professor, as you know, up until now the tournament has been a secret," she said.

"Which is precisely why I assumed they would have heard," Snape replied airily.

McGonagall sniffed affectedly and turned back to the class. "This year, Hogwarts will be having a Dueling Tournament for Sixth and Seventh Year students."

Now the class began to fill with whispers; Snape slammed a textbook onto his desk, causing an immediate return to silence.

"Students who wish to participate will first compete within their houses, in random pairings. The best four students per house will enter the final tournament, ending with a single winner," McGonagall continued. "The rules are simple: once you are disarmed, you are eliminated."

"You will disarm only," Snape said, glancing from Harry to Malfoy, who smirked at each other.

"Following the tournament, there will be a House Ball," McGonagall continued.

There were a few groans throughout the room.

"Silence!" McGonagall called. "It is important that our students graduate with some . . . decorum." Again, she seemed to be speaking directly to Harry and Ron.

Ron looked over his shoulder, smiling at Hermione. She felt Malfoy stifle a laugh next to her; she looked at him sharply but he merely shrugged, an amused smile on his face.

"You're so lucky, Granger – I'm sure Weasley will be the belle of the ball," he said in a low whisper.

"Shut up, Malfoy," she shot back.

She caught Ron's suspicious glare as he observed her whispering to Malfoy. She sighed, frustrated. She sensed she would be having the same conversation with him at least once more today. At least, it seemed, the tension with Malfoy seemed to have eased a bit. She almost welcomed his having Ron as a target, if it meant that the rest of her potions assignment might be a bit easier.

Hermione walked purposefully through the castle grounds, realizing she was running a bit late. It was an unusually nice day, and a number of students were outside, enjoying the freedom of a Friday afternoon. All anyone had to talk about all afternoon had been the tournament, and she found she was relieved. For once there was a bit of peace without Harry stalking Malfoy, or Ron stalking her.

She noticed a flock of girls hovering near the quidditch pitch; against her better judgment, she paused to glance at what they were eyeing. She groaned audibly when she realized that Slytherin was just concluding its quidditch practice, and that she had stopped just in time to see Malfoy step gracefully off his broom. His lips were chapped from the wind and the altitude; he slid his tongue over them once, running his gloved hand through his lightly tousled hair.

Hermione shook her head.

Bloody handsome bastard.

She noted with surprise that he seemed to ignore his female audience; he walked past Pansy Parkinson without a second glance, and didn't seem to acknowledge the Greengrass sisters, either. She turned away quickly to continue toward the castle, lest she be confused with the other hormonal twats.

"Catch the end of the show, eh, Granger?" he called.

She stopped short, trying to control the blush spreading across her face.

He was walking toward her, his usual smirk gracing his features. To her horror she caught Pansy's narrowed eyes as she turned; she instantly averted her eyes.

"You're a bit behind schedule, aren't you Malfoy?" Hermione called.

"You're not much better." He'd reached her now, and she resumed walking to match his stride.

"I'm surprised you aren't offering autographs," she said, gesturing towards the crowd that was now reluctantly dissipating.

"Mmm. A bit jealous, are we?"

"Of course not," she insisted, affronted.

"It's okay, Granger, nobody would blame you," he said smugly.

She opened her mouth to protest further, but caught a hint of amusement in his eye; realizing he was toying with her, she held her tongue. They continued on in silence until they reached the classroom.

There wasn't much to do that day. Nothing had gone wrong – thankfully – and they busied themselves right away with the new additions. Within half an hour, they'd resumed their familiar positions.

Malfoy leaned back, draping himself over the desk with his legs hanging.

He really does look tired, Hermione thought. But I wonder . . .

"Malfoy."

"What," he sighed, impatient.

"What do you know about occlumency?"

He sat up slowly, eyeing her suspiciously. "What would possess you to ask me that, Granger?"

"I'm just wondering."

"Seems like a strange thing to wonder," he said slowly. "Don't you generally just assume everyone around you is an idiot?"

"Are you upset that I thought you might possess some capabilities as a wizard? I can always just revert to – "

"Yes, Granger, I can perform occlumency."

She paused, considering her next move. "And legilimency?"

"Yes. But not as well."

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully.

He slid off the desk, standing in front of it and leaning back. "Why are you asking me about this?"

"I was," she began, pursing her lips, "I was just wondering if maybe you might . . . teach me."

He straightened, stunned. "You want me to teach you occlumency?"

"Yes."

"Why?" he asked, genuinely interested. "It won't be on any school exams."

She sighed, frustrated. "Not everything I do is for a grade!"

"I don't believe that."

"Fine, don't. Forget I asked."

They were both silent for a moment. As much as she wanted to retract her request, she was genuinely disappointed. She'd been quite jealous of Harry, actually, when he'd been taking lessons with Snape. And for some reason, it bothered her that there was something she couldn't do.

"I can try to teach you," he said slowly. "But I can't promise you that it will work."

"Why not?" she said stubbornly. "There isn't anything I haven't been able to do – "

"This is different," he said curtly.

"How?"

He looked at her sharply. His grey eyes were unusually sincere, and still, somehow, more penetrating than usual.

"This isn't an easy thing to do – "

"I can – "

He shook his head, interrupting. "It's not that it's a difficult spell. It's that you have to . . . you have to cut out a piece of yourself. You have to be able hide whatever it is that you don't want seen."

She leaned in, curious. "Seen?"

"It's not as simple as mind reading," he explained, unexpectedly patient. "People can't just read your every thought. But they'll search you for what they're looking for. They'll see what's at the forefront of your mind."

"And if they don't know what they're looking for?"

"Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" Malfoy said. "The less you betray yourself, the easier it is to hide what's in your mind."

She shook her head slowly. "I don't fully understand."

He nodded. "But if you really want to learn . . . "

"Okay." She picked up her wand and took a deep breath, standing. "What do I do?"

He paused. "I guess in terms of explanation, it's pretty simple. I'll try to see into your mind."

"And then?"

He shrugged. "Don't let me."

"Ah." She took another deep breath. "Okay."

They stood across from each other, wands up.

"Legilimens."

She instantly started to feel her thoughts creep out of her; she was jittery and nervous. An image of herself with Ron floated to the surface; first, it was their first kiss, and then memories began to seep out. She saw herself knocking on his door, walking into his room, her thin robe pulled tight around her frame . . .

"No!" she yelled, casting a shield charm around herself.

When she opened her eyes, Malfoy was grinning.

"So that's what happened the other night."

"You saw everything I saw?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"I did."

"When did you stop – "

"You pushed me out of your mind – right before the good part, I might add," he said, smirking. "There was no need for the protego, by the way. Just by conjuring anything you prevented me from going further."

"So any spell – "

"Not just any spell. Any action to break the connection at all would have been enough."

"But how do I – "

"You have to learn to compartmentalize," he said. "And that's what I'm not sure I can teach you."

"Compartmentalize?"

"Occlumency isn't normally something you do for fun, it's something you do to survive," he said bluntly. "Fear, treachery, deceit – those things are not easy to hide. Painful memories, duplicitous intentions – they float to the surface."

She nodded slowly. "What you saw wasn't anything like that, though."

"Oh really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "It was all just pure, innocent love, then?"

She ignored him.

"You know, 'mind reading' really is an oversimplification," he reminded her. "I can't just see what you show me. I can feel it, too."

"So?"

He shrugged. "So, I could feel what you felt."

"And?"

"And I know that there was more going on – for you, anyway."

Again, she chose to ignore him.

"Do it again."

He sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, try me again."

"Fine."

He raised his wand again. "Try to clear your mind."

At her nod, he repeated himself.

"Legilimens."

She did everything she could to block her thoughts. Instead, she tried to fill her mind with trivialities; homework, tomorrow's visit to Hogsmeade, anything she knew Malfoy wouldn't find interesting. Quidditch. Dinner. Their potion.

Their potion . . . that was her mistake. She felt a sliver of a memory slip past her, and her heart pounded as she saw Malfoy's face as he was pressed against her.

"Get out," she rasped suddenly. "Get out of my head." She had stumbled backwards, knocking into the desk behind her. She was out of breath from the effort of forcing him away.

She glared at him, the Malfoy standing in front of her. He was looking at her oddly.

"I didn't – "

"Look, Malfoy," she said hurriedly. "If you're so good at this, then let me try."

He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, smirking. "Fine."

This time she cast the spell, a determined look on her face as she focused on the incantation.

"Legilimens."

Nothing.

"Try again," he suggested, amused.

"Legilimens!"

Still nothing.

She sighed, conceding. "Fine, you're very good at this."

"I know."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a national treasure."

She rolled her eyes. "You made this sound like it was life or death, Malfoy. What reason would you possibly have for needing occlumency?"

The atmosphere around them suddenly shifted as Malfoy instantly stepped back. "Don't, Granger," he said coldly.

She could see she'd hit a nerve. "Are you afraid, Malfoy?" she asked, stepping toward him.

"Granger," he growled, "Don't – "

She looked directly into his eyes and raised her wand.

"Legilimens."

She was hurtled into the memory of a large dining room . . . she felt the tension in Malfoy's shoulders . . . she saw Lucius's empty eyes, Narcissa's shaking hands . . . she saw Voldemort, his wand raised, his eyes emotionless and cold . . . she saw a stranger, hanging unnaturally, pleading . . . she saw the rush of blood, seeping into the wood . . . the salty, metallic taste of fear in Malfoy's mouth –

She staggered backwards, arms raised; she didn't want to be in that memory any more than he wanted to share it with her. She stared at him, breathing hard. She couldn't read the expression on his face, but she knew she'd done something unforgivable.

"Malfoy," she said, choking, "Malfoy, I didn't – "

He took three lunging steps forward. When he reached her, he gripped her waist firmly, almost painfully, before using one hand to angrily force her chin upwards. Her breath caught in her throat, right before he brought his lips to hers.

She gasped into his mouth, stumbling backwards. He caught her lip between his teeth and bit down, teasing a breathless whimper out of her. She gripped his forearm as he brought his hand down from where he held her chin, dragging his thumb down her throat. His other hand tightened on her waist, the kiss deepening as they found their rhythm.

This was nothing like what she had experienced until now. This wasn't the clumsy fumbling that she'd grown accustomed to; he knew when to push and when to pull, but it was more than just Malfoy being more skilled. In his arms, she didn't have to let her mind wander; there was no being anywhere else but here, with him. There was nothing she could do but let him set her on fire.

He snaked his arms around her waist, lifting her slightly as she pressed herself against him. She brought her hand to his abdomen, shuddering as she remembered the feel, the hardness of him; she let her fingers lift the seam of his team jersey ever so slightly, dying to put skin on skin. Her hand on his stomach brought both of them into a renewed frenzy, their breath intermingled as he kissed her, hard, over and over again. She was dizzy, grateful that he held her still, and only managed to breathe again when he brought his hands up to her face, entangling them in her hair. He tightened his grip, biting down hard on her lip and causing her to cry out, before he suddenly released her.

She exhaled sharply, slowly bringing a hand to her swollen lips.

"What did you just – "

"Don't worry, Granger," he said abruptly, his eyes blazing. "I won't let you in again."

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: The Couple

"Malfoy!"

Draco turned, nodding.

"Nott."

Theo caught up to him in the hall, matching his purposeful stride to Malfoy's relaxed strut.

"Where've you been?"

"Same as you, I imagine," Draco replied breezily. "Class. Library. More class – "

"Don't play stupid, Malfoy," Theo snorted. "It doesn't look good on you."

"What answer are you looking for, then?"

"You've barely been seen for days, except for practice yesterday," Theo continued, as they both took a seat in the Great Hall. "Is it – " he stopped short, dropping his voice, "Is anything to do with the Dark L – "

Draco quickly raised a hand, silencing him.

"Zabini," he interrupted loudly, gesturing purposefully toward the dark, lithe form of their incoming companion.

Theo whipped around quickly, nodding his head at Blaise. "Later," he mouthed to Draco, who merely shook his head warningly in response.

Blaise sat across from them, glancing between them warily. "Something going on I should know about?"

Draco and Theo both shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to indulge. While openly a sympathizer, Blaise himself was not a Death Eater, nor a child of one. Draco was learning to keep his audience much smaller than he had at the beginning of the year; as far as his friends knew, he had already accomplished what he'd been assigned.

Except, it seemed, for Theo . . .

"Potions," Theo said suddenly. He glanced sharply at Draco.

"Yes," Draco agreed instantly. "Theo was telling me about the potion he's working on with Potter."

Blaise scoffed loudly. "I'd forgotten about that."

"I wish I could," Theo groaned. "Potter is about as useless as they come."

"Have you started?" Draco asked, glad of the distraction.

"Have we started? No," Theo said, grinning mischievously. "But I'm not too worried about it."

"You're not – "

"I can whip up something of my own. I'm sure, at the very least, my father can get me some Dittany or something," Theo said, shrugging. "I doubt Potter will be able to do the same."

"Very true," Draco mused.

"What about you, Malfoy?" Blaise asked, turning to him. "Aren't you with – "

"Granger!" Theo laughed aloud, slamming his palm on the table. "How could I have forgotten?"

"Yes," Draco replied drily, "A cruel joke of Snape's, I'm sure."

"And?" Theo asked, prodding him.

"And nothing," Draco concluded, hoping it would end there.

It did not.

"I can't decide," Blaise mused slowly. "Is she better than Potter because she's got some brains, or is she worse because she's a mudblood?"

"There is no being worse than Potter," Theo snapped. "That's a fact."

"Except of course – "

"Weasley," they all groaned at once.

"Don't," Draco warned. "I don't even want to get started with him."

"Fair enough. How's Granger?" Theo smirked. "Found out what she's keeping under her skirt?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco snapped, trying not to wince.

Draco Malfoy had been wrong about a lot of things. He'd been wrong about his father. He'd been wrong about Voldemort. He'd been wrong about being a Death Eater. He'd probably chosen the wrong friends, and definitely slept with the wrong girls. He might even be wrong about blood purity.

But he had been absolutely spot on about Hermione Granger: she was exactly as good as he'd imagined.

He had yet to lose the taste of her. If he closed his eyes now, he knew his mind would instantly leap to the memory of her sighing into his mouth.

"Pansy's been going on about you and Granger – "

"Parkinson doesn't have a clue," Draco said smoothly, cutting Blaise off.

"Dropped her again, then?" Theo said, snickering. "Poor thing."

Draco let out a low growl. "I shouldn't have picked her up to begin with."

"Not that there are too many other options," Blaise pointed out. "No acceptable ones, anyway."

"Who else are the purebloods? The Greengrass sisters? The she-Weasley?" Theo shook his head. "You might as well add Granger to the pool."

"Nobody is adding Granger to anything," Draco said. "Or should I suggest you become romantically involved with Potter by virtue of class assignment, then?"

Theo raised both hands. "I never said romance, Malfoy," he insisted, shrugging. "But if you can get some benefits out of it . . . "

Draco fixed him with his most severe glare.

Blaise stood then, gathering his things. "Maybe Draco will let you borrow one of his groupies, Nott," he said, glaring at him. "You clearly haven't gotten any in a while if you're suggesting Granger as an option."

"Jokes, Zabini . . . " Theo muttered as Blaise walked away. "So sensitive."

He turned back to Draco, who inclined his head toward the hallway. "Let's walk."

They were both silent as they exited the hall, nodding to the occasional classmate while they made their way in a familiar pattern toward the dungeons.

"What have you heard?" Draco asked quietly.

"My father. He's been to your house recently," Theo replied. "Doesn't sound good."

Draco shook his head. "It isn't."

"He was there just after the holidays," Theo said in a low voice. "The Dark Lord's made Malfoy Manor his new home, then." He phrased it like a question, though they both knew it wasn't.

Draco eyes darted around furtively. "Have you said anything to anyone else?"

"No," Theo said sincerely, meeting Draco's eyes. "I wouldn't."

Draco exhaled. "Relax, I just – "

"How bad is it?" Theo said abruptly, cutting him off.

"I don't know what you mean, it's not – "

"Listen, you don't have to lie to me," Theo said, pulling Draco to the side. "You don't have to tell the truth either, but don't waste your time – "

"It's not good, but it's still on me," Draco hissed. "I'm the one with the mark – "

"Look, I'm not saying that I could help you even if you told me what you were up against," Theo said quickly.

"Then what are you saying, Nott?"

"Just – " he shook his head, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm probably the only one here who knows how bad it is."

"I'm not afraid, Theo."

The corners of Theo's mouth tugged into a half-hearted smile. "Perhaps you should be."

Draco said nothing.

Theo patted his shoulder once. "Your family . . . I can't imagine," he said, before withdrawing his hand. "I won't tell my father anything."

"Good," Draco said curtly, nodding. He paused. "Theo – thanks."

Theo nodded back. "And if you – "

"Theo," Draco said warningly. "I'm fine."

They both turned as a voice called out, interrupting.

"Draco!"

Theo grinned mercilessly as Pansy Parkinson sidled up to Draco, brazenly sliding her hand across his chest.

Draco inhaled deeply, rolling his eyes and pulling away. "Parkinson."

"Have you heard?" she said musically, playing at innocence.

He looked pleadingly at Theo, who only snorted quietly, making a quick exit. "See you, Malfoy," he said, turning abruptly.

Forced to turn back to Pansy, Draco sighed. "Heard what?"

"There's a new Gryffindor couple making an embarrassing show of things," she said, giggling coldly.

Draco stiffened. "Granger and Weasley, is it?"

Her name felt rough on his tongue.

There were a number of things that had led up to his indiscretion with Granger the previous evening, not the least of which was her revelation that she'd already been with Weasley. Granted, if pressed he would admit to having strongly suspected that to begin with, but he wasn't pleased with having actual knowledge of their transgressions. The only relief had been the slight haze of regret that had tinted all her memories of the event – if it was, in fact, the only event. It was his only proof that she wasn't happily on her way to her own grungy foxhole with twenty redheaded children.

If the act of seeing into her thoughts wasn't intimate enough, then he'd stumbled across a memory of himself in her thoughts. For all the effort he put into looking at her impassively, she seemed to have caught a moment's window into his true fascination with her. Regrettably, there was little he could do, except revel in the idea that he was so far at the forefront of her mind that she couldn't prevent his escaping.

Then there was, of course, her catching him off guard. It had been her eyes that did it, not the question she asked – though he didn't appreciate her accusation. No, it was the way her wide, alluring eyes had fixed him with her wondering stare. She would have seen right through him whether she'd spoken the incantation or not.

And she saw it. The same thing that flashed through his mind, over and over, haunting him, night after night. When she looked back into his eyes, he could tell that the horror she'd felt had been for him, on his behalf; and for a moment, he could breathe – because finally, finally, someone knew. He'd locked it inside him long ago, and then somehow she knew.

She knew. That alone would have been enough.

Whether it was anger, or spite, as it so often was with Granger – or if it was something more regrettable, like passion, or desire, or even simply relief – it overtook him. He drew her in more naturally than he even drew breath.

And then he tore himself away, of course, as he did with so many other things. Ignored her, discarded her. Much like he'd done with Theo. Except now, with her, he wanted nothing more than the chance to do it again.

Better for her to be with Weasley, then. Prevent him having the opportunity to engage in what could only be a damning cycle – for both of them.

It was a look from Pansy that interrupted his thoughts. She cocked her head at him, eyebrows raised. "Did you say Granger?"

"Yes," he said, confused. "And Weasley. Right?"

Pansy brought her fingers to her lips, smiling. "So you haven't heard."

"Hermione, there's something I need to tell you."

"Not now, Harry," she said, distracted. "I'm finishing something – "

"No, Hermione, I need to tell you something," he insisted, putting a hand on her shoulder and jolting her forward slightly, "Now."

She rubbed her eyes and turned to him, frustrated. She had wanted to get ahead on one of her assignments before she left for Hogsmeade, and was already irritated that it hadn't been finished the night before, like she'd initially intended. She'd planned on a normal night, no more than an hour or so over their potion, and then she'd meant to return to her studies. But with things so off course, her mind was completely adrift . . .

"Hermione!"

"What!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "Harry James Potter, what is so urgent that it couldn't wait just one mo – "

"What, have you not told her?" Ginny said, stumbling into Harry and Hermione.

"Are you both not aware that you're in a library?" Hermione asked primly, pursing her lips. "People come here to study. And work. And – "

"Have you seen Ron today?" Harry asked urgently, sharing a look with Ginny.

"No, of course not. I've been here, haven't I?" she said pointedly, flipping the front cover of one of her textbooks for emphasis.

Ginny took a deep breath. "Hermione – "

"No, I should probably tell her," Harry interrupted. "Don't you think – "

"I don't know, it's – "

Hermione stood, pressing lightly on each of their shoulders until both were seated in corresponding wooden chairs.

"Now," she said, "Harry, you will tell me what is going on, and then we will all continue to go about our day."

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other nervously.

"It's about Ron," Ginny started.

Hermione threw her hands up, frustrated. "Haven't I just decided that Harry – "

"Ron is – well he's dating Lavender," Harry rushed out. "Or – snogging her, at least."

Ginny nodded, checking Hermione's face for a reaction. "They were really getting after it in the Great Hall this morning."

"Wha – this morning?" Hermione said slowly, sitting.

"I thought it was odd," Ginny said, leaning towards her. "He'd said he was going to look for you last night – "

" – And I thought there was something going on between the two of you," Harry added, "The way you were both going on yesterday – "

There was a rush of blood through Hermione's head that was drowning out the sounds of both Harry and Ginny's voices. Ron and Lavender? This morning? Hadn't Ron just tried to kiss her in this very library just yesterday?

Did he know? she thought suddenly, raising a hand to her lips. Did he know about Malfoy?

Impossible. There's no way he could know. She hadn't told anyone – she would never tell anybody – and Malfoy would probably die before telling anyone – so unless he was there in the room?

Get a hold of yourself, Hermione, she scolded. Of course he wasn't in the room. Could Malfoy have kissed her so exquisitely that she physically catapulted her thoughts directly into Ron's brain? Was that totally out of the question?

Okay, so assuming he didn't know – then what happened?

"Hermione?" Ginny was waving a hand in front of her face. "Hermione, are you okay?"

"Yes, of course," she said instantly, straightening. "Ron and Lavender? How odd."

"How odd?" Harry repeated. "Just . . . odd?"

She fixed him with the same trademark smirk she usually used right before she corrected him. "Yes," she said primly. "Don't you think it's odd?"

"Well yes, I think it's odd, but I rather thought you'd think it was – " Harry paused, looking to Ginny for guidance. "I don't know – "

"We assumed something was going on between you and Ron," Ginny clarified.

"Oh," Hermione said lamely. "Well, no."

"There's nothing going on between you?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"No," Hermione said, shrugging.

"Well I guess . . . I guess this was all quite silly then," Harry said slowly.

"You know, it really was," Hermione said brightly.

She looked at her pile of books, sighing. There was simply no way that anything was getting finished at this rate. If she wasn't thinking about kissing Malfoy, then she was only thinking about how bad she felt about kissing Malfoy – and now to add this to the list? The day was shot.

"Harry, come with me to drop these off in my room, would you?" she asked, rising gracefully to her feet. "Fancy getting a butterbeer or something?"

"Um," Harry hesitated, glancing at Ginny. "I suppose – "

"Yes, go with her," Ginny insisted, standing and pulling him up. "You both go, I'll catch up."

Hermione thought she saw Ginny mouth something to Harry, who looked at her quizzically. Hermione chose to ignore it, striding forward.

Harry rushed toward her, joining her. "So . . . "

"You don't need to be . . . whatever you're being, Harry," Hermione said lightly. "I'm fine."

"Right," he said, nodding. "Of course."

They walked in silence a bit longer before she finally turned to him, sighing.

"Look," she said. "I get why you think I'd be upset, and to be honest I am a little surprised. It's certainly not Ronald's finest moment. But I promise, I'm fine."

Harry let out a breath, smiling. "Promise I won't have to go between you for the next few weeks?"

"I can't speak for him, but I promise, I'll be civil," she said, patting him on the shoulder.

They turned to continue walking.

"Is there . . . anything else you'd like to talk about?" Harry asked, grinning.

Hermione grumbled. "What is it, Harry?"

"Malfoy. Anything new?"

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

"Yes," she sputtered, "Yes, sorry, I'm fine." She waved a hand in front of her face, fanning herself to buy time. "Just . . . choked a little, I guess."

"No problem. But did you say you had anything new?"

She paused for a moment, looking into her friend's kind green eyes.

"No," she said finally, shaking her head. "Sorry."

Which was, of course, as outlandish a lie as she'd ever told Harry.

For one thing, she was now almost certain that Harry had been correct, and Malfoy was probably a Death Eater. If he didn't have the mark, then he certainly had the access – she'd seen him at a table, counting himself among them. And with everything Malfoy told her about occlumency, she was becoming more certain that there was, in fact, something he was supposed to be doing for Voldemort, specifically. Which ultimately meant that Harry was right.

She'd contemplated every version of telling Harry this, considering the outcomes. In one, Harry would immediately assume he needed to forcefully stop Malfoy from whatever he was supposed to be doing. She foresaw disaster, if this were the case – one would almost certainly curse the other, just as a natural order of things. In another, perhaps he would just tell Dumbledore, who could surely handle it from there.

But Hermione had a nagging feeling that she needed to keep this bit of information to herself. Not out of self-preservation, although there was a bit of that, but mostly because she knew Harry wouldn't have the capacity to understand the complexity that she suspected was involved with whatever was going on with Malfoy. For Harry, there was good and evil; Harry was good, and Voldemort evil. But perhaps Draco Malfoy didn't fit so conveniently into one or the other.

She'd need to find that out on her own.

"Okay," Harry said, disappointed.

"Don't look so deflated, Harry," Hermione laughed. "Maybe we can frame him for murder tomorrow."

Harry grinned back.

They turned the corner blindly, causing Hermione to collide with the oaky smell that had lately filled her with constant, unrelenting pangs of guilt.

"Oops – Hi Ron," she said, apologetically.

Ron mumbled something back while Lavender Brown materialized behind him, holding his hand.

"Oh Hermione – how awkward!" she crowed, delighted. "I don't suppose you've heard – "

"I have heard, Lavender," she replied, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. "Congratulations, Ron," she said formally, extending her hand. Harry gawked at both of them, waiting for an explosion.

Ron swatted her hand away. "Hermione, can I talk to you?" he asked, glancing at Lavender. "Privately?"

Lavender pouted as Hermione nodded, gesturing for Harry to wait while Ron pulled her aside.

"Yes?" she said sweetly as Ron gripped her elbow.

"Where were you last night?" he said, seething.

"What?" she said, instantly dropping her act. "You're asking me – "

"Yes!" he exclaimed, fighting to rein in his arm motions. "I told you yesterday I wanted more of you, I told you that – and you said you would – "

She frowned. "I think my exact words from yesterday were 'nothing has changed' so I don't see how – "

"I waited for you," he said pointedly. "I waited for you to finish your potion for hours but I couldn't take it anymore. You can't tell me everything you're doing is so innocent – "

"Okay this," she said, stomping her foot. "This I can't take anymore. Stop accusing me of – of whatever you're accusing me of! I haven't done anything!"

"You tricked me, Mione, you told me this was what you wanted – "

"I tricked you?" she hissed. "I'm so sorry you had to sleep with me – "

"If you're not going to be there for me, I'm not going to be there at all," he said, cutting her off. "When I saw Lavender last night, I told her I was available – "

"And that's it? She's available too, so now there's no more 'something amazing' between us?" Hermione prompted angrily.

Ron narrowed his eyes at her. "You did this," he said finally, turning away.

She stood silently, seething, clenching her fists as Lavender welcomed Ron with open arms. Harry walked toward her, wincing.

"I don't know what just happened, but from the looks of it you might have to take back the promise you made to me earlier," he said regretfully.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, considering her words. "Yes," she said simply.

She was angry. Very angry. What was perhaps most maddening, though, was that she wasn't sure who she was most angry at. A great deal of it was directed at Ron, that was for certain. Even if she were to take on the brunt of the blame, that didn't exclude his behavior. Was it really just a matter of days ago that he'd been so sweet, so romantic? He'd waited six years and now he couldn't stand to wait a few more days? But then, that was probably an unfair question, seeing as she couldn't bring herself to admit that her feelings may not have changed in a matter of days.

When she finally looked up, a glint of silver caught her eye; she realized that she and Ron had amassed quite an audience, and it counted among them one tall young man in emerald green.

There was another source of anger, that Draco Malfoy. If not for him, Hermione probably would have been happy with Ron. She would have surrendered herself to a nice, easy romance, where a solid friendship blossomed into something more.

Not anymore.

Now, because of Draco Malfoy, she had to have a challenge. She had to have an equal. She had to have heart racing. She had to have blood rushing. She had to have desire so strong it was haunting. She couldn't just have want, she had to have need – she had to have ache.

She caught Malfoy's eye briefly, right before Harry turned around; he mouthed something, his eyes fixed on her intently.

"Good."

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: The Spells

Draco did everything he could not to watch Hermione Granger's delicate ankle dance ever so slightly as she absentmindedly crossed her left leg over right, her foot dangling gracefully into the aisle. She had her head propped up on her left palm, biting lightly on her lip while tapping her cheek rhythmically with her finger. Her usual mass of curls was pulled back, strewn over her shoulders. Every now and then she seemed as though she might glance to her left, to where he was leaning against the window, and he would instinctively look toward the ceiling, the floor, the back of Zabini's head – anywhere to prevent meeting her eye.

It seemed that whenever he did, he was revealing a bit too much for his liking.

Eventually Snape swooped into the classroom and Granger immediately straightened, her hand reaching instinctively for her quill. Draco, remembering himself just in time, held back a laugh.

"Today," Snape began, letting his eyes sweep over his classroom, "We will be turning our attention to nonverbal spells."

Draco watched as Granger's eyes lit up; he thought she saw them flick back and forth rapidly as though she was skimming an imaginary book. She'd no doubt be scanning the archives of her mind.

Reading a book is one thing, he thought, smirking. Performing . . . quite another.

"This lesson is to help prepare you for the Dueling Tournament, as the seventh year students will no doubt be employing them when possible," Snape continued. "Consider it a favor."

He paused, lip curled in what appeared to be his version of a joke.

"What is a nonverbal spell?"

Granger's hand shot up, disturbing the desk and causing Draco to jump in alarm. The bounce of her ankle threatened to redirect his attention yet again.

Snape merely looked at her, pursing his lips impatiently.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco tipped his head back slightly, sighing in frustration. Granger looked at him urgently, as though every moment he didn't speak, the world came that much closer to collapse.

"A nonverbal spell is exactly what it sounds like," he said, trying to keep his voice even and free of sarcasm. "The user merely focuses on the spell mentally without saying anything aloud."

Snape inclined his head, an unfriendly affirmation. "And what is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Granger's hand sliced menacingly through the air again. She uncrossed her legs entirely this time, scooting to the very edge of her seat and very nearly forcing Draco to jump out of the way of all her eager limbs.

Snape sighed deeply. "Miss Granger, please tell us as quickly as possible," he said curtly, "lest you explode in the process."

She blatantly disregarded the slight. "With a nonverbal spell, your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you are about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage."

"Correct," he said, nodding.

Draco gradually tuned him out as the lecture continued; Snape was wise enough not to invite any more answers from the audience, which kept Granger calm – in a sense. She was now furiously scribbling notes, all entirely illegible.

Draco had become extraordinarily accustomed to confining things to the depth of his mind as of late, so this shouldn't be too difficult a lesson. He was reasonably confident that his magic wouldn't be adversely affected by restricting it to the confines of his thoughts.

He snorted a little as he watched Weasley, whose eyes were almost entirely glazed over; there was a mind that needed all the help it could get. If Weasley's mouth opened any wider, he would surely start drooling.

He'd better pay attention, Draco thought smugly. Granger won't be doing his homework for a while.

He eyed her again, inconspicuously (he hoped). He had been shamefully relieved when he'd found out idiot Weasley had nearly tripled in idiocy and gone for daft Lavender Brown. If Weasley had ended up with Granger . . .

Well, then that would probably be the smartest thing he ever did, Draco admitted. So obviously that wasn't going to happen.

" – We'll start with disarming spells," Snape said loudly, his voice slicing through Draco's thoughts. He gestured to either side of the classroom. "Form two lines."

Stepping back, Snape cleared the front of the room of its desks and chairs, raising his hands to lift a long, narrow platform out of the floor. There was an elaborate x on either side.

"What?" Draco said blankly, blinking.

Granger looked at him sharply. "We're doing nonverbal spells – "

"You don't have to start from the beginning, Granger, I get the gist of it," he snapped. "What are we – "

She shrugged. "Practicing." She stood then, walking to the left side of the classroom. He followed, groaning.

Snape placed himself atop the center of the platform. "Disarm only," he said tersely, "Nonverbally." He glared at Potter. "That means no words."

Draco snickered; Granger turned around sharply, whipping him with her errant curls as she glowered at him. He shrugged, smirking.

It seemed that this, too, they were doing elimination style, in the vein of the tournament. He and Granger sat closest to the back of the class, and were closer to last; they stood quietly as Zabini disarmed Patil, and then Potter disarmed Zabini.

"Nott," Snape called, as Potter remained.

Theo leapt gracefully onto the platform, grinning devilishly at Potter as he took his spot on the opposing x. He mouthed something to Potter that Draco didn't quite catch, but Potter clearly didn't take it well.

"Expelliarmus!" 

Potter had roared it; idiot.

"I thought I made myself clear," Snape said, fixing him with a glare that was seemingly reserved for Potter. "Would a dictionary help?"

Potter only yanked at his tie angrily, not taking his eyes off Theo.

"Very well," Snape conceded, "You can forfeit this round."

Potter turned on his heel and jumped from the platform; Draco watched as Granger attempted to catch Potter's eye. He seemed insistent, though, on skulking off to a corner with Weasley, brooding moodily in a way only Potter knew how. Granger frowned, deflating ever so slightly.

And so it went with a number of students until Granger stepped hesitantly onto the platform. Theo sidled over to Draco, having since been disarmed.

"How do you think she'll do?" he whispered, an odd mix of curiosity and doubtful sarcasm.

Draco shrugged. He had never been all that impressed with Granger's singular ability to recall knowledge in class; reciting a textbook didn't really require all that much skill. In many ways she also possessed that insane lack of subtlety that was so quintessentially Potter. But considering she'd disarmed him and threatened him at wandpoint only a matter of days ago, he figured he owed her the benefit of the doubt.

Snape turned to the opposite side, pursing his lips. "Miss Brown," he said flatly, "Get up here."

He really has a gift, Draco thought. Always the most natural pairings.

Lavender smiled obnoxiously at Granger as she clambered onto the platform, her long silver earrings dangling. Draco remembered that Lavender had had a fondness for Divination, and he couldn't help but think of Professor Trelawney's mindless drivel when he took stock of what he considered to be cheap, fortune-teller jewelry. He was, after all, a Malfoy. He had exceedingly distinguished taste.

He rather disliked excessive jewelry. He appreciated a girl with a no-nonsense air about her – though, come to think of it, he really didn't know that many.

Maybe just one.

Draco had never had any specific problems with Lavender Brown; she was a Gryffindor, which made her useless, but she was also a pureblood, which made her relevant. He was finding, though, that it wasn't all that difficult to root against her.

Lavender had scarcely made eye contact with Granger before her wand flew perilously through the room, ricocheting off the back wall. Draco watched with amusement as the smile quickly drained from her face; she merely gaped at Granger, who was pleasantly wearing the slightest brush of a triumphant smirk.

"Very good, Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, walking in just as Lavender's wand collided with the back wall.

"Yes," Snape said, unimpressed. "Quite a feat – "

"Perhaps someone from your house, Professor Snape?" McGonagall suggested, smiling shamelessly.

He scowled at her. "Parkinson," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing.

This, too, Granger made short work of. Pansy had barely raised her wand before Granger voicelessly sent it hurtling onto the floor. Her heart wasn't in it this time, he thought. Pansy's wand had only gone a few feet.

Her dark eyes shot daggers at Granger, but Pansy stepped down with slightly more dignity than Lavender.

McGonagall smiled broadly at Granger. "Well done, Miss Granger!"

Snape turned, considering his options. "Next let's say – " he said, ticking off the heads in the crowd, smiling slightly to himself.

"Weasley, shall we?"

There was an explosion of whispers among the Gryffindors.

"Is it just me, or is something going on here that I don't understand?" Theo whispered, glancing uncertainly between Granger and Weasley.

Draco leaned back to whisper a response. "Weasley and Granger had an embarrassingly public row the other day," he said simply. "Probably to do with him and Brown."

Theo swatted Draco's shoulder playfully. "Draco Malfoy, you gossip!" he proclaimed, in a perfect imitation of a dowdy housewife.

"I know," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "The intrigue."

He looked over at Granger, whose normally golden brown eyes were stormy with conflict. She seemed to be trying to appear normal, but he'd become accustomed to her body language over the last several days. Her shoulders were tense, her knuckles white, and her stance aggressive – Yes, he thought, running through his catalogue of her emotions. This is angry Granger.

This is Granger right before she shoves a wand between your eyes.

Weasley had the sense to look wildly intimidated as he stepped up, his gangly limbs dangling limply.

"I'll count you off this time," Snape announced. "One. Two. Three – "

Snape's throaty last count had barely come to a close before Weasley's eyes went wide, his wand hand slicing upwards seemingly of its own accord. His forearm came crashing into contact with his forehead before the wand itself flew behind his head, clattering to the floor at Potter's feet. Granger's chin jutted upwards haughtily as she watched Weasley struggle to collect himself.

McGonagall glanced quickly between Granger and Weasley, startled. "That was – very interesting indeed, Miss Granger."

Snape's lip curled as he let out a throaty hum. "Mmm, well. It was certainly not a fair fight," he said, his voice sliding melodically over the words.

McGonagall looked sharply at him. "It was your choice, Severus."

He shrugged innocently. "Was it?"

She merely glared at him, tight-lipped.

"How about stepping down to give someone else a try, Miss Granger?" McGonagall called, scanning the crowd. Draco let out the breath he'd been holding when the stern eyes beneath her tortoise shell glasses settled on him. "Ah – Mr. Malfoy."

Granger turned to look at him, frowning uncertainly.

"Go on, then," Snape called, gesturing. "And we'll pair you with – "

"If you don't mind, Professor?" McGonagall interrupted briskly, catching Snape's gaze hovering on Potter. "Perhaps Mr. Malfoy can step up with . . . ah, Mr. Zabini, why don't you join him."

Blaise cocked his head at Draco, smirking. Draco sauntered to the platform, brushing shoulders with Granger as she dismounted. She nodded cordially at him, and he inclined his head apathetically in response. He leapt up lightly, settling himself, while Blaise lagged slightly in reaching the opposite end. Draco couldn't help glancing in Granger's direction during the second's worth of advantage he had over Blaise; he noted, with pleasure, that she was backing away slowly, seemingly unable to look away.

Her attention, surprisingly, did wonders for his concentration. He closed his eyes briefly as a notion struck him. He clenched his fists, concentrating.

He would be breathing heavily as Snape counted to three. He would panic. His normally confident expression would contort in confusion. His wand hand would drop. And in the moment his wand lowered, Blaise would beat him to it, disarming him effortlessly.

He willed all of his energy into crafting the vision, and then looked directly into Blaise's eyes.

Zabini smirked, suddenly confident. Draco kept his features placid, immovable.

Snape swooped towards the center of the platform. "Wands up," he stated flatly. At Blaise's nod, he counted: "One. Two. Three."

Expelliarmus, Draco commanded instantly, blinking once as he felt the spell rush through him. Blaise's wand ripped from his hand, nearly yanking his shoulder out of its socket. Startled, Blaise shook his head vigorously, as though trying to clear a fog in his mind; he seemed as though he genuinely could not believe his eyes.

Draco smiled triumphantly. He had the benefit of knowing his opponent thoroughly. Blaise took advantage of weakness, and nearly always underestimated his opponents when given doubt. It was what made him lousy at wizard chess.

Blaise narrowed his eyes, questioning. Draco merely shrugged, though he was fairly certain he hadn't fully wiped the jeering smile from his face.

Snape, meanwhile, regarded him with a mix of suspicion and genuine surprise. Draco stepped off the platform, sidling next to him.

"Is that about right, Professor?" he asked quietly, smirking.

Snape lifted his chin, looking down his hooked nose at Draco. "It'll do," he said simply, leaving Draco to rejoin Theo.

"Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall exclaimed, her long sleeves flapping enthusiastically. "I think our sixth years are well prepared, don't you, Professor Snape?"

He smiled insincerely. "Yes, all two of them," he said, peering around at the remaining students. Everyone shifted uneasily under his gaze, including Granger; she seemed uncomfortable with the praise, which struck Draco as unusual. Maybe she just didn't like being grouped into the same category he was.

"Class dismissed," Snape announced lazily. "Please employ every effort to maintain undisputed control of your own wand for the remainder of the day."

McGonagall shot a look at Snape, raising her eyebrows. Draco, for his part, turned quickly to exit, as he was once again in a hurry to revisit his usual extracurricular project. He gathered his things and turned toward the door, waiting behind a herd of meandering students.

Granger, who had begun walking toward Potter at Snape's dismissal, was already looking at him when he allowed his wandering eyes to settle on her. She had a whimsical half-smile on her face, her brow raised quizzically.

"That was rather unexpected," she said quietly to him, edging alongside him as they attempted to navigate the bottleneck toward the classroom's exit.

"I told you, Granger," he said simply. "I'm full of surprises."

"You did something different with Blaise, didn't you?"

They were sitting with their potion again. Hermione had begun to find it a decisively less horrific task than she'd ever expected – but then again, she could never have predicted the series of events that had transpired over the last few days. She never would have expected that her best friends, who were normally so comforting and reliable, were now such a source of angst and frustration that she took solace in the still fairly obnoxious presence of Draco Malfoy. Hermione was surprised to find that she had come to find these sessions with him oddly calming. Either there was some therapy in their constant bickering, or she was – as she suspected was the case – slowly going mad.

"What do you mean, Granger?" he asked, not looking at her. He was sitting in a desk and not on it, for once, and had his head leaned back, face aimed at the ceiling. She had learned that his inattention did not necessarily mean he was uninterested. She'd begun to suspect he'd been making a concerted effort to refrain from eye contact when he didn't feel like being honest with her.

"When you disarmed Zabini – he looked genuinely shocked, it was odd. And you – you were smiling, like you knew," she said, stammering as she struggled to find words. "I mean – come on, Malfoy, you know precisely what I'm saying," she said finally, exhaling impatiently.

He lifted his head to squint at her. "Honestly Granger, I'm completely adrift."

She rolled her eyes, and she did endlessly when she was with him. "There was something different about the way you disarmed Blaise – "

"Do you also want to explain the 'something different' about the way you disarmed Weasley?" he asked, sitting up straight as he interrupted her.

She felt herself turn pink. "I – that is entirely beside the point, Malfoy – "

"Is it?" he mused, toying with her. "I believe you also smiled after that particular contest." He brought a finger to his lips, mockingly tapping them twice. "I wonder what could have been different for you with Weasley?"

"Oh come on, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "Do we have to do this every time – "

"It's an innocent question – "

"I think it's been a long time since you did anything innocent, Malfoy," she said, narrowing her eyes.

He tossed her his typical Malfoy smirk. "Come now, Granger," he said irritatingly. "We really don't know each other all that well."

"Fine," she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Let's talk about Ron and me."

He blinked, genuinely surprised. "You – really?"

"Yes," she demanded. "Let's get this out of the way so that I can ask you a proper, academic, magic-related question."

"Fair enough," he said, grinning. "How did it feel to humiliate Weasley in front of the entire class?"

"I didn't – "

"No, wait, scratch that," he said quickly. "What felt better, humiliating Brown or humiliating Weasley?"

"I'm telling you, I didn't – "

"Wait," he said, putting up a hand to stop her. "I actually only have one question."

She sighed. "Yes?"

He leaned forward, propping his chin on his fist. "If not for Weasley deciding to fuck Lavender Brown when you two were so clearly – "

"Get to the question, Malfoy!" she snapped angrily.

"Fine. If not for that," he asked, a rare moment of sincerity showing on his face, "Would you have let him disarm you?"

She opened her mouth quickly, then closed it again, hesitating. She had not been expecting this question.

"Why – why would you think – "

"Face it," he said, shrugging. "You've covered for Weasley for six years. You've bailed him out at every turn. You confounded someone for him, Granger."

"Stop bringing that up, I did not – "

"I'm just asking a simple question," he said quickly, shrugging. "It shouldn't really require this much thought to answer it." He slid out of the desk, standing over the cauldron and briefly inspecting its contents.

"Supposedly," he continued, "and I assume you would agree, you are an extraordinary witch. Weasley is, at best, a mediocre wizard."

He looked up suddenly, catching her eye. She wished she'd known it was coming. Looking into his eyes was like being hit with a sudden, glacial frost; it sent a thunderous shudder up her spine, invading her brain, and poisoning what precious good sense she had left when he was around.

"Just tell me you wouldn't have let him win," he said finally. "For your sake, say it out loud."

She paused, cursing whatever higher power might be listening for their part in allowing Malfoy to occasionally force her to see reason. Because he was right, of course. Even by the greatest of stretches she was a far better witch than Ron, even in an alternate universe where he had actually done the reading and she had recently been in a coma. Even in the most positive light she could shed for him, she knew he would have ultimately fumbled with the nonverbal spell. By comparison, such things did not happen to her.

I would have, she sighed, hating herself. I would have let him disarm me.

"I . . . "

"It's fine, Granger," Malfoy said curtly, leaning back on the desk. "You've just said plenty."

She bit her lip. "It's not that I would have, I don't know, rolled over or anything – "

He shook his head, either feigning disinterest or truly uninterested. "Haven't I told you, Granger, that it doesn't matter what I think?"

"He's my friend!" she insisted, running her hands through her ponytail. "I would have tried to help him."

"You do know that in the long run, you're just creating more work for yourself," he said, rolling his eyes. "When Weasley inevitably comes to his senses, he'll come back and want you to solve his problems for him again."

She scoffed. "What do you care?"

"I don't," he said, shrugging. "I have more important things to worry about."

"I guess that's true," she replied softly. The words came out before she considered their consequences, and he looked at her sharply. She willed herself not to look at the shadows under his eyes.

There was a long silence as they both considered how to move forward. She coughed once, quietly, giving her the chance to cover the flush coming over her cheeks.

"Don't forget how this works, Granger," he growled.

"How what works?"

"We argue a bit, and we try not to kill each other," he said matter-of-factly. "And then we go back to our very separate lives."

"Right," she said quietly, nodding. She made every effort to roughly shove aside the inexplicable ache she felt at his words.

"Unless," he said unexpectedly, "You've already told Potter."

She glanced up quickly. "What?"

He shook his head. "Look, we both know what you saw," he said impatiently. "And we both know Potter wants that information."

"I keep telling you – "

"I'm not an idiot, Granger," Malfoy snapped. "I don't know why I can't seem to make that clear to you. You're not very well equipped to lie to me, either – "

"I didn't say anything," she said harshly, temper flaring. "I'll keep your secrets, Malfoy."

She realized then that they were both standing. It seemed that no matter what, they were always returning to the same combative positions. She wished she had the ammunition to light a fire in him tonight, since she wasn't totally sure she was fully opposed to the way they usually ended.

Instead, though, it seemed a brief moment of mutual respect had overtaken his usual urge to pin her against something. She realized, hazily, that that was probably a notable improvement, but found herself disappointed. She watched his Adam's apple as he swallowed slowly, with difficulty. His grey eyes never left hers.

"Good," he said brusquely, relaxing his stance.

"Well," she said, not ready to collapse back into silence, "How did I do with Pansy?"

"Fishing, are we, Granger?" he said, allowing them to fall back into their normal rhythm.

She shrugged innocently. "You seemed to have been watching pretty closely," she said, fighting a smile. "Surely you have an opinion on me disarming her."

He sniffed. "I have no opinions on Parkinson."

"Oh, but that's not quite true, now is it?" she tutted.

"Ah, you're fucking with me now, are you?" he said condescendingly. "Good girl."

She laughed. "Oh come on Malfoy, it's only fair. You're always on me about Ron – "

"Weasley is such a little shit – "

"Oh, and Pansy's such a catch?"

"No," he admitted, "But I never tried to pretend she was."

"Right, you only – "

"Granger, if you're going to recount my indiscretions, it's going to be a long night," he said, cutting her off.

"So true," she said, "and I wouldn't want to put you through the pain – "

"But really," he interrupted suddenly. "Why Weasley?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't really want another round of rapid fire questions, Malfoy, I got your point a long time ago – "

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm serious. I mean – you'd do . . . you'd do anything for him, wouldn't you? Or you would have, if he hadn't gone and lost his damn mind."

"Yes, I would, and for Harry, too," she admitted, nodding. "I'd die for them. But that's what you do for people you love."

He nodded slowly, biting his lip. She suspected she'd hit a bit close to home on that one.

"But to answer your question . . . I don't know," she said honestly. "Romantically, anyway, I don't. Part of what it is with Ron is really just the history. So sometimes, I'm just not sure. I can't give you a list or anything."

"Too bad nobody's written a book about it," he said, cocking his head. "Eh, Granger?"

"Very funny," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I think everyone was just so cruel to me at first – and then Ron and Harry . . . sometimes, I almost feel that I owe them, for allowing me to have any meaningful relationships at all."

He was quiet for a moment. There was a softness in his eyes, briefly, that departed moments after it arrived.

He threw his shoulders back suddenly, stretching. "That is unbelievably sad, Granger," he announced finally. "It truly was a tragic bedtime story."

"Bedtime story?" she asked, startled.

He pointed to the potion. "That's rose gold enough, don't you think?" he said, gesturing. "I think we're done for the evening."

"Oh, hmm," she said, nodding. "I suppose you're right."

She watched him gather his things. He had removed his sweater and tie hours ago, and wore only his partially buttoned oxford. It was, perhaps, the Malfoy version of loungewear. His shirt remained tucked into his trousers, the plain black leather belt sitting invitingly on his hips. She bit her lip, trying not to let her mind wander to the last time she'd had her hands on him.

She remembered what she'd meant to ask him right before he pushed open the door.

"You used legilimency on Blaise," she called, waiting.

She saw him straighten, though he kept his back to her.

"You implanted a false vision, didn't you?" she said, pressing him.

He tilted his head towards her and paused, placing his hand on the doorframe.

"Don't lose sleep over it, Granger."

He pushed the door open and then it was over. She survived another night of potions with the insufferable, intolerable, and inexplicably enticing Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: The Miscalculation

"Fuck," whispered Draco, to nobody in particular.

He'd slammed the door of the cabinet shut after seeing its contents, turning his back to it and sliding gracelessly onto the floor, collapsing all of his weight at its base. He shuddered, the swallow's mangled form punishingly vivid even as he forced his eyes shut.

He let his wand slip through his fingers, barely conscious of the sound it made as it clattered onto the hard marble floor.

"Fuck," he repeated, louder. "Fuck!"

He was shaking.

Draco scrubbed at his eyelids furiously, aggressively shoving a few straggling blond hairs away from his face. His breathing was loud, uneven; it was the least control he had felt in weeks, and that was saying something, considering the entropic downward spiral he'd been experiencing.

He reached out for his wand, picking it up and putting his weight on the cabinet to steady himself to his feet. He took one deep breath, then yanked open the door, flicking his wand soundlessly to remove the bird's broken form, eliminating the evidence of his failure. He stared gloomily into the now empty cabinet, gathering his thoughts.

So, evidently it was still broken.

He straightened, trying to be rational. Right, he thought, skimming his mental image of the notes he'd gotten from Borgin before he'd arrived at school. Back to the drawing board.

He brushed some non-existent dust off his immaculate trousers and adjusted his collar. He would have to leave now, if he wanted to join the others at Hogsmeade. He scowled, not particularly in the mood to socialize amidst the countless blithering idiots who would no doubt just be mindlessly indulging in sweets or overtly snogging. But with Potter so openly tailing him, he felt it was best to simply keep up appearances. He was sure he'd regret it if he let Potter realize he was keeping to the castle – particularly this part of the castle.

He walked to the door of the Room of Requirement, listening for any muted sounds on the other side; hearing nothing, he slipped out of the heavy door quickly, catching the eye of a small, redheaded first year.

Draco nodded to the polyjoice potion-influenced form of Gregory Goyle. "Later," he said curtly, turning in the opposite direction. He caught a glimpse of a small nod from the temporarily feminine form of Vincent Crabbe from afar, but didn't bother acknowledging it.

Crabbe and Goyle's part in the mechanics of Draco's plan was, at this point, more out of necessity for their fathers than out of loyalty to Draco, although he suspected they considered themselves favored because of his confidence. He had needed eyes on the outside while he was working, and for all their stupidity, they didn't ask questions, or at least, not ones he felt compelled to answer. Theo would have doubtlessly been more help, but this was to be Draco's failing, and his alone.

Draco subconsciously rubbed his inner left forearm, which seemed to always tingle with a phantom vibration.

He stepped hurriedly onto the stone path out of the castle, closing the gap between himself and the group of students as they made their way toward the village of Hogsmeade en masse.

"Theo," he said breathlessly, catching him.

He turned and nodded. "Draco," he said pleasantly. "Running a bit behind?"

"Overslept," Draco replied simply. Theo frowned.

"Really?" he said skeptically. "Because you look like you haven't slept in – "

"Oi, Malfoy!" Blaise called, taking a diagonal path through the herd of students to reach him. Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"Zabini," he said, nodding. "Glad you've recovered from your wounded pride."

Blaise shrugged. "I needed a few days to nurse my ego," he admitted. "But I'll keep my wand on me today, thanks, if that's okay with you."

Draco grinned, inclining his head gallantly. "I'll allow it."

"Got time for a drink, Draco?" Theo asked. "I could go for a butterbeer."

Blaise nodded in agreement. "Same," he added.

Draco shook his head. "Just running in to grab some parchment," he lied. "Got some work to do, yet."

Blaise nodded, oblivious; Theo looked as though he might say something, but clearly thought better of it.

He shrugged. "Your loss, mate."

Upon arriving, Draco rushed out his goodbyes and quickly swerved into Tomes and Scrolls, ducking in briefly to legitimize his lie. With fresh parchment in hand, he paused to survey the village, looking for one bespectacled, scarred, and idiotic face. He saw the tufts of Potter's messy jet-black hair just outside Honeydukes and he prepped himself to stroll by casually, pausing only to take in his surroundings.

Potter was walking with Granger – alone, it appeared; Draco scanned the area again, catching Weasley suctioned to Lavender Brown while walking into Madame Puddifoot's. That explained that.

He turned his attention back to Granger, who was wearing her usual weekend muggle clothing: worn, fitted jeans and a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, zipped up to accommodate the morning chill. Her hair was tied back, fairly lazily, and she sipped occasionally on what appeared to be a travel mug; she seemed tired but happy, her eyes dancing at whatever nonsense Potter was spewing.

Draco saw Granger's smile falter as she watched him approach. Her eyes flicked nervously from him to Potter; he wanted to reassure her, somehow, but knew that would be counterproductive.

"Treating yourself after a long week of academic triumph, eh, Potter?" he called arrogantly, reaching into his deep vault of generic insults. He tried his best to seem normal, to give Potter no cause for alarm or suspicion, though he very much wanted to take off at a run back to the castle. He was wasting his time here.

Potter scowled darkly, crossing his arms while Granger seemed to be holding her breath, eyeing Draco. When Potter turned abruptly back to Granger, Draco knew he had provided himself a sufficient alibi, and though he maintained a leisurely pace so as not to arouse suspicion, he angled himself back toward the castle and headed directly back to the seventh floor.

No sooner had he reentered the castle grounds, though, did he feel a swift yank on his arm, dragging him behind one of the courtyard's massive pillars.

"Ouch, wh – "

"Silence, Draco," Snape said urgently. "I need to talk to you – "

Draco angrily pulled his elbow out from Snape's clutches. "There's no need to accost me, Snape."

Snape looked sharply at him. "Professor Snape, Draco. Do not forget yourself."

Draco noticed that Snape's pallid complexion was unusually chalky, even for him; his long black hair was wild, and his labored breathing gave the impression that he'd recently run, or even sprinted.

"Professor," Draco repeated slowly, though not entirely apologetically.

Snape continued to look down his nose at Draco, who felt the haziest impression of thin, tendril-like fingers scratching through his brain.

"You won't find out that way," Draco hissed at Snape, annoyed. "If there's something you need to say, then say it."

"Very well," Snape drawled. "Have you considered the consequences that might follow from you bringing visitors into Hogwarts?"

Draco gaped at him, confused. "What?"

Snape glanced around, pulling Draco into a more remote region of the courtyard.

"You are planning to bring Death Eaters into the castle?" Snape accused angrily.

Draco was stunned. "I don't – "

"I offered you my assistance and you refused, only to turn to Bellatrix?" Snape continued, his fury rising. "Why would you not tell me – "

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said, cutting him off swiftly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that you are not attempting to resume the connection between the vanishing cabinet in the castle, and the one in Borgin and Burke's?" he said slowly, clearly aware of the answer.

"I – I am, yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything," Draco admitted, still lost. "Bellatrix – I haven't – "

"They know you are repairing it," Snape said, putting both hands on Draco's shoulders and gripping them tightly. "He knows you are repairing it."

Draco shook his head, trying to grasp what Snape was telling him.

"Do you mean to tell me it is not your intent to bring Death Eaters into the castle?" Snape said urgently.

"No," Draco said, stammering. "It wasn't – I wanted an escape route for myself, I always intended to be the one – on my own, I mean – "

"You realize what will happen if Bellatrix comes here, don't you?" Snape pressed. "Bellatrix, who likes to toy with her food before she eats it? And she won't come alone. She could bring Fenrir. She could bring Avery, or Nott. She could bring – she could bring your father," he said, falling silent on the last two words.

"If you bring them into the castle, people will be killed," Snape said finally, fixing Draco with an uncomfortably candid stare.

This had not occurred to Draco before, because this had not been Draco's plan. He had thought it would be much easier, fulfilling the assignment the Dark Lord had given him. He thought a single imperius curse and a couple of dark artifacts would do the trick, and he would slip away somehow. If the cabinet had been mended with a single spell, and if Katie Bell hadn't – well, things would be different by now.

He had realized recently that it was going to have to be him, that ultimately it would have to be at his hands, and he would need an out. He had never considered the unspeakable damage that could occur if the cabinet was to be used as an entrance, rather than purely his exit.

"I haven't fixed it yet," he said suddenly. "I could just – "

Snape shook his head vigorously. "You must," he urged. "You have no choice, now. The Dark Lord approves, and now, not to do so would be to face repercussions I swore to prevent – "

"I can't, I can't bring them here," Draco said, shaking his head. Visions of Jugson swam through his head, floating to the surface of his mind; he blinked forcefully, eradicating them. "If I do it sooner – If I do it on my own, I have no need – "

"Let me help you," Snape insisted, almost pleading. "I can – "

Draco shook his head forcefully. "No," he said, choking. "No, you can't. If you do, there's no guarantee . . . " he paused, swallowing hard. "There's no guarantee he won't kill me anyway."

Snape's icy glare softened, a speck of sympathy in his eye. "Draco," he said quietly, "That is the way of the Dark Lord." He raised a hand, as though to place it on Draco's shoulder comfortingly, but chose instead to grip his arm, more forceful than paternal.

"There is never a guarantee that he won't kill you," Snape said chillingly. Draco could think of nothing to say in response.

They both jumped as they heard footsteps coming toward the courtyard. Draco froze, listening; he heard familiar voices and tensed, impatient.

"Why is it always Potter," Snape muttered under his breath, barely audible.

Draco immediately flinched under Snape's uncomfortable grip and pulled away, taking off at a brisk march.

"Thank you, Professor," he called loudly over his shoulder, trying to beat Potter to the castle entrance as nonchalantly as possible. His raven-haired nemesis was wearing his classic Harry Potter: Wizard Detective expression, and Draco fought to think of what reasonable behavior might look like in this situation. Without Crabbe or Goyle around, he needed to ensure that he wouldn't be followed on his route up to the Room of Requirement, where he would invariably be going. He rounded on Granger as his only source of inspiration.

"I need you to check the potion, Granger," he said bluntly. "Professor Snape thinks we may need an additional mandrake – "

"What!" she exclaimed instantly, "But we – "

"Just take a look, Granger," he commanded quickly. "I have to take this inside," he added, raising the package of parchment he'd acquired earlier.

"Maybe take Potter with you," he tossed out casually, striving for his usual derisive detachment. "That way he'll at least know what an acceptable potion looks like."

Granger was eyeing him strangely; her eyes searched out his, and he averted his gaze.

"Alright," she said slowly, before suddenly straightening. "But if you think I'm going to do your work for you, Malfoy – "

"How many times a day do I have to say this, Granger?" Draco snapped impatiently. "I'm not Weasley – "

"You leave Ron out of this," Potter rumbled menacingly, clenching his fists. Draco caught Granger's eye, understanding. She was quicker than even he gave her credit for.

"Sorry Potter, didn't mean to talk about your girlfriend," he said quickly, nodding at Granger and turning his back on Potter before he had a chance to respond.

He strode confidently toward the stairs to the prefect dorms and did not stop until he heard the echo of their footsteps fade along the stone floor; once they'd passed, he hurriedly changed paths, heading to the seventh floor.

"You realize what will happen if Bellatrix comes here, don't you?"

He pulled at his collar as he climbed the stairs, feeling strangled by the fabric around his neck.

"Bellatrix, who likes to toy with her food before she eats it?"

He felt something bubbling under the edges of his control, and thought he might be sick; he stumbled onto the seventh floor landing and ducked immediately into the nearest bathroom, doubling over on top of one of the cold, porcelain sinks. He panted, struggling for breath, while his mind raced through his conversation with Snape.

"And she won't come alone . . . "

They would be coming here, the worst torturers he had ever known – his father included – all the mindless weapons of a murderer whose influence knew no bounds. His dread could scarcely be contained at the thought; he would endanger them all. He would put the lives of hundreds at risk.

And if he did not?

"There is never a guarantee he won't kill you."

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as he spat into the empty basin of the sink. His chest burned, and his eyes stung; he hurriedly unbuttoned the top of his shirt, rubbing his clavicle painfully, gasping for air.

Them, or me, he thought, retching. Either way, he won't make it painless.

His fingernails dug into his clavicle as he felt hot tears of panic burn behind his eyes. He quickly splashed water on his face, looking up into his harrowing reflection while he fought his body's reaction to his crippling fear.

He had never been more pale, and the dark circles under his eyes had never been in such stark contrast. He shoved pieces of his polished blond hair away from his forehead with the flat of his palm, dragging it down his face and curling his hand around his mouth. He exhaled sharply, a strangled gasp escaping as he failed to regain control of his emotions.

Only when he saw the reflection in the mirror did he realize he'd been crying.

Hermione Granger had woken up that morning to a fairly typical Saturday. She'd put on her favorite pair of jeans, and her warmest sweater. She'd poured some hot coffee into a muggle travel thermos of her father's that she'd magicked to hold twice the volume of contents. She'd met up with Harry, chatted about things here and there, browsed Honeydukes – all the things she normally did.

With the exception, of course, of trying not to projectile vomit all over Ron and Lavender, who were unfortunately both revolting and omnipresent. She'd been looking at them fairly intently before Draco Malfoy had sauntered by, and it had occurred to her that perhaps she inadvertently owed him for the distraction.

As time had passed she'd found she wasn't exceptionally hurt by Ron's actions, only angered by his explanation; she was disappointed in herself, though, for ridding herself of what had clearly been her only opportunity for a relationship in her life.

It's okay, she'd mused. No time for anyone else, anyway . . . for now.

She dreaded to think what her life would look like in a few weeks time, when her potion was finished and her usual time suck was eradicated. And when she wouldn't be alone with Malfoy anymore . . .

She laughed a little to herself, thinking of what Malfoy might say about Ron and Lavender. She pictured his handsome smirk and his skeptically narrowed eyes. He would make a comment about how Ron's mouth seemed vacuum-sealed to Lavender's face, and it would be a much cleverer insult than anything she could come up with, which pretty much began and ended with calling Ron a stupid git in her head.

She'd been worried for a moment when she thought she'd have to intervene between Harry and Malfoy, and was relieved (albeit prematurely) when Malfoy's comments didn't escalate. It was only when they ran into him at the castle that she realized something was wrong.

He wasn't looking her in the eye, for one, which was telling. And she knew that he knew that there was no such issue with mandrakes. But he must have caught Harry's expression the same way she did, and she did something she never thought would ever happen in her lifetime.

She covered for Draco Malfoy.

But that did not mean that she was going to let him off that easy.

She glanced into the classroom, walking over to the textbook that lay open on her usual desk. She gestured to Harry to follow her.

"Come on, Harry, just for a moment," she said impatiently.

He wandered in, grumbling. "I don't see why I have to be here – "

"You don't," she assured him casually. "Let me just check something and then we can go do something else."

She was fairly certain that Malfoy had never intended for her to make any changes to anything, but being the student that she was, she reviewed the potion instructions carefully, checking its color and consistency. After about five minutes she shrugged, satisfied.

"I think it's fine," she said finally, turning to face Harry. "Maybe Snape was just making a suggestion."

"Mhmm," Harry said, mumbling absentmindedly.

As they walked toward the stairs, Hermione reviewed the events of the last ten minutes. Malfoy had been speaking to Snape – that wasn't good, considering the last time she'd overheard them, and obviously it wasn't actually about their potion.

"Harry," she said suddenly, stopping abruptly. "I feel bad."

"What?" he said, startled. "Why? About what?"

"Well," she said slowly, not having compiled her lie fully. "I – I've just monopolized you all day."

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

"You should go see Ron, don't you think?" she said hurriedly. "I wouldn't want you to have to go through us pushing and pulling you, you know."

He nodded slowly. "I guess so," he said uncertainly.

"You know, I might just run up and see if there's any work I can finish while I have some spare time," she said brightly. "Why don't you go find Ron, Harry?"

"Okay," he said, hesitating. "You want me to hang out with Ron?"

"Well," she said, smiling sweetly. "Unless you want to come to the library with me, I'll just do a bit of reading – "

"No, no," he said quickly. "You go ahead, I'll just – "

His voice trailed off as he turned and wandered in the opposite direction, headed to the outskirts of the grounds. She waited until he had disappeared, and then stepped hurriedly up the stairs.

If I were Malfoy . . .

Relying on a hunch, she wandered up to the seventh floor, though she was uncertain what she would do when she got there. It was only when she saw the outline of a tall, silvery figure in black that she knew where she was going.

She walked into the bathroom quietly, trying not to make a sound. He was bent over one of the white porcelain sinks, looking as though he'd been yanked over it by some invisible force, and his arms shook while his white knuckles grasped the sides of the faucet. When she caught his glance in the mirror's reflection, she saw the hollow shadows around his bloodshot eyes.

He whipped around to face her, raising his wand quickly and slamming the door shut behind her.

"Leave me alone, Granger," he said flatly, his voice breaking as he fixed his wand on her.

She stood still, considering her options. "No," she said finally, taking a step toward him.

"Don't," he hissed, stabbing the air with his wand. "Stay away from me."

She took another step. "No," she said simply. Another step.

His teeth tore at his lower lip as he continued to point his wand at her menacingly. Whatever was happening was eating away at him, visibly. She kept walking until she was only a few feet away from him, with his wand at her chest.

"Go away, Granger," he said threateningly. "I mean it."

She set her jaw and looked him dead in the eye. "I'm not going anywhere, Malfoy," she said intensely.

Without breaking eye contact, she closed the gap between them, casually knocking his wand hand aside and stepping in close. He merely looked at her, exhausted, allowing his wand to clatter to the floor.

She put her hands flat on his chest, experimenting. She couldn't tell if he was breathing.

She wasn't totally sure she was breathing, either.

"Get out of here, Granger," he snarled quietly.

She raised herself onto her toes, the side of her nose sliding along his as her breath ghosted across his lips.

"Make me."

An animalistic growl ripped from his throat as he grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her lips to his. She responded in kind, throwing her arm roughly around his neck and pressing herself to him, hungrily.

He released her neck to put both hands on her waist, turning her and throwing her aggressively onto the lip of the sink. The cold metal spout dug into the exposed area of her back where her sweater had ridden up and she winced, reaching around to pull the fabric down. He pulled her hand away, instead letting his hand linger over the exposed skin before letting it travel under her shirt and up her back, tracing patterns on her spine. She let her head loll back slightly, leading him in.

He dragged the tip of his tongue across her lip and sucked it lightly, teasing a breathless moan out of her. She felt something burning inside her and wrapped her legs around him forcefully, sitting up straight to bring her chest to his. He let his lips travel over her chin and down her neck, biting lightly on her earlobe before taking it in his mouth briefly with his tongue. She gasped, the fire inside her roaring.

He continued down the side of her neck, sucking lightly on her clavicle, spreading his hands wide under her shirt until his thumbs tucked themselves under the cups of her bra. She leaned into him, encouraging him, desperate to feel him on her.

He pulled his hands back roughly and yanked the zipper down her front, pulling the garment open to reveal a thin cotton undershirt; he put his lips instantly on the tops of her breasts, savoring them, occasionally running his tongue along the curve of her bra. She let out a quiet whimper and he peeled one cup of her bra back, licking her nipple quickly and then teasing it with the pad of his thumb. She instinctively squeezed her legs around him tighter, feeling herself dampen unexpectedly at his touch.

She slowly untucked his shirt, letting her fingertips linger on his waistband. She felt him flex against her fingers and she smiled, pressing her hands against his stomach. She reached for the top button of his shirt, slowly making her way down, until, frustrated, she simply tore it apart, revealing his hard, angular chest and abs. He was lean and muscular, firm and stoic under her touch; he, not to be outdone, ripped open the thin fabric of her shirt and she gasped as cold air hit bare skin. She pressed herself against him, reveling in the feel of him, feeling herself throb where she'd never thought possible. His lips returned to hers, angry with urgency, feverishly kissing her, over and over, as he tangled his fingers tightly in her hair. She put her hands desperately on either side of his face; not to control him, as she had with Ron, but to pull him closer, though she wasn't sure physically how that could be possible. She held him, running her thumbs along the sharp curve of his angular jaw, kissing him back as fully and as deeply as she could.

The mood of the kiss shifted then; his fevered lips slowed, and he gathered her fully in his arms, lifting her slightly so that he could wrap both his arms around her ribcage, encircling her. As he slid his tongue around hers slowly she snaked her arms around his neck, responding in kind.

The pace slowed until they both just held each other, his lips on hers, coveting them, eyes closed. He broke the kiss once – only to kiss her again, softly; then again, bringing his lips to her ear.

"Not like this," he said simply, pulling back.

She was startled, until she looked closely at his face. She realized then that the area around his eyes was raw and rough, and that his breathing had been labored and uneven since she walked in. She realized that his grey eyes, flashing like steel, burning like the last ashes in a dying fire, were particularly haunting, and filled with an ache she neither recognized nor understood.

She realized then that Draco Malfoy wasn't just a fantasy she'd banished to her mind. He was a man, and a man with complexities she had yet to fathom.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: The Indiscretions

Granger frowned, uncertain. "What do you mean, 'not like this'?"

Resisting her was torture. She was still wrapped securely around him, her body pressed against his. Draco was profoundly displeased that his better judgment was prevailing.

He didn't want to let her go. And he didn't – not right away.

He cleared his throat, searching for words. "There are things you don't know about me, Granger," he said hoarsely. "Things . . . things that would make you sick, probably."

She relaxed her arms, pulling back to look pointedly at him. "I know who you are, Malfoy."

He shook his head. "You don't," he said flatly. "Don't insult me by pretending a few days doing homework together is enough for you to understand me."

She scoffed. "Don't be dramatic, Malfoy," she said, leaning back. "I've seen enough to know you're not the prick you've been the last six years. I'm fully aware you're not the child you used to be – "

"That's not what I mean," he said curtly, cutting her off. "Whatever this is, trust me when I tell you it can't happen."

"I know that nobody would approve," she admitted. "And – and I know there's something going on with you, even if you won't admit it – "

He snorted. "I'm certainly not sharing anything with you, Granger," he said coldly. He looked away from her, hating himself. "You couldn't possibly understand the consequences," he said quietly.

She slowly retracted her arms from where they'd wrapped themselves around his neck and he felt his heart sink.

Good, he thought, trying to steel himself. For once, Draco, do the right thing.

She tilted her head, seeking out his eyes, but he refused to look at her. She peered at him for a few moments before slowly letting her hands travel down his chest, her fingers sliding down his stomach before coming to rest while gently encircling his wrists.

Her slender fingers moved to take his left hand in hers, running her thumb across one of the many lines of his palm. Slowly, she began un-cuffing his sleeve, causing him to violently retract his hand, shrinking from her. She held on, grasping his wrist tightly.

"Don't," she warned. Her grip on him softened. "Just let me," she said, pleading softly.

He took a deep breath, still averting his gaze. Perhaps it was best, he thought. She's smart. She'll see it and then she'll understand. 

She pushed up his sleeve, tantalizingly slowly; he shivered, waiting. When her fingers stopped making their way up his forearm, his sleeve pushed almost to his elbow, he heard her gasp. Draco finally looked at her, too curious not to watch her face change; he examined her golden brown eyes as they widened, and he felt shame like he'd never known before, a swampy disgust with himself that settled uncomfortably at the base of his stomach.

She was looking at his Dark Mark, and not even her touch could stop the punishing reverberation that always seemed to emanate from it. He bit his lip regretfully, wishing she hadn't seen it – though he knew it was for the best. He didn't trust himself to make the right decision, and hoped that for once, the mistakes he'd already made would be enough to undo this one.

"I thought so," she said finally. She looked at him, her expression a mix of disappointment and something that looked suspiciously like pity. He jerked his hand away, stumbling backwards. His heart sank as he realized he had been the only one still holding on. He hurriedly picked up his wand, repairing his torn shirt and backing away uncomfortably.

She hopped off the sink, not bothering to cover herself. His cock twitched slightly as he got a full view of just how perfect she was, the shadow between her breasts dancing as her chest rose and fell with her breath.

She shook her head. "This was a mistake."

"I know, Granger!" he shouted back angrily. "Don't you think I know that? That's why I stopped it from going any further – "

"Not that," she hissed, lunging forward and grabbing his wrist painfully. "This," she said, holding up his Mark. "This was a mistake."

He gaped at her, grasping for words. "I – I don't – "

"The Malfoy I knew for six years was arrogant, childish, narrow-minded – he was a menace and a bully," she accused harshly. "That Malfoy made this choice." She shook her head for a moment, looking at his wrist before returning her gaze to him, smiling sadly. "You – I barely know who you are. But you're not him. I know you didn't want this."

He forced out a humorless laugh. "You want me to be some misunderstood, lost little bad boy for you to save, Granger? Don't kid yourself."

He pulled his arm out of her reach. "Don't you realize what this mark means, Granger? It means I do the bidding of a man who would prefer you – and everyone like you – dead. I could kill you," he said suddenly. "I could kill you, right now, because I swore I would."

He shoved the Mark in front of her face. "That's what this means," he spat. "That's the world you and I live in. These are the sides we chose."

She knocked his hand away angrily. "You make it sound so cut and dry," she said, shaking her head. "You don't have to – "

"Do you think I want you to get hurt?" he said, suddenly shouting. "Do you think – "

"Isn't that exactly what you just said you wanted?" she retorted. "Didn't you just say you'd prefer me dead?"

"This isn't a game, Granger!" His voice echoed in the empty bathroom. "You don't know the damage I've already caused! The more you know – the closer you get to me – "

"I don't know what this is!" she cried, frustrated. "I don't know what's happening! All I know is that every time we're together we either fight or we – "

She cut herself off, looking down and quickly zipping up her sweatshirt, covering herself. "I just don't know," she said. His chest burned as he watched her, pensively chewing her lip. "I – I feel crazy every time I even look at you."

He sighed, raking his hands through his hair. He wanted to hear this, but he wished that he hadn't. "This can't happen," he said. "Even if – If I cared about you, you'd always be in danger – and if Potter ever found out," he paused, shaking his head. "Potter has such an irritating tendency to get people killed."

"I told you I'd keep your secrets," she insisted. "I won't tell Harry – "

"You wouldn't have to tell him anything!" he said, exasperated. "You're not the secretive type, Granger, and you're a shitty liar – "

"So what, then?" she said. "And the whole 'not like this', what was that supposed to mean, it seems like you meant to say 'not at all' – "

"I meant," he said, quickly dropping his voice. "I meant that if I was going to make a mistake this stupid, it wasn't going to be for ten fucking minutes bending you over the bathroom sink." He shook his head, almost laughing at himself. "I meant that if I was going to do something that could get one or both of us killed, I should at least do it right."

She looked at him incredulously.

"Don't look at me like that, Granger," he scolded. "It was just my dick talking."

She smirked at him, and he was surprised how good his signature expression looked on her.

"Fine," she said finally. "I'll keep Harry off your back. And you and I can just revert back to unwilling mutual respect disguised with open hatred."

He shrugged. "That's as good a deal as any."

She crossed her arms tightly. "And we'll pretend this never happened."

"I might keep a bit of it around," he said, smirking as he let his eyes sweep over her. "I have to say, Granger, it's not half bad, what you're hiding under your school robes."

She shook her head. "It's so easy for you, isn't it?"

"What is? My effortless charm? Yes."

"Hardly," she said, rolling her eyes. "One minute you're looking like the world might end, the next you're – " she stopped, sighing. "The next, it's all just a game."

"Compartmentalization, Granger," he said simply. "I told you you'd have trouble with it."

"I can do anything you can, Malfoy," she said defensively.

"Well, you'd better start now, then," he said, suddenly serious. "Potter will have questions."

"Doubtful," she said flatly.

"Maybe not this time around, but if you keep this up – " he paused, shaking his head. "If you keep following me around, looking for me, covering for me – eventually even that dim-witted arsehole is bound to put it together."

She was quiet for a moment. "You're right, aren't you?" she said sadly.

He nodded. "It's an unfortunate habit I have."

She stepped close to him, putting her hand on the side of his face. "Shut up, Malfoy."

She was looking at him like she might kiss him again. He willed himself not to lean towards her, though it took every fiber of his being.

"Goodbye, Granger," he said dismissively. She withdrew her hand, backing away.

He turned so he didn't have to watch her walk away. When he heard the door creak behind him, he looked up, glancing at his reflection.

"Making a mess as usual," he muttered to himself.

Ron and Lavender were all over each other, sharing an armchair in the corner of the library. Why they had to choose the library, her one and only sanctuary, was beyond her.

Hermione turned to Harry. "Do you think they're doing this on purpose?" she whispered.

He grimaced. "I hope not," he said. "But it's definitely a possibility."

Ginny slammed her book shut. "Ron's being a right git," she announced coldly, getting up to leave. "I'm deeply ashamed of him."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "It's fine, Ginny," she called after her. "I'm not that bothered by it, really," she said to Harry, lowering her voice.

"It's a huge inconvenience, even with you supposedly not being bothered by it," Harry grumbled. "I hate going between you."

Hermione wasn't a huge fan of it either, though it was ultimately helpful timing. Harry having to split his time between her and Ron meant that he was less concerned with her – or more relevantly, her relationship with Malfoy.

Non-existent relationship with Malfoy, she scolded herself. He'd made that quite clear.

But she hadn't quite been able to put him out of her head. How could she, after yesterday? Her entire body pulsated violently when she remembered his strong arms around her.

Malfoy was right, anyway. Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. If anything happened between the two of them, it would only end badly. She just wished he didn't seem to be the only thing bringing her to life these days.

There was also her little research project. Try as she might to put Malfoy out of her mind, it wasn't working, and it wasn't just their chemistry. Something was going on with Malfoy, something fairly sinister; the more she learned about him, the more she seemed to grasp the depths of his fear. She didn't know why – she couldn't tell if she was simply being curious, or if something stronger was at play – but she had to find out.

She'd shoved the book she was reading under a pile of class notes when she heard Harry and Ginny coming, quickly opening her potions textbook to a random page. She'd been examining a book called Dark and Unpleasant Artifacts, searching for the item that was haunting her.

It was some kind of large, ornate black cabinet. Right before she left Malfoy, she'd tried her hand at legilimency once more, with very little success; the only thing she got from him was the image of the cabinet, and some kind of feeling of incalculable danger. She'd walked away determined to figure it out, but hadn't come across anything yet. The one in his mind looked like the one in Borgin and Burke's - which made sense, because she'd seen him there at the beginning of the year. But how could such a desperate fear arise from an item as innocuous as a cabinet?

Harry's arrival had startled her, but she'd been prepared for the possibility. Now, she channeled her energy into being the most normal version of Hermione Granger that she could: bookish and cooped up in the library.

She frowned. Normal Hermione Granger would be a little bit more upset about Ron, perhaps, she thought uncomfortably. If she was going to do this, she had to commit.

"Frankly, Ron's being a child," she said, sighing. "It's just his style to be so immature."

Harry looked at her warily. "How long is it going to be like this?"

"Until he apologizes!" she snapped.

"For being with Lavender?"

"Well . . . yes!" she said, deciding this was as reasonable a direction as any. "Yes. It's a disloyalty of sorts, don't you think?"

"I guess so," he said slowly. "I was surprised that you weren't more upset."

"Oh, I'm upset," she assured him. "I was – I was trying to hide it, of course. Trying to be a good friend to you."

"That's good of you, Hermione," Harry said, smiling. "But of course I wouldn't blame you. You've had a rough go of it, recently."

"Yes," she said, encouraged. "With this Ron business – and of course having to work with that nasty ferret, Malfoy – "

This was a gamble, she knew. She figured she had two choices: she could either ignore the topic of Malfoy altogether in the hopes that Harry wouldn't bring him up, or she could construct a much more useful narrative. She hoped she could invent a successful enough story to keep Harry's suspicions at bay.

Harry ducked his head towards her, lowering his voice. "What has Malfoy been doing?"

Misdirection, she thought, ignoring the stabbing pangs of guilt. "I think he's been looking for something in the castle . . . maybe something You-Know-Who wants him to find."

Harry sat back in his chair, humming to himself. "That could be something," he said. "But didn't you say you heard him talking to Snape – "

"Well he was blocking his thoughts, wasn't he," Hermione said. "Maybe he doesn't want Snape to know what he's looking for."

"Hmm," Harry said again, thoughtfully. They both wrinkled their noses as they watched Lavender clamber onto Ron's lap, straddling him.

"This is really unpleasant," Harry said.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it's . . . it's such a betrayal," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I thought we had something real," she whispered regretfully, purposefully averting her gaze dramatically.

Harry patted her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said. "I always thought you two were meant to be."

"Me too," she said, wondering briefly if she could make herself cry.

A tiny cough from her left caught her attention. She fought back a smile as she saw a glimpse of silvery blond hair.

"I – I just need a moment," she said suddenly, wiping her eyes for effect.

He nodded vigorously. "I understand," he assured her adamantly. "Take your time, Hermione." She nodded, hurrying away.

She slipped behind one of the nearby bookcases, craning her neck for a hint of the pale Slytherin. She saw him slip into the restricted section, glancing around behind him, and she followed.

"Malfoy," she whispered softly, losing sight of him.

"Shush Granger, this is a library," he replied quietly, from behind one of the tall shelves. She smiled, stepping up to the bookcase; he had removed one of the books, leaving a gap for her to look up into his stormy grey eyes.

"Are you following me now?" she asked, picking up a book and pretending to glance through it. She glanced over her shoulder, assuring herself that nobody could see them in this part of the library.

"Yes," he drawled sarcastically. "I, a student, have no other use for a room full of books, other than to follow you around."

She smiled, hoping that in the dim lighting he wouldn't catch it.

"Right."

There was a pause while they both pretended to read the covers of their respective books.

"So," he said, breaking the silence. "You're pining over Weasley, then?"

"Eavesdropping now, Malfoy?"

He snorted. "Don't pretend you were trying to keep quiet about it."

"I wasn't," she admitted, replacing the book.

"What were you doing, then?"

"Compartmentalizing," she said simply.

She heard him exhale sharply, like he'd laughed. "Good girl," he said. He shoved the book back in place, ridding her of her view of him, and she waited quietly, wondering if that meant she should leave.

"Granger, for heaven's sake, come over here," she heard him say. She shook her head, debating with herself; she didn't love being told what to do, but she always had the hardest time resisting him.

She walked slowly around the bookcase, getting a full view of him. He stood leaning against the shelves, his hands in his trouser pockets. He really was so handsome, especially in this ambience; the dim lighting gave him a silvery glow, and his refined cheekbones cast a beautiful shadow over his face.

"You're too good for Weasley," he said bluntly.

"Am I?"

"You know you are, Granger, don't fish," he sniffed. He dripped of his usual condescension, but the corners of his lips were tugged up almost imperceptibly in a charming smile.

"Which Malfoy am I getting today, then?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Which one do you want?"

She bit her lip, wondering if she had it in her to say what she was thinking. Can I have the Malfoy that rips my clothes off?

He shook his head. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" she said, affronted. "I'm not doing anything."

"Don't play innocent with me," he said, smirking. "Don't bite your lip like that."

"Why not?"

"Granger," he growled warningly, his eyes flicking over her body. She felt a flutter below her stomach. There he goes again, she sighed inwardly. Waking up all the parts of me I could really do without.

"I'm not doing anything, Malfoy," she insisted. "We already talked about this. I know the deal."

"Right," he shot back. "We talked about this."

God, he's gorgeous, she thought angrily, biting her lip again.

He groaned. "For fuck's sake, Granger – "

"Fine," she said angrily, unable to identify what was making her so agitated. "I'll just leave – "

"Don't you dare," he snarled, grabbing her arm. He pushed her brusquely against the bookshelf, his ring hitting the hard shelf behind her as she slammed into it. "You're killing me, Granger," he whispered, sliding his nose along her cheek before biting hard on her earlobe.

He clapped his hand over her mouth as she gasped audibly. "Quiet," he commanded. "This is a library."

She licked the palm of his hand playfully and he retracted it, groaning softly. She coiled her fingers around his belt loops, yanking his hips toward hers.

"This is a bad idea," he cautioned, as he dipped his head to kiss her neck. She squirmed under his touch, purring delicately.

She put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Malfoy," she said very seriously, "This isn't a bad idea. This is the worst idea, ever, in the entire history of time."

He grinned, grabbing her wrists roughly and shoving her backwards for good measure, holding her hands tightly over her head. He trailed his tongue along her neck, slowly, tormentingly, letting his breath ghost along the path he was making.

His lips came to rest behind her ear, sucking lightly. She whimpered, ripping her hands out of his grasp and smothering his mouth with hers, feeling herself dampen immediately at the impact. He kissed her back enthusiastically, breathlessly.

He put his hands on her waist, drawing her shirt up, before suddenly pulling away. She cursed every deity she could think of.

"What – "

"You're aware that we're going to have to have the same conversation again," he said bluntly.

She yanked him back to her, pulling his collar. "Shut up Malfoy," she groaned. "Save the lecture."

He smiled mischievously. "Imagine that, Hermione Granger not interested in a lesson – "

He stopped abruptly as she leaned forward and kissed him, gasping into her mouth. She hurriedly unbuttoned his trousers, yanking the zipper as aggressively as he'd yanked hers the day before. She felt him smirking against her mouth, pressing his thumbs down on the exposed skin around her hips. She sighed again, reaching under the waistband of his underwear and grasping him in her hand. He was hard and smooth, and she ached for him.

"In the library?" he muttered. "Isn't this sort of a place of worship for you?"

"If I have to tell you to shut up one more time," she said, sliding her palm along his length, "You'll regret it."

"I bet I will," he said, grinning into her ear. He grabbed her face and gruffly turned her towards him, kissing her again. His tongue slid deftly across hers and she loosened her grip on him, losing focus. Taking advantage of her distraction, he reached under her t-shirt, unsnapping her bra with one hand. She panted into his mouth quietly as he covered her breasts with his hands, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. He broke the kiss and forced her hands above her head, raising her shirt and bra and dipping his mouth to her exposed chest. She wrenched her arms loose and ran her fingers through his hair, bucking her hips toward him. He bent lower, leaving a trail of kisses down her stomach, until he had lowered himself onto his knees.

She bit down hard on her lip to prevent an escaping cry as he used his teeth to unbutton her jeans. Something about his mouth on her tore away at her focus and she was only vaguely aware of her surroundings, utterly unable to think of anything but the way his breath felt – so close to her, so intimate. Her legs started to shake perilously as she felt his tongue slide over the thin fabric of her cotton underwear, her clit vibrating as she murmured helplessly.

He grabbed the backs of her knees suddenly, causing her to fall forward. Catching her, he twisted around on top of her, so that she lay on her back. She reached for his waistband, eagerly pulling the tops of his trousers over the muscular curve of his backside. She paused for a moment, just to feel him – he's bloody perfect, she thought, with unmitigated frustration – before reaching her knee up, placing her foot at his zipper and using it to yank his trousers down forcefully, pushing them down past his thighs.

He inhaled sharply. "Fuck, Granger," he swore. "That was fucking hot – "

She clapped a hand over his mouth, hearing voices; they both froze, breathlessly.

"Have you seen Hermione?" came Harry's concerned voice, addressing someone no more than a few feet away. "She was a bit upset when she left and I'm worried about her – "

"Get up," she hissed quickly to Malfoy, reaching both hands behind her to refasten her bra. Remind me to murder Harry later, she thought, groaning. Malfoy quickly complied, zipping his pants quietly and listening.

Whoever Harry was talking to hadn't seen her; she breathed a sigh of relief as she heard both sets of footsteps retreat.

She fought to contain a grin as she turned back to Malfoy, who was propping himself up onto his elbows. His blond hair was tousled and askew, his sweater was crooked, and his lips were swollen, but he had the faintest etch of a smile on his face. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen him, and he looked more handsome than ever.

"You'd better go," he said finally.

She sighed. "But – "

"Go," he commanded. "Potter will be looking for you. And I'd rather you didn't tell him where you've been."

She blinked innocently at him. "I've been crying over Ron, Malfoy," she said seriously. "Why else would I be such a mess?"

"Disgusting, Granger, get out of here," he said, waving his hand in a quick shooing motion. "Oh, and – "

"This was a bad idea, I know," she said. "It won't happen again."

She turned, hiding a smile.

Oh, it's going to happen again.

And again . . .

"Ah, Harry," she said, finding him. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me – "

"It's okay, Hermione," he said kindly. "You look so upset; I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was so hard."

"It is hard," she said, nodding. So, so blissfully hard . . .

She caught Malfoy's smirk out of the corner of her eye and smiled.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: The Ally

She had his lip caught between her teeth and he had his eyes closed, sighing. 

They were back in the library, and Draco had his hands on her. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in; vanilla . . . gardenia . . . rose . . . he wasn't much for flowery scents, but something about this . . . it suited her. And it calmed him. He realized he must be asleep and he smiled, grateful. For once, his mind allowed him a moment of peace. 

He pulled back, letting his eyes sweep over her face. Her hair was wild, of course; it always was, and entangling his fingers in it had done her no favors. With her eyes closed, she had the most serene expression, a careful dusting of freckles around her eyes visible only to him. He tightened his grip on her and time seemed to resume its movement as her long lashes fluttered against his cheeks. He groaned as he realized where her hands were; even in a dream, she drove him wild.

He reached up to touch her face and yelped in pain, yanking his stinging hand away. He looked suspiciously at her as he nursed his throbbing fingers, curling them into a fist. Something wasn't right. Her features had taken on a pale, icy hue, and the glitter of gold in her warm brown eyes seem to extinguish right in front of him, blown out like a candle flame. She was ice cold, and hauntingly beautiful – but wrong, all wrong, like an odd, waxy version of herself –

Her skin was milky, unblemished porcelain –

Her charming freckles had disappeared –

Her mischievous smile had vanished –

Her dancing eyes had gone vacant and cold –

Fighting his instinct to run, he rested his cheek painfully against hers, watching in horror as the room took on a dark, gloomy hue. The walls, the books – the very air around them – dissolved into red. An angry, melancholic red. Blood red, he thought, breathing hard. 

She pulled away suddenly, gasping for air. He gripped her arms tightly, painfully. "Granger," he yelled, but his voice was muted and heavy, as though they were underwater. "Granger, what's wrong?"

She began clutching at her throat, her face contorted in panic. He reached desperately for his wand, trying to think of a spell – any spell – but found his pockets empty. He looked desperately back at Granger, pleading with her. "Tell me what to do," he begged, his voice ripping from his throat. He cupped her face in his hands, ignoring the pain searing through his fingers. "Granger, I don't know what to do – "

Tears were pouring from her eyes and he watched, helpless; these, too, burned his skin, and he bellowed in pain. "Granger, please – "

"Good evening, Draco Malfoy."

A chill shot up the back of Draco's neck as he recognized the silky, emotionless voice. He gripped Granger's convulsing body tightly in his arms, turning to face the Dark Lord.

"Make it stop," he said, through gritted teeth. "She hasn't done anything, this isn't about her, make it stop – "

"As you wish," Lord Voldemort replied airily, inclining his head. He snapped his fingers and Granger rose in the air, Draco falling forward as he lunged to keep his hold on her. He landed on his hands and knees, gasping.

"Poor, poor Draco," taunted his aunt Bellatrix, stepping out from behind the shadow of Lord Voldemort. "Sad to see the little mudblood go?" 

"Stand up, Draco," said Lucius Malfoy, appearing on the Dark Lord's other side. Draco shook his head, panting. 

"Your father said to stand, Draco!" commanded Lord Voldemort, flicking his wand. Draco's body wrenched itself up onto its feet and he grimaced, his bones aching as Voldemort's spell forced him upright. 

"My, my, Lucius," the Dark Lord mused softly. "You really must get your house in order . . . letting your son consort with mudbloods . . . allowing him to disobey your instructions . . . " he pursed his lips and turned to Draco, tutting. "And you – you really should know better, Draco . . . "

"She's nothing," Draco snarled angrily, his heart aching. "She hasn't done anything – it was me, I needed – this was – " he gasped, fighting for words through the pain of his limbs being stretched. "I merely wanted her – "

"You betray our family name, Draco," Lucius interrupted darkly. Draco met his eyes imploringly. Father, he thought, pleading. Father, please . . . Father, for me . . .

Lucius' face remained unchanged and Draco hung his head, out of options. Bellatrix shook her head moodily, as though she was growing bored. "I'm sure we can remedy the situation, can't we, my Lord?"

"Of course, Bella," Voldemort said smoothly. He smiled vacantly, the fingers on his wand twitching. "You're sure, Draco, this is . . . purely a sin of the flesh, then?"

"Yes, my Lord," he choked out. "And I – the cabinet, I'm – "

"Yes," Voldemort whispered. "You do, as yet, have a worthwhile task ahead of you . . . "

"I do, I – I have work to do," he said, clenching his teeth through the agonizing pain. "I do not forget – "

"Make sure you do not," the Dark Lord said warningly. 

Draco collapsed on the floor onto all fours as Voldemort turned to leave, his spell withdrawn. Ignoring his father and Bellatrix, Draco quickly rolled onto his back, looking up at Granger, steadying himself to catch her. 

He'd expected her body to crash to the ground, as his had, but no such impact came. She simply hung limply in the air, still the eerie, silvery version of herself, rotating slowly as Jugson had done – 

As Jugson had done . . .

"NO!" he roared painfully, scrambling to his feet.

It was too late. Granger's pale white throat seemed to slash open of its own accord, leaving Draco to drown in the dark red blood that poured from her veins as her body tumbled lifelessly into his arms.

Draco woke up screaming, his fingernails tearing bloody crescent moons into his stark white palms. He ripped the covers off him and tore his bedroom door open, skidding recklessly into the hall.

He ran to Granger's room, down the hall from his own. He pounded his shaking fist three times on the door before leaning his back onto it, cradling his face in his palms.

Was it real?

His mind was racing.

What have I done?

He fell backwards abruptly as the door was yanked open, tumbling into Granger's room and landing at her feet.

"Malfoy," she gasped. "What – "

He rolled onto his stomach and sprung up quickly, shutting the door behind him. Her hair was wild from sleep, and she wore only a thin tank top and a pair of white cotton pajama pants. She looked half asleep and startled, but it was her – it was definitely Granger. He grabbed her shoulders, checking her arms and wrists, looking closely at her neck to ensure that it had been a dream.

This was Granger. She was alive.

His effort expended, he collapsed, exhausted, at her feet. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking violently. "I'm so sorry."

She knelt down next to him, putting her hand lightly on his arm while he curled up on the floor. "Malfoy," she said softly. "Malfoy, what's wrong? What happened?"

He shook his head, trying to catch his breath. Every time he blinked, the image of her, broken and bleeding in his arms, tore into his brain. He reached for her and she took his hand, squeezing it tight. "I'm sorry," he said again, fighting tears.

And he was. What a child he'd been, forgetting once again that his actions had consequences. He told her, he told her what would happen and still –

"I'm sorry, Granger," he whispered, eyes closed. Did they know? Did the Dark Lord know? How much of it had been real? Was it only a nightmare, or was it –

"Your wand," he muttered hoarsely. "Get your wand – "

She stood quickly, obeying wordlessly; he listened to the sound of her bare feet as she ran out of his eyesight. She returned quickly to his side, holding her wand uncertainly.

"What should I – "

He lifted the tip of her wand and set it on his temple. She nodded, biting her lip nervously.

"Legilimens."

He closed his eyes as she said it, not wanting to see her face. The excruciating fear pulsed through his body again as the memory poured out of him. Her cold, hard exterior . . . the Dark Lord, cruel and unyielding . . . his father's unforgiving face . . . his heartbreak as he pleaded with him . . . her body suspended in the air . . . her blood on his hands . . .

He shuddered as the memory left him. She was on her knees next to him, cradling him, and he didn't dare move until he was sure once again that he could feel her, the real her. After several minutes he pulled himself up, trying to meet her eyes.

"Did you – "

"I saw it," she said simply.

He raised himself onto his knees, putting his hands on her shoulders. "This – this is why – you have to understand – "

She shook her head. "Yes, I – I know, I know why you needed me to see it." She bit her lip, shivering.

"I'm sorry," he said again, helplessly, squeezing his eyes shut. They were both still for a moment – several moments, as he slowly caught his breath.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him strangely. "Malfoy, look at me," she said gently. "This was a dream, okay? I'm fine – "

"Was it?" he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Was it really just a dream – he was there – "

"Look at me, Malfoy," she said, putting her hands on either side of her face. "Look at me. I'm fine." She widened her eyes meaningfully at him, trying to drive the point home. "I'm fine."

He tore his eyes away from her and she sighed. "You don't need to be sorry, Malfoy," she said urgently. "But you do need to tell me what's going on."

"That's what you got out of that?" he said angrily. "You saw that and you thought it would be best for you to know more?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, turning his face towards her again. "Malfoy, whatever you're doing, you obviously need help – that dream wasn't about me – "

"Like hell it wasn't!" he snarled back, twisting out of her grasp. He realized for the first time that he was shirtless, and freezing; he crossed his arms over his chest, dragging his hands over the bumps of his raised skin. "I don't need to bring you and Potter into this – "

"This has nothing to do with Harry!" she cried, her voice tainted with desperation. "I'm – I'm worried about you, and I – "

"Really? Don't make me laugh!" he spat harshly. "You said you'd die for Potter, didn't you Granger? I don't need to put my trust in someone whose loyalties are elsewhere – "

"I – I wouldn't – "

"You don't even know what I need to do, Granger, do you," he hissed. "You don't even know if Potter is at risk or not. This isn't a decision you are capable of making."

She glared at him. "I know you're not planning to hurt Harry, I know you wouldn't – "

"You don't know me at all, do you, Granger? So I'm going to make this decision for you!" he shouted, standing. "There is nothing between us. We will finish our potion and we will keep our distance and that is the end of it." He lowered his voice, calming down. "Next week, we walk away from each other and we don't look back."

"That was always what was going to happen, Malfoy," she shot back angrily. "There's nothing here for you to – "

"There is nothing here, period," he said flatly. "I'm going to bed."

She pointed soundlessly to the door, averting her eyes until after he walked through it. He shivered again as he walked into the hallway, realizing how cold it was.

I'm so sorry, Granger.

Hermione flew feverishly through the pages of the book in front of her, hunting for the object that had so wholly invaded her mind. She couldn't think about Malfoy - not about his dream, or the way she'd felt when he'd shown up at her door, breathless and panicked – not him, not now. She had to find out what that object was, that blasted cabinet that didn't seem to show any signs of danger.

She'd already looked through all the torture devices, even the medieval ones, though she could barely stomach it. It wasn't a crushing cabinet; those were made out of iron, and she thought she would have recognized that metal from her hazy perception of Malfoy's vision. She cursed silently, frustrated – she couldn't seem to remember many details, except that she thought it was made of wood.

Crying cabinets . . . flying cabinets . . . ember cabinets . . . mortuary cabinets . . . transporter cabinets . . . vanishing cabinets –

She stopped, her hand paused above the page. Vanishing cabinets, she thought, a lightbulb going off in her head. That sounds familiar.

She scanned the page quickly, her eyes flicking over the first few sentences.

"During the First Wizarding War, numerous witches and wizards used Vanishing Cabinets to anonymously disappear should the Death Eaters come to visit."

She shook her head, puzzled. Anonymously disappear?

The article continued onto the next page and she flipped it half-heartedly, unsatisfied with the seemingly irrelevant information she had gathered. It sounded like one of the artifacts Mr. Weasley dealt with at the ministry – probably just a sham that people had bought into during the first war. She doubted that an item whose appeal was rooted largely in a time steeped in wild paranoia would hold any merit. Did they even work?

She ran her finger down the page, pausing with a tiny hiss as she landed on a small thumbnail with the caption Item 3,681(B): Vanishing Cabinet, 1975. It was difficult to tell from the size of the image, but she was almost certain this was the item that had been wavering at the front of Malfoy's worried mind that day in the bathroom. The pitched roof, the ornate handles, the black wood –

She took a deep breath and tore the page quietly, silently apologizing to the book. It was crucial to have this image, and she suspected it might be crucial that she be the only one.

She tucked it into her bag and raced out of the library, almost trampling a group of first year Ravenclaws in her hurry to reach Snape's classroom on time. She was running behind and didn't want cause for questions.

She almost growled with frustration at getting caught behind Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, who were progressing at a glacial pace. She sighed quietly, relieved, at least, that she would be no later than the two of them.

" – he's been looking especially broody, don't you think?" Pansy said, blowing her dark fringe out of her eyes.

"Mm," Daphne agreed, nodding. "When was the last time you two – you know – "

"Daphne, a lady doesn't kiss and tell!" Pansy giggled, shoving her playfully. Lowering her voice, she added, "But then again, a lady doesn't have sex with Draco Malfoy and keep quiet about it, either."

Hermione gagged, repulsed.

"So – not for, oh, a couple of weeks, then?" Daphne asked innocently. Hermione rolled her eyes, recognizing the passive-aggressive tone between female friends – it was the same tone that Lavender and Parvati often took with her.

"Well . . . no," Pansy admitted. "But – he's been so busy with the mudblood, I'm sure she's put him off women altogether – "

"Ehem," Hermione erupted, coughing loudly. Smirking pointedly at Pansy, she slipped awkwardly between them, reaching the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and wrenching it open.

Just what she needed – to listen to vile Pansy Parkinson talk about her antics with the person that Hermione – well, to listen to vile Pansy Parkinson at all. It was enough to ruin anyone's day, and now she had to go to her least favorite class to try and focus on the lesson while her mind was so obviously elsewhere, and to have to contend with –

For heaven's sake, she thought furiously, getting a full view of Ron and Lavender snogging at what had previously been her seat. She moved sulkily to the desk she shared with Malfoy, tossing her things carelessly onto her chair. She felt her already searing temper rise when his pale blond head – the one she'd become so accustomed to seeking out – steadfastly refused to turn her way.

She clenched her fists, an uncommon rage seeping out of her pores. Glancing one more time at Malfoy, who was determinedly keeping his eyes glued to the window – at Pansy, who was whispering to Daphne while staring derisively at Hermione – and finally at Ron, whose face had disappeared into the chasm of Lavender Brown's mouth – she felt herself lose control.

"That's it," she seethed, marching over to where Ron and Lavender sat. She saw Harry's face go pale but ignored it, instead snapping her fingers deliberately in front of Ron's face, causing Lavender to jump back in alarm.

"Weasley," she barked, "You're at perfect liberty to snog whoever you like, but would you please have a care for the rest of us?" He gaped at her and she let the last suffocated fumes of anger escape, glaring at him. "Some of us would like our mental states to remain unblemished by the show you've so carefully choreographed for us!"

Lavender opened her mouth to come to Ron's defense but Hermione held up her hand sharply, deeply uninterested. "And as for you, Lavender," Hermione sneered coldly, "I'd suggest you tone it down. He's not much of a prize." She let her eyes flick over Ron pointedly before turning her back on them sharply, chin raised.

The Slytherins – and frankly, the remainder of the class aside from Ron and Lavender themselves – erupted in applause as she turned to face them. Theo Nott looked like he'd just been given a large slice of birthday cake, and for once in his life, Blaise Zabini looked at her without his usual layer of total disgust. She glanced hopefully at Malfoy, but his eyes remained stoically drawn out the window. She bristled, frustrated that a moment that would have normally filled her with an absurd sense of pride only reminded her that the one person whose eyes she wanted may never look at her the same way again.

All heads turned at the unexpected drawl from behind her standing ovation.

"Miss Granger."

Snape was standing in the doorframe, observing the scene, an unreadable expression on his grim face. Everyone quickly sat down, with the exception of Hermione, whose route to her desk was blocked by Professor Snape himself. She shifted on her feet, anxious to meet his eyes.

"Miss Granger," he said again, "What is veritaserum?"

"Veritaserum?" she repeated, confused. They had all known the answer to this question since their fifth year, at least. "It's a truth potion, sir."

"Correct," Snape said, his tongue clicking lightly on the final syllable. "Ten points to Gryffindor for keeping the class apprised on matters of . . . honesty," he drawled, eyes lingering on Ron.

She smiled uncertainly at her unlikely ally, whose tone was positively dripping with sarcasm. He frowned. "Do sit down, Miss Granger," he said, suddenly impatient. "Don't let my lecture interrupt your social schedule."

She scooted past him quickly, taking her seat beside Malfoy. He shifted slightly, angling himself away from her, and she bit her lip, resting her face on her palms. She snuck glances at him every now and then, wondering if she could read his face, but he seemed to have resumed the icy façade that predated their brief time as . . . whatever they were.

She knew he would crack again; something would slip out. No person could survive the weight of what he was carrying alone, that she was sure of. She had to know. She had to have answers.

She needed someone older, someone with experience – someone who had lived through the first war. She tapped the point of her quill thoughtfully, giving minimal attention to Snape's ongoing lecture.

" – I must reiterate the importance of nonverbal spells in your woeful curriculum – "

Dumbledore? Certainly not. 

" – Many of you are wildly, painfully unprepared for what you may face – "

McGonagall? No. She's rarely one for answers.

" – and most of you lack the discipline and finesse to truly understand what lies before you – "

Mr. Weasley? No, best not to speak to any Weasleys at the moment.

" – a future that, even for those of you more fortunate, will be treacherous and bleak without the proper skills in your arsenal – "

Lupin? That's an idea. She shook her head. No, he'd tell Harry.

" – Predictability is dangerous. To practice the dark arts is to possess and engage a subtlety that inherently divorces the weak-minded."

Hm, she thought, suddenly paying attention to Snape's lecture. She heard Malfoy's unexpectedly patient voice in her head, an echo of Snape's point. "You have to cut out a piece of yourself . . . the less you betray yourself, the easier it is to hide what's in your mind . . . "

"You may think it will be easy enough, getting by on virtue, or strength of will," Snape continued, not even bothering to hide his glare at Harry. "But not everyone will be so lucky. Some – if not most – will need guidance, answers – and it's best you seek them now, while you are sheltered among those who have encountered the world's horrors and carried on, despite them."

And then it dawned on her.

She waited until every student had filtered out of the classroom while she intentionally dropped things and hung back. She'd felt Malfoy's eyes on the back of her neck and she'd taken a deep breath, waiting for the unnerving feeling of her thoughts slipping out of her mental grasp, but nothing ever came. When she'd heard his footsteps recede, she walked quietly up the stairs to Snape's office, knocking lightly on the frame of the open door.

"Professor?" she ventured hesitantly. "I wondered if – I wondered if I could ask you a question."

He had been sorting through a pile of books on his desk and turned slowly to face her, his overly long black robes picking up dust on the hard wooden floor.

He looked at her uncertainly, his brows stitched together in a suspicious frown. "You have a question."

She nodded. "Yes, I – "

"About the lesson?" he asked apprehensively. "You are doing fine, Miss Granger, but that should come as no surprise to you."

"I – no sir, not about the lesson," she said, beginning to rethink her choice of information source. "I – may I sit down, Professor?"

He nodded warily, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He sank slowly into his own seat as she perched daintily at the edge of hers.

"I wondered, Professor Snape, if you might be able to tell me about a certain dark artifact," she said, trying to keep her tone academic. "Is there anything you can tell me about – about vanishing cabinets?"

If she'd struck a nerve, she couldn't see it. He merely chewed pensively on the inside of his cheek. "Vanishing cabinets," he said slowly, "were once widely used as a means of escaping the Death Eaters." He cocked his head at her. "But you know that already, I'm sure."

She exhaled quietly. "Yes," she admitted, "I did read about them. I guess I'm just curious – if you could just tell me – how did they work – "

His brow furrowed slightly. "Is this a curiosity that you share with Mr. Potter?"

"No," she exclaimed, affronted. "No, this has nothing to do with Harry – "

"How is your potion coming along, Miss Granger?" Snape interrupted suddenly, abruptly changing topics while peering at her through narrowed eyes. "You and Mr. Malfoy are making a draught of Sanare Pura, correct?"

His dark eyes bore into her and she tried to force herself to stay calm, fighting the floating images of Malfoy's face that whipped around inside her mind, the aftermath of a hurricane of mismanaged emotions.

"It's going – it's going well," she said, stammering. "I – we don't work together all that well, of course."

Snape continued to stare at her and she blinked away the image of a shaking Malfoy, shuddering in her arms from the night before.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said quickly, standing. "I shouldn't have come in, I'm sure you're very busy and this – this isn't important, I can always – "

"Sit, Miss Granger," he directed, flicking his eyes to the vacated chair. She complied.

"Vanishing cabinets do not work independently, they can only transfer their occupants between pairs," he said simply. "Two functional vanishing cabinets will transport the user between them, creating a passage."

Two?

"I'm sorry, did you say two functional cabinets?" she repeated thoughtfully. "And if there is one or more non-functioning cabinets – "

"Death," he said simply. "Loss of limb. Et cetera."

"Oh," she said, perturbed. "Is that common?"

"Quite," he responded, inclining his head. "There are very few in existence now. They were overly expensive and highly erratic items that thrived in a time when people were desperate to escape. For any other purposes, and in any other time, they are quite dangerous. Certainly very unreliable."

She nodded, trying to process this information. Perhaps Malfoy's fear wasn't the cabinet. Perhaps it was the tunnel created by the cabinet. Where would he find a matching set?

"Would one have to be particularly wealthy to make use of a vanishing cabinet, sir?" she asked.

He shrugged. "At the time, no," he said simply. "But given the unfavorable nature of such capricious items, they are not usually kept except in places with sufficient . . . storage."

If one is in Borgin and Burke's, the other could be – at Malfoy Manor? The home of another Death Eater? 

– Hogwarts?

"Thank you, Professor," she said quickly. "I'm sorry to take up so much of your time."

"I'm intrigued that you came to me," Snape said, curling a finger at his lips and regarding her with general skepticism. "I'm not, let's say, one of your favorite professors."

She blushed. "Perhaps not, sir, but I figured – Dark Arts, who better to come to – " she paused, horrified. "Not that you, are, per se – "

"I should warn you, Miss Granger, to be careful not to jump to conclusions," Snape said, leaning forward as though to impress upon her the importance of this distinction. "In this, and in all matters of wizardry. There is never just light and dark. There's – "

"Shades of grey," she said quietly, thinking of the particular stormy shade she found so exhilarating. "I know."

Finding herself suddenly drowning under the weight of unexpected despondence, she gathered her things and slowly walked to the door of his office.

"Oh – Miss Granger," he called. She turned, meeting his overt gaze. He was looking at her oddly, as though seeing something he hadn't considered before.

"You already know too much," he said simply. He paused.

"Trust no one."

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: The Potionmaster

The instant she walked into their classroom, before Draco could even open his mouth to speak to her – not that he'd actually planned to, since he was working diligently on shutting her out entirely – Granger tossed him a small glass container. Despite his surprise, he caught it securely in his right hand, raising it to the light to see its contents.

"Nice catch," she said offhandedly.

"I'm a seeker, Granger, give me some credit," he said, frowning as he realized he was once again engaging their usual banter. The container held some kind of thick white balm. "What is it?"

"It's sort of – a moisturizer," she said tentatively. "I added a few beauty charms – "

"What the fuck – Granger, did you give me makeup?" he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose. "I expected you to be pissed at me, but to pretend that I'm not still devastatingly handsome is just – "

"Ugh, Malfoy, just stop," she said, rolling her eyes. "Look, you have to do something about – "

She cut herself off, looking at him and sighing. "You look – you look really tired," she said wistfully, as though she regretted having to say it at all. "You look exhausted. I told you I'd get Harry off your back, but you have to do your part. If you keep wandering around with bloodshot eyes, he's not going to leave you alone."

He squinted at her, inspecting her face closely. She didn't look like she was being sarcastic. She looked sincere – almost sad for him.

"I can't help it," he mumbled defensively. "I don't – I can't sleep."

She tilted her head, her expression softening. "I know, Malfoy," she said quietly. "I'm – I just wanted to help. I told you I would help."

He shook his head. "I told you not to."

"Well," she sighed, shrugging. "If you want to come up against me in a battle of wills, you should expect to find yourself the loser."

"Like I keep telling you, Granger," he replied airily, "You really don't know me."

She put her hands on her hips, feigning irritation. "Just take the salve, would you?"

"Fine," he said, with equally feigned exasperation. "Thanks," he added quietly.

She ducked her head, blushing. "Yeah."

Maybe in a different world, in some other parallel universe, he could have told her what he really thought. He could have said I want to believe that this means I can trust you, that you would choose me, because I worry I can't do this alone, and maybe she would have softened and said I want to choose you, too, and maybe someday I could, but that would be a different world. Some other universe. Somewhere in the pages of someone else's story.

He coughed, clearing his throat. "So – did you bring the – "

"Yes, yes," she said hurriedly, her hands waving frantically as she remembered what they were both there for. She dug furiously into her bag, pulling out a small mahogany cabinet, littered with small vials.

"Is that legal?" he asked, pointing to her bag.

"What?" she asked, startled, nearly dropping the contents of the case. "Is what legal?"

"The bag," he clarified, raising his brows. "You charmed it to fit everything."

An opalescent flush spread furiously over her cheeks. "I – how would you even know that?"

"My father works – worked," he corrected himself, biting his lip quickly, "He worked for the ministry, Granger, I know an illegal spell when I see one," he snorted. "You used an extension charm, didn't you?"

She slammed both hands on the desk in frustration. "I'm just trying to carry my things around, Malfoy!" she exclaimed loudly. "Are you really looking for reasons to get me in trouble?"

"I'm not!" he countered indignantly, surprised at her reaction. For a tiny girl, she had such an explosive temper. "I'm not going to tell on you, Granger, for fuck's sake. Give me a break."

"Well then what do you care?" she huffed, hands on her hips.

"I'm – I'm impressed, okay?" he stammered. "I thought that – I thought that would be obvious."

She made a face at him. "Of course it's not obvious, seeing as nothing you do is obvious."

"I mean, I know you're smart – " he stopped, seeing her roll her eyes. "Oh come off it, Granger, we both know that." He smirked. "You'd just be so much more interesting without that bloody sense of morality you're always lugging around."

"I'm not 'lugging around' my morality, Malfoy, that's ridiculous – "

"Well I suppose not," he said, smirking. "I mean, look at your illicit handbag. You're toeing the line of violent criminal."

She tried to suppress a laugh, and he fought back a smile.

"I'm not just – well. You know," she said, her tone shifting, "You don't know everything about me, either."

"Maybe not, then," he admitted. "Care to enlighten me?"

She was quiet for a moment, like she was considering whether or not she wanted to take his bait. She raised her hand to her lips, chewing lightly on her thumbnail, before finally opening her mouth. "I . . . I lied to Harry."

"About what?" Draco drawled obnoxiously. "Your feelings for the Weasel?"

She set her jaw, eyeing him coldly. "I told him that you were looking for something in the castle. I told him that's the task you were given."

He gaped at her. Hearing that she'd discussed him with Potter dealt him a hard blow, right to the chest. "Are you crazy, Granger, he can't know about – you don't even know – "

"He already knows, Malfoy, he already suspects!" she cut in anxiously. "He knows about the Mark – or at least he thinks he does – and he knows you have some kind of assignment – which, by the way, is your fault – "

He shut his eyes, trying to block her out. "I know that," he seethed. "I know."

"So I told him that I thought you were looking for something in the castle," she finished. "I thought that could buy you some time, if he thinks you're doing something else."

Draco set his jaw tensely, staring past her. She bit her lip nervously, seeking out his eyes.

"It was for you," she pleaded. "I – I had to."

He sighed heavily, the intangible weight of her words blanketing his mind and clouding his judgment. "I guess I can see why that would be a good idea," he pronounced slowly. "But – how long can that last? I mean honestly, what would I be looking for?"

"I don't know," she exclaimed, her eyes widening. "I just wanted to buy you some time – "

"I mean, what would – what would he want with Hogwarts?"

She eyed him carefully. "I don't know, Malfoy – like you keep reminding me, I don't actually know what it is you're supposed to be doing."

"Right," he said quickly. "Right."

"Though it's not like You-Know-Who wouldn't have multiple reasons for needing to get into Hogwarts, right?" she asked, her tone guarded. He suspected she might be trying to trap him into revealing too much information, and begrudgingly admitted to himself that she was probably smart enough to do it. No doubt she tricked Potter and Weasley on a daily basis.

"Mm," he said, humming noncommittally. Don't toy with me, Granger.

"He did come back here, at least once," she said thoughtfully. "Right?"

"How would I know, Granger?" he asked gruffly. "I don't accompany him here for a spot of tea every evening, if that's what you're getting at – "

"No, for a job," she said, rolling her eyes. "He applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, however long ago that was. That's why it's cursed – "

"Yes, I know the rumors," Draco muttered. "I don't see how – "

"Don't you wonder why he would have come here?" she said earnestly, her eyes sparkling. He could feel her brain humming. "An evil – a monster like him, wanting to settle down with a dead end teaching job at Hogwarts?"

Draco eyed his feet, not wanting to engage. "I don't know – "

"What could he have wanted with a bunch of – of children, I mean, what good would they – "

"Recruitment," he said harshly, the word burning like bile on his tongue. He instinctively gripped his left wrist in his right hand, a gesture that was not missed by Granger. His Mark throbbed painfully as she bit her lip and met his eyes regretfully.

"I'm sorry – I didn't think – "

"We're not children," he said sharply. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, struggling to maintain his composure. "We're not children, Granger. We are weapons."

She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head sorrowfully.

"Don't be," he snapped, tossing her a vial of lacewing flies. "Just – add these while I do the incantation."

She nodded solemnly, sitting down across from him and leaning over the cauldron. The potion was a pale rose with a thin, golden sheen, every detail of it the very picture of a textbook Sanare Pura. We're a good team, he thought ruefully, watching her curls drift towards her face. He tried not to stare as she thoughtfully tucked the wayward tendrils behind her ear, his attention fixated on the bow of her lip.

"I can't believe you lied to Potter," he said gruffly, unable to stand the silence.

"I can't either, honestly," she said with a tentative half-smile. "But I told you . . . "

She'd let her voice fade away, but he wanted to hear her say the words. "Told me what?"

"I told you – I'd help," she said, quite unhelpfully.

"Why though?" He'd abandoned his pretense and set his wand down, no longer focused on the potion. "Why help me?"

She looked down, avoiding his eyes. "I've been in your thoughts, Malfoy," she whispered. "I've felt your fear. And in your dream, you fought for me – you protected me – "

"That was just a dream!" he objected. "You can't possibly – "

"I don't know what your plan is, or what you've been made to do," she said quickly, though he thought she saw an odd flicker in her eye as she said it. "But I do know that you're right about Harry – "

Coming out of the almighty Hermione Granger, the holy spirit of the Golden Trinity herself, those words were so delicious he practically licked his lips. "I'm what – "

"I mean," she said irritably, "That you're right about how things tend to – go awry, when he rushes into things." She shook her head. "He's a bit impulsive, and with how much you already hate each other . . . " She shrugged again, as though that was a sufficient explanation.

"Who'd have thought, the little Gryffindor princess is pulling all of the strings," he murmured, smirking at her. "You've got a bit of Slytherin in you after all, then."

"I do not," she snapped. "At worst, maybe some Ravenclaw – "

"So that's it?" he pressed. "Potter's a ticking time bomb and you're just delaying the explosion until you have it under control?"

"Yes," she said uncertainly. "That's . . . that's it. That's all."

"Good," he said with a curt nod, inexplicable disappointment curdling in his stomach. "Best that you stay out of my way."

She sighed loudly. "Does it have to be this way, Malfoy?"

He snorted derisively. "What other way would it be, Granger?"

"You act like we didn't – " she stopped, blushing furiously. "I'm trying to give you a reason to trust me, don't you see that?"

"Granger, I don't know how else to explain this to you – I am not yours to save," Draco ranted, standing. "Whether I trust you or not, you could still – something could happen to you, and I wouldn't – I couldn't stand it."

The expression of pain that filled her face was so utterly beautiful that he could barely stomach it. He tried to let the room swallow them in silence, knowing that this was the only plausible outcome where neither of them would suffer any potential crossfire. What could she possible think would come of this? This was war. Her blood status was the least of it, and it was still hardly inconsequential. This was life and death. This was his life and death, not hers. His chest ached, knowing she was near him, but entirely outside his grasp. Maybe in a different world, maybe in some other universe – but not in this one. In this one, he had to stand his ground. He had to keep himself separated from her. Compartmentalize.

Do. 

Not. 

Feel.

But he only made it about five minutes.

"I suppose he could have hidden something in the castle," he grunted.

She looked at him, startled. "Who?"

"You-Know-Who," he said simply. "I suppose if he'd really wanted to hide something, it would be easy. I mean, Salazar Slytherin hid a giant snake in here for a thousand years without anyone noticing." He looked taken aback for a moment, shaking his head. "I'm just now realizing how bizarre that actually is."

She tilted her head at him and he could hear her brain ticking. "Are you saying that you are supposed to find something? That that's your – "

"No, Granger, I continue to not be an idiot, so I'm still not telling you anything," he said, flicking his wrist lazily as though shooing her away. "I'm just saying, it's another possible explanation. I suppose it's just one more thing to feed to Potter, you know. If you had to."

"If I had to," she echoed. It was a question.

It was many questions.

"Yes," he said. "If you had to. If . . . " he let his voice trail off. "If you wanted to."

She looked at him quizzically, the tiniest trace of amusement on her face. "Malfoy, did you just agree to be on the same team as me?"

"We're not a team, Granger," he said honestly, though it felt harsh and frosty on his tongue. "We're just . . . survivors."

Hermione rushed through the halls, her heart pounding. The tapping of her ballet flats on stone echoed as she made her way down the stairs.

It was something Malfoy had said . . .

The cabinet was at Hogwarts, she was sure of it now. The castle was essentially one large storage closet that lived and breathed and instinctively hid things from its inhabitants. Which reopened a bit of her mental investigation – was it Malfoy's task to find it? Or to use it?

She slowed down as she reached Snape's classroom, trying to catch her breath. Stay calm, she thought. Deep breaths. Or he'll see right through you.

The door was slightly ajar, and she was relieved that he was still there. She slipped inside the classroom quietly, aiming for his office, but stopped abruptly when she heard voices. She glanced around nervously, trying to decide what to do. Harry would just hide out and listen, she thought with amusement. Never thought I'd think of that as a reasonable way of doing things.

"Severus . . . please . . . "

Dumbledore?

"Why, almighty headmaster, would you wait so long to come find me?" came the unmistakable sneer. "Why did you not simply call on your actual potions professor?"

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice replied weakly. His voice was always gentle, but it had a certain ragged aspect to it now, as though his breathing was labored. "Surely an old man can prefer things done a certain way – "

"I warned you," Snape said angrily. "I told you it would get much worse."

"Yes," Dumbledore admitted, seemingly entertained. "And yet, when you yourself are an old man, you will learn that we old fools sometimes forget."

"At this rate I'll never be an old man," Snape muttered. "I'll probably be killed first, and I can't even say with certainty who it would be. It's that likely."

Dumbledore seemed to be patting him on the back. "Now, now," he said. "Can you give it that nice raspberry finish? I'm having such a dreadful sweet tooth – "

Something clattered on the desk. "Can you please put your brilliant mind to work and take this seriously?" Snape demanded, his voice raised.

"Severus – "

"I don't see why I should keep – "

"Severus, please – "

"You're too invested in this – "

"Severus. Will you please invite Miss Granger to join us? I'd do it myself, but at my age I'm content to remain seated."

Hermione jumped, startled. She felt all the blood drain from her face as Snape's head suddenly appeared in the doorframe, a look of frustration coloring his pale face.

"I – good evening, professor," she said guiltily, shifting her weight. "I didn't mean to interrupt – "

But he had already retreated back into his office. She followed hesitantly, squinting as the light from his office shone brightly into her eyes. Dumbledore sat in a somewhat wilted position, his hands resting idly on the arms of a particularly plush velvet chair. She noticed with alarm that his right hand seemed to have molten into blackish, charred flesh, an observation that Dumbledore clearly noticed. Adjusting his wrist quickly, he drew his overly long sleeve over his hand, blocking her view.

"I ran into a bit of trouble with something – you understand, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, nodding his head politely at her. "Our Professor Snape here was just giving me something for the pain."

Hermione's eyes flicked to Snape, who was noticeably agitated. He was fiddling with the cuffs of his robes, eyes flashing as he muttered something quickly to himself.

Snape handed Dumbledore a plain silver goblet, which he took willingly, and drank with gusto, finishing it off with an expressive grin.

"Ah, Severus, excellent work," Dumbledore proclaimed, his cheer belying Snape's moodiness. "I'll just come by later, then, so you can check my progress."

Hermione lunged forward as Dumbledore rose to his feet unsteadily; she reached for his arm uncertainly before retreating, unsure what to do. "Professor, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Miss Granger, thank you," Dumbledore said happily. "Forgive me, I rather assumed it was Mr. Potter loitering around at first, and he has such an unwillingness to be caught right away."

Hermione swallowed, forcing a smile. "Harry in Professor Snape's office? Surely sir, you would have been mistaken," she replied, in what she hoped was a charming tone.

They both looked at Snape, who was glaring back at them gloomily with his fingertips pressed to his lips. "Yes," he said flatly. "Because in general students appearing in my office are quite commonplace."

Hermione laughed nervously. "I can leave, of course, if you both – "

"No, no," Dumbledore said insistently. "Have a nice evening, Miss Granger." Turning to Snape, his eyes temporarily lost their usual sparkle. "Severus – do not be rash," he said simply, conveying more implications in his glance than Hermione was meant to understand.

She looked uncertainly to Snape after Dumbledore had left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "Professor, I'm so sorry – "

He walked quickly over to a corner of his office, which held something much like one of her mother's muggle large chopping blocks, and a smaller version of the copper cauldron she and Malfoy were using for the Sanare Pura. "Granger, come here."

She stood quickly. "Sir?" she asked curiously, stepping towards him.

"Tell me what these are," he instructed, pointing to the various items on the board. "What's this?"

She eyed it carefully, dropping down slightly to view it head on. It appeared to be a normal white powder but she detected flecks of ash. "Is it – is it fire seed, sir?"

"Correct," he said gruffly. "And this?"

This powder was greyish, and somewhat metallic. "Powdered graphorn horn?"

"Yes. Keep going."

"I – I think these are billywig stings," she said, squinting. "And – some kind of bitterroot balm."

He interrogated her about the ingredients for at least 10 minutes, during which time she only wondered three or four times whether she would be receiving points for her good work. When she stumbled on an answer, he corrected her – not harshly, as he normally did, but forcefully. Occasionally she would ask questions, and he would respond – to her surprise – without sarcasm or belittlement.

"Was this all for one potion, sir?" she asked, when they had run out of ingredients.

"Yes," he said curtly. "Do you recognize it?"

"No," she said honestly, shaking her head. Disappointment set in as she ran through a mental checklist of the ingredients. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't."

He sniffed. "Not unsurprising, even for you," he said, not unkindly. "It's a very advanced potion. Does it remind you of anything?"

"Is it what was in the goblet you gave Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, broaching the subject timidly.

"Yes," he said, watching for her response.

"It looked a bit like Sanare Pura," she said thoughtfully. "Less pinkish, but definitely a similar golden hue. Similar thickness."

"It is a somewhat comparable potion," he acknowledged. "Though decidedly more specialized."

She pursed her lips, thinking. "Is it important that I know what it is, Professor?"

He fixed her with a dark, foreboding stare. "Miss Granger, in the end only you will determine what is important for you to know."

"I see," she murmured. Snape turned suddenly, swooping back towards his desk and settling himself in his chair, turning his attention to the books laid out in front of him. He didn't appear to be reading anything in particular, but she was clever enough to interpret the overall message – clearly his time with her had expired. She moved towards the door as though in a daze, not yet able to process the events that had just taken place.

"Oh," she said suddenly, remembering. "Professor – is there somewhere in the castle that would be convenient for, um – hiding things?"

He looked at her sharply. "Of course there is," he said simply. "But you'll never find it if you don't know what you're looking for."

"Right," she said back, biting her thumbnail. "Right."

She walked slowly up to her dorm, considering the information she'd been privy to that evening, both welcome and unwelcome. She didn't have a close enough relationship to Dumbledore to be able to interpret what was going on with Snape, so that was something to sort out somewhere else – with –

Hmm. With – Harry? He certainly knew Dumbledore the best, but something was nagging at her – somehow she felt there was more to this, and she wasn't ready to tell Harry quite yet. And Malfoy – well. She hadn't progressed very far with him, and telling him what she'd heard would probably set them back even further. She couldn't take that chance.

She blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the lingering image of his eyes boring into her. Her time without his glances had been unpleasant, almost unnatural. She shuddered. She was getting too used to the way he looked at her, and she wasn't ready to give it up. She hadn't allowed herself to think of the dream he'd shared with her – she'd tasted his fear, and now, it seemed, she was bound to him. Wholly, troublingly bound to him.

She rubbed her temple, thinking back over what she'd heard. The potion ingredients – that was the easy part. That was simply a matter of a few more hours in the library, putting it together. Snape had been cryptic with her, but obviously it was important that she find out what it was. She needed to find out why he was treating Dumbledore, and why it seemed to be to Snape's detriment.

Seven days, she thought sleepily, putting herself to bed. Seven more days until their potion was complete. Seven more days until the tournament started. Seven more nights with Draco Malfoy. Seven more nights before they'd have no reason to speak to each other. Seven more chances to make him feel what she felt.

She yawned and rolled over, burying her face sleepily in her pillow.

She smirked a little. Hermione Granger: Wizard Detective.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: The Seven

Day 1

She wiped the sweat off her forehead, grumbling. "I can't believe it has to be so hot in here."

He made a face as a drop of perspiration dripped perilously down his back. "My fault," he said between gritted teeth. "Had to pick the hardest potion with the highest possible melting point."

She sighed, a tiny laugh escaping. "I don't know," she admitted. "I kind of like it."

"What? The heat?"

"No, of course not," she said impatiently. "This, the potion. It's a challenge."

"True," he said, nodding. He stood from where they were crouched around the cauldron, reaching for one of the many vibrantly colored vials of liquid. "Here, move over a little bit."

He brushed her arm as he leaned over, tipping the contents of the vial into the rapidly bubbling concoction before them. He smelled a little bit like leather and jasmine – masculine, with a sweet finish. Sophisticated, like him.

She glanced back at the textbook and frowned. "We have to add the wormwood essence next but it will become a vapor, if we try to pour it in at this heat – can we cool the potion first?"

He shook his head. "No. If we do that, the remaining potion will solidify." He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Keep stirring," he instructed, taking hold of the next vial.

He muttered something that she couldn't quite hear, and then flicked his wrist gracefully, his long fingers resting on his wand lightly like a cellist on his bow.

She watched as the air around them seemed to swirl, wrapping itself tightly into a small cyclone, spinning above the cauldron. It knitted itself into a narrow, cotton-candy-spun funnel, with its tip no more than a centimeter above the reach of the bubbling potion. From her vantage point she could see that the inside was crystallized, as though lined with icy stalactites. He steadily rotated his wand, maintaining the revolution of his tornado-like creation, while he used his free hand to pour the wormwood essence into the mixture. When the last drop had emptied, he flicked his wrist again, blinking from the effort.

"Malfoy, that was – that was amazing," she said, mouth agape. "Your spell work – it's beautiful. Really beautiful."

He shrugged, trying to hide his smile. "It was basically a refrigerated straw, Granger," he said matter-of-factly. "You could easily have done it."

"But I didn't," she reminded him. "That was a good idea."

He groaned. "Stop it, Granger," he said grumpily. "I don't know how to handle you being nice to me."

She smiled at him.

Day 2

"You know, I never thanked you for scolding Weasley the other day," he said offhandedly. "Those two are the living worst."

She laughed. "They have toned it down a bit since then, haven't they?"

"Not nearly enough," he muttered. "How Weasley gets any action is beyond me – "

"Hey!" she exclaimed, her cheeks burning. "He's – he's not that bad."

"Ah," he said obnoxiously. "I forgot that you two used to – "

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy! It's not like you haven't made poor choices yourself, what with Pansy Parkinson and heaven knows who else – "

"Pansy's not nearly as bad as Weasley."

"Pansy's an idiot!"

"Weasley's an idiot – "

"You're an idiot – "

"A handsome one, though," he said, grinning. "Don't argue."

She rolled her eyes. "It was just the one time, anyway. With Ron."

"Was it – " he stopped, not sure if he wanted the answer. "Was it your first time?"

"That's private, Malfoy," she snapped. But he gave her a knowing smirk, and she threw her hands in the air in resignation. "Fine – yes."

"I'm sure it was magnificent," he said happily, as though taunting her was bringing him unimaginable pleasure.

"What about you?" she broached casually. "Are you – "

"If you want to know if I'm fucking anyone right now, Granger, the answer should be an obvious no," he said bluntly. He didn't see her mouth twitch, and wasn't aware she was fighting a triumphant smile. "And if you're asking about any other time, you should know that you probably wouldn't like the answer."

"Well it's not fair," she pressed. "I told you, now you have to tell me."

"Why do girls always want to do this," he muttered to himself, sighing. "Fine. It was Daphne Greengrass, at the beginning of fifth year."

"Really?" she said, her eyes wide. She thought back to the conversation she overheard between Pansy and Daphne. "And Pansy wasn't mad?"

He shrugged. "As far as I know, Pansy doesn't know," he said, unfazed. "I didn't tell her, anyway."

"But – you've slept with Pansy, right?"

"Yes," he said, upset that she wanted to rehash his sexual history. He didn't want to discuss other girls – not with her. "Twice."

"Just twice?" she marveled. "Then why does she prance around like she owns you – "

"The Parkinson bloodline is . . . admirable," he said evasively. She frowned. He was clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "My parents – they would like me to be with her," he admitted. "I always assumed I would have to marry her, someday."

"Have to?"

"Well I don't particularly want to marry her – would you?" he asked pointedly.

She laughed nervously. "No," she said. "I suppose not." She straightened, not willing to talk about blood. "Who else?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want there to be someone else?"

"What?" she exclaimed. "No, I just assumed – I mean, you are – rather infamous – "

He sighed. "Millicent Bulstrode. Tracey Davis. Lisa – "

"Okay, I get it," she said, cutting him off quickly. "The rumors are true."

He spread his hands apologetically. "I, um – I've never been particularly serious about any of them, if it helps."

She bristled. "Why would that matter?" she demanded.

"I didn't – and I still don't – care about any of them," he said, looking at her intensely. "But you – you're in love with Weasley, aren't you?"

"I'm not!" she said, agitated. "I never – "

"You don't have to lie," he said quickly. "You don't have to deny it."

She looked at him, genuinely confused. "Well," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "I think maybe I did – or I thought I did. I feel like I was supposed to be in love with him."

He frowned slightly. "Supposed to?"

"Yeah," she said. "We're all so close, you know. It felt like I should be with Ron."

"And now . . . ?" he trailed off innocently, as though he wasn't aware of the impact he'd had on her.

"Well for one thing, look what he did to me!" she said, suddenly emotional. "With Lavender, rubbing it my face – "

"True – "

"He's – he's careless, you know?" she said, eyes flashing. "He's lazy, with me – with our friendship. And you know, maybe I wasn't perfect, but he still shouldn't have – "

"Stop," he said forcefully. "You – you're – "

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I'm what?" she said, eyes wide.

"You're fine," he finished anticlimactically, refusing to meet her glance. "There's . . . there's nothing wrong with you."

"Nothing?" she echoed, smiling.

"Besides the obvious," he grumbled. "Too much hair. And poor taste in men."

"Thanks, Malfoy," she whispered, touching his hand.

Day 3

They were lying on the cold floor, shivering in the moonlight.

"Cross potion maker off the career list, then," she said, teeth chattering. Today, the temperature had to be drastically decreased, another inexplicable aspect of the potion's creation. They'd finished the complex incantations and were now exhausted, waiting for the potion to return to its golden hue.

"You were considering it?" he mumbled back, blowing warm air onto his hands and rubbing them together.

"N-no, I suppose not," she said, shaking as a draft came in through the open window.

He sat up, removing the wool vest of his uniform. He quickly transfigured it into a large blanket, tossing it over her. "Here," he said. "I'm getting a bit tired of all the bloody noise you're making."

She smiled shakily. "Thank you." She pulled it around her tightly, surreptitiously – she hoped – breathing in his smell. "Won't you be cold?"

"I'm fine," he said, shrugging. "Tell me about your list."

"My career list?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't know," she murmured, her face half buried in the blanket. "Sometimes I think I'd like to work in magical law. Sometimes I think it would be interesting to be an auror. Sometimes the Ministry."

"Ruled out international quidditch superstar, then?"

She laughed. "I'm absolute rubbish on a broom."

"Not everyone can have my catlike reflexes," he said kindly.

The sound of her giggle was muffled by the wool. She pulled her chin out from under the blanket, looking at him purposefully. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What's on your list?"

A dark look crossed his face. "I don't have one."

"You don't?"

"No. I mean, I don't really need to, do I?" he said truthfully. "My father doesn't exactly work. He held figurehead positions, mostly."

"Well, is that what you want to do?" she asked, a look of genuine curiosity on her face.

"No," he said simply. "I don't think it matters, anyway."

She pursed her lips. "Surely you've thought about – "

"No, I mean, I thought about it – well, I used to think about it," he said, bringing his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "I guess I just don't really see too far in the future, anymore."

She kept quiet, waiting for him to decide he was ready to continue. They were silent for a few minutes.

"There will be war," he said hoarsely, his voice cutting through the frosty silence. "There is war. It's everywhere." He shook his head, resting his chin on the tops of his knees. "I don't see a world where I have a future I can choose."

"That doesn't mean you won't have a future, Malfoy," she said gently.

"What am I supposed to do, Granger?" he asked seriously. "Let's say I don't die. And let's say the people I love don't die. Then what do I do? Just . . . get a job? Have children?"

"Yes," she said urgently. "Yes."

"If – if the Dark Lord falls, my family loses everything," he said, his voice breaking. "If he succeeds, there will be nothing left that's good." He tilted his head back, taking a gulp of the frosty night air.

"There's just no point making a list," he said finally. He wasn't looking at her.

She looked at him sadly. "Malfoy," she said, her voice barely audible.

He turned his head.

She lifted her arm, raising the blanket, and gestured for him to join her. "Come on," she said. "It's cold. And we have another hour before we can heat it again."

He thought about it for a minute before scooting himself towards her, closing the space between them. She reached her arms up and he lay on his side in her embrace, his forehead touching hers, while she slipped her leg between his. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, throwing his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Only because it's cold," he warned.

"Mmm," she murmured. "It's freezing."

Day 4

Tears of laughter were streaming down her face, and he was gasping for air, too out of breath to finish the story.

" – and then, Theo shows up" – another peal of laughter – "and he's wearing my grandfather Abraxas's spectacles" – more laughter – "and he's – "

She cuts him off. "Does Theo" – laughter – "even wear glasses?"

"No!" – laughter – "and he comes into my grandfather's study, ten years old wearing a ninety year old man's oversized bifocals" – extended laughter, lasting at least two minutes – "and Abraxas says, 'Son, are those my glasses?'"

"He didn't!" she howled. "Ouch, my stomach – "

"He did, and Theo says" – pause while he choked out a wheezing cough – "Hold on, I can't breathe – "

"My face actually hurts – "

"Theo says 'Sir, these are obviously my glasses – are you blind?'"

It took at least ten minutes for them to be able to sit up straight without clutching their sides from laughter; she was wiping tears from her cheeks while he kept pulling at his mouth, trying to relax his overtired smile.

"I can't believe he did that," she said, still grinning.

"Theo and I were constantly up to no good," he said, running his hands through his hair, smiling at the memory. "We both got away with so much, too. For a while, anyway."

"It's hard to think of Theodore Nott as good-humored," she said, smirking.

"Theo is actually quite charming," he assured her. "But – the circumstances were never right for you to know that."

"Why did you always spend all your time with Crabbe and Goyle, then?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

He shrugged. "Foolish youth," he said simply. "They made me feel important, I suppose. Theo wouldn't have put up with it."

"I'm surprised anybody could," she said, giggling. "You were such a prat."

"Well, I appreciate the past tense, Granger," he said, tipping an imaginary hat to her.

She sighed. "Could you have been like this, always?"

"Like what?"

"Like you are now, with me," she said, blessing him with her charming smile. "Maybe we all could have been friends – "

"Who, you and me?"

"Well, yes," she said. "Yes, of course, but I meant all of us – Harry, Ron, Theo – "

"Well, if you recall," he said quickly, correcting her. "Potter is the reason we're not friends, not me."

"You were so rude to Ron!"

"So? Weasley was rude to you, at first!" he retorted quickly. "He was awful to you, and you decided it was best to just go ahead and fall in love with him."

"Oh, stop, that was different," she insisted. "You were such a snob already – "

"Yeah, well I was also eleven years old," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "With no siblings or cousins or anything. I just assumed he'd want to be my friend. And then – he didn't. And I didn't understand."

Despite his admission, she smiled at him. "Little Malfoy not used to being rejected, hmm?" she teased. "Poor little rich boy."

He shoved her playfully. "The point is, I don't think we were meant to be friends, Granger."

"Just as well," she said, shrugging. "I'm not sure you and Ron were meant to get along under any circumstances."

"I take that as a compliment," he sniffed.

Day 5

He had just finished a complex incantation, giving her a break from the three she'd done just prior. The potion was extremely draining, and they had to alternate the spell work. She'd spent her time in silence thinking about him, as usual.

"Do you think we should call each other by our first names?" she asked delicately.

He paused, looking at her underneath a heavily furrowed brow. "No."

"What?" she asked, startled. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "Hermione is a silly name."

"What!" she exclaimed. "And Draco isn't?"

"It's very regal," he said, smirking. "What's your middle name?"

"It's Jean," she replied. "A very normal name."

"So colloquial."

"Colloquial – Malfoy, you are a raging snob."

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I'm aware."

"What's your middle name?"

"Lucius, my father's name. And Abraxas, my grandfather's."

She rolled her eyes. "You really are wizard royalty, aren't you?"

"Royalty? That's a muggle distinction."

"True. But you're like – Prince William."

"Prince William?"

"Yes," she explained. "He's the grandson of the queen."

"Is he quite as dashing as I am?"

"He's a bit younger, so, I suppose not."

"Is that your only reason?"

"Let's say it is, shall we?"

"Fine," he conceded. "But let the record show – "

"Yes," she said, exasperatedly. "The Slytherin Prince out-dashes the Prince of England. This round, anyway."

"Is his father as rich as mine?" he said, exaggeratedly boastful.

"Honestly, probably not," she said, laughing. "I can't imagine the life you must have lived."

"I was – quite adored," he admitted. "What about you?"

She eyed him carefully. "You want to talk about my filthy muggle parents?" she asked harshly.

He flinched. "Sorry – forget it."

They were quiet for a moment.

"My parents are dentists," she said finally. "They attend to people's teeth."

He cocked his head at her, contemplating this. "Without magic?"

"Yes, without magic. Sort of – they do have nitrous oxide, to make people feel more comfortable."

"And then, what – they just pull teeth out?"

"Yes," she laughed. "I mean, I suppose so, if you put it that way. A bit more to it, but that's fine."

He smiled, picturing it. "What was the rest of your life like?"

"Well, I'm an only child – "

"Me too – "

"I know, Malfoy, that's why we argue so much," she said with an added eye roll for emphasis. "Anyway, it was just me and my parents. We're very close."

He had a strange look on his face.

"I assume it was similar for you, right?" she said, leaning over to catch his eye. "You and your parents are close."

"Um," he said, stumbling. "Yes – I suppose. I am quite close to my mother. And my father – well, they are both very important to me."

She frowned. "You're not close to your father?"

"I – I'm not really sure," he said. "What kinds of things did you do with your father?"

She bit her lip, thinking. "Well, he and I took camping trips together," she said. "And last summer he taught me to drive a car." She smiled. "He was very patient about it – I'm absolute rubbish, of course."

His eyes were vacant, as though his mind was very far away.

When he finally spoke, his question surprised her. "Do you know what I saw, the day Lupin brought in the boggart?"

"No," she admitted. "I don't, actually."

"My father," he said simply. "With a look of disappointment on his face."

She was quiet. "We were younger, then," she said. "You're a better man. You don't need his approval."

He shrugged. "I suppose I do have more pressing fears, now."

She nodded. "I had failed all my exams," she said, remembering her boggart with a lighthearted laugh.

"Of course you did. I can't imagine it's much different now."

"Very different, actually," she said, biting her lip. "I think death clouds my brain a bit more than it used to."

"What would you see now?"

They looked at each other and realized the answer at the same time.

Day 6

She was scribbling onto a spare bit of parchment, as though an idea had come to her head.

"Malfoy," she called, "Why would anyone combine dragon's blood and acromantula venom with fire seed?"

"Crushed or whole?"

"Crushed."

"A healing potion," he said. He was cupping his mouth with his hand, thinking hard. "Those first two are rare ingredients though – that would be one hell of a potion."

She murmured her agreement. "What kind of ailment, do you think?"

"Not a normal one," he said adamantly. "That would be – fuck, I don't know. For a cursed limb or something."

Her mouth fell open a little bit. "A cursed limb?"

"Yeah, a really dark curse, too, I'm guessing," he said, furrowing his brow. "Really dark. Really powerful."

"Hmm."

"Why? Thinking of doing that one next?"

She threw her head back with a loud groan. "Absolutely not!"

He grinned. "Never again, right?"

She shook her head. "Never again."

"I can't believe we're almost done," he said, leaning over and inspecting the cauldron. "Did you speak to Snape and Slughorn about reviewing it?"

"Yes," she said primly. "The day after tomorrow we're meeting Snape in his office in the evening, after the first round of duels."

He sat up quickly. "I'd forgotten about the duels," he said. He rubbed his forehead, sighing. "Just one more thing to think about, I suppose."

"What are you worried about?" she said with a snort. "You're the top of your house, you'll get through the first round no problem."

"And after that?" he asked, eyeing her with a smirk. "Are you planning to destroy me in the house competition?"

She laughed. "Oh, I would love to," she sang melodically. "Unfortunately I don't know that I'm such a fantastic dueler."

"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed. "You disarmed three people in a row before they even knew what was coming – "

"Yes, but that was an assignment. A tournament is different, I'm not very creative."

He scowled at her. "Sod off, Granger."

"What?"

"You could light everyone in the room on fire with just your pinky finger and you know it," he said pointedly. "Don't give me that shit."

"Malfoy, even you've said that just knowing about everything from books isn't enough!"

"Yes, and I stand by that, obviously, but you're more than just books."

She looked up at him sheepishly. "I am?"

He threw his hands in the air, tossing his head with frustration. "If I need to tell you that, Granger, you're not the witch I thought you were."

She smiled a little, inclining her head in forfeit.

"You're the witch who stuck her wand between my eyes and told me she was better than me," he reminded her. "I like that witch. She could win a tournament."

"Though," he said, preempting her response, "that was not a fair fight, so don't expect to get by me so easily this time."

She shook her head, beaming. "We'll see."

A narrow gust of wind circled her, pulling her towards him until her chest bumped lightly against his. She looked down, realizing suddenly that he'd had his wand in his hand.

"Well this isn't fair either, Malfoy," she said, looking up into his eyes.

He licked his bottom lip slightly before biting down on it. She held her breath, watching his adam's apple dance as he swallowed carefully.

"You're right," he said, taking a step back. His eyes were glinting mischievously. "I'll wait."

Day 7

He stirred it one last time. "Grab my wand for me, would you?"

She handed it to him. "Why, do we need to change something?"

"No," he said simply, cuffing his left sleeve. They both conspicuously avoided looking at his Mark. Using his wand, he cut a shallow line into his wrist, drawing blood.

"Malfoy," she said, horrified. "What – "

"Just testing," he grunted. "Put a drop of the potion on it." He clenched his fist, drawing his veins to the surface.

"What if it doesn't – "

"It'll work, Granger."

She eyed him skeptically for a moment, but then turned to the cauldron, filling a small glass dropper and returning it to him.

"Ready?" she asked hesitantly.

"It's that or keep bleeding!"

"Fine," she said, holding her breath as she let the drop fall.

They watched in fascination as the wound slowly began to stitch itself up, drawing the skin together. It looked like an invisible hand had taken an invisible thread and slowly sewed the wound shut, and as the last moisture of the potion was used up, his skin glistened, freshly cleaned.

"It worked," she breathed.

"We did it," he said, looking into her eyes. "I guess" – he coughed, his throat dry – "I guess we're done."

"I guess so," she said slowly, reality sinking in.

They packed up sluggishly, moving about the classroom as though in a daze. They both lingered needlessly, floating around to check things that weren't there, absentmindedly cleaning off unused desks, asking questions that had been answered twice. When it was finally obvious that there was nothing left to do, they both picked up their things and wandered to the door, dragging their feet.

"Should we, um," she started, her eyes flicking to his face nervously. "Should we just – go, then?"

"Yeah," he said uncertainly. "Let's – I'll walk with you."

They walked in silence up the stairs. She enjoyed being in his presence, even when they weren't speaking, and he liked the comfort of having her beside him. They reached the fifth floor landing and stopped again – her room was first, on the left, and his was down the hall, on the right.

They looked at each other.

He let his bag drop from his shoulder as she rushed into his arms, pressing her lips to his and entangling her fingers in his hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist and swept her up, her toes dancing above his feet as he lifted her. He kissed her like he'd never kissed anyone before, not even the way he'd kissed her before. He was drowning in her, aching for her, entwined with her, and she matched him in intensity. He pulled away to hold her face in his hands, stroking her cheekbones, cherishing the moment he had with her. She turned her head and kissed his palm, closing her eyes.

They jumped apart as a door shut down the hall.

She looked guiltily at him. "I suppose you're going to tell me this is a bad idea," she said, biting her lip.

"Yes," he said, expressionless.

She sighed. "It's so weird, knowing I won't see you tomorrow night."

He was silent for a moment, taking in the look of her face in the dim lighting. She was more than a beautiful girl, that Hermione Granger. She was opalescent, sparkling, iridescent. She shone.

"Do you want to see me tomorrow night?"

She leaned forward, grabbing his hand. "Yes," she said, her eyes wide.

He kissed her fingers softly before pulling away. "Then you will."

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: The Preliminaries

"Mione – Mione, wait!"

Hermione bristled at the familiar voice and turned slowly on the spot, squinting skeptically at its source.

"Ron?" she ventured dubiously, pausing before entering the Transfiguration classroom.

He caught up to her, breathless. His tousled red hair was wild and his eyes darted around nervously.

She glanced around. "What are you looking at?"

"Oh she's just sometimes – er. Nothing," he said, blushing. "Absolutely nothing. How are you doing?"

Hermione crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "Fine," she said evasively. She raised her chin stubbornly. "What do you want, Ron?"

His face turned scarlet. "I – look, I know we haven't been getting on very well lately – "

"Astute observation, Ronald – "

" – and I just wanted to, you know," he said, shrugging, "I wanted to apologize."

She snorted. "Really? All of a sudden you want to apologize?"

He pulled her aside. "Mione, I know that I didn't . . . handle this very well."

She rolled her eyes. "Understatement of the year, that."

He took both her hands in his earnestly, leaning in close. "It was a mistake, okay?" he sighed. "I – I shouldn't have accused you of . . . things. I should have tried to make it work between us."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not working out with Lavender then?"

"She's not the one for me, Hermione, you know that," he said insistently, fixing her with his wide blue eyes. "It's you and me. It's always been you and me."

"What?" she exclaimed. "Where is this even coming from? I don't – "

She bit her lip anxiously. If this was his attempt at reconciliation, she may have trapped herself in her own lie. She'd painted herself love struck and heartbroken – now what?

"I – are you sure, Ron?" she said, eyeing him skeptically. "Have you broken it off with Lavender?"

His face flushed and she knew he hadn't. "I – well, she can be very – "

"Ronald Weasley!" she hissed, appalled.

He hung his head guiltily. "Well, I was going to. Right after I talked to you."

"Why?" she said angrily. "If I reject you, are you just going to stay with her?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "I – "

"Oh, save it," she snapped, turning to leave.

He lunged forward, grabbing her arm. "Hermione, please – just give me a chance to explain – "

"Explain what?" she demanded, twisting out of his grasp. "How you replaced me? And then flaunted it in my face?"

"No, I – "

"And now you want me to just forgive you?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, because we are best friends, Hermione. Best friends." He paused, looking at her meaningfully. "I made a mistake, Mione. But please, for the sake of everything we've been through – can you give me a chance?"

She wanted to snap at him. She wanted to hold onto her anger and let it sustain her a little bit longer. She wanted to hate him the way Malfoy hated him, because then it would be so much easier. It would be one more piece in her life that she could discard, just to make it a little bit simpler. To make it okay, what she might feel for someone else. She wanted to hate her best friend so that she wouldn't feel so guilty betraying him.

But she couldn't. That's not who she was.

She sighed, softening. "Listen," she began quietly. "What you did might have been a mistake but how you treated me – "

"That was horrible, I know – "

"Let me finish!" she snapped. "How you treated me was the worst of it. But if you can make up for that . . . " she trailed off, unsure how to finish. "If you try to make up for that, I think we'll be okay."

A wave of relief washed over his face. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes," she said irritably. "I don't make a habit of saying things I don't mean – "

"Good," he said, exhaling deeply. "After I saw the duel lineup I knew I had to say something – "

"Duel lineup?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "The preliminary Gryffindor house duels. McGonagall posted it on the classroom door. Didn't you see?"

She shook her head slowly. "No," she said, dread building in her stomach. "I haven't been to the classroom yet."

He was much more relaxed now; suspiciously so, she thought. She walked over to the parchment McGonagall had posted, running her finger down the list of names.

Longbottom – Patil . . .

Finnigan – Potter . . .

Brown – Thomas . . .

And then she saw it.

Weasley – Granger.

She shook her head and turned slowly to look at Ron. He was grinning at her.

"Lucky we could straighten things out in time, eh, Mione?" he said cheerfully. "Now you don't need to humiliate me in front of everyone."

She cocked her head and looked at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Did you just apologize so that – so that I wouldn't beat you?"

He laughed, like she was making a joke. "Well, certainly not as badly as you might have, anyway."

She felt her chest burn a little.

"What – what do you mean?" she asked hesitantly, hoping he wasn't saying what she thought he was.

He shrugged. "What with Ginny watching, and the whole school – don't need another reason for people to think I'm Harry Potter's useless sidekick," he grumbled. She looked down, knowing this was a sensitive topic for him. He was always so insecure when it came to the way people saw him.

He brightened suddenly, smiling at her. "But you've always helped me, Mione," he said warmly, bestowing her with a grateful smile. "You're bloody wonderful, you are." He reached out to stroke her cheek lightly.

She tried to smile, though it manifested itself as more of a wince, and she gently drew his hand away from her face. "I suppose," she said lamely.

"You are," he insisted urgently. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Be sure to include that in your breakup speech to Lavender," she grumbled inaudibly.

"What was that last bit?"

She opened her mouth to lie but was cut off sharply.

"Move, Weasley. This castle doesn't need more gargoyles."

Malfoy was suddenly standing in front of them, trying to enter the classroom. He turned to Hermione and regarded her silently. "Granger," he said quickly, inclining his head.

She forgot herself for a moment, looking at him a little too long. The balm she'd given him had been extraordinarily helpful, fading the dark circles and giving his face had a pristine silvery glow. His eyes were as piercing as always; unmarred by the residue of his tribulations, they nearly shattered her soul.

Ron was in too good a mood to notice. "Shut up, Malfoy," he said gleefully, before stepping aside.

Hermione could not concentrate in class that day. She simply stared at the blank parchment before her, her quill carelessly splashing ink all over the unblemished page.

This is not the time to wallow in self pity, she told herself, blinking. She straightened in her chair, trying to focus. A hazy image formed in her brain and she shut her eyes forcefully, trying to clear her mind. As she did so, the vision became sharper, crisper, as though something in her brain was fiddling with the dials of her thoughts. It was a remote corner of the courtyard, near their classroom. She opened her eyes, startled. The rest of the classroom had their heads bowed, quills scratching; all but one.

She met his grey eyes and nodded once, a surge of electricity suddenly flowing through her.

He was waiting for her there, after class, tucked in an alcove near a tapestry she'd always liked. The courtyard was empty, and she slipped in after him.

"Malfoy," she said quietly, looking up at him. He was standing close to her, too close, like he always did. She still found it exhilarating.

"What's wrong?" he asked simply, lips pursed.

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I saw you with Weasley, and in class," he said brusquely. "Something's bothering you."

She flashed him a knowing smile. "Are you worried about my feelings, Malfoy?"

His face barely changed as he let out a derisive scoff. "Well, if you're going to let Weasley get to you – "

"Malfoy," she warned, cutting him off.

He huffed. "Fine, for argument's sake, let's say that I care," he said, as though he didn't particularly. "What happened?"

She sighed, hanging her head. "Ron apologized to me."

He lifted her chin with his finger. "And?"

"Well," she mumbled, not willing to admit what was really bothering her. "I – I think he might have apologized because," she paused, hesitating. "Becausehewantsmetolosetheduel," she rushed out, cringing.

He cocked his head at her, squinting. "What?"

She took a deep breath, trying to be reasonable. "I think," she said slowly, "that he wants me to lose the duel. He and I are matched against each other."

She watched with fascination as Malfoy's face changed, taking on an odd, discolored sneer of disgust.

"Just when I thought he could sink no lower," he seethed. He shook his head angrily. "Tell me you're not considering it."

She bit her lip and his eyes widened. "No," he said, "Tell me you're not – Granger!" He took hold of her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Granger, when are you going to stop letting him use you – "

"I'm not – "

"You are," he spat. "You're useful to him again – he needs you and he thinks he can just – I don't know, that he can – "

She watched him sputtering, mesmerized. "Malfoy, it's much more important to him than it is to me, it's really not that big a deal – "

"It is!" he said angrily. "It is a big deal."

"Why, though?" she demanded. "It's just a silly dueling competition, and if it means we can restore our friendship – "

"Why do you need to be friends?" Malfoy retorted, agitated. "Why do you need someone like him in your life? You have – " he stopped, closing his mouth. "You – you just don't need him," he finished, crossing his arms.

She raised a hand, considering placing it on his arm, but thought better of it, leaving it to dangle limply in the air. "Whatever you feel about Ron, he is still my best friend, and I'm not the kind of person who can forget that," she said gently. She shook her head, trying to think of how to phrase the second half of her reasoning. "And – I need to get along with him, it would just be another thing I'd do for you, to keep you out of suspicion – "

He glared at her. "Don't make this about me, Granger," he hissed. "Not everything you do has to be for someone else – certainly not for me."

"What am I supposed to do? Prolong this fight? For no reason at all?" she retorted angrily.

"No," he said simply. "Just – be good at what you do because you are good at what you do – be talented, be strong, be successful," he ranted. "Friendships, feelings – what is that, compared with what you are, what you're capable of? It's a lesson you need to learn, Granger."

"You just want me to beat him so that you can revel in it by extension," she said, sniffing.

He gave her a stony look. "Don't let me be the only one of us that knows who you are, Granger."

She scowled at him. "You don't know me, Malfoy – isn't that what you always say?"

He stepped back abruptly, an icy glaze taking over his silvery features. "Do whatever you want," he said coldly. "It's of no consequence to me."

She reached out to grab his arm as he was leaving but he shrugged her off impassively, striding forward without hesitation.

The preliminary round of the dueling tournament was held by the head of house, leading Hermione to find herself in McGonagall's room for the second time that day. The room had been magically enlarged and transformed, cleared of its desks and chairs and now featuring a long linear platform, much like the one that had been in Snape's classroom during their lesson. This one was vibrantly painted in crimson and gold, each side featuring a rampant lion to indicate a starting position. Hermione inhaled nervously, glancing around the room; it was filled to the brim with Gryffindor students of all ages, chattering noisily and pointing at the different competitors.

She spotted Harry talking to Ginny and rushed over. "This is all a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" she said, leaning towards Harry's ear. The crowd made it quite impossible to hear one another.

He shrugged. "I fought a dragon once," he said simply. Ginny swatted at him.

"Children!"

McGonagall's magically enhanced voice clanged through the din and quickly silenced them. Ginny shoved Harry and Hermione towards the other sixth and seventh years, who had gathered at the front of the classroom.

"Good luck," Ginny mouthed, as Hermione looked back anxiously.

"You know the rules – disarm only," McGonagall said, returning to her normal volume. "Those of you who move on will face two Gryffindor opponents today." Satisfied with the amount of nodding going on around her, McGonagall looked down at her scroll of parchment. "We will begin with – "

Hermione's heart sank as she met McGonagall's bespectacled eyes. "Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, let's begin with you."

Hermione's legs shook as she made her way to the platform. She hadn't yet determined her course of action, and was rapidly losing time to do so.

She met Ron in the center of the platform, tying her hair back nervously before meeting his eyes. He smiled at her as they bowed, both well versed in the choreography of traditional dueling. She returned the smile hesitantly and he mouthed something right before they turned to take their places.

She frowned. She thought he'd said "please."

"On my count," instructed Professor McGonagall. "One – two – three – "

Draco paced aimlessly outside of Snape's classroom, carrying a large crystal bottle of Sanare Pura. It was unlike Granger to be late.

He'd beaten Goyle and Bulstrode handily, without even bothering to use legilimency. Both duels were over with a few lazy flicks of his wand. He hadn't yet heard the results of any of the other houses – not that he was all that anxious to hear the results of the Hufflepuff preliminaries.

Professor Slughorn shuffled in behind him. "Ah, dear boy!" he said jovially. "Shall we head up to Professor Snape's office?"

Draco cleared his throat. "I'm waiting for Grang – ah, Hermione, sir," he replied, taking another look around for her wild brown curls.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be along," Slughorn sniffed. "Come on, then."

Draco followed him unenthusiastically, making his way through the classroom and up the wiry spiral staircase to Snape's office.

"Ah, Severus!" Slughorn exclaimed. "Excellent dueling today, I heard – "

"Yes," Snape said curtly. He beckoned to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, bring me the potion."

Draco set the potion in the center of Snape's desk, glancing between the two professors. Both men leaned in, muttering curiously to themselves.

"Sanare Pura, eh?" Slughorn mused. "An interesting choice."

"And what is the purpose of brewing Sanare Pura?" Snape asked, quizzing him. Draco opened his mouth and was instantly interrupted.

"Sanare Pura is used to cleanse and heal wounds," Granger said, breezing into the classroom. She inclined her head apologetically. "So sorry professors – the duels ran behind," she explained. "Seamus – he, um – "

Snape's lip curled in amusement. "Exploded something?" He and Slughorn shared a conspiratorial glance, a brief moment of solidarity between teachers.

Granger grimaced. "Yes."

Slughorn lifted the crystal stopper, allowing the potion to breathe. "The hue is perfectly golden," he said, nodding. "Very good . . . "

Snape nodded his agreement, a rarity in itself. "Well done Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," he said, continuing to analyze the potion.

Slughorn applauded them. "Full marks," he said cheerfully. "I daresay this potion would most certainly save a life."

"Several lives, actually," Snape said melodically. He conjured a vial and poured some of the potion into it. "Here," he said, offering it to Granger, who was closest. "Perhaps you should hold onto this."

She eyed him curiously, as did Draco, but it was Slughorn that spoke.

"Severus, this is a very rare potion," he said quietly, his greedy eyes flashing. "Perhaps it would be best to store it in my possession?"

Snape ignored him. "Consider it a prize," he said. "Good work reaps rewards – wouldn't you agree, Horace?"

Slughorn coughed but said nothing.

"Thank you, Professor," Granger said, clutching the tiny vial. "This – this is wonderful."

He shrugged. "You're dismissed," he said, waving all three of them out of his office.

Draco turned hurriedly, trying to reach Granger. He wanted to hear what happened, despite his attitude towards her earlier that day. She was like some kind of spell – no matter how he felt, no matter the danger, no matter how impractical the feeling – he always seemed to be chasing her.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy – a moment of your time?"

Draco stifled a groan, turning to face Snape. "Yes, Professor?"

"How have you enjoyed working with Miss Granger?"

Draco didn't like the way Snape was looking at him; it was the face he used when he asked questions in class. It was his face when he asked something he already knew the answer to.

"Fine," he said irritably. "It was fine."

"Well, in any case," Snape said smoothly, fixing his attention on a book in front of him, "It was one of my more productive pairings."

"I suppose," Draco replied warily. "May I go now, Professor?"

Snape nodded, not taking his eyes off his reading. "Yes, of course, Mr. Malfoy," he said, his tone casual. "You may always pursue your own choices."

"What?" Draco mouthed wordlessly, adrift in utter confusion. But he didn't want to interpret it right now – he had other places to be.

He hurried out of Snape's office and up the stairs, keeping his eyes pealed for Granger. She must have beaten him by quite a bit, he thought, panting. He ran all the way to her room without bumping into her and then sighed, defeated.

He stood in the hallway considering his options.

Go to bed, Draco, he thought. Obviously – just go to bed.

But she was right there, wasn't she? Just on the other side of this door . . .

He knocked twice.

She opened the door.

He cleared his throat. "I, um – "

"I won, Malfoy," she said. She smiled impishly at him. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm the brightest witch of my age."

He let out a short laugh, leaning onto her doorframe. "I suppose you are, aren't you?"

She rewarded him with a flash of her smile. He loved the way her eyes caught the light; she took a simple thing like a candle flame and turned it into something breathtaking.

"Thank you," she said, after a few moments.

"For what?"

"I don't know," she said, biting her lip. "For wanting me to succeed. For wanting me to be me, I guess."

"Yeah," he said simply. She fidgeted for a moment.

"Well . . . good night, I suppose," she said, phrasing it like a question.

He nodded curtly, swallowing hard. He struggled to maintain his composure as she retreated into her room, hanging his head where he stood on the wrong side of the door.

This wasn't a time for cliffhangers. This wasn't the time for second thoughts. He wanted to be with her. He wanted a moment of peace, and he wanted it with her.

He pushed the door open and caught her in his arms, holding her as she went rigid before melting into his embrace. He picked her up and turned her, slamming the door and holding her against it, bending his head to kiss her chastely on the lips.

"Is that all?" she whispered, bringing a finger to his lips.

"No," he responded gruffly, pressing into her. She kissed his neck and he yanked her leg up over his hip, sliding his hand along the smooth expanse of her thigh. She shuddered, gripping the hair at the back of his head. He groaned and leaned down to kiss her, sucking lightly on her bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. She sighed, dragging her fingernails across his back, grabbing onto fistfuls of his shirt and pulling it up to give her access to his skin. He bit down on her lip and picked her up, holding her against the wall as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

This was fucking sinful.

She loosened his tie and pulled it roughly from around his neck, throwing it arbitrarily into the room, before unbuttoning his dress shirt, bending to kiss every inch of exposed skin along his neck, his collarbone, and his chest. He shifted one hand under her, slipping his hand under her cotton underwear to take hold of her bare arse, tightening his grip on her as her hands changed course and reached for the band of his trousers.

He turned her suddenly and threw her roughly on her bed, watching her face glow with surprise as she bounced backwards. She propped herself up on her elbows, looking at him; her eyes were wide and utterly consumed by him, he could tell. There was something in those big golden eyes that was more than mischief.

He slowly climbed onto the bed, using one hand to gently shove her flat onto her back. She tried to sit up, reaching for him, but he pushed her back, taking her hands and holding them over her head.

"No," he whispered warningly, as she tried again to touch him. He held his face centimeters above hers, every now and then barely brushing her lips with his. She squirmed under his grip, raising her chin to kiss him, but he hovered out of her reach, taking his time.

He turned his attention to her crisp white shirt, undoing each button one by one, letting his breath leave a trail down her chest and stomach. She bucked into him, inviting him, but he pushed down hard on her hips to hold her still. He kissed down her stomach before reaching under her skirt and drawing her panties off, taking a torturously long path over her knees and onto the floor. He pushed her legs apart and ducked his head under her skirt, biting down hard on her inner thigh. She cried out, reaching down to take a fistful of his hair, and he took advantage of her baited breath to glide the tip of his tongue along her clit, relishing in her full bodied convulsion. He pushed her skirt up over her hips, wanting to see her face; she had her eyes closed, enraptured.

He licked again with the tip of his tongue, waiting a beat, then again, with the broad side of his tongue. He repeated this, increasing his rhythm, before taking a finger and inserting it into her slit. She was moaning and writhing, and it was all he could do not to take her right then, conscious as he was of his own throbbing need. He slipped a second finger in, moving his digits, twisting them and pumping in and out while he took her clit in his mouth, sucking lightly. Her legs shook like tremors around his head and he smiled as he felt her close around his fingers, listening to her cry out as he let his tongue pulse against her, prolonging her orgasm.

She grabbed him by the collar and yanked his mouth to hers, kissing him deeply. She slid her tongue across his and reached for his waistband, hurriedly unbuttoning his trousers and yanking them down. He stood quickly and tore them off, ripping his shirt over his head and dropping back to her. She quickly shed her skirt and propped herself up, her golden eyes consuming him eagerly. He grinned, raking a hand through his hair, before pulling her shirt over her shoulders, using it to lock her arms behind her back.

Ignoring her stammered protestations, he lowered his head to her breasts, running his tongue along them. She whimpered softly, her feminine mews driving his pulsating cock until he finally let her sit up, removing the shirt and tearing her bra off with it. He lay on his side and pulled her towards him, running his hand along her bare curves before pulling her lips to his and kissing her hard.

He put his arms under her and rolled onto his back, placing her on top of his chest. She wriggled around on top of him, finding a spot where her clit rubbed against his dick, tormenting him as she slid against it. He groaned loudly, gripping hard on her waist, while she went lower, massaging his throbbing length between her breasts. He yanked her up roughly and settled her on top of him, no longer patient. He placed his tip at her entrance and she nodded, eyes locked as he held his breath. He slid into her and they both gasped, sharing an improbable, unending moment, suspended in time before they lost control.

She was perfect. There were no other words. No other thoughts in his mind.

He held her hips as she glided up and down on his shaft, her head thrown back and her hair a halo of unruly curls. He lazily encircled her clit with his thumb until he lost his concentration, suddenly clutching her waist and flipping her roughly onto her back. He threw her underneath him and grabbed her arse to lift her pelvis, growling as she moaned in his ear.

At this angle he drove deeper into her and he held her shaking body tightly as she came again, sinking her teeth into his shoulder and embedding her fingernails in his back. Barely two more thrusts and he shuddered, emptying himself, burying his face in the crook of her neck as they both struggled to tame their ragged breaths.

He rolled onto his side, pulling her to him. She looked at him, her hair wild, her cheeks flushed, her lips red and raw, and she smiled.

"Again?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: The Calm

Hermione lay on her stomach, resting her head on her arms while she stretched out languidly on the bed. She felt an odd sort of tingling at her core, like her very essence was wholly and preternaturally satisfied. She closed her eyes and allowed glimpses of skin and fire and contact to dance around her mind, each more vibrant and raw and real than the hasty imaginings she'd had to settle for until now.

She opened her eyes and he was there, chest bare and silky blond hair ruffled and matted, his head propped up indolently on one arm as he traced lazy patterns down her spine. His grey eyes, always alert, were watching her closely, eyeing her now as she smiled shyly at him. That was one thing she liked about him, she thought. She could admit that now. When he looked at her, he took his time, absorbing her. It wasn't the practiced glance of an old friend. It was the look of an artist, a scholar – he was studying her, memorizing her. And maybe she was art in his eyes.

It had been an immensely successful day.

She reached up and touched his lips gently. "What's wrong?"

His fingers paused their wanderings down her back as he frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "You're thinking about something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Reading my mind now, Granger?"

"You're always thinking about something," she clarified. "I just thought you might actually tell me, now."

He didn't say anything at first, and though his expression didn't change, she understood intuitively that he wasn't quite there yet.

"I suppose," he ventured, after a while, "I could do with hearing about your duel with Weasley."

She smiled broadly. "You don't want to just wait and hear the rumors?"

He tucked a curl behind her ear, sliding a cool hand over her shoulder. "I'm sure your version will do."

"Not much to report," she said, leaning into his touch. "Very similar to the lesson in class. I disarmed him, and that was pretty much that."

His grip tightened as he laughed. "You're fucking joking, Granger," he said, shaking his head. "You just disarmed him, and 'that was that'?"

"He, ah – he didn't try to use a nonverbal spell, he just sort of started saying something out loud, which I thought was horrifically lazy," she said, her tone very similar to the one she adopted when supplying answers in class.

His eyes were flashing with amusement. "So, what? If he hadn't been lazy – "

"I hadn't made up my mind yet, about what I was going to do," she admitted. "I know you think – "

"Never mind what I think, Granger."

"Well – in any case," she continued, "But when I saw he wasn't even trying . . . I just did it. Quick and painless."

"Oh I highly doubt 'painless' had anything to do with it," he said gleefully.

She groaned. "Look, I'm sure it may take longer now, but I do still plan to be friends with Ron – "

"Waste of time, if you ask me – "

" – so it'd be best if you didn't get too attached to the process of brainwashing me – "

"I resent the implication, Granger, I've done nothing of the sort – "

" – because whatever I feel for you is distinctly separate from my relationship with Ron and Harry – "

"Oh?" he said, his tone lightly mocking. He leaned over to kiss her shoulder. "And what is it you feel for me?"

She rolled her eyes but let him collect her in his arms, pulling her back to his chest and tucking his legs under hers. He slid his hand lightly up over her waist, bearing down on her hip and thigh before running back up past her rib cage, coming to rest possessively over her abdomen. She had to remind herself to breathe.

It's Draco Malfoy, remember? she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and scolding herself. You once slapped him in the face. 

"Did I say that?" she murmured, as he slid his hand between her thighs. She leaned into him automatically, angling her head so he could kiss her neck. It was remarkable how much being with him felt like instinct.

You watched a teacher turn him into a ferret.

She pulled his hand up and brought it surreptitiously to her breasts, smirking as she felt him twitch against her.

You've heard him say things like "servant's work."

She slipped her hand between them, running her fingers down the sharp curves of his abs to take him in her hand, arching her back into him. He inhaled sharply, burying his face in her hair as her hand traveled up and down his shaft. She grew conscious of the slick feeling between her thighs, tightening her grip on him as his breath on her neck made every hair on her body stand on end.

You forget your name for a moment when he touches you. 

He rolled her back onto her stomach and started kissing slowly down her spine, frustratingly cavalier as she whimpered and writhed under his touch. He was always this way with her; torturously aloof, pushing her to her breaking point – ridding her of all logic, depriving her of all control – and then taking her all at once.

"Please," she whispered, turning her chin over her shoulder to look back at him. His silvery blond hair had fallen carelessly into his eyes but there was no recovering from them, those stormy greys. He smirked at her, a look of craving on his handsome face, and kissed her fiercely.

Suddenly he yanked her hips up and back, tucking his hand under her pelvis to stroke her clit, massaging it. She fought back a moan, throwing her head back and gripping her headboard to brace herself. His fingers slipped inside her, testing her, but she was ready for him and she knew it.

"Malfoy," she gasped. "Malfoy – "

Wordlessly he thrust himself inside her, sliding his fingers around her clit.

"Granger," he said hoarsely, teeth clenched. "Fuck – "

She was still swollen from earlier and she came easily, a bewildering clash of sensations between him driving against her spot and his hands working deftly on her most sensitive area. She grabbed his hand against her quickly and held it still as she shuddered, gasping as he roughly kissed her neck and shoulders. When she regained her breath he pulled her chin over her shoulder and towards him, kissing her repeatedly.

He pulled out of her and flipped her onto her back, lifting her leg onto his shoulder as he sat back on his haunches. He reentered her slowly, looking her curiously in the eye as he carried out perhaps his most tormenting ministrations, filling her deeply and then withdrawing almost entirely.

She had long ago abandoned sanity, panting now as she suffered through the exquisite ordeal. She reached up and yanked his head forward, trapping his lips in hers.

She felt his breath catch and she smiled, willing him to lose control.

"Yes, Malfoy – yes – "

She pulled his chest to hers and wrapped her legs around his hips, digging her heels into his arse.

"Yes," she said, repeating it in his ear as his thrusts grew more feverish. She stretched her arms behind her head and he adjusted his position, driving into her as he held her wrists. She raised her hips, tightening her legs around him. "Yes."

She rocketed into her orgasm, her lips against his, moments before he groaned into her mouth, his body tense against hers.

It was an exceedingly long time before they moved again.

"You have feelings?" he mumbled, the majority of the words muffled into her chest.

"Yes," she said back, smoothing his hair. "I loathe you."

Draco had stayed at Granger's much too long.

They'd fallen asleep – though there were precious few hours left in the night with which to do so – and by the time they awoke, it seemed unlikely that he would make his escape with sufficient time to pull himself together before the start of the tournament. He magically pressed his uniform and put it back on, grumbling as he fiddled with his prefect badge.

Her eyes were glinting as she watched him, calmly sipping coffee in her pajamas. "What are you so upset about?"

"Nothing," he said off-handedly. Truth be told, vanity was amongst his many faults, and he didn't much like the thought of participating in a highly visible school event in yesterday's clothes, however charmed they were to look otherwise.

"I just – " he stopped, grabbing his shirt and sniffing the collar. "I smell like you," he said, furrowing his brow.

She moved toward him and he held it out to her to sniff. "I don't smell anything," she said, shrugging.

He made a face. "Well you wouldn't, would you?" he said. "It's your smell. All vanilla and gardenia – "

"Oh," she said, laughing. "Is my perfume not your smell of choice?"

He grimaced. "I'm not sure I wear it well."

She smiled, reaching for his hand. He gave it to her and kissed her quickly, turning to leave. Reaching the door, he stopped suddenly, and turned around to see her tilt her head at him, looking amused.

"Yes?" she prompted.

He strode toward her and kissed her again, longer this time, enveloping her in his arms. "Just wanted to tell you," he said casually, after pulling away. "That I hate you."

"You do?"

"Yes," he said solemnly. "I utterly abhor you."

She sniffed. "Get out of here Malfoy, you loathsome cockroach," she said indifferently, a charming half-smile flitting across her lips.

Perhaps there's good reason for not spending the night, he thought, rubbing his face with his hands tiredly as he made his way to the Great Hall. Though you slept better with her than you have alone, he reminded himself, battling with his better judgment.

Classes had been rescheduled for the following two days in order to accommodate the four-round House Dueling Tournament, featuring 16 sixth and seventh years. Professors seemed to be making the argument that the learning experience provided by the tournament pertained to every class, which seemed as good a reason as any Draco had ever heard to cancel a lesson. He certainly planned to make his own duels memorable.

The downside to this was that traffic flowing into the Great Hall was nearly unbearable; Draco, always a touch claustrophobic in crowds, groaned as they all fought for entrance.

"Draco!"

He recognized Theo's voice but did not turn his head. "Hey," he said stiffly.

"What – ah, right," Theo said, nodding as he pushed along beside him. "The Slytherin Prince does not like to surround himself with commoners," he commented, eyeing Draco's rigid posture in the midst of a sea of fourth year Hufflepuffs.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he said unenthusiastically.

Theo sniffed the air with confusion. "Is that – do you smell gardenias?"

Draco jumped. "What? No," he said quickly. "I – what's a gardenia?" he added, for effect.

Theo rolled his eyes. "Sure, of course you don't know what gardenias are," he drawled sarcastically. "They only cover half of Malfoy Manor."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Theo, I just want to point out to you that you have now actively spoken two full sentences about flowers."

"Point taken," Theo said with a shrug, raising his hands innocently.

They both squinted as they entered the Great Hall, which was alit with bright tapestries depicting each of the four houses. There was a narrow platform, like the one Snape had used, but this one was adorned with the corresponding house colors of the participants. First up was Abbott on one side and Potter on the other, with large, shimmery images of their faces projected above the platform.

"Of course Potter gets the world's easiest first round," Draco snorted. "Hufflepuff is essentially just a house full of Longbottoms."

Theo snickered. "Dumbledore's favorite will make it all the way through. Don't doubt that for a second," he warned, shaking his head.

Draco saw Potter out of the corner of his eye, standing with his usual gangly companion. Draco was exceedingly happy to note that Weasley looked especially sullen and gloomy. Draco also couldn't fight the smirk on his face when he thought about how immensely satisfying it would be, to tell Weasley where Granger had been all night . . . but of course, neither upsetting Granger nor making her a target for the Dark Lord seemed an appropriate course of action for the day.

"Are you aware that you're taking Pansy to the House Ball?" Theo said, interrupting Draco's thoughts.

"What?" he said, startled. He hadn't considered the idea of something so trivial as selecting a date to a ball.

"You're going to have to, mate," Theo said comfortingly, patting Draco's shoulder. "Seeing as I'm taking Daphne, and more importantly, Pansy will hex anyone who tries to come near you."

Pansy was the last person he wanted to see or think about at the moment. He most certainly could never touch her again, not after last night. He wasn't totally certain he could ever touch anyone else again. Sex came relatively easily to him, but with Granger it was more than that - it was natural, intuitive. It was explosive. There was really no coming back from that.

Not that she was an option. She remained, as always, very much not an option.

McGonagall and Snape were standing at the center of the platform, the former shooing the last straggling students into the hall while the latter glared expressionlessly at the crowd. Draco caught Granger out of the corner of his eye, hurrying to take her place next to Potter. Draco strained his eyes to see Weasley's reaction and was rewarded when Granger seemed blissfully unaware of the massive redheaded git glaring sulkily at her.

The duels were relatively quick; Snape had been correct, the seventh years were exclusively using nonverbal spells, which gave them a significant advantage. After Potter disarmed Abbott, McLaggen disarmed Finch-Fletchley, leading to Granger's match against Eddie Carmichael of Ravenclaw.

Theo leaned toward Draco. "Think this'll be anything like last time?"

Draco smirked slightly. "I wouldn't underestimate her," he said honestly.

Granger stepped nervously onto the platform, the odd floating hologram of her portrait disappearing as she took the stage.

Just breathe, he thought, trying to silently will her that message. You can beat that twat with your hands tied behind your back.

Her eyes found him for a moment, but with Theo beside him he didn't dare change his expression. Granger turned her attention back to Carmichael and bowed, beginning the cordiality of the duel.

It was an interesting matchup – Carmichael was quick but he overplayed his hand, opting for flashy spells over effective ones. In the end, Granger parried about four spells with only a protego before simply casting a disarming spell and landing it successfully at Carmichael's chest. Draco nodded as he clapped, admiring her style.

"She's an interesting one," Theo commented over the noise of the applause. "I'd have thought she might try something flashier."

"No," Draco said. "She's not the flashy type. She keeps things simple. Very refined."

When Theo didn't respond, Draco looked at him, catching the full blow of his astonished face.

"What? Oh – " Draco stuttered. "I mean, you saw – "

Theo opened his mouth to argue but was quickly cut short.

"Draco Malfoy of Slytherin and Cho Chang of Ravenclaw," McGonagall called.

Draco stood, brushing himself off. "Don't forget to keep things refined," Theo called after him, smirking.

He considered his opponent for a moment, trying to establish a plan for himself. Ravenclaw, so she's smart, he thought. And a year older, too, so that's an edge. But she was previously attracted to Potter, so . . . she's also an idiot.

Too emotional, he added in his head with a sneer. He took one look at her and knew it would be easy.

Legilimens.

Her mind was foggy but her moves were clear. He let her go first, meeting the line of fire incantation she'd chosen to knock him off balance with an icy douse of his own. When she parried with a disarming spell, he merely sidestepped it, relishing the frenzy of her thoughts as she grew less confident. Only after he'd met each of her spells with a complimentary one of his own did he finally catch her in a moment of utter defeat, her mind devoid of ideas as he finally disarmed her.

Expelliarmus!

Her wand soared gracefully out of her hand and a perverse look of relief came over her face. He almost felt sorry for her; she was simply too much of an open book for her own good.

He stepped down to shake McGonagall's hand. "Very good work, Mr. Malfoy," she said enthusiastically. She pressed a small piece of parchment into his hand. "When the time is right, the parchment will contain the name of your next opponent."

"When the time is right?" he asked, bewildered.

"Yes," she said. "When it has decided."

"Decided?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," she said impatiently. "They've all been enchanted to make that choice."

He opened it. "Wait – Professor, there's already a name here – "

"Oh is there?" she said, with a furrowed brow. "I suppose it was an easy decision, then," she added simply, hurrying away toward Theo and Helen Dawlish.

He looked at it again. There was a small flourish at the end, and he wondered if this was truly her signature. Because, of course, there should never have been a question in his mind.

Of course it said Hermione Granger.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: The Danger

The handwriting was narrow, linear, and neat.

Draco Malfoy.

"Oof," Harry said, smiling nonchalantly as he shook his head. "I don't envy you."

Hermione grimaced, taking the slip of parchment back from him. "I probably should have been expecting it."

"Maybe," he said noncommittally. "It's fine. You can beat him."

"I know that," she said defensively. "Of course I know that."

She did not know that at all. True, she knew she was an excellent witch. She knew she could outperform Malfoy, under the majority of circumstances. But she had to admit, she'd recently been rendered speechless by him, watching him duel. He was always difficult to read but in this environment he was almost frighteningly calm, scarily cognizant of his opponent's next move. Hermione had observed Cho's bewildered face progress rapidly through stages of desperation and recalled suddenly Blaise Zabini's look of undiluted shock when he'd been disarmed. Malfoy was almost certainly using legilimency and nobody but Hermione seemed to be the wiser – with the possible exception of Snape, she noted, who had held his chin in his hand thoughtfully, his dark eyes uncharacteristically luminous with interest.

She'd have to read Malfoy to be able to beat him, but her windows into his thoughts were few and far between, she realized. Even when he let her in, as he had been doing as of late, she suspected he was still careful to control what she saw. How someone who had seemed so unilaterally immature and single-minded for so long could have somehow evolved into the silvery, unreadable enigma before her was staggering. She wondered, for perhaps the thousandth time, what he'd been through, to make him what he was. A better man, unquestionably. But a guarded one.

Perhaps a dangerous one, she thought darkly.

She thought of his face this morning, and the kiss he'd given her as he teasingly returned her affections. "I utterly abhor you," he'd said. She smiled. She knew what he meant. Maybe facing her would be different for him. Maybe she meant something to him.

She looked over at where Malfoy stood now, wondering if he'd seen her name on his own slip of parchment yet. He was sitting alone, watching Theo Nott duel Helen Dawlish, his eyes following their respective spell work as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. It was a closer match than the previous few had been and he was focused intently on Theo, nodding thoughtfully when his spells hit home. Hermione found herself silently supporting Theo as well, much to her surprise; she was finding him harder to resent, knowing the friend he was to Malfoy. Theodore Nott was not the first Slytherin that she'd misjudged, and she wasn't likely to make the same mistake again.

"How do you think I should beat him?" she asked Harry, not taking her eyes off Malfoy. She figured she had an excuse, for once.

Harry shrugged, his eyes volleying between Theo and Helen. "You know him better than I do, I suppose," he replied vacantly. "What are his weaknesses?"

"That's a very Malfoy question to ask," she commented, smiling slightly. Harry only made a face at her.

What are his weaknesses? she wondered, eyeing Malfoy. He looked up at her briefly, his face composed. She shuddered as she met his grey eyes. Whatever they were, hers certainly outnumbered them.

"You're not a very good coach, Harry," she whispered, though he did not hear her. The Great Hall erupted in applause as Theo finally sent Helen's wand soaring, ending the longest duel of the day. Hermione clapped politely, heart pounding as she felt Malfoy's eyes on her.

The remainder of the first round of duels dragged painfully, aware as she was of what awaited her in the afternoon. McGonagall had structured the tournament to accommodate two rounds of dueling each day, meaning that while she would face Malfoy that afternoon, the remainder of the tournament would continue the following day. During the break between rounds, Hermione only picked at her lunch, pushing food around her plate as she considered the possible outcomes of facing Malfoy. She couldn't even remember what she would have done, if none of it had happened between them and he was just the unbearable arsehole Draco Malfoy – if there had been no potion, no kiss . . .

She couldn't remember a time before him – the him that he was now. Astounding what a month can do, she thought, in the life of the young and reckless.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny chattered happily around her as they waited for the afternoon duels – well, she thought, correcting herself, Harry and Ginny are chattering happily. Ron is sulking.

Ron and Lavender were evidently in the midst of a muddled breakup, leaving him with no other option than to reintroduce himself to their little circle. He hadn't spoken to Hermione since the duel, which wasn't surprising. His injured look of shock as she'd disarmed him had been telling enough, and she knew, as she had told Malfoy, that it would take a while for Ron's injured pride to come around again. She found she wasn't all that sorry, though, and she attributed a bit of that to the influence of her silver-haired companion.

"Nervous, Hermione?" Ginny laughed, watching her pluck nervously at the inside of a roll of bread.

She felt herself turn pink. "A bit," she admitted.

"She wasn't nervous to face me," Ron grumbled, not addressing anyone in particular.

Ginny backhanded his shoulder. "That's because you're hardly any competition," she said. "Stop whining."

Harry laughed, his eyes glinting as he watched Ginny imitate her sullen brother. It could have been so easy, Hermione thought sadly, watching as Ron steadfastly refused to meet her eyes. Harry clearly loves Ginny – I could have loved Ron – it could have been so simple.

Too simple, she thought, her pulse quickening as she eyed Malfoy for the hundredth time that day.

"Stop worrying about him," Ginny scolded, following her line of sight. "You'll be fine."

She put down her tortured piece of bread, completely gutted of its inner contents. "Who are you facing next, Harry?"

He held up a finger, swallowing a large bite of steak and kidney pie. Hermione's stomach turned, watching him – she couldn't understand how he could eat so much at a time like this.

He cleared his throat, retrieving his bit of parchment from his pocket and unfolding it. "I'd forgotten to check," he said, squinting at the name. "Looks like Karl Limpley."

Ginny scoffed. "You're getting quite an easy ride, Harry."

He grinned, leaning back. "Eh, I'll take it."

"Who else is left?" Hermione asked, now absentmindedly swirling her glass of pumpkin juice.

Ginny counted off on her fingers. "You, Harry, Karl, Malfoy, Theo Nott, Padma Patil, Cormac McLaggen – " she paused. "Hang on, I'm forgetting someone – "

"Anthony Otterburn," Ron said bitterly.

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Even Ron could beat him – "

" – What do you mean, even me – "

"Look, our prelim round had a rough go of it," Harry said, mediating. "There are more Gryffindors still in than any other house, and there's no shame in losing to Hermione – "

Ron grunted his disagreement incoherently, but Hermione wasn't paying attention. She noticed very few things, that afternoon. Harry beat Karl handily, Cormac McLaggen struggled to disarm Padma Patil, and Theo Nott demolished Anthony Otterburn – but she didn't have a clear thought until she heard McGonagall call her name.

Harry nudged her as she sat frozen at the edge of her seat. "Go," he said, smiling. "Give him hell from us, Hermione."

She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but it seemed deathly silent as she climbed the steps to the platform, the final duel of the day. She stepped through the haze that her hologram portrait had left, watching Malfoy materialize across from her.

What to start with? she thought nervously, her fingers numbly tapping her wand. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to shake her irrational fear. You can do this, she told herself firmly. Even he would tell you the same thing. Malfoy himself would tell you you can do this.

She opened her eyes to look directly into his, surprised when she thought she saw a flicker of something in her mind. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision. The hazy image came to her again, an image of herself, dueling. She was standing opposite Malfoy, her wand up, and he was conjuring the line of fire spell, the same one Cho had used on him. She looked at the real Malfoy, standing before her, seeking understanding. He jerked his head slightly, a noncommittal nod; by Malfoy standards, she sensed this was meant to be reassurance.

Her eyes narrowed as they bowed to each other, and she walked to her starting position slowly, trying to gain clarity prior to starting. He'd wanted her to see that – was he being sincere?

Snape stood in the center of the platform, starting them off. "Wands at the ready," he said, before stepping back to the floor.

She bit her lip, still uncertain what to do; Malfoy faced her impassively, and she sensed he had given her as much information as she was going to get. She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, making a decision.

"One – two – three – "

A fiery, spectacular snake-like form erupted from his wand, sliding towards her. Expecting it, she parried with an equally graceful aguamenti, noting with admiration the beauty of their clashing spells.

Something else invaded her mind – a gust of wind coming her way, presumably mean to push her off balance. It made sense, she thought. Malfoy was using a variety of elemental combinations. And strangely, he was preempting them by revealing them to her.

She saw it before the spell left his wand and had the time to conjure a powerful protego, an invisible shield deflecting his spell. When his own wind spell rebounded he dissipated it quickly, anticipating its return. She felt herself smile as she took stock of the buzz of whispers around them; she and Malfoy were putting on quite a show, effortlessly countering the other, move by move. Not every spell he used was meant to truly disarm her – at one point he sent green sparks in her direction, just so that she could respond with her own glow of red. Each time, she saw his impending spell materialize in her mind, providing her with ample ammunition. She began to grow comfortable, falling into a pattern that gave her an unexpected sense of calm.

He looked so relaxed; his every move was effortless, stylized, and graceful. His face never betrayed an ounce of emotion but she knew him well enough to know he was enjoying himself, finding in her the perfect opponent for the kind of elegant spell work she'd come to expect from him. She was happy too, in the moment, hearing the murmurs of admiration coming from the crowd around them.

She turned his battalion of conjured birds into a small hurricane, directing it toward him, blinking as the latest image materialized in her mind. He would be using a shield spell – that's easy enough, she thought. It would give her the upper hand, allowing her the next move.

She straightened, pausing to wait for his rebuttal. The timing would be simple – her charmed hurricane would reach him, he would respond with the protego, she could – oh, what did she have left in her arsenal –

Her musings were abruptly cut short as her wand ripped itself from her hand, her ears ringing as the Slytherins jumped out of their seats, cheering loudly. She blinked rapidly, utterly bewildered. What happened?

He was holding her wand out to her, but she barely registered his voice. "Granger," he said evenly. "You seem to have misplaced something."

She snatched it back from him, backing away. She watched as her portrait disappeared from the tournament banner, her mind still foggy and uncertain.

"Very well fought, Miss Granger," she heard Professor McGonagall say. Her voice seemed very far away. "A very close match – "

"No," she said suddenly, realizing what had happened. "No, it wasn't – "

McGonagall looked taken aback. "But it was, my dear – "

Hermione saw Malfoy's tall, pale form slip into the hall, away from the clamoring members of his house. She rushed after him, ignoring McGonagall's protestations. The Hall was so full of students boisterously voicing their opinion on the duel that she didn't have to attempt any concealment in order to get away. Nobody was looking at her.

He was walking briskly, his shoes tapping purposefully on the stone cobbles that lead to the courtyard. He must have heard her hurrying after him, but he gave no indication. It was only after they'd exited the castle that she finally saw fit to call out to him, tired of the chase.

"Malfoy!"

He stopped, turning to face her. "Granger," he said, clenching his fists as though anticipating an explosion.

"You planned that, didn't you?" she demanded. "That last one – that was legilimency, like you did to Blaise – and Cho – "

He had the decency to look a little bit nervous, but lifted his chin defiantly. "It was a duel, Granger," he said stiffly. "Eventually someone had to win."

"But you – "

He sighed in frustration. "Look, Granger, I'm sorry that I – I'm sorry about what I did," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "You're a better wizard, and by all accounts you could have won." He paused, biting his lip as he struggled to find the words to explain himself. "But dueling is about knowing your opponent. Knowing their weaknesses."

"I know that," she snapped angrily. She waited for his response, but he merely watched her. "Well?" she demanded, stomping her foot. "What's mine?"

"You trust me," he said simply.

For a moment, she was floored. "That's a weakness?"

He shrugged. "Isn't it?"

Evidently. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, avoiding the question.

"I did what was necessary, Granger," he said, still somewhat defensive.

"You fed me your spells," she said, prodding him. "Why? Why not just beat me outright?"

"What fun would that be?" he asked tersely.

She didn't know what to make of him at the moment. On the one hand, he couldn't have let her win – he wouldn't have. That would have been the very thing he told her not to do with Ron. Could he have beaten her without manipulating her? Maybe not, she thought, giving herself the benefit of the doubt.

"Are you angry?" he asked uncertainly, peering into her eyes.

She paused before answering.

"Well?" he asked, prodding her.

"I'm thinking," she said, pursing her lips.

Was she angry? She didn't like being beaten, and she didn't like that he'd tricked her. But it was only a duel, and he seemed sincere – and as he said, someone had to win.

She wished, for a moment, that she had what he had – that raw, killer instinct, to take the weakness of her opponent and turn it into her strength. He certainly is dangerous, she thought, filing that observation away. Better to be on his team, then.

"No," she said finally. "My pride's a bit bruised, though."

"Well, that's not so bad," he said, a tremor of tenderness in his voice. "Bruises heal."

She nodded, stepping towards him. "Don't do it again, though," she cautioned, pointing a finger at him menacingly. "I don't much enjoy the feeling of being deceived," she added, poking her finger into his chest, "And particularly not by you."

He sighed shakily and she sensed relief in his tone. "I won't," he said, a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes. "I promise. I won't use legilimency on you again."

She nodded, her initial anger assuaged. She placed her hands on his hips, holding him experimentally, and looked at him meaningfully.

"To the victor go the spoils," she said, tilting her face toward his. He glanced around and then dipped his head to brush her lips with his. She sighed, smiling.

"You know," she said, trying to maintain an air of breezy confidence, "We could always duck into that first floor classroom – we have a few minutes before dinner, nobody would notice – "

He laughed, cupping her chin. "No, Granger," he said, kissing her again.

"No?" she repeated numbly, looking at him.

"I don't want a hurried fifteen minutes, Granger," he clarified, voice husky. "I want to own every inch of you, and I plan to take my time doing it."

In the end, Draco met her in the prefects bathroom late that night. His thoughts were consumed by her, rendering him useless even as Theo and the other Slytherins clapped him on the back during dinner. Even Professor McGonagall had something to say – "The best duel we've seen in years, Mr. Malfoy, truly a thing of beauty" – but he was impatient to be with Granger, to hold her and be held, a simple pleasure he could not remember having wanted before.

Did it matter that his next match would be with Potter? Certainly not. He'd defeated the "brightest witch of her age," and what was the so-called Chosen One compared to that?

He was exuberant with relief when she had not angrily rejected him, as he had feared she might. He was actually surprised at how quickly she accepted his explanation – though he had been sincere when he promised not to deceive her again – and had marveled inwardly at how easy it was to be honest with her. To simply ask her forgiveness, and more remarkably, to receive it. He was beginning to wonder if he was having an effect on her infamous moral compass, drawing her into the murky waters of what was and was not fair game.

All is fair in love and war – but this, of course, was neither.

Probably.

They met in the bathrooms by chance, though he would gladly have sought her out intentionally. They'd been alone, both returning to their dorms late in the evening and both choosing an opportune time to bathe. He'd held out his hand to her wordlessly and she'd taken it, kissing him fiercely as they stumbled into the shower, concealing themselves magically behind the opaque shower doors. He'd worshipped her skin with his lips, licked falling water droplets off of her as she moaned at his touch, pressed her back to the cold tile as he thrusted upwards, and held her shakily as they came, her hands gripping his hair.

And then, not wanting to be alone, he'd taken her to his room, his pristine sanctuary, where he lounged across his bed and watched as she took stock of his things. Her hair was still wet and her skin maintained a sort of dewy quality, golden and glowy in the soft light of his room. If he hadn't spent all night with her, he'd have thought she'd used a beauty charm. It seemed inhuman, for her to look so blissfully perfect.

"So many books," she remarked, fingering the spines of the leatherbound covers.

"I read," he said simply.

She picked up one of the books, gently stroking the cover. "King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table," she read, tilting her head with interest. "This is a first edition, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Benefit of being – what was it? – ah. Wizard royalty," he replied airily.

She sat on the bed next to him, her eyes still wandering around the room. "You don't have much in here," she commented.

"I don't like clutter."

"No," she agreed. "You don't seem like you would."

He picked up her hand, kissing her fingers. "You don't have much in your room, either," he pointed out.

"No," she said, "But I do keep pictures around." She glanced around again, running her hand across his duvet. "Emerald green bedding, of course – "

" – of course – "

" – but other than the books – "

"I have a calendar too," he said. "Don't forget that."

She laughed playfully, curling into a ball next to him. "Right."

He reached out and touched her cheek. "I'm glad you're not too upset with me," he said, venturing a return to their earlier subject.

"Honestly, I think it would be a waste of my time," she said, stretching out beside him and facing him. "I don't seem to have very much control when it comes to you."

"I know the feeling," he said wistfully, watching the warm, golden flecks in her wide brown eyes.

"Just don't do it again," she reminded him, and he opened his mouth to argue.

"I already told you – "

"Don't lie to me, in general," she said, closing her eyes. "I don't appreciate liars."

"I don't know if you should want anything to do with me, then," he said truthfully, retracting his hand.

She opened her eyes and looked at him curiously for a long time before she spoke. "Malfoy, you should really tell me – "

He sighed dramatically, sitting upright. "Granger, trust me, we can't talk about this – or anything really," he said with frustration. He leaned towards her, pulling her face to his to kiss her again. "We don't really need to talk – "

"Stop it," she said, the kindness in her voice belying the severity of her intent. "You have to tell me, Malfoy," she said softly. "You have to let someone in – "

"I don't," he said indignantly. "I'm fine, Granger, I don't need you to save me."

"Malfoy," she said suddenly. "Remember what you said, about knowing your opponent's weaknesses?"

"Yes," he said warily.

"You're letting this destroy you," she said simply. "That's your weakness. You're crumbling from the inside."

"Crumbling?" he winced. "What a terribly emasculating choice of words, Granger."

"It's true," she said ruefully. "Would I even be here, if I hadn't seen you at the moments you were falling apart? The memory from the dining room, the day in the bathroom, the nightmare – "

"I'm clear on the timeline, thanks," he said smoothly, cutting her off. "That's different."

"How?" she said, propping herself up to be at his eye level. "You let me in – "

"I haven't let you in," he said, shaking his head. "Obviously I haven't, or you wouldn't be having this conversation – "

"Well then tell me, Draco Malfoy," she said abruptly, "Who else can say they know your fear? Who else knows your heart?"

"My heart has nothing to do with it," he said without conviction.

"Here is what I know," she said, with the air of someone laying their cards on the table. "I know you are a Death Eater. I know you have been given a task."

She paused, eyeing him. He said nothing; it would be stupid to deny it, stupider still to confirm it.

"And," she said, leading up to a monumental reveal, "I know that you are worried about a vanishing cabinet."

He gaped at her. "I – what?"

"Don't ask me questions, give me answers," she urged. "I can help you."

"You can't help me, Granger!" he said, his temper rising. "You don't understand, you can't possibly know – "

"Whatever it is, Malfoy," she said desperately, "Whatever it is, please – trust me, let me help you – "

He threw himself onto his back, clapping his hands over his face. "I cannot do this again, Granger," he said, his voice muffled. "I can't keep doing this. I'm protecting you, don't you see that?"

She was silent. After a moment he removed his hands from his face, placing them rigidly at his side.

"This task you have," she said, "Is it very dangerous?"

He was careful not to let his face change. "Stop," he said simply, staring at the ceiling.

She eyed him as she gingerly bit her lip, thinking. "Obviously it's something you're doing against your will – which I assume means your life is at stake," she said, thinking out loud. He turned his head away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of confirmation.

"You're worried he'll kill you if you don't do what he asks," she ventured, more of a statement than a question.

"Maybe we can hide you," she said suddenly. "Maybe the Order can protect you – nobody would connect you with me, You-Know-Who would never suspect – "

He laughed mirthlessly, finally facing her.

"And what about my family, Granger?" he asked pointedly. "I'm supposed to just leave them in his hands?"

"Maybe we can fake your death!" she said, reaching. "We could – "

"Or maybe I should just let him kill me," he said, voice even.

"You-Know-Who, you mean?" she asked, horrified.

"No," he replied, thinking again of the monumental unlikelihood of his success. He shook his head. "Never mind, Granger – just let it go."

There was a pause as they both considered the implications of his words. "Let you go, you mean?" she asked softly.

He suddenly felt very lost, very scared. "Maybe," he said.

He listened to the ticks of his clock as minutes passed in silence, him lying still on his bed and her looking at him, her head propped up on her arm. Eventually she shifted and he felt the absence of her weight beside him, closing his eyes as it occurred to him that she might be leaving.

Say something, he urged himself. Don't let her walk away. You'll never be the same. You'll never not want her.

Don't let her go.

He sat up quickly. "Granger – "

She was standing. Not headed toward the door – just standing.

"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?" she asked, clearly unaware of his torment. He looked at her quizzically. "Oh," she said, "don't worry. I'm not leaving."

She climbed into the bed and he followed, pulling her to him silently. "Good," he said, his voice muffled in her hair.

"Don't be an idiot, Malfoy," she whispered. "It's already much too late."

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: The Storm

She had been much more responsible about making an early escape than he had been; it was still quite dark when Draco became conscious of her fumbling around his room for her things.

"Fuck, Granger," he swore under his breath. It had been the second night in a row of dreamless sleep, a brief moment of peace amidst the chaos that always threatened to rain down on him unexpectedly, and he wasn't thrilled about the interruption.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," she said, cringing. "I think I dropped something – "

He reached over and picked up his wand, flicking it over his shoulder to illuminate the room. "So rude," he muttered, curling up and pulling his blankets around him.

"Ah, found it!" she proclaimed, straightening. She gave him a knowing look. "It truly does not surprise me that you would be this unpleasant in the morning, you know."

He smirked at her. "I'd hardly call it morning," he corrected, eyeing the item she held in her clenched fist. "What is that?"

She opened her palm, revealing the small vial that Snape had handed her. "Our potion," she said. "It fell out of the pocket of my robe."

"You've just been carrying around a rare and valuable potion in your robe?"

"No," she said with frustration. "I took it out of my pocket, and then – I don't remember what I did next but I meant to put it away and got distracted – "

"You can just leave it here," he said, waving his hand at the variety of empty surfaces around his immaculate room. "Wherever."

She frowned. "I feel like I should hold onto it, for some reason," she remarked. "I'll just put it in my bag when I get back to my room."

"Learn to share, Granger," he said sleepily, yawning widely.

She laughed and came to perch beside him on the bed, slipping the potion back into her pocket. He curled around her contentedly, resting his forehead on her leg, and she ran her fingers lightly through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"It's odd, how normal this feels," she murmured. He nodded his agreement.

"Do you think there's a parallel universe out there somewhere," she began, her mind very far away, "Where we're just normal, and the people we love don't hate each other, and we can just go to the movies together?"

"Movies?" he asked, bewildered, his voice muffled into her lap.

She exhaled swiftly, a silent laugh. "Never mind," she said, shaking her head. She bent down to kiss his forehead, dodging his grip as he tried to pull her back.

"I have to go," she said, patting his hand. "You'll thank me."

"Mmphm."

"Right," she said cheerfully. "Good luck today," she added, her voice softening as her eyes lingered on his face.

He lifted his head quickly. "I'll see you tonight?"

The smile that flitted across her face was warm and reassuring. "Yes," she said, her hand on the doorknob. "I'll see you tonight."

She performed a quick spell to check for the presence of anyone on the other side of the door before ducking into the hall, gracing Draco with her bewitching smile as she turned and swept out of the room. Even without her presence he could still smell her on his pillow, and a few deep breaths allowed him some precious moments of relief before his mind turned uneasily to the events of the day.

He was almost grateful for the distraction she had provided, as it meant that the time he'd had to devote to mending the cabinet in the Room of Requirement was significantly reduced. He had reexamined Borgin's notes on the object and suspected he had stumbled across the solution – a minor adjustment to the incantation that would, theoretically, restore the use of the cabinets. Granger was the only reason that he had not yet confirmed its repair.

He wondered how long he could put it off, how long before the Dark Lord came calling, perhaps in another chilling nightmare – or worse, somehow. He'd come to the conclusion it was safest to just assume there was always a way it could somehow be worse. Draco still had no plan, and try as he might to formulate one, it seemed to just begin and end with him sighing in frustration, knowing the safest course of action for everyone involved – with one significant exception, of course – was to simply do what he was told. Let the only victim be his fragmented soul, his wounded conscience. Surely there were worse outcomes, somehow.

Draco got dressed slowly, taking his time. He was starting to think of his life as starkly divided between pre- and post-Granger; the timeline was about the same as pre- and post-Dark Mark, the inner turmoil comparable, but the aftermath was so distinct. He felt strangely happy, in a way that hadn't occurred to him to be possible, even when he'd been young and ignorant.

"You're in a good mood," commented Theo, finding Draco as they filtered into the Great Hall. Of the original sixteen, only four of them remained – Draco, Potter, McLaggen, and Theo, in their respective Slytherin-Gryffindor matchups.

"It's a rare opportunity to be permitted to throw spells at Potter," he said, shrugging. "Naturally, I'm quite pleased."

Theo smirked, his expression smug. "I wouldn't want to be the one squaring off against Potter," he said, his lips pressed together thinly.

"Afraid of the 'Chosen One,' Nott?" Draco suggested mockingly.

Theo rolled his eyes dramatically. "Hardly," he sneered, frowning darkly. "Did you know that git just didn't do the potion assignment?"

"Fuck," Draco said, shocked. "Really?"

"Yep," Theo said with a noncommittal shrug. "I brought in a dittany drought but Potter never even showed." He looked at Draco, his polished brow arched thoughtfully. "He's Dumbledore's favorite, you know," Theo reminded him. "He'll always be able to get away with anything."

"He'll need a lot more than just that if he wants to beat me outright," Draco said, unconcerned with his own hubris.

That was the other thing about Granger – the effect of having been near her made him feel invincible. And knowing that he had her gave him that much of an edge over Potter, whether the arsehole knew it or not.

He and Potter would be facing off first, and as he and Theo entered the Great Hall, he caught sight of their floating portraits right away, their respective sides resplendent in their house colors. Today, with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff eliminated from the tournament, the hall was decorated with Gryffindor crimson on one side, melting into emerald Slytherin green on the other. Flags bearing their respective crests swung majestically, lining the hall. It was a spectacle of color and activity.

Draco caught sight of Granger standing with Potter, murmuring to him as he stood waiting to mount the platform. Draco wondered if she had shared anything with Potter, any details on how Potter could beat him, and he felt his stomach flip as he considered that her loyalties might be torn.

Doesn't matter, he thought, shaking away an unpleasant image of Granger sitting with Potter, heads bent as they discussed how to destroy Draco. Even if Potter knows what I'm doing, he simply can't do what I can. 

Professor McGonagall appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, flanked by Sprout and Flitwick. Upon seeing her, everyone found their seats quickly, and by the time she cleared her throat for silence, the room was waiting with baited breath.

"Where's Snape?" Draco asked, whispering to Theo.

He shrugged apathetically. "Don't know," he replied evenly. "Dumbledore isn't here either."

"He wasn't here yesterday – I guess the old man's lost interest," Draco said, smirking.

"Good morning," McGonagall called, her voice magically amplified. "As you know, we are about to embark on the semi-final round of the House Dueling Tournament." She paused to accommodate a spattering of polite applause. "As a reminder," she continued, "the two winners of the duels this morning will then compete for their houses this afternoon, with the winner receiving one hundred points to his or her house."

"Let us not forget, the House Ball will take place next week," she added, raising her voice over the mixed buzz of excited whispers and unpleasant grumbling.

Under her stern gaze, the noise of the hall quickly died down. "Well," she said primly. "Let us not delay any further." She flicked her wand, bringing Draco's and Potter's names to the forefront of the tournament banner. "Draco Malfoy of Slytherin house, and Harry Potter of Gryffindor house."

The applause was deafening; Potter had himself quite a fan club. "Good luck, mate," Theo said, clapping Draco on the back. "Make him cry, would you?"

"Careful, Theo," Draco warned. "Once I beat Potter, I'll be coming for you."

Theo shrugged apathetically. "One thing at a time, Malfoy."

Draco grinned briefly but composed himself before stepping onto the platform, his stride quick but purposeful. He met Potter in the middle, looking down his nose at his slightly shorter opponent. Potter's messy black hair was its usual catastrophic bird's nest, and his glasses were smudged.

Draco smirked. "Scared, Potter?"

Potter narrowed his eyes angrily, his eyes flashing as he faced Draco. Draco noted with amusement how easy it was to read him.

"You wish, Malfoy," Potter growled, barely tipping his head as McGonagall instructed them to bow.

Draco reached his starting point and raised his wand, waiting.

"One – two – three – "

"Expelliarmus!"

Draco found himself using a bit more effort as he dissipated Potter's disarming spell, waving it away like dust. The forceful – and primitive – way that Potter conjured it required Draco to put more effort into the nonverbal counterspell than he would have liked. His follow-up spell, a nonverbal expelliarmus – the logic behind which was that Theo might be right, that Dumbledore's favoritism would allow Potter the win, thus encouraging Draco to aim for a quick victory over a flashy one – didn't land as well as he had hoped. Potter was more physically mobile than his other opponents, and relied less on spells than on his natural ability to scramble out of the way. Draco gritted his teeth, frustrated, as he ducked another spell from Potter.

He was able to read Potter as easily as he had read the others, if not more easily; Potter's eyes were dangerously expressive, and his mind was like an open book. Draco could see him growing frustrated, his brows furrowing further each time Draco correctly predicted his next move. He seemed to be unraveling, reaching for more intense spells.

"Confundo!"

Draco angrily slashed at the incoming spell, severing it from its source. How dare he, he seethed. He heard a gasp and caught Granger out of the corner of his eye, knowing she was reacting to Potter's terrible decision making.

You think you can fool me, Potter? 

Draco shook his head, the predator in him roaring.

Deprimo!

Potter was nearly blown backwards, conjuring a protego just in time.

"Incendio!"

"Expulso!" 

Draco abandoned his effort at nonverbal spells, angered as he was by Potter's escalation.

"Levicorpus – "

"Obscuro!"

They were shouting now, and everyone in the audience was now on their feet. Outbursts from both houses were overpowering, distracting, and Draco was struggling to keep his head.

"Stupefy!"

"Protego – "

Draco's shield charm was extremely effective; it knocked Potter backwards, though he maintained his grip on his wand. Draco keenly felt the presence of the audience around him as he waited for Potter's response, their eyes hungry and expectant.

He felt uneasy – something about this seemed familiar, unwelcome. Almost subconsciously, his eyes sought out Granger, looking for reassurance in her warm brown eyes. He caught the mischievous smile on her lips and knew he was only wasting time, allowing himself to get caught up in Potter's overly emotional dueling style.

Potter's mind was exceptionally clear as he conjured the next spell but Draco did not see it properly – he was distracted, with Granger right there –

That was his mistake.

He didn't hear the spell, didn't recognize it; he didn't shield himself in time.

"Sectumsempra!"

Draco felt himself thrown backwards, suspended in the air;

He saw his veins burst open

And his blood run down his arms

And pore out of his chest –

As he hit the ground, he heard a scream, her scream.

He tried to stop her, tried to reach her, but his eyes, they were so heavy . . .

Please, he begged. Please. 

Just give me a little more time with her. 

Please.

Her face was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.

Harry's spell had hit Malfoy squarely in the chest, sending him soaring. Not everyone noticed right away, though, the damage the spell had done; most people watching were distracted by the explosive nature of the spell, the forceful way it had catapulted Malfoy into the air. But she had just been looking into Malfoy's eyes, and she had just seen his face – so she was the only one who seemed to notice, right away, that blood was pouring out of open wounds long before he hit the ground.

Time seemed to stop as she saw Malfoy start to fall, his body limp even before the impact. Without thinking she launched herself onto the platform, kneeling over him as he hit the ground. The amount of blood was astonishing, staggering. It was like something out of one of his nightmares, and she felt a primal scream erupt from her lungs as she desperately tried to cover his wounds, scrambling to stop the bleeding.

She pulled her wand out, casting spell after spell to stitch his open wounds shut, but nothing was fast enough. She was vaguely aware of Harry trying to pull her away but she wrenched out of his grasp, refusing to take her eyes off of Malfoy.

She had to save his life. She had to.

She looked up desperately, remembering what she'd put in her bag that morning. "Accio Sanare Pura!"

The vial erupted from her bag like a heat-seeking missile, propelling itself into her hand, and she began dripping it over his chest. She watched the wounds begin to close themselves but felt Malfoy's breath grow ragged, his chest barely moving.

"It's not working!" she cried, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She was covered in his blood but she didn't notice; she couldn't see the horrified faces that watched her as she worked, staining herself with his blood like it was some kind of tribal war paint. She picked up her wand and tried mimicking the effect of the potion, trying to be the invisible hand she'd watched heal his wrist just days before.

Had it only been days? 

Nothing she did seemed to have any effect; the gash on his chest was closing but not nearly fast enough, and she could feel the life draining from him. She held his face in her hands, shaking him, yelling for him to wake up.

"Malfoy!"

She heard rapid footsteps approaching, the first purposeful ones she'd heard since throwing herself at his side. She wondered how long she'd been there. Had it been minutes? How long did it take for a person to bleed out?

She shuddered as tears dripped silently from her eyes, mixing with the rivers of his dark blood.

"Move, Granger," Snape commanded, his long robes sweeping across the floor as he pushed her aside. She hastily complied, feeling unexpectedly relieved at his presence. Harry caught her as she staggered backwards, and held her still as they watched Snape mutter the countercurse. Malfoy's blood seemed to reverse directions, seeping back towards his body, slipping in through the threads she'd tried to stitch.

It seemed like years before Snape finally stood, helping McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey levitate Malfoy's body to the infirmary. Malfoy's hands – those elegant fingers, bearing the weight of the heavy M signet ring – hung limply over the edge of the stretcher and she couldn't breathe, watching the pale ghost of Draco Malfoy get carried away. His hair had fallen into his eyes and she wondered, absurdly, if they'd let her fix it.

"Hermione," she heard Harry say. "Hermione, are you okay?"

She turned to him, wondering what she could possibly say to the man who might have killed the man she might have loved. His face was colorless with fear, and she softened as she remembered that this was Harry, her Harry. This was not what he wanted.

"Potter," Snape called abruptly, rushing toward him now that Malfoy had been taken away. Snape put his hands on Harry's shoulders, shaking him slightly with urgency. "Potter, where did you get that spell?"

Hermione swallowed, watching Harry's face fill with panic as Snape's eyes narrowed. She knew Snape was using legilimency, and by the looks of it, he was doing so successfully.

"Bring me your potions textbook," Snape snapped, releasing him. "Now."

Harry nodded and took off at a run, dragging Hermione with him and gripping her wrist tightly as he pulled her up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. Still somewhat in shock, she allowed herself to be yanked forward, seeing her hands and arms for the first time and realizing she was entirely stained, blood splattered across her like it had come from the bodies of dozens. Her mind was hopelessly adrift, in the aftermath of trauma.

They went hurriedly through the portrait of the Fat Lady and Harry tore up the stairs to his room, returning with his potions book.

"I have to get rid of this," he said, panting. "I have to hide it – or something - "

"I told you not to use this," she said, still in a daze. "I told you to be careful – "

"Well, I obviously didn't listen, Hermione!" he yelled back, his voice strained as he roughly scraped his fingers through his hair.

She held out her hand. "Give it to me," she said, reaching. "Show me the spell."

He opened the book quickly and turned the pages with shaking fingers, looking for it. He pointed to the handwritten incantation, "Sectumsempra," with the description "for enemies."

She shook her head. "How could you, Harry?" she asked softly, running her fingers over the pages of the book. For enemies. 

"I didn't know!" he said, breathing hard. "I didn't mean to – "

She moved to shut the book, suddenly disgusted by it. Such hateful magic, she thought. The world doesn't need this. She removed her thumb just as she caught a word that triggered something in her memory.

She mouthed the words to herself, willing herself to remember why this particular piece of information had stuck to her brain. "For a raspberry flavor . . . "

She frowned, thinking.

"Now, now – can you give it that raspberry finish? I'm having such a dreadful sweet tooth – "

She gasped.

"What is it?" Harry asked, startled.

"N – nothing," she stammered. "I'll get rid of it for you, Harry."

"Thanks, Hermione," he said offhandedly. "But still, I need a book – "

"Ron's is right here," she said, glancing at it and offering it to him. It was next to Lavender's things, so maybe for once in his life Ron had been studying. She didn't feel too guilty, though, offering it to Harry. "Just take his."

He looked at the inside cover. "Roonil Wazlib?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Just tell him whatever you need to say, Harry!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "Go!"

He stood quickly and nodded. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, exhaling sharply. He took off briskly toward the door and then turned slowly, facing her again. "Hermione," he began hesitantly. "You were awfully upset about Malfoy – "

She glared at him. "You could have killed him, Harry," she said through gritted teeth. "It wasn't personal. It was just terrifying, to see it from that close."

He bit his lip skeptically but accepted her explanation, pivoting quickly to leave.

She opened the Half-Blood Prince's book. "For a raspberry flavor," she read aloud, mulling over the words.

Dumbledore had specifically asked Snape for a potion with a raspberry finish.

Snape had known to ask Harry for his potions book.

Snape had been the only one to heal Malfoy, with a curse Hermione had never even heard of –

"You already know too much," he'd said. "Trust no one."

She'd have to read the book herself, to know for sure. She didn't see any reason why the potion she was looking for would be in there, but she had a feeling that it was. She tucked the book under her arm and walked slowly to the prefect dorms, the events of the morning starting to sink in.

She wondered who she could ask about Malfoy, without raising any suspicions. She couldn't go to Snape right now, not with this book under her arm. She couldn't ask any of her friends because they'd ask too many follow-up questions, and she couldn't ask any of his friends, because they probably wouldn't bother telling her.

Hermione steadfastly refused to believe he was dead. She was convinced that she would have felt him extinguish, somehow. He'd been that invasive with her, body and soul, that she was convinced she would have felt it if he'd somehow ceased to exist. But with that level of blood loss – he could be unconscious for days, she realized. Who knew if he would even remember the events of the last forty-eight hours?

Or maybe he would wake up and blame her. Maybe he would tell her he was right not to trust her, because of her relationship with Harry. Maybe he'd want nothing to do with her.

It was painful, now that she was alone. Without Malfoy – without the other half of her secret – it seemed like a possibility that it had all happened in her imagination. Maybe none of it had even been real.

She found a bench in an alcove and sat down slowly, sitting the potions book on her lap and placing her head in her hands, wondering if she had the energy to cry.

"He's a better guy than you think, you know," an unfamiliar voice said thoughtfully.

She looked up, startled. Theo Nott stood on her left, leaning uncomfortably against the wall.

"Who?" she asked, her voice hollow.

He raised his eyebrows skeptically and she sighed. There was no use pretending.

"I – I don't have any thoughts about him," she said uncertainly, wary of his attention.

"Well now Granger, that's just not true," he pressed. "He's Draco Malfoy. Everyone has thoughts about him, good or bad."

She suddenly felt very exhausted, and very aware of her bloodstained uniform. "I don't know," she said lamely.

He sniffed. "You have a lot in common," he said flatly. "He, too, likes to pretend I don't know what I'm talking about."

"It was just a potion," she said, shuffling her feet. They were both quiet for a moment.

"He told me about how you stole his grandfather's bifocals," she ventured, after a while.

Theo smiled, remembering. "Yes," he said. "I did that."

She looked up at Theo, her lip trembling. "Is he – "

"He's going to be okay, I think," he replied.

She nodded.

Theo eyed her carefully for a moment, but turned slowly to leave. He took a few steps in the opposite direction before stopping, turning his head.

"Draco once put glue inside my father's slippers," he said quietly, still facing away. "My father couldn't remove them for almost two weeks."

She laughed in spite of herself and he nodded at her courteously, continuing his path away from her.

She returned to her dorm and undressed, trying not to think of the last time she'd taken a shower there. Her bed was still perfectly made, not having been slept in the night before. It seemed so foreign to her now, she thought with a pang in her chest. The thought of showering alone. Sleeping alone.

That was the thing about happiness, she realized. Once you have it, even for a matter of days, all of time seems utterly disrupted.

I utterly abhor you.

She opened the Half-Blood Prince's book, running her finger down the page. "To cure a cursed limb," she read, settling herself on the left side of her bed. "Acromantula venom . . . dragon's blood . . . fire seed . . . "

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: The Doubt

The days following the incident between Harry and Malfoy were fraught with tension. Harry was disqualified, and Theo Nott and Cormac McLaggen faced off in front of an unassuming audience of only their sixth and seventh year peers. Cormac won, but most people had already lost interest by then. Hermione barely watched.

She hadn't heard from Malfoy in nearly three days. The day after the tournament she'd heard the whispers, the accusations, and she'd said nothing. She kept her distance, hoping the rumors would eventually die down. At least, it seemed, nobody suspected her of a relationship with Malfoy. Pansy Parkinson played the part of loyal girlfriend flawlessly, and nobody seemed to be the wiser. Hermione watched Pansy tear up over Malfoy's condition and tried to ignore the dull thudding of her own panicked heart, knowing that if the situation had turned out any differently, she would have believed Pansy, too.

Hermione had not cried since it happened. Sometimes, she felt that if she could just get some release, some kind of outlet, she might be able to move on, to pick herself up – but she was too tired to cry. Her heart was too heavy, the burden of her secret too great.

She had not heard from him in three days.

She spent most of her time with Harry, whose guilt seemed to have consumed him almost as much as her devastation had consumed her, and with Ron, who spoke little. She didn't mind; in fact, she preferred it. She was starting to remember the Ron she'd thought she loved – the quiet, unwavering anchor of support that had been beside her through unimaginable pain and loss. She couldn't tell him that this was the greatest of those burdens, but he didn't ask. For now, that was okay. In return, she provided a protective barrier against the wrath of Lavender Brown, who was not particularly thrilled with how recent events had unfolded. Following Ron's example, Hermione kept her questions to herself.

Hermione paused by the door of the hospital wing, trying to will herself to keep walking. There was only one occupant, a pale silvery head resting atop the pristine white sheets, but she couldn't see his face. Her view was obstructed by the presence of a number of other Slytherins, all draped casually around his bedside. It was the first time she could remember that she longed to count herself among them, those beautiful, flawed people that were permitted to share his life.

She missed the way he looked when he was thinking about something, his hands running smoothly through his hair while his grey eyes flashed. She missed his frustrating smirk, his air of control, his elegant features. She missed the way he looked when he was about to kiss her, lips parted hungrily like he'd been waiting for this. Waiting for her. She missed knowing that any minute, she could look up and find him looking at her, his eyes settling on her from across the room.

She missed him fiercely, painfully. So much so that if she had any questions before, they were long gone. She would be willing to take any torture, she decided, except that of his absence.

Perhaps that was childish of her.

She'd stayed too long in the doorway; Blaise Zabini looked up and his eyes narrowed, causing Pansy to turn around and face her.

"What are you doing here?" Pansy hissed, standing. Daphne Greengrass stood too, in solidarity with Pansy, and together they blocked Malfoy entirely from Hermione's line of sight.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "I was just – "

"Nobody wants you here!" Pansy shrieked, cutting her off. "You shouldn't be here, he wouldn't want you near him – "

Hermione's eyes watered and she swallowed painfully. "I'm not – I wasn't – "

"Do you know what he thought of you?" Pansy asked suddenly, her voice cooling as she stalked toward Hermione. Daphne tried to stop her but Pansy shook her off, advancing on the petite Gryffindor. Pansy was taller and she used that to her advantage, forcing Hermione against the doorframe.

"Draco thought you were nothing but an annoying, self-righteous, frizzy-haired know-it-all," she said through clenched teeth. Hermione met her eyes but said nothing, hoping her face did not betray the inner turmoil that bubbled ferociously at hearing those words. "He thought you were nothing but a disgusting, poor excuse for a witch, a filthy mudblood – "

"Miss Parkinson – we do not use that word here."

Snape's robed form materialized in the doorway behind Hermione, his harsh baritone cutting through Pansy's rant.

Pansy straightened, backing away. "Sorry, Professor," she mumbled insincerely, jutting her chin forward haughtily even as she avoided his eyes.

"I am not the one who deserves the apology," he replied smoothly. Pansy's eyes narrowed.

"I – she provoked me!" she said desperately, pointing at Hermione. "She shouldn't even be here – she's just looking for attention – "

"Members of Slytherin house do not resort to childish finger-pointing, Miss Parkinson," Snape snapped, cutting her off shortly. "And although it is hardly your concern, I have asked Miss Granger to be here." Hermione looked at him, startled, and Pansy spoke for her.

"What?" she asked, taken aback. "Why?"

"Miss Granger performed a great deal of advanced magic in her attempt to heal Mr. Malfoy," he explained simply. "A feat which no doubt saved his life." Snape's eyes flicked to her briefly – an acknowledgement that this statement, at least, was true. "I asked her to come here to analyze the spells and to explain to her what would have been more effective."

Pansy stiffened, pursing her lips. "Well – "

"Miss Parkinson, Miss Greengrass, Mr. Zabini – perhaps you wouldn't mind giving us a chance to review the spells performed on Mr. Malfoy?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes but nodded slowly, gesturing briskly over her shoulder for Daphne and Blaise to follow. "Come on," she said, jerking her head. She gave Hermione a rough once over and made a face, a silent warning.

I would fight for him too, Hermione thought bitterly, watching them slowly traipse out of the room.

She stepped hesitantly into the hospital wing and glanced at Snape as he closed the door behind them. "Professor, did I really – "

"Save his life? Yes," he responded sharply, gesturing for her to walk forward.

She made every effort not to run to Malfoy, cling to him, refuse to let him go; instead she ambled over slowly, like someone in a dream, absorbing the flawless angles of his face. He was too pale, as though he had been frozen and only recently revived, and his breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent. He was still unconscious, and she found herself ardently hoping that he was finding solace in the crevices of his resting mind.

She sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, careful not to touch him. She was not looking at Snape, consumed as she was by Malfoy's face – though if she had been, she would have taken stock of the curious way he regarded her actions.

"If you hadn't been there," she began nervously, swallowing. "He would have died, wouldn't he?"

"Yes," Snape replied easily, and she winced. "Though he would have been dead long before I got there, if not for you."

She shook her head, still unwilling to take her eyes off Malfoy. "It didn't seem like I was doing anything." She looked up quickly. "Why didn't the potion work?"

"It was working," he said slowly, considering his words. "But Sanare Pura is not intended to combat a spell of that nature. The wounds were too deep, and too numerous."

She left out a swift, harsh laugh. "Then what was the point of making it?" she scoffed darkly, grimacing.

He gave her a sharp look. "Do not misunderstand the significance of your part in saving him, Miss Granger," he said intensely. "The areas that were healed by the potion will not scar."

She frowned. "But his chest – the potion wasn't working there, I tried to stitch it myself – I made it worse, didn't I?"

He shrugged. "I imagine that Mr. Malfoy will not object to a battle scar," he said simply.

She smiled ironically, thinking of the way Malfoy smoothed his hair, straightened his uniform, adjusted his ring.

"I don't know about that," she said softly.

Hermione looked at Snape again, taking in his appearance as he looked at Malfoy. She'd forgotten how partial Snape was to the young Slytherin, and wondered for the first time what he was going through, seeing one of his students so close to death.

"Professor," she asked quietly, "Why did you tell Pansy you'd asked me to meet you here?"

"Miss Parkinson was out of line," he said tersely. "And far be it from me to prevent you from seeing him." He paused. "I assume I am correct in sensing that something between you and Mr. Malfoy has changed?"

She bit her lip; it was difficult being so transparent. She looked back at Malfoy. "Is it that obvious?"

"In truth, no," he said, inclining his head casually. "Nothing that merits more than whispers. Your behavior at the tournament will shortly be forgotten, I'm sure."

She sighed. "I find that difficult to believe."

He smirked. "My personal experience has led me to conclude that teenagers do not generally retain information for very long," he said drily. "And their attention spans are, if possible, even less reliable."

"True," she conceded.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Malfoy, he's – very talented, isn't he?" she asked wistfully.

Snape nodded. "A very gifted wizard," he said, with an obvious fondness. "Though certainly a very troubled one."

She looked at Snape quickly. "He hasn't told me everything, you know."

He shrugged, as though this was a trivial detail. "And yet you know quite a bit, don't you?"

She swallowed. "Yes," she admitted.

Silence fell between them again.

"I regret having to say this, but I would advise you to keep your relationship furtive," Snape said, standing. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Draco is facing a considerable task, and that your involvement may become dangerous." He searched her eyes for confirmation. "I trust you have not forgotten my warning?"

She nodded regretfully, rising to join him.

"No," he said, putting out a hand to stop her. "You stay."

"What?"

"You may stay here," he repeated. "I'll make sure you are not interrupted. Is twenty minutes sufficient?"

No, she thought aggressively.

"Yes," she replied.

He nodded curtly. "Very well," he said. "Twenty minutes. But then I would advise you not to return, lest you chance another run in with Miss Parkinson."

"Professor," she said carefully, "Why – why are you doing this? Why help me?" Her tone was desperate, almost pleading. "Wouldn't it be wiser, just to advise me to stay away from him?"

He pursed his lips as he considered his words. "He hasn't told you the task he's been assigned?"

She shook her head. "No," she said, fighting a hint of resentment in her tone. "He says he's protecting me."

He seemed to soften as he leaned toward her. "There will come a time when he will need to be strong," he said simply. "And he will need someone stronger, to carry him through it."

He straightened again, preparing to leave. "Even I am not so heartless to think that a person must go through this alone," he said, a strange note of passion in his voice.

"He may not want anything to do with me," she said suddenly, her voice trembling. "What if he – "

He interrupted her with a quick motion of his hand. "You can't control the feelings of others, Miss Granger," he said simply. "You can only control what you do for them."

He nodded at the clock. "Twenty minutes," he said finally, closing the door behind him.

She waited a moment after the latch clicked before she reached for Malfoy, taking his hand in hers.

"Wake up, please," she said quietly, uncharacteristically polite. She frowned. There was no way he would listen to her, if she said it that way while he was conscious.

Hermione half expected him to sit up, eyeing her curiously. "Granger," he'd say, smirking at her, refusing to take her seriously. "So bossy."

"Malfoy," she said, a little louder. "I know you're terribly difficult to wake up, but I think I deserve a little attention."

He remained woefully unresponsive.

"I saved your life, you know," she continued. "It's so like you to be so ungrateful."

"Hardly." He would have rolled his eyes dramatically. "I'm as gracious as they come."

She turned his hand face up, running her fingers along the lines of his palm. "It's just as well, isn't it? You not being able to hear me."

"Granger, you look like a crazy person, talking to someone half dead," he'd say, pretending to be occupied with his fingernails.

"I don't envy you, you know," she said, continuing to chatter softly to him. "Having Pansy around all the time, I'd stay unconscious too, I think."

He'd have sniffed pretentiously. "Better her than Weasley, don't you think, Granger? Certainly better than Potter, who's suddenly turned murderous."

She reached out to smooth his hair, missing the feel of it on her skin as he nuzzled into her, one of his surprisingly affectionate gestures. Generally, he was so distant, so effortlessly cool, but every now and then he'd wrap himself around her and she'd be reminded that he was lonely, scared, uncertain. She thought she was letting him take from her what he needed, without even realizing how much she must have been taking from him. Even now, she wasn't sure whose need had been greater. Maybe it didn't matter.

"I don't understand why you didn't just beat Harry the way you beat me, you know. What went wrong? Why didn't you see it coming?"

He'd have glared sulkily at her. "How very rude of you, Granger."

"I hated it," she told him, "Seeing you like that. You should know. You saw me bleeding, and that was only a dream. This was real, and I was right there, with you. I had to be there. And now I can't just run and find you. I can't be at your side. I have to lie to everyone I know."

She was angry, suddenly, her temper flaring. "It's not fair!" she exclaimed, gripping his hand.

He had no response.

"It isn't fair that I have to go through this alone. Feeling this way about you, it's the hardest thing I've ever done. And even though you know that – I know you know that – you still don't trust me, you still won't let me in. You know you need my help."

"I told you," he'd have reminded her bluntly. "I told you this was a bad idea, Granger."

"You need my help," she repeated, running her thumb lightly over his lips. "And I need you. I need you."

"Please," she begged gently, leaning forward and touching her forehead to his. "Please, come back to me."

She was quiet for a moment, realizing how silly she was, talking to him when he was clearly so very far away. She had very little time left, and the thought of leaving him – continuing to go through the motions of her life, separately and parallel to his –nearly broke something inside her.

"Come back to me," she whispered again, brushing her lips against his cheek.

"I heard Malfoy got released from the hospital wing today," Ron said amiably. Hermione fought the urge to look interested, turning the page of her book slowly.

It had been five days since she'd heard from him.

"Oh?" she said, not looking up. Harry, too, kept his eyes down, immersed – or feigning immersion – in his books.

Ron sighed audibly. "You two will have to get over this," he insisted. "Harry, it was an honest mistake – you didn't know. And Hermione, I know it was traumatic, trying to heal him." He let a moment of silence linger between them before continuing. "It must be hard, with everyone jumping to conclusions," he added, patting her awkwardly on the back. "For both of you, I mean."

Harry was suffering a similar backlash from this duel as he'd had from having supposedly set a snake on Justin Finch-Fletchley in second year. Consensus was that he'd deliberately tried to take out Malfoy, and as a result, both he and Hermione had been hiding out to avoid their respective rumors, alone together – with Ron. It was an unexpected return to the usual - or at least, what had been the usual at one point.

"You two are going to have to let this go, eventually," Ron repeated, trying to look both Harry and Hermione in the eye. "He's back in the Slytherin dorms now, no harm done – "

" – what – seriously? No harm– "

" – what do you mean, the Slytherin dorms – "

Harry and Hermione traded glances as they interrupted both Ron and each other. Harry cleared his throat, going first.

"How can you say there was no harm done, Ron?" he asked, eyes wide. "You saw what happened to him. And the Prince's book is gone – "

Hermione felt her face flush, knowing that wasn't the entire truth. It had been her bedtime reading, the past few nights. She understood now why Harry felt such an attachment to it; every spare margin was filled with clever notes and advanced spells, and it was like dipping into the presence of a witty, darkly sophisticated brain. Of course if Harry had known who the author was, she doubted he'd still feel an attachment to it.

"You don't need it, mate," Ron said comfortingly, patting Harry on the back. He'd gotten much more supportive since being away from them, Hermione noted, though the timing of his unfailing cheerfulness wasn't ideal.

"It's true, you don't," Hermione said, her voice faltering. She returned to her earlier question. "Why is Malfoy in the Slytherin dorms? Why isn't he back in the prefect dorms?"

Ron shrugged. "Don't know," he said vaguely. "More people around to help out, I guess. Remember when he had everyone doing his homework for him, third year after Buckbeak?"

She grimaced, almost grateful for a reminder of the old Malfoy, the one she certainly did not miss. "True," she said, confident that this was no longer the case. The Malfoy she knew was loath to ask for help.

"You know," Ron proclaimed loudly, "We do need to stop talking about Malfoy. I think Hermione was right all along."

"How reassuring," she said sarcastically, pursing her lips.

Harry stirred his cup of tea thoughtfully. "You might be right about that," he confessed. "He's certainly not wandering around being a Death Eater right now anyway, not with everyone watching him so closely."

Hermione and Ron nodded, Ron slightly more enthusiastically.

"I am having some trouble with something Dumbledore asked me to do," Harry added offhandedly, as though this was not important or relevant.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, sitting up from where she'd been ambivalently hunched over her books. "What is it you're supposed to be doing?"

"Well – I told you he's been having me go through pieces of Voldemort's life," he said, and the other two nodded. "There's one memory he showed me, though, that isn't real."

"A false memory?" Hermione said, humming with thought. "How can you tell it's false?"

Harry shook his head. "It feels different," he said simply. "When you see another person's memories – "

" – you can feel what they feel," she finished for him, remembering.

Ron clapped his hands gleefully. "Look at you two, better already," he said with a grin.

"Don't interrupt, Ronald," Hermione scolded. She turned back to Harry. "What's the memory?"

"It's Voldemort as a student at Hogwarts," he replied. "Voldemort asks Slughorn what some dark artifact is, and then his answer is a bit murky."

"What artifact?"

"A horcrux," Harry said, slightly tripping over the pronunciation of the unfamiliar word.

"A horcrux?" Hermione's brow furrowed. "What is that?"

"I don't know, and I don't really think anyone is supposed to," Harry admitted. "It sounded like something that was kind of . . . taboo, I guess."

"Well it can't be the meaning of the word horcrux that's the issue, right?" Hermione pressed. "Surely Dumbledore knows what it is, or would have found out by now?"

Harry shrugged. "It's hard to really understand anything that's going on with Dumbledore right now," he said uncertainly. "He's away a lot."

"I noticed that," Ron said, chiming in for the first time. "He wasn't there for the tournament."

"Neither was Snape," Harry commented. "McGonagall had to go find him – when, you know," he muttered, trailing off.

Hermione strategically remained quiet, tucking these details away for a later time, when she could explore the murky web of knowledge she'd been amassing over the last several weeks without fear of displaying excess emotion.

"What do you think is in the real memory, Harry?" Hermione asked, trying to distract him before he slipped gloomily back into his catatonic state.

"Well," he said slowly, thinking. "Voldemort asked Slughorn about horcruxes, and in the memory I saw, Slughorn told him he didn't know anything. But that can't have been true," he said, furrowing his brow. "It was so obviously a lie, he must have told him – "

"So it's not what a horcrux is that's important, then – it's whatever Slughorn told him about it," Ron commented. Hermione sat back, surprised.

"Very astute of you, Ron," she said, nodding appreciatively. "He's right," she said casually to Harry. "Though it can't hurt, maybe, to find out on our own what a horcrux is."

Harry smiled broadly. "I imagine you're already planning a trip to the library, Hermione."

This was true enough. She ticked them off in her head: horcruxes . . . curse-defying potions . . . vanishing cabinets . . . the reasons to visit the library were becoming so alarmingly numerous she sometimes wondered why she ever bothered to leave.

"Yes," she laughed, "I suppose I am."

Ron was still grinning absently. "I've missed this, you know," he said, putting his hands on Harry and Hermione's shoulders.

"Good," Harry pronounced. "Then maybe you'll keep your head on straight, moving forward."

"Hey," Ron exclaimed, injured. "I was just – "

"It's fine, Ron," Hermione said quickly. "It's really fine."

"I am sorry, for what it's worth," he said, addressing her directly. "I can't believe I thought to accuse you of anything with Malfoy," he added, with a laugh. "That was crazy of me, I know."

Hermione bristled uncomfortably. She had spent a long time being the injured party, and was finding that this unexpected shift did not sit well with her. She prided herself on being an honest person, in general, and was not dealing particularly well with determining how to hold herself accountable for her portion of the blame when it came to the events between her and Ron. Even though it had never been her intention for things to progress as far as they did, she had still kissed Malfoy, and it had been Malfoy on her mind – if Ron had not abandoned her for Lavender, would she have found a way to tell him? It bothered her that she could not confidently solidify an answer.

Questioning her own morality was a strain. Where Harry and Ron were emotionally driven, Malfoy was pragmatic. He rarely let emotions cloud his decisions, whether it was a benefit – reminding her not to let Ron beat her, for example – or a cost – not letting his own feelings for her prevent him from deceiving her. She prided herself on her ability to be exceptionally logical, but had always done so with an underlying understanding of her beliefs, her loyalty to others. Malfoy, with all of his Slytherin cunning, was manipulative, calculating – features she'd previously associated with darkness, even evil. But they were also somehow qualities that she found uniquely attractive in him, qualities that gave him the strength that she so admired – and more than that, qualities that she found she needed. He didn't hold her back, didn't step on her; he pushed her, prompted her forward. He forced her to take matters into her own hands, to make decisions that were right for her.

It was a way of thinking that did not exist within their tight little trio. Without Malfoy there, she was saddled with a hollow guilt, wondering if she was now unilaterally bad, after what she'd done, and the secrets she continued to keep. She couldn't decide where she fit in, between Harry's ironclad perceptions of right and wrong, and Malfoy's ability to frame the world in a realm of shades of grey.

I should have kept some of that balm for myself, she thought sullenly. Surely these thoughts were going to keep her awake at night.

"It's okay, Ron," she said finally. "Let's just – let's not talk about it anymore, okay?"

"Okay," he said without hesitation, still upbeat.

She tried to ignore the threatening reverberations of her pounding heart.

Please . . . please, come back to me.

It had been five days since she'd heard from him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: The Revelation

Hermione sighed heavily, looking at the entrance to the restricted section. "Shush, Granger," she heard Malfoy say, the memory flashing through her mind. "This is a library."

Was there nothing left in this castle that didn't remind her of him?

She had not heard from him in six days.

Horcruxes, she reminded herself, closing her eyes briefly and drawing her cardigan closer, shivering even as she tried to concentrate. Lately, the slightest memory of Malfoy's smirk was enough to send chills up her spine. She grimaced. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, she reminded herself skeptically, frowning.

She lost track of what she was doing. Horcruxes, she thought vigorously, kicking herself. Focus.

She had already flipped through the cursory textbooks without finding any mention of horcruxes, though that did not surprise her. Having already read them numerous times before – this being not even remotely the first time that Harry needed information on some forbidden object – she was confident that she would have recognized the term if she'd already come across it. She gazed warily at the dark collections of shelves before her.

Ready or not, she prompted herself with a shrug, stepping forward.

Where to look? She glanced around slowly, considering her options. What had Harry called it? Taboo, she thought, concentrating. She closed her eyes, heightening her other senses. The entire section buzzed with energy, as though the books themselves were chattering to each other, quietly revealing their secrets. Magic as dark as she was looking for left traces; she felt a hollow darkness in the corner of the restricted section and headed towards it, her eyes snapping open as she identified the source.

One book in particular seemed to be vibrating, its spine trembling as it rattled noisily on the shelf. Hermione smiled; she'd spent enough time in the library to know that books, innocuous as they seemed, could be particularly feisty when they needed to be found. She walked over to the shelf in question and squinted at the book's worn cover.

"Magick Moste Evile," she read quietly, nipping at her lip as she considered its contents. She cocked her head slightly as she noticed the book's placement, leaning diagonally across a vacant slot where another book might fit. The space between them had gathered dust, and she was fairly certain that something else used to sit there, this book's next-door neighbor.

She pulled Magick Moste Evile off the shelf, choking slightly as dust blew into her face. The pages were thin and fragile, and she noticed already that she was leaving fingerprints on the pages. "Sorry," she muttered apologetically to the book, picking up her wand. "Invenire horcrux," she instructed, tapping the top of the spine.

The book ripped itself from her hands and clattered to the floor, flipping open to a page about three-quarters of the way through its contents. She crouched beside it on the ground and ran her finger lightly down the page, stopping as she saw the item she was looking for.

"Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction – "

She stopped abruptly and mouthed the word "fuck," biting her lip angrily. She collapsed into a cross-legged seated position on the ground, pulling the book into her lap even as she cursed it. She didn't like to swear, but found herself extraordinarily frustrated at this lack of information. She had also found that there was something strangely appealing about the word when Malfoy was saying it, his silver tongue transfiguring it somehow into an appealing method of expression.

Fuck, she thought again, sighing in frustration as she scolded her brain. Not Malfoy. Not right now.

Her expression faltered as she thought about how much she wished he were here. She was, by now, familiar with that particular feeling. Normally it was out of loneliness, or because she missed him – but right about now, she found she could use his advice. With a family like his, she suspected he'd know where to look – and there was no denying that he was resourceful, the clever bastard.

Hermione slammed the book shut, pouting as it emitted a puff of dusty air. It had been supremely unhelpful.

She eyed the narrow vacancy on the shelf, wondering what had been in its place. The library was sorted by category; perhaps the book that belonged there contained more detail.

Not that it would be difficult to have more detail than 'we shall not speak or give direction,' she grumbled inwardly to herself.

She furrowed her brow and tapped the dusty spot where the book should have been.

"Libellus revellio," she commanded, whispering.

At first, nothing happened. She leaned forward curiously, resting both of her hands on the shelf as she waited for a reaction. The spell should have worked, she thought, frowning; she used it frequently in other parts of the library, when she needed to identify which book was missing.

She squinted at a slight movement in the darkness. Was that –

Two ghostly arms suddenly crept out from within the bookshelf, startling her as the spindly tendrils reached out and grabbed her. She screamed as the skeletal hands yanked her towards the shelf, slamming her into it. Hermione clawed at the wrists that held her collar but her desperate hands only swiped through air, unable to grasp them. The other books on the shelf seemed to be cackling noisily as Hermione bicycled her legs in the air, lifted high off the ground. She screamed again, flailing for balance, before the hands suddenly released her, throwing her backwards and crashing her into the opposite shelf. The books behind her fell open, shrieking, and she closed her eyes as she felt a cool, suctioning darkness swallow her whole.

When she opened her eyes again, Madam Pince was standing over her, wringing her hands.

"What on earth have you done?" she snapped, her eyes traveling from Hermione to the piles of books that were scattered around her.

"I – nothing!" Hermione stammered. Her head was pounding. "I was just trying to see what book was there – "

"Where?" Madam Pince demanded, putting both hands on her hips. "What could you possibly have been looking for?"

Hermione stumbled over to the shelf, pointing. "There," she said. "I had the book next to it – I just wanted to see what was missing – "

Madam Pince's face went pale, though she recovered quickly. "This section," she said, straightening for purposes of intimidation, "is not for students." She frowned. "I shall have to inform Professor Dumbledore – "

"No, no," Hermione said hurriedly, not wanting to have to explain herself to him. "It – I was looking something up – I'm in Professor Snape's O.W.L. Defense Against the Dark Arts class – "

"Are you?" Madam Pince responded skeptically, looking down her nose at Hermione through her spectacles. "What is your name and house?"

"Madam Pince!" she exclaimed. "You know who I am!"

"I know nothing of the sort, Miss Granger," she sniffed. "You're supposed to have received a note from Professor Snape, if you plan to be in here – "

"I can get one from him," Hermione rushed out, scrambling to collect her things. "I'll just – "

"No, Miss Granger," Madam Pince instructed, turning abruptly and gesturing for Hermione to follow. "Let's pay him a visit together, shall we?"

Hermione grimaced, nodding. "Of – of course."

She trudged along behind Madam Pince as the older witch hurried through the library, her robes swishing across the floor. Multiple people looked up – unsurprisingly, considering the chaos she had just caused – but looked away quickly, sensing a lack of interest. Hermione sighed and quickened her pace, staying on Madam Pince's heel.

"Professor Snape," Madam Pince called, as they entered his empty classroom. He appeared in the doorway of his office, scowling down at the librarian.

"Yes, Madam Pince?" he asked irritably. "I'm quite occupied at the moment – "

"Only a moment of your time, Severus," she chirped quickly, as though she was fully aware – and unapologetic – of the inconvenience she was causing.

He took a deep breath, visibly trying not to snap. "Very well," he said, a sullen sigh escaping as he descended the staircase and joined them in the classroom. His eyes narrowed questioningly as he noticed Hermione for the first time.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Ah – hello, Professor," she offered limply.

He said nothing, his eyes sliding sharply away from her. "What is it, Madam Pince?"

"Miss Granger was in the restricted section when she activated a very – " Madam Pince paused, searching for the right word, " – a very angry curse." She straightened. "She says it has something to do with your class – "

"What was the book?" Snape interrupted, his curiosity getting the better of him. Hermione wasn't sure how this was relevant, seeing as Snape knew perfectly well that he had not suggested she spend any time in the restricted section.

Hermione realized she still held the book in her hands. "Magick Moste Evile," she said, flushing with embarrassment at having to admit the title out loud.

Snape frowned. "That book is not cursed," he said bluntly. "It's unpleasant, yes, but occasionally a resource for my students," he reminded Madam Pince.

Madam Pince coughed slightly. "It wasn't that book," she said slowly. "The curse was placed on – the book next to it," she said, her tone wavering, as though hoping he would read into her meaning.

Snape looked no less confused. "Well, what was that book?" he asked exasperatedly. "Obviously – "

"There wasn't a book there, Professor," Hermione said, wincing as it came out in a squeak. "I used a libellus revellio to find out what book it was, and then these – " she stopped, trying to find the words. "These sort of skeleton hands grabbed me – "

Snape cut her off quickly, his eyes illuminating. "An innocent mistake, Madam Pince," he pronounced quickly, rushing to interrupt. "And I'm sure Miss Granger is sorry for the inconvenience?" he prompted, eyeing Hermione.

"Yes," she said hurriedly. "I am so sorry, Madam Pince, I didn't mean to cause such a disturbance. And I promise," she added quickly, "next time, I'll have a note from Professor Snape."

She thought she heard Madam Pince grumble "there'd better not be a next time" but the older witch only nodded absentmindedly, seizing Magick Moste Evile from Hermione's hands and turning gruffly to leave.

Only after the door shut securely behind Madam Pince did Hermione look back at Snape, who was eyeing her curiously.

"My, my, Miss Granger," he drawled, his eyes glinting as he pressed his fingers together. "You've found yourself in quite a web, haven't you?"

She laughed nervously, wringing her hands. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Again," she added, louder, shuffling her feet against the wood floor. It was, after all, the second time in a matter of days that Snape had inexplicably bailed her out of a tight corner.

He nodded, as though her gratitude was inconsequential. "Fair is fair, Miss Granger," he said brusquely. "Explain yourself."

She bit her lip, keeping her eyes down. "It's – it's not about Malfoy this time," she began carefully. She looked up to find Snape watching her closely, his eyes narrowed.

"Just a personal research project in the darkest section of the library, then?" he postulated sarcastically, rubbing his chin.

She paused a moment before sighing. "No," she admitted. "I was looking up something for Harry." She inclined her head slightly, correcting herself. "Well, I suppose also for Professor Dumbledore."

At this, Snape looked uncomfortable. "Continue," he instructed, looking distracted.

"Well, I really didn't get what I was looking for," she said, straightening. "So maybe you can tell me."

Snape looked deeply frustrated with her. "And?" he prompted impatiently.

She took a deep breath. "Can you tell me what a horcrux is?" she asked hesitantly, attempting to be direct.

She didn't know what reaction she was expecting, but as usual, she barely got one. He leaned back onto one of the desks, cupping his chin in his hand. She waited.

"Horcruxes are not part of the Hogwarts curriculum," he said slowly.

Great, Hermione thought, trying not to roll her eyes. "Fine – "

"I'm not done," he interrupted briskly. "They are not taught because they are definitively evil items. A truly corrupt, foul use of magic," he said, his nose wrinkling with distaste.

"Why not teach it?" she asked incredulously. "This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, isn't it? Wouldn't it be best to know what we're up against?"

"It would be an exceedingly rare instance to find yourself up against a horcrux, Miss Granger," Snape admonished her, lips pursed. "Though I suspect banning the subject was a strategic pedagogical move, to prevent the information being accessible to those students who might . . . abuse it," he said warily. "That would explain the curse."

"Curse?" she frowned. "You mean what happened in the library?"

"Yes," he said curtly. "I suspect there was a curse to prevent you from accessing the book that has clearly been removed."

She felt a wave of irritation come over her. "So I guess I'm just not allowed to know what a horcrux is, then?"

He shook his head at her. "Sit," he instructed, his tongue clicking as he articulated the word. She did, unwillingly.

"A horcrux is an item that houses a piece of a person's soul," he said. She gaped at him.

"Houses a person's soul?" she repeated, recognizing how slow she must sound. "But why – "

"Well that is certainly the heart of the issue, isn't it," he interrupted. "It's a painful process – severing one's soul – "

"But why?" she repeated numbly, still not entirely grasping the concept.

"A person is made up of both body and soul," he said slowly, adopting the same tone he'd used when teaching her the ingredients of the potion he prepared for Dumbledore. "Even without the body, if the soul remains, then – "

"You achieve immortality," she realized, gasping.

"In a manner of speaking," he said, a dark look crossing his face. "It would be an unpleasant way to continue to live, to say the least."

They were both quiet a moment, Hermione chewing her thumbnail curiously as Snape seemed to consider his own words.

"Why would Mr. Potter be interested in such things?" he asked sharply, as though coming to a sudden realization.

"Professor Dumbledore – well," she wavered uncertainly, not sure how much she could reveal. "I think – I think Professor Dumbledore felt it was something he needed to know."

Hermione thought she saw fear in Snape's dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "This is about the Dark Lord," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. It was a question, though he seemed to know the answer.

"Everything is, isn't it?" she ventured, holding his gaze.

Snape stood quickly, pacing. "You must not mention this, Miss Granger – "

"Well – wait a minute," she said quickly, springing up. "I still don't understand – how do you make a horcrux? Are they very common? Why wouldn't – "

"You do not want to know how to make one, I assure you," he snapped. "Murder would be involved, to say the least – a terrible crime against another, against yourself – "

"And they are not common – not in the slightest," he added, continuing to audibly run through his scattered thoughts. "A horcrux is – "

" – 'the wickedest of magical inventions'?" she supplied, quoting the unhelpful text from Magick Moste Evile.

He stopped short, fixing her with a haunted look.

"I'll say this much, Miss Granger," he said bleakly. "I'm afraid that at this point, we both know too much."

Well, she thought, walking through the castle, that did not go as planned.

There was something extremely disturbing about the way Snape had reacted to her question about horcruxes. She suspected it had something to do with the look of fear that crossed his face.

An object that houses a piece of a person's soul. Something in her brain was nagging her as she repeated Snape's definition. She felt it – like a tiny itch in a far corner of her mind – some piece that she wasn't connecting.

Come on, Hermione, she thought vigorously. An object that houses a piece of a person's soul.

An object that houses a piece of a person's soul.

An object –

She gasped.

"I told him you were looking for something in the castle. I told him that's the task you were given."

No, she thought forcefully, shaking her head. It couldn't be –

She heard Malfoy's thoughtful voice in her head. "I suppose if he'd really wanted to hide something in the castle, it would be easy. I mean, Salazar Slytherin hid a giant snake in here for a thousand years without anyone noticing . . . "

"No!" she exclaimed aloud, stopping in her tracks. Had she inadvertently uncovered something in her attempt to lie for Malfoy?

What if that was his task? she thought, her heart pounding as she started walking again. What if she'd set Harry on Malfoy's path after all? She'd assumed it was something else – the vanishing cabinets – she hadn't thought – she'd only guessed, but what did she really know –

Her thoughts were racing as she picked up speed. I have to find him, she thought desperately, changing direction. She had to talk to him, right away, even if it meant going to the Slytherin dungeons.

She stumbled directly into a tall, redheaded barricade. "Whoa, Mione!"

"Sorry," she mumbled, trying to push past him.

"Hey!" Ron gripped her arms, pulling her back. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she said frantically, "I just have to – "

"Where are you going?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Decided you want to go to the dungeons for some reason?"

She stopped struggling, letting his implication sink in. You're being careless, she thought with an inward sigh. You have no reason to be in the dungeons.

"I – sorry, Ron," she said, taking a deep breath. "I was just – sort of lost in my thoughts – "

"It's fine," he said, laughing pleasantly. "I could use a word with you, though, if you have a moment."

"Oh," she said, surprised. "Sure."

He gestured forward. "Let's walk," he suggested. She nodded and reversed directions to wherever he'd been heading, her heart sinking as she put distance between herself and where she so desperately wanted to be. She would have to find Malfoy some other time, she realized with a sigh.

"Was there something specific you wanted to talk about?" she asked, trying to put Snape, horcruxes, and Malfoy out of her mind.

"Well," he started, "Yes, actually. I sort of wanted to talk about where we stand, after everything."

"Oh," she said vacantly. She'd been rather appreciative of their unspoken agreement not to have this discussion, and was deeply unwilling to have it now.

"I mentioned, before, how I thought you and I were – you know," he said, clearing his throat. "I just – I still think we were kind of meant for each other, Mione."

She stopped, eyeing him skeptically. "Do you really, Ron?" she asked. "I mean, do you really?"

He frowned. "Yes?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you asking me?"

"No," he said quickly. "No, I mean – yes, I do really think that," he assured her, laughing as he nervously tousled his hair.

Her mind jumped instantly to Malfoy's version of that particular impulse, his habit of smoothing his pale blonde hair. Malfoy typically did it when he was thinking, though, not from nerves, as Ron had. Come to think of it, she realized, Malfoy didn't have any nervous ticks. That handsome idiot, she thought, picturing his confident smirk.

"Mione?" Ron asked hesitantly, following her vacant gaze.

"Sorry," she said quickly, bringing her mind back to the present. She shook her head. "What were we talking about?"

"Um," he said, furrowing his brow. "I was talking about us," he reminded her, with an air of displeasure at having to remind her.

"Oh – right," she said. "Well – to be honest with you Ron, I'm not totally certain what you want me to say," she said frankly. "What did you imagine would happen between us?"

"Well I know I made a mistake, with Lav – but I thought if I fixed that, maybe – "

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ron, it was more than that," she reminded him gently. "Remember? You were upset with me. If I hadn't been so busy – "

"Well things are different now, aren't they?" he said animatedly. "You're not busy with the potion anymore – and you know, now that we've been apart, I really know how strange it feels without you – "

She frowned. Something about this didn't feel right to her, though she couldn't identify what was bothering her.

"I think I needed this," he continued. "I needed to make a mistake, so that I could appreciate you – "

She vaguely remembered the plot of a muggle movie her mum loved.

"Really?" she asked skeptically. "You needed something to force you to appreciate me? You couldn't just, I don't know – appreciate me?"

He opened and closed his mouth uncertainly and she bit her lip, remorseful.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm being a bit hard on you."

Was she? She thought of Malfoy's face when she'd blamed herself for what went wrong with Ron. There's nothing wrong with you, Granger, he would have reminded her.

Say it to my face, Malfoy, she thought angrily.

"I don't mean to make this hard for you, Ron," she said honestly. "I know you're trying to fix things between us, and I really do appreciate it." She smiled slightly. "You know how stubborn I can be."

He met her smile with a cheeky grin. "I do know that," he said. "And it's okay, you know," he added, "if you need some time."

She nodded. "I do, I think," she agreed uncertainly. "I just don't know if – " she stopped. "There's just a lot of things I don't know, right now," she said, sighing regretfully.

"Well, let's start with this," he said breezily. "Who are you going to the House Ball with?"

She blinked. She'd forgotten about the House Ball. "Is that not canceled?" she asked absurdly.

"No," he laughed. "Malfoy's alive, McGonagall still gets to have her ball."

She winced at the mention of his name. "Oh," she said, for perhaps the hundredth time. "Well, nobody, I guess."

"Maybe you'd want to go with me, then?" he asked, smiling hopefully at her. "No pressure," he said hurriedly. "I just thought – "

She tilted her head, considering his offer. "Sure," she said finally. "Yeah, that sounds nice." She smiled at him, her heart warming as she watched his blue eyes dance with pleasure. "I'd like that."

He let out a shaky breath. "Good," he breathed, relieved. "I'm glad I didn't muck this up too badly."

"It would have been okay, you know," she said, patting his shoulder. "If you were happy with Lavender, I would have been happy for you."

She hoped he would tuck that away for a later time, in case they had to have a similar conversation in the future.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb. "I know, Mione," he said affectionately. "You're a much better person than I am."

Not true, she thought painfully.

"I suppose."

"Don't rub it in!" he laughed, throwing an arm over her shoulder.

She forced a smile, hating herself just a little bit.

Any number of things could have danced through her head that night. Why was Malfoy afraid of a vanishing cabinet? Was there one in the castle? Where was the other one? What had Snape been afraid of? Was she right – could Voldemort have hidden a horcrux in the castle? What did that even mean, if he had? The incomprehensible weight of unanswered questions alone should have easily kept her awake. 

But she was asleep, and Malfoy was here with her, holding her hand. She suspected immediately it wasn't real – he didn't typically hold her hand; he would wrap himself around her, hold her close, but not hold her hand. That wouldn't be enough for him – but she relaxed into it anyway, deciding to take what she could get. 

"Where have you been?" she asked, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

He caught her waist and pulled her towards him, using one hand to slide up the nape of her neck and tangle his fingers in her hair. 

"Shush, Granger," he scolded, eyeing her lips. "This is a library."

She looked around and realized he was right. "Why are we in the library?" she asked, closing her eyes as he kissed her neck.

"Don't know," he mumbled. "It's your dream."

"Oh," she said sadly. "It is a dream then, isn't it?"

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes scanning her face like he was trying to memorize every detail. "I miss you," he said simply, brushing her lips with his.

She kissed him ardently, refusing to relinquish her hold on him as he tried to pull away. "You can't leave," she said, breathless. "Don't go."

It had been six days since she'd heard from him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: The Signs

Draco ripped his arm out of her grasp, headed for the door.

"Pansy, fucking let go – "

She caught up to him, running in front of him and barricading his exit. "Draco," she gasped, "Draco, sit down, you'll collapse – "

"I most certainly will not collapse," he snapped, irritated, ignoring the blood rushing in his ears. He wasn't as confident in that as he sounded – this, his big escape from Pansy's clutches, was the most effort he'd exerted in - what had it been, a week?

"You will," she insisted, shoving him back into the common room. "Just stay here, would you?"

"Why?"

"Because," she said, rolling her eyes. "After what happened to you – your parents would never forgive me, if I didn't do everything I could to make sure you were alright – "

"I am not your responsibility, Pansy," he grunted, unwillingly taking a seat in one of the oversized armchairs. "I'm not a child, you don't need to take care of me, and if I were you, I certainly wouldn't concern myself with what my parents think!"

Besides - you're not the one I need right now, he didn't add.

He missed Granger fiercely. There were times when he shut his eyes and the image of her face would flood through him, setting fire to his lungs and stopping his heart. With Pansy fussing over him, he hadn't had a chance to see Granger, and so far he'd been too weak and unfocused to attend his classes. Even just expressing that sentiment to himself made him think of her; surely Granger would have dragged herself to class, even if her chest had been ripped open deep enough for her heart to actually fall out of its chambers. He suspected she'd have set it down on the desk and carried on taking notes, nonchalantly dipping her quill into her own blood as if it were any other day.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pansy said angrily.

He rubbed his temple, feeling himself lose his cool in his desperation to leave. "You can stop with this charade now," he said loudly. "I'm fully conscious, everyone can see you're not my tragic girlfriend – "

"Draco," Pansy said, dropping her voice to a low warning. "Stop this. People are watching."

"Why should that matter, Pansy?" he exclaimed in frustration. "What do you care? There's nothing between us to watch."

"Look, if you insist on going back to your room, you can do it tomorrow – there's the ball tonight – "

"That thing wasn't canceled?" he half-shouted, with an added groan for emphasis.

"No, it was not canceled," Pansy hissed. "The world doesn't revolve around you, Draco – "

"No, of course not, not when it has you to revolve around," he shot back irritably.

"Don't be so ungrateful, Draco," she said, dark eyes flashing. "I've been taking care of you nonstop – "

"I didn't ask you to do that," he scoffed, "I only agreed to stay in the Slytherin dorms because of Theo and Blaise – "

"Well I've been here day and night, haven't I – "

"I am acutely aware of that, Pansy," he spat, standing abruptly. "I'll do you a favor," he said coldly, turning to leave. "I'll go take care of myself – "

She didn't come after him this time, but she stood menacingly still, clenching her fists. "If you don't come with me to the ball tonight," she seethed, her voice an angry whisper, "I promise you – you will regret it."

"Fine," he conceded sharply, raising his hands in mock defeat. "We'll go to the fucking ball and then you'll leave me alone – deal?"

"Fuck you, Draco," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Deal."

"I heard you're going to the ball with Ron," Harry said casually.

It had been seven days since Hermione had heard from Malfoy.

"Hmm?" she looked up, startled. "What was that, Harry?"

"I heard you're going to the ball with Ron," he repeated, louder. "So are you both – "

"We're friends, Harry," she replied absentmindedly, turning the page of her book. "You'll notice I'm not asking questions about you taking Ginny."

She looked up in time to see him redden slightly. "Well – she was the obvious choice – "

"Likewise," she said with a shrug. "And that doesn't mean it merits discussion, does it?"

"No," he said, his tone wavering. "I just thought it was a good thing, that you two – "

"I'm sure it is," she said coolly. "I just don't want you to jump to any conclusions."

"Fine, fine," he said, shrugging. He bore an irritatingly knowing smile. "I'll just wait and watch, then."

"Yes," she sniffed. "Do that."

She wasn't totally opposed to the prospects of the night – just violently opposed to discussing them. She'd heard rumors of Malfoy finally making an appearance at the House Ball, which both thrilled and terrified her. She couldn't think about it without the same question threatening to beat her senseless –

Why hadn't he spoken to her?

Harry shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. "Did you, um – did you find anything about horcruxes?"

She looked up, chewing her lip lightly. "Yes and no," she said slowly, furrowing her brow. She wasn't sure she wanted to reveal her conversations with Snape – not yet.

"I did find a mention of them in a book," she said confidently, choosing a direction and going with it. "But it only said that they were too evil to speak of."

"Hmm," Harry said, not fully interested.

"Harry," she said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Harry, I can tell you one thing – this is important."

He looked at her, confused. "I mean, I know that – "

"I'm serious, Harry," she said, conscious that she was adopting a patronizing tone. "This is important. I don't know why" – lies, of course – "but I really think you need to make getting that memory a priority."

"Yeah," he mumbled vaguely.

"I'm not going to lecture you – "

" – oh really?" he said quickly, gracing her with a smile.

She exhaled sharply. "No," she said, frowning. "Not today, anyway." She looked down to turn the page before returning her attention to him. "I mean it, Harry," she added, her voice clipped. "I think this might be more important than you think."

He nodded slowly, and she hoped her message was sinking in.

Though if history was any indicator, it was not.

Draco heard a knock on his open doorframe and immediately threw the handful of parchment he was holding onto the ground.

"Parkinson," he barked, "If you're going to fucking – "

"Calm the fuck down, mate," Theo retorted sharply as he stepped around the storm of Draco's possessions that littered the floor. "Just me."

Draco straightened, turning to look at him. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh' is right," Theo said, smirking. "What the fuck is going on in here?"

Draco threw his hands in the air. "I don't even know," he said, frustrated. "Everything in here is a mess – I don't know, I guess Pansy was in here – "

"And she did this?"

"No, but I – look, what do you want?" Draco asked, putting a hand on his chest and grimacing; the wound still pained him at times. He felt around blindly for the edge of his bed and lowered himself onto it, sitting down.

"Nothing," Theo said with a shrug. "Just heard you'd left the common room and moved back up here. There isn't much else going on today, what with the ball tonight and everything." He stepped over a pile of scattered clothing items and sat beside Draco, leaning over to gather some of the parchment from the floor.

"Thanks," Draco muttered, taking the papers from him. "Sorry," he added elusively.

Theo waved him off. "Whatever."

They were silent for a moment.

"I've missed so much shit since I've been gone," Draco muttered.

Theo waved his hand vaguely around the room, gesturing to the books and notes that remained on the floor. "School, you mean?"

"Yeah, school," Draco said, pausing. "Other things, too."

"If you have something you need to talk about," Theo said, broaching the subject with a gentleness that belied his usual character, "I'm right here."

Draco hesitated for a moment before wrinkling his nose and scoffing. "You're going soft, Nott."

"Oh, am I?" Theo said, tapping his mouth with his finger ironically. "So let's see – you're telling me that you've just squared away your little task for the Dark Lord, then, and of course, there's nothing going on with Granger?"

Draco's head snapped up and he flicked his wand quickly, shutting the door. "Yes, Theo," he said, eyeing him. "That's what I'm saying."

Theo jutted his chin forward, gesturing to the now closed door. "You needed privacy just so you could lie to me?"

"Look," Draco started, running a hand through his hair, "You know I can't talk about any of that."

"Can't?" Theo asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or won't?"

"Both."

"Fine."

"Theo, I know you're just – "

"No, Draco, listen to me," Theo interrupted, his voice urgent. "You're my oldest friend. Most days you're my best friend," he added, with a vague smile, "and some days, you're my only friend."

Draco nodded, rubbing at the dull ache in his chest. "Yeah – and?"

Theo looked at him sharply. "I don't want you to fail," he said simply. "I will not watch you fail," he repeated, as Draco met his eyes.

They looked at each other for a moment, Theo's dark green eyes devoid of any traces of his usual sarcasm. It was Draco who looked away first, returning his attention to the papers in his lap.

"I'm really trying not to," he said, struggling to keep his tone even.

"Well, that's step one," Theo noted glumly.

"You know, if you really wanted to do right by me you might have started with keeping Pansy away," Draco said, trying to lighten the mood.

"With you being comatose, Pansy had a real 'white knight' thing going," Theo commented. "She was sure if she was glued to your side, she'd end up a Malfoy." Draco wrinkled his nose with displeasure but Theo only shrugged.

"I didn't think it was worth it to try keeping her away," Theo scoffed. "Besides, with how she reacted when Granger tried to see you – "

"Granger came to see me?" Draco interrupted, not having been aware of this. "Is that why you brought her up?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Been listening to Pansy?"

"Oi, get off my back, would you?" Theo snapped. "I have eyes, mate, I've seen you look at her, and she's not much better a liar, either – "

Draco's jaw dropped. "You talked to her? What did she – "

"Don't get carried away, Draco," Theo said quickly. "I happened to see her right after your duel. She didn't say anything," he assured him. "Not that she needed to."

Draco rubbed his chest again, thinking about what this meant. If Granger had denied it, he wouldn't do otherwise.

"I think your imagination is running away with you," Draco said finally. "There's nothing going on between me and Granger."

"Ah, so you both think I'm stupid," he said, an air of amusement hovering over his features. "Fine."

"I don't – "

Theo held up his hand. "No, no," he said, with an improbably reassuring tone. "It's fine. Don't tell me."

"I should warn you, though," Theo said languidly, stretching upwards like a cat and feigning a disinterested yawn. "Try not to let your face give yourself away when you see her tonight with Weasley."

There was a clang as Draco's handful of belongings dropped abruptly from his grasp, a half-empty pot of ink knocking over onto the floor and seeping into the wood.

Ginny held out her dress, a shimmering gold gown with a slinky silhouette and a beaded neckline.

"Ginny," Hermione breathed, "This is amazing – "

"I transfigured one of my mom's old gowns," she said with a smile. "It wasn't easy."

Hermione laughed, trying to picture its original state. "Hard to imagine Mrs. Weasley in this little get up," she admitted, running her hand down the fabric. "You are going to look so beautiful."

"What about you?" Ginny asked. "Do you want to come up here to get ready?"

"Oh – no, that's okay," Hermione said uncertainly, looking over her shoulder and leaning in. "You know, I don't think Lavender would appreciate it."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "As if Lavender's opinion counts for anything!" she said with a careless snort. "I mean, everyone knows you had Ron first – "

"I never had him," Hermione corrected, "And I don't have him now, either, it's just as friends – "

"For now," Ginny said confidently. She hung the dress back up and turned her attention to Hermione, toying with the older witch's curls. "You know, I really think I could do something with . . . all of this – "

"I'm certain you could," Hermione said happily, "But Ron's seen me before. No need to get carried away."

She wondered if she would still feel that way, if Ron were not her date. If, for example, she were to be accompanied by a certain pale-haired Slytherin, she doubted she'd maintain her ambivalent composure. She probably would be fretting over her hair – but as the situation was, what would be the point?

"Well you certainly don't need to look pretty for Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "You're already miles above him in the looks department – "

"Ginny!"

"Well you are!" she said defensively. "There's no harm in wanting to look good for you, you know."

"I suppose not," Hermione said thoughtfully. "But either way, I'm sure I can do it on my own. Well enough, anyway."

Ginny shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said indifferently, turning back to the dress. "I should start getting ready, though – since some of us have a little less to work with – "

"Oh stop it," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "See you tonight, Gin."

Ginny nodded but turned away quickly, refocusing her attention on her attire for the evening. Hermione walked through the common room – pointedly avoiding eye contact with both Lavender and Parvati – and made her way back to her room.

She paused before opening her door, eyeing Malfoy's room down the hall. She'd heard rumors that he'd stormed out of the Slytherin dorms at some point earlier in the day, but had yet to see him; his door was shut now, and she was curious if he was inside.

She took a step toward his room before quickly shaking her head and retreating, thinking it through. There must be a reason he hadn't come to find her, she thought. Best not to deal with it now, not when everyone was wandering the castle, preparing for the evening.

Hermione entered her room and pulled out the floor-length crimson dress that she'd been given for her birthday, recalling her mother's reasoning that every woman deserved a beautiful gown. Hermione smiled as she touched the fabric, thinking how excited she was when she'd opened it; it fit her perfectly, hugged every curve, and she'd been saving it, secretly hoping for an event like this one.

Her hair, she knew, was less ideal, and would be an altogether different challenge. She sat at her vanity and twisted the curls around her fingers, sucking in her cheeks as she eyed her reflection in the mirror.

Maybe Ginny was right, she thought. Maybe she could try looking nice just for herself. She picked up her bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and sighed.

"Nice to see you, old friend," she said aloud, eyeing the bottle with a wistful smile.

She kept her look tasteful; she tamed her hair into a low chignon at the nape of her neck, leaving some floating tendrils out of place around her face for what she considered a romantic look. She applied some makeup, more than usual but not too much, and spritzed a little of her perfume in the air before stepping into her gown.

She zipped it up easily and stood back, looking at her reflection. The deep red chiffon was a familiar color on her, it warmed her complexion, and the shape of the dress – fitted at her waist and hips and trumpeting out slightly toward the bottom – was perfectly suited to her figure.

She bit her lip, frowning. Something wasn't quite right, she thought, turning left and right to take in her full reflection.

There was a knock on the door. "Mione?"

"Yes?" she called back to Ron, still looking over her shoulder at herself.

"Are you ready?"

She considered her reflection one more time before picking up her wand. "One second, Ron," she said loudly, waving it over her.

After the change, she nodded appreciatively at herself. Much better, she thought with a smile. This was perfect. Maybe he would see it and take as a sign.

"I'm coming," she called, opening the door.

Draco fidgeted with his dress robes, adjusting his cufflinks. He didn't really mind dressing for the occasion; it really wasn't all that different from his normal garb. Pansy wore a long black dress with her hair long and straight, looking – fine, overall, he thought. As fine as a person could look while not at all being someone he wanted to be around.

He and Pansy were talking with Theo, who looked quite dapper, and Daphne, who looked quite good as well – again, for someone he didn't particularly feel like talking to. Her long auburn hair was up in a French twist and she looked remarkably sophisticated. Both she and Pansy seemed to have been preparing for the event all day and were chattering eagerly to each other, while he and Theo sipped their innocuous pumpkin juice quietly.

"Ugh, Pansy – look," Daphne said suddenly, tilting her head to gesture behind them.

Theo's lips curled up in a smile. "Steel yourself, mate," he said quietly, as Draco frowned with confusion.

He turned just as the crowd parted to reveal Weasley, who had entered the room just behind Potter with – well, the other Weasley. Typical, he thought with an eye roll, eyeing the redheaded witch. Such an incestuous little group they have. It was his last coherent thought before he saw Granger step out from behind Potter's shadow.

She was –

He swallowed.

She was exquisite.

She wore her hair low on her neck, some curls framing her face and filling him with an unspeakable longing to tuck the pieces softly behind her ear. She wasn't nearly as made up as Pansy, or even the femme version of Weasley, but she had definitely put some on. Her golden brown eyes were shining beneath her long dark lashes and her smiling lips were red and full.

He adjusted his tie, trying to breathe. Her gown was perfect – it looked like it was made for her, heightening the effect of her breath as it clung to her waist and her hips. But there was something else about it.

It was a stunning, brilliant, undeniable emerald green.

Did she do that on purpose? He shook his head, trying to slow his pounding heart. Could he be so vain as to think she'd worn it for him?

Theo elbowed him sharply in the ribs and Draco quickly shut his mouth, not having realized it had fallen open. "An odd color choice, don't you think?" Theo asked quietly, speaking directly into Draco's ear.

Draco swallowed again. His throat was quite dry. "Coincidence," he choked out.

Theo thumped him on the back. "Of course!" he said jovially. "What do you think, Pansy?" he asked, raising his voice. Draco glared at him.

Pansy sniffed. "Well, she's a witch, isn't she?" she said haughtily. "It'd be pathetic if she couldn't conjure up something decent every few years."

"Right," said Theo, winking.

Draco couldn't stop watching Granger; he wondered if she could feel his eyes on her, with practically every move she made. He wondered, too, if he could light Weasley on fire from across the room, and felt more certain that he could, every time the git put his hand low on Granger's back.

Granger looked beautiful and relaxed and happy and it was absolute murder. Draco's chest throbbed painfully, and he found that he couldn't blame it all on the freshly healed scar.

Hermione's gut wrenched when she saw Malfoy for the first time since those twenty minutes in the hospital. His complexion had warmed slightly, and he looked somehow more rested despite being a little bit leaner. She could see no one else but him in his dress robes, the simple, elegant garments highlighting his lithe frame and emphasizing his height. He didn't need to do anything to stand apart from the crowd; he simply stood there, existing, making every other fool in wizarding robes a bedraggled rodeo clown by comparison.

She could feel his eyes on her all night and it reassured her slightly, lifting her spirits; she found herself able to relax comfortably with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, though she was having difficulty focusing. Malfoy looked a bit more broody than usual, and she found herself cruelly pleased whenever he coolly removed himself from Pansy's grasp.

Hermione couldn't eat, she couldn't speak, she could barely take in air, feeling his eyes on her. She wondered if he noticed.

When he stood abruptly from his table and headed into the hall, she jumped to do the same – she didn't know if that was his intent, but she couldn't wait a moment longer.

"Bathroom," she said breathlessly, as Ron eyed her with curiosity.

She followed his purposeful stride out of the Great Hall and into the hallway, watching as he ducked out of sight into one of the alcoves in the courtyard. She glanced around first, albeit not very thoroughly, before turning in his direction.

She felt his long fingers encircle her wrist and she let herself be pulled into the alcove, her chest pressing against his. With his face in the shadows she couldn't see him but she could smell him, feel him, touch him – and she did, breathing deeply and running her hands over him as he put pressure on her hips. He caressed her face and she leaned into him, feeling his breath on her neck.

Her mouth searched out his for scarcely a moment before they were interrupted.

"Hermione?" Ginny called. "Are you alright? I thought I saw you – "

She felt rather than heard Malfoy curse under his breath, pushing her back into the hallway. "Wait – I – "

"There you are!" Ginny said, catching up to her. "I said I was coming with you, I guess you didn't hear me – I could have sworn you just fell over or something – "

"No, I'm right here," she said, forcing a smile. She was breathing so hard it was painful, the gown's stitching constricting her gasping lungs.

"Why were you going this way?" Ginny laughed, grabbing her arm. "You're such an odd duck, Hermione – "

"Yes," Hermione muttered. "So true."

She looked over her shoulder as Ginny pulled her away and saw his envious form take off purposefully in the opposite direction. If only he knew, she thought. If only he knew he was taking her heart, her breath, and her sanity with him.

He should have known that wouldn't work, he thought angrily, cursing himself. The entire castle was swimming with people; there was no way he was going to be able to get her alone.

"Get lost, did you, Malfoy?" Theo asked, nuzzling Daphne as she giggled. Someone – probably Blaise, he thought – had managed to bring a little firewhiskey to the ball. Pansy was absolutely ridiculous, guffawing loudly at Theo's jab.

"Fuck off, Theo," he said grimly, not wanting to partake. "No need to track my movements."

Pansy reached up, using his collar to pull herself up. "Come on, Draco," she slurred. "Come here – "

"What – no – "

And that, he thought, was his evening in a nutshell. He saw Granger return with Weasley but could do nothing to get her attention, distracted as he was by his wildly irresponsible friends.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said, horrified as she watched him chase down a giggling Theo and Daphne, "You really must get your house members in order – "

"I really would like to, Professor," he said quickly, panting and holding his chest. "I would really fucking like to – "

"Mr. Malfoy, language!"

"Sorry, so sorry Professor," he said, "Just trying to – "

"Well, get Miss Parkinson to help – "

He looked over at Pansy, who was nodding off at the table. "Right," he said hastily, hoping McGonagall wouldn't follow his line of sight. "Thanks, Professor."

In the end, he'd carted all three of them off to the dungeons, depositing them hurriedly in the common room and running back to the Great Hall to finally catch Granger. By the time he arrived, though, the hall had emptied, with most of its occupants now returned to their dorms. He sat down, clutching his aching chest, struggling to calm his ragged breath. The evening – the day, in fact – had not been the ideal use of his only recently able body, he thought painfully.

He propped his elbows onto his knees and sighed, pushing his hair away from his face.

"Alright, Malfoy?"

He jerked his head up and looked into Potter's bright green eyes. "Fine," he said suspiciously. "No thanks to you," he added, gesturing to his chest.

Potter's eyes dropped. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't – "

"Save it, Potter," Draco replied grimly. "I don't actually think you wanted me dead."

Potter bit the inside of his cheek. "I didn't, no," he said solemnly.

Draco grimaced. "Forget it," he threw out carelessly. "Can't honestly say that I wouldn't have done the same."

Potter nodded. "Still," he said. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well," Draco replied, standing. "As touching as this is, I'm out."

He walked away without waiting for Potter's response. A less defeated Draco, one who had not had such a difficult day, might have taken advantage of the leverage he had, finally having something to lord over Potter – but as it was, he simply wanted to be in his own bed. Alone, if that was how it had to be.

He heard voices as he stepped onto the fifth floor landing.

" . . . I mean it, Mione, I had a great time tonight."

Draco gagged. Weasley.

"I did too, Ron – thank you for everything."

Draco waited, listening from around the corner.

"Of course. I meant what I said, you know."

"Hm?"

"I meant it, that we belong together."

Draco waited for a response, but only heard a soft rustling, like Weasley was touching her dress.

"We should be together, you know we should."

Draco's heart pounded so loudly he worried they might hear. He looked around for some receptacle, feeling that he was going to be violently sick.

"Ron . . . "

"I'm trying to say" – Draco heard Weasley sigh heavily – "I'm just trying to tell you that – that I love you, Hermione."

Draco hung his head. He knew there was a piece of Granger that had longed to hear those words from Weasley, and he felt his entire world shatter.

"I – I don't know, Ron."

She didn't know?

"Well – maybe I can clear some things up for you."

What did that mean? It was quiet, too quiet. Why was it quiet?

Unable to stand it, Draco turned the corner, catching Weasley's motion as he bent to kiss Granger, whose face disappeared behind the back of Weasley's head.

Draco's eyes followed Weasley's hands, one cupping her face and the other pressing into her waist, and he felt himself lose his mind.

"Granger," he shouted, walking directly up to her. His voice was several decibels louder than he'd intended and Weasley jumped back abruptly. Granger brought her hand to her lips, startled.

"Granger," he repeated at a more reasonable volume, coming to rest with her face inches away from his chest.

"Hey – Malfoy, we're kind of in the middle of something – "

"Shut up, Weasley," he snapped, not sparing a moment to look at him. He kept his attention on Granger, on her wide, brilliant brown eyes, even as he struggled to find words.

"Thank you," he said simply. It was the only thing his panicked mind could string together, and he hoped she would take it as a sign. "Thank you for saving my life."

She nodded slowly. "I – you're welcome – "

"Thank you," he said again, biting hard on his lip to stop him from saying anything else, not wanting to reveal anything while Weasley squinted pointlessly at him. Draco walked away hurriedly, hoping she understood, fighting the urge to look back and watch the situation play out.

He shut the door behind him and sank to the floor, realizing too late how stupid he'd been. What was she supposed to get out of that? "Thank you"? True, he rarely said it, and almost never meant it when he did; but how was she to know that? How was she to figure out the hidden message, right after Weasley had just confessed something much more important?

How was she to know that he'd meant to tell her how he felt?

"Wingardium leviosa," he whispered angrily, levitating items around the room as he sat on the floor, slowly putting things back in their rightful place.

He hated himself. He could have just lost her. He might not have said enough and then she could be lost - and to Weasley. If, that is, he hadn't already lost her, some time over the past seven days. He hadn't known she'd come to see him; if he had, surely he'd have tried harder to find her. How challenging would it actually have been to escape Pansy's watchful eye? He wasn't a complete idiot, he could've managed it. Why hadn't he done it? Why hadn't he done it?

He slammed the back of his head against the door. Stupid, he thought ruthlessly. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He punctuated each thought with a thump from his head, breathing hard. Stupid.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thud.

He stopped; that was a different sound.

He scrambled to his feet, throwing his door open –

And there she was, a vision in Slytherin green, his beautiful Gryffindor. He opened his arms to her and she instantly fell into them, tears reaching her eyes as the door fell shut.

"Where were you – "

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, wrapping his arms around her and closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of her hair. "I'm so sorry – "

"Why didn't you – "

"I – Pansy was – there's no excuse, I should have – "

"If you ever – "

"Never again, Granger," he said, pulling back to take her face in his hands. "Never, I promise you." He brushed a finger over her lips. "I promise you, I'll never go another day without you, if you want me – "

"I want you," she said, a tear dripping down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb and kissed her fervently, crushing her into his chest as she pressed herself against him.

"Say it again," he panted, bringing his lips to her neck. "Say it again."

"I want you," she gasped, shivering as he nipped at her collarbone and licked her throat.

"Say you're mine," he whispered, his insecurities seeping out even as he began to peel the strap of her dress off her shoulder. "Tell me you're mine and not Weasley's."

She pulled away for a moment, cradling the back of his head with her hand as she looked at him, her eyes searching his. "I'm yours," she said, her voice clear and unwavering. "Draco, I'm yours."

"Good," he said roughly, sweeping her up in his arms. "You're probably the worst decision I've ever made," he added, his voice muffled in her bare shoulder. "But I choose you anyway."

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: The Admission

Malfoy had her out of her dress faster than she cared to admit, but she took her time with him, sitting him down on the edge of the bed and kneeling between his legs.

"You're beautiful," he murmured into her neck, running his hands up and down her arms as she removed his jacket.

She gave him a small smile before turning her attention to his shirt, slowly undoing the buttons. "This?" she asked, gesturing to her face and hair. "This is just makeup. And hair potion."

He kissed her roughly. "I didn't say you look beautiful, Granger," he growled against her mouth. "I said you are beautiful."

She felt her cheeks flush and fought the impulse to smile broadly. She wanted be convinced that she was confident enough in herself, that she didn't need his reassurances, but after an evening of seeing him with Pansy and Daphne – both of whom had pulled out all the stops, looking like muggle supermodels – she decided she could let herself take the compliment.

Who's a frizzy-haired know-it-all now, Pansy? she thought triumphantly, closing her eyes as Malfoy kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

She leaned back and looked at him, his hair mussed and his lips swollen, his chest half bare, and wondered whether she might be able to produce a patronus, based purely on this moment. His eyes were glittering and unfocused, consumed as he was by her quick fingers traveling lightly down his front.

It was only when she reached the last button, the shirt draping apart, that she stopped to run her hands along his chest, feeling the raised tissue of his sectumsempra scar. It was a harsh, dark slash across pale, creamy skin, surrounded by a halo of smaller marks, scattered and stark like shrapnel around the wound. She bent to press her lips delicately against his chest, relishing in his sharp inhalation. It still felt so surreal – to be able to touch him, to elicit a reaction from him, to be the reason he tipped his head back, sighing. With every brush of her lips that she trailed down his chest she felt him go a little more rigid, his breath caught in his throat, and she reveled in it.

She reached the band of his trousers and moved to discard them, running her hand smoothly along the inside of his thigh before unclasping them and tugging the zipper down over his stiff length. She took his erection in her hand before looking up at him, meeting his eyes as she lightly kissed his tip, swirling the tip of her tongue against it. He let a small stream of air between clenched teeth, watching her intently.

Hermione had never done this before but found that she wanted to, and that there was some kind of unexpected power in taking him this way. She let the tip of her tongue trace circles around the head of his cock, tasting him, then dragged the broad side of her tongue up his shaft, traveling slowly from base to tip. He buried his hands in her hair and grasped it tightly, groaning as she moved.

Nothing she did came from experience; she only followed instinct, pursuing whatever made him tighten his grip on her. Sometimes she took him fully in her mouth, sometimes she only licked and teased; she used her hands to massage the inside of his thighs, or to travel along the length of his shaft, repeating any motion that made his hips jerk against her. It was almost academic, she thought with amusement, right up until the moment he yanked her up, bringing his lips to hers.

"Granger," he panted, "It's too good – "

She nodded, feeling victorious as she shed her underwear and then pushed his chest gently, making him lie back as she removed his trousers and dragged his boxer briefs down his legs. She climbed on top of him slowly, realizing now why he was always so agonizingly deliberate with her – there was a strange potency, a sense of authority that drove her to take her time.

"Fuck, Granger – "

"Don't be vulgar, Malfoy," she instructed primly, holding him at her entrance. She'd begun the night as putty in his hands, and there was plenty of time for more of that – later.

He gripped her waist painfully. "Hermione – "

Her name on his lips had an aphrodisiacal effect and she gave in, sliding him inside her and letting out a thin hiss of satisfaction as he filled her. She pushed his arms above his head and braced herself on his elbows, letting him take her breasts in his mouth and nip lightly at her.

She could feel him getting closer and increased the pace as he sat up, wrapping her legs around his back and tugging on the hair at the back of his head. His head lolled back and his eyes, glassy and wild, watched her as she bit her lip, concentrating.

"You little minx," he rasped quietly, standing suddenly and turning to throw her on her back. "I'm taking you with me."

She gasped, raising her hips as he filled her in one thrust. She hadn't known she'd been so close to climax but found herself crying out almost immediately, calling his name as he went slack against her.

She ran her fingers through his hair absentmindedly as they caught their breath, slowly letting her legs relax around his lean, muscular frame.

"The name thing," he said finally, turning his head to speak directly into her ear. "You were right. I never realized how much I wanted to hear my own name."

She laughed. "That really doesn't surprise me," she said, smirking as she kissed his shoulder affectionately.

He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. "I was afraid I'd lost you, for a second," he admitted, sliding his thumb across her lip.

"Don't be silly," she quipped, biting playfully on his fingers. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I hope you're sure about that," he told her seriously, a look of skepticism blanketing his features.

"Believe me, if I thought I could do without you, if – if I wasn't totally sure," she began slowly, "I might not be here." She caught his face in her hand, emphasizing her point. "It's out of my hands at this point."

"Can you imagine?" he said softly. "If this had been last year. If we were just, I don't know – inconvenient. Instead of dangerous."

"I wish I'd caught you," she whispered, grabbing his left wrist. "Before this," she added, running her thumb over his Dark Mark.

He shook his head. "So do I, but you wouldn't have happened, without it," he said honestly. "Before I took the Mark – the blood purity, the hatred - it was easy. It was all just . . . "

"A game," she finished for him, biting her lip. "And now it's real."

"It's real," he nodded. "And without it – "

"I know," she said softly. She didn't want him to have to say it out loud. Without that mark – without the pain, without the doubt, without the fear – he would never have considered her.

She felt him shudder against her and she kissed him fervently, willing herself to absorb his demons.

"What did you tell Weasley?" he murmured quietly when they broke apart, gripping her hips possessively as he spoke Ron's name.

"The truth," she said with a smile. "That I loathe you."

He chuckled. "Not about me, I mean."

She rolled onto her back, a pang of guilt hitting her for the first time. "I – I just told him that I didn't love him the way he wanted me to," she said, stretching her arms up and closing her eyes. "I love him, but not – I'm not in love with him."

Malfoy leaned over her, kissing her bare stomach. "And how do you know the difference?"

They looked at each other quietly for a moment, a silent game of chicken. "I know the difference," she said finally. "I know what I feel."

He rolled onto her, kissing her again. "Fair enough," he whispered.

They looked at each other for a long time without moving, her eyes searching his as she wondered how to ask him for what she needed. He seemed to be waiting patiently and she bit her lip with hesitation, wondering if he already knew what she wanted to say.

"Malfoy," she said after a long time, his name a comfort on her tongue as she smoothed his hair back. "Draco, I need – "

"I know," he said quietly, confirming her suspicions. "I know."

He stood, tossing her a t-shirt and boxers from his wardrobe. He dressed himself and waited until she'd thrown on his clothes before bending to pick up her wand, handing it to her.

"I can't say it out loud," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "I don't want to see your face when I – " he stopped abruptly, letting out a hiss of trepidation. "I just – I can't tell you."

She nodded. "Okay," she whispered back, her tone deceivingly gentle. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed hard, feeling her veins pulse as her heart pounded. She found she feared his answers almost as much as she needed them.

"But you – you have to promise me," he said, not looking at her. "You can't – "

"I'll still be here," she said quickly. "I'll stay with you, and I won't tell anyone, I – I swear." She paused. "I'll – I'll make the unbreakable vow, if you want me to – "

"No," he said forcefully. "That would be the last thing I would do, to rob you of your free will. Just – try to understand," he pleaded, his voice faltering. "I don't have a choice."

She nodded before taking a deep breath, raising her wand.

"Are you ready?" she asked, trying to mask the slight shake in her voice.

"Try not to hate me," he said simply, his grey eyes cloudy with dread.

She closed her eyes, fighting to ignore her trembling fingers.

"Legilimens."

She was in a courtroom at the Ministry of Magic, standing beside a haughty, arrogant version of Malfoy that she would have recognized anywhere, having seen it many times. He was dressed in a full black suit, sitting with his mother; his eyes were narrow slits as he stared blankly at the Wizengamot. This was almost certainly the day of Lucius' trial, and she could taste the anger and resentment that burned in Malfoy's mouth as she heard them deliver their ruling.

" – we, the Wizengamot, do find Lucius Malfoy to be guilty – "

She felt a hollow ringing in her ears, and knew Malfoy heard nothing else. The courtroom suddenly twisted around her and she was standing in an ornate front room, countless portraits of elegantly garbed witches and wizards lining the walls. She glanced over at Malfoy, who was now pacing quietly beside his mother and an older man Hermione didn't recognize. Malfoy's posture was rigid, and he was visibly angry and shaken – but he was also strangely confident, and vaguely at ease. Based on his shift in comfort level, Hermione assumed she was now standing in Malfoy Manor. 

The older man was speaking rapidly to Malfoy's mother, who looked calm and elegant in her long, black robes – mourning garb, Hermione thought, eyeing Narcissa's swollen eyes.

" – you should consider, Narcissa, what the Dark Lord would do, how he would reward your family, if you would only – "

"I won't do it," she snapped, fixing the man with a glacial stare. "Not my son, not my only son – "

"It's not your decision, Mother," Malfoy said quickly, stopping abruptly and sidling up to her. He turned to the older man. "I'll do it," he said, his voice ringing with certainty.

"Good man," the visitor said pompously, grasping Malfoy's shoulder firmly. The man was clearly wealthy, obviously a peer of some kind, and seemed to be intimately familiar with the Malfoys, despite being several years older than Narcissa or Lucius. He looked back at Narcissa, smiling, and Hermione, who stood near her, felt an unpleasant lurch in her stomach. His eyes were hard and emotionless, and the smile itself seemed vacant and unkind. "You see – Narcissa, he was groomed for this – "

"I will not put Draco in danger," she hissed. "I will not allow it – "

"I'm not a child," Malfoy interrupted, his eyes flashing. He pulled his mother aside and Hermione followed. "He's right, Mother," he said softly into her ear. "If I take the Mark, the Dark Lord will bring Father here – he'll forgive him – "

"Draco, my love," she replied sadly, and Hermione could see her heart swelling with affection as she brushed Malfoy's hair away from his forehead. "The Dark Lord does not forgive – "

"What choice do we have?" Malfoy said urgently. "Can you live with yourself, while Father sits in Azkaban? I know that I can't – "

"How can I live with myself, sending my son to certain death?" she spat back, anger suddenly flashing. "Draco, do not speak about that which you do not understand."

Hermione looked urgently to Malfoy, hoping – pointlessly, since she already knew the outcome – that he would listen to Narcissa; but even she could see that Malfoy's mind was made up. He'd squared his shoulders proudly, fixing his mother with a stubborn glare that Hermione was already irritatingly familiar with. 

"It's done," he said quietly. "I'm a man now, Mother, and I will not be a man who lets his father die in prison." 

He stalked quickly toward the older man but Hermione hesitated, staying close to Narcissa. She watched sadly as the poised, elegant witch's posture slumped, her heart visibly breaking. 

"It's my fault," Narcissa whispered, bringing her hands to her face. "This is my fault – "

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, but this was not Narcissa's memory, and she felt herself dragged to where Malfoy caught up with the older man.

"Tell him," Malfoy commanded, his chin high. "Tell him I'll take the Mark – I'll serve him." He looked proud, triumphant even, and Hermione wondered if he'd had any idea, if he'd felt it at all, the way the world seemed to shift as he made his decision. "I will be the one to redeem the Malfoy name."

"You brilliant boy," the older man proclaimed, his hand returning to Malfoy's shoulder. "I'm as proud of you as if you were my own son."

"Though he's not yours, is he?" Narcissa snapped harshly from where she stood. "I don't see you throwing Theo to the wolves – "

This was Nott, then – Theo's father. Hermione shuddered, watching the older Nott's dark eyes flash. There was something inexplicably evil about this man, something intangibly horrifying, like he was capable of smiling blankly in the face of inhuman torture.

"You don't see me in Azakaban, either, Narcissa," he said coldly, his grip on Malfoy tightening. Hermione could see a twitch in Malfoy's face, a sliver of doubt, replaced almost instantly by a placid cool – the signature control of the Malfoy she'd come to know.

She'd been so blind to think he had no nervous ticks, she thought with a pang, watching the background quiver and transform itself into a large garden, somewhere else on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. 

" – of course, how reckless of the Ministry, to assume that Azkaban remains under their control," Voldemort said coolly, as his followers laughed and chattered manically. Hermione spied several recognizable faces among them – including Wormtail, she thought, gutted, and Bellatrix Lestrange. 

"As it is," Voldemort continued, "they seem to have overlooked a small security issue."

He stepped aside, revealing a wan, broken-looking Lucius Malfoy, kneeling on the ground and blinking as though he had, until only recently, been swallowed in complete darkness.

She saw the younger Malfoy inhale sharply and turned to look at him. He was wearing a similar dark suit, standing beside his mother again. Narcissa's eyes looked unfocused, like she was trying to dissociate herself with the moment. 

"Lucius," Voldemort crooned, "Welcome home." 

"My Lord?" Lucius asked, his voice breaking.

"You're in luck, Lucius," Voldemort said, showing all of his teeth as he smiled. "It seems that your son has made me an offer that I would be a fool to refuse."

Hermione expected Lucius's vacant gaze to travel to where his wife and son were standing and noticed that Malfoy, too, had twitched anxiously, craning his neck in anticipation of meeting his father's eyes. Lucius, however, did not look up.

"Yes, my Lord?" he said, a curious eagerness coloring his dispassionate tone.

"Yes," Voldemort mimicked cruelly. "It seems Draco has agreed to take the Mark, to join our ranks," he mused. "What an honor it must be, to have such a worthy son to offer the Dark Lord."

Lucius's head dipped slightly, an almost imperceptible bow. "Yes, my Lord, an honor," he parroted.

Hermione felt her heart break for Malfoy, whose posture beside her had visibly slumped. She could taste the disappointment in his mouth, seeing the great man he'd admired, whose approval he had so desperately craved, reduced to nothing more than a slave to a madman. She wondered if it was sinking in yet, the gravity of the error he'd made in sacrificing himself for his father. 

She stepped in front of him as he looked through her, his grey eyes never leaving his father's face. She reached up to touch him, her hands brushing the air around him, but she realized she would have to wait to be able to comfort the man she knew, the one in what felt like so many miles and lives away. 

"Let us hope, Lucius," Voldemort said coldly, his change in tone revealing his true intent, "That he does not turn out to be the disappointment you have so unquestionably been." He knelt beside Lucius, curling a finger under his chin. "It would be such a waste, you know," he whispered, "to have to spill such valuable magical blood."

Hermione gaped in horror as she watched Voldemort straighten. "I would hate for a family as renowned as the Malfoy line to have to . . . come to an end," he added vaguely, turning to meet Malfoy's eyes. 

She felt Malfoy shudder violently.

The garden twisted around her and she was back in the dining room she'd seen before in Malfoy's memory, though it was clearly a different event. A small number of Death Eaters were scattered along both sides of the table, and Malfoy was once again seated beside his father.

She felt his left hand twitch and knew instinctively that he'd taken the Mark already; by his level of discomfort, she could tell he was having trouble with it. It seemed to be burning him, and she wished, once again, that she could put her hand over his, to absorb the pain for him.

" – I believe I have found a use for you, young Master Malfoy," Voldemort said musically, standing. "Do you want to know what it is?"

His voice had a strange, cruel rhythm, a deceptively light-hearted lilt like a schoolyard taunt.

Malfoy tried to say something but couldn't find his voice. "Yes, my Lord," he repeated, audible at the second attempt. Hermione could taste the fear in his mouth and marveled at his still unwavering control.

"You are returning to Hogwarts for your sixth year, are you not?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Excellent." Voldemort turned to face him, his eyes passing through Hermione as he fixed his stare on Malfoy. "This should be easy, then." He paused, and she could feel the baited breath from everyone around the table.

"Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort began, an opening met with a loud jeer from Bellatrix Lestrange, "has been a pain in my side for far too long." He took a sip from a jeweled goblet, clearly relishing in the breathless silence as his audience awaited his instruction. He cleared his throat, looking back at Malfoy.

"I want you to kill him," he said silkily, placing the goblet on the table with a loud thud.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She'd expected something horrifying, something terrible – but not this, never this. Murder alone was bad enough – but Dumbledore? There was not a world in which Malfoy was a match for him, and surely Voldemort knew it.

It's a death trap, she thought, swallowing hard. Voldemort wants him to die trying. 

It was Narcissa who broke the silence. "How?" she demanded angrily, visibly unstable. "How is my son supposed to kill a wizard that you haven't even – "

"Cissy," came Bellatrix's harsh whisper, cutting her off. Hermione could see that Bellatrix had grabbed her sister's wrist under the table and was digging her long fingernails into Narcissa's ghostly white flesh, drawing blood. 

"Ah," Voldemort said, smiling coldly. "Draco, it seems mummy dearest does not approve – "

"My mother does not speak for me," Malfoy said evenly. Hermione could see his hands shaking perilously in his lap. 

Narcissa looked imploringly at him but Malfoy kept his eyes on Voldemort. 

"You accept the task, then?" Voldemort asked, raising an eyebrow. "You agree to kill Albus Dumbledore?"

"I do," Malfoy said, placing his hands firmly on the table. They were no longer shaking, though Hermione had yet to lose the salty, unpleasant taste of his dread. "I will kill Albus Dumbledore, my Lord."

The last thing Hermione saw before she was hurtled out of his vision was the silent, strangled sob of Narcissa Malfoy, her pale silver hair reaching her lap as she bent her head, broken.

As he blinked away the memory he saw tears in Granger's eyes, and cursed himself for making her cry a second time that night.

"I'm sorry," he said, hanging his head. "I don't know what else to say – I'm sorry – "

"Don't apologize," she said quickly, wiping the tears from her eyes angrily. "You were just trying to help your family – "

"I was stupid," he said bluntly. "I was stupid, short-sighted – "

"You were tricked," she corrected gently.

He laughed humorlessly. "That's a simpleton's excuse, don't you think?" he said, scowling darkly. "I knew the possible consequences, I knew what he could ask of me – " he shook his head, angry. "I knew better than to put my trust in him."

She nodded. "Your mother knew," she said quietly.

"Yeah, well," he tossed his head carelessly. "I knew, too. But the foundation of my decision stands – it was my life for my father's," he said. "You said it once, Granger – that we'd die for the people we love." She nodded again. "I just didn't realize I'd have to take any other lives with me," he added regretfully, shaking his head.

"I understand," she said slowly. She reached out tentatively, pausing her hand in the air before reaching behind his head, drawing him forward and touching his forehead to hers.

He exhaled sharply. "Good," he sighed shakily. "I was afraid – I didn't think you'd want to touch me, after what I've done."

"You've done things already, then," she confirmed quietly, still gripping the back of his neck.

He swallowed. "Yes," he said, shutting his eyes painfully. "And I'm – I'm so sorry."

She leaned back, eyeing him carefully. "You don't need my forgiveness," she said simply. "Whatever you've already had to do, I don't need to know."

He furrowed his brow uncertainly. "I suppose you want me to promise you I won't do it, then," he said shakily. He smiled, laughing at himself. "I suppose you're going to try to make a good person out of me, aren't you? Try to redeem me?"

But when he met her eye, she was not laughing. "No," she said, without a trace of humor or irony. "I'm not a fool, Malfoy. The world isn't as simple as I'd like it to be."

She had a strange glint in her warm brown eyes and he suddenly glimpsed a part of her she didn't necessarily show - a ruthless, unyielding piece of her that lay dormant under the warmth of her good heart. She was a force of nature, and for a moment he tasted an abstract sense of fear, wondering what it would be like to be in the shadow of her displeasure, the target of her wrath. He couldn't help but hold his breath, admiring her.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly, reassuringly. "I'm going to help you to do it," she said finally, her brown eyes flashing.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: The Faces

"Tell me what you have so far."

"Just – just the cabinets – those are non-negotiable, at this point – "

"What else?"

"What do you mean, what else?"

"Surely you've thought this through!"

He'd gotten up and paced through his room. "I haven't, Granger, of course I haven't – I don't want to do this! I don't want any of this!"

Hermione kept replaying their conversation over and over in her mind. It was clear Malfoy was unraveling – the fact that he didn't have a plan was dangerous, and the closer he got to running out of time – there was only so much left in the year, after all – the more endangered the entire school became.

She was sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Malfoy beside her. It was all she could do not to repeatedly sneak glances at him, relieved as she was to have him there again.

"Still – Malfoy – you're too smart for this, there's too much at stake – "

"Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I know exactly how much is at stake?"

He'd collapsed on the bed, hanging his head, and she'd crawled over to him, straddling him comfortably from behind and resting her cheek against his back.

"I'm here now. You're not alone. You don't have to go through this alone."

He gripped her hands where they were clasped over his chest.

As though he could read her thoughts, he slipped his hand over her knee, caressing it under the desk and rubbing his thumb across the hem of her skirt.

"How do you think I should do it?"

"You'll have to just – do it."

Even she could hear the strange darkness in her voice. She cleared her throat quickly.

"What I mean is that you can't rely on some surrogate method – poison, or a curse – "

"I know what you meant."

He'd sounded bitter, like the words were unsavory on his tongue. 

"It just has to come down to him and me."

"Yes," she agreed, pressing her lips to his back – but it didn't seem to be enough, just the kiss. She sunk her teeth in, bearing down. Tasting him.

His hand on her knee felt reassuring. She put her own hand down, covering his.

"You make it sound so easy – I thought you cared about him."

"Dumbledore? I do, of course. Of course."

"But – "

"You don't have a choice," she'd said firmly, tightening her arms around him. "So I don't have a choice, either."

They hadn't said much after that. Even knowing the task, even with no remaining mystery as to how awful it truly was, she still felt strangely detached; had that really been her, the silly girl who volunteered herself to facilitate a killing?

Desperate times, indeed.

All she knew was that she'd been in Draco Malfoy's mind – felt what was in his heart – and this was not a bad man. If she looked at him now she would see the agony etched into the lines of his face, the haunting exhaustion hidden in his grey eyes. He'd already been subjected to torment she had never experienced and he'd somehow become beautiful in it, transformed and evolved where a lesser man would collapse. She felt for him a fierce protectiveness she'd scarcely known – not even for Harry. And if she would do the unthinkable for Harry, a hundred times over – surely there was no doubt. She would do the same for Draco Malfoy.

She felt a surge of unidentifiable energy run through her and she squeezed Malfoy's hand tightly, wondering yet again what he'd done with her. The secrets, the lies – had they become a part of her?

Speaking of secrets . . .

She caught Snape's eye lingering in their direction and she shifted, uncrossing and crossing her legs so that she angled away from Malfoy.

Hermione had wondered why Snape had not moved the class back to their pre-assignment based seats. She suspected, vaguely, that it had something to do with them, the two of them, and Snape's unexpected investment in them.

She bit her thumbnail anxiously as a thought occurred to her. She had forgotten about Snape, for a moment, but was now suddenly realizing that everything that had been happening to her this year seemed to relate back to him in some way. The assignment, of course, though that seemed innocent enough on his part – but the Prince's book, the spell, Dumbledore's potion, the conversation with Malfoy –

She felt her heart start to pound. Of course.

Snape had to have known about Malfoy's task from Voldemort – Snape had to have been aware that Dumbledore was the target. She'd heard it herself, his offer to help Malfoy, and she hadn't even thought twice about it when Malfoy told her about the Death Eaters coming in through the cabinet – but of course, he must have gotten that information from Snape –

Hermione was suddenly livid, clenching her fist tightly around her quill, the parchment for the day's class notes still woefully blank as her mind wandered elsewhere.

It was occurring to her that the only time Snape had shown genuine surprise was when she asked him about the horcruxes. Had he been worried, then, that Dumbledore or Harry could soon defeat Voldemort? Did his loyalties lie with the Death Eaters, in the end? But the potion he was giving Dumbledore . . . that told another story . . .

She felt a jolt of horror as she looked at him. Who was he, this Half-Blood Prince? She had assumed he was who Dumbledore said he was – but wasn't that proof enough that Snape couldn't be trusted, when Hermione herself clearly couldn't be trusted? She'd assumed he was good because he'd been on her side – but wasn't she now clearly divided?

A cauldron of misdirected rage began to boil inside her, and she could do nothing but grit her teeth angrily, waiting for the class to end.

" – as always, try not to embarrass yourselves or your magical instruction, today – "

The class stood around her the instant that Snape's lecture ended. She felt Malfoy's fingers brush up the base of her spine but she didn't react, holding herself rigid as she mechanically gathered her things. She waited until the classroom was empty before she approached Snape's office.

He was standing next to his desk sorting through some books and only barely had the decency to look startled as she stormed up to him, hurling her things angrily onto the ground.

"I know," she said simply, crossing her arms.

He walked slowly to the door and shut it deliberately, looking at her with hazy curiosity.

"Miss Granger, have a care for how you – "

"I said," she exclaimed, frustrated. "I said I know – "

"And why should that concern me, Miss Granger?" he asked pointedly, his tone slippery.

"Tell me where you fit into all of this," she demanded. "Tell me whose side you're on – "

He held up a hand sharply, cutting her off. His dark eyes were glittering with something she couldn't identify.

"If you think I can answer that question," he said harshly, drawing out his words, "then sadly for both of us, Miss Granger, your grasp on the situation is not nearly as firm as you think."

She didn't say anything for a moment. As much as she disliked his answer, she could feel the underlying truth vibrating within it. It would be the best she could offer Harry, too, if he were to ask her the same question. She did not enjoy this, she thought, breathing hard. This sympathizing with Severus Snape felt unnatural, and her confidence in him was tenuous at best.

"You want to help Malfoy," she said finally, jutting her chin forward. If he would not tell her directly, she would derive the answers she needed – for there were certainly some she couldn't do without. "You do want to help him, right?"

"Yes," he replied simply, without hesitation.

She paused again, chewing her lip. "And do you – "

She stopped, running through possible questions in her mind. Do you side with the Order or with Voldemort? Do you want to destroy Voldemort the way we do, do you believe everything he stands for is wrong, do you even believe in what you teach?

These were answers she could do without. There was only one left that mattered.

"Do you intend to harm Harry?"

He looked surprised by the question for a moment, but did not look away.

"No," he said, as though he were admitting a great weakness.

She drew herself up to her full height, though she still came nowhere close to reaching the dark professor.

"Fine," she said evasively. "Just – stay out of the way, then," she added, with even less conviction than she felt.

"I am not a member of your merry band of thieves, Miss Granger," Snape said impatiently. "Do not speak to me as if I'm – "

"As if you're what? Someone I don't know if I can trust? Because I don't know how else I could – "

"Use your not inconsiderable brain, Miss Granger," he snapped, swooping towards her. "Instead of this – this tantrum, use the information I have given you – "

"What information?" she cried, holding her arms out helplessly. "You've not given me anything – "

"Stop," he commanded, his dark eyes hard. "You know that to be false."

She hung her head slightly. "I – "

"Stop talking," he said sharply, cutting her off again. "You're angry," he said, softening. "Of course you are angry, because once again, you're being required to do something you don't want to, and this time, for a person you never expected to care for."

His voice rang with a sincerity that she could only gawk at, waiting for him to continue.

"Of course you are angry, because tragically, you are not a fool, and you are not ignorant, and you are not blind – and so you are forced to see this – this war – for what it is. Indiscriminately damaging."

She nodded, keeping her head down.

"You are angry, not because you do not know where I stand, but because you do not know where you stand," he concluded, turning back to his desk.

She shook her head, unsatisfied. "That doesn't mean that where you stand isn't still fully relevant, professor – "

He didn't look up. "Have you identified the potion?"

She paused, confused. "The potion you made for Professor Dumbledore? I – I know it's a healing potion, I know it's for – "

"Look at the potion," he said evenly, still not looking at her. "That is as much of an answer as I can give you." When he finally met her eye, it was startling; there was a strangely human expression on his face, a desperation that she thought she recognized.

"You are the brightest witch of your age, Miss Granger," he said calmly. "Do not resort to hasty confrontations or thoughtless outbursts. Leave that to the Harry Potters of the world, and use the gifts you were so generously given."

She sighed heavily and picked up her things, walking to the door.

"Oh," she said, turning as she remembered. "One more question, Professor Snape." He shrugged impassively. "Why would you invent something as dark as the sectumsempra spell?"

She thought she heard him mutter Harry's name angrily under his breath but she felt no patience for pretense. "Yes," she said when he met her eye. "I know you invented that spell."

He didn't ask her how, and she was glad of it.

"What you have to understand, Miss Granger," he said slowly, as though he was digging up half-buried memories, "is that when the Dark Lord came to power, it was easy – easier – to sympathize with his goals." He caught her horrified look and tutted quickly. " No, no – not his violence, or his opposition to muggle-borns – it was his commitment to pushing the boundaries of magic, to building a society that would be a renaissance, of sorts – an age of informed devotion to the craft. The Dark Lord truly is," Snape added regretfully, his scowl darkening, "an exceptional wizard."

His voice wavered. "Magic is extraordinary," he continued, an audible caress. "It is beyond any simple understanding, beyond the education that most students will get at this school – and I wished to be extraordinary, as well." He shook his head slowly. "I put perhaps too much stock in my abilities, without the necessary morality," he said regretfully. "I pray you don't make the same mistake."

She bit her lip, confused. "I'm not sure you answered my question, Professor Snape."

He sniffed, as though quieting a derisive laugh. "Perhaps not," he said airily, "But it is an answer you needed."

She felt vaguely concerned by his confidence in that statement, and moved to exit his office with little more than a vague nod in his direction.

"The potion, Miss Granger," he called after her as she left.

"What do you think it will do to me?"

Granger was laying her head on his bare chest, but even her soothing touch seemed only marginally effective at assuaging his fear, vocalized now for the first time.

"Hm?"

"Killing him." He swallowed. "What do you think it will do to me?"

She put her hand gently over his chest, right where his heart was pulsing savagely. "To your soul, you mean?"

Sometimes – like now – the gratitude he felt to her, for simply understanding him without comment or criticism, hit him like a ton of bricks. "Yes."

She kissed his chest softly. "I don't know, Malfoy. I suppose only you can know that."

He was neither helped nor harmed by her honesty, but not particularly satisfied either. "What if it were you?" he asked, pulling her closer. "Would you be able to do it?"

She contorted herself slightly to look up at him. "I think," she said slowly, "that if I were in your shoes – "

She stopped, biting her lip as she often did when she was thinking.

"I know that I am capable of doing what is necessary," she said after a beat. "And this, for you, is necessary."

"Right," he whispered.

She wiggled out of his grasp and sat up. "Can we do something?"

He grinned. "Again?"

"Not that," she said, rolling her eyes. "I mean – not right this second, anyway."

He propped himself up slightly and leaned onto his headboard. "Okay," he said uncertainly. "What do you need?"

"Do you think I can try occlumency again?"

He wasn't expecting that. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she said, emitting a small sigh. "Doesn't it seem necessary to you? I mean – considering?"

"Well – that would be assuming you can eventually figure it out, I suppose," he replied arrogantly, and she swatted at him. "Honestly, Granger, you may not want me to be the one doing this with you," he said, shrugging. He was thinking of the incident the last time they'd done it, the then-unfortunate kiss that resulted from her hurtling into his memories. "We may be too close to each other."

She gave him a look of skepticism. "For one thing," she said, pulling herself up haughtily, "just because I'm your weakness doesn't mean you're mine, and for another, it's not like I could get someone else to do it."

"Ah, no skilled legilimens in the Golden Trio?" he asked, smirking.

"Don't play so fast and loose with the word 'skilled,' Malfoy," she sniffed coolly.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine," he conceded, picking up his wand. "But after this – "

"I'll make it worth it, Professor Malfoy," she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

He groaned. "Well don't do that – "

She scooted forward so that his wand was touching her forehead. "Come on, Malfoy."

"Fine," he said again. "Ready?"

She nodded.

"Legilimens."

She was doing better this time, he noted, not feeling the instant rush into her thoughts; but the moment was short-lived, as he saw Snape's face materialize in front of him. They were in his office, and it seemed like it was a memory from today; He remembered, suddenly, that she had been lingering after class –

"Granger," he said, waving away the spell. "Granger, what was that?"

She looked at him sheepishly. "I – what do you mean?"

He felt his expression stiffen, frustrated as he was by her coquettishness. "Don't," he warned, narrowing his eyes. "Why were you talking to Snape?"

She rubbed her temple guiltily, not meeting his glare. "I guess I haven't told you everything that I know," she said, and the implication that she had not been fully open with him caused him to struggle against his flaring temper.

"What are you talking about," he muttered, recognizing a dangerous growl in his own voice.

"Snape knows about us," she said quietly, looking at her hands. "I didn't tell him or anything – but he must have known already, even before I saw you in the hospital – "

"I forgot to ask you about that."

" – and I was – well I had to ask him about vanishing cabinets, and then about – "

She suddenly stopped, and it could not have been more obvious to Draco that she was hiding something.

"Granger – are you fucking kidding me?"

She said nothing, and Draco was furious.

"Granger, I told you something dangerous, I let you see my memories, I – I've let you in – "

He choked a little, and was only slightly mollified by the guilty look on her face.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," she said quickly, cringing. "I just – you and I didn't really have a full talk – I mean, we didn't really go through everything yesterday, and really there's so much that I – "

"I didn't know this was a one way street, Granger!" he shouted. "I didn't know that you were going to keep things from me – "

"I'll tell you!" she was wringing her hands together anxiously, clearly disturbed by his rising temper. "I swear, I'll tell you everything – "

"Start with Snape," he said, not wanting to look at her. "Why were you talking to him today – actually, why were you talking to him at all? You shouldn't trust him – "

"Why not?" she asked, slightly horrified. "Do you not trust him?"

He was a little taken aback by the question. "I – I don't know," he said honestly. "My father didn't. Many people don't."

"But do you?"

"I don't know!" he repeated helplessly. "I don't – I don't know if I can even – "

He looked at her, and she was staring ahead vacantly. "Trust no one," she said, the cadence of the phrase striking him as something she had been repeating to herself.

He smirked mockingly. "Constant vigilance?"

She laughed vaguely, meeting his eyes. "Trust no one," she said again, and he sensed she was quoting someone.

"I hope that's not your new mantra, Granger," he said seriously. "Because it's already too late for me."

"You trust me?" she asked, looking at him hopefully.

"I have no choice, now," he said honestly. "But I need to know – "

She cut him off. "Can you maybe trust that there are some things that I need to figure out before I tell you, then?"

He grabbed her chin with his hand and forced her to look at him. "Granger, I'm not your marionette," he said seriously. "I'm not going to let you keep me in the dark, whether you have my best interests or not. I'm not Potter. I'm certainly not Weasley. If I'm going to trust you, you need to trust that I will do what's right."

He grimaced. "Except, of course, for plotting an old man's murder," he muttered, his stomach lurching.

Her shoulders slumped slightly as his initial point seemed to sink in. "You're right," she conceded. "Perhaps I'm not giving you enough credit."

He scowled. "That should be more than obvious."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "While you were – you know – "

"Half-dead," he supplied, nodding.

"Right – I found something out and I remember wanting your input – I just didn't know how to bring it up last night," she said. "I'm not sure how it fits in, with everything that you're going through."

He was confused, and was fairly sure that was evident on his face. "What do you mean? How what fits in?"

"Before I tell you, I need to know something," she said, leaning forward to take his face in her hands. "If and when your task is complete – do you plan to return to You-Know-Who?"

He was stunned for a moment. He had never contemplated what would happen, if he were to be successful. It had seemed the least likely outcome.

"I – " he shook his head vigorously. "N-no, I couldn't – live in fear like this, forever? Be reduced to a puppet like my father? I couldn't – "

"Would you fight against him?" she asked, eyeing him carefully.

"I – well, I could never put my family in danger – I don't think I could possibly do that, honestly," he said shakily.

She took both his hands in hers and kissed them. "I'm going to fight for you, Draco," she said quietly. "Wouldn't you fight for me?"

"Why would we have to fight for anything, though?" he demanded. "Why can't we just – I don't know – the world is so big, we could go anywhere – "

"You think he would allow that to happen? Or that I could live with myself, leaving Ron and Harry behind?"

Hearing Weasley's name set off alarm bells in his head. "Are you not sure about this, Granger, because we can stop now – "

"No!" she cried, pleading. "No, I'm sure about you, I am – I'm sure about you." She suddenly seemed very small, very vulnerable, and he gathered her in his arms. "But don't you see that you'll have to choose?" she whispered fearfully in his ear.

He was silent for a long time, stroking her long brown curls, wishing he could give her a better, braver answer. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about that," he said hesitantly. "Maybe it's better if we just – try to get through one day at a time."

She made an unconvincing motion. "Maybe."

"Tell me what it was," he prompted her. "I would never fight against you, I'd never harm you, I'd never intentionally put you in danger – "

He exhaled sharply. "Not any more danger than I already have, anyway," he said unsteadily.

She shifted against him and he tightened his arms around her, waiting for her to decide. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and thin, like a child's.

"Do you know what a horcrux is?"

He tilted his head, thinking. "I think I have seen the word before – in a book, possibly," he said uncertainly, racking his brain. He vaguely remembered a book in his father's library, something that had pulsed with an unsettling aura that he'd avoided, even as a child. "It's – it's dark magic, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said. "I don't know much, but I do know that."

"Hermione," he said, his voice musical as he said her name. "Don't lie to me. You know a bit more than that."

She chuckled delicately into his chest. "It's an object that houses a piece of a person's soul," she said mechanically, like she was repeating a definition.

"So – someone could bind their life to an object?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yes," she said, pulling away to look at him. "You caught that much quicker than I did."

"I am nothing if not full of surprises," he said warily. "But I don't see the connection."

"Well," she started, a flush coming over her golden features. "Remember when I told Harry that you might be looking for something of You-Know-Who's in the castle – "

He closed his eyes, sighing. "Oh Granger," he said, exhaling. "You're saying you think a piece of the Dark Lord is in the castle somewhere?"

"Yes," she said, her voice trailing off as though she was waiting for him to derive an additional conclusion.

It took him a moment, but not much longer.

"This is why you need me to choose," he said slowly. "You need to know if I would help or get in the way." He let out a sharp laugh. "Get in your way," he clarified.

"Yes," she repeated, grimacing.

"Granger," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You may be the most dangerous person I've ever met."

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: The Room

"Why are we always in the library?" Harry asked, groaning as he launched his bespectacled forehead straight onto a pile of books.

"School," Hermione said curtly, leaning over to pat his head.

"But I'm the Chosen One," he whined, his voice muffled.

Hermione's gentle pat turned abruptly into a swift backhanded swat. "Stop it," she said, her eyes never leaving the page.

Harry propped his chin up, eyeing her. "Should we talk about Ron?"

"Why on earth would we do that?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "Unless you're now one of my gal pals – "

She stopped, fighting a smile. Gal pals, she thought. Oh, Malfoy.

Hermione loved that she could always spot Malfoy's silvery pale hair, even from a distance, even in a crowd – even in the dark, she thought fancifully. Even now she knew he was across the room and it gave her a strange sense of calm, knowing he was somewhere in her universe, orbiting around her.

"I'm your best gal pal, Hermione," Harry said smoothly. "You know that."

At this, she allowed herself to smile widely. "So true."

"So." He'd sat up, stretching his arms toward the ceiling and placing his hands casually behind his head. "What happened with Ron?"

"Oh Harry, surely you don't want me to go into detail – "

"No, definitely no detail," he said hurriedly. "But I think he's putting on a big show for me – pretending his feelings aren't hurt and all that – "

"We just – weren't quite on the same page, is all," she said with a shrug, running the edge of her quill's feathers back and forth across her mouth absentmindedly.

"Hm," he said vaguely, still eyeing her closely. "It's strange, because I could have sworn things were progressing with the two of you – and then, you know, the Lavender thing came out of nowhere – I suppose I just have a feeling there's a piece on your end that's missing – "

"You are the Chosen One, are you not?" she snorted indignantly. "Surely there's something more worthwhile to occupy your mind?"

"I'm only asking – "

"Have you told Ron about Ginny, yet? Or better yet – have you told Ginny about Ginny?" she asked coolly, flipping the pages of her book. She'd of course stopped reading several minutes ago, but wasn't about to abandon pretense while she was trying to make a point.

"That's different," he said quickly. "I mean – there are actual problems there, I can't just – "

"What, you're that afraid of Ron's disapproval?" she asked mockingly. "If I worried that much about Ron's opinions, I'd never get anything done – "

"It's different, Hermione, it just is," he said, exhaling loudly as he brought his arms down. "You wouldn't understand."

She glanced up quickly, eyeing the back of Malfoy's head and trying not to picture it between her thighs.

"True," she said simply, inclining her head in concession.

Harry was rifling through his things. "You know," he commented offhandedly, "now that Malfoy's up and about again, I suppose I should go back to keeping an eye on him."

Hermione looked up, startled. "What?"

"The map," he said, gesturing to the folded up Marauder's Map that was sticking out of his bag. "I stopped tracking him for a bit – partially out of guilt if I'm being honest – but if there's something in the castle – "

"You track him?" she asked, horrified. "Like – when, exactly?" She tried to keep her face neutral as her heart pounded, hoping he had not been looking for Draco Malfoy in – say, her bed.

"I was just keeping an eye on him, that's all," Harry said. "I haven't been for the past week or so." Hermione gave a quiet, gasping exhalation of relief. "But since you told me he might be looking for a horcrux, I mean – he might lead me right to it – "

Hermione shook her head quickly, grasping for words. "I – I suppose – "

There was a small shuffle behind him as their third companion sat down, carefully avoiding eye contact with Hermione.

"Hey," Ron said casually. "What are you lot talking about?"

"Malfoy," Harry said with a shrug. "And horcruxes."

Ron nodded. "Carry on, then."

Hermione realized her mouth was slightly ajar, observing their breezy relationship. Harry suffered so much turmoil fearing something as absurdly trivial as Ron's approval to date Ginny, and yet he was a friend for whom a simple "Malfoy and horcruxes" was a sufficient conversation summary? Boys, she thought again, as she often did.

"Harry," she said urgently. "Have you even gotten the memory from Slughorn yet?"

She watched him fumble guiltily for words. "No – not yet, but – "

Hermione groaned loudly. "Harry – "

"I know, I know," he replied, not meeting her eye.

"Harry, it's been almost a month – "

"Lay off him, would you?" Ron snapped, fixing her with a sharp look. "He's got loads going on – school, and quidditch – "

"Right, yes, and where do you rank 'saving the wizarding world,' then, Ronald?" she asked, glaring back. "A distant third?"

Harry put his hands up quickly. "Guys – "

"What does he need the memory for, Mione? You already figured out what a horcrux is – "

" – barely – "

" – you're not his bloody mother – "

" – Dumbledore clearly thought this was important! Are you really going to fault me, for trying to keep him on track – "

" – just let him alone – "

" – don't tell me to just let him alone, I'm trying to help – "

"Guys!"

Hermione bit hard on her lip, frustrated. This was infuriating. She believed to her very core that Harry was truly a brilliant wizard, but he was so obstinate, so difficult – she would never forget his lack of preparation for the Triwizard Tournament. And could he really fault her, for trying to keep him on track –

It's Ron, she thought angrily. Ron was lazy and unmotivated, simply didn't have the sense to focus – if it were Malfoy, if Malfoy were here, he would take Hermione's side. He would remind Harry the consequences of waiting too long, of not finding answers – if Malfoy were here he'd tell Harry to put his head on straight, remind him that peoples' lives were on the line – Malfoy would never, never be so irresponsible, so blindly ignorant –

"Hermione," Harry pleaded, interrupting her thoughts. "I know, I'm sorry, I'll take care of it."

She shrugged, not meeting his eye. She was still breathing hard, her thoughts wild. Of course Ron, whose biggest concern was a silly game of quidditch, would have the audacity to criticize her for pressuring Harry. But if it were Ron in Malfoy's shoes, if it was his family he'd had to sacrifice himself for – he wouldn't quietly figure it out on his own, denying everyone else's help, isolating himself to protect the ones he loved. He was no Malfoy. Ron would have begged her for help. He'd have come straight to her and Harry, and he'd have made them figure it out for him. And she was angry, thinking of it, thinking of the nerve he had, to be the one with the least at stake.

At least Malfoy was useful. At least he was smart, and focused. At least he understood the importance of sacrifice – at least he –

She heard a small cough behind her and she knew instantly he was there. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he was exactly what she needed.

"I don't mean to nag, Harry," she apologized abruptly, standing. "I'll go double-check that book, then – see if there's anything else I can get from it."

She walked away quickly, letting her hips sway as she sashayed into the restricted section. Malfoy was already there, looking at her hungrily.

He grabbed her quickly, pushing her against one of the shelves, and she stretched herself out against him.

"You look upset," he muttered against her neck.

She closed her eyes, feeling his lips travel over her. "I am," she admitted. "I'm having the hardest time getting through to Harry, I just need him to focus – "

"Sounds like a lost cause," he replied smugly, gripping her hips.

"The horcruxes," she whispered. "It's so important, why can't he see – "

"Mm, I know, he's such a poor choice for the Chosen One – "

"Oh," she said startled, remembering. "And we can't see each other at night anymore," she added regretfully.

Malfoy's grip on her instantly loosened. "Why? Did he say something? Are you rethinking – "

"No, no," she said frantically. "He's – well, it's a long story, but he's got this, this map – he can see where you are in the castle – "

Malfoy groaned, resting his forehead against hers. "For fuck's sake," he said sharply. "Of course that git's got a magical secret map, because he doesn't already have enough advantages at his disposal."

"This coming from a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," she mumbled, smirking.

He grimaced. "So I have to sleep alone tonight, then."

A night without him seemed torturous, even for her. "We could try to meet somewhere tonight," she offered, looking up at him hopefully.

He glanced down thoughtfully. "Actually," he said, "That works. There's something I need to show you."

"Well, it can't be anywhere too unusual, the map – "

"It's unplottable," he said simply.

She felt a lightbulb go off in her head. "The Room of Requirement," she said breathlessly. "Of course."

Malfoy nodded. "Specifically, the Room of Hidden Things."

Hermione furrowed her brow, confused. "The what?"

"The Room of Requirement can, at times, be the Room of Hidden Things," he said matter-of-factly, bringing his lips near her ear. "I can only imagine what kind of wonders the room would prepare for us given just the thought of you and me – "

She giggled as he nipped at her ear. "Right – "

" – but I need you to be in that room, specifically," he finished, fingering the hem of her skirt.

She tipped her head back, letting his mouth travel over her freely. "Right," she said again, trying to concentrate.

"Are you still upset?" he asked, drawing his hand up and cupping her arse. His fingers over the thin lace fabric felt deliciously inappropriate.

"Um," she said, losing focus. "I – "

He slipped his fingers under her underwear, sliding them up over her clit. "Because if you are – you know, I'd be happy to help you . . . unwind."

He slipped a finger into her and she arched her back, inviting him in. "Yes," she gasped. "I'm – I'm deeply upset." He brought his mouth to hers, slipping his tongue between her lips as his fingers worked nimbly inside her. "I'm – I'm distraught – "

A few gasping minutes later and she was panting against him, awash in the post-Malfoy bliss that was becoming so bewilderingly familiar.

"Better?" he asked, smirking.

"Shut up," she said, closing her eyes. "But yes. Much."

"Good," he said with a nod, kissing her forehead.

She reached playfully for his waistband. "My turn?" she asked invitingly, pulling on his belt loops.

"You naughty witch," he said with a laugh, kissing her again. "I'm in a perfectly fine mood, myself. I can wait until later – you, on the other hand, should get back. Who's to say Potter's not checking his bloody map now?"

"Oh rats," she said suddenly, frowning.

"Right," he said, kissing her cheek. "Off you go." He playfully swatted her arse as she walked away. "See you tonight."

She turned and smiled at him, grateful that he'd been there. The sexual release was helpful, of course, but even without it – just having him notice something was wrong, just the fact that he wanted to talk about what was bothering her – it was all very gallant and romantic in the traditional sense. In so many ways, he was calculating and cold, vaguely aloof and distant; but for her, he was loyal and attentive, and she was finding that to be supremely satisfying. Throw in his brain, his protectiveness, his looks –

That's a man worth covering up a crime for, she thought ironically, and was surprised to find that her body didn't go cold at the thought.

Draco heard the door open behind him and turned quickly, his wand out. He was expecting Granger, but it wouldn't be the first time somebody tried to enter while he'd been in there. He wasn't about to start letting his guard down now.

But as he crept around a corner and saw her, he felt his edge melt away.

"Granger," he called softly, stepping out to offer her his hand.

She took it with the easy manner of someone who'd been holding his hand for a long, long time. "Hi," she said breathlessly, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "This is . . . bizarre," she remarked, gazing up at the stacks of lost things, eyeing the countless books in teetering piles and the number of rusty swords that lay at their feet. "Delightful."

"Your house doesn't look like this?" he joked lightly, leading her around an old, speckled pillar crowned with a haphazardly strung banjo.

She looked up. "This bit looks somewhat like the inside of my mum's pantry," she said faintly, eyeing the strewn containers of sweets and what looked like flasks from a potions collection.

"My mother's probably never seen the inside of her pantry, much less her kitchen," Draco said with a shrug. "Here, this is what I needed to show you."

He brought her to the vanishing cabinet, which was nestled in a corner surrounded by tables, each one piled with knick-knacks and chipped bottles of congealed potions that went at least three feet high.

"This is the cabinet," she breathed, her chin tilted upward as she eyed the top of it. "This is the vanishing cabinet you've been so preoccupied with."

"Yes," he said miserably. "The one with the power to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

She looked at him sharply. "Can it?"

"Not yet," he said, shaking his head. "But that's why you're here. Because once I fix it – "

"Understood," she said quickly. She looked up again, eyeing the dark wood with its gold accents. "It's – a bit gaudy, don't you think?"

"It's horrid, Granger, but that's beside the point," he sniffed.

"Right," she said softly. She turned to look at him, finished with her examination. "Well?" she asked. "How does it work?"

"It's not particularly complicated," he said honestly. "You put something inside – yourself, presumably – and say an incantation."

"The incantation?" she prompted.

"Harmonia nectere passus."

"Bind in harmony," she translated, pursing her lips. "Loosely."

"Something like that," he said with a shrug. "But right now it doesn't work. Something wrong in the passage. Not wholly 'bound in harmony,' I suppose."

"But you think you know the problem?"

"Yes, there's an incantation that I think I was missing before."

"Which is?"

"Recto Apudia."

She smiled. "Fix the passage?"

"Essentially."

She sighed. "Magic is so elegant, isn't it?" she mused. "You just ask it for something, and it obliges."

"I suppose," he said, a half-hearted participant in her moment of whimsy.

I don't expect you don't understand," she said after a moment, a barely perceptible fleck of wonder in her eye. "But I spent most of my life without it. Without magic."

He nodded, waiting for her to finish.

"It's why I try so hard, I think," she said faintly. "Sometimes – sometimes I'm so afraid I'll wake up without it. Like maybe I'm just a crazy person in a dream, you know?"

He eyed her carefully before bringing his hand to her cheek. "That's not going to happen," he said firmly. "You're a witch. And a fucking good one, too, in case that escaped your attention."

She smiled shakily. "I never thought I would say that out loud," she admitted. "Certainly not to Draco Malfoy."

"Well if we go down the 'never thought this would happen' path, we'll be up all night," he said, trying to be reassuring. "And not in a good way."

"Fair," she said, before taking a deep breath. "Okay," she said, exhaling. "Well – let's do this, I suppose." She looked around. "How do you normally test it?"

"I send something there and Borgin sends it back," he said. "But he doesn't know if it works unless I tell him."

"Is he waiting for you now?"

"Borgin doesn't really sleep," he said, thinking of the sallow man's face. "If I send something, there's no question he'll send it back."

"Okay." She shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, bringing her into the circle of his arms. "I know this isn't the most pleasant of tasks."

"It's a bit horrifying, yeah," she said with a shudder. "I'd feel better if you had a plan."

"That's sort of the other thing you're here for," he admitted. "Not right at this moment, but – in general." He kissed the top of her head. "I shouldn't be relieved, knowing how much danger I've put you in – but I am, in a way. I couldn't have picked a better, um – "

"Partner in crime?" she asked, eyebrows arched.

"Let's not use that one," he said hastily. "But something along those lines."

"Well," she said, sighing, "let's just do this one step at a time. Do the spell to mend it."

"Fair enough." He raised his wand, preparing to tap it on the cabinet.

"Recto Apudia."

Draco felt a quick surge out of his right hand, shooting into the splintering bones of the object and bringing about a low humming sound, as though the cabinet was a violin that was tuning itself. He listened as it seemed to calibrate, traveling through an array of chords before meeting a small, thin, unified pitch, like an oddly pleasing whine. By the time the pitch faded, he had lowered his wand, keeping his ears trained on the newly rechristened sound of silence.

Granger was looking at him expectantly. "Well?" she asked. "Is it – "

"Yes," he said confidently. "I mean, I won't know for sure until I try it – but I'm pretty sure it's fixed now."

She exhaled regretfully. "I know you're an excellent wizard, Malfoy," she said, "but for a moment there I really hoped you'd botched it."

He grimaced. "I was going to have to succeed at this task, unfortunately," he said. "On penalty of death, per usual."

She winced. "Maybe we should wait a bit," she said, sinking to the floor to take a seat. "I mean – "

"Sure," he said quickly. There was no real reason to wait, except for the very pressing one that neither of them really seemed to have the stomach for it at the moment. "Let's talk about something else first. For a minute."

"Yeah," she said, leaning back onto the leg of an old velvet chair and tipping her head against it.

"I think this is the piece I'm having the most trouble with," she said after a moment. "Killing Professor Dumbledore – it's obviously horrifying, but bringing them into the castle, with all these innocent people – "

"I'm an imbecile, Granger," he said brusquely. "I spent too long trusting the wrong people."

"Who did you tell about this?"

"My aunt Bellatrix," he said, crouching down and sitting next to her. "She's – sort of a madwoman."

"I'm familiar," she said hazily.

"She wanted to know how I was progressing, and I told her I was fixing the cabinet – not for this purpose, though if I'd been paying any attention at all I should have noticed her eyes lighting up – "

"Don't be so hard on yourself," she said limply. "You didn't know."

"Ah, but shouldn't I have known?" he asked, leaning into her. "You would have known better."

"My family's priorities are a bit different, I think," she said, her voice hollow.

They were quiet for a moment as he traced patterns onto the inside of her arm.

"Malfoy, what's Theo's dad like?"

"Scary," he said simply. "Why?"

"He was in your memories," she explained, and he remembered the one she was talking about. "That – and Theo told me you put glue in his slippers."

Draco's sudden laughter came out an explosive bark. "I'd forgotten about that."

"It's so difficult to believe that you and Theo came from your respective fathers," she said, frowning slightly, "and even more difficult when I remember that you were both small, rowdy children at one point."

"When I say Theo's dad is scary," he said, backtracking a bit, "I don't really mean that he scared me." He looked to see if she understood and she seemed to, nodding patiently as he spoke. "I guess it would be like my father if my mother didn't exist – you know, with nothing to even him out. Nobody to soften him."

She seemed to be waiting for him to finish, and he was grateful, as he was having trouble putting his perception into words.

"Theo's mum died when he was a baby, and his dad is so much older," Draco explained. "He really had so little interaction with Theo. Didn't want to be around him much, because he looks like his mother, even though he's named after his father."

"Really? He doesn't look like a Theodore," she said uncertainly. "Something much more sinister would have been appropriate, I think." She leaned onto his shoulder. "Do you like him?"

"No," he said, surprising even himself with his gut reaction. "I mean, as a child, the mansions of Death Eaters were my playgrounds, so the fear and discomfort that probably should have been there wasn't really," he admitted. "Theo and I played our fair share of pranks. Mostly because his father was never paying attention, and my mother rarely disciplined me."

"She does seem exceptionally fond of you," Granger said, a slight smile on her full lips.

"I am her only child," he said, nodding. "I think she wanted more. I'm almost positive they tried for more. I think she wanted me to have siblings, like she did."

Granger snorted lightly. "Look how well that turned out for her, though," she said darkly. "You might be better off."

"Or – and hear me out," he said, facing her. "Maybe with siblings, I could have talked one of them into doing something this stupid instead."

She laughed. "Foiled again!"

He grinned at her, grasping handfuls of her curls and bringing her face to his, kissing her firmly.

"I'm grateful for you," he said, kissing her again. "I was drowning and I'd given up. And now," he said, licking her lower lip, tasting her, "I think you lit a fire in me." He closed his eyes. "I think I burn for you."

"I burn, I pine, I perish," she whispered against his lips, gripping his wrists as they held her face close to his.

He sighed into her mouth and held her still, desperately not wanting to do any of the things that would soon be required of him. He didn't want to fix the damn cabinet. He didn't want to say goodbye and sleep alone. He didn't want to kill a man and then have to leave her behind. He just wanted to hold her and breathe her in, just like this, for as long as she would let him. He'd been made a fool a thousand times over, but it would not happen again for lack of appreciating this moment. He would not be the fool that took her for granted. That was one mistake he would sooner go to his grave than make.

She exhaled shakily. "Are you ready?"

"No," he said emphatically, though he slowly disentangled himself from her with a melodramatic sigh. He stood, picking up the apple he'd brought with him, and placed it in the cabinet before looking hopefully at her.

"What are the chances it just bursts into flames?" he asked stupidly, as though magical items commonly behaved this way.

"Here's hoping," she said with a smirk, handing him his wand.

He turned back to the cabinet.

"Harmonia nectere passus."

He opened the door, and the apple was gone.

"What now?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to take a closer inspection at the empty contents of the closet.

"We wait."

"How long?"

"Not long – "

And they heard a thud.

Draco opened the cabinet door, peering in hesitantly, and feeling a mixture of dread and relief as he saw the unharmed apple, wholly untouched by its magical passage.

"Did it work?" she asked eagerly, peering over his shoulder.

He held up the apple wordlessly, studying his own reflection in the pristine surface.

"Oh," she said, biting her lip.

He rubbed his temple aggressively, smoothing his hair to the side. "I fixed it," he announced gloomily. "How many points to Slytherin, do you think?" he added sarcastically.

She patted his shoulder, taking the apple from him and replacing it with her hand. "This is just a piece," she reminded him. "A piece of a solvable puzzle."

"How do you know that?" he asked, instinctively tightening his grip on her hand. "How do you know it's solvable?"

"It's you," she said flatly. "It's you, and it's me, and we'll figure it out."

She put her arms around him from behind and he tilted his head back, resting the back of it on top of hers.

"We're partners in crime," she whispered, the sound muffled into his shoulder.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: The Deadline

"Malfoy."

Draco inclined his head at the oncoming form of Gregory Goyle but did not slow down.

"Malfoy," Goyle grunted, reaching him and attempting to corner him menacingly. "I'm talking to you."

Draco rolled his eyes but raised his hands in mock surrender. "So I see," he noted with amusement.

"It's been a bit since me an' Crabbe have seen you," Goyle snarled suspiciously. "Not thinking of shirking the Dark Lord now, are you – "

"Goyle, are you totally brainless?" Draco hissed, yanking him to the side. "I mean you are, obviously, but still – "

"It'll be your head on the block, Malfoy," Goyle said brusquely. "Not mine, not Crabbe's – "

"I'm familiar with the parties involved," Draco said smoothly, brushing some nonexistent dust off his robes for emphasis. "I hardly thought my head was any of your concern, Greg."

"Just because we ain't the mates we used to be don't change the fact we've still got a job to do," Goyle sniffed.

Draco tried not to laugh. In the elaborate game of wizard chess that was to be the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Draco had clearly overlooked the pawns.

"Consider yourself dismissed," he said curtly. "I can handle it from here."

Goyle looked at him with confusion – though it was difficult to distinguish the change from his resting facial expression. "What d'you mean you can handle it?" he asked slowly, stitching his thick brows together.

Draco shrugged cheerfully. "Tell Crabbe I've got it covered, would you?" he said, clapping Goyle's shoulder. "Appreciate it."

He turned to leave, narrowly avoiding Goyle's outstretched hand as he reached for Draco's arm, attempting to pull him back.

"Malfoy," Goyle called loudly, and Draco barely spared a moment to look at him with impatience before continuing down the hall. "Better not fuck it all up, you prat – "

"Trouble in paradise?"

Theo was leaning casually against the wall at the end of the hallway, observing Draco as he sauntered away from his disgruntled lackey.

"Nott," Draco said, nodding. "Your timing is impeccable, as always."

"Obviously," Theo replied with a grin. "Having some trouble with the troops?"

"You know, I'm not much of a general," Draco said, grimacing.

"Of course not," Theo agreed, throwing an arm over Draco's shoulders. "But why bother, really, when you're doing so well as a self-destructive lone operative?"

"Your faith in me is overwhelming," Draco muttered.

"Oh, you don't know the half," Theo said musically. He let his long stride fall in with Draco's and the two carried on in an unburdened silence.

"So you told Granger about the slipper incident," Draco said, his voice wavering.

"And you told her about the glasses," Theo remarked, unfazed.

Draco paused mid-stride. "Why?" he asked simply, eyeing Theo carefully.

Theo turned to face him, his expression vaguely amused. "Don't you think I could ask you the same thing?"

Draco considered him for a moment.

Much had happened to Draco over the last year, and he had internalized nearly all of it. For every blow he'd taken, he'd done so quietly, locking away the feelings of disappointment in his father, the guilt he felt as a result of his actions, and the growing anger at his past decisions. Theo had observed it all and said nothing, taking Draco's lead, and Draco was indebted to him for it.

But for some reason, at the moment, there was one conversation he was longing to have.

I met a girl.

What would Theo's response be? Knowing him, something obnoxious. "So obvious, mate."

Valid.

She's beautiful. So beautiful, and ferociously brilliant – smarter than anyone I've ever known. And perfect –

"So you're saying she's too good for you, then."

True.

"How's the sex?"

Draco bit back a smile.

Un-fucking-believable.

But then, the inevitable would happen. Surely Draco would have to defend her blood – and could he? Theoretically yes, of course, but if he had tried to explain it to Theo – even to some previous version himself, from no more than a few months ago –

Suffice it to say, telling Theo was not an option.

"Sickle for your thoughts, mate?"

Draco shook his head quickly. "Sorry," he said, shrugging apologetically. "Got lost for a minute – "

"Hardly seems enough space for that," Theo commented. "Why don't you just try me?"

Granger hadn't told anyone; it didn't seem fair, for him to make her suffer alone.

"Nothing to tell," he said breezily, wondering how many times he'd have to lie to the closest person he had to a brother.

Theo regarded him closely, as though looking for evidence of Draco's deception. "Fine," he said finally. "But you're okay?"

Draco nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Yes," he said easily. "I'm okay."

Unexpectedly, Theo's eyes narrowed. "That was quick," he said, eyes flashing. "Last I checked, the Draco Malfoy I knew was – "

He stopped suddenly, and Draco's stomach flipped, catching a foreboding glimpse of comprehension in Theo's expression.

"I see," Theo said, smiling ominously.

"What?" Draco snapped. "What is it that you see?"

Theo's smile broadened. "She's helping you, isn't she?"

Everything in Draco's world careened to a stop as he fumbled desperately for a way to derail Theo's moment of clarity.

"Who's she?" he demanded defensively. "Like I've got time for – "

"But you do have time, don't you?" Theo said, raising an eyebrow. "Nobody's seen you for weeks. And I know it's Granger, Draco, I practically had to close your mouth for you when you saw her at – "

"Give it a rest, Theo!" Draco snapped. "Blaise was right, you really need to – "

"Oh, does it make you angry, Draco, that you're not the smartest person in the room?" Theo said with a smirk. "She'll be able to fool Potter and Weasley until the end of time, but poor you, being friends with me. You had no chance – "

"Stop it, Theo," Draco said warningly, his voice dropping. "Stop."

Theo seemed to hear the dangerous edge in Draco's voice and the amusement faded from his face.

"Fine," he said calmly. "So are you keeping it a secret for your sake? Because you're ashamed of her?" Draco fought back an angry retort, bile burning in his throat. "Or is it for hers – because surely you know that you've made her a target."

Draco said nothing.

"For her, then," Theo said, shaking his head. "That's not good. That's in fact very, very bad." He looked at Draco with naked sincerity. "That means this is serious."

Draco stepped in close. "You don't know anything," he hissed, his voice a low whisper. "Your accusations are baseless and you have no idea what you're talking about. Am I clear, Nott?"

"Crystal," Theo said, his dark green eyes expressionless.

Draco pivoted to resume walking and Theo fell in step beside him, neither boy speaking again until they'd rejoined their housemates in the Great Hall. Draco felt a pang in his chest, knowing Granger's halo of curls was somewhere in the room, but didn't look up, painfully aware that he had an audience in one willowy, sarcastic, unnervingly observant Theodore Nott.

He lay in bed that night – alone, thanks to Potter and his godforsaken map – doing everything he could not to think of Granger, or how he'd been nearly shaking, sitting across the room from her in class, trying to keep his eyes off the hem of her skirt and the way it slid back on her slender thigh. Between Hermione Granger and his task from the Dark Lord, his magical education had gone to shit.

He felt his lids grow heavy, late into the night, and breathed a sigh of relief, succumbing to a powerful need to sleep.

He was in the front room of Malfoy Manor, he realized, looking around frantically. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. 

"Mother?" he called, training his ear for a response.

Nothing.

"Father?"

He looked down, surprised to see he was dressed. Where had he just come from? Was this a memory? A dream?

He wandered into the hallway, catching a flickering green light coming from his father's study. He felt his stomach lurch and tried desperately to clear his mind, an uneasiness flooding through him as he began to understand what – and who – had brought him here.

Draco pushed the door open slowly. "Father?"

His father's study was vast, almost unreasonably so. Lucius had always fancied himself a collector and a scholar, and it was home to his many treasures as well as his usual place of work. The room was lined with books, the shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, each title organized neatly without a single speck of dust. Draco had never known his mother to come in here, and he himself hadn't done so without invitation. This, he suspected, was an exception.

His father's desk was by far the most impressive piece in the room. It was a Malfoy family heirloom, belonging to Armand Malfoy, who had received it as a gift from William the Conqueror. The structure itself was massive, gleaming, totally impractical, and its corresponding chair, essentially a dark iron throne, currently faced away from Draco's view.

Draco cleared his throat as the chair rotated, bringing him face to face with Lord Voldemort. 

"My lord," Draco said, inclining his head. "I had a feeling it was you."

"Clever then, aren't you?" Voldemort replied without humor. He held his snake as it rested around his shoulders, stroking it gently. "Nagini," he said, keeping his eyes on Draco, "Why don't you inform our host that his son and heir has arrived?"

Draco could have sworn the snake looked at him with skepticism, as though to relay the fact that it was thoroughly unimpressed with him, but it slid to the desk with a thud, slithering down the curved iron edge and gliding coolly past him. Draco tried not to wince; it was foolish to fear snakes, particularly when the one sitting in front of him was far more dangerous.

"Draco," Voldemort said, raising a clawlike hand to his face. "Do you understand my – let's call it . . . frustration, with your father?"

Draco bowed his head quickly. "I think – "

"The correct answer is no, Draco," Voldemort snapped harshly, his voice grating. "The answer is no, because your father has disappointed me in ways I can scarcely begin to put into words, and thus – you could never understand."

Draco kept his eyes trained on his lap. "Yes, my Lord. I – "

"Silence." Voldemort's vacant eyes flashed. "I accepted your proposition in exchange for your father's life because I believed you to be sincere." He paused, his eyes narrow slits as they regarded Draco. "Were you not sincere?"

"I was – I am sincere, my Lord," Draco said quickly – though not too quickly, he thought, consciously fighting the subservient tone his father had adopted.

"Then I suppose you wish me to believe you are incompetent," Voldemort spat angrily. "But I warn you not to toy with me, young Malfoy, for I know you are not – and you would not be valuable to me, if that were the case, so the pretense is hardly worth your effort."

Draco selected his words carefully. "You once called me a 'worthy son,' my Lord," he said evenly. "I am. In sincerity, and in . . . competence."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed further, but the lord and the heir were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Ah Lucius," Voldemort said smoothly. "So thrilled you could join us."

Draco turned to look at his father, who appeared almost ghostlike in the dim lighting. His silver hair was limp and unkempt, and his clothes, though technically spotless, seemed ill-fitted, as though he'd lost substantial amounts of weight.

"My Lord," Lucius replied, not looking at Draco.

Voldemort's wand flicked slightly and Lucius slammed against one of the bookshelves, piles of books toppling onto his head and knocking him unconscious almost immediately.

The Dark Lord rose slowly to his feet, his wand pointed at Lucius's limp form where it lay on the wooden floor. Draco realized he was half out of his seat, his body pointed toward his father.

"You can apologize to him later, Draco, but I felt it was necessary to remind you," Voldemort said impassively, "that while you might feel safe and sheltered at Hogwarts, this is the reality – your father's life is in my hands." He picked up his wand and Lucius's body floated upwards, something Draco had seen the Dark Lord do on far too many occasions for one lifetime. 

"As is yours," he added casually, an unnecessary reminder.

"I understand," Draco said, trying to keep his voice clear of emotion. 

"Should you disappoint me," Voldemort continued, "it will be the last thing you ever do. And such an unfortunate end for your father, don't you think? And your mother – I've always admired her," he remarked, a cruel smile spreading over his inhuman face. "Surely I'm not the only one – perhaps Rowle, or Goyle would – "

"Give me one week," Draco said quickly, his heart pounding. "I'll get your Death Eaters in the castle and I will hand you Dumbledore's head on a plate," he spat, "if that's what you want."

"Please – Draco, I've no need for unnecessary gore," Voldemort said, a disconcerting tone of delight in his voice. "I'm not a barbarian," he said with a smile, his teeth flashing in the dark.

Draco's blood boiled but he made every effort to keep his head; there were too many secrets in his brain to show weakness now, and Theo had been right, of course – he'd carelessly painted a sloppy target right across Granger's perfect back. That alone meant that none of his secrets were his own, anymore. 

"One week," he said, standing. "Give me one week and I'll let them in."

"I'm nothing if not a patient man," Voldemort said with a sneer. "You can have your one week, provided you do not disappoint."

"Do you plan to join them, my Lord?" Draco asked carefully.

Voldemort seemed to gaze into empty space for a moment, as if something else had crossed his mind. "If you do as I ask, I've no need," he said simply. "And if not – "

He smiled. "Well, if not, then – I would not count my movements to be among your primary concerns."

Draco exhaled slowly, capable of little more than a wary nod.

Voldemort looked sharply at Draco for a final time. "Your father is an imbecile and a disappointment," he said bluntly. "I recommend you do everything in your power not to bring any more misfortune to the Malfoy name."

Draco fought desperately not to flinch as the Dark Lord lunged forward, pointing his wand between Draco's eyes. "Go home," he said abruptly, and everything went dark.

They'd agreed to meet in the library while everyone else was in Hogsmeade – it seemed the only location it'd be reasonable for them to be in the same place without giving Harry cause for question.

Malfoy was already there when she arrived, his face looking hollow and gaunt.

She reached up to touch his cheek. "What did you – "

"Not here," he said simply, pulling away from her grasp. "I can't talk here."

She looked around. "The Room of Requirement, then?"

He shrugged. "Fine."

She frowned apologetically. "It's the only place he – "

"Let's just go."

She nodded. "Okay."

They walked together but made a point to make it look coincidental, like they both happened to be headed in the same direction. The castle was nearly empty, though, and Hermione's relief on that account was boundless.

They paused outside the wall. "What should we ask it for?" she whispered, looking sorrowfully at his troubled features.

"I just want to be alone with you," he said quietly, and a door appeared.

They walked into a room that looked a little bit like a common room, complete with a glowing fire and a comfortable couch, though the primary use of the room was a series of floor pillows strewn over a soft, emerald green carpet, much like that of her bedroom at home. She used to sink her toes in it, reveling in the feel of it on her bare feet as she sat quietly with her books. She saw a bookcase, too – and couldn't quite remember if it had been there when they'd walked in, or if it had only just appeared. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books – some of them were magic related, but some were muggle books, too. She recognized Shakespeare and Homer, and spotted an old, leather-bound copy of King Arthur, almost identical to the one Malfoy kept in his bedroom.

"This is cozy," she remarked.

He nodded. "I'm not sure what I was expecting," he said honestly. "Under other circumstances, probably just an oversized bed – "

"Don't ruin it, Malfoy," she said, smiling. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing in his smell.

He stood limply in her grasp for a moment before pressing himself into her, roughly yanking her shirt over her head.

"Malfoy – " she gasped, unprepared. "I – "

He pulled his own shirt off and pulled her close to him again, kissing her hard before tearing at her lip with his teeth.

"Ouch – Malfoy," she cried, turning her face away and putting both hands on his chest. "Stop, please – just stop."

She heard him let out a ragged breath and sank with him as he collapsed on the ground, landing beside one of the large floor pillows.

"I'm sorry," he said instantly, wrapping both arms around her. "I'm sorry – did I hurt you?"

"No – I'm not made of glass," she said, sniffing. "But you got a bit carried away – "

"I'm so sorry," he said, shaking as he held her. "I'm so sorry – "

"Tell me what happened," she whispered, coaxing him. She shifted back onto the pillow and he leaned into her, kissing the spot between the cups of her bra and then resting his head on her chest.

"I saw him last night," he said.

"You-Know-Who?" she asked, stroking his hair.

"No," he said with a shudder. "Well – yes. But I meant my father."

It said a lot about how far they'd come, that she was able to comprehend how much worse that was for him. "Was it bad?" she said softly.

He was tracing paths across her stomach absentmindedly.

"Yes," he said simply. "You-Know-Who was sitting at my father's desk. He called me in and made me watch while he knocked out my father and threatened me." His fingers paused their movement across her skin. "And my mother. He threatened all of us."

She waited until he resumed his tracing before she responded. An M, she thought, recognizing the character with a flip of her heart. He's writing his name on me.

She asked the question tentatively. "Was it real?"

"I think so," he replied slowly. "I asked him to give me a week."

"A week?"

She could feel her heart pounding, and suspected he could too. He sat up, looking at her.

"Yes," he said uneasily. "He was – unhappy with my progress, to say the least." He let out a small snort of grim laughter. "He told me that he knew I wasn't incompetent."

She winced. "A compliment from the Dark Lord himself," she said, her voice wavering. "How . . . meaningful."

They were quiet for a moment.

"I hate to ask you," he started. "But – "

"You know," she said quietly, "I really do think I understand you." He arched an eyebrow skeptically, waiting for her to go on. "I know you'll want to minimize the damage," she explained. "I know you don't want anyone else to get hurt."

She paused. "You want me to find a way to get you alone with Dumbledore, don't you?"

He sighed heavily. "Yes."

"That will be the easy part, I think," she said honestly, leaning into him.

"What's the difficult part?" he asked, almost smiling.

"Well – aside from the . . . unpleasantries," she said, grimacing, "that means Harry only has a week to get the information he needs from Dumbledore."

Malfoy shook his head. "I forgot that you're still trying to save the world," he said, as though he found a vague element of hilarity in the concept. "Why?" he asked, catching her hand and brushing his lips against it. "Why bother, when the world is so cruel to you?"

She felt herself soften as she looked at him. "You think the world is cruel to me?"

"Yes," he said, without hesitation. "Most of the people who live in your world don't accept you because of something you can't control, and yet you'd fight for them." He slid his thumb over her knuckles gently. "I was cruel to you."

She leaned forward, kissing him. "And I'll fight for you," she finished for him, before touching her lips to his again.

"You're not nearly as smart as you think you are, then," he said darkly, his voice ominous.

"Oh me? I'm just books," she said with a shrug. She eyed the bookshelf and stood quickly, walking over to grab one. She picked a red leather cover with gold leafing on the pages and walked back to him, settling herself between his legs and leaning into his open arms.

"The Iliad," she read, running her finger lightly over the words.

"What's this?" he asked, burying his face in her hair.

"A muggle book," she replied, waiting to see if he went rigid. He didn't.

"What's it about?"

"A war," she replied. "Supposedly caused by the gods."

"The gods?"

"The goddess of love, Aphrodite, offered Prince Paris of Troy the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Sparta," she recited, harkening back to a memory. "Helen was already married to King Menelaus, but once she met Paris, she ran away with him. Became Helen of Troy."

"How irresponsible."

She smiled. "Yes, quite." She leaned back and he kissed the crook of her neck.

"What happened?"

"King Menelaus came for her," she said softly. "And he brought the whole of Greece with him. She was 'the face that launched a thousand ships,' and he got her back."

She felt him hum thoughtfully to himself.

"Everyone died, didn't they?"

"Essentially," she said sadly.

"Was she in love with the other guy? Paris?"

"Scholars differ," she said with a shrug, and she felt him laugh at her clinical phrasing. She smiled, too. "Some call it an abduction, some call it seduction. But I like to think it was love – that she wouldn't have risked her life, otherwise." She swallowed. "Surely she knew the dangers," she added, her voice low.

They both adjusted their positions uncomfortably, shifting under the weight of her words.

"What happened to him?"

"He died," she said, frowning.

They were quiet again for a moment.

"I can't wait to read it," he said glumly.

She threw the book aside. "At least it wasn't Romeo and Juliet," she mumbled to herself before looking up to instruct the room. "Only happy stories, next time," she called into the air as Malfoy turned her around, taking her face in his hands and kissing her.

"I have a story," he said, his hands traveling down her breasts. "Once, there was a Gryffindor princess – "

She inhaled sharply as he unclasped her bra. "Yes?"

" – and a Slytherin prince – "

"I think I know this one," she said, closing her eyes.

" – and a couple more Gryffindor idiots, one with a stupid map and the other with a stupid face – "

"Yes, I've definitely heard that one before," she said with a sigh, giving into his hands on her.

It nearly broke her heart to leave him after the afternoon they had together, but the parting was always inevitable.

Besides, she thought as she slowly descended the stairs, she had quite a lot to do over the next week. It was crucial that Harry get that memory from Slughorn – and she couldn't bear the thought of asking him again. She winced as she pictured Ron's face, his judgmental glare as he was telling her not to nag.

She sighed heavily. Clearly, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

"Who'd have thought, the little Gryffindor Princess is pulling all of the strings." 

She smiled. How right Malfoy had been.

"You've got a bit of Slytherin in you after all, then."

She frowned slightly as she realized that for the first time in her life, that no longer registered as a bad thing.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: The Catalyst

As Harry Potter's best friend, Hermione was privy to certain pieces of exclusive information about him. His favorite things, his strengths, his weaknesses, his beliefs, his numerous demons – she was a walking database for all things Harry Potter, though it was all locked away securely in the ironclad vault that was her logic-driven brain.

Until today, of course. Because today marked the first time she visited said vault for the less-than-admirable purposes of bending him to her will.

"Have you talked to Slughorn yet?"

He barely glanced up at her.

"Not yet."

Of course you haven't, she thought, silently fuming as she ran through an enumerated list of his defining characteristics.

There was his almost crippling hero complex, for one. His need to save others and his compulsion to put them before himself.

Not relevant, she thought, dismissing that observation with a shrug.

There was his duty to his parents' memory. His need to be loved. His desire to understand where he came from. His incurable longing for family.

His blinding protectiveness of his friends. His recklessness that stemmed from an unadulterated willingness to sacrifice himself for those who matter. That, and his general theology that everyone matters.

His tendency to show mercy where it wasn't deserved. Perhaps that would factor in at the end of all this, she thought with a grimace.

His incapacitating ability to love.

His quick temper and his touchy pride. His hasty trigger finger without much forethought.

His general opposition to schoolwork. His minor, limited exception to that generality, made for a brief time that year in Potions.

His general disregard for personal appearance. His messy hair, his untucked shirt, his scattered possessions, his schoolbag, like that of a disorganized hoarder –

Her eyes slid to the satchel at his feet as she frowned slightly, considering her theory.

"I'm going to talk to him, Hermione," Harry said, interrupting her thoughts while being completely oblivious to her wandering gaze. "I just haven't figured out how yet."

She tried to make a throaty sound of approval but settled for clearing her throat and nodding. She suspected that there was an easy way to go about forcing him to follow through with this task, if she was right about what was currently in his possession.

"Right," she said, echoing her agreement while glancing around the Great Hall, searching desperately for a distraction.

She fought back a triumphant smile as distraction walked right in, taking the enviable form of Draco Malfoy. Despite her wealth of knowledge on the complexities of Harry Potter, it didn't take someone of her privileged position to know that he could be counted on for a reaction to his pale-haired nemesis – and it certainly didn't hurt that she understood that dynamic clearly from both sides. Malfoy was walking comfortably with Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini, and despite the fact that he was not doing anything particularly suspicious, she could be comfortably assured that he, too, was reasonably predictable.

She leaned in quickly, whispering in Harry's ear. "Did you see that?" she asked, gesturing to Malfoy, who had done little more than head toward the Slytherin table.

She saw his eyes snap instantly to Malfoy's face. "See what?" he said, instantly alert.

"Um – the, uh – he's – "

"You know," Harry said, interrupting as she flailed for a response. "I heard that he and Goyle had some kind of altercation the other day."

"Did you?" she said, raising her eyebrows to heighten the intrigue. "Well, that must mean . . . something."

"If Goyle had been keeping watch for him, why would they fight?" Harry asked, a question clearly intended more for his own benefit than hers. "Do you think maybe he's – I don't know, maybe – "

She saw with relief that Malfoy had finally taken notice of Harry's overt stare, and she tried not to roll her eyes as she watched his grey eyes narrow from afar.

They were so reliable, the both of them.

"Can't get enough of me, can you, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, smirking.

Hermione could practically see Harry's hackles rise, but she didn't have much time.

Accio Felix Felicis, she commanded silently, holding her open hand under the table just as Harry spat back a response.

"Sod off, Malfoy."

The small bottle landed on her outstretched palm with a muffled thud and she bit her lip victoriously. She suspected he'd still be carrying it around, not being particularly careful with his things – and if she could just get him to focus, get some of it in his drink, perhaps –

She looked up in time to see Malfoy glance curiously at her. Noticing instantly that nobody else was looking at her, she widened her eyes pointedly. "More," she mouthed frantically.

The confusion in his glance lasted less than a moment before he abruptly complied, turning his attention back to Harry. She silently thanked the universe, once again, for Malfoy's undeniable quickness.

"Or what, Potter? You'll come after me again?" Malfoy snarled, starting to walk towards him.

Harry in a temper was essentially blind, but she had perhaps less than a minute, considering the way Snape and McGonagall were eyeing the growing tension between the two students – one dark and scowling, the other pale and sneering. She hurriedly grasped Harry's goblet of pumpkin juice.

"That's mine, Hermione," he said quickly, though he kept his eyes trained on Malfoy. She groaned inwardly; had she initiated a fight for nothing?

But Malfoy must have been watching, and as he approached them, he pushed both Harry and Hermione's goblets towards her, clearing space as he menacingly invaded Harry's personal space.

"Are you just itching for another shot at me, Potter?" he whispered, smirking. "I think it's my turn to inflict a little damage – don't you?" he added, his malicious grin darkening as Harry twitched angrily in his seat.

Hermione, meanwhile, grasped her pumpkin juice and brought it surreptitiously under the table; it was about as full as Harry's, anyway, and it was her simplest option. She added a drop of the Felix Felicis and pretended to take a sip nervously from the goblet before setting it back down on the table, checking to verify Harry's level of distraction.

"Don't think I wouldn't welcome it, Malfoy," Harry said between gritted teeth. "But for your sake, I'd advise you to get out of my face."

Malfoy's eyes flicked to Hermione and she gave a tiny shake of her head.

"Is that so?" he boasted arrogantly, straightening and crossing his arms. "I'm not sure you're man enough to face me again, without a referee here to protect Dumbledore's favorite – "

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry roared, rising to his feet and causing the dishes around him to clatter against the table. Hermione fumbled quickly for his disrupted dinnerware, using the movement to disguise the action of swapping his goblet with hers.

She would have to have a talk with Harry later about controlling his temper, she thought, watching Harry fall for what was clearly little more than a calculated hijink on Malfoy's part. Not now, of course, while everything was playing out so neatly, but later. It was obviously a gaping weakness in his otherwise solid emotional constitution.

Though since she did have an extra moment – why waste the distraction, after all – she took care of one more task. A personal one, this time, with a second tiny flick of her wand.

"Watch your temper, oh Chosen One," Malfoy mocked, smirking at Harry's flushed features.

"Leave him alone," she said, grasping Harry's elbow. Now that the potion was within his reach, she needed her quick-tempered hero to focus. Besides, despite knowing full well that he was acting, she wasn't exactly in love with the return of this particular Malfoy. "That's enough."

His gaze fell briefly on her and she wondered if anyone else caught the glimmer in his eye, the one he subconsciously reserved for her. "Sorry to have upset your girlfriend, Potter," he said with a shrug, his eyes sliding away from her regretfully. "We can revisit this again later, when you're ready to have a nice big boy chat."

He turned sharply on his heel and sauntered away, leaving Hermione fighting to keep her composure. Not to mention leaving her with some tainted pumpkin juice, a worked up Harry, and a vague feeling that she might like to try a bit of role play sometime in the near future.

"Calm down, Harry," she hissed, pressing on his shoulder. "Remember, you have more important things to worry about – Slughorn's memory – "

Harry was grinding his teeth warningly. "Malfoy's such a prat," he grumbled irritably. "He thinks he's – "

"If it's a horcrux Malfoy's after, you need that memory from Slughorn," she repeated, thrusting the Felix-infused pumpkin juice in his hand firmly and grasping his shoulder with the other hand. "You need that memory, Harry, it's crucial, it's the only thing that can really shut Malfoy up, in the end." He nodded vaguely, taking the goblet from her uncertainly as she gripped his shoulder. "Drink this," she said soothingly, moving her hand to rub circles gently onto his upper back. "Just focus on the memory, okay?"

"Right," he said, blinking. "You're right, Hermione. Slughorn's memory is the key to all this," he added firmly, before taking a swig of juice. She fought back an enormous sigh of relief, continuing to plot circles on his back with the flat of her hand as she awaited the results of her deception.

"Yes," she said vigorously, nodding. "Yes. Get the memory – get the answers you need from Slughorn and Dumbledore – and everything else will fall into place."

There was a clatter as Ron sat down across from them.

"Was that slimy git prancing around over here again?" he demanded, shifting around in his seat to glare over his shoulder at Malfoy. "I swear, it seems like he's been a little too present lately – you notice he's always in the library when we are? And of course he had to interrupt us in the hallway when we were talking ab – "

"I've got to go," Harry said suddenly, sounding strangely addled. Hermione frowned; had she slipped him too much?

It was just a drop, she thought, trying to reassure herself. He's fine.

She leaned toward him. "Where, Harry?" she asked softly. "Are you going to talk to Slughorn?"

"No," he said, his voice ringing with certainty. "I'm off to see Hagrid."

"Hagrid?" Hermione asked loudly, startled. "But Harry – "

"I'll come with you, mate," Ron said, standing, and Hermione began to panic. Luckily, it was short-lived.

"No – you stay here," Harry said, nodding thoughtfully. "I've got to go alone."

Ron froze, half out of his seat. "Are you sure?" he asked, eyeing Harry skeptically. He glanced quickly at Hermione but she only shrugged uneasily, entirely unclear on what was happening.

"Yes," Harry proclaimed loudly. "I'm going to Hagrid's alone."

"Shh!" Hermione said, tugging his sleeve. "Probably best not to announce that – though are you sure it's not Slughorn's, where you want to go?"

"I've got a feeling," Harry said confidently. "I'm going with the feeling. It's a good one. I've got hold of it, and I'm off."

The combination of his nonsensical reasoning and the whimsical quality of his tone were dizzying. "Okay," she said uncertainly. "But the priority is the memory, right – "

He was gone before she finished the sentence.

"What's he playing at?" Ron said, jutting his chin to gesture to Harry's retreating form.

"I honestly don't know," she said unhappily. "Believe me, I wish I did."

"I see you decided not to take my advice," he added, eyeing her with a bored look. "Still won't leave him alone about that memory, obviously."

She threw her head back and sighed irritably. "Ron – "

He shrugged. "He's not going to do it if you keep pestering him, you know," he said, in what she considered a horrifyingly condescending tone. "Just let him be, he knows it's important – "

"Oh get off your high horse, would you, Ronald?" she snapped. "You can go ahead and be the friend that enables him, I'll remain the one that keeps his priorities in line – "

"Yes," he said sarcastically. "Because that's the best way to be liked – "

"You think I should be worried about being liked?" she asked with mock surprise. "You, who supposedly loves me – "

"Don't throw that in my face, Mione," he said darkly. "How I feel about you is irrelevant – "

"Is it?" she demanded. "Is it really? Because it seems to me," she said, launching into what she could tell was going to be a soapbox moment, "that if you really loved me, you might be more helpful – maybe more understanding – "

"Well if you're not going to let me love you, Mione," he said frankly, "then I don't think you can really lecture me on how to do it."

She set her jaw, eyeing him carefully. It was an unusually salient point, and if she were being honest, she didn't really have a leg to stand on in this argument.

"Fine," she said curtly.

"Thanks," he said, looking vaguely dejected. But she had seen Malfoy make his way to the exit, and no longer had the attention span to waste on arguing with Ron.

"I'm going to go up and study," she said as gently as she could, tossing the items she'd amassed into her bag.

"Shocking," he muttered, but she didn't hear him as she turned to leave.

By the time she reached the fifth floor landing, she had caught up to Malfoy, and they were standing alone in the hallway.

"You're a right git, you know that, Malfoy?" she called musically, relishing the way his shoulders perked up as he paused at the sound of her voice.

He turned and she melted into the welcomed shiver that always flooded her when his stormy grey eyes met hers.

"Granger," he said, growling as the corners of his mouth tipped up in a cocky smirk. She walked up to him and looked over her shoulder before touching his cheek. It had been difficult, not being able to see him in private as often as she would have liked. Luckily, that was unlikely to continue to be a problem – at least not in the immediate future.

"I managed to get my hands on something very interesting today," she said, looking up at him coyly.

She watched him swallow as he eyed her lips. "Is that so?" he said evenly.

"It's a map," she said simply, biting her lip as she grinned broadly.

She felt a pang of affection for him as he closed his eyes and laughed, tipping his head back and then looking at her with naked admiration.

"You are an absolute treasure, you little thief," he said with a smile, shaking his head. He looked quickly at his room and then back to her. "You're not busy, are you?"

"I did have one thing I wanted to do," she said, thinking back to the show they'd put on in the Great Hall earlier. "But I'll need your help anyway."

He held his door open for her and gestured her in, giving her a low, sweeping bow as she passed. "I'm all yours," he said, his voice clear and unwavering.

Draco eyed his reflection unhappily in the bathroom mirror.

Time with Granger was soothing and reassuring, but it was always over too soon, and then he was left here, alone with himself and his wild desperation.

He pulled at his face, eyeing his pallid complexion and the gauntness of his appearance. It wasn't fair, that Granger seemed to grow more beautiful every day while he seemed to be withering under the pressure of his daily demands. If only she were rubbing off on him a bit more. Unfortunately, as much as she was a part of everything that was happening to him, the bulk of it was on him. She was involved, certainly, but not invaded. Nobody was intruding the sanctity of her mind at night.

Besides, if he did everything right, as he intended to, then nobody would ever have to know she had been involved. He, however, would carry this with him forever, every mistake etched permanently into his face. If he were ever allowed to become an old man, his story would wear like a mask.

What to do about the Death Eaters, he thought for the countless time, turning his head from side to side as he pondered his possible moves. It was a good thing Granger had agreed to come find him again later, because he wasn't doing so well on his own. Lack of willingness to participate was a considerable challenge, and as far as incentives went, "avoiding one's own murder" didn't really get the creative juices flowing like he might have hoped.

"You know," she'd said, the last time they spoke about it, "the easy move here would just be to inform the Order, bring them to the castle – "

"No," he'd replied firmly. "There's only one person who would know the Death Eaters were coming. There's only one way to set that trap, and it's through me. If he were to find out, he wouldn't hesitate to kill my parents."

She'd frowned. "Someone else could easily have found out – "

"They'd either have to be informed by me, making me a rat, or by some mistake of mine, making me sloppy," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not sure that the means are relevant if the end result is still the Dark Lord killing my parents." Or worse, he hadn't added, thinking of Voldemort's threats against his mother.

She'd paused, pursing her lips as she pursued other possible options. "Maybe if we also got some of the Order to go to Malfoy Manor?"

"Do you really want Order members to die for my parents, Granger?" he'd asked, fixing her with a candid stare. "You only have so many. You can't just send them all into the fire."

She'd sighed, a sorrowful look in her eye. "It seems unfair, to compare lives that way," she said gently.

He'd shrugged, and her next suggestion wasn't helpful either. "What about the teachers?" she'd asked hopefully, sitting up. "It wouldn't be too much of a stretch that they'd take notice – "

He'd rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to ease the growing tension in his bones. "Maybe," he said slowly. "But there's only one teacher that would make sense." He flinched at the thought.

She'd nodded. "You have to talk to Snape," she'd said, her golden brown eyes intense as she watched his face change.

"Where does he stand?" he'd asked, smoothing his hair thoughtfully. "How can I come to him, if I don't know where he stands?"

"Do you know where you stand in all this? Where I stand?" she'd countered. "I certainly don't." She'd reached out and put her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers as though she could capture his heartbeat.

"He's your only option," she'd said faintly, dealing the crushing blow of having the final word on the topic.

He blinked, clearing his head. She was right, he thought. He hated that he had that thought so often. Daily, at least. He eyed himself a final time before turning on the faucet to splash cold water on his face.

He'd have to go find Snape. Procrastinating wouldn't help. If he wanted answers he could ask questions, but either way, a conversation had to be had –

"What – the fuck – do you think you're doing – "

Draco whipped around, turning to face the lanky ginger standing behind him.

"Fuck off Weasley," he muttered impatiently. "I don't have time for you right now."

"I don't care what you've got time for, Malfoy," Weasley snarled back. "I heard you with her – I heard you talking to her and I want some bloody answers."

Draco bristled. "You'll have to elaborate, Weasley – not sure if you notice but I talk to more than one her per day – "

"Hermione."

Well, thought Draco. This is unpleasantly unexpected.

"What about her?" he asked, trying to adopt a casual tone that toed the line of boredom.

"You've been seeing each other, haven't you?" Weasley accused him, pointing threateningly at Draco's chest. "It makes sense. Everything was perfect between Mione and me, until she started spending more time with you and your potion – "

"Don't be daft, Weasel," Malfoy scoffed, blistering at the sound of her nickname. "How many times did she have to explain that to you? It was a class assignment – "

"Like hell it was," he spat back. "Maybe at first, but something obviously happened – it's why you interrupted us, after the ball, isn't it?" Weasley's eyes narrowed. "You wanted her for yourself, didn't you?"

"You're dreaming – "

"And in the hallway earlier – I don't know what you were talking about" – Draco barely heard anything after that, so relieved was he by the assurance that Weasley couldn't be certain – "but I know something is going on, you've never been civil to her before, and that – "

"Weasley, for fuck's sake, stop being such a twat – "

"Don't talk to me like that – "

"Don't talk to me at all – "

"I LOVE HER!" Weasley bellowed suddenly, startling Draco with his volume. "I love her, and you – "

"Do you, Weasley?" Draco shouted back, unable to resist. He felt his pulse quicken but couldn't stop himself. "You don't love her. How could you? How could you possibly love her, when you don't even understand her?"

Weasley seemed to shrink back slightly as Draco stalked toward him, the pale blond taking an angry stance just inches from the gangly redhead's face.

"All you had to do – your only job – was to make her feel accepted, make her feel wanted," Draco ranted manically, biting his lip angrily. "That's all you had to do and she would have loved you without question – she would have loved you without a second thought. But you were lazy. You were lazy, and ungrateful, and you constantly put her second to Potter – to Potter – and somehow you think it's my fault, that she doesn't love you?"

Weasley collected himself slightly, despite being appropriately chilled by Draco's words. "You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," he said threateningly.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about, Weasley – "

"So what? So you think because I didn't treat her right, somehow you deserve her – "

"Of course not," Draco snapped. "I don't deserve her, you sure as hell don't deserve her – fuck, nobody does – "

He cut himself off before he reentered dangerous territory. "Nothing is happening between Granger and me," he said, his chest burning painfully from the lie. "But believe me, if it were – I'm not stupid. I know I can't be with her. I know what I've done, and who I am, and that it's not possible." Draco shook his head, glancing at his shaking hands. "I obviously can't be with her."

He looked up and glared at Weasley. "Look, you fucking idiot – if she gives you a chance – if she lets you – just take care of her, okay?" He rubbed his temple furiously. "Just fucking keep her safe, you piece of shit."

Weasley gaped at him, and Draco wondered for a moment what he'd done.

There was a loud crash behind them as someone entered the room.

"Oh good," Potter panted, doubling over. "Lucky I found you."

Draco sighed exasperatedly. "Get the fuck out, Potter – "

But the disheveled Gryffindor only looked at Weasley. "Get Hermione," he said breathlessly, his wild green eyes never leaving Weasley's face. "We have to talk. Right. Now."

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: The Truth

There was an incongruous, scattered series of taps on her door and Hermione froze nervously. It wasn't the sound of Malfoy's distinct three-rap knock, and it was too late in the evening to be anyone else.

She cracked the door open and peered into the hall, jumping back as Harry's face materialized before her.

"Hello, Hermione!" he said spiritedly. "Lucky you're awake."

He pushed lightly past her and she held the door for him, confused. Her eyes strayed to Ron, who was ambling along behind Harry, but he only grumbled irritably, deliberately not meeting her eye.

She frowned, reaching for Ron's arm. "Hey," she said softly in his ear. "Any idea why he's – "

"No," Ron replied flatly, pulling out of her grasp. Hermione sighed, closing the door. She supposed Malfoy would have to wait, seeing how Harry had settled himself comfortably on her bed, sitting cross-legged with his head propped up thoughtfully on his palm.

"What's going on?" she asked him, smoothing her duvet before perching on the edge of the bed. She eyed Ron warily as he stood apart from them, his hands stubbornly planted on his hips with his mind obviously elsewhere.

"Horcruxes," Harry said simply, opening his mouth widely as though trying to accommodate the word in his mouth.

Hermione sat upright. "You got the memory!" she exclaimed. "How did you – "

"Ran into Slughorn on my way out," Harry said simply. "Got him to talk about my mother. There's a bit more to it than that," he admitted, thinking back. "Aragog – you know, the giant spider – "

Ron shuddered from across the room. "Please," he said tersely, "No details."

Hermione scooted closer to Harry on the bed. "What was in the real memory?" she asked, her face burning with excitement. "Did you get to see it?"

"Yes," Harry said, emitting a single, thunderous hiccup. "I saw it with Dumbledore." He looked around vacantly for a moment before returning his attention to her. "You were right," he said, as though he was just now remembering. "Horcruxes – they hold a person's soul – "

"Right," she said quickly. "And You-Know-Who made one, right? Slughorn told him how?"

Harry frowned. "A little bit of yes," he said, his brow furrowed. "But mostly no."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "What's wrong with him?" Ron mouthed quietly to her.

Hermione widened her eyes and shrugged innocently. "How should I know?" she mouthed back, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

They looked back to Harry, who was eyeing them with confusion. "Can you guys hear?" he asked loudly, opening and closing his mouth vacuously. Hermione glanced back at Ron, who was shaking his head slowly.

"Let's just pretend this is normal," Ron muttered. "Go on, Harry. A horcrux is – ?"

"An object to hold a piece of a soul," Harry said, bouncing his head as he punctuated each syllable. "One that you can only make by killing someone," he added, and Hermione nodded. Ron looked sharply at her.

"You knew that?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "You already knew?"

Hermione was taken aback. "I told you I read about them," she said vaguely, avoiding his gaze.

"No," he said pointedly. "You said you couldn't find anything about them."

She locked eyes with him for a moment, trying to put a finger on the inexplicable tension festering between them that Harry either failed to notice or chose to disregard. She couldn't help the feeling that she was missing something.

Harry cleared his throat obnoxiously. "Anyway," he said loudly, "There's six of them – "

"There's six of what?" Hermione asked quickly, turning her attention away from Ron before Harry's words had time to fully process. "Wait – do you mean six – "

"Six horcruxes? I sure do," Harry said cheerfully. "Turns out Voldemort's got a thing for the number seven. Magical significance, and all that."

Ron looked puzzled. "Seven? But you said – "

"There's You-Know-Who himself, Ron," Hermione said impatiently. "Seven pieces of his soul, in total."

Ron shot her a dirty look. Clearly, he didn't care for her tone.

Harry nodded solemnly. "Though there's only four left, now."

"What?" Hermione said, startled. "Harry, you're going to have to start telling the story with a bit more detail – "

"I destroyed one of them, four years ago," he said, shrugging. "The diary – "

"Tom Riddle's diary?" Ron said, leaning forward. "That was a horcrux?"

" – and Dumbledore destroyed one – a ring," Harry added.

"A ring?" she asked, tilting her head as she squinted to remember. "You mean the ring that Marvolo Gaunt wore? In the memory Dumbledore showed you?"

"Yes," Harry said with a firm, if unfocused, nod. "Dumbledore found it and destroyed it last summer."

"Last summer," Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "Harry, did you say if you noticed anything off about him when he – "

"Wait, go back," Ron said, frowning. "You said Slughorn did – or didn't tell him how to make them?"

"He had already made one," Harry said, an ominous shadow coloring his face. "The diary. He didn't need help."

"Then what did he need?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

They were all silent for a moment.

"Proof, probably," Harry said, shrugging again. "That he was the only person to – 'push the boundaries' of magic," he added with disgust.

"You're saying he split his soul into seven pieces," Ron said slowly, "by killing six different people?"

Hermione snorted. "You say that like that's all he ever killed," she commented darkly, and Harry nodded.

"Not every kill was for a horcrux," Harry stated bluntly, and they all understood implicitly that he was referring to the slaying of his parents. The three of them subconsciously bowed their heads in unison, an instinctive gesture of their shared, unspoken sorrow.

Hermione looked first to Harry's withdrawn face, then to Ron's look of hollow disbelief, before clearing her throat softly.

"Did – did Dumbledore tell you what the remaining horcruxes were?" she asked gently, reaching out to rest her palm on Harry's knee.

Harry seemed to perk up at the reminder of the mission he'd been entrusted with. "In a way," he replied, his green eyes flashing. "He showed me the memory of that woman, Hepzibah Smith – "

"The Hufflepuff cup," Hermione said, nodding as she recalled him previously sharing that memory with them. "And – "

" – Slytherin's locket," Harry finished. "The one Merope Gaunt wore."

"The founders," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Of course – Hogwarts was his first real home. He was fascinated with them. The remaining four – they've got to be Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, and – "

"Whatever Ravenclaw's and Gryffindor's are, then?" Ron interrupted, squinting slightly.

"Dumbledore seems confident that Voldemort never found something of Gryffindor's," Harry said, and Hermione nodded slowly.

"That must be true," she agreed. "Obviously the Sword of Gryffindor is not a horcrux, and there's no record of Godric Gryffindor ever leaving anything else of significance. As for Ravenclaw – "

"I don't know of anything," Ron said. "Do you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said uncertainly. "Though that doesn't mean much – "

When she glanced up, Harry was looking at her oddly. "Does Malfoy know?" he asked innocently.

She was startled by the question, but considerably more startled by the lack of emotional implication layered within it. He had asked it very matter-of-factly, as though suggesting she simply confer with Malfoy and get back to him at her convenience.

"How would I know?" she snapped defensively. "I only suspected he might be looking for something in the castle – I've no idea what he does or doesn't know – "

"You sure about that, Mione?" Ron interrupted skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

She scoffed with disbelief. "This again," she said warily, shaking her head at Ron. "You'll never let it go, will you?"

Ron set his jaw angrily but said nothing.

"Well," Harry said, the animation returning to his voice, "In any case, I'd be willing to bet that at least one of those horcruxes is in the castle. That," he said, cocking his head and thinking, "or Malfoy is looking for something of Gryffindor's. To turn into a horcrux."

"I don't think so," she said quickly. Too quickly. Both boys eyed her closely.

"Oh?" Ron said mockingly. "Do tell us why, Hermione."

She again had the distinct sensation that she didn't fully understand Ron's motivations, but ignored it. "I just think," she said slowly, "that at this point, You-Know-Who must have settled for something else for his sixth horcrux. I highly doubt he's still on a quest to make more," she added, settling into her argument. "Do you think so, Harry? Does Dumbledore?" she asked, reaching for reassurance.

Harry shook his head. "No, Dumbledore seemed pretty certain that Voldemort finished making his horcruxes a long time ago," he agreed.

Ron eyed Hermione carefully before turning back to Harry. "With the diary – he was trying to use Ginny, to bring himself back to life," Ron said, and Hermione held back a sigh of relief as he finally turned his attention away from her. "Does that mean with any of these horcruxes, he could bring himself back?"

"Yes," Harry said. "He's immortal with them." Harry's mouth curled into a disconcerting smile, one that gave Hermione a slight chill. "But he's human, and a weak one at that, without them."

"So that's it then," Ron said, his voice dull with trepidation. "You've got to destroy the horcruxes before you can destroy him?"

Hermione bit her lip as Harry nodded gravely. "It's funny," she commented morbidly, grimacing. "It's an impossible task, and yet something about it feels . . . too easy."

Ron snorted. "Speak for yourself," he rumbled, finally taking a seat beside Harry with his back to her.

"Oh," Harry said suddenly, just as Ron made himself comfortable. "By the way, I kissed your sister."

Ron jumped abruptly, lips pressed firmly in a thin, hard line as he looked from Hermione, whose mouth had fallen open with delight, to Harry, who simply grinned vacantly, a dreamy glow brightening his features.

Hermione raised her hands innocently as Ron gaped speechlessly at the two of them. "He's not talking to me," she clarified, smothering a laugh. She was having a difficult time masking the enjoyment she felt at Harry delivering the news this way – it had been a long time coming, after all, to anyone who had been paying attention.

Ron shook his head, covering his mouth uncertainly with the flat of his hand. "I – I'm not sure – "

"Come on, Ron," Hermione said, groaning dramatically as she stood and reached for his arm. "It was so obvious – and anyway, Harry is a much better choice – "

Something in Ron seemed to snap. "Shut up, Hermione," he snarled, and to her dismay, she recoiled slightly.

"Hey," she said quickly, recovering from her initial shock. "What – "

"I can't take this from you right now, I can't," Ron ranted, fuming. "Don't act like we're – like you're – "

"I'm what, exactly?" she prompted angrily, waving her hand sharply in front of her. "What is going on with you – "

"I'm so sick of – of you both feeling like you can – like you can just hide things from me!" he half-shouted, seemingly unable to finish his thought. "Just – just stop, Mione!"

"Ron – "

"I can't do this right now," he said, raking a hand through his hair as he turned his attention back to their third companion. "Harry – " he started, before dropping his hands and shaking his head. "Fine," he concluded, offering Harry a curt nod and clearly giving up on trying to explain himself.

Ron walked quickly to the door and Hermione, lost for words, opened her mouth, standing. "Ronald – what – "

But he only shut the door quickly behind him, not sparing her a second glance as he made his hasty exit.

"What was that?" Hermione demanded, turning back to Harry. "Why is he mad at me? I certainly didn't kiss his sister – "

"Might have something to do with him and Malfoy arguing in the bathroom," Harry said vapidly, walking over to her desk. "Hey, is this mine?" he added, gesturing to the Marauder's Map that she had carelessly left out in plain sight.

"I – yes, it appears so," she said helplessly. "It, um – fell out of your bag, and I – Wait," she stammered, faltering. "What do you mean he and Malfoy – "

"Lucky you found it, then," he interrupted casually, winking at her and pocketing the folded parchment. She winced, watching him do away with her clever attempt at trickery.

"Lucky you," she agreed, biting her lip.

Draco shook his head as he listened to the sound of his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

He'd said too much.

All he'd wanted to do was make sure Granger was taken care of if something happened to him, as something so likely would. He couldn't go to Potter with the task – Potter was essentially little more than a human wrecking ball, and so reckless with his own safety that he could hardly be trusted to bat an eye to Granger's. The most capable person Draco could think of would be Theo, but he saw no reason Granger would think to trust him.

That only left Weasley – lazy, obtuse Weasley, whom Draco would scarcely entrust the task of tying his own shoes.

Granger could take care of herself, of course. That was not the issue; she had twice the ability of anyone even remotely near her equal. But Granger was passionate, too passionate. She was fiery – reckless – she could lose herself. And the worst of it – the worst of it was that she could be lonely, and he couldn't stand to leave her alone. He hated to leave her alone.

And so that left Weasley, he thought, trying to slow his thundering heartbeat. If Weasley could claim to love her – then he would have to do. The imbecile. Hopefully he'd gotten the message.

Draco stepped into Snape's classroom, taking a deep breath and clearing his mind as a precaution.

"Professor," he called, noting the flickering light in Snape's office.

"Come in," Snape replied, his throaty baritone cutting through the stale classroom air.

Draco ascended the stairs quietly and paused a moment in the open doorway, unsure how to proceed. He had never worked out his reason for coming, and now seemed a less than ideal time to arrive at a decision.

"How are you?" Draco asked politely, his voice wavering as he eyed Snape's dark form, hunched awkwardly over a pile of scrolls.

"Splendid," Snape said sarcastically, looking up and rubbing his temple. He waved a hand in front of him, gesturing to the available chair across from his own. "Sit."

Draco complied with a brief nod, holding his posture stiffly as he sat. "Sorry to interrupt," he added, motioning to the papers Snape seemed to be grading.

"Nonsense," Snape sniffed. "I've been expecting you." He paused, resting his chin in his hand. "It's not good news, is it?"

Draco pursed his lips. "No," he confirmed. "Not for me, anyway."

Snape merely held out an open palm, signaling for him to continue.

"I fixed the cabinet," Draco said, bending forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He was suddenly exhausted – too exhausted to hold his head up. "He's sending them here."

Snape nodded slowly. "I'd heard rumors," he said vaguely. "Only a matter of days, isn't it?"

"Yes," Draco said moodily, scuffing the heel of his shoe against the floor and keeping his eyes down.

Snape sat up straighter, eyeing the pale young man before him. "What do you need from me?"

Draco looked up quickly, surprised by the question. He briefly regarded Snape with skepticism, searching for motive in the older wizard's dark eyes. "He's – he's going to put you in charge of the school, isn't he?"

Snape inclined his head slightly. "I believe that is his intent, yes," he agreed, though his tone suggested that he was an unwilling participant.

They were all pawns, it seemed.

"Funny," Draco commented humorlessly. "You're actually a pretty solid choice to run this place."

Snape scowled. "I suppose that depends who you ask," he replied doubtfully.

They both remained silent for a moment, as Draco lightly drummed his fingers against the desk. He was trying desperately to push Granger out of his head, but in doing so, he seemed to have filled himself with a hollow vacancy instead. He only harbored a vast emptiness – one that made him question what he was even doing there.

"Go ahead," Snape offered, supplying a vague element of encouragement. "Ask what you came here to ask."

Draco sighed, finding that he no longer possessed any interest in questions or answers.

"I just want you to be there," he said finally, after another minute or two of silence. "I want you to minimize the danger. Keep students out of the way," he clarified. "No collateral damage."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What of your – "

"I'll take care of that," Draco interrupted. "It was always my task, and it remains my responsibility, whether I survive it or not." He shivered, realizing that was the first time he'd vocalized that thought. Whether I survive it or not.

Draco shook the thought away, straightening. "Your responsibility, though," he continued, "is to defend this school." He had adopted an unreasonably condescending tone as he made that statement, but he didn't care.

Snape, for his part, didn't seem surprised by anything Draco had said. "Are you doing this alone?" he asked sharply, leaning forward.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the brush of Granger's fingers down his back. "Not that it matters," he said, his eyes fluttering open as he spoke, "but yes." He smoothed his hair quickly. "When it counts, I'll be alone."

Alone. The word turned chalky in his throat and Draco stood abruptly, complying with a sudden urge to leave. "Do whatever you need to do," Draco muttered, turning away from the desk.

He suddenly didn't see the point of this, in any of it. What did it matter, what side Snape was on? Nothing mattered. Only she mattered, and he wasn't doing her any favors.

Draco paused before reaching the door. "I only came here to make sure somebody knew," he explained quietly, looking over his shoulder at Snape. "So someone could make sure – "

Snape nodded gravely. "I understand," he said, his dark eyes cloudy with pity and regret.

Draco let out a mirthless laugh. "I hope you come out of this favorably," he said, sparing his teacher a moment of sincerity. "I don't see it happening that way for me."

"The difference between the undiluted truth and what people know to be true is often simply lost in perception," Snape said, offering the tiniest of shrugs. "It's up to you to decide what's important. In the end, all that matters is what you know to be real."

More cryptic than helpful, Draco thought, swallowing his bitter disappointment.

"Thanks," he replied curtly, turning to leave. He imagined what he might say, if he allowed any other words to escape him. "Help me, Professor – I'm afraid," he imagined shouting, before dismissing the thought with a single shake of his head. What good would it do?

He walked slowly back to his room, thinking about what else he needed to do with whatever time remained. Maybe he needed to say something to Theo, he mused. What could he say?

What could he say to any of them?

He paused as he stepped onto the fifth floor landing, feeling a familiar pang in his chest as a glint of wild, golden brown curls caught his eye. Granger was there, pacing the hallway with her back to him.

He paused for a moment to watch her, catching the panicked look on her face and smiling at the way she was chewing her lower lip absentmindedly, as she so often did. He allowed himself a few moments just to memorize her, the sway of her hips and the curve of her mouth, before he quietly cleared his throat, getting her attention.

"Granger," he said with amusement. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you're here," she said, letting out a sigh of relief and approaching him. "I need to talk to you."

He nodded. "Me too."

"Um – " she looked around, considering her options. "My room?"

He nodded again, following her inside.

"Harry has the map again," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "But I really don't think he's keeping an eye on it, tonight. He and Ginny finally got together – "

"Potter and Weasley?" Draco said, his lips curling into an ironic smile. "Ah, it just sounds so right."

Granger laughed musically. "Oh, stop." Her face fell slightly, as though she was remembering something unpleasant. "I, um," she started, blushing a little. "I heard you and Ron got into an argument."

He nodded. "We did," he confirmed grimly. "Though for the record, he started it."

"Oh." She eyed the floor as she shifted her weight, clearly waiting for more information. "What did you – "

"Come here," he interrupted, opening his arms to her. She met his eyes with a tiny, frustrated sigh but smiled beatifically, stepping into his embrace as he brushed his lips against the top of her head.

"I'm not going to forget about it, just because you're being nice," she said stubbornly, her voice muffled in his chest.

"I know," he said, tightening his arms around her. "I just wanted to hold you for a minute."

She wiggled slightly, leaning back. "Is everything okay?" Her golden eyes were bright and wide with concern for him.

"Yes," he said, touching her cheek. "Ish."

Her eyes flashed as she frowned, displeased. "Tell me," she commanded, and he couldn't help but smile.

"So bossy," he said with a laugh.

"Draco," she warned, giving his name a little growl. "What's going on?"

His smile faltered. "Okay," he said, nodding. "I just – I wanted to talk to you about – what's going to happen," he started.

She only looked at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

"If something happens to me, I mean," he said, taking a deep breath.

"I won't let it," she interrupted. "I would never – "

"It's not your outcome to control," he reminded her, stroking her hair. "And we need to talk about this. I need to talk to you about this."

"Okay." She sniffed a little, burrowing her face into him.

He sighed. "Keeping this a secret – it's nearly killed me," he said, nipping at his lip. He meant it, though he hadn't realized just how much until he'd spoken the words aloud. "I just – whatever happens – don't be foolish. Don't be a hero. Don't mistake my burden for yours," he said emphatically, pulling away to look her in the eye. "Don't make all of this have been for nothing."

He could see the tears forming in her eyes. "Isn't there some way – " she said, swallowing hard, "Isn't there some way that this plays out – some outcome where I'm allowed to keep you?"

He hoped the gentle half-smile he gave her wasn't too patronizing. "Maybe," he said, though his doubt crept in even as he said the word. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

She was struggling with her words now. "We have to," she said, beating her small fists against his chest. "We – I can't – "

"I know," he said, trying to pull her close to him.

"No!" she exclaimed, fighting him. "No. You're not taking this seriously," she chided him, stepping back to put her hands on her hips. "We're going to be fine, Malfoy – Draco, you're going to be fine – "

"Maybe," he said again, holding out his hands to her. "I am taking this seriously, believe me – I'm just trying to be realistic – "

"No, no, you're not," she cried, waving his hands away. "How many times do you think I've gone through this with Harry? How many times do you think I've thought I'd lose him? But he always makes it through! You will too, you have to – "

"That's Potter – I'm not him," he said gently, watching her start to pace back and forth in front of him. "He's the Chosen One, remember? He's a good guy."

"So are you!" she shouted. "You don't deserve this – you, you're – "

"No, Granger," he said shaking his head. "I'm not one of the good guys. Not me. I'm on the wrong side. Don't forget what this mark stands for," he added hoarsely, raising his left wrist and taking her chin in his hand as she tried furiously to avert her gaze. "Don't forget what I have to do, the people who will suffer because of me. You should want me to fail – "

"But – " she sputtered, widening her eyes at him imploringly and reaching forward to hold his face tightly between her palms. "But I – I love – "

"Don't," he said firmly, feeling his stomach lurch even as he ached to hear the words. "Don't make it worse. Don't make it harder."

Tears started to drip down her cheeks and he tried frantically to kiss them away, one by one, until they outpaced him.

"But – "

"We know what's real," he told her, taking one of her hands from his face and holding it tightly in his. "We know what's real, and that's enough."

He held her close, feeling his heart shatter with each convulsion of her petite frame as she cried into his chest. He knew he wasn't doing it right – he wasn't saying it right. And he had to get it right.

He pulled back to look at her again. "You know, don't you?" he asked quietly, placing her hand over his heart. He wanted her to feel it, the way it beat for her.

"I know," she sobbed, doubling over even as she tightened her grip on his chest. "I know."

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: The Trap

Draco sat at the base of the steps, cradling his head in his hands. He still couldn't believe it had come to this, even after all of the unbelievable things that had happened that year.

This was the worst part, the waiting. It was unbearable. It forced him to be alone with his thoughts - and he couldn't imagine a worse fate than that.

"Theo."

Two days ago.

"Yeah?"

He hadn't even looked up. Of course, Draco had thought. Leave it to Theo to not recognize an important moment.

"I need to talk to you," Draco had said calmly. "It's important."

Theo's usual mask of amusement had slipped around the corners of his mouth and he'd blinked once, then twice, before reaching behind him to uncomfortably take a seat.

"Oh," Theo had said blankly, lowering himself. He'd looked as though he might laugh, perhaps as some kind of flimsy attempt to bring levity to the situation. Ultimately, of course, he'd failed. "I suppose I just forgot, what with you taking your sweet time about it," he'd said morosely. "For a minute there, I thought everything would be fine."

"Yeah," Draco had agreed, shrugging as he'd taken a seat beside his lanky, dark-haired friend. "Well, I'm an arse, so it's probably about time I got what's coming to me."

At that, Theo merely scowled at him. "You're not," he'd said, his voice clipped. His dark green eyes slid over Draco's face. "Do you need anything?"

Draco half-smiled. "I wonder what it says about me," he'd pondered aloud, "that you would even think to ask that." He'd shaken his head, grimacing. "I don't deserve it, you know," he'd remarked.

"Deserve what?"

He'd shrugged. "Your loyalty."

Theo had rolled his eyes dramatically. "Fuck off, Draco," he'd said, kicking his legs out and slouching down in the chair. "You're my brother."

At that, Draco hadn't been able to think of anything to say. He'd just bent his head, thoroughly humbled.

"What's the worst of it, do you think?" Theo had asked after a beat, even as he'd continued to stare ahead vacantly.

"The secrets," Draco replied easily. "The lies. That's the worst."

Theo had nodded, and they'd sat quietly together for several minutes, both wondering if it would be the last time. For his part, Draco had been angrily cursing himself. He was furious - furious that he'd wasted his time, wasted his life, chasing Potter and hunting for approval in all the wrong places. The whole time he could have done everything just a little bit differently. He could have spend that time cultivating a quiet dignity, like Theo. He could have just been a solitary loner, like Theo. He could have just been there, with Theo, who had been his brother the whole time.

"Now's the time, mate," Theo had said after a while, interrupting their mutual reverie. "If you've got anything to share – "

"Just make sure my parents are taken care of," Draco had responded simply, closing his eyes, and Theo had quietly murmured his assent.

Draco had sighed then, unable to resist making one final request.

"And – keep an eye on her, would you?"

He'd felt Theo nod beside him. "Sure," he'd said, placing his hand comfortingly on Draco's shoulder.

That was two days ago.

Then there'd been yesterday, and Draco's conversation with Snape.

"They're coming," Draco had said, his tone carefully free of emotion. "Tomorrow night. I need you to wait for them."

If Snape had seen any flaws in Draco's plan, he hadn't shared them. "And then?" he'd asked, his voice glossing smoothly over the words.

"Take them to the astronomy tower," Draco had instructed simply. "And don't let them stray."

Draco and Granger had come to agree on the tower because it was remote; it was, after all, the furthest corner in the castle from anywhere that students slept. It had taken some convincing, on his part.

"It leaves you vulnerable," she'd argued softly when he suggested it. She had still been fighting the inevitable. "You'll be isolated."

He'd nodded with certainty. "Perfect," he'd commented. "That's how it will need to be."

She'd glanced up at him worriedly. "Are you sure I can't – "

But he hadn't needed to hear it. "Yes," he'd stressed emphatically. "I'm sure."

Her pretty lips had slipped into a hesitant frown.

But Draco, of course, hadn't shared that with Snape. "I'll be waiting for you in the tower," Draco had added. "Hopefully."

The rest of the conversation had been unusual, to say the least. Snape had stood suddenly, knocking over several items on his desk and startling Draco. "You don't have to do this," Snape said vehemently. "Don't be a fool – "

"Bit late for that, Professor," Draco had replied angrily, biting back a harsher retort.

Snape's hooded eyes were more wild than Draco ever seen them.

"You're only a child, Draco – "

"How old were you, Professor, when you joined him?" Draco had spat back savagely. This was not the time. This was not the time for anyone to question him - least of all Severus Snape.

"Do not make the mistake of comparing yourself to me, Draco," Snape had responded bitterly. "I am no less a fool than you, believe me."

That was yesterday.

The clock in the astronomy tower began to chime and Draco jumped, reminded where he was.

Not long now, he thought, fingering his wand nervously.

Granger had offered to stay with him, and he wished she'd agreed. She'd come to him nervously that afternoon, panting and out of breath.

"He's going somewhere – with Harry," she'd choked out, reaching out to grip Draco's arms as he'd attempted to steady her.

"Slow down," he'd instructed gently. "There's no rush – "

She'd glared at him, silently scolding him for being so cavalier. "They'll be away from Hogwarts," she'd repeated. "I don't know where – but Harry will be there – you'll have to disarm Harry, too – "

Draco's temple had throbbed just thinking about the prospect of an additional obstacle. "Great – "

"You won't hurt him," she'd said intently, gripping his arms. "You won't hurt him, will you? Harry?"

"No," Draco had assured her. "I've no interest in Potter."

"Good," she'd breathed, letting her head fall forward as she released a heavy sigh of relief. "Promise me," she'd commanded, looking up to meet his eyes.

"I promise," he'd said, fighting to ignore the sharp pain in his chest that came from knowing she wouldn't be asking Potter to spare him.

That was silly of him, he'd thought immediately, rejecting his unreasonable feelings of envy. Of course she wanted to protect Potter - after all, she couldn't protect Draco – he'd specifically told her not to –

"I won't harm a hair on Potter's head," he'd said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You have my word."

"You're a good man, Draco Malfoy," she'd croaked into his chest, her voice breaking. "And I loathe you for it."

He'd chuckled softly, burying his nose in her hair and breathing her in.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

"I utterly abhor you," he'd said, allowing himself a blissful moment with her that was, for once, free from fear. At least he'd experienced this, he thought. This was more than most people got, given a full lifetime. At least he'd had this, with her.

The clock struck midnight and he rose slowly to his feet, dusting off his immaculate trousers and rubbing his thumb across the vacant space on his finger that was normally occupied by his heavy M signet ring. There was still some waiting to be done, but it wouldn't be long now. He climbed the remaining stairs slowly, feeling the caress of the cool spring air on his cheek.

He leaned over the railing for a moment as he reached the top of the tower, surveying the castle grounds that lay sleepily beneath his feet. He really did love it here, he realized. It had been yet another thing he'd taken for granted, the simple pleasure of a tranquil home.

He closed his eyes, breathing the calm night air.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

"I love you," he said, a cathartic release, his eyes fluttering open as he raised his wand.

"Morsmordre," he muttered, his stomach turning with revulsion as he watched the skull and the snake contort themselves out of his wand. He closed his eyes quickly, trying not to watch as the Dark Mark erupted into the pristine night sky, corrupting whatever remained of his innocence.

The ring felt heavy in her hand as she heard the clock strike midnight.

"Why?" she'd asked him, startled. "Why give this to me?"

"I don't expect you to understand," he'd said with a shrug. "And you're free to just toss it, if you like." He'd taken a deep breath, watching her as she cradled it awkwardly in her outstretched palm. "It's just that - before, all that mattered was this," he said, picking it up and turning it so that the ornate M script faced her. "Malfoy," he said, and she'd watched as even then, a glow of pride seemed to light up his features when he'd said it. "I always thought being born a Malfoy was the greatest gift I had ever been given."

He'd set the ring back down in her palm, clasping her fingers around it. "But it wasn't," he'd said, frowning. "Not like I thought it was."

"You're allowed to be proud of your heritage, Draco," she'd said reassuringly. "You're allowed to love your family."

He'd shaken his head adamantly. "When my father gave me this ring, it stood for hatred and unjustified privilege," he'd said angrily. "I couldn't see it then - somehow I missed it. This was the most important thing to me, and now I can't stand to wear it." His voice had broken a little, and she had wondered what she could possibly say. She wondered, both then and now, whether it was possible to even come close to understanding the trials that plagued this Malfoy heir.

"I thought betraying the - the purity of my blood," he said, spitting the word out as though it was venom in his mouth, "would be the most shame that I could bring upon my family, but I was wrong." He'd straightened, gathering himself quickly. "This - what I'm about to do - this is the worst thing. And you," he'd said, softly brushing his lips against her knuckles, "you are by far the greatest thing. And so I want to leave it with you."

He'd winced suddenly, as though finding dissatisfaction in hearing himself. "I guess that wasn't a very good explanation - "

"No," she'd said quickly. "No. It was," she assured him. "I understand."

She sighed now, watching alone from the Gryffindor common room as the Dark Mark illuminated the sky. She'd seen it so many times now, but in such an enormously different context. She'd only seen it on his bare skin, his arm draped lazily across her. The result of growing close to him was that now, for her, the horror of the mark had faded, knowing as she did that he was the one who stood below it. She shivered, feeling the cold night air enshroud her where she stood.

It was a simple trap. She had wondered, briefly, if it was too simple, when he'd first suggested it. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't fall for that - he was no impulsive Harry Potter, recklessly crashing in without a plan.

But then, perhaps Dumbledore had not taken stock of much at all, this year. He had seemed oddly aloof toward Snape's very real concerns, from what she'd overheard. And he'd missed the signs that Malfoy had been tampering with the cabinet, and missed all of the evidence that Malfoy had inflicted so much damage elsewhere. Dumbledore had overlooked all of it, even with Harry rushing to point it out.

Hermione felt a chill run through her. It didn't make sense, she thought suddenly. None of it made sense.

How could the brilliant Albus Dumbledore not be aware of the numerous attempts on his life? Dumbledore, who always had the answers for Harry, and yet never revealed them until after the fact? He was the real puppet master - for all that Malfoy had accused Hermione of pulling the strings, she certainly had nothing on Dumbledore. After all, Dumbledore had been the one to introduce Harry to the concept of the Mirror of Erised, seemingly unnecessarily. He'd been the one to discover the diary was a horcrux, four years ago, without speaking a word to its destroyer. He'd been the one to assign Harry occlumency lessons, without bothering to explain why -

Her heart started to race. Dumbledore always knew. He always knew. He'd been absent much of the year - but that didn't explain -

But he hadn't just been absent, had he? She recalled him nearly toppling over as he'd stood in her presence. He was weaker, wasn't he? Dumbledore's hand - she recalled the shrivelled, blackened mass, the way he'd tried to hide it under the cuff of his sleeve. When he'd been in the office with Snape - and the potion -

Had Harry ever answered her question, when she asked about the aftermath of Dumbledore destroying Marvolo Gaunt's ring? No, she realized, Ron had interrupted the question. Harry had never responded when she'd tried to ask if anything was out of place, but of course, if she'd thought about it for even a moment, she would have realized that of course something was. His hand, his charred, mangled hand - surely it was cursed. The potion had to have been for his hand, it was the most logical explanation.

If he'd put on the ring on his hand -

She turned suddenly, racing out of the common room.

Of course, she thought, her blood rushing in her ears as she flew down the stairs of Gryffindor tower. Snape had said to look at the potion, but she hadn't been asking the right questions. The answer she never knew she needed - it was in the potion.

The ring was a horcrux - of course it had been cursed. It must have fought back. The diary had tried to kill Harry - surely the ring had tried to kill Dumbledore. The potion was to fight a curse, a deadly curse - and one of that magnitude, cast by Voldemort himself - how long could Dumbledore have expected to survive it?

She had to get to Malfoy. She had to reach him now, before it was too late.

Draco had retreated to the opposite side of the tower's spiral staircase after casting the mark; he found he couldn't stand to see it, and he considered it better form, anyway, to take solace in the shadows. It wouldn't do, to expose himself immediately to two potential attackers. Instead he waited in concealment, his entire body tense, until he heard it - the sound of a very timely arrival.

He inhaled sharply and held his breath, training his ear for the sound of two voices, and frowning when he only heard one. He peered around the corner from where he remained hidden to confirm, with surprise, that the cloaked figure was alone. Draco was inexplicably convinced that he had heard some whisper of vigorous scuffling, but after concluding that he was likely starting to go a bit mad, he merely raised his wand, angling himself toward the solitary form.

The old man certainly appeared to be alone, resting tiredly against the railing of the tower's balcony.

Expelliarmus.

Draco commanded the spell mentally, waiting to confirm the soaring path of Dumbledore's wand in his direction before he stepped out fully from his hiding place, glancing around again for another's presence. He caught Dumbledore's wand deftly in his left hand while brandishing his own in his right, advancing toward the elderly professor. Oddly enough, it was Granger that Draco tried to channel as he held his wand menacingly between Dumbledore's eyes. It was certainly something he'd seen his father do many times, but there was some elegance to the way Granger had threatened him, not so long ago. He found she was the one he wanted to emulate.

"Where's Potter?" Draco snapped impatiently, glancing around.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said pleasantly, even as he seemed to slip precariously against the railing.

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What's wrong with you?"

"Aside from the young man in possession of my wand?" Dumbledore said whimsically. "Nothing that doesn't normally plague an old man, I'm afraid."

Draco listened again, waiting for evidence of Potter. He knew he should have been relieved at having only one target instead of two, but so far, it all seemed too easy. He was highly suspicious of the lack of challenges that had presented themselves, and found he could not force his unwilling mind to focus on the unarmed man before him.

"We're alone, then?" Draco said unnecessarily, jutting his chin forward brutishly.

"It appears that way," Dumbledore agreed. "Though not for long, I assume?"

"Don't assume, Professor," Draco said sarcastically. "It's unbecoming."

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to twinkle mischievously, even as he struggled to stay upright. "This act, Mr. Malfoy," he commented. "The bravado - it's very well done - although, I must say, we both know you are not a killer."

Draco cocked his head to the side arrogantly. "I think you'll find I'm full of surprises," he said brusquely. "But I take it you know, then?"

"About your task from the Dark Lord?" Dumbledore prompted, shrugging. "Yes, I confess I've known for a while." The august professor winced a little, and Draco felt his resolve waver. He had come here tonight expecting to be attacked - to be defeated, even killed - but the prospect of murdering a helpless old man turned his stomach unpleasantly, more so than he would have anticipated. "You did not hide it very well, at first - though I'll admit to some curiosity, over the past few months."

"You'll 'admit to some curiosity,' then? How generous of you," Draco snorted, scowling. "If you knew, then why didn't you - "

"You know as well as I that I could not interfere," Dumbledore said with a sorrowful sigh. "I feared if I approached you - the Dark Lord might employ the practice of legilimency, and then - "

"You underestimate me, Professor," Draco spat. "Quite impolite, given the circumstances," he added, twitching his left hand on Dumbledore's wand.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore admitted. "Perhaps - and yet, I think you may have overestimated yourself, in this particular instance." He readjusted his slipping stance awkwardly. "I imagine that if you have not yet found it within yourself to kill me, the impulse may never arrive, I'm afraid," he added.

"I have your wand and my own," Draco said quietly. "You are at my mercy."

"I believe it is you who are at my mercy, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said sharply, and Draco thought he glimpsed a millisecond of authority, a flex of power in the old man's gaze. "I am sure you believe that you will be killed, if you do not comply with the Dark Lord's wishes - "

"I don't just believe it," Draco interrupted. "You make it sound like this is all somehow localized to my imagination. He will kill me, and my family - "

"I can hide you, Draco," Dumbledore said simply. "I can save you - "

"Are you bargaining with me, Professor?" Draco shot back, disgusted. "If there was a way out, believe me - I'd have thought of it - "

"Forgive me, Draco," Dumbledore said, giving him a pitying look. "But as an older, and hopefully wiser man, I would hope that is not the truth."

Draco fought back a mirthless laugh. "You can't imagine what I've been through," he said angrily. "You can't imagine what I've endured - what it took, for me to get to this point - "

"You are not the first, Draco, to be led astray - I beg you to reconsider - "

"INCARCEROUS!"

Draco felt the wind knocked out of him as he was thrown backwards suddenly, his extremities bound by a series of thick, twisting ropes. The edges burned into his skin as he fought his restraints, but his struggle produced no outcome.

Ah, he thought, fighting an absurd sense of amusement. This makes much more sense.

Hermione sprinted up the stairs to the astronomy tower, slowing down only as she heard voices. She recognized Malfoy, and Dumbledore - the elder professor sounded feeble and weak, while Malfoy sounded artificially cold - and somehow, it only cemented it in her mind, the wild thought that had occurred to her just moments before.

But only two voices? Then where was -

"Harry!" she gasped quietly, as his face materialized where he stood at the base of the tower's staircase, his invisibility cloak falling away. She and Harry were just below Dumbledore and Malfoy, and she glanced up, catching the glint of Malfoy's hair in the moonlight between the slats in the wooden platform. "Harry - what's - "

"Dumbledore told me leave and get Snape," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He made me promise to follow his orders - to do nothing - but I can't, I can't - "

She could see his clenched fists and she reached out, touching his hand. "Harry - "

"I have to do something, Hermione," he breathed.

There was an opening here - she knew it. Her heart was pounding furiously, but she knew it was now or never.

"Restrain Malfoy," she said, gesturing upward with her chin. "I'll cover you."

Harry fidgeted, as though hesitant to comply. "But Dumbledore said to get Snape - "

"Do it Harry," she hissed. "Go, go now - "

It didn't take much prodding. Harry, ever the hero, bore his role so comfortably, to the point where it was more than second nature - it was who he was, it was in his blood. He raced up the stairs, his wand aimed recklessly at Malfoy's unsuspecting form.

"INCARCEROUS!" he roared, as ropes ejected from his wand and bound Malfoy to the railing behind him.

Dumbledore, Harry, and Malfoy had formed a triangle in the tower's space with Harry at the apex, and Hermione stood behind him at the top of the stairs, trying desperately not to look into Malfoy's grey eyes. She didn't know what she would see in them, as she stood there with her wand out, flanking Harry. She prayed that whatever Malfoy felt, it wasn't betrayal.

Because it wasn't - not for him.

Harry rushed to Dumbledore's side, carelessly letting his wand fall to the ground as he leapt to steady the collapsing professor.

"Hermione," Harry said, gasping. "Hermione - help me hold him - "

She sighed, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said regretfully, raising her wand to his chest.

She watched his eyes widen. "Hermione - Hermione, what are you - "

"Incarcerous," she whispered, as ropes of her own expelled from her wand and bound Harry beside Malfoy. She bent quickly, picking up all three loose wands and pocketing them.

"I love you, Harry," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'd die for you, I would." She paused, watching as Harry's expression swept from shock to horror.

"But I'd kill for him," she whispered hoarsely, finally looking pointedly at Malfoy. His silvery hair was swept back wildly and his grey eyes were dark with confusion, but even in the midst of this madness, he was still hers. The way he looked at her, it was unmistakable. He still calmed her, even as she held them all hostage, and in the moment she had with him, she knew the sacrifice would be worth it. She would not abandon him. She would not allow him to toy with the outcome of his fragile soul.

"This," Dumbledore trumpeted suddenly, collapsing on the ground. "This, I'm afraid, I did not predict."

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said, squaring her shoulders even as she fought back tears. She crouched down next to him, holding her wand out protectively.

"Your death will be the one that launches a war," she explained apologetically, pausing to take a slow, deep breath.

"I intend for it to be on my terms," she finished evenly.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: The Ambush

"Hermione – Hermione, what are you doing?"

Potter was struggling pointlessly against his restraints.

"Granger," Draco said, his voice low. "Granger, don't do this – I told you, I told you this was my burden, not yours – "

"Your burden?" Potter wrenched his body around to try and face Draco. "This is what you've been doing all year? Trying to kill Dumbledore?"

Draco ignored him. "Granger, listen to me," he insisted, trying to keep his voice calm. "I know you think you need to do this for me, but you don't, you don't – "

"Malfoy," she said, sighing deeply. "You don't understand – "

"You knew?" Potter interrupted, looking at Hermione with astonishment. "You told me that he was – Hermione - you lied to me – "

"Potter, please - the grown ups are talking," Draco muttered, fighting to regain Granger's full concentration. "Granger – Granger, just – just let me go, okay? And we can talk about this – "

"No." She shook her head vigorously. "No, both of you – just shut up."

"Hermione – "

"I said shut up," she repeated, glaring at Potter from where she stood over Dumbledore. "You don't know the whole story." Her eyes flicked down to Dumbledore. "Do they, Professor?"

The old man had a placid smile on his face. "You really are the brightest witch of your age, Miss Granger," he said thoughtfully, shaking his head.

She gave him a look of supreme displeasure.

"Granger," Draco said, catching her eye. "Don't – please, Granger, I'm begging you" – and he was, truly – "Don't damage your soul on my behalf." His voice shook as he pleaded with her.

"What is he saying?" Potter said, straining. "Hermione, what is he talking about? Are you – " he stopped abruptly, a look of anguish coming over his face. "Are you helping him, Hermione?"

She hesitated. "You don't understand, Harry," she said hurriedly. "He doesn't have a choice – You-Know-Who is going to kill him, and his family – "

"YOU LIED TO ME!" Potter roared, cutting her off. "How could you lie to me?"

"Harry, Harry – please, listen to me – there's so much you don't know," she said, wincing as though he'd struck her. "I knew you'd overreact - I knew you wouldn't understand – "

"He's one of them, Hermione!" he shouted back. "He's a Death Eater! How can you take his side? How can you – how can you even consider – "

Potter stopped, his face mottled with rage. "Think, Hermione! Think of what he's done – "

"I know, Harry - believe me, I know!" she cried, interrupting Potter and turning her tearful gaze to Draco. "I know, but I love him. I love him," she repeated, softer, shaking her head as though she'd resigned herself to her fate. Draco felt his chest burn at the agony he saw in her golden brown eyes.

"So what?" Potter spat. "Because you love him, you're a murderer now?"

"He's right," Draco said suddenly, finding his voice - loath though he was to agree with Potter. "He's right, Granger. Don't do it."

She sighed heavily. "Dumbledore is dying, Malfoy." Stunned, Draco's eyes fell to the professor for confirmation, but the old man's expression didn't change.

Granger looked sharply at Potter, her eyes widening with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Harry," she added tearfully. "I'm sorry, but he's already dying."

Potter gaped at her. "Wh – what do you mean, he's dying?"

"The ring, Harry, the ring," she said, though Draco did not recognize the reference. "Marvolo Gaunt's ring – it was cursed," she explained gingerly. "You-Know-Who put a powerful curse on the ring, and it's killing him."

Potter blinked vacantly. "The horcrux?"

"Horcrux?" Draco sputtered. "You-Know-Who's horcrux?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter snarled, not bothering to look at him as he kept his eyes trained on Granger. "I don't care how you feel about him, Hermione, you still can't do this - "

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, addressing her for the first time in several minutes and allowing some reasonable stirring of expression in his stormless eyes. "You are correct that I have very little time left." On Draco's right, Potter mewled faintly. "But that doesn't mean that you need to claim responsibility for the task that was forced upon Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes," she said, her voice clipped. "Yes, Professor, it does. Even with the purest of motives, if Malfoy kills you, it will destroy him," she stated flatly. "He's an innocent," she added, biting her lip softly and glancing at him.

"So are you, Hermione," Dumbledore pressed. "So are you - "

"Professor," she interrupted. "You told Harry before that he is protected by his mother's sacrifice," she noted clinically, as though she were answering a question in class. "And I know you believe in the power of love above all else. You know its effects on the laws of magic - so surely you can see it," she said, nodding as though she'd convinced herself. "Surely you can see that if I do it for him - to save him, to protect his soul - if I do it out of love, my conscience is clear."

She closed her eyes and Draco shook his head, the thudding of his heart reverberating in his chest as he wondered what he could possibly have done to earn the loyalty of a witch this extraordinary. What had he done, to earn a woman this remarkable?

Granger sighed deeply before turning her attention back to Dumbledore. "I know you're out of time, Professor," she finished morosely.

"Hermione," Potter interrupted. "How can you possibly know that - "

"Snape was treating him," she said simply. "Right, Professor?" She looked to Dumbledore for confirmation, and he nodded regretfully. "Snape was making him an incredibly powerful healing potion, but a curse like that . . . surely he has only a matter of days," she guessed thoughtfully, eyeing Dumbledore closely. "Perhaps weeks, although I doubt it."

The elderly professor seemed to have difficulty swallowing as both Draco and Potter watched him closely for his response. "Yes, Miss Granger," he said curtly, after a moment or two of silence. "Your estimation is correct."

Potter let out a strangled whimper, hanging his head.

"You have to die tonight, Professor," she said sadly. "If you don't, You-Know-Who will come for Draco and his family." She glanced quickly back to Draco, eyeing him carefully again. She was right, of course, as much as he wished she weren't. Unfortunately for him - unfortunately for both of them - Hermione Granger was almost never wrong.

"I have to be the one to do it," she said firmly, visibly tightening her grip on her wand. "I'm the right person to do it."

"Hermione," Potter croaked, his chest appearing to rise and fall painfully. "Hermione - "

She looked at him sadly. "I don't expect you to understand, Harry." She bit the inside of her cheek guiltily. "I don't expect you to forgive me, either - but I hope you do," she finished, turning her back on both Potter and Draco and crouching carefully beside Dumbledore.

She seemed to be whispering something indistinctly to him, and he back to her, though Draco was unable to discern the details of the conversation. As Granger finally nodded gravely, the motion carrying with it a distinct air of finality, Draco watched her use her free hand to cradle Dumbledore's head, lowering it to the ground and helping the old wizard relax against the wooden floor.

"Are you comfortable, Professor?" Draco heard her whisper tearfully, registering the girlish hesitation in her voice. She reached out to touch the old man's hand, a gesture of both immense sadness and crushing intimacy.

She's too good for me, Draco thought adamantly, struggling against his restraints. I don't deserve her heart.

A small smile flitted across the old professor's lips. "Yes, thank you," he said politely, and she smoothed a stray hair away from his forehead.

"I'll tell him what you said," she assured him quickly, taking a deep breath and standing. She threw her shoulders back carefully, and for a moment Draco couldn't draw breath, seeing her for the glorious, beautiful, fearsome creature that she was.

Draco thought for some reason that there would be some fanfare, some violent tremor or bolt of lightning, but it happened quickly, painlessly.

"Avada Kedavra," she intoned emotionlessly, her voice clear, and Draco watched Potter's face fall as Dumbledore's shallow breathing peacefully ceased.

It took several moments, after watching Granger gently close Dumbledore's eyes and noticing Potter's sudden movement as he stumbled forward, before Draco realized his restraints had vanished. He hesitated, running his hands over his sore wrists, still somehow rooted firmly where Potter had bound him.

Granger was the first to make a motion, taking a small step towards Potter after reaching into her pocket and offering him his wand. "Here," she said, prompting him to take it from her without a single trace of fear. She held her own wand limply at her side, fingering it lightly but pointedly keeping it down. "Go ahead, Harry. I won't fight back, if you need to take it out on me."

Potter eyed her carefully - an odd, unhinged look in his eye - before accepting the offer of his wand from her and slowly raising it to her chest. She nodded, and Draco, finally regaining some sense of clarity, felt a rush of panic flood through him.

He stepped forcibly between the two Gryffindors. "No - no," he said, gritting his teeth. "Potter, if you're angry, it's me you want." He puffed out his chest instinctively, making himself the target. "I never should have put her in this position. It was never supposed to be this way - "

"That's true," Potter spat suddenly, abruptly retraining his wand on Draco. "You're right. You're the Death Eater here," he said, and Draco raised both his hands, inviting the Chosen One's wrath.

"Stop it, you imbeciles!" Granger shouted, jumping between them and shoving Draco's wand against his chest. "Stop - "

"Oh, are we finally fighting Malfoy?"

All three of them turned nervously, jumping apart. Weasley had appeared at the top of the stairs, his wand pointed directly at Draco.

"If we are," Weasley said casually, shrugging as he made his way toward them, "I'm all for it."

Draco sighed crossly. "I knew there was a chance I might die tonight," he grunted to Granger, looking sharply at her. "But if it's Weasley that does it, I'm going to be extremely upset."

She stepped in front of Draco quickly. "Put your wand down, Ron," she sighed, knocking it away with her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry told me to watch the map - I saw Malfoy here with Harry and Dumbledore, and I - "

Weasley seemed to glimpse the body behind them, his face going pale. "Is - is that - "

"Hermione killed him," Potter said brusquely, backing himself against the tower's railing and bringing his hands to his ears as though he couldn't bear to hear the words.

Weasley looked sickened. "You're joking," he proclaimed, his eyes flashing. "It's not funny, Harry."

"It's not a joke, Ron!" Granger cried, looking as though she very much wanted to shake him. "For once, Ronald, I'm going to need you to catch up quickly - "

"And," Potter erupted, laughing mirthlessly, "Hermione's in love with Malfoy." He shook his head, smiling coldly. "Isn't that funny, Ron? Isn't that hysterical - "

But Draco wasn't listening. He suddenly felt an ocean of blood rush through his ears, his body going cold as he remembered what was supposed to have happened in the tower that evening.

"They're coming," Draco said suddenly, the color draining from his face. He turned to Granger, gripping her arms tightly. "Granger, they're coming - "

"You need to leave," Draco declared quickly, whirling around to face Weasley and Potter. "You need to leave, now, you need to take her with you - get her somewhere safe - "

"Who?" Weasley demanded angrily. "Who's coming? Bloody hell, Malfoy, you don't get to - "

"Death Eaters," Draco said, curling his left hand into a fist. "I don't know who specifically, I don't know how many - but none of you were supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be alone - "

"You let fucking Death Eaters into the castle?" Potter rebuked him bitterly.

"Don't even fucking start with me right now, Potter - nobody was supposed to be here," Draco snapped, glaring at him. "I was supposed to" - he swallowed, not wanting to mention Dumbledore - "I had planned to make sure they left quietly. And if you would just leave now - "

"I'm not going anywhere," Granger interrupted angrily, sidling up next to Draco and jabbing her finger into his chest. "I'm staying."

He growled impatiently. "I just want to keep you safe," he said, pleading with her and savagely shaking his head with frustration. "Fuck, Hermione," he swore unexpectedly. "Why is it so hard to keep you safe?"

"You'd be surprised," Potter mumbled indistinctly from behind him.

Granger grabbed hold of Draco's shoulders and pivoted him abruptly to face her, putting her hands on either side of his face. "You can't possibly be stupid enough to think I'm going to leave you," she whispered.

He wanted to resist her. He wanted to curse her, hex her, imperius her, anything to force her to not be a hero for once in her life. But he couldn't, of course. He wouldn't. He loved her.

Fuck. He fucking loved her, intensely and unequivocally.

So instead of doing any of that, he simply pulled her into his arms longingly, allowing himself to feel the flood of relief that always came from holding her.

"Oi!" Weasley shouted, waving his arms. "Did you just say Death Eaters are coming into the castle? How did they - "

"I let them in!" Draco shouted, pulling away from Granger to round on Weasley. "I fucking let them in, okay? I didn't want to," he added, hurriedly cuffing his sleeve and revealing his mark. "I took this fucking Mark to save my fucking father and I didn't have a fucking choice," he ranted, leaning heavily into each word as he swore furiously and waved his wrist in Weasley's face. "And I don't care what you think, or how much you hate me, or whatever else is going on in your witless, daft head, but you need to listen to me and get - the fuck - out."

Draco glanced sharply between Weasley, whose gangly arms hung limply at his sides as he struggled for words, and Potter, who seemingly had yet to recover from earlier events and still leaned quietly against the tower railing, his head bowed soberly. As far as Draco was concerned, he was done explaining himself to either of them.

Draco turned back to Granger. "And as for you - "

"Draco Malfoy, you loathsome cockroach, I am not going anywhere," she hissed. "I already killed a man today," she added darkly, lowering her voice. "There isn't much left to protect me from. And there isn't anything left that I wouldn't do." She stepped forward to take his hand, and he let out a heaving sigh, running his free hand through his hair.

"I love you," he said vigorously, gripping her hand tightly in his as he finally found the courage to tell her. "I love you more than I know how to express in words. I love you for everything you are," he whispered to her, reaching out to touch her cheek. "And I love you for how you've changed me."

Weasley snorted quietly behind him. "There's 'nothing going on,' is there?" he said irritably. "Always did admire you for your honesty, Malfoy."

"Shut up, Weasley," Draco said, leaning forward as Granger threw her arms around his neck. She was shaking a little and he crushed her small frame to his chest, closing his eyes and fighting to absorb her demons.

"Well then," came a cold voice behind them. "Isn't that sweet."

The hair stood up on the back of her neck at the sound of the voice behind her.

"They're here," she whispered, and Malfoy nodded, his arms rigid around her.

"Wand up," he breathed into her ear, and she braced herself as he turned swiftly, so that it was his back instead of hers that faced the intruders.

"Stupefy," she shouted, pointing her wand at the Death Eater who approached them from underneath Malfoy's arm. When the man crumpled to the ground, Malfoy released her quickly, stepping in front of her.

"Amycus Carrow," he muttered. "Not good."

Ron grimaced. "What do you mean, not good - "

"Wand up, Weasley!" Malfoy shouted, as another form materialized at the top of the stairs. "Stupefy!"

The second Death Eater fell to the ground and Malfoy squinted at the body. "Alecto," he said, nodding. "I thought as much."

Hermione fidgeted nervously as the sound of footsteps traveling up the winding staircase grew louder and more rushed; whatever element of surprise they'd once possessed, they surely lacked it now.

"You guys should go," Malfoy panted, gesturing to Ron and Harry. "Hide, or something - "

But the two of them had already flanked her and Malfoy, the four of them forming a protective polygon and instinctively guarding each other's backs. Hermione's heart swelled at seeing the people she loved come together, and she was unspeakably dismayed at having to remind herself of the circumstances of their potentially imminent deaths.

Hopefully this will be our troll in the bathroom moment, she thought earnestly. Terrifying enough to guarantee friendship, but with the added bonus of survival.

"Do we - stun?" Ron asked, uncertain.

Malfoy shook his head. "Do what you have to," he pronounced gloomily. "I guarantee they won't be trying to stun you."

"Just so you know," Harry said sharply, raising his wand where he stood beside Malfoy. "I hate you."

Malfoy scoffed loudly. "Don't make me die for you, Potter," he replied casually, between gritted teeth. Hermione shook her head in disbelief, marveling at this, their shakiest of alliances.

A figure appeared at the top of the stairs and all four of them could see that the intruder's wand was already drawn, pointed upwards.

"Crucio - "

"Stupefy!"

The assailant ducked as Ron's spell flew over their head.

"Sectumsempra!"

"Really, Potter?" Hermione heard Malfoy murmur as Death Eater lunged forward, the curse rebounding off the iron railing behind him.

"Stupefy!"

It was Hermione who finally hit him squarely in the chest, though she had little time to celebrate it.

Perhaps three or more Death Eaters arrived at the top of the stairs, engaging in animalistic battle cries as they lunged forward.

"Stupefy - get out of the way, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled, as he yanked her aside.

"Get behind me," he rasped. "Granger, do it - "

"No!" she shouted, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. "Stupefy!"

They were forcibly separated, with Malfoy and Harry turning their attention to two advancing masked figures while Ron struggled to disarm and subsequently stun his own opponent. Left to her own devices, Hermione looked around frantically, wondering if she was missing someone. She frowned, counting - she'd thought she'd seen at least one more person come up the stairs.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing." The slippery voice came from her left side, and she kicked herself viciously for missing him.

He was large, exceedingly intimidating, and had an indescribable air of homelessness about him, his facial hair untrimmed while the rest of him boasted a general aura of filth. It was the fact that he was wandless, though, that made her brain register his identity. This had to have been Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf - he was notoriously the only Death Eater disciple who did not bear a Mark or carry a wand.

He lunged for her and she yelped, narrowly missing his clutches.

"Stupefy!" she yelled, but he was too quick, too physical. This was precisely her weakness - an unpredictable opponent, and one who would resort to physically overpowering her. This is why she had never believed herself to be capable of winning the duelling tournament; her inadequacies were simply too glaring. She was too dependent on the sophistication of her magic, and had little else at her disposal. She wasn't as creative on her feet as Harry, or as manipulative with her opponent as Malfoy.

Greyback came at her, teeth bared, and she swung out of his reach, ducking to avoid an errant spell from elsewhere in the room. She looked helplessly for an advantage - height, cover, anything - but came up empty, resigning herself to whatever existed in the annals of her mind.

You're the brightest goddamn witch of your age, Hermione Granger, she told herself, clenching her hand into a fist and resolving to face her attacker. Prove it.

"Scourgify," she shouted, aiming for his face. Greyback roared in frustration, swiping blindly as the scouring spell painfully obstructed his vision. She ducked to the side, out of his reach.

"Locomotor Mortis," she hissed, pointing her wand at his legs and locking them together, then clipping him with her elbow and causing him to fall backwards. When he hit the ground, she stepped angrily on his chest, pointing her wand between his eyes.

"Stupefy," she pronounced finally, brushing the hair out of her eyes and watching with gratification as his head lolled backwards.

She looked up just in time to see Harry stun a Death Eater she recognized as Yaxley, as Ron joined him, stepping over the body of the stunned Thorfinn Rowle. She sought out Malfoy's pale blond head and found him across the room, his shoulders rigid as he looked down at the immobilized form of an unknown Death Eater, whose mask remained in place.

She saw a glimpse of silvery blond hair and realized in an instant why Malfoy stood tense and embattled. She walked over to him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

She cleared her throat quietly. "Is it - "

"No," Malfoy said quickly. "I - I thought it might have been him, for a minute." He nudged the body with his foot. "It's just Selwyn." He sighed, shuddering. "Appears he was imitating my father's hairstyle."

Hermione nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his back.

"I thought it was him for a second, though," he whispered hoarsely. "And I - I stunned him anyway," he said, looking at his hands as though he no longer recognized them.

Hermione bit her lip sadly. "Malfoy - "

"Stupefy!"

Hermione and Malfoy turned just in time to see Bellatrix Lestrange gleefully repel Harry's stunning spell.

"Really, Harry Potter?" she giggled coldly. "Haven't you learned your lesson yet?"

"Stup - "

Bellatrix cut him off, cackling, and Harry ducked.

"Crucio!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Stupefy!"

Spells were flung wildly around the room to varying degrees of failure. Ron and Harry were quick to evade Bellatrix's nimble casting, but her repelling spells were far more powerful than any attacks they were able to send her way.

It wasn't until Malfoy cast a protego over Harry and Ron from afar that Bellatrix seemed to even realize he was in the room. Once she did, though, she lost interest in Harry entirely, slamming both Harry and Ron quickly against the far wall of the tower.

"Ah, Draco," she purred. "What's happened here, love?"

She glanced sharply at Hermione, who instinctively held her breath.

"Leave her alone," Malfoy said evenly, speaking in a dangerously low voice.

Bellatrix only smiled maliciously, her eyes sliding away from Hermione's face only long enough to see Dumbledore's body where it lay behind them.

"Well, Draco," she said, drawing out her syllables luxuriously, "it appears you have been immensely successful in at least one area."

He said nothing, though Hermione could see his fingers twitching anxiously on his wand.

Bellatrix held up her hand daintily, making a beckoning motion so imperceptible that Hermione would have missed it, if she weren't entirely hypnotized by fear.

In response, Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it wordlessly at his aunt, an impenetrable frost of determination spreading over his face.

Bellatrix tutted quietly but smiled broadly, showing all her teeth. "As you wish, then," she said, raising her wand. "Crucio - "

"Stupefy!"

All four heads whipped to the top of the stairs at the source of the additional caster, resulting in a collective exhalation of relief. Snape stood impassively, his arm raised with his wand angled down, his spell hitting Bellatrix squarely in the back. At the impact, Bellatrix collapsed at Malfoy's feet, and Harry and Ron made their way to the center of the room, the four of them facing the tall, dark professor with shared curiosity.

It took a moment, but it was Hermione who broke the tension.

"I knew it," she trumpeted smugly, smiling triumphantly. "I knew you were on our side."

She felt Malfoy give a tiny shake of his head beside her, clearly startled by the turn of events.

Snape brought his hand to his face, carefully pinching the area between his eyebrows. "What," he began slowly, closing his eyes with an expression of indescribable frustration. "What have you done?"

"Just met up for a spot of tea," Ron muttered glumly. "You?"

"Does this seem like the time for insubordination, Weasley?" Snape snapped, rounding on him. "What happened here?" His eyes found Dumbledore's limp form in the corner of the tower and he turned slowly to Malfoy. "Draco," he said quietly, "did you - "

"Professor," Hermione ventured, stepping forward. "It was me," she said, fighting to control the vibration in her throat. "I did it." She looked down at her feet. "I finally figured out the potion," she added, biting her lip. "I realized what you were trying to tell me, and I - I had to do something."

His gaze darkened as he eyed her guardedly.

"This," Snape pronounced stormily, "is not what was supposed to have happened."

"Title of my memoir," Harry sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. Snape glared at him.

"We don't have a lot of time," Malfoy pointed out anxiously, interrupting. "They won't stay stunned, obviously. And we can't kill them," he added, eyeing them all carefully in case they'd been considering it, "or the Dark Lord will kill my parents."

"Well what was your bloody plan, Malfoy?" Ron snapped. "Why don't you share it with the rest of the class?"

Malfoy flashed Ron a look that was so startlingly aristocratic that Hermione nearly laughed. "This is nowhere near my plan," Malfoy said airily. "First of all, none of you were supposed to be here - I was supposed to have managed this on my own, and left quietly by now."

"Obviously that's no longer an option," Hermione said pointedly. She looked hopefully at Snape. "What if we call the Order - "

"You can't call the Order," Malfoy said quickly, reaching for her. "Again, he'll kill my parents - and me - "

"We'll hide you, of course," she argued, countering him.

"That doesn't help them," he said brutishly. "And I've already turned on my own side. The only way I survive this is - I don't know," he said, throwing his hands up hastily. "The only way I survive this is if I don't survive it," he deadpanned.

"Easy," Ron said, shrugging. "We fake your death."

"How?" Malfoy parried. "With what body?"

"If we call in the Order," Harry said thoughtfully, "we can just say you died - "

"Sure," Malfoy sneered, dripping with mock enthusiasm. "When You-Know-Who, the most powerful known legilimens that ever lived, asks how his Death Eaters got ambushed by the Order of the Phoenix when I'm the only one who knew about them coming, and they respond with 'oh, but we were told he's dead,' he's definitely going to believe it, he's certainly not going to go straight to the Order to see who's hiding me - "

"We should call the Order anyway," Ron said resolutely. "What else are we supposed to do when these" - he waved his hand around the room, gesturing to the bodies on the floor - "regain consciousness?"

"What about us?" Harry interjected. "What are we supposed to do about Dumbledore's death? We can't explain it. If the Order finds out who did it" - he eyed Hermione warily - "then their protection may no longer apply."

Hermione looked at Malfoy but he only stood with his chin in his hands, his face plainly frozen in an expression of placid exhaustion.

"We're running out of time," Ron reminded them, shaking his head nervously. "What if we - I don't know, what if we just bolt - "

Snape cleared his throat and all four of them turned to him, startled, having forgotten he was still there.

"If I may," he ventured, turning to Malfoy. "Draco, the difference between the truth and what people know to be true is, as I've mentioned before . . . little more than a matter of perception."

Ron and Harry exchanged a puzzled glance.

"We're fucked," Ron pronounced miserably.

Hermione frowned, letting Snape's words sink in. "Not necessarily," she said, biting her lip pensively. She turned to Malfoy, who was regarding her with a thinly veiled air of suspicion.

"Malfoy," she said, cocking her head thoughtfully. "How well do you think you can craft a modified memory?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: The Fallen

The Dark Lord eyed Narcissa Malfoy coldly as she sat quietly in the drawing room of her home, her heart visibly racing. Her pale blue eyes repeatedly slipped to the clock on the mantle, which was ticking so slowly that for a moment Voldemort, too, wondered if time had stopped.

"You seem nervous, Narcissa," he said coolly, stroking Nagini's head slowly. "No faith in your son?"

She swallowed uncomfortably, shaking her head. "I have faith in Draco, my Lord," she said emphatically. She grimaced. "I am merely anxious for his return."

He almost laughed at her, the foolish woman. As though he, Lord Voldemort, could not feel, even now, the images flooding her brain; fears of her son, broken and bleeding, of flashes of green light - the foolish witch had thought of perhaps thirty different ways in only the past few minutes, he noted, that her son might be suffering.

This was the concept of love that Dumbledore always defended - and it was no more than another form of weakness, he thought, eyeing the woman's colorless face. She was paralyzed with fear, fear out of love - and it had made her weak.

There was a series of loud cracks that could be heard from outside and Narcissa stood abruptly, her silk robes rustling as she rushed thoughtlessly through the front door. For his part, the Dark Lord stood slowly, calmly stretching his limbs and letting his long stride carry him purposefully in her wake, still entertained by her obvious inability to contain her absurdly emotional state. At least Lucius, imbecile though he was, had the grace to maintain his composure. Voldemort made a tiny gesture, calling him, and Lucius demurely stepped forward to join him.

His Death Eaters were arriving one by one at the entrance to the manor, each one panting as they apparated in.

"My Lord," Yaxley said, stumbling forward. "My Lord - "

"Dumbledore," Voldemort said simply, cutting him off with a questioning glance. "Is it done?"

"Yes."

Bellatrix stepped forward, falling to her knees before him. "It's done, my Lord," she said passionately, bowing her head.

Voldemort reached down, caressing her cheek. It had surprised even him, to find that his most useful lieutenant was a woman. "Excellent," he whispered soothingly, turning to reenter the home.

"Wait," Narcissa called. Voldemort winced at the sound of her shrill concern. "Where's Draco?" she croaked weakly.

"Ah, yes," Voldemort uttered quickly, having forgotten about the rest of his troops. He cared little about the answer, but considered for a moment that it would be unseemly not to at least provide some semblance of remorse, particularly if the young Malfoy heir had fallen. "Where is Draco?"

"Where is my son, Bella?" Narcissa cried, rushing forward and clinging to her sister. "Where is he? Where is Severus - "

"Draco is gone," Bellatrix responded flatly, her eyes expressionless. "And Severus remains at Hogwarts, making arrangements," she added, her lips curling up as she glanced lasciviously at Voldemort. "Preparing to bring about a new age of magical education, one without such slavish dedication to Dumbledore's weak-hearted morals - "

"Gone?" Narcissa slipped slowly to her knees, still clutching Bella's robes. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"Dead," Bella pronounced vacuously. She reached into her robes and removed the young Malfoy's wand, pressing it carelessly into her sister's hands. "But you should be proud, Cissy, that his last act was one of triumph - "

Narcissa fell the remaining distance to the ground, clutching her son's wand and collapsing forward. Beside him, Voldemort felt Lucius go rigid, and he glanced sharply at the blond man's sallow appearance.

"Draco killed Dumbledore?" Voldemort mused, surprised by this information. He had never truly expected the boy to succeed. "You witnessed this?" he asked, turning to Bellatrix and focusing on her mind.

He let the tendrils of his magic slip into her thoughts, probing her. She was clearly not imperiused - that much would have been exceedingly obvious right away. Her thoughts, like always, seemed a little bit unhinged and disjointed, but nothing else seemed jarringly abnormal. He frowned.

"Tell me what happened," he commanded, facing the remainder of his Death Eaters. "Yaxley," he growled, swooping in front of him. "Tell me what happened."

Yaxley was a particularly nervous creature, and Voldemort was reasonably confident that it would be easy to read any of his subtexts.

"Y-yes, my Lord," the man said, shaking slightly. "We arrived in Hogwarts via the vanishing cabinet that Draco repaired - "

"I know this," Voldemort snapped, not sensing any mental disruption in him so far. "Continue."

"Severus met us there and accompanied us to the Astronomy Tower," Yaxley continued. "Draco had conjured the Dark Mark over the tower. A ruse, I believe - to draw Dumbledore to him."

Clever, for an amateur. "And?"

"Dumbledore was already dead. When we arrived, Draco was standing over him," Yaxley said, his resolve unwavering. Voldemort thought he detected a slight change in the tint of Yaxley's memories, some kind of unidentifiable shift, but he couldn't be certain.

"And then?" he prompted, waving his hand impatiently for Yaxley to continue.

"Harry Potter was there," Yaxley said, his voice hushed as he spoke the name. "He and his friends - and the Order of the Phoenix - "

"The Order?" Voldemort's stomach turned. "Why was the Order there?"

"Harry Potter is a nosy child," Bellatrix sniffed. "Draco told me Potter had been following him, stalking him - "

"Still," Voldemort said, narrowing his eyes. "For them to have been there - "

"The Order fought back," Yaxley interrupted. "Many of us were forced to duel - in truth, I don't recall seeing the boy fall - "

"It was Potter that did it," Amycus interrupted, joining the fray. "I saw him. He's the one who killed Draco."

"Harry Potter?" Voldemort repeated slowly, taken aback. "You're trying to tell me that Harry Potter killed Draco?"

"The rest of the Order - they were telling him not to, trying to convince Draco to join their side - telling him they could save him - "

"Foolish," Voldemort interrupted, muttering to himself. He looked intently at Amycus. "You saw Potter cast the Avada, then? You saw it happen?"

"I did, too," Alecto added, stepping beside her brother. "I saw him. Potter was furious - 'You murdered Albus Dumbledore,' he said, and 'He was the greatest wizard who ever lived' - "

Voldemort bristled at this and scowled. "It seems highly unlikely that Harry Potter would use the killing curse," he said suspiciously. "If you are lying - "

"We all saw it," Bellatrix interjected. "My Lord, we saw it happen - "

"The body, then," Voldemort pronounced. "Where is the body?"

"Burned," Bellatrix said, her eyes flashing maniacally. "We blew up the tower as we left - blew it right up!" she repeated, giggling. Voldemort could see the image clearly in her mind, the tower ablaze as she ran. "We took the cabinet back to Borgin's and apparated here - except Fenrir, for obvious reasons - "

"I don't care about the werewolf," Voldemort snapped abruptly. Without a wand, Fenrir Greyback would not have apparated with them, and it did not matter. Voldemort did not care for him.

Voldemort closed his eyes, trying to focus on the flashing images before him as he surreptitiously hunted in their thoughts. They all seemed to have shared the same experience, aside from Yaxley, who had been stunned by Kingsley Shacklebolt and saw very little. That made sense, Voldemort admitted reluctantly, with Shacklebolt being the superior wizard. Rowle, Alecto, and Amycus had faced off against a couple of redheaded blood traitors - Mad-Eye had faced Bella - yes, Voldemort thought, seeing the image of the Malfoy boy falling, it did appear to have been Potter - and he saw Severus shaking them, rushing them, as more Order members seemed to arrive - Severus pressed Draco's wand into Bella's hand - "Give it to Narcissa," he shouted, and even in Bella's memory, her ears were ringing - "tell her I'm sorry - they're coming" - and he had turned - "confringo!" - and they'd all witnessed it as the tower burned, pieces of it crumbling, littering the castle's hallowed ground -

The memories were wild and disjointed, but they each rang with consistency and truth -

"'Tell her I'm sorry,'" Narcissa mouthed with disgust, suddenly enraged. "That's it?" She looked down at the wand in her hand, running her fingers along the wood and muttering to herself. "Hawthorn wood, unicorn hair. This is Draco's," she whimpered softly. "I am sure this is his wand - "

"We gained far more tonight than we lost," Voldemort reminded her, impatient with her snivelling. "Your son died tonight, but for a great cause - "

Narcissa looked up, her blue eyes slick with unshed tears. "For your cause," she spat furiously. "How dare you - "

"Cissy," Bella hissed, yanking her sister up by the back of her robes. Narcissa staggered back against her, eyes still wild with anguish and rage.

Lord Voldemort was no fool; he knew there was danger here, in an angry, powerful witch with nothing left to live for. Dumbledore would have called it love, fool as he was; but Dumbledore had never understood the power that came from feeding someone's hatred. Nothing furthered a movement like revenge.

"You are angry, Narcissa, and you should be," he said, his voice slippery. "But I am not the one who cast the killing curse over your boy, am I? No," he reminded her, "it is Harry Potter who bears that responsibility - not I . . . "

He turned to the rest of his Death Eaters. "We shall make Draco Malfoy a martyr," he announced, raising his arms. "The Order, and their sympathizers - these people believe Harry Potter to be the Chosen One, but he is no saint." Heads started to nod around him. "How can the people rally around a murderer? The Boy Who Lived is now the Boy Who Killed, responsible for the death of a young, talented, pureblood heir," he reminded them carefully. "We will plaster every inch of this country with reminders of who Draco Malfoy was," he pronounced, smiling insincerely at Narcissa. "Everyone will know his face, and everyone will mourn him."

"The world will weep for the Malfoy name," he concluded, eyeing the pale blonde witch.

Bellatrix wrenched her sister upright, nodding vehemently at every word her master spoke even as Narcissa seemed to have been struck dumb with sorrow.

"You honor our family, my Lord," Bella said passionately. "You are too good, too kind to us - "

"Who do we have at the Daily Prophet?" Voldemort interrupted quickly, glancing around. "Get them. Bring them all."

"We have an obituary to craft," he added, eyeing Lucius's bowed head.

"Severus - Severus, why are you running - "

"No time, Minerva," he said breathlessly. "Wake the students - "

"What?"

"Albus is dead, Minerva - he's been killed."

Her eyes went wide and she clutched her chest anxiously, opening her mouth to speak, though he promptly cut her off.

"I'm sorry, Minerva, but I don't have time - you must wake the prefects now - "

"We must inform Potter," she said somberly, rooted in place. "He was with Albus last - "

"Potter's gone," Snape panted urgently, trying to push past her. "Minerva, please - "

"Weasley, then - "

" - can't - "

" - or Granger - "

" - gone - "

"Severus!"

Something about the urgency in her voice forcibly ripped him back to the present and he stopped walking, finally turning to face her.

"What do you mean, they're gone?" she asked, a pained expression visible beneath her narrow spectacles.

There was a knock at the Burrow and Molly opened the door anxiously.

"What's happened, Remus?" she asked worriedly, clutching nervously at her collar.

He nodded ambiguously behind her, gesturing at the Order members who had already arrived. "May I come in?" he asked simply, as though trying, even in the face of everything that had happened, to maintain some semblance of manners.

"Yes, yes," she said hurriedly, backing up to allow him entry. At his arrival, Fred and George stood, and Remus threw a quick nod in their direction. Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Arthur were also among those already present.

"It's not good," Remus said quietly. "It's, in fact, much worse than we feared."

Molly let out a slow exhale. "I'll get some tea," she said faintly, rushing to the kitchen.

Remus sat, sighing. "I'll probably need something stronger," he said with a wry grimace.

Tonks rose, placing her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "Just tell us what happened," she said gently. "Have you spoken with Snape?"

"Yes," Remus said, closing his eyes. "Dumbledore has been killed."

There was a collective gasp in the room, as well as a sorrowful grunt from Mad-Eye. "Something stronger, Molly," he yelled into the kitchen, before turning back to Remus. "Was it as he suspected?"

"Yes," Remus said curtly. "It was the Malfoy boy that did it."

"Draco Malfoy?" Fred said, confused. "The kid's a little shit, but there's no way - "

"There were multiple witnesses," Remus said quickly. "It seems young Mr. Malfoy's life was threatened by the Dark Lord."

"How could Albus Dumbledore fall to a sixth year student?" George asked, his face fraught with utter disbelief. "The great Albus Dumbledore? It doesn't make sense - "

"Albus?" Molly said, arriving in the doorway with a tray full of mugs. "Albus is gone?"

"I said to bring something stronger, Molly!" Mad-Eye barked, but she only stood still, dumbstruck.

"Where's Harry?" she asked instantly. "Why haven't we heard from him? Or Ron?"

Remus hesitated, quickly averting his eyes. "Dumbledore wasn't the only casualty," he said agitatedly. "Draco Malfoy has also been killed."

Molly blinked. "How sad," she commented insincerely. "But - "

"Harry - " Remus sighed, bowing his head solemnly. "They are saying Harry killed him."

There was a crash as the tray slipped from Molly's hands, the porcelain shattering at her feet.

"No," Fred and George exclaimed in unison.

" - he didn't, Harry's not a murderer - "

" - and this is about the hundredth time Harry's been accused of some vile crime he didn't commit - "

"I know," Remus said quickly, raising his hands in defeat. "I know this - of course. Dumbledore himself said that Harry was the best hope we had - "

"The boy's not a killer, Remus!" Mad-Eye said quickly. "He's not got a murderous bone in his body. There's no way that's true."

"I know, I know," Remus insisted. "I'm only telling you what I know. The Death Eaters say they witnessed it, but I - "

"Where is Harry now?" Molly asked again, feverishly. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

Remus looked supremely uncomfortable. "Nobody knows," he said shortly. "It - it appears that they fled Hogwarts," he added hesitantly. He met the group's curious eyes with a sharp, nervous glance. "I'm not saying they ran, of course - "

"But that's exactly what you're suggesting!" Fred said, standing. "Listen to yourself - "

"I am really not in a position to make any assumptions about what happened," Remus snapped. "All I know is when Draco Malfoy killed Dumbledore, Harry was with him, and - " he stopped, as though suffering from preemptive guilt, " - and we do know how Harry gets, when he's angry - he did try the cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange - "

" - and he and Draco never got on very well," Tonks interjected quietly.

The others looked at her in horror.

"Tonks," Fred pleaded, "You can't possibly think - "

"Well, I don't want to!" she cried defensively. "I love Harry, I do, and I would never have thought - but we don't know the whole story," she reminded them. "He - he might have had a reason - perhaps he was being threatened - "

She looked around nervously, recognizing that hers was the unpopular opinion. "I'm not saying it wasn't called for!"

"Still," Arthur said severely, speaking for the first time. "It is quite a statement, to say Harry Potter might be capable of murder."

They all marinated in silent agreement.

"Why wouldn't they come here?" Molly asked, her voice shaky with fear. "Why wouldn't they come straight to us?"

Remus frowned grimly. "That's the question, isn't it?" he remarked, folding his hands quietly in his lap.

There was another pause as they all considered it.

"So we have no Dumbledore," Mad-Eye summarized gruffly. "And no Chosen One."

George leaned his elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes tiredly and looking around. "Well, gang," he sighed loudly. "What do we do now?"

"It had to be brooms," Granger muttered, swerving slightly in the air.

"Sorry, Hermione," Potter said, eyeing her with regretful amusement. "I've still got the trace - "

"I know, I know," she grumbled, sighing. "It's not like this is the worst thing that's happened so far today."

"Fair point," Weasley said obnoxiously. She glared at him, and he smiled weakly. "Well," he added quickly, "It could certainly be worse. You could be dead, like him," he added, gesturing over his shoulder to their blond companion.

Draco Malfoy was, in fact, very much alive. More alive than he could remember being in at least a year, actually.

He glided smoothly between Granger and Weasley, leaning back on his broom and brushing her shoulder comfortingly.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked her quietly, his fingers resting on the inside of her arm.

"Yes, although I don't know how you're managing that," she replied quickly, eyeing the way he comfortably relied on one hand to steer.

He shrugged. "Been on a broom all my life," he said simply, raising both hands in the air and grinning mercilessly at the panicked look that washed over her face.

"And yet it only took about fifteen minutes for me to learn to outfly you," Potter called smugly from Weasley's other side.

Granger groaned. "We're off to a magnificent start," she snorted, shaking her head and bumping into Draco. "Oops," she said apologetically, biting her lip and trying to straighten her grip.

"Here," he said, placing his hand carefully on top of hers where it gripped the broom, relaxing her fingers and adjusting her position. She looked at him gratefully, smiling at his touch, and he left his hand there for a moment, eyeing the way she shone.

"Look," Weasley erupted rudely, "There are still a lot of unresolved issues here - I'd rather not have to watch this - "

"Shut up, Weasel," Draco snapped, lightly gripping Granger's arm and causing her to slow down. The two of them fell back at his pacing, flying somewhat comfortably next to each other behind Potter, who led, and Weasley, who glared at Draco over his shoulder.

"Really," Draco said, giving her a concerned look. "How are you doing?"

"I don't know, honestly," she replied, shivering. "I just - I can't even process everything that's happened."

He paused, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts. "You really are so brilliant," he said, shaking his head. "It's - you're amazing. You really are."

He caught her rolling her eyes. "You're the one who did the memory charms - and the modified visions - "

"I have a lot of practice swimming around in other people's minds," he reminded her darkly. "Imperius curse, legilimency, false visions - "

"I know," she interrupted, cutting him off quickly. "Don't dwell on that."

"I could say the same to you," he said delicately, and she bit her lip sadly.

"I thought it would be harder than it was, honestly," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Somehow, I think that was the worst part. I - "

She stopped, and he knew she was reliving it. "I didn't feel anything," she admitted after a moment, shuddering quickly. "Shouldn't - shouldn't I have felt something?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Shouldn't it have hurt me, to take someone's life?"

He knew this was a question for him, and him alone. She would never be able to share these thoughts with Potter, who was nearly too sanctimonious to function, or Weasley, who lacked the capacity to grasp even the simplest concepts. In so many unpredictable, twisted ways, she and Draco shared the experience of being the instruments of horror. Nobody else would ever understand.

"I don't know," he answered sincerely, and he saw a flicker of pain in her eye. "But you did it selflessly," he said quickly, "and you were right. Better for it to be on your terms, in the end," he insisted firmly. "You spared him a death at the hands of the Dark Lord himself, which surely would have been cruel, or at the hands of Fenrir Greyback, which would have been gruesome."

He covered her hand with his again. "I think you did him a favor, honestly," he said, and he meant it.

She smiled wistfully. "I'd like to convince myself that's true, but I don't know." She looked down sadly. "I'm sorry about your wand, by the way - "

"No, no, that was brilliant," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "There had to be some proof - if they have my wand, that's as close as I can get to being dead without a body. And at least I have one to use," he added, though he twitched uncomfortably at the thought of the dead Headmaster's wand in his pocket.

She looked equally uncomfortable. "Yes," she agreed uncertainly.

"I'm surprised Potter volunteered himself as a target, though," he admitted.

She eyed him sharply. "That's because you don't know him very well," she said bluntly. "He's probably most at home with a bullseye on his back."

Draco sniffed skeptically. "Idiot," he muttered.

"You'll thank him for it, someday," she chided him softly.

He looked at her indignantly. "I am not above gratitude, Granger," he insisted. "I'll thank him for it now, I just also want to punch him in the face."

"Oh for heaven's sake," she sighed, exasperated. "I don't know how we're going to get through this."

'We're going to be fine," he said, turning to look over his shoulder. The castle had long since disappeared, but he felt for a moment that he could still sense it.

"Everything is going to change, isn't it?" she asked sadly, following his gaze.

"Yes," he said instantly, nodding. "Yes," he repeated adamantly, "and I couldn't be more fucking relieved."

"It's only going to get harder from here," she reminded him sternly. "We have to find those horcruxes. I'm not going to leave Harry - "

"I know - "

" - and I'm not going to stop fighting him," she added, her face taking on a stony look of determination. She had the heart of a lion, his witch.

"I know." He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I know all of that."

He sat up on his broom, stretching his arms out and feeling the wind blow through his fingers. Admittedly, the future looked bleak, as far as any of them could estimate. They were essentially alone, the four of them, and they didn't even all get along - not to mention that he still felt some responsibility to his family; to his mother, specifically, for having left her vulnerable.

And there was always a chance that the Dark Lord would find the traces of his manipulation in the Death Eaters' memories. There was a chance Potter was wrong, that the Order would believe that he'd killed him, and then they'd have both sides after them. There was, of course, a chance someone would realize Draco was still alive. There was now even a chance he'd be killed in some new and ridiculous half-baked plot that Potter might concoct to destroy the Dark Lord. There were chances for terrible, unspeakable consequences, and they were limitless.

But Draco Malfoy knew one thing for certain - there was nothing for him but Hermione Granger, and he'd just have to accept the consequences that came with knowing that.

Willingly, even.

"How do you feel?" she asked him, smiling a little at the way he reveled in the wind in his face.

"How do I feel?" he repeated, his eyes fluttering open to look at her. "I feel . . . "

He touched her cheek, an unexpected smile settling comfortably across his face. "I feel like I'm finally clean."

THE END

Author's Note:

First, and most importantly: the story isn't over. I didn't originally intend to write a sequel, but obviously the plot got away from me a little bit, and our characters went on a bit of a wilder ride than I expected. So, say hello to the sequel: Marked.

Summary: 

Two dead. Three missing. The Order is down a leader and another innocent takes the Mark. Where is the Chosen One, and who killed Draco Malfoy? Dramione, sequel to "Clean."

I'm leaving you with a brief excerpt (in here as Chapter 31), and you can find Chapter One posted NOW (or in progress if you are reading this within 30 minutes of me posting it). I may take a few extra days off but most likely "Marked" will be updated every 3 days, as "Clean" was. Please continue to read and review, because you are all the best people in the entire fandom! Hope you enjoy the new story as much as you (hopefully) enjoyed this one.

If you have any questions about anything, you can ask or message me on Tumblr. Username is olivieblake - one word, no punctuation. I'm happy to talk about this story or the sequel, should you have any thoughts.

LASTLY, I am not super great at self-promotion, so if you follow any Dramione or HP fic recommendation communities/blogs/groups, I would be oh so grateful if you would submit or recommend this story. I do think it turned out pretty well and I am proud of it, and I hope you guys feel the same way. Thank you so, so much for an amazing first fan fic experience!

Chapter Text

Chapter One: The Muggle

The tall, lanky Slytherin eyed his reflection in the mirror with displeasure.

The issue wasn't that he didn't look good in black; he did, without question - though he wasn't the sort to note such things aloud. It was more an issue of what the black meant.

Because Theo Nott refused to believe that Draco Malfoy was really dead.

"Impossible," he'd said, blinking. "That's - it's just impossible."

Blaise had reached out a hand to comfort him, and Pansy had glanced up through her tear-sprinkled lashes.

"I know, Theo," she'd said, her voice scratchy from crying. "It's heartbreaking. We all loved him - "

"No," he corrected her roughly. "You wanted his last name, and you" - he snapped, turning to Blaise - "you didn't even know what was going on with him all of last year, did you?"

Blaise looked taken aback. "Theo, what - "

"Don't pretend like you cared about him," Theo ranted angrily. "You didn't know. None of you knew."

But Theo knew.

First, there was Potter.

Potter, kill Draco?

Only in a world where nothing makes sense.

Though nothing did make sense, honestly - Potter and Weasley and Granger were gone.

Theo had seen Draco's face when he looked at Granger at the House Ball, like he'd never seen anything like her. Theo had seen Draco's face when he would glance up every so often, in the library or the dining hall or the classroom, nodding thoughtfully to himself as though assuring himself that everything was okay, because he'd assured himself that she was still in the room. Theo had heard the tremor in Draco's voice every time he'd denied it, denied her, denied everything - only to hold firm when he finally told Theo to keep her safe. 

And Theo had seen Granger's face, when Draco would look back at his books and she would glance up nervously, biting her lip when she saw his bent head. Theo saw Granger run through the castle with Draco's blood on her hands, watched her hold back her tears as she sat in silence, hiding. Theo had seen the sparkle in her eye when he'd told her about a Draco she'd never known, and he heard the regret in her voice when she spoke, knowing she'd never know him. Theo had watched her look to Draco for strength and he'd watched Draco look to her for comfort and Theo knew - he knew - that it was not fucking likely that she'd bail with his killer.

"She's Potter's best friend" - no, fuck that. if Granger was gone, Draco was with her. Theo was sure of it.

Draco Malfoy was not dead. He couldn't be.

"Tell me what really happened up there," he'd demanded, throwing his books down angrily and confronting Professor Snape.

He hadn't even had the decency to look cornered.

"You already know what happened, Mr. Nott - "

"Bullshit - "

"Theo - "

"Tell me the truth!" he yelled, thumping his fist angrily against his chest. Come at me.

It seemed like everything Theo did now was a challenge, a dare. Lie to me, his face said. Lie to me, and see how I take it.