Various Storms and Saints

“

And what’s the difference between a butterfly and a moth, Miss Mione?” Mr. Granger asked his little girl.

She looked up at him, bright and doe-eyed. Her curls got caught in the wind, untamed and wild as they always were. The butterfly in her father’s hand flapped precariously.

“A butterfly,” she started, her voice high and filled with pure joy. “is prettier than a moth.”

Mr. Granger laughed heartily. “Many people would agree with you, I reckon. What if I told you I think the moth is prettier?”

Hermione placed her tiny, olive hand on her father’s, allowing the butterfly to climb onto her chubby finger. She lifted the sunset-coloured creature to her face. The spindly antennae tickled her nose and a giggle the sound of bells escaped her.

“Moths are just grey and boring, daddy, you can’t like moths more.” Everything she said, she was sure of, from a very young age. Hermione was always very matter-of-fact, even when her parents disagreed with her.

“Why not?” he challenged. “Do the moths deserve less love because they are not beautiful?”

She looked at the little bug as it flew away towards the endless blue sky. “No, that would be mean. But what if the butterfly is nicer than the moth, should we like it more then?”

Her father smiled. “Of course. It does not matter what the creature looks like if it is not kind. You could see the most wonderful thing in the world and it could have a black heart inside. But I ask you this, my dove, what if the moth were kinder than the butterfly? Do we grant it less love because of how it looks?”

Hermione shook her head and her mess of acorn brown hair bounced around her. “Never!”

“Never!” her father repeated jovially as he scooped her up in his arms. She giggled as he attacked her with tickles and kisses on her chubby cheeks. The little girl, after the events of a tickle fest, wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. He leaned his head in and brushed their noses together in an eskimo kiss. Hermione moved her head quickly, always trying to maximize the amount of nose kisses from her father.

“Thomas! Hermione! Lunchtime!” Mrs. Granger’s clear voice rang out.

“Race me, daddy!” the little one exclaimed.

Mr. Granger put her on the ground again and took his running stance. He looked at Hermione, who was in a little squat with her arms squared, honey brown eyes intensely determined to win. A flicker of pure love and adoration crossed his eye as he looked her tangled curls and fighting spirit.

“Go!”

Hermione ran in a waddle, her toddler legs only carrying her so quickly. Mr. Granger ran slow on purpose, as always.

“C’mon, Miss Mione!” Her mother stood at the back entrance of the garden with her arms held out. Her own curly brown hair and olive skin shimmered in the mid-afternoon sun as she smiled at her daughter.

Hermione jumped into her mother’s arms and her cheeks were pressed with kisses filled with the most love a parent could muster. She giggled and she smiled and her world was wonderfully perfect. She had mummy and daddy and she had her little back garden were her imagination roamed free.

Years later, Hermione would look back on her memories. She would see the tall tree she fell out of when she was five, never again daring to climb it. She would spot the wooden bench under said tree that she would spend countless hours reading under; from Jane Austen at the mere age of eight to the History of Magic when she was fourteen. Hermione was at peace in her little garden as the sun would beat down on her and her parents would beg her to come inside and put down a book for once.

And yet, at four or fourteen, she hadn’t known that she would have her last moment of peace in that back garden at seventeen years old. During the Christmas holiday of her sixth year, where the snow met her ankles and the biting cold she was never fond of met her for her last moment of utter stillness; where nothing else in the world mattered but the blue sky and the birds, she had had her last moment of joy.

Hermione had lost her peace.

...

It was dawn, just before dawn, where the coral hues of early morning met the utter blackness that was night. It was always cold this early in the day but that was partly why Hermione stayed up. The cold was a feeling, it was tangible and indisputable. She needed the cold to tell her that she was still feeling, if nothing else.

The Burrow became especially chilly, being amongst a forest, the air became a bit crisper and creatures would roam more frequently. Sat on a log with her knit sweater pulled tightly around her, she watched as dawn turned to early morning. Then a little moth fluttered around her before landing on her hand. She looked down at the small insect with its grey pattering and little wings. She reckoned moths could be beautiful. Though they were more beautiful with her father, the Weasleys couldn’t compare.

Hermione felt guilty staying with them, she had been since the war ended. Molly already had enough on her plate, arranging a funeral for Fred, consoling the lost soul that was George. Charlie, the second eldest Weasley son, had come to stay at the Burrow as well, attempting to aid in Molly and Arthur’s woes. Ron was there too, of course, attempting to aid in Hermione’s woes.

She didn’t want to be consoled or pitied. More often than not she would shrug Ron off and cut him off mid-sentence by walking away. She knew it was hateful but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He didn’t seem affected by the war, none of them did, except maybe George. He’d lost more than a brother. The Burrow became suffocating to Hermione, with the amount of gingers rushing around, constantly loud. She rarely slept. Even at night the house creaked, the Weasleys never settled.

Her other option was joining Harry at Grimmauld Place. Though, it wasn’t much an of option in her head. Ginny had joined Harry most days and she didn’t want to interrupt their blossoming relationship. If anyone deserved to be happy after the war, it was Harry. Hermione wouldn’t get in the way of that.

So she sat in the early summer morning listening to the bees beginning to buzz and the chirping of newly awakened birds. Her skin prickled with goose pimples as a soft breeze blew through her dense hair. She stared mindlessly at nothing, her eyes were rarely in focus whenever she had the chance to be still. When the opportunity to turn off presented itself, she took it wholeheartedly.

But her stillness was obstructed by a crazed owl, Errol, who rammed into her at full speed.

“Bloody bird,” she mumbled as he fell back onto the log.

In his mouth was a stack of three identical letters. She took them out and stared blankly at the most recognizable scrawl.

Ms. Hermione Granger

The Living Room of the Burrow

Devon, England

A letter from Hogwarts. The other two were addressed to Ron and Ginny. Hermione shoved the letters back in Errol’s beak and he flew crooked into the house. She ran her thin fingers over the embossed closure; the Hogwarts crest. Chewing on her bottom lip, she debated on whether or not to open it. Hogwarts was constantly on her mind, everything she saw...did. Her memories flew around her mind like Cornish pixies. This letter was hardly a sigh of relief.

Dear Ms. Hermione Granger,

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is inviting you to return home for your eighth year. Over the past few months, since the miraculous defeat of the Dark Lord, Hogwarts has been reconstructed to its former glory. Though, we have not forgotten the lives lost or the terrible memories the castle may hold for many of us. We acknowledge the heartache though we also acknowledge that life continues on in the midst of grief. Hogwarts is home to so many of us who deserve the opportunity for closure. We invite our seventh years, the potential to finish their studies and take their NEWTs at the end of the school year.
This is less of an offer and more of a mandate. Minister Shacklebolt is requiring that all students return to Hogwarts for the upcoming year. If there is any cause for concern, please see the attached form from the Ministry of Magic.
Your professors look forward to welcome you home.

Signed,
Minerva McGonagall
Hogwarts Headmistress

Post Script

I am pleased to inform you, Ms. Granger, that you have been granted the role of Head Girl this upcoming year. You would be pleased to hear that your Head Boy will be none other than Mr. Harry Potter. We hope to see you soon.

Home. They nearly beat that word to death in the bloody letter. Hogwarts was never home to Hermione. She had been overjoyed when she got her first letter, so much so that she cried for days. That didn’t stop her from her never ending research on magic, she read through the tears. But Hogwarts was just her school. It was where she made the greatest friends of her life and learned more than she ever thought possible but, it was never home.

Home was in London. In a townhouse between mad old Mrs. Kittering and a bread shop. Home was the little back garden not the unnerving expanse of the hills of Scotland.

And the title of Head Girl. It was a joke.

She looked at the second page and merely glanced over the ministry mandate, catching words and phrases; ‘...we understand...’, ‘...hope to recover...’, ‘...close evaluation...’. It was all shite to her. It meant nothing.

“You’re up early.”

Hermione didn’t respond as Ginny sat next to her. She could feel her looking before Ginny wrapped a blanket around both of them. Hermione looked down to see she had her own opened letter in her freckled hands.

“Any thoughts on this?”

Hermione shrugged. “It was always coming wasn’t it?”

“I thought the sixth years would end up going back no matter what,” Ginny said. “But, you shouldn’t be forced to. Did you read the mandate?”

“No.”

She eyed Hermione carefully. Ginny had been doing that since May 3rd, the day after the war; watching Hermione so closely that the curly haired girl felt scrutinized rather than cared about.

“Well, are you going to read it?”

“I don’t know, Ginny,” Hermione bit. “It’s probably all nonsense anyway.”

They were silent after that. Conversations with Hermione never lasted very long. She stopped bothering with polite exchanges and small talk, it was futile. At first, she was worried about coming off as flippant but after a while, the paralyzing emotions took over and she couldn’t bother to worry about anything.

The front door shut loudly behind them followed by a roaring yawn and footsteps that could rival a centaur’s.

“Alright girls?” Ron asked as he sat on the opposite side of Hermione.

“Yeah, get your letter?” Ginny asked.

He nodded once. “I did.” His gaze shifted from his little sister to Hermione who was staring straight ahead, eyes coming in and out of focus. “Least we’ve got about a month to get ready.”

“Sixteen days,” Hermione said mindlessly.

“What?” Ron asked.

She sighed. “We have sixteen days until September first, not a month.”

Ginny offered a smile. “Sixteen days is more than enough time. We’ll make it fun again! Go to Diagon Alley, hopefully Harry won’t mess up the floo again.”

Ron laughed. It was disheartening, hearing him laugh, because it was the same laugh it had always been. Always full and rounded and hearty, it was a laugh that had brought comfort to Hermione once.

Abruptly, she shoved the blanket off her shoulders with the letter in her hands and stood up. She looked back at the two gingers and noticed how pink their cheeks were, how red their hair was. Even their freckles, like cinnamon splattered on a canvas, seemed to be more striking. It made her stomach churn.

“I’ll see you in sixteen days then.”

Never had Hermione thought that she would turn to substance to mask her irreversible emotional damage. She was always anti-alcohol, anti-fags. Whenever there was a party in the Gryffindor common room after a quidditch game when everyone would be passing around butterbeer and fire whiskey, she would stay far away from it. She knew the alcohol content of every drink that was stowed away in the bookshelves of the common room by heart, she couldn’t curb her curiosity but to know. Now, she knew the the percentage of every drink in a liquor store and anything less than fifteen percent wasn’t good enough.

The bell of the corner shop door rang sharply as she walked in. The large man behind the plexiglass gave her a wary eye. With her hood up and the jumper zipped up to her chin, she bee-lined for the liquor aisle. Her eyes danced over the plethora of bottles of every size, shape, and colour until they landed on the cheapest bottle of MD wine. It was the least shitty tasting for the cheap price and best of all, it fit in a brown bag. Grabbing the fat bottle, she headed towards the till.

“Pack of lucky strike,” Hermione mumbled as she slid the wine onto the counter. Eyeing a random bag of crisps, she tossed them aside the bottle.

“ID?” the large man asked.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip as she pulled out an old playing card she glamoured to look like a license. The man looked between her and the card several times, his eyes narrowing fiercely.

“Mildred?” he questioned.

She shrugged. “Family name.”

“Right.” He pounded on the till until it opened. “Six quid.”

Hermione tossed more glamoured paper onto the counter, hoping her magic would hold long enough for her to leave undetected. She pocketed the fags before snatching the crisps and paper bag and hurried out of the shop. She wasted no time in flicking the cap off and letting it land somewhere on the road. Then she picked it up, she may be empty but she still wouldn’t litter. The wine was cheap and tasted like molded grapes but she drank until her eyes watered.

The streets of London were overwhelmingly busy in the summer, filled with annoying tourists and teenagers in baggy jeans skating into businessmen. Despite being dressed in a zipped up jumper and jeans, as she moseyed down the streets she was aggressively cat-called. If there hadn’t been a severe amount of muggles around, she would have hexed every last person who looked at her sideways.

To say the events of the past seven years changed Hermione would be an understatement.

Finding the park she had spent most of her time at when she was away from the Burrow, she sat on a bench with her knees to her chest. There were a few children running around the play sets, giggling and skinning their elbows. Hermione buried her nose into her knees, feeling the constant ache in her chest amplify. There were few things in life that she longed for anymore. The most prevalent being a return to life before Hogwarts, before she received the letter that changed her life. Everything was simpler then. Simplicity is what she wanted above anything. Hermione contemplated more than once turning in her wand to the Ministry and moving to America. The farther she could get from Britain, the better.

But she got a letter that sealed her fate for another year. She had to return to the place that haunted her dreams and infiltrated her thoughts.

Suddenly, her pocket started burning. It was the DA coin.

Grimmauld Place

15:00

Harry. She had been wondering when he’d try to contact her. It had been thirteen days since she left the Burrow. Thirteen days of bumming it in a sketchy motel in Tottenham. If she hadn’t had magic, she would be more worried about her safety and yet, the thrill of rampant crime intrigued Hermione. It was exciting, gave her a rush of adrenaline that she needed.

The coin burned again.

Please, Mione.

She placed the coin on her knee and traced her finger over the bumpy metal. Hermione always came when Harry called, she never had a reason not to. It was always Harry before everyone. Harry before Ron, Ginny, her parents. It was him before herself. She never complained though. She knew what they were fighting for and how important he was to the entirety of it. Even before the war intensified, she would put him first. Harry was her best friend above all else, above Ron. He was her first real friend and the first person who made her feel more than a bookish nerd. They were family and family cared; sometimes too much.

And she knew Harry was just calling so he could let her know that he cared. Hermione hadn’t exactly been subtle the past few months. Of course, she was never searching for pity not when other people had it worse, but she was a terrible actress. Hiding her emotions, especially in front of Harry was next to impossible. Ron knew something was wrong, hell she figured even Percy saw that something was amiss. It was a constant stream of questions at the Burrow and that was why she had to leave. It was always,

“Hermione, my dear, do you need a cup of tea?”

“Bet some sun would help, yeah?”

“We understand, Mione, we all went through it.”

That was her favourite. We all went through it. It. What was it? Was it the war? Was it seeing people die? Was it every bad thing that had happened over the course of seven years? Was it just their lives?

Of course they all went through it, different amounts of it. But they would never understand because there were things Hermione had kept to herself. Things that she had done, things that she had seen, things that she never told a soul, not even Harry.

“What’s that?” A small child had appeared in front of her and she was pointing at the coin on Hermione’s knee.

“This,” she picked it up and showed the little girl. “is magic.”

The little one’s bright blue eyes glittered as she looked at it. “Magic? Like witches and wizards? That kind of magic?”

That was the same thing Hermione had thought when she’d got her letter from Hogwarts.

“Exactly like that. Want to see what it can do?”

The little girl nodded her head quickly as a small smile lingered on her lips. Hermione put her knees down and told the little girl to stand in front of her with her hands out. She placed the coin in the small palm of her hand, “You have to stay very still or you’ll scare the magic away.” The little thing was incredibly still as Hermione dramatically waved her hands around and spewed a few words of gibberish in between the true magic. With her hands over the little girl’s, she used a wand less transfiguration charm.

“Look.”

In her hands was a tiny, lime tree frog with great bulging eyes. The gasp of utter shock and joy that came from the child caused Hermione to smile.

“It really is magic!”

Then the frog jumped out of the girl’s hands and somewhere into the tall grass below the bench. She dove to the ground and tired searching for it until she came up short.

“Your frog! He’s gone,” she said, nearly crying.

“It’s okay, he’s free now.”

“But, he was a coin. Don’t you need your magic coin?”

Hermione looked in the girl’s beautiful blue eyes and her heart hollowed at how much curiosity lied in them. She held the same look Hermione did when she discovered magic: pure, unadulterated wonder. Gently, she put her hand on the little girl’s and she could feel the magic coursing through her. This little girl was magic and she hadn’t known. She was the epitome of everything that Hermione had fought for. The next muggle-born girl who found the wizarding world and regarded it so highly; she fought for her.

“I’ve been meaning to get rid of it. It’s a bit pesky.”

“But,” the child said, tilting her head. “How can you have magic without it?”

Hermione smiled. “I’ve got magic inside my heart, so do you. If you believe in it hard enough, you can do anything. And maybe, in a few years, you’ll discover a place filled with magic of all sorts.”

“A place? Like a castle?”

“Exactly like a castle,” she laughed.

“Charlotte!” A woman with similar hair to the little girl came walking up. Hermione sat back.

“You can’t talk to strangers, Charlotte.”

“But mummy, she has magic!”

The woman looked at Hermione, eyeing her ripped jeans and old jumper. Then she spotted the brown bag just to the left of her. The woman’s eyebrows raised as she gripped her daughter’s arm.

“Magic isn’t real, you know that.” She turned her daughter around and pushed her along before looking back. “You should find another park, one without children. Possibly one with people more like you.”

“You mean a drunk?” is what Hermione wanted to say but instead she grabbed her wine and stood up, leaving the park behind.

...

She went when three o’clock came around, apparating carelessly in front of Sirius’ home. Harry’s home. It baffled her how he could live here with all the sorrow that surrounded it. Though, it was a step up from Godric’s Hollow. Ginny had to convince Harry that living in the place his parents died would end up being a detriment to his mental health, so instead he chose the second worst place.

Hermione walked in without knocking. The alcohol took away any remaining politeness she might’ve had; it made her stumble into the foyer. Then the little wrinkled bastard came limping around a corner.

“Kreacher is not knowing the Mudblood is coming.”

Hermione snorted an irritated laugh. “Where’s Harry?”

“Kreacher will not speak to the Mudblood.” The bigoted house-elf started away at the speed of a mentally incapacitated tortoise. The thought of kicking him into the kitchen crossed her mind.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted jovially as he skipped down the stairs. “Hey, you’re here.”

She nodded once. “Yep. You’ve still got Kreacher, I see.”

Harry looked down the hall and sighed. “Yeah, Sirius left him to me with the house.”

“Kreacher serves the ancient house of Black,” the angry elf said as it continued its sloth-like pace.

“Of course you do, Kreacher,” Harry said. He looked at Hermione again and smiled. “Come sit in the living room.”

Hermione hated Grimmauld Place. She hated anywhere that reminded her of magic, of death, of when she was happy.

Harry sat on the couch across from her and slapped his thighs. “Haven’t seen much of you. How are you?”

She avoided his face, looking at the old decor and the Black family tapestry on the wall. “Fine, yeah.”

Harry nodded quickly as he studied her carefully. Hermione was always rather thankful for Harry’s obliviousness, it made for masking her emotions easier. She could be on the verge of crying and he wouldn’t have noticed. But that was in the past when he had more important things to worry about than Hermione crying over Ron or Viktor or bloody horcruxes.

He noticed her hand trembling. She noticed he noticed and she shoved it under her thigh.

“You and Ginny then?”

“How’s it with you and Ron?”

They spoke at the same time making Harry laugh awkwardly. She watched as his eyes crinkled and his cheeks flushed slightly pink. He was never very good with serious, emotional conversations with Hermione. Only an outburst of anger here or there came from him, never a heart to heart. She hadn’t expected it then and she most certainly didn’t want it now.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Ginny?”

“Right, yeah, yeah. Um, you know, she’s great,” he responded, smiling shyly at the thought of his lioness. “She’s perfect. I’m really lucky, really really lucky.”

Good, she thought. As long as Harry was happy then it wasn’t all for naught.

“And Ron?”

“He’s my best friend, just like you are,” Hermione responded. She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she tangled her hand in her hair as a distraction. It was still damp from the sudden onslaught of rain as she arrived.

“Yeah, I know, but—you fancied him, he fancied you...”

Hermione hated this. She didn’t want to talk to Harry about her relationship, or lack thereof, as much as he didn’t.

“Who’s asking?” she asked a bit brash. “You or Ron?”

“I just thought, since—Ron’s talked to me some,” Harry sighed, not knowing how to go about this sort of conversation. “If you wanted to talk to me too...”

“I don’t.”

She rubbed her eyes roughly, seeing stars a bit. The wine was wearing off and could feel a headache start in the back of her neck.

Harry leaned forward, concern lacing his green eyes. She still wouldn’t look up. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Harry. I’m just...” She shook her head before offering a weak smile, it didn’t reach her eyes. “...tired. I’m just tired is all.”

“Yeah?” His voice was slightly more harsh. “Look, no one’s heard from you in two weeks and—“

“Thirteen days,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“It hasn’t been two weeks, not yet anyway. It’s been thirteen days.”

Harry sighed deeply. “The point is we were worried, you haven’t been away that long before. Where have you been? What are you doing?”

Hermione met his sage eyes and for the first time she noticed how much older he looked. He bore the world before the age of eighteen and it showed in the creases on his forehead and his sunken in cheeks.

“I told Ginny and Ron I’d see them September first and as far as I’m concerned, I still have three days until then,” she said as the headache started thumping. Being drunk and trying to hide it was never her forte. Harry noticed.

“You’re pissed.”

She didn’t look away or deny it.

"God, Hermione, are you serious?” Harry scoffed. “It’s not even five and you’re pissed? What’s going on?”

She chewed her bottom lip and pushed her hood off, her curls springing free. She had to have an answer or the semblance of an answer. The truth was something she had been avoiding for years at this point. She wasn’t going to stop her false narratives now.

“I’m fine, Harry, alright? There’s nothing to worry about.”

He just stared, tight lipped and filled with incredulity.

“I’ll see you in three days, right?”

“Mione...”

“Unless there was something more pressing to attend to than how much alcohol I consume, which I have to say, Harry, is none of your business, I’d like to leave.” He retreated into himself as she shook her head slightly. “Three days is all I’m asking. Let me get my own shit together and focus on yours and I’ll see you at school.”

Hermione stood and started out when,

“I’m not going.”

She turned around, eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“To Hogwarts,” Harry continued. “I’m—I’m not going back. I can’t.”

“It’s ministry mandated,” she said calmly.

He nodded. “I know but I talked to Kingsley and—“

“You talked to the Minister?” she scoffed, letting out a humourless laugh. “God, of course you did. I’ve nearly forgotten who you are. What did he say? What did you ask? For a pardon? An exception to the rule?”

Harry stood too. “What? Where is all this coming from? Have I done something?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth and looked away from him. “No...no course not. You’re right I’m just pissed, not thinking straight.”

They were silent for a long spell. It was the sort of silence that encroached on misguided feelings. Hermione had her share of things to say to Harry, to all of them but she kept her mouth shut for the sake of civility. She just wanted to be normal.

“I hope you decide to go.” She forced her smile. “It’s not Hogwarts without you.”

The look in Harry’s eyes, the look of grief, pain, worry, doubt...fear, she could see it all. There was more stewing inside of him than he was letting on, she knew and she wished she could have hid it as well as him. Hermione wore her heart like a bloody coat of armor. And it got her in trouble every. single. time. She genuinely wanted Harry to go to Hogwarts, if not to have her best mate but someone to learn from, to study.

Ginny had made no mention of Harry acting differently. If he could hide it from her, he was doing something right in Hermione’s book. She wanted the guardedness he held. She wanted more than that. She wanted to turn it all off.

“Well, I haven’t gotten an answer yet,” he said.

She nodded, lips tight as she kept in everything she wanted to say. Alcohol always helped numb her but it also made her want to speak her mind. It was best she didn’t.

“They’ve got three days and so do I, and I don’t fancy wasting anymore time. So, unless there was something else you wanted to tell me, I’d like to go.”

He looked at her, really looked at her and she could feel her heartbreaking.

“I’m just worried about you, Mione. You haven’t been the same since May.”

“Neither have you. Actually, I don’t think anyone has.”

“No, they have. Maybe a bit more sad but all the same,” he said calmly. “I just want to know you’re okay and if there’s anything I can—“

“I’m fine!” Hermione semi-shouted. Harry retreated again. “I’m fine, Harry, you don’t need to worry. Tell Ron to stop worrying. I’m still the same, just a bit more sad and we all handle sadness differently, yeah? So just leave it.”

“Okay but if—“

“I’m leaving now. I hope I see you at school.”

She forgot to set an alarm the night before, leaving her to wake up just before noon on September first. Being late was out of character and she needed to be Hermione Granger when she returned to Hogwarts. She had to be the student who received an outstanding in every single one of her OWLs. She had to be friendly to her professors, to the first years, she was Head Girl after all. This momentary lapse in her character was sure to raise questions from someone.

She refused to go to King’s Cross for a late train. The maroon station held too many good memories for her, she didn’t want to ruin it now. Hermione apparated from her dingy motel to Hogsmeade with her massive trunk. She nearly splinched herself from her weak magic; she hadn’t used more than a glamour charm or a levitation spell in months. Magic had become a nuisance.

But there she was, just a few minutes walk from Hogwarts, in the center of Hogsmeade. Just thinking about that bloody castle sent a scourge of heat to course through her veins, the warmth of fear and dread. Hermione took a deep breath and focused on the cobblestones under her.

It’s over, she reminded herself. It’s done.

Yet no matter how much she tried to calm herself, only rage emerged. Utter contempt for the Ministry of Magic. How was it they were expecting hundreds of students to return without so much as a question? Did Minister Shacklebolt think they would all be perfectly happy once they saw their friends again? Not all of their friends would be there, the people they grew up with. So many of them were gone and lost to the travesties of war. It was blasphemous, the expectation of normalcy.

She wished Errol had croaked on his way back with those bloody letters. Poor owl had its time, it was just depressing seeing him flap one wing or fly upside down.

Then she wondered if Ginny was genuinely excited about returning, or Ron. God and Harry, he better be sitting in that damned common room when she got there. A hard knot formed in her throat just thinking about Gryffindor tower.

How was she supposed to return in her state?

Rarely Hermione spent an entire day without downing at least half a bottle of the cheapest liquid death she could find. Fags became an often occurrence too. In simple terms, without some substance in her system, she was not a functioning member of society. Then again, without the intoxicants the nightmares returned. She couldn’t afford nightmares at school, not when she had to come back and claim her title as the ‘brightest witch of her age’. It was when reality set in that she stopped in her tracks.

There was going to be younger students there who looked up to her. Doe-eyed first years who were getting the chance to attend school with the Hermione Granger. She couldn’t very well tell them that life was a river of constant miseries. The only happiness you could find was to hold onto a boulder long enough until your fingers broke off and the depression drowned you once again. No eleven year old wanted to hear that.

Hermione shook her thoughts away and grabbed a fag from her pocket. With a snap of her fingers, it lit and she inhaled deeply. She tilted her neck back and released the smoke straight up. She could feel her nerves untangling themselves like tentacles. Feeling the deadly smoke circulate in her lungs before the breath of pure ecstasy was the only thing she craved anymore, besides cheap booze of course. Functioning was not high on Hermione’s list of priorities but she had to make it one. If not for herself, for everyone who expected more from her.

As she watched her shoes, the cobblestones under her feet turned to dirt then to the smooth stone of the bridge. Taking another drag, she looked up.

Fuck.

It looked exactly as it had when she was eleven. When she gazed upon the great old castle with wonder in her eyes and hope in her heart. It looked exactly the same and it was like a giant punch to the gut. No hint of a war graced the pristine fucking walls of Hogwarts. There was no smoke, rubble, or blood decorating the walls. No shrill screams of agony or cries of anguish echoed through the air. No it was perfectly on the contrary. The sky was a mocking shade of cerulean with not a single cloud in sight. The sun shone brighter than it had the past few months and Hermione resented it.

Upon entering, she heard the faint sound of Professor McGonagall’s Scottish accent reverberating from the Great Hall. Everyone being at feast guaranteed that she didn’t have to be Hermione Granger yet.

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” said Nearly Headless Nick as he flew passed her.

She blew the smoke in his direction and continued on her way through the hall. Hermione didn’t need to make a grand entrance by interrupting the feast and she certainly didn’t need to hear anymore bullshit about how brave everyone had been or how they planned to honor the lives lost.

A waft of brown sugar and pine passed her, hitting her in the chest like a threat. Hogwarts always smelled comforting as if it were a warm hug from the grandmother you hadn’t seen in years. Hermione hated it. She didn’t want comfort especially not from a bunch of stone walls.

She snuffed out the fag on the stair railing and dropped it, knowing the castle would clean it up. Trudging up the steps to the head student dorms, she noticed the sound of several footsteps emerging from the Great Hall. Scurrying into the dorm and slammed the portrait shut behind her.

The head common room was much smaller in comparison, yet Hermione wasn’t surprised. It was just her and Harry, there was no need for a massive fireplace, an overt amount of pillows and blankets, bookshelves lining the walls. It was small and confined, perfect for suffocating. Hermione sighed deeply as she walked into her separate dorm. It was shockingly different from the Gryffindor dorms she grew up in. The wood was still dark and the furniture still large but everything was white. There was no semblance of the Gryffindor crest anywhere to be seen. For some reason, it was a breath of fresh air. It was a change, this acknowledged that something had in fact changed, that she hadn’t made up the war or the bloody heartache.

Hermione grabbed her wand and twisted it around in her hand. For some reason, it felt wrong in her grasp. The vines that travelled up the hilt irritated her palm and dug into her skin. The war tainted so much of her life, she couldn’t even hold her damned wand without over analysing it.

With a quick flick, her trunk opened and clothes started pouring into the dresser drawers. All muggle, her clothes were, despite being Head Girl and having to police dress code, she only brought her muggle clothes. After her clothes, the excessive amount of books and parchments had made their way into their places, she spotted the six bottles in the bottom of the trunk. Her tongue traced her bottom lip before chewing on it in contemplation. Had it been mad to bring six bottles of alcohol to Hogwarts? Absolutely. Was it even more mad that just to the left of the bottles was twelve packs of lucky strike fags? Incredibly so.

The sound of the portrait closing caught her attention.

“Harry?” she shouted before slamming the trunk closed and locking it. Barreling into the common room, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Not Harry, love.” Theodore Nott stood with shit-eating grin on his face as he looked Hermione up and down. And yet, as he scoured her body with his eyes, she could only pay attention to the person behind him.

He towered over Hermione, even from five feet away. His eyes were cast down and his platinum hair was a right mess on his head. Draco dropped the trunk next to him without so much as a word. The air around him was tactile, unnerving.

“Bit small in here, d’you think?” Theo said as he strutted around, picking at the couch before moving towards the connected kitchenette.

“Which one of you is Head Boy?” she asked, trying to keep her distaste to herself.

Theo snorted a laugh as he knocked his knuckles against the counter. His eyes switched between Draco and Hermione. “I’ve got to say Granger, I am insulted.”

“How’s that, Nott?” Hermione finally stopped looking at Draco, whose attention was trained on the floor below.

“I am insulted that you think this smarmy prick could ever be Head Boy,” he laughed. Draco looked up, his silver eyes narrowing in on his friend. “I mean, really.”

She caught that bit of aggravation from him. “So I’m stuck with you for a whole year then?”

Theo walked around the counter and lifted himself to sit atop it. “Come off it, Granger. I’m not so bad. Tell her Draco, sing of my praises.”

“Even if I could sing Nott, there would be nothing to praise about,” Draco said, his voice slow and deep, chillingly deep.

The curly haired boy held his chest tightly. “You wound me, mate, you really do.”

Hermione sighed and tried to rub the invading headache away. Harry was Head Boy, McGonagall said he was Head Boy.

Harry contacted the Ministry. He used his bloody name and his bloody status and the fact that he won the bloody war to get out of coming back to Hogwarts. The thought hadn’t even crossed Hermione’s mind to do the same. No, she had a bit more self-respect than that. But then again, she wasn’t Hermione Granger anymore, the name no longer suited her. If she couldn’t wear her name with pride, how was she to use it to get out of shit like Harry had?

Then she remembered who she was supposed to be. The swotty Golden Girl.

Hermione lifted her chin up as her honey eyes locked onto Theo. “I’m not going to lie to you, Nott, I’ve never had much of an opinion on you. Despite your being in Slytherin and your ties to the Death Eaters, I believe we can live together simply. Don’t get in my way and I won’t get in yours, got it?”

Draco snorted and her eyes shot to him but he wouldn’t look. Theo smiled widely. “Good to know Granger’s still Granger. Nothing’s changed has it?”

Yes it had.

“I suppose not, now if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to,” she said, sweeping past them. She stopped just before the portrait hole. “Don’t go in my room.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Granger!”

She should have done something more to convince Harry to come to Hogwarts. She should have said that it was important for the younger students to see him. They needed to see perseverance after the war, they needed to know their hero was just a student like them. If Harry could go to classes and pass his NEWTs then so could the pink-cheeked first years.

But maybe that wouldn’t have been enough. Maybe she should’ve said that Ginny needed him. Ron needed him. Hermione needed him. Harry was always a constant through it all, he never left, he stayed with her, and she with him. Now he was gone. And even though she had left first, she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty. She’d only left for the summer, it wasn’t permanent or meaningful. Yet somehow his lack of commitment to Hogwarts, to being Head Boy, had stung her. He wasn’t only leaving behind the school and the trauma it held, he was leaving behind Hermione. And she was having none of it.

She skipped down the steps and rounded corners, dived through dark corridors until she came up the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady had been replaced by a portrait of Remus Lupin. The air in her lungs felt like it was sucked out as she looked at him. He was happy, sitting behind his defence class desk, possibly grading papers and the like. She clenched her jaw trying to keep the sudden flood of emotions at bay.

“Hermione?” Remus asked. “Is that you, my dear?”

She smiled. “It is professor.”

“Oh, I told you to stop calling me professor years ago,” he said, smiling lazily at her. “Need the password?”

“Are you at liberty to give it to me?”

“Head Girl and a Gryffindor? You’re more than qualified to have the password.” His smile was infectious and heartbreaking. She wished so much more for him and Tonks, so much more.

“Phoenix,” he winked and the portrait opened.

She thanked him before stepping into the common room. Hermione refused to look around and acknowledge that it looked exactly the same. She couldn’t dwell on things that would make her loose her breath or make her heart ache more. That’s when two gingers caught her sight as they were sat on the couch in front of the fireplace.

“Ron.”

“Mione!” he said, standing quickly. “Hey, you’re here. How are you? What—what did you do with the rest of your summer?”

“Do you have Harry’s mirror? I need to talk to him.”

“Listen, I’ve already talked to him and—“

“Now, Ronald.”

The ginger’s lips pursed as he challenged his long time friend. She wasn’t going to let up, she was going to rip Harry a new one. Ron wasn’t immune to her increasing anger as he stood there, staring down at her.

“Just give it to her,” Ginny said from the couch. “She should talk to him.”

Ron’s shoulders tensed up before he took the small, golden mirror from his pocket. “If I give this to you, will you talk to me after?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Hermione asked innocently.

His eyebrows pulled together. “A lot, Mione. About you and me.”

Shit. Fucking shit. She’d avoided this topic for long enough, surely she could avoid it longer.

“Right, of course.”

He smiled and let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Here you are. Just open it and—“

“I know how an enchanted two-way mirror works, Ron.”

With a snatch and a plastic smile, she nearly ran out of the common room. The prefects bathrooms weren’t far so she opened the mirror on her way, waiting for Harry to respond. Hermione settled into the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the giant empty bathtub, staring up at the mermaid mosaic. She always loved this bathroom. It was large, rarely used, always clean. And the acoustics were amazing, not that she was a right singer, but a gentle hum went a long way in the bath.

“Ron, I just talked to you mate. Is it—“ Harry stopped as Hermione’s soft brown curls came into view. “Mione, hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she snapped. “I’ve got some choice words for you Harry Potter.”

“Maybe they would have been more affective if you hadn’t been pissed when you last saw me.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a drowning fish. “I don’t think I deserve that.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you’re wondering if I’ve gotten a pardon or special treatment from Kingsley, I haven’t.”

“You’re still not here.”

“I can’t go back there, Mione, I can’t...I can’t face it,” Harry said, looking away from her.

“No, but the rest of us can, right?” She wasn’t holding back. This was Hermione now, either numb and at an utter zero or she was giving everyone a sharp kick in the teeth.

“We can all come back and look around at how nothing has changed, right? It’s like they’ve erased it all, but you’d have to be here to see that. How do you think this makes you look, Harry?”

“I’m not concerned about looking like a bloody coward if that’s your concern.” His tone was biting.

“It doesn’t make you look like a coward, it makes you look like a prick. Thinking you’re above everyone else and going behind the curtains to get what you want. It’s a dick move, Harry, even for you. You’re using your name, your fame. The boy who saved the wizarding world, right? Yeah, he gets to skip out on the trauma. You could have raised morale here, shown everyone that everything is okay and—“

“Everything’s not okay!” he shouted, making Hermione’s lips slam shut. “It’s not okay and I know that. Yes, I asked the Minister if I could skip out on Hogwarts and he said no. He gave me an ultimatum, it was either Hogwarts or Auror training. I chose the lesser of two evils.”

“You don’t want to be an Auror, you made that explicitly clear even before everything. Why’ve you gone and chose that?”

Harry sighed and put his head down, all she could see was his black hair. He took in a deep breath. “There are still wrongs that need to be righted. I figured I could make a difference as an Auror, even if it is training. I can be useful here, I can keep helping people. I can’t do that at Hogwarts.”

She felt her stomach drop. “You don’t need to keep saving the world. What you need to do is finish school, take your NEWTs, and figure out what you actually want to do with your life.”

“You’re too late. I’m not coming back, I’m sorry.”

He looked like he was about to close his mirror.

“There’s a portrait of Remus!” Hermione said abruptly. Harry looked up, eyes wide and sorrow-filled. “The Fat Lady got destroyed. It’s him now. I’m sure there’s more. I haven’t seen for myself but—“

“Portraits aren’t people, Mione. He’s dead, they all are.”

Suddenly, she was numb again. Whenever it happened, it felt like someone injected her with an anesthetic.

“I’m painfully aware.” She was monotone with her words. “You’ve made your choice, I hope you’re happy with it.”

Hermione slammed the mirror shut. Harry’s absence felt like the last nail in the coffin. She was trapped at this school for an entire year without her best friend. She felt abandoned and she hated feeling bad about it. She hated a lot of things, mostly her constantly wavering emotions. Something had to give and what better time than the beginning of a new term.

Looking up at the mermaid mosaic, Hermione decided to make a promise to herself. Hermione Granger had to make a grand return. She’d bury everything into her work, into helping others. She had to revert back to sixteen. Being the Golden Girl, being the teacher’s pet, and swottiest swot of the school was who she was. She couldn’t abandon who she was.

She’d forget the war. The horrors, the things she had done. The summer never happened.

Hermione was back.

She had to be.

One.

Counting helped. When nothing else did, relying on indisputable facts and measures helped keep Hermione sane. In the days she couldn’t sneak out for a fag or a cheeky shot of Arthur’s muggle liquors at the Burrow, she wold recite arithmancy in her head. The numerology, equations, translating, it all kept her sane. She would recite ancient runes in her mind, tracing them in the air with her fingers, under the table, on bedsheets. It was strict, predictable; it was something she could control.

Two.

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and she hated what she saw. Back in her Gryffindor robes with the bloody Head Girl pin over her heart, she looked a fool. Hermione wasn’t an actress, she was terrible at lying. Having to keep up a mask around her friends was next to impossible, they always knew when something was wrong. How was she supposed to fool the entirety of Hogwarts?

Three.

She smoothed her ringleted hair down and took in a deep breath. The breath lingered in her lungs as she held it, studying herself. Bags under her eyes, honey brown looking less and less bright, even her olive skin was paling grey. Hermione pinched her cheeks before pulling her wand out and casting a glamour charm over her. Just to look a little nicer, no harm in it.

Four.

Releasing her breath, she grabbed her bag and walked out of her room. She could do this, she kept reminding herself. It was just Hogwarts, just school. It was learning and discipline. Structure. She thrived with structure. It was all the same, nothing had changed. Nothing.

“Morning, Granger.” Theo smiled widely, dangerously charming, as he leaned against the kitchen counter, mug in hand.

It was just Theo, she knew him. Nothing changed.

Five.

“Theo, how are you?” she asked, grabbing a banana.

“We’re on a first name basis are we?”

She looked at him pointedly. “If we’re going to be living together, the least we can do is call each other by our names.”

He looked at her over the rim of his mug as he took a long sip. “Living together, makes us sound like a married couple.”

“Hardly.” Hermione watched as he shook his head, his curly hair bouncing slightly. “How’d you get Head Boy anyway? It’s not like you were...disciplined when we were younger.”

“Have you forgotten I was second in class? Always just a mark below you.” He had a smirk on his face that she wanted to smack. She hated smugness.

“No, I haven’t. But good grades don’t constitute being Head Boy,” she retorted. “Did you bribe your way into a single suite? Imperio’d the Headmistress?”

Theo laughed loudly, mocking her. “You can’t stand someone like me being Head Boy, can you? Is it the green tie? Not fond of snakes, Hermione?”

“I’m not fond of Death Eaters.” She tossed the banana peel in the bin and started towards the portrait.

Theo started after her and into the corridor. “Woah, hang on there.”

Hermione stopped short but not because of Theo. Towering over her with bright silver eyes was Draco, standing still as a bloody statue.

“In a hurry, Granger?” There it was again, his chillingly deep voice. She never remembered it being so...haunting.

Six.

“Oi, hey mate,” Theo said, closing the portrait behind them.

Hermione felt stuck in her place between them and the portrait. He wouldn’t look away from her. A day ago, he wouldn’t look at her and now he wouldn’t look away. His stare was viciously intense for a Monday morning.

Seven.

She stepped aside and brushed her robes down. You’re Hermione Granger, she reminded herself. Head Girl. Picking her head up high, she started down the corridor, focusing on the sound of her Mary Janes against the stone.

Eight.

“Hold on there!”

She looked behind her to see Theo jogging up, Draco coming up behind him at a slow pace. The curly haired boy stepped in sync with her as she walked with her head high and chest out. Force it, Hermione.

“I’m not a Death Eater, you know,” Theo said.

“Not anymore.”

“Never was.” He pulled the sleeve of his left arm up, showing his perfectly blank skin. Hermione looked at it with genuine surprise. Her eyebrows jumped ever so slightly, trying not to give it away. Then she looked over her shoulder at Draco, whose head was cast down.

“Can’t say that for the rest of you though, can we?”

Nine.

The Great Hall was loud this morning, filled with chatter and laughter. It was wrong, it all felt wrong to Hermione. The tables were filled like it was a Christmas feast. Pancakes stacked to the heavens, french toast, waffles, full English breakfasts, drinks off all sorts. It was sympathy food. It was sorry your friends and family died food. She felt there would be more instances like this, the professors, even the castle itself trying to make up for the calamity that was a few months past.

Ten.

At the end of Gryffindor table were her friends and every last one of them had smiles on their faces. The biggest smiles at that. And they were laughing, the spirits were high, it was like fourth year all over again. But there were faces missing. Lavender wasn’t next to Padma and Pavarti. Colin Creevy wasn’t jumping around them, trying to peek into the conversation. Harry, too, was gone.

Eleven.

“Mione!” Ron shouted, waving his arm. “C’mon, eat w’us!”

Inhaling as much air as she could, she took her seat between Neville and Ginny.

“Merlin, it feels like its been ages since I’ve played a game of snap,” Dean said.

“Oh, mate, I know. I’m so excited to just get back into things, y’know?” Ron responded.

Hermione grabbed a single piece of toast and started buttering it. She always ate like a bird so it wasn’t out of character but she felt like she couldn’t stomach it. It was wrong hearing them laugh. What was so bloody funny? Even Ginny was laughing. It wasn’t like they were talking about anything of particular interest; classes, quidditch, Hogsmeade. It was easy chat, normal. It was normal...normal.

Twelve.

“What classes are you taking, Mione?” Neville asked.

“All of them,” she said, taking a bite. “Nearly all of them. I’m booked.”

“Sounds like you,” he smiled.

Good, she thought. It sounded like me. Like Hermione.

The laughter roared louder from the entire table. The other tables too; Ravenclaw was full of witty banter. Hufflepuff was cordial, smiling as per usual. As Hermione’s gaze drifted around, she locked eyes on the Slytherin table. It was utterly silent. For some reason, it eased her, seeing the quiet solemnness that surrounded them. They all ate mindlessly. They even sat orderly, a specific distance apart from one another. Until Pansy Parkinson walked in, heels clacking on the hard stone, the Slytherin table had been quiet.

She caught sight of the beautiful witch, with her long black hair and shining smile. Hermione watched as she sauntered over to her friends, sitting next to Draco. Honey met silver and she felt stuck again.

Thirteen.

“Hey.” The quiet voice amongst the noise caught her attention. “Can we talk?”

Fourteen.

“Yes, of course.”

Her and Ron stood and headed towards a quiet corridor. Hermione could feel her heart thudding against her chest. Hands started to get clammy and she wished she had at least taken a shot this morning. Ron leaned against the wall with a tight lipped smile. His smiles had been strained around her since they kissed earlier in the year. It stressed her more. And the small corridor had begun to feel claustrophobic. The walls were caving in.

Fifteen.

“So, um, how are you?” he asked.

“Do we need to beat around the bush? You said you wanted to talk about us,” Hermione stated, crossing her arms tightly around her.

“Yeah, yeah, I do. I just—after the summer and everything—I dunno. How do you feel about it?” He was nervous, an awkward mess.

“How do I feel about what? Us having sex?”

Ron paled. “Christ Hermione!”

“Is that not what you meant?”

“No—I mean, sort of. I dunno, I just meant you and me as—like us together as a couple. We’ve never spoken about it,” he said, rubbing his arms awkwardly. “We didn’t really speak much at all actually.”

Normal. It had to be normal. The summer never happened. Her mind was reeling.

Sixteen.

Hermione Granger had fancied Ron. Hermione Granger when she was fourteen, even seventeen, she fancied him. Now, nearly nineteen, the thought of it... No, she had to be normal. Normal was fancying Ron. It was normal for Ron to be her boyfriend. It was expected, accepted. It was the predictable thing to do. Structured.

“You’re my best friend, Ron. You and Harry,” she started. “I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want to throw away eight years of friendship.”

“Me neither. But—Merlin, I’m just gonna say it. I fancy you, a lot, Mione. I thought you fancied me, after, you know. And I know you were different over summer but it hasn’t changed for me.” His light eyebrows were pulled together as he looked down at her. She looked back and all she could see was the little boy from years ago. He was her friend, her best friend.

Seventeen.

Hermione smiled and it didn’t reach her eyes. Ron smiled back, always nearly as oblivious as Harry. He hadn’t noticed her smile was fake as the day was long. She took a step forward and placed her hand on his broad shoulder. Lifting onto her toes, she placed a ghost of a kiss on his lips. Then Ron grabbed her face in both of his hands and kissed her harder. It was sloppy and messy and Hermione’s heart had never beat so evenly. It was dull but it was normal.

“Take that as your answer then?” he asked, a wide smile on his face.

“I’ll try. I don’t think sex is on the table anytime soon, though. I’m going to be far too busy for it anyway.”

“Do you have to say it so out right?” he laughed.

“I’m serious, Ronald.”

He was still holding her face and pressed another kiss to her lips. She wish he hadn’t. His lips were chapped and he tasted like sausage.

Eighteen.

“I know. We’ll work up to it.”

Nineteen.

“Are you feeling better than the summer?”

Twenty.

Hermione nodded. “Never better.”

Twenty-One.

Twenty-Two.

Twenty-Three.

Hermione spent the rest of the day on a straight path. She went to her classes, asked questions, took vigorous notes. She gave warnings to rowdy third years and smiles to the first years who looked at her like she could move the moon. For all they knew, she had. It made her feel sick. Though, it was exactly how it needed to be. Smiling with her friends, getting praise from her professors, it was good.

But by the end of the day, she had gotten to three-hundred. It was overwhelming, all of it. And as she sat on the window ledge of her dorm, looking out at the sea, she drank away the anxiety. She didn’t have to be normal in her room. With her hair tied up messily, she held the bottle in the same hand as her fag. Her muscles loosened and her head stopped throbbing. Her legs dangled from the window and she looked up at the stars.

“Nine more months.” She blew the cancerous smoke out. “Nine more months...and then what?”

“Have I ever asked how you two met?” Hermione questioned as she sat at the dinner table with her parents.

It was Christmas and the air was heavy with peppermint and cocoa. Holidays at the Grangers were always small and comforting. They weren’t ostentatious people, leaving their home minimally decorated with only a few presents each year. Though they lived simply as muggle dentists, their holidays were always filled with the most joy. It was simply in the air.

“I don’t think you have, love,” Mrs. Granger responded, looking to her husband.

He was chewing the wonderful food Hermione had helped her mother cook, and raised his eyebrows.

“Well, is it a secret?” she smiled.

“I don’t think we can tell her we met playing strip poker, can we Rox?”

“Dad!” Hermione exclaimed.

Her mum laughed as she gently hit her husband with a napkin. “Cheeky, your dad is. No we met while I was working at a bakery. He was picking up a birthday cake for his mum.”

“Wrong, it was for my nan,” Mr. Granger said, pointing his fork at his daughter.

“Are you arguing with my memory?”

“You can’t argue with her memory, dad,” Hermione smiled.

Mr. Granger rolled his head and looked at his wife lovingly. “Ah yes, the memory of an elephant you have. But it was for my nan.”

“You’re wrong it was for your mum, I remember explicitly because you made some awful joke about being a mummy’s boy. Your cheeks flushed so red,” she said as she ate her mash.

“I love you, I do, but you’re wrong. I don’t blush.”

“You blush,” Hermione said.

Mrs. Granger laughed and her dark brown eyes sparkled gorgeously. Mr. Granger flicked a pea at his wife and her mouth opened in surprise. Hermione shook her head at her father’s childishness but she always secretly admired it.

“Mum or nan, either way, what happened after?”

“Well, I pointed out that the cake was one of my favourites, red velvet with the bakery’s signature cream cheese frosting. And your charming father said, ‘Oh, a sweet girl with a sweet tooth, eh?’,” her mother laughed, covering her mouth.

Mr. Granger shook his head. “No, no, no, no. No! You need your memory checked, maybe Miss Mione’s got some magic for you. —No, Rox, I would never say something so cheesy!”

Mrs. Granger looked at her daughter and raised her eyebrows. Hermione raised hers back before looking at her father.

“Anyway, I told him I was unavailable after he asked me on a date,” her mother continued. “And then he came back the next week and the week after that, waiting until I wasn’t busy with university or work.”

Hermione looked to her father who had loving eyes on his wife. After all their years together, his looks never changed.

“Sounds a bit obsessive, dad,” she said before taking a bite.

Mr. Granger laughed. “When you see a good thing, you can’t let it go Miss Mione.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Hermione woke with a start, finding herself tangled in her bedsheets and a headache creeping up the back of her neck.

“Granger! You up?” Theo shouted from her door.

Looking towards her clock, she realised they still had an hour before breakfast even started. She flopped back onto the bed with a pillow over her face, groaning loudly.

“We’ve got that meeting with McGonagall,” he continued. “Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

She had. Quickly, she flung herself from her bed and finding her wand, she summoned her uniform. Changing with quickness, she tripped over her feet and landed with a loud thud.

“You alright in there?”

“I’ll be out in a second, Theo!” she shouted.

Hermione stayed laying on the ground for a moment as her eyes found the empty bottle of vodka she had finished the night before. Barely two weeks back at Hogwarts and she was already a bottle down. Five more bottles and nine more months, how was she supposed to survive?

Vanishing the bottle and finishing dressing, she snatched her book bag and headed into the common room. Theo was lounging on the settee with a fag between his lips and a book floating in the air in front of him. Hermione’s first thought was to ask him for a fag until she realised who she was pretending to be.

“There’s no smoking in the common room,” she said, hands on her hips. “Besides, it smells awful.” Lie, she craved the scent.

He plucked the fag from his mouth and snuffed it on the back of the velvet settee. Hermione’s jaw dropped as she looked at him with incredulity. Theo wrenched himself up and started towards the portrait door, forcing Hermione to follow him like a lost puppy. They ventured down a flight of stairs, their footsteps echoing in the empty halls. There was hardly anyone else around as most students woke just before breakfast, trying to squeeze in as much sleep as possible before the inevitable. Hermione was always up before the sun, preparing her notes, studying more than she needed to. She needed to get back to that version of herself.

Theo stopped short, just in front of McGonagall’s office, causing Hermione to run into him. He turned around, looking her up and down.

“Your hairs a bird’s nest.” Then he walked in without her.

Casting a hair smoothing charm over her constant mess of curls, she stumbled in after him. The headmaster’s office was exactly the same as she had remembered it. The portraits were all the same except for one just behind the oak desk, one of Albus Dumbledore. A year ago, Hermione’s heart would have broke at the sight of her beloved headmaster. Though her time spent in seventh year, traversing the country for horcruxes and fighting in a war, she realised the truth about him. He stood by all those years. He knew everything about Harry, the prophecy, about Riddle, and he still let every last one of them become soldiers in a war. They were children, barely eighteen and they were fighting for their world and he did nothing but stand by.

The portrait noticed her intense stare. Dumbledore offered a warming smile to Hermione but she didn’t falter in her gaze. There was so much she wanted to say to him, to shout at him. He nodded his head in acknowledgement before walking out of frame.

McGonagall came in from an adjoining door, reciting her apologies for being late. The two students sat across from their new headmistress.

“Thank you for joining me this morning,” McGonagall started as a teacup appeared in front of her. “How are we?”

“Right as rain, love,” Theo said, smiling widely.

Both turned to Hermione, suddenly making her feel crowded. “Wonderful, of course.”

As the headmistress took a sip of her tea, she kept a close watch on her Gryffindor. “I’m glad to hear. Now as we know this year will be a bit different. As much as we want everything to return to the Hogwarts we once knew, there are going to be more safety precautions for everyone.”

“War’s over,” Theo started. “what’s the concern now?”

“I have had an increased influx of letters from concerned parents and guardians this year questioning the safety of reconstruction, reliability in our professors, and most poignantly the return of the entire Slytherin house.” Minerva looked to Theo pointedly as he shook his head. “Obviously, your job as Head Boy and Girl are to oversee the prefects, hand out detentions, house points, none of that has changed. Though, I am requesting something from you both. We need to maintain Hogwarts’ sense of home, the one that you may have felt when you walked in on your first day eight years ago. We need a sense of family, to let everyone know that they belong here and nothing will harm them.”

“How do you suggest we do that, professor?” Hermione asked.

“First, I would appreciate if you could each draft a letter to send to every parent and guardian. Miss Granger, they know you, they trust you. A bit of reassurance would be lovely. As for you, Mr. Nott, a letter coming from Slytherin as a whole. I don’t expect promises, merely pleasantries. I cannot have students requesting to return home because a Slytherin frightened them in the halls, yes?” He nodded as she took another sip. “Beyond that, it is up to you. If you see someone struggling, help them. Let them know they are safe, that is all I want for my students, for them to know they are safe.”

Hermione couldn’t help but notice the lingering look Minerva gave her. It was one of pleading. If the professor knew just how much Hermione wanted to flee Hogwarts the moment she saw it, it would quite possibly break her heart.

“Of course, we are more than happy to help. If there is anything more, please do not hesitate to ask, it is our job, after all,” she said, smiling so falsely she thought her face would get stuck.

Theo grunted in agreement before grabbing his bag and heading out the door. Hermione followed suit, slinging her book bag over her shoulder. Just as she turned to leave, she heard a gentle,

“Hermione.”

“Yes, professor?”

Minerva tilted her head just so, all softness returning to her. She was a kind and caring woman, as she was strict, and so deeply she cared for every last student under her charge. Even more so the ones who faced the worse of it, three little curious children who just couldn’t keep their hands out of the cookie jar. Those three she cared for beyond measure.

“I hadn’t heard from you over the summer,” she started. “How are you?”

The Gryffindor smiled brightly. “Good, really good.”

Minerva sighed. “My dear, you forget I know you better than that. And, Harry expressed concern for you in his letters.”

Hermione looked away as she chewed her bottom lip.

“It isn’t easy and we don’t have to pretend it has been.” She crossed in front of her desk and took a hold of the younger girl’s hand. “You have been through more than you should ever have to have gone through at your age. You don’t need to hold the world on your shoulders anymore, my dear.”

“Did you tell Harry that?”

“I did but being the hero is all he knows. And being the one to hold it together is all you know, Hermione. You don’t need to, it is okay to talk or cry or even yell, Merlin knows you deserve it.”

Merlin also knows this school can’t afford a broken Golden Girl, she thought.

“Thank you but I’m fine, really,” she said, squeezing Minerva’s hand. “I needed the summer to process and maybe that came with a bit of silence and accidental lack of communication on my part, but really, I am just as I was. So much so in fact, that I am already anxious to get a head start on my homework, so if you’ll excuse me.”

The headmistress laughed and it felt relieving to Hermione. “Of course but don’t push yourself too much, my dear.”

With a laugh that anyone with wits about them could see as fake, she left the headmistress’ office. Hurriedly, she walked through the hall as though she were in a gigantic rush. Though perhaps she was in a rush to have a panic attack in private, rather than in the middle of the Great Hall. Her feet carried her into the dungeons where the air became much cooler, soothing the heat that was ravaging her veins. Stopping just between the Slytherin common room and the potions classroom, she leaned against the wall and dropped her bag.

Hermione rarely got panic attacks, she thought it was silly that someone ever let anxiety get the best of them that way. That was one item on an endless list of things she hated about herself: underestimating emotions. Then her left arm started to burn again as it did when everything became too much. She scratched over her jumper, trying in vain to relieve the ache. Harder she scratched, the more it burned until it felt as though it was flaying her ligaments. Tears began their descent down her cheekbones, falling hopelessly to the cold stone ground. Then, a drop of red fell too and she stopped. Her jumper was saturated and as she peeled away the cotton fabric, a bit of blood seeped down her arm. Taking a breath between gritted teeth, the pushed the sleeve up, exposing the carved skin.

Mudblood.

Hermione stared at the letters that besmirched her skin. They hadn’t healed since the day she was maimed. No matter how much dittany she used, they never fully scabbed over. The horrific word constantly had blood lingering at the edges of her skin, longing to be spilt. The pain hardly bothered her until now. Since March, she had been hyped up on adrenaline then when the war ended, the pain came back. It wasn’t until she discovered alcohol that it left her again. Now back at Hogwarts, the pain resumed its endless reign over her left forearm.

More blood fell and she debated on seeing Madam Pomfrey. She could ask for help, for the first time in her life, but no, Hermione still had her pride.

Grabbing her bag from the ground, she continued towards the potions classroom. She was counting on Slughorn being at the professors table at breakfast. Hermione needed to slip in and out undetected. That was her hope until she heard two voices coming from the room.

“I understand completely but I cannot, in my good conscience, have you as my potions peer this year.”

“Might I ask why?”

“I think it very clear why.”

The student scoffed and Hermione recognized that sound, she was often the cause of it growing up.

“Name a student better in potions than me. Severus taught me everything he knows, I might as well be teaching your joke of a class.”

“Mr. Malfoy, I understand your frustration—“

“Frustration?” There was a deep, harrowing laugh. “No—no, I’m beyond frustrated, Horace. I was forced to come back to this fucking school and I’m required to do this and you’re making it very difficult. Do you want to see me fail? Is that every adults dream? Watching me fail again? Let me be peer.”

“Draco—“

“Have you chosen someone else? Who won you over, huh?”

Hearing enough, Hermione decided to walk in. She poked her head in first, seeing Draco stood over the professor at his desk. Slughorn stood and wash of relief crossed his face.

“Miss Granger!”

“Sorry, am I interrupting?”

The professor crossed the room, blocking the intensely furious state coming from Draco.

“Not at all, my dear. Did you need something?” he asked, the apples of his cheeks brightly pink.

Well, professor, I was actually hoping to steal from your personal stores; that wouldn’t be an issue would it?

“Um, Madam Pomfrey asked me to see if you had anything for her?” she struggled with her lie. Suddenly, she remembered a scrap paper in her robes pocket and pulled it out. “I have a list, would you like to see it?”

“No, no that won’t be necessary. I trust that you won’t be stealing anything, Miss Granger,” he chuckled.

Hermione smiled. “Of course, thank you.”

She quickly swept behind the desk and into the potions closet. It looked just the same as it had when she stole ingredients her second year. How brave she had been at just twelve years old, stealing and brewing an extremely difficult potion for the sake of her friends. She was trying to justify her theft now, it was for the sake of herself but, it simply wasn’t the same. She’d never lie for herself, cheat or get ahead, not unless it benefitted someone else.

Shaking off the constant thoughts of self-hatred, she started grabbing various healing ingredients. After grabbing a small vial of dittany, she noticed, just behind the last bottle, a latch. It wasn’t surprising for there to be secret stores, considering the last potions professor, but her curiosity was itching to know what was inside. Checking over her shoulder that the door was still closed, she turned the latch. The shelves opened like a door and as she peered inside she found nothing. More shelves, all empty except for a small, seemingly inconspicuous lily flower.

Harry had told her about Snape’s memories in the pensieve. He told her and Ron but he saved the emotional detail for Hermione. She was surprised to find Harry accepting of the professor after. She never told him how manipulative and desperate she found the entire story to be. Perhaps it was that Hermione never found herself to be a romantic or perhaps she saw beyond the hysterics of Snape’s death. How could Harry find the story of a man who joined the dark, despite knowing he was fighting against the woman he claimed to love, a muggleborn witch, who never reciprocated his feelings, as romantic? It was beyond her and she wouldn’t question Harry, not after everything he lost.

Leaving the lily behind, Hermione closed the shelves and stepped back into the classroom.

“Find everything?” Slughorn asked.

She held up a few vials, hiding extra in her bag. “It’s wonderfully organized in there.”

The professor beamed as he shrugged on his waistcoat. Hermione was close to exiting when he spoke again.

“Miss Granger, have you decided upon your peer study for the year?”

No, of course she hadn’t. She’d barely thought about what homework she had for her ridiculous amount of classes. It was typical in a students seventh year at Hogwarts to select a course or two to be a peer in, if they so chose. Typically, the chosen course would relate somehow in the students desired profession for after graduation. Hermione didn’t have a desired profession. After sixth year, her only focus was saving the world, petty thoughts like her future career hadn’t crossed her mind in a year and change. Despite being told how she would excel in anything, how she would make the perfect Minister of Magic later on, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I haven’t.”

“Well, I’m sure you have many professors requesting you, but you did always have a knack for potions as I recall.”

The professor wasn’t wrong, Hermione had a knack for everything. She recalled on her travels through the country, roughing it in tents, how she wished for a cauldron. What she would have given for ingredients to make a calming draught for Harry or Dreamless Sleep for herself. Then the pain in her arm struck again.

“Once I’ve made my decision, I will be sure to let you know,” she smiled before hurrying away.
...

In the prefects bathroom, she scattered the many ingredients and ready made potions across the blue tile. Hermione removed her jumper, biting her lip through the pain. Her eyes fell upon her left arm and the memories of that fateful night came flooding back. March 28th, 1998 became one of the worst days of her life.

Focus. Clean your arm.

“Aquamenti,” she whispered, filling a vial with water. Hermione poured it over her arm, hissing as it met the open wound. Wiping off the stained blood of her arm, she felt the beginnings of tears pricking her eyes.

“You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!”

“HERMIONE!”

“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”

“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”

She was shaking on the floor of the bathroom, clutching her arm against her chest, staining her bra with blood.

“No, no, no, no...” she trailed off in quiet sobs. “She’s dead, she’s dead...dead...”

With shaking hands, Hermione dispensed a few drops of dittany to the mutilated skin. Steam arose in response. Then she downed a Blood Replenishing potion, gagging at the taste.

“CRUCIO!”

Her tears mixed with the blood on the ground as her shaking hand wrapped gauze around her arm.

Her eyes were so dark.

Her voice tainted her mind, coarse and decisive. Sharp, agonizing.

She never left. She may be dead, Bellatrix Lestrange may be dead, but she never left.

“She’s gone. You’re okay. You’re at Hogwarts.”

Hermione secured the gauze around her arm before collapsing onto her back, laying in her blood and spilled potions. She looked up at the ceiling, finding it odd how beautiful it was. As she blinked, Bellatrix invaded her mind. The ceiling was a mosaic of how the sun shines through water. There were smatterings of yellow and gold. She could see each individual piece of glass.

As her chest heaved, she willed her eyes to stay open as she started counting the pieces of glass. It was soothing the way they shone from the light peeking through the paned window. They sparkled and glittered and Hermione found herself smiling through the pain, through the numbers. Her eyes felt heavy. The Blood Replenishing potion needed to work faster, she couldn’t pass out on the floor of the washroom.

She closed her eyes and instead of Bellatrix, she saw silver eyes. They looked down at her, writhing in her pain. Solace laced in those eyes. A strange feeling of comfort, familiarity amongst the excruciating pain.

Then she saw the mosaic again. One silver piece of glass caught her attention.

She was fine.

“Eighty-seven beans, one bread roll, two tomato slices,” Hermione mumbled under her breath. She had resorted to numbers again, trying to keep herself sane amongst the thoughts that plagued her. The pain in her arm became bearable now that she allowed herself a shot or two throughout the day. She needed it to numb or else she’d fall apart again.

You’re fine.

Her eyes travelled to Ron’s plate, which kept refilling itself. He had the appetite of a bloody werewolf, eating through at least three plates a meal.

“One, two, three, four,” she counted his beans. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

He took a spoonful. She had to start over.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, sev—“

Another bite. She bit her bottom lip in frustration.

“One...two...thr—God! Do you ever stop eating?” she shouted abruptly.

The conversations halted as they all turned to Hermione. Ron, who she shouted at, slowly sat down his spoon and pushed his plate away. Her chest felt hollow as she watched the plate disappear in a puff. Looking up, she noticed Ginny looking a mix between concerned and miffed. Dean nudged Seamus’ arm, encouraging him to stop gawking. Neville carefully picked up his sandwich, presumably afraid to get shouted at too.

“I’m sorry, Ron, I didn’t mean to yell,” she said quietly. Then, grabbing her plate, she put it in front of him. “Here, have mine.”

“No, s’alright. I was gettin’ full anyway.” He smiled at her and she hated it. Why couldn’t he be upset? Why couldn’t he just yell back? Show some bloody emotion for once?

“You haven’t eaten, are you alright?” He just kept caring, kept being perfect old Ron.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I’m fine, just not hungry.”

Ron stared down at her and she could feel the pity seeping into her skin from his gaze. She wished she was a better liar, a better actress; it would serve her well. All she could do was look back at him with his frustratingly kind blue eyes and beautiful smattering of freckles that she wanted to smack off his face. It wasn’t his fault for having freckles or kind eyes, she was just so angry.

Hermione forced a smile and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. Still, he wouldn’t look away from her causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand.

“Mione,” Ginny interrupted, thankfully, Hermione thought. “Could you help me with my homework after dinner? I’ve got a rude essay on runes for tomorrow.”

“I’d love to! We could go now, if you’re done,” she smiled brightly.

“Dinner’s not over for another—“

“Sure, let’s go,” the ginger said, interrupting her older brother. He sent her a look of disdain that she ignored.

Hermione got up eagerly, situated her bag on her shoulder, and smoothed out her skirt. Ron watched as Ginny started towards the door, waiting for Hermione to follow.

“Wait, I can come—“

She placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. He returned it too eagerly, even frowning when she pulled away.

“You never took ancient runes,” she said gently. “I’ll see you later.”

Then she started off with Ginny, though not without hearing Ron’s distant call of her name.

They walked in silence to the library, bumping each other accidentally as they went. As they descended a flight of stairs a group of younger students were coming up, Ginny leaned into Hermione’s left side, her bag hitting her arm. She let out a hiss, gripping her left wrist.

“You alright?” Ginny asked. She didn’t know of her best friend’s scar. No one knew besides those in the room that day, those who watched and those who screamed from below. Then again, the ones who knew also presumed it had healed.

“Fine, I think your zipper scratched my wrist is all.”

“Oh, let me see.”

“It’s fine, Ginny.”

“No, really, let me see.”

She was reaching for Hermione’s hand. Quickly, Hermione sliced her wrist with her nail before holding it out to her.

“It did, sorry,” Ginny said with a taut smile. The witch mumbled a quick episkey and the little cut was no longer.

“I’ve only seen healers master a wandless healing spell,” Hermione commented as they entered the library.

The ginger shrugged dismissively. “It's the simplest one, not like I’m ready for charge at St. Mungos. Besides, I’m only decent at it because of Harry.”

They sat at one of the tables, cozied between the aisles.

“Harry? Is he alright?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” she said, pulling out her textbook and parchment. Hermione followed. “The boy is just rubbish at using a knife. I swear he’s the worst cook I have ever seen. Mum’d be aghast if she ever ate something he made.”

That made Hermione smile. The thought of Harry doing normal things, even being bad at them, it eased her. She knew at least he was able to live a regular life after it all, that's all that mattered to her.

“How are things with you two?” she questioned, flattening out her roll.

Ginny shrugged. “Fine, I’spose. It’s hard not having him here but I won’t tell him that. I can’t go and make him feel guilty for choosing not to come back.”

Hermione flinched at her words.

“That’s—that’s not what I meant, at all,” Ginny said quickly. “I just mean, I wouldn’t want him to have come here and be miserable. After this summer—it took a long time to get him to smile and I didn’t want Hogwarts or the memories to take that away. And by the time August rolled round, we’d nearly gotten the nightmares under control, then I’d got the letter when I was home that day and...” She shook her head, thinking back. “I just miss him. I worry a lot and his letters aren’t exactly diary entries. He mostly tells me what he ate or that he’d bought a muggle tele or a phone. I think having muggle stuff helps him feel normal. I mean that's all we really can do, right? Try and be normal again.”

Hermione nodded in response but Harry lingered in the back of her mind. She was still a bit cross with him when he, of all people, could be someone she needed.

“Yeah, you’re absolutely right,” she smiled. “So, are we on the first chapter or?”

They descended into conversation about ancient runes. It was perfect for Hermione, helping someone understand their work. It was what she knew, it was the structure she had been looking for. Her studies had been long forgotten and how much she had truly loved delving into a book or burying herself under a pile of homework seemed a distant memory. Being surrounded by knowledge made her feel like herself, the self she could still recognize at least. Ancient runes, of all subjects, had been one of her favourites. It was like arithmancy, distinct, factual, irrefutable. There were questions and every one had an answer. There were no maybes or alternatives as in the other subjects. Or life.

Hermione felt truly happy as she helped Ginny, even getting sad at the thought of her finishing her essay. She hadn’t wanted it to end, she was clinging onto false hope again.

Ginny finished her last sentence with a dramatic period, dropping her quill and leaning back with a sigh.

“You are the master of all things ancient runes,” she complimented. “You should translate something.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Hermione replied, slowly rolling her parchment back up.

Noticing a shift in her emotions, Ginny sat up and pulled something from her bag. It was a folded up piece of parchment that she had placed her fingers into. Hermione recognized it as a fortune teller from her muggle school days. The popular girls would use them to see which boy fancied them. It was childish fun.

“Where’d you learn that?” she asked with a quirk of her lips.
Ginny put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, the fortune teller now held between them. “A sixth year showed Padma and I, she said she makes them with her muggle friends. But this one we enchanted to show runes for whatever your question is. According to Padma, it's quite accurate.”

The ginger wiggled her eyebrows as she held the little paper between them. “Do you have any burning questions, Mione?”

“You know I hated divination.”

“This isn’t divination, its ancient runes in a little muggle game,” Ginny said pointedly. “Here, do me first.”

Hermione took the paper in both her thumbs and pointer fingers, pulling the triangles apart.

“Hey! Let me ask a bloody question first!” Ginny teased, giggling. She thought for a moment before focusing comically on the paper. “Right. Will Harry and I get married?”

“Oh, come on,” the curly haired one mocked. “You’ve got to ask a question you don’t know the answer to.”

“I don’t know the answer!”

“Of course you know the answer!”

“I’m seventeen, Mione, I don’t know shit.”

Hermione laughed again and her chest felt lighter. She missed laughing.

“You know more than you think, but fine. Will Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter get married? How many times do you want?”

“7, it was Harry’s quidditch number.”

“Cute.” Hermione opened and closed the little fortune teller seven times before holding it out. Ginny pointed to the top left corner and Hermione unfolded it. “You’ve got gebo. Love and marriage.”

“Love and marriage,” Ginny repeated, looking at the ‘x’ shaped rune. “I’d call that a yes. Your turn!”

“I don’t have any questions,” Hermione said, handing her the parchment.

“I don’t care, think of one.”

Hermione sighed. There were a million questions constantly floating around her head and any one of them she could ask. Yet, asking out loud, in front of her best friend, “am I good enough?” seemed incredibly embarrassing.

“Just ask how my year will be, should I prepare for the worst?”

“C’mon Mione, don’t be morbid.”

“It’s not morbid. Just ask.”

Ginny huffed. “Fine. How will Hermione Granger, Golden Girl and Savior of the Universe’s eighth year at Hogwarts be?”

Hermione forced a laugh, secretly hating how she phrased the question. She requested Ginny open it four times.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Ginny bobbed her head excitedly before opening the flap. Inside laid two runes, much to the girls’ surprise. The first, reversed mannaz, representing depression, mortality, and manipulation. The second, reversed uruz, frailty, rashness, lust.

Hermione’s gaze was stuck on the runes as the enchantment glittered. She wanted to be shocked or afraid even but it was just as she expected: something negative and all-consuming. The depression was a given, rashness seemed to fall into place easily. The rest was simply a mystery and yet what intrigued her most was the mention of lust. It seemed to interest Ginny too.

“Well...there’s lust,” she offered optimism. “Maybe you and Ron?”

Hermione shook her head absentmindedly. She never felt lust for Ron, she never felt love, at least not romantic.

“No?” Ginny asked.

“What?”

“You shook your head when I said Ron. Is there someone else?”

“No, there isn’t. I was shaking my head because of the rest of it,” she half-lied. “It's all so...awful.”

Ginny tossed it over her shoulder. “It’s a game, rubbish really.”

“Padma said—“

“What does Padma know? I mean, c’mon Hermione, sure she’s a Ravenclaw but that doesn’t mean she knows its right. If you ask me, she lied to make herself feel better.”

Ginny was trying, she knew that. And so she smiled and laughed it off, saying she was right, how it was a silly little game. The two girls departed from the library and as Ginny went on her way, Hermione turned around. She found the crumbled up fortune teller on the ground and pocketed it.

...

It was unreasonably cold in the head common room. Hermione always used a cooling charm over the room and her bedroom. Not only did she run naturally hot but her arm burned all day long and under a jumper no less. So, in the biting cold of the room, she was sat on the velvet settee in her pajamas. Next to her, between her thigh and arm of the settee was a large bottle of wine, a quarter of the way gone. A book rested on her knees as she lazily thumbed through it, taking sips of the wine every so often.

Even with a book in front of her, she was distracted by the little fortune teller on the coffee table. Since last night, it was all she could think about. Why those two runes, out of them all, and why did they have to be reversed? Either she needed to prepare for another year of suffering or Ginny was right and it was just a little game.

Then again it was enchanted. Magic never lied. It may fail and fault but it never lied.

"I just don’t get it, mate, I really don’t.”

Through the portrait door, came a stumbling Theo held up by Draco.

“Why do people buy candy floss? It’s defin-in-in-nin...it is very much the worst candy.” Theo was speaking utter nonsense as his best mate dragged him further inside. “And don’t get me started on those beans. Every flavour? Don’t want no barf or-or-or earwax. Grape’s just s’bad. Oh! Hermione Granger!”

She turned around, finding Theo with a goofy smile on his face. Her eyes flickered to Draco but his gaze was cast down.

“Theo Nott,” she responded, trying to hide the fact that she had also been drinking. “Should I turn you into McGonagall for underage drinking?”

“Underage? I’m twenty-five!”

“No, Theo, you’re not,” Draco mumbled.

“I am Nott!” It was as if someone hit him with rictumsempra because suddenly he couldn’t stop laughing.

“I am Nott! What a stupid name!” More laughter. Hermione was trying to keep from laughing with him, he was contagiously loud. “Not as stupid as Draco Malfoy. So pretentious, right Hermione?”

She was about to say something when he kept going.

“Ugh! Hermione! That’s pretty bad too,” he added, pointing at her with a lazy finger. Then he slapped Draco’s chest. “Ever make fun of her for her name? I know you got the hair, the teeth, the big, big brain, but—“

“Shut up,” Draco bit.

Hermione looked at him and suddenly nothing was funny. Theo looked up at the white haired boy, his head moving about languidly.

“You shut up!”

“C’mon, bedtime.” Draco started dragging him down the hall.

“No! I don’t want to!”

Theo’s whinges descended down the hall until all Hermione could hear was muffled voices. Quietly, she grabbed her bottle of wine and walked into her bright, white bedroom, placing it on her side table. Chewing on her lip, she stared at the bottle, contemplating drinking the night away. Hermione turned to her bed for her book, realising it was left on the coffee table. Making her way back, she grabbed her book and the little fortune teller just as Draco reappeared. She watched him run a hand through his white hair as he approached the door. Before she could overthink it,

“Why are you here?”

Draco stopped between the hallway and the portrait door, looking straight ahead. “Theo’s pissed, I was—“

“No, I know that. Why are you at Hogwarts?”

“Thought that was obvious, Granger.”

She stepped forward, becoming petulant in her tipsy state.

“We all got the same letter, I know, but why you?”

Draco turned his head to look at her, his tongue moving across his teeth. He looked her up and down, silver eyes bright in the dimly light foyer.

“Why me?” he asked.

“Of all people, I guess I hadn’t expected them to let you back here. After everything you did or, really, didn’t do.”

His eyes narrowed as he turned towards her completely.

“Hogwarts doesn’t seem like the place you should be.”

“And where, exactly, should I be?” Draco’s voice was deep and steady, it unnerved her.

Hermione stood taller, shifting uncomfortably under his piercing gaze.

“Azkaban.”

He let out a laugh. “Well I’m not. Blame your little savior for that.”

“You should be thanking Harry. If it weren’t for him--”

“Thanking him?” He stepped forward, towering over her like a shadow. “I never asked that prick to testify for me. If anything he made my life worse because now I’m stuck here speaking to you.”

“Because speaking to me is worse than Azkaban,” she said. “Well, I guess it must be for someone like you. I’m really sorry you have to lower yourself to the standard of, what was it, a filthy little Mudblood?”

Something in his eyes shifted.

“No, I don’t fancy speaking to vexatious little know-it-alls who think they’re superior to everyone because she spent the past year gallivanting across Europe.”

Hermione tilted her head, the alcohol giving her unrecognizable confidence. “Enlighten me, Malfoy. What would have become of you and your family if Voldemort won? Certainly after your failure, your father’s... I pity to think of it.”

Draco’s finger jabbed into the center of her chest. “Do not speak to me like you know a damn thing that happened.”

“But I do know, what your family did isn’t a secret. Even your mother—“

Suddenly his hand was around her throat, backing her into the far wall. Silver replaced by black, seething under the blanket of feigned indifference.

“I do not want to hear another word out of your mouth about my fucking family, Granger. Do you hear me?” he growled.

She kept her eyes on his, trying not to shrink from his presence, overwhelming her like a Dementor. He was bigger than she remembered, taller, broader and she couldn’t help but let him defeat her sliver of confidence.

With one last shove against the wall, he stalked out of the head dorms. Hermione stood against the wall, her fingers ghosting her neck, eyes trained on the portrait door. She never pegged Draco as a violent person. After all, Harry had told them he hadn’t been the one to kill Dumbledore.

The war had changed more than she saw. She’d forgotten she wasn’t the only one to suffer through it all. Maybe she wasn’t so alone.

Hermione was irate.

She woke the morning after, fully realising what had happened. Draco had put his hands on her, shoved her against a wall like she was nothing. She wasn’t something he got to control or handle when he got angry. There was no excuse for it, even if she had been egging him on, it wasn’t an invitation. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Feeling it.

She hated him, she always had. From the moment they met and he casted his sniveling little face upon her, scrutinizing everything wrong with her, she hated him. When he called her that name, she hated him. When he acted better than everyone else, she hated him. When he let a hoard of Death Eaters into the safest place she’d ever known, she hated him.

When he watched her screaming on the marble floor of his pristine manor, yelling for help, meeting his silver gaze as she tried to find any remaining humanity within him, she hated him.

Somehow, more than she hated Draco Malfoy, Hermione hated herself.

It was Saturday, September 19, 1998. Happy birthday to me, she thought as she tipped back the bottle of wine. It was already midday and she hadn’t left her bedroom. She hoped her friends thought she was studying her morning away like the swot she was. But no, she was sat in the middle of her bed, still in her pajamas from the night before, hair a tangled mess, downing her two quid wine.

Once upon a time, Hermione loved her birthday. As a child, before magic, her parents had a special tradition. They would take her down to her favourite park, far from home, where an old yet wonderful carousel was. Hermione loved that little carousel and she always rode the same pastel blue and marigold horse that she appropriately named Mary. Hermione always got books on her birthday and she would end the day with a vanilla cake paired with strawberry ice cream. It was perfect. She loved her birthday because she got to have her parents all day. Every last bit of attention was on her, smiling at her parents, giggling and having her father read her brand new stories with her.

Her first birthday without them wasn’t so awful; she got to spend it in a castle where magic was beautiful and she belonged. Then, every birthday after got less and less special, to the point where she refused to have it acknowledged. This year was no different. She didn’t have her parents and she wanted to be alone. No vanilla cake or strawberry ice cream. No, instead she had her shitty wine and an inflamed arm.

A knock at her door broke her from her thoughts.

“Mione? Are you in there?”

Quickly, she shoved the bottle under her pillow and threw on the closest jumper she could find before opening the door.

“Ginny, hi,” she smiled, suddenly feeling drunk.

“Are you okay? We haven’t seen you all day.”

Hermione waved her hand in dismissal. “I’m fine, I was just doing next week’s homework.”

“It’s your birthday! You shouldn't be working on your birthday,” her friend smiled. “And speaking of birthdays,” she pulled a gift from behind her. “For you!”

Hermione took the box, wrapped messily in three different papers.

“Ron wrapped it, but it's from all of us Weasleys.”

Ripping the paper off, she was met with a framed piece from the Daily Prophet. The headline read,

Hermione Granger, the Muggle-born heroine who saved the Wizarding World

A moving photograph of her, Harry, and Ron from fourth year accompanied the article. She looked at it, expecting to feel a swirl of emotions, nostalgia, joy, pride. Instead, she felt angry. This little girl in the photo, laughing with her best friends, who was she? She looked incredibly happy, no burden upon her shoulders to save the world, no damaged soul.

“You hate it,” Ginny said. “Merlin, I knew you’d hate it, I’m so sorry. I told—“

“No, Ginny, I—I love it.” Liar. “Really, thank you.”

“Are you sure? Because I can still buy you some sugar quills from Honeydukes.”

Hermione forced a smile and it was painful. “I’m sure. It’s perfect.”

Ginny laughed and clapped her hands. “Great! Well, I know someone’s been missing you all morning...”

Hermione placed the picture frame on the table closest to her door before asking, “Ron? Please tell me he doesn’t have something grandiose planned.”

“Mione, Ron can’t even spell grandiose,” the ginger teased. “He does have something planned but I will not be divulging information at this time.”

“Okay, tell him I’ll be down in a minute, I need to shower. I am sufficiently gross.”

Ginny left with a smile and no suspicion that anything was wrong with her best friend. As she watched her leave through the portrait door, she took her birthday gift and shoved it in the back of her dresser drawer.

Heroine my arse.
...

“Happy birthday Hermione!”

“There’s the birthday girl!”

“Oi, Mione! Happy birthday!”

The attention was excruciating as she made her way into the Great Hall. Everyone, people she didn’t even know, were calling out birthday wishes. All she could do was smile and wave like a perfect fucking princess. It was the opposite of what she hoped today would consist of. If it were up to her, she would waste away, maybe lay out by the Black Lake as she did.

“Mione, hey.” Ron jogged up to her with a warm smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. Ginny said you wanted to see me.”

“I always want to see you.” Merlin, why did he have to be so...so Ron? She wanted him to shout at her for being in her room all day or for not spending enough time with him. She wanted someone to feel how she felt.

“But, yeah, um, since it's your birthday, I was thinking we could have lunch in Hogsmeade,” he offered, before checking out the window. “Or I guess, late lunch. Or we could wait until dinner.”

Her stomach curled in on itself at the thought of eating. The alcohol easily filled her up while simultaneously making her constantly nauseous. It was a lovely little game.

“Sure, let’s go now.”

The sooner it’s over, the better.

“Are you sure? It’s a weird time.”

“It’s perfect actually,” she said, starting on her way out of the castle. “There won’t be a long wait for anything and hardly any people around.”

He struggled to keep up with her swift pace. “Right, yeah, okay.”

As they walked through the late summer air, Hermione tried to avert her eyes from everything that reminded her of better days. It was difficult, everything held its own reminder. As she avoided looking up as they crossed the reconstructed bridge, Ron laced their fingers together. His hand was clammy and his fingers were awkwardly long and Hermione felt like a bitch for scrutinizing how it felt to hold his hand. She wondered if she would always feel that way about Ron.

Then she looked up and saw the Shrieking Shack. Finally something that harboured awful memories. She stopped to look at the haunting building with its disheveled shingles and boarded off windows. It was odd. Hermione should have felt angry or sad looking at it as it was a reminder of the war but she felt...comfort.

“I hate that bloody thing,” Ron mumbled.

She shrugged. “It's not so bad.”

“Not so bad? Hermione, we saw our professor die there. And Vold—Riddle was in there. Its a sick fucking place.”

If it was so sick and twisted, why did she want to go inside?

Ron pulled her along towards the main part of Hogsmeade village. It was fairly quiet, only a few other wizards walking about. The village was always a nice escape from Hogwarts. It was also the best place to take someone for a date, at least that was what Hermione heard. She didn’t go on many, or any, dates during her years. Though, that was changing today and it made her stomach curl again.

“I was thinking we could do the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta can give us a spot away from everyone.”

Hermione nodded in agreement and as they walked in, memories of her past life came into focus. Most prominently, she remembered when Ginny had been dating Dean Thomas. Ron was so ridiculous and she felt sorry for Ginny and angry at Ron because he was so oblivious to her crush on him. She hoped this little pub would bring back those feelings, Ron deserved it.

Once they found themselves in the far corner, in a booth tucked away from prying eyes, they sat in silence. Hermione found herself tracing the grain of the wooden table as Ron tapped his fingers to a song inside his head.

“Have you heard anything about your parents?” Ron asked, breaking the silence.

She stopped short, whipping her head up. “My parents? What about them?”

“I was just asking if you’d heard about them in Australia. Have you tried looking for them?”

Australia, right. It was about time one of her lies caught up to her.

“No, I haven’t.”

Ron nodded. “Well, I was talking to Harry the other day and—“

“You talked to Harry?” she interrupted.

“Um, yeah, y’know with the mirror.”

“Did he mention me? Is he still upset?”

“I was going to say that we were talking about ways to find your parents, since we know the names you gave them and everything, it should be easier than we think,” he said as Madam Rosmerta came to their table.
“Ron, Hermione, it's so lovely to see ya, ya have no idea.” She was smiling so widely it was starting to hurt Hermione’s cheeks. “Can I start ya off with anything to drink?”

“Butterbeer for me, thanks.”

“Two shots of fire whiskey and a Love Potion #85,” Hermione stated. Madam Rosmerta looked at her with incredulity. “Please.”

The restaurateur nodded before snapping her fingers. As the drinks appeared in front of them, she mentioned returning to take their order. Hermione took the first shot of fire whiskey, chasing it with the Love Potion, a fancy name for cherry and vodka. Normally, she wouldn’t mix drinks but she needed to get through this date.

“You’ve been drinking a lot,” Ron said, inciting narrowed eyes from his girlfriend. “I just mean, at the Burrow, dad noticed some of his muggle drinks were low and Harry mentioned that when you went to see him at Grimmauld Place—“

“Did Harry tell you what I told him?” she asked, sipping on the vodka. Ron nodded. “So, I’m sure he told you that whether I drink or not is none of his business. And since we’re all best friends, the same applies to you. You ordered a butterbeer, you don’t see me questioning that.”

“It's got like one percent alcohol, it's not the same—“

“It’s my birthday!” Hermione laughed forcefully. “Can’t I drink on my birthday, Ron?”

His eyes searched her face as his eyebrows were pulled together; his concern was obvious. Her lack of said concern was also obvious.

“I haven’t had a drink since we’ve been at school.” Liar. “And I’m nineteen on the nineteenth! That’s special, only happens once. Muggles call it your golden birthday.”

“Guess I had mine when I was one then,” he laughed, seeming to decide against further debate. He lifted his drink. “Here’s to the Golden Girl on her golden day.”

Hermione lifted her second shot, clinking their glasses together. She knocked back the second whiskey as Madam Rosmerta returned. Letting Ron order for the both of them, Hermione sat back, mindlessly looking out the window.

They fell into monotonous conversation as they ate. They talked about classes, about quidditch, about what was to come after Hogwarts. The latter frightened Hermione, she still had no clue what she wanted to do and part of her didn’t care. Perhaps she’d go to dental school like her parents and live a perfectly average muggle life. The thought was intriguing.

“Think I’d make a good Auror, Mione?” Ron asked, shoveling pasta into his face.

“I don’t see why not.” She sipped on her second glass, already severely under the influence. “You’re good at defensive spells. Is it what you really want to do or do you want to do it because Harry is?”

Ron stopped, leaning back in the booth. There was a distinct shift in energy, even drunk Hermione could sense that.

“I wanted to be an Auror before he took his bloody plea deal to avoid Hogwarts,” he said sharply.

“That’s good. You don’t want to be in his shadow your whole life.”

He set his fork down, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “I’m not in Harry’s shadow.”

“That’s what the Prophet and Witch Weekly say,” she said, mindlessly twirling pasta onto her fork. “‘Harry Potter’s best friend, Ron Weasley.’ ‘Best friend to savior Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley.’ It's always Harry then you.”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t have a bloody name worthy of notice or title like the two of you.” Ron shook his head and scoffed. “The golden girl and boy. The saviors. The Muggle-born and the Boy Who Lived. Oh, and the redhead. Fucking bollocks is what it is.”

Hermione finally looked up at him and was pleased to find an emotion on his face. With his red cheeks and puffed out chest, she knew he was trying not to fume.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean anything by it. You don’t need a title anyway, Ron Weasley is perfect enough.”

He reached his hand out to grab hers and somehow it was still clammy. She squeezed his hand in return.

“You know what title I like?” he asked.

“What’s that?”

“Hermione Granger’s boyfriend,” he chuckled. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Oh, Merlin. Ron Weasley’s girlfriend. It was so foreign and out of place. She much preferred Ron Weasley’s best friend.

It would be hateful to let this go on any longer.

“Ron, I—“

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, Mione.”

Her heart stopped.

“Okay.”

Ron rubbed his thumb over her hand as he leaned forward, elbow on the table. His big, blue eyes bore into hers and her mouth went dry.

“I love you, Hermione.”

All the colour left her face along with all of the air in her lungs. There was absolutely nothing in the world that she could say to possibly make this situation better. To make matters worse, her arm started burning again. Any bit of panic or agitation and it started reign of terror over her skin.

She loved him, she always had. He was her best friend, of course she loved him. Just not in the way he wanted.

“I know we’ve been through a lot and I don’t expect you to say it back right away,” he quickly added. “I just needed you to know.”

“Thank you, Ron.”

His face fell and it was clear that he had expected her to say it back. Suddenly it was awkward again as he let go of her hand and leaned back, returning to the plate in front of him.

Happy birthday to me.

...

The sun had started its descent as the couple made their back to the castle. The walk was long and arduous, the air around them palpable with discomfort. It was as though they had broken up and by the scowl on Ron’s face it was easy to think that they had. Hermione felt bad for not saying it back but she felt even worse for not telling him how she really felt.

Ron made a quick split, heading to the Gryffindor common room. There was nothing she could do, he was going to go tell all of their friends that she didn’t say it back. Part of her felt like she ought to, it would have been the normal thing to do. Instead, she scratched at the tender skin of her arm. The anxiety from the date merely spurred it on.

Hermione stumbled her way to the portrait door, the alcohol lowering her inhibitions almost completely. She stopped in front of it, never fully seeing it for what it was. A young woman sat on a marble bench in a perfectly primed garden, rose bushes a bounding. She was crying softly and just behind her, at the edge of the portrait, stood a young man. He watched her, the heartbreak clear on his face. He wanted to go to her, Hermione could tell, but the rose bushes held him back. What an odd portrait, she thought.

Mumbling the password, the portrait door opened and she walked into the dark common room. Hermione waved her hand, lighting the fireplace and the ceiling candles. She grabbed the wall next to her, kicked off her shoes and shrugged her jacket onto the floor. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she groaned loudly, letting out her exasperation from the date.

Why did Ron have to be so kind? Why did he have to be the perfect person for her? And why couldn’t she love him back?

Tripping over her discarded boots, she continued into the living area only to be met with the last person she wished to see. He sat on the velvet settee with one of her books in his possession, reading like he lived there. She walked up to the back of the settee and ripped the book from behind him.

“Get your own books, M—Malfoy,” she slurred. The book in question, To Kill A Mockingbird.

Hermione tossed the book onto the coffee table before settling into the plush, heinously floral armchair adjacent the settee. Draco lifted a bottle of something to his lips as he looked at her, peak disinterest in his eyes. She looked back at him, eyes narrowed and lips tight as she scratched her arm over her jumper.

“You’re an arsehole. A great, big, bloody arse—arsehole.” She hiccoughed, pointing a lazy finger at him.

“And you’re pissed,” he mumbled, setting the bottle on his knee.

“I am!” Hermione laughed. “I am so very drunk and you--you know what? I don’t care! Why does everyone else?”

He shrugged, leaning farther back in a very unpolished manner. As far as Hermione knew, Draco had a stick up his arse engraved with toujours pur in great big letters.

“It was simply an observation, Granger,” Draco said.

“Keep it to yourself, okay? I don’t yet another stupid, fucking teenage boy telling me if I can drink alcohol!” she exclaimed, waving her arms wildly. “I’m a capable adult, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, taking another sip of his mysterious drink.

“What’s funny?”

“Never heard you curse before.”

Hermione stood up, legs wobbling, nearly falling face first into the coffee table. “Fuck! Shit! Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck!” she shouted towards the ceiling before back to Draco, “Fuck you!”

She collapsed again, this time on the settee across from him. In her state of instability, she ripped her jumper off, leaving her in a vest and jeans, her arm simply disillusioned. Her hair frizzed from the static as she threw the jumper across the room.

“Fuck me?” Draco asked.

Hermione sat up on her knees, looking him dead on, into those strikingly silver eyes. She breathed heavily through her nose, feeling inexplicably angry towards him.

“Yes, fuck you,” she huffed. “You’re awful and I hate you.”

“Feelings mutual, Granger.” He took another sip. Hermione watched his neck crane back, gaze drifting to the point his jaw rounded in a sharp edge.
“And fuck you for shoving me against a bloody wall! That’s not how you treat a lady.”

“You’re hardly a lady,” he said, looking her up and down. “Ladies don’t get pissed before five o’clock.”

“Ladies don’t like being manhandled by posh boys with anger issues.”

“I know a few who’d disagree with you.”

Suddenly, Hermione shoved his arm as hard as she could. He barely moved. She shoved him again, pushing him into the arm of the settee. She kept pushing him, almost hitting him until he grabbed her wrist tightly.

“Careful, Granger.” His voice was low in his warning but she didn’t care.

Hermione wrenched her wrist from his hold, staring at him with a heaving chest. Sat with his back against the arm, she had him trapped, just like he had the other night. She wasn’t thinking clearly, one too many cherry vodkas and a boyfriend’s broken heart had her mind in a haze. Summoning inebriated confidence, she wrapped her hand around his neck, like he had her. His eyes flickered down to her arm and back up to her eyes, something dangerous stewing behind them.

“Not so fun, is it, Malfoy?” she whispered.

Her hand stayed around his neck, not pressing, just resting, and she couldn’t help but notice just how soft his skin was. Her thumb moved slightly, feeling his pulse point. Something was a flutter. Then she pressed harder, earning a gruff sound from Draco. His hand found her wrist, his icy touch a warning that she ignored.

“Get the fuck off me,” he growled.

Hermione tightened her grip, leaning over him. The adrenaline coursing through her veins felt better than any drink she’d ever kissed. His eyes were stony and filled with the one thing she recognized in herself; rage. That look spurred her on, his tightening grip, having him under her. She was in control and she loved it.

Then, she crashed her lips to his. And for some godforsaken reason, Draco kissed her back. Her heart was pumping blood like it never had before, the adrenaline felt all-consuming.

He kissed like she’d never known. It was rough and it hurt, she could already feel her lips swelling. His tongue forced its way into her mouth but she didn’t mind. Draco grabbed the backs of her thighs and flipped her onto her back, her head hitting the arm of the settee. His hand was around her neck now, tight and cold. Hermione’s hands found his hair, pulling herself closer. Back arched, lips moving fervently, she cursed herself for how soft his hair was. Draco pushed his hand farther up her neck, forcing her chin up as his kisses moved down her jaw. He nipped at the point where her jaw met her neck, earning a surprised gasp.

The portrait door opened and the sound of footsteps coming down the hall wrenched them apart. Hermione shoved him off, jumped into the armchair, and pulled her knees up. She tried evening her breaths as she watched Draco straighten out his shirt before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Theo walked in, dropping a bag of something on the kitchen counter before turning around to see them both in the living area. A wide smile crossed his face.

“Getting along are we?” he asked, jumping over the back of the settee to sit next to his mate.

Honey met silver and she stopped breathing.

“Hardly,” Draco said.

Hermione coughed out an excuse before running to her bedroom and accidentally slamming the door behind her. She leaned her head back against the door, hands raking through her hair.

"What the fuck?"

Everything was moving so fast. She ran for her life through the downpour of rubble. Spells were being shot in every direction. She barely had enough forethought to protect herself as she ran. She tried warning others. There was only so much to be done.

It was hard to see, hard to breathe. Dust from the breaking castle stirred up a fury. High pitched ringing sounded through her ears from the constant bangs and crashes. Everything was happening so fast, she could hardly comprehend any of it.

Then, at the end of the hall, she saw them. Lavender Brown, convulsing on the ground. Fenrir Greyback with his teeth buried in her neck.

“NO!” she shouted.

A spell flung from her wand. No, not a spell. A curse.

Greyback soared backwards, falling hundreds of feet from the open window. There lay Lavender Brown with her blonde hair spilling everywhere and her blue eyes dimming. The last person she saw was Hermione, and she smiled.

She woke with a start, heart pounding, body shaking and covered in sweat. Hermione tossed the covers off and sat up, burying her face in her hands. She tried controlling her breathing as she saw Lavender in the back of her mind. Lavender, who she hated once over a petty thing like a boy. Lavender, who she never gave the benefit of the doubt. Lavender, who was just a teenage girl with a massive crush and who never meant any harm. The girl Hermione never got to apologize to, never got to save.

Standing quickly, she grabbed a pack of fags from her bedside and shoved a pair of slippers on her feet before leaving the head dorms. It was still dark, no sign of the sun shining anytime soon as she made her way down the fields. The grass was wet under her slippers, creating an awful squelching sound as she went. Finding herself at the back of the greenhouse, she sat on the bricks and pulled out a fag, lighting it with a snap.

Nightmares weren’t uncommon for Hermione. Ever since fourth year when she saw Cedric Diggory’s body and heard Harry’s scream, she’d been having nightmares. She kicked herself for having nightmares. She’d only seen an iota of the living fears that Harry had experienced and yet they haunted her. Something about being an empath, about taking in the feelings of people around her until they drowned themselves in the tears she shed, alone in her bed. Hermione held everything and everyone so close that every loss was a jolt. She threw up from crying so hard more often than not. She wanted to give up, the nightmares were too much. Trying to save the world was too much. But if Harry could do it, survive more than she had known, then she could too.

Until it was all over, Hermione had done exactly that. She held herself up, held Ron and Harry up for years. Now...now she was left with a hole in her stomach the size of a bludger. She didn’t know where her emotions started and the nightmares ended. Perhaps she’d lost her emotions so long ago that now she was void, filled with the remnants of everyone else. She held the grief longer than the others. Even Harry had been doing better than her before returning but he had Ginny. Hermione had no one.

Of course Ron was there. And Molly and George, all of the Weasleys, but she didn’t have them. They didn’t get it and she couldn’t make them. She couldn’t bear to worry them when Fred was gone. The mere thought of bothering Harry sent her into a spiral. No, not after everything he had been through.

So she sat behind the greenhouse, far too early in the morning, with a fag burning between her fingers. She didn’t save Lavender. Or Fred, or Colin, or Remus, or Tonks. She didn’t save a single one of them and she felt guilty for living.

Worse, even. Hermione didn’t save her parents.

“Can’t sleep?”

Ginny sat next to her and took the fag, sucking down her own lungful of smoke before handing it back.

“Nightmare,” Hermione said, blowing out.

“What was it this time?”

“Lavender, again.”

Ginny leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder, looking out at the Black Lake in the distance.

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “Why are you up?”

“Harry owled me late, just finished talking him off the edge through the floo.” Ginny grabbed her own fag and Hermione lit it for her. “Mum would kill me if she knew I was smoking.”

“She’ll never know. Is Harry okay?”

“I told him he was.”

“Did he believe you? Because I don’t.”

Ginny sat up again, sighing deeply. “I don’t believe me either. He’s not sleeping, says he can’t without me. Auror training is the last thing he should be doing. Frankly, it's bullshit they gave him that ultimatum for not coming back. Without him, there would be nothing to come back to. I just wish I could see him.”

Hermione nodded, at loss for comfort. She used to be good at this. “You could leave for the weekends. Hogwarts, as much as it feels like it, isn’t a prison.”

“I guess I could talk to Minerva.”

Hermione watched the smoke leave her as it drifted towards the sky, towards the moon. The bright, silvery moon staring down at her. The moon had a face, her dad showed her when she was little. She used to love the moon’s face, how he smiled. Now, he looked at her with disdain. The moon judged her. Bright, silvery moon.

Silver.

She needed to tell someone but not her boyfriend’s sister. How does one tell their best friend they accidentally kissed someone else in a drunken haze? And that she liked it, a lot? Probably easily. More often than not she wished Ginny and Ron weren’t related. Hermione needed someone to be on her side for once. Ginny was on Harry’s and Ron’s. In the case of kissing Draco Malfoy, Ginny would be on St. Mungos’ side, admitting Hermione to a psych ward.

“Do you love him?” her best friend asked.

“Of course I love him.”

“But?”

She looked into those big, comforting brown eyes. Let me tell you everything, Ginny. Everything stuck in my throat, everything that haunts me. Everything that no one else knows because I’m afraid of being a burden to the people I love. Please Ginny, take my side.

“I don’t think I’m in the position to be anyone’s girlfriend,” Hermione said, snuffing the fag.

“Ron already knows everything you’ve been through, he can help.”

He doesn’t and he can’t.

“I know but it just feels like another responsibility,” she said sadly. “I’ve got nearly every class under the sun. Still haven’t chosen my peer study, if I’m even doing that. I have no idea what I want to do after we graduate. I’ve got to be Head Girl and role model to children who don’t know better, because if they knew, I would be the last person they looked up to. I feel like I can barely take care of myself.”

“Ron can help you sort through everything, that’s what boyfriends are for,” Ginny smiled, taking Hermione’s hand. “First, they are sex objects, second, they are good for emotional shit.”

Hermione let out a small laugh. The smile felt out of place on her cheeks, it was strained. “I appreciate how sex positive you are Gin but I don’t know.”

“You know what I think?” she asked, snuffing her own fag. “I think you’re exhausted. Take a few days, a week even, before you talk to him about it. I’ll even tell him to fuck off a bit, yeah?”

No. No, no, no. She didn’t want to think about it. There was nothing more to think about, she would just dwell on the fact that she’s incapable of reciprocating love for the perfect person for her. It all made sense with Ron and that was precisely why she couldn’t be with him. It was so expected, so Hermione Granger. It had barely been a month back and already she couldn’t live up to that moniker.

If she could give herself a new name, a new face, she would. She hated Hermione Granger.

“Yeah.”
...

It burned like hell. She couldn’t scratch, she couldn’t pick at the gauze, she had to suffer. She had been for months but she felt it getting worse. In the days following her birthday, it wouldn’t stop its incessant burning. Hermione could hardly take the pain while sober. While she tried not to be drunk in class, she felt as though she didn’t have a choice. There was no focusing when her arm was killing her.

She was running late, coming from having taken two shots, enough to subside the pain and still take comprehensive notes. Notes that she would never look at again because, if she was being honest with herself, she knew everything. Everything she researched through her years helping Harry then the unfortunate hands on experience of a war, there was nothing more to learn. And she didn’t care for useless facts or wasteful lessons. Who was she?

Hermione ran towards her charms class, accidentally making quite the entrance. She walked with her head down to the closest available seat as Flitwick gained everyone’s attention again. Hermione huffed, pulling her robe up her arm again before getting her things out.

“Are you always pissed now?”

She nearly jumped from her seat at his eerily deep voice. Draco was sitting next to her, Pansy on the other side of him, sending daggers.

Seeing him was a shock. She’d been avoiding him since their incident involving lips. She had been avoiding him for all the wrong reasons, not out of embarrassment or shame or even hatred. Hermione wanted to kiss him again. It was fucked up and she knew that, especially since she was still dating Ron. Especially since Draco Malfoy was quite possibly the worst person at Hogwarts.

He made her forget the pain in her arm. It was the adrenaline, the knowing it was wrong. God, so wrong. Something so wrong that made something worse feel better. Not to mention how he kissed her.

To say she hadn’t thought about it, almost exclusively, would be a lie.

He was staring.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hermione said as she started scribbling useless information. “Why are you sitting next to me?”

“You sat next to me,” he said, doing his own writing.

“Terrible mistake on my part.”

“I can smell it on you,” Draco whispered, his hot breath hitting her ear.

Hermione leaned away slightly, kicking herself for wanting his lips on her neck.

“Should at least brush your teeth if you’re going to be pissed in class.”

On the parchment in front of her laid a peppermint candy and the retreating hand of Draco. She looked over at him briefly to find that he was concentrated on whatever it was he was writing. His quill moved in long strokes and patterns, too slow for writing. Hermione peeked her head over the stack of textbooks between them only for Draco to close his notebook.

“Don’t be nosy, Granger, it's unbecoming.”

He leaned back in his seat, tucking the little black notebook into his front pocket. Pansy met Hermione’s eye and the look she gave her could only be described as pure venom. With her perfectly silky black hair cascading over her shoulder, she could be pretty, if it weren’t for the nasty look on her face.

Hermione turned her attention back to Flitwick who was demonstrating yet another charm she already knew. Taking to writing more nonsense, her ears perked up at the sound of Pansy’s voice.

“Are we still on for tonight, Drake?”

Drake? Hermione thought, scrunching her nose at the nickname.

“And what exactly is tonight?” he responded.

“Theo’s got that ruddy head dorm all to himself. Blaise wants to crash, Friday night and all.”

Hermione stopped writing when she heard that. Draco noticed and looked towards his ex-girlfriend.

“You do know Theo doesn’t live there alone.”

“Oh, I’m aware. Some people are good at making themselves,” Pansy started, leaning across Draco, “small. They know when they’re not wanted.”

Small. Somehow Pansy, in an attempt to insult, accurately described her. She felt so small, incapable.

“I was wanted when you were crying before the Wizengamot,” Hermione whispered, not taking her eyes from the front of class. “Pleading not to be sent to Azkaban, really it was sad. I’ve never seen someone so,” she looked to Pansy, “small.”

Flitwick dismissed class and Hermione was the first one out of the room. She could feel her face heating up, all the way down her neck, the way it did when she was embarrassed. Except she wasn’t, it was more of that control, adrenaline. She walked down the hall, a small smile catching her lips, when,

“Mione!”

Ron. She stopped walking and turned around. Ginny had asked her brother to in her words, ‘fuck off’ for a week. It was Friday, which meant that week was nearly up and Hermione felt exactly the same. Then, she couldn’t help but wonder. When was the last time she kissed Ron?

The first time she kissed him was filled with adrenaline, though it was in the middle of a war. Who’s to say she wouldn’t feel that again with a proper kiss? No measly peck or kiss on the cheek.

He approached her and in the middle of the hallway, for anyone to see, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He tried objecting before quickly realising how idiotic that would be and succumbed to her lips. Ron’s hands found her back, pressing her closer to him. She ran her hands through his hair, it was greasy and gritty. His tongue prodded her lips but she wouldn’t let him in. Hermione pulled away to find a very happy, pink cheeked Ron. She smiled awkwardly and when she untangled herself from him, she saw him watching. Leaned against a wall in a dark nook under the stairs, fag between his lips, he was watching.

His silver eyes were bright under the shadows as they raked up and down her body, her veins lit up. She could feel the danger beneath her skin in the way he looked at her. Wrong, it was wrong.

“What was that for?” Ron asked, gaining her attention again.

“Nothing,” she smiled flatly. “Listen, I was going to go study in the library for, well hours, probably. So you know where I am.”

He nodded. “I’ve got a class right now then quidditch practice, Ginny’s ruthless this year. I won’t be free until after dinner.”

She didn’t care. “Okay, sounds good! See you later then!”

She started away when he grabbed her hand gently. Ron’s hands were always warm, calloused with awkwardly long fingers. He placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her once again.

“Love you.”

Hermione didn’t say it back.
...

I’m an awful person. He loves me so much and I don’t. I can’t and I don’t know why. He’s my best friend, he’s always been there, he’s Ron. He’s kind and objectively good looking. He’s got the warmest family who treat me like their own. He’s got prospects to be an Auror, he’s going to live a great, happy life and I can’t be in it the way he wants me to. I don’t know what to do. It gets worse, though. I get worse.

I kissed someone else. I haven’t told anyone, not even Ginny. And I shouldn’t be telling you but let’s be honest, I’m never going to send this letter. I wish I could. I wish I could talk to you again but everything feels so lost. Like I’ve lost you or we lost us, what we were. And I know if I told you anything that I think about, everything I’m feeling or not, everything that happened that no one knows it would hurt you. It would hurt you, Harry, and I can’t hurt you.

But, since I’m not sending this, it wouldn’t hurt to say who I kissed. I feel like a child again, writing this way. You hate him, you used to anyway, you’ve a kinder heart than I. I hate him. Everything he ever said to me, did to me, and yet I find myself in this position. It’s just because he took the pain away. Pain that you don't know about.

Hermione stopped writing, realising that even if she wanted to talk to figurative Harry that there was too much he didn’t know. She’d have so much to explain if she wanted to open up about anything to him or Ginny. Her arm, her parents, what happened the night of May 2nd. Draco.

It was precisely why her mum always told her to be honest, to be open and true. Once you’ve started a lie, you’ve found yourself in the web of them. Dishonesty was something the three of them vowed to never have between them. Not after Ron left them.

Yet, here she was. Pinnacle of dishonesty.

Hermione grabbed the peppermint from her bag, hoping the mint would distract from the pain in her arm. She found herself flicking the area over her jumper, trying to keep from itching. Maybe cutting her arm off would be the answer.

Then, suddenly, she realised she had no answers for what exactly was happening to her arm. When it first happened, it was a normal cut, normal blood. Now it was its own being, devouring her. She pushed herself up from the table, crumpling the letter that would never be sent and started through the aisles. Healing ought to be the place to start. Hermione had never frequented the health and healing section, she was too focused on being the destruction. Mouthing the titles and numbers to herself as she searched, her feet led her in the right direction. As she turned into the next aisle, she stopped.

So conveniently, Draco was leaning against a stack of books with a book. When a Non-Healer Heals. Sounds like something she might need. Hermione squared her shoulders and walked towards him at the back of the aisle. He looked up through his lashes at the sound of someone.

“Granger,” he mumbled, turning the page.

She stuffed the peppermint into her cheek. “I hate you.”

“Super.”

“You’re a terrible person...”

“What’s new?”

“...who has done terrible things. Especially to me.”

Draco looked up, putting his hand flat on the open book. Hermione chewed her lip, not sure where to go from there.

“You made my life hell. For a teenage girl to hear the things you said to me, it's shattering,” she said, holding his gaze. He wasn’t looking away. “Which is why it makes this so much worse.”

She stepped forward and took the book from him.

“Can you stop taking books from me?”

Hermione shoved it haphazardly onto the shelf behind him. “I’m going to do something and you’re not going to question it. I’ll question it, I’ll give myself shit for it so you don’t have to. Not a word, Malfoy, got it?”

“I don’t—“

Hermione kissed him, up on her toes, she pulled him down to her, running her hands through his soft hair again. It should be criminal to have hair that soft, so easy to mess up and grab. Draco kissed her back, hands finding her waist. His tongue swept over her bottom lip before biting it. Hermione gasped, allowing him to kiss her deeply. He claimed her with his lips, hungry, quick. Intense.

Her hands found the sides of his face, lavishing herself in the forbidden feeling of utterly velvet lips. Draco kissed without reservation, his hands traversing her back. Tucking his hands under her thighs, he picked her up, shoving her against the bookshelf. His hands were icy, too cold to be normal, but it rivaled the heat coursing through her from her arm that she didn’t care. Draco kissed down her jaw, finding the spot just under her jaw, near her ear. Hermione sighed, the scent of him lingering around her like a dark cloud. The taste of him stayed on her lips, mint, tobacco, and something sweet. Deliciously sweet.

She craned her neck back as he kissed her neck. Her chest heaved, mind raced, and not an inch of pain was anywhere to be found. She grabbed his face back to her lips when their eyes met. Both of them stopped their breaths mixing together in a cocktail of uncertainty and bewilderment.

“Oh my god.” Someone was standing at the end of the aisle, looking at Hermione Granger with her legs wrapped around Draco Malfoy.

In an instant Draco pulled out his wand, sending a spell in the direction of the younger student. He stumbled back, blinking slowly, before turning around and leaving the aisle. Hermione pushed Draco’s chest gently, allowing herself to stand again.

“Figured you don’t want your boyfriend finding out,” Draco said, tucking his wand back in his pants.

“What did you—“

“He’s fine but he might forget why he’s in the library.”

Hermione nodded before smoothing out her skirt. She brushed her hair down, trying to avoid the hard gaze she knew was coming from Draco.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she whispered, having a sudden interest in her nail beds.

“That you cheated on your boyfriend twice or that you kissed me,” he mocked. “Twice.”

Hermione sighed before meeting his steely eyes.

“Or, that you cheated on your boyfriend twice with me?”

“Malfoy,” she warned.

“Granger.” He was being smug and she knew she never should have done it. One kiss was something, it was explainable, even potentially excusable. But two, two defined just how horrible she was.

“You said not to question it but I was never good at rules,” he said, grabbing the same book from before. He started flipping through it, trying to find his place as he continued. “Is this some sort of rebellious phase of yours? Drinking and snogging boys you hate.”

“First of all, my life is none of your business. Second, it's not boys. Just you,” she said, feeling small and awkward.

“And your boyfriend, of course.”

“Can you stop mentioning Ron! Clearly he doesn’t know and I’m going to break up with him, I just...”

Draco leaned against the bookshelf again, resuming his position as if he hadn’t just snogged the life out of her.

“Don’t break up with him on my account.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not. I’m breaking up with him because he deserves someone better. Someone who can say they love him back.” Hermione trailed off, thinking about how he’s going to react.

Draco watched as she came back to her senses, realising something was missing. She moved her tongue around her mouth.

“Looking for this?” he asked, sticking his tongue out, her peppermint on it.

She raised her eyebrows. “You took my peppermint?”

“It was mine first.”

He was being odd, even by Hermione’s standards. She shook her head, exhausted from the conversation and the time. She started away when she was pulled back by the waist of her skirt. Draco grabbed her neck, tilted her head up and kissed her again, still rough, but short. When he pulled away, his face was blank, giving a quick wink before walking away.

Hermione stood in the aisle, flush on her cheeks, and a peppermint on her tongue.

...

She didn’t see Ron after dinner. Hermione, after gathering her senses, grabbed a few books on healing and made her way back to her common room. Kissing Draco, though it be her worst idea, proved to be working. Her arm didn’t hurt. She was too preoccupied with thoughts of how to break up with Ron and what would happen if anyone found out about Draco, that she had no time to pay mind to her blistering arm.

Getting past the portrait, she heard low sounds of music and murmuring in the living area, where she had to walk through to get to her room. Hanging her robes on a hook, she shrugged her bag higher and held her books closer as she started forward. The music got louder and she could hear the voices multiplying. Rounding the corner, she swore she walked into the snake's den. Six Slytherins occupied her precious, safe, living area and worse, Draco was among them.

“Hermione Granger!” Theo exclaimed. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“I live here, Theo.”

“Shame,” Pansy said, tipping back a glass of something alcoholic.

Hermione let her eyes wander, unsurprised to find a bag of weed on the coffee table, and very surprised to find a few lines of white dust next to that. Her eyebrows raised slightly, meeting Theo’s eyes again.

“You do realise you’re Head Boy, don’t you? Or has the crack gone to your head?” she bit.

Blaise stifled a laugh and under his arm, a blonde girl, presumably Daphne Greengrass scoffed loudly.

“It’s not crack, Golden Girl,” Pansy said before leaning forward and inhaling a line of it herself.

“Might as well be. I do find it ironic, a bunch of pureblood elitists doing muggle drugs. Drinking muggle alcohol. Did the gillyweed and fire whiskey not cut it anymore?” She was fuming. She was always the responsible one and she currently had too many responsibilities to be fucking around with adult children.

“They’ve reformed, Hermione, they love people like you now,” Theo said, obviously getting tipsier by the second.

Hermione smiled incredulously. “The fact that you had to say, people like me, lies the problem, Theo. If I see any of this, and I mean even a little spec, in the morning, I will go to McGonagall. Be careful because as far as I’m concerned, you’re all on probation.”

She left to her room, not without hearing Pansy’s,

“What a fucking cunt.”

Hermione dropped the books on her desk, slinging her bag onto the ground. Stretching her arms into the air, she tried to let all of the stress of her life slide off. To no avail. Shrugging off her clothes, she grabbed her pajamas and redressed quickly. As she was about to put her long sleeve on, she looked down at the blood stained gauze around her arm. It was time to replace it and it didn’t hurt like usual at the moment. Summoning the gauze, she quickly unwrapped her arm.

To say that it was grotesque would be an understatement. Her skin pulled with the gauze and the blood was bubbling underneath its odd protective layer. The blood dam only burst when she scratched, it was an enigma. The bruising was somehow worse and more purple. There were small veins of light gray under her skin, connecting the letters and splaying out like spider legs.

Hermione quickly wrapped it again and shrugged on her shirt. She grabbed the healing books and spread them out on her bed before climbing in. Starting with the first on severe cuts and bruising. Approximately thirty seconds into reading there was a knock on the door.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted.

A single knock. Then a pause. Then two more.

As far as she was concerned, she didn’t have any secret knock sequences with her friends. Waving her wand, she unlocked the door. Draco opened the door, still standing at the threshold. She looked at him expectantly.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Can I come in?”

Hermione looked around, finding nothing incriminating before nodding. Draco walked in and closed the door behind him, much to her discomfort.

He looked around at the minimally decorated room. Only a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a bedside table took up the room. No indication of house, besides her tie on the dresser, and no distinguishing personality traits, save the stack of books next to the desk. He walked towards the dresser, noticing a picture of Hermione and her parents.

“Your photograph is broken.”

She looked up. “It’s not broken. It’s muggle, muggle pictures don’t move.”

“Are they your parents?”

“Why are you in here?”

“You invited me in.”

“You invited yourself by knocking on my door,” she said pointedly.

“You look like your father,” he said, still looking at the photo.

“Malfoy, what do you want?”

Draco turned to look at her, taking a drink from his green bottle. How very. “I need you to clear something up for me.”

“Why I kissed you.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” He took another sip. “Did Weaselbee cheat on you? Am I revenge?”

“No, Ron is an obscenely perfect boyfriend.” Hermione looked up to see him closer, leaning against the bedpost. “Can you just go along without asking questions?”

Draco looked down at her, eyes narrowed slightly before nodding once. His eyes drifted to the books on her bed and back up to her curiously.

“No questions,” she reminded.

“Right.”

They looked at each other a moment longer and even though Hermione’s arm felt fine, she desperately wanted to kiss him. She’d never been kissed like that before; urgently, hungrily.

“Drake!” Pansy’s voice shouted from the living area.

Draco rolled his eyes, tipping the rest of his drink back. He raised his empty bottle to her before leaving. She was left in her room, confused as to why Draco was seemingly civil with her. Considering their previous school years, not to mention his little tantrum earlier in the month.

It was just the adrenaline, the danger. She wouldn’t go to him every time her arm hurt. She’d find something to replace him. Perhaps flying.

I miss you, I’m sorry for being hard on you. Owl me. Or call me, Ginny said you got a phone. I’ll leave my number.

Please, Harry.

Hermione folded up the letter and tied it to Errol before giving him a small piece of bread from breakfast.

“Please, for the love of God, get this to Harry Potter,” she said, patting his head. The old bird squawked and flew out the window, his head crooked the whole time. Using Errol was borderline animal cruelty.

Hermione sighed and started out when Theo opened the owlry door. She stopped short, smiled at him, and kept going.

“Hermione,” he called out. “I’m sorry about the other night. Pansy’s a bitch and you’re right, I should be more responsible.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It was insinuated,” he smiled. “We will keep our shenanigans in the dungeons, unless of course, you decide to join.”

“Not likely, but thank you. I appreciate your maturity,” she smiled back, much less charming than Theo.

He nodded and turned to a stark, black owl. “So, who’re you owling?”

“Harry.”

“Potter?” he asked, feigning shock. “You know, I always thought, in another life, we’d’ ve made great friends. Seems like a good mate, him.”

She nodded. “He’s the best. I think he’d like you but you and Ginny, you’d get on like a house on fire.”

“You seem pretty confident about that,” he said, feeding his owl a berry. “You know nothing about me.”

Hermione shrugged. “Call it intuition. You seem like a good person.”

“Stop it, you’re gonna make me blush,” Theo winked before patting his owl, sending it on its way. He extended his arm towards the door in a gentlemanly manner. Hermione smiled and faux curtsied before walking out the door.

“So, who were you owling?” she asked, trying to extend the conversation.

“My father, lovely man.” He was terse, something was off in his voice.

“Did they indict him?”

“I feel like you of all people should know who did and didn’t get the one way ticket to Azkaban,” he said, skipping down the stairs behind her. They walked through the field back towards the castle, gaining only a few odd looks. “I hear it's rather lovely there in the summer.”

She smiled again. “I avoided as many trials as I could. I refused to testify but Harry wanted Ron and I to come as often as we could. They’re still trying some, I know, but I don’t know every detail, shocking, I’m aware.”

“Right, well no they did not send my old man on vacation. He is under permanent house arrest for the rest of his life. I think they felt bad, he’s fucking old and has some health issues we’ve never figured out.”

Hermione nodded along. “And your mother?”

“Died giving birth to me.” He nudged Hermione, who had a frown on her face. “It's alright, I saved her from a lot of shit.”

She was about to respond when they came upon Draco and Pansy, talking aggressively. They stopped near them, Pansy hit Draco’s chest and gestured with her head. He looked over to Theo and her, straightening up to his full, overwhelming height. He ran a hand through his hair as Pansy walked up to Theo and placed a kiss on his lips. Hermione was taken aback.

“She bothering you, babe?” Pansy asked, grabbing Theo’s hand, sending more daggers in Hermione’s direction.

She rolled her eyes, looking to Draco, who glared at the raven haired girl.

“Malfoy,” she regarded.

“Granger.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip as she looked up at him. Her arm hadn’t bothered her in a while, a dull aching pain was the constant, but it wasn’t burning. She turned back towards Theo who was engulfed in a snogging session with Pansy. Averting her eyes, cheeks flush from the embarrassment of seeing them, she looked to Draco again who started to say,

“I don’t think—“

“Mione!” Ron jogged up behind Draco, before standing right in front of her. “Hey.” He kissed her square on the mouth as she looked into the wrong pair of eyes, silver eyes.

Ron turned around after pulling away and his entire demeanor changed. His hands turned to fists and his shoulders squared tensely as he tried to match Draco’s height.

“Weasel,” he said, looking down at the ginger. “Seems you’ve interrupted our conversation.”

“Fuck are you on about, Malfoy?”

“Ron, it’s okay, he—“

“No, Hermione, it's not okay. He shouldn't be talking to you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of deciding who can and cannot speak to me, Ron,” she said, stepping around him.

He looked at her for a moment then to Draco before grabbing her hand, yanking him towards her.

“Not when it comes to this fucking prick.” He had her left hand, squeezing it so tightly, she could feel shooting pains up her arm. “Stay the fuck away from her, Malfoy. You don’t know—“

Hermione had been trying to pull her hand away before resorting to shoving him as hard as she could. Tears were brimming her eyes from the force of his hand. A drop of blood slipped from her sleeve.

“Ronald!” she shouted, gaining looks from passers by. “Stop it!”

“Mione, you’re bleeding,” he said, worry suddenly covering his face.

She looked down at the few drops of blood on the ground, holding her arm to her chest. It was seeping into her jumper now. Ron reached out but she stumbled backwards, into Draco. Then she turned around, looked into stony grey eyes, back to kind blue eyes, then to Theo. It was too much and she felt trapped.

“Move!” she yelled, startling all of them. She started running towards the head dorms when,

“Mione, wait!”

“No!” Hermione spun around, tears in her eyes. “Leave me the hell alone, Ron!”

Her heart stuttered from the look on his face. She turned back and ran up the inane amount of stairs. Panic was taking over her again, she couldn’t breath, spots were appearing in her vision. Somehow, she made it into the common room and into the washroom. Stumbling for the shower, she turned it on and sat under it, fully clothed. The water was numbingly cold as it washed over her. Hermione struggled to get her jumper off, and once she did, she looked down at her arm, blooding dripping from the gauze.

She yelled in pain as she pulled it off. It felt like pulling off a second skin as the blood came pouring out. Red covered her in a blanket of death. Once the gauze was off, she attempted a measly episkey spell. It closed the wounds long enough to get her to wrap it again.

“Accio gauze, accio dittany,” she heaved. The pain and panic were dizzying, she could hardly breathe.

The supplies flew to her, she scrubbed hard at the wound, trying to rid it off blood, ultimately making it burn worse. Turning off the water, she turned over her vial of dittany, only finding one drop falling out. Hermione let out a cry of frustration.

“Episkey.” The wounds closed long enough for her to see the word again.

Mudblood.

She wrapped her arm quickly and leaned against the shower wall. There was only so much more of this pain she could take. It was barely October and there was no sign of the flare ups stopping. It was the panic that took her over the edge, self-inflicted panic, anxiety from everyone else caring about her.

That never scared her before, being cared for. Hermione spent so long caring for everyone else that she hadn’t expected the return and in such abundance. McGonagall, Ron, Ginny, she couldn’t bear it and she didn’t know why. It broke her heart. Hermione worried she wouldn’t be good enough for them if they knew she was falling apart.

There it was. That self-inflicted panic.

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice sounded through the dorm. With a wave of her hand, the washroom door shut and locked.

A soft knock and Ginny’s voice. “Mione, are you alright?”

Looking around frantically, Hermione resorted to hexing herself to throw up. Violently.

“Are you ill? Do you need something?”

“Think I had a bad egg at breakfast. I’ll be alright, thanks Gin.”

Leave, leave, leave.

“Okay, I’m here if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Love you, Mione.”

Hermione didn’t respond. She heard Ginny’s footsteps retreat and she was left with the bloody mess around her.

She needed answers.
...

Hours later, Hermione heard rustling outside her bedroom door.

“Mate, you can’t fucking do this shit again. I barely got you through summer.” It was Theo.

“I didn’t do anything that wasn’t deserved.” Draco, she’d recognize that baritone voice anywhere.

“Was it?”

“You were right there, you heard him. Besides, it's not like I threw the first punch.”

“I’m not pissed that you held you’re own, hell I would’ve hit that fucking Weasley too. I’m pissed that you let him get to you. You’re still on probation, and with your dad—“

“I’m aware, Theo.”

Hearing enough, Hermione stepped out of her room wearing one of Molly’s Christmas jumpers, sufficiently covering her arm, and accidentally her shorts. Draco was sitting on the back of the settee, Theo leaning against the kitchen island. They both looked to her but she didn’t feel the panic in the pit of her stomach.

“Hermione, feeling better?” Theo asked with a smile.

She gave a wary glance to Draco before nodding. “Yeah, much, thanks. Is there something I need to know?”

“No,” said Draco tersely.

Theo scoffed. “Yes. McGonagall wanted you there but I informed her of your unfortunate bout of food poisoning.”

He looked at her like he knew the truth and it scared her.

“What happened?”

“Your wonderful boyfriend shared a few choice words with my best mate here. Ginger threw a punch, good one, right to the jaw. Lucky I was there to break it up,” he said, winking at her.

“You hit him back?” she asked.

“Of course I fucking hit him back, he’s a fucking prick,” Draco bit, rubbing his jaw again.

“Well you’re still here. No expulsions then?”

“Thank me for that. Charming as I am, I saved both of their sorry arses. Though that little friend of yours, Jenny?”

“Ginny.”

“Ginny, right. She said Ron’d get a mouthful from his mum. Should be embarrassing enough, I’m hoping. And Draco here’s getting a sweet little visit from his probation Auror.”

Draco looked at Hermione, not an ounce of emotion on his face. She looked back, feeling a pang of anger and guilt in her chest.

Theo checked his wristwatch quickly before drumming a few fingers on the counter. “I’ve got a date with Pans, if I’m late, I will be down a testicle.”

Hermione managed a smile as he left. Once she was sure he’d left, she walked up to Draco and grabbed his face. He pushed her off, not before she noticed a small cut on his lip and one under his eye. The bruise around his jaw was turning yellow. Hermione pulled out her wand and with a quick episkey, he was back to his frustratingly perfect self.

“You’re an arsehole,” she stated simply.

Draco scoffed. “Right, of course. You weren’t there to hear what your obscenely perfect boyfriend said to me. And he threw the first punch, mind you.”

“Maybe you deserved it.”

“I deserved it? I didn’t do shit. He got pissy because I spoke to you.”

Hermione lifted herself onto the counter, long olive legs dangling. “I think, after everything, he deserved to hit you. All the shit your family caused his. I mean your father—“

“Watch your fucking mouth, Granger.” Draco pushed himself off the settee, eyes dangerously dark.

Adrenaline. She was making him mad and it felt fucking fantastic.

“Maybe he should’ve hit you sooner, knocked some sense into you. Maybe then you wouldn’t have continued fighting on the wrong side of the war. And to think, you didn’t even do any fighting.”

“You don’t know anything,” he growled. “I’d be careful with what you decide to say next.”

“Or what? Are you going to call me a Mudblood? Spit on me for being filthy? Oh, I know! Mock me for having frizzy hair, curse my teeth. Go on, Malfoy. Make me feel like a worthless piece of shit. You’ve done it before. It was fun for you wasn’t it?” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Because at school, you had control, didn’t you? You could be the bully while your bully sat at home, fucking your mother.”

His hand was around her throat in an instant, genuinely choking her. Hermione didn’t move as she felt herself struggle for breath. She liked it. Reveled in it, even. It was dark and fucked and somehow, exactly what she needed.

“Say one more thing, you fucking bitch. I dare you.”

“All talk,” she choked out. “What are you going to do? Kill me? Couldn’t even off poor old Dumbledore.”

Draco tightened his grip so much her face turned pink, the veins at her temples protruding. Her hand found his wrist and as if her touch burned him, he pulled away. Grabbing a left over glass of water from the counter, he threw it against the wall behind him. The glass shattered everywhere, falling to the ground like sparkling rain.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“Go on,” she said, hoping off the counter. “Break something else.”

“What fucking game are you playing here?”

“I’m not. Now break something.” He had his wand in his hand, twisting it slowly. Draco watched her, waiting for a trick. “You’re angry so instead of taking it out on me, break something.”

“You’re trying to get me to fuck up my probation aren’t you? You knew Weasley was there, you—“
“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy!” Hermione shouted, pushing past him to her bedroom. She opened her trunk and stared down at the remaining four and half bottles of alcohol. It was stupid to bring them, stupid to rely on them. She grabbed all of them in her arms, carrying them back into the living area. Hermione put them all on the coffee table and stepped back.

“Go on then, break them.”

“Where did you—“

Hermione flicked her hand towards Draco, the bedroom door behind him exploding into splinters of wood.

“You’re angry at me, at Ron, at God knows who else,” she said. “Break something. I promise you, it feels great.”

Draco waved his wand at the first bottle, watching it shatter into a million little pieces. Red wine splattered against the white walls, hitting Hermione’s face and legs. He broke the next, more glass, more drink painting the room like some niche abstract artist. Hermione waved her hand again and one of the settee cushions combusted, feathers flying amongst the room.

He followed suit, more feathers floating around them in the cacophony of spells hitting every surface available. Wooden bookshelves splintered, books jumped, pages torn. For them, it was a symphony of destruction. Every painful thing they needed to say could be found in the song of spells. Her song was dramatic, crescendoing into a flourish of unsung confessions. The songs she’d never sing turned from the screams in her mind and ache in her body. Everything hurt and it sounded beautiful.

Hermione stopped her spells after the brick of the fireplace crumbled beneath her feet. She looked around at the mess they had made and she laughed. She laughed at the shredded pages in her favourite book, at the broken chandelier now at the foot of Draco who looked at her like a mad woman. Perhaps she was just that: mad.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “Utter destruction.”

Draco stepped over glass and feather, sticky liquid and paper, to stand in front of her. He picked something from her hair and held it in front of her. One, short, pristinely white feather. She laughed again as she took it from him. Tears longed to come out as she looked at the little thing. How something so simple came from so many complicated feelings was beyond her. A bloody rose in a battlefield.

“Feel better?” Hermione asked, looking at the spots of wine on his cheeks.

Draco grabbed the last bottle, vodka by chance, and tipped it back before handing it to her. She gladly took a sip, before wiping her lips.

“Inconclusive.” He looked around them, a few feathers still spinning in the wake of their untimely demise. “You’ve got quite the mess to clean up.”

“Maybe if Theo has both testicles when he comes back, I’ll make him clean it.”

Draco let out a single, short huff for a laugh before he stepped around her. The glass crunched under his expensive shoes and she didn’t turn around as he left. She held the last bottle in her hands, the last bit of liquid adrenaline she had as she surveyed the room again.

“Aw, you’ve broken it.”

The little girl sniffled, trying to keep back more tears. Mrs. Granger smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Oh, it’s alright, my dove. We can fix it.”

“Daddy?” Hermione held up her doll and its missing arm. “Can you fix it?”

Mr. Granger took the toy with a smile. “Daddy can fix anything.”

Vodka slipped down her throat.

“You can’t fix this.”

Numbers came back. With only one bottle left and the strangest interaction of her life with Draco yesterday, she resorted to counting again. She counted the number of breaths she took in as she dressed. How many books she put into her bag (the answer was seven), how many steps it took to get from her bedroom to the portrait door (the answer was twenty-four).

She counted how many times she’s kissed another person. First, when she was four years old, her childhood friend Daniel Peckherdst. It wasn’t until a decade later she kissed Viktor Krum, it wasn’t good. She may or may not have shared a cheeky peck with Dean Thomas. She was happy to help him solidify his queerness but it was still a year or so before he confessed his undying love to Seamus Finnegan. Then of course, Ron. Then Ron again. Ron. Ron. Ron. Ron. Ron. Ron.

Suddenly, Draco.

Ron.

Draco.

In total, exactly fourteen kisses. But she only thought about one. One, over and over. One, up against the bookshelves. One, hands on her thighs. One, legs wrapped around him. One, mint.

She looked up from her shoes as she entered the Great Hall. One. One. One. She sat next to Ron, who was busy laughing with Seamus and Dean. Hermione grabbed one muffin next to one goblet of cider.

“Hey, Mione,” Ron said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. That didn’t count.

“Morning,” she mumbled, taking a bite of banana nut, her favourite.

One, pair of incredibly soft lips.

Hermione looked up from her muffin as Neville sat down in front of her, and just behind him she saw two.

Two, silver eyes.

He was staring, as always. He couldn’t keep those eyes to himself, not that she wanted him to. She took another bite as he stared at her. He said something, not to her but to Theo, who was next to him. She saw, even from afar, how his eyebrow furrowed. A little crease between them. His eyes left hers for a moment, she still watched. Draco said something to Theo, who looked aggravated. They were whispering, their heads were low. Theo’s eyes darted around them. Draco stopped and turned back to his plate. He picked up a single blueberry as his eyes met hers again, he ate it.

She expected distance after last night, after what she said, him almost choking her to death. Then, their little symphony. What did it all mean?

“You look different,” Ron said from next to her.

She didn’t look away. “I always look like this.”

“It was a compliment, Hermione. Surely you can take one.”

Her own brow furrowed as she put down her muffin. She turned to face Ron, who, for some reason, looked miffed.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“You didn’t see me yesterday.”

“I did.”

“Not in the hospital,” he whinged.

“I heard you got punched.” She grabbed his chin, moving his head side to side. “I don’t see anything.”

“Pomfrey fixed it.”

“Must not’ve been that bad then.”

“Since you clearly aren’t going to ask. It was Malfoy, yeah, I hit him first. So what? He deserved it,” he spat.

“I’m sure he did. Do you feel better after punching him? Feel like you’ve proved a point?”

“I do, actually.” His eyes flickered just to the left of her. “You’ve got something in your hair.”

He pulled it out and handed her, a pristinely white feather. Her chest tightened as she took it from him before looking back in front of her. He was still looking. She saw the feather, she saw Draco, and she saw Ron.

A few owls flew overhead, dropping letters. One landed in front of her at the same moment one landed over Draco. Her eyes recognized the scrawl of her name on the envelope: Harry.

She twisted the little feather between her fingers before meeting kind blue eyes. “Ron, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“What?” he asked, taking a crumbly bite of toast.

“Can we speak somewhere privately?”

He gestured to his food as she gave him slightly annoyed eyes. It wasn’t about getting irritated, it was about letting him down gently. As gently as she could manage. They both stood up and found the hidden spot under the stairs. Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. She studied him one last time, just in case he decided never to speak to her again. Little freckles, the few that formed a line towards his eye. Blue eyes, like the sky, always a point of comfort.

“Can I hold your hand?” she asked.

“Sweaty,” he muttered.

Hermione let out a short huff. “Right. Ron, I want you to know how much I care about you. You’re my best friend and I appreciate that relationship beyond words. You’ve done so much for me over the years and I am forever thankful for you. And, I love you, I do, immensely. I just can’t love you the way you deserve and I’m sorry.”

He blinked a few times, shaking his head slightly. “Wait, you’re—are you breaking up with me?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you wanted to yell at me for punching someone, how it's not feminine.”

“Feminist and that doesn’t make sense.”

“Now you’re criticising me!”

“I’m not, I’m sorry.”

Both hands were in his hair now, clutching for strands. “What happened? Did I do something?”

“No, it's me. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t love you like that. But I still love you as my best friend and family,” she said, trying to make it better.

“Its the sex, isn’t it? I was awful, I know, but—“

“Ron, it was not the sex. It's me. I’m not in any place to be a girlfriend right now and I can’t string you along. It's not fair to either of us. I still love you.”

“Stop saying that! Clearly you don’t and that's the bloody problem!” he shouted. He was pacing, wiping sweaty palms on his jumper. “There’s someone else, isn’t there? Michael Corner? Zacharias Smith? No, no, fuck! It's that blasted Slytherin you live with. Nott! You’re fucking Theo Nott!”

“Ronald!” Hermione shouted.

He stormed into the Great Hall again, eyes searching for the snake. Hermione ran after him, pulling on his shirt.

“Ron, no. Ron, stop it!”

He found the Slytherin table, Hermione just behind him. Honey met silver and she shook her head. Ron grabbed the back of Theo’s dress shirt and yanked him from his seat before landing a punch clean on his nose.

“You fucked my girlfriend!” Ron shouted.

Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

Theo grabbed his nose then looked at his blood covered fingers. “Nice one. Sorry, who’s your girlfriend? Bit dizzy at the moment.”

“I am—was!” Hermione said.

“Granger?” Theo asked, his sight clearing. He looked at Ron who was beat-red in the face. “No, I can say for certain I have never fucked Hermione. Not that I haven't thought about it.”

“Theo!” Pansy exclaimed.

Ron punched him in the gut. Theo doubled over as he fell back onto the bench. Draco stood, towering over everyone. He stepped in front of his mate and pushed Ron’s chest back.

“You need to step off,” he said.

“This has nothing to do with you, Malfoy.”

“If you’re going to beat up my best mate, you’re going to answer to me.”

Ron shoved Draco’s chest back, the latter tensed his jaw and curled his fists. Hermione, still behind Ron, watched them with a wary eye. Ron pushed him again.

“What are you gonna do, Malfoy? Punch me again? Go on, do it,” he goaded.

“You need to leave,” Draco said calmly.

Theo stood again, blood staining his upper lip. He stepped towards Ron, hands held up in surrender. “Listen mate, we don’t want any trouble, alright? So just go on back to your little friends, yeah?”

“No, you don’t get to fucking talk! I know you sleep around, everyone does. I’m not surprised you sunk your teeth into Hermione,” Ron spat.

“Call me a manwhore all you want, Weasley, but I can tell you for a fact, I never touched your pretty little girlfriend,” Theo said, taking a step closer. “So do us a favour and back off.”

Ron shook his head, a look of pure malice on his face. He spit directly into Theo’s eye, inciting gasps from the onlookers. Theo wiped the spit away, and for the first time, he was furious.

“Really didn’t want to do this mate,” he mumbled before punching Ron across the jaw.

He stumbled back before quickly reacting with another punch to Theo’s gut. Ron hit him twice, then three times before Draco stepped in front of his friend. The fourth punch careened into Draco’s chest. Hermione reached for Ron’s arm on the fifth swing and pulled him back.

“Stop it!” she yelled.

In the midst of his rage, a right hook hit Hermione’s jaw and the Great Hall went silent. Her hand met her face instantly and in shock, she didn’t turn her head back to face him. She took a deliberate step back as shaky fingers met her lip. It was warm with blood, the metallic taste settled on her tongue. First she looked at her fingers, wiped the blood off them and her face, then she straightened up, pushed her hair back, and faced Ron.

“Hermione, I--”

“You know if you would have listened to me for a bloody second, none of this would have happened,” she said calmly.

“But--”

“But nothing!” she shouted, commanding the attention of everyone there. “You’re acting like a child! I tried to let you down gently, I gave you the chance to act like an adult and here you are acting off pretense! I broke up with you and that's it, do you understand? I’m fucking done, Ron!”

“Can we--”

“No. McGonagall can deal with you. I’m done,” Hermione said finally. She turned to Theo, who was still bleeding and clutching his stomach. Then, she looked across the Great Hall, finding every last pair of eyes on her. Hermione had been angry before but never this much, her blood was simply boiling.

“I’m sorry, don’t you all have somewhere to be?” she shouted, her voice, like a stern mother’s, resonated across all four tables.

Students quickly started getting up and filing out, the beginnings of gossip sprouting amongst them. Hermione touched her lip again, finding no more blood as she approached the Slytherin table and grabbed a napkin. Addressing Theo’s bleeding face was more important than stares from ickle third years.

“God, Theo. I’m so sorry,” Hermione said, pressing the napkin to his nose.

“No, no it's fine. I actually love getting punched in the face at eight in the morning,” he mock-teased.

“What happened?” Draco asked quietly.

She tilted Theo’s head so it was straight up to look at her. “I broke up with him and he thought there was someone else. Theo ended up being the target since we room together.”

Hermione pulled the napkin away, seeing the bleeding had stopped. Theo put his hand to his nose, pressing gently.

“Thank fuck its not broken,” he said. “Thanks for helping. What I said was true by the way.”

She laughed, feeling the ache in her jaw. “I’m flattered that you’ve thought about having sex with me, really, but you should go see Madam Pomfrey about your stomach. There could be internal bleeding.”

Draco helped Theo stand, adding a slap to his back for good measure.

“Oh, yeah, fuck off,” Theo said.

“Do you want me to walk you?” Hermione asked. Pansy had rounded the table, grabbing Theo’s hand, she sent daggers to Hermione.

“Hermione, if you want to get in my pants, all you have to do is ask.”

“Theodore!” Pansy spat, whacking the back of his head.

Theo raised his eyebrows sheepishly at Hermione before walking off with Pansy. She turned around, faced with Draco again who looked at her with those eyes. Hermione cleared her throat and put the bloody napkin on the table. Looking around, most of the Great Hall had filtered out and anyone left wasn’t close enough to hear them.

“Are you alright?” she asked clinically.

“Fine.” He looked around too before settling his intense eyes on hers. “Granger, I need to apologize to you. It was wrong of me to...handle the situation the way I did with you, both times.”

Shock could not begin to describe the feeling in her chest. Draco Malfoy, apologizing? Today had to be some sort of fever dream.

“Are you apologizing hoping that I won’t speak to your probation Auror who's coming today?”

“No.” He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, letting a piece fall in front of his eye. He looked at her, studied her, clear on the debate going on inside his head. “No one, not even Weasley, infuriates me as much as you do. Then, you go and kiss me, Merlin only knows why. So no, I’m not apologizing so you won’t tell on me. I’m apologizing because I refuse to become my father.”

Then he walked away.

…

I’m really glad you wrote. I tried calling you the other day when I realised you probably don’t just have your phone with you. Here’s my number, call me anytime after four.

Harry

She sat at the table in the back of the library, rubbing her forehead. There was an impossible amount of thoughts soaring through her head, many of which she couldn’t share with a soul. Getting the letter from Harry had been the highlight of a very confounding day. Though, despite her excitement in reconnecting with him, she couldn’t tell him everything she needed to get off her chest.

Hermione folded the letter and stuffed it into her potions textbook. Above everything that happened today and the thoughts that plagued her, she needed to figure out how to fix her arm. After Ron’s outburst, it blistered the edges of her skin, leaving it flayed worse than before. She’d only managed to calm it down after downing far too much vodka to be appropriate. Good thing she was a high functioning alcoholic. Grabbing the closest book in her piles, she started flipping through until she found the section on severe cuts and bruises.

An hour into reading nothing she hadn’t already known, she was interrupted by a tall man with dark brown hair.

“Are you Miss Granger?” he asked.

She noted the briefcase and Ministry badge on his suit before nodding. “I am and you are?”

He gestured to the chair in front of him and she nodded. The man took a seat and as he pulled a notepad from his briefcase, he responded, “Matthew Fairer, probation Auror.” She eyed the muggle pen he pulled out too.

“Would I be correct in assuming you’re Draco Malfoy’s probation Auror?”

Matthew smiled, tapping his pen on the pad. “You would. I was hoping to ask you a few questions if the time permits.”

They both looked at her stack of books and parchment.

“A bit of light reading,” Hermione said. “What sort of questions do you have for me?”

“I understand that Mr. Malfoy found himself in an altercation with Ronald Weasley yesterday afternoon.” She nodded. “I have spoken to Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott and came to the conclusion that you were the topic of said altercation.”

Hermione tilted her head slightly at his implication. “Would you mind enlightening me on what you were told?”

“There is a strict client privacy--”

“Theo isn’t your client,” she asserted. “Perhaps we can, read between the lines.”

Matthew nodded a few times. “Of course. As I understand, there is a rivalry between the Weasley and Malfoy families, has been for years. But this specific argument, as Mr. Nott informed me, was not of the familial nature. Mr. Weasley got upset that Mr. Malfoy spoke to you and you left before it became physical.”

“The argument did start because Ron got upset, he hates Malfoy, many students do. I can’t say whether or not the entire incident was my fault as you said, I left. I don’t know what was said between them after.”

“I understand.” He wrote a few things down on his legal pad and Hermione tried looking without seeming obvious. “Now, I was also informed of another altercation just before my arrival. It surprised me to hear it consisted of the same parties and a similar trigger. Would you care to share your side of what happened?”

“I don’t understand why you need my input, shouldn’t you be more concerned with your client?” she asked tersely.

“I am and I have already spoken to Mr. Malfoy. All I’m trying to do here, Miss Granger, is get a better understanding of the situation,” he said, talking with his hands. “It’s my job to see that Mr. Malfoy doesn’t go against his probation. Getting into physical fights is part of that. I am collecting information to present to my boss that shows Mr. Malfoy is not a danger at Hogwarts. Many believe he should never have received the pardon from the Wizengamot, I am trying to ensure that the Ministry made the right choice. So, if you please.”

Hermione was sitting on a hefty pile of information she could share about Draco. Not just his fights with Ron, but him getting physical with her. She could ensure his one way ticket to Azkaban with one word, she did, after all, hate him. The only thing holding her back was the pesty burning under her sleeve. The ache only Draco could make go away, even for a short time.

She sat up straighter as she began her retelling of events from the morning. Everything from breaking up with Ron, to his assumption about Theo, though she left out Draco’s apology. It was still something she was struggling to wrap her head around.

“He was protecting his friend, he didn’t engage in any physical attacks,” she said. “And I hope you can relay to Theo’s probation Auror that he was acting in self-defense against Ron. Neither of them did anything wrong.”

Matthew wrote the entire time she spoke, catching a curious eye from her. “I know, most people use enchanted quills, I much prefer pens myself. The muggle part of you just sticks doesn’t it.”

She smiled. “It does.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Granger. I merely have one more request from you, try to stay away from Mr. Malfoy.” Matthew looked older suddenly with his stern eye turned on her. “I understand your duties as Head Girl mean you interact with many students and some interactions cannot be helped. For the sake of Mr. Malfoy’s status within the Ministry and the terms of his probation, I would advise you to keep your distance.”

“You believe your own client to be a danger here, Mr. Fairer?” she asked sharply.

“I believe Mr. Malfoy is a deeply angry person but I do not think him dangerous. I’m asking you to keep your distance because of your involvement in these altercations. Like I said, you seem to be the center of attention.”

Hermione bit her tongue. Never in her life had anyone insinuated that she was the root of idiotic teenage boy rivalries. She wasn’t caught up in some silly love triangle that Matthew seemed to have concocted.

“If that's all I have a lot of work to get back to,” she said.

Matthew nodded with a warm smile as he packed his pen and pad. He stood again and offered his hand, which Hermione shook once.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger.”

As he turned to walk away, he ran into a distraught looking ginger.

“Shit, sorry, love,” Ginny said, straightening out Matthew’s tie. He nodded awkwardly before making his way out. Ginny sat in his seat, watching him leave over her shoulder. “He was fit, who was he?”

“Malfoy’s probation Auror,” Hermione said, turning her attention to the book in front of her.

“Is he single?”

“Ginny, you’re dating Harry.”

“I know! I meant for you,” she said, smiling sadly. “I heard, obviously. Are you alright?”

Hermione sighed, closing the book and pushing it away. “Which version did you hear? That I’m a slag shagging Theo or that I’m a monster who broke poor Ron Weasley’s heart?”

“I heard that you’re an awful excuse for a witch who not only broke poor Ron Weasley’s heart but that you’re also a whore who’s shagging Theo and Malfoy.”

Her jaw dropped and her heart nearly stopped from the mention of the latter. She never shagged him, not that kissing was any better in terms of cheating.

“Are you kidding me? God, who comes up with this?”

Ginny shrugged as she picked at the green nail polish she wore. “For the record, I don’t believe any of it. Surely if you were shagging someone you would tell me. You would tell me, right?”

“Yes, Gin, I would.” Hermione touched her jaw again, still feeling tender. “How is he?”

“Awful, not because of you though. He feels like a right prick for hitting you even though we all keep telling him it was an accident,” she said, flicking a piece of nail polish onto the ground. “He said he was shocked you dumped him.”

“I can’t see why. I wasn’t the most attentive or affectionate girlfriend.”

“He figured that was because you were grieving. Everyone responds differently. I clung onto Harry like a bloody koala bear and him me. You needed your distance, Ron did too I think, at least for a bit.” Ginny looked up, offering Hermione a small smile. “You’re not a bad person, Mione. You knew it wasn’t working and it was best you got out early, it would’ve hurt the longer it went on.”

Hermione frowned slightly. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I know it seems childish to ask but…”

“No, I could never be. Am I a bit sad you won’t be my sister? Yeah, but then I remembered you already are. Marrying Ron wouldn’t change that. And I would want my sister to be happy, no matter what, right?” Ginny said.

Ginny, please, let me talk to you. Everything that happened, everything stuck to the insides of my chest. Please, I need to tell someone. I can’t tell Harry, not Ron, not McGonagall, they wouldn’t understand. Please, Ginny, I’m so fucking broken.

“Right.”

…

“You know, I said I never wanted pets, but I am quite fond of this cat,” Mr. Granger said, petting Crookshanks on his lap. Crookshanks nuzzled into his hand, purring melodically.

Hermione giggled as she sat on the large, plaid sofa next to her dad. She leaned her head on his shoulder, giving her familiar a quick scratch behind the ear.

“He’s part kneazle, you know?” she said.

“Ooh, what’s a kneazle again?” he asked.

“Dad! I’ve already told you, what happened to that brain of yours?” Hermione teased.

“Must be the old age, Miss Mione,” Mr. Granger joked. “Please, do not put me in a home when you’re older.”

“Never, I’d put you in my basement and feed you cheese like a little basement rat.”

He poked her side, making her giggle in response. “I am not a cheesy basement rat! I think I deserve better than that!”

Hermione caught her breath from laughing, putting her chin on his shoulder. “Fine. When I buy a house, I’ll get one for you and mum next door or somewhere nearby. I’ll come and check on you all the time, you’ll get sick of me.”

“Not a chance, dove.” He continued petting Crookshanks, who had fallen asleep. “Will you still bring me cheese?”

“Yes, dad, I will still bring you cheese.”

Mr. Granger kissed her forehead. “Good on ya.”

Ring ring. Ring ring.

“Hello?”

“Harry?”

“Mione?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner, I got a bit busy.”

“No worries, I’m sure you’re busy being you,” Harry said over a bit of rustling on his end. “So, how are you?”

“Busy but fine, I guess,” Hermione said, chewing her bottom lip. “Have you spoken to Ron?”

“I haven’t actually. I was getting a bit concerned until Ginny told me he was being a big fucking baby.”

“Her words, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Have you talked to him?”

Hermione shook her head, even though he couldn’t see. “No, I’m not really sure of the appropriate amount of time to wait after breaking up with someone. I’ve been deliberately keeping my distance, making Theo do rounds by the Gryffindor common room and everything. I just hope we’ll be okay.”

“You will. He’s Ron, you know how he gets.” There was a long silence between them. Hermione stood from her bed, walking aimlessly around her room.

“How’ve you been? How’s training?”

“I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would,” he said. “Lots of work outs, I reckon Ginny will be pretty happy next time I see her.”

“Harry!” she laughed, it felt nice. “So you’re saying you’re right fit now?”

“I’m not saying I’m not.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I wish you were here.”

“Sometimes I wish I was too,” he admitted. “It gets lonely at night, the nightmares haven’t let up either.”

“Ginny said you don’t talk to her much about how you are,” Hermione started carefully as she walked her fingers along her dresser. “I don’t blame you but if you need someone to tell, I’m here. I don’t even have to respond, I can just listen if that helps.”

There was more rustling over the phone and the sound of a kettle in the distance. She waited for him to answer as she looked at the photo of her and her parents, taken when she was seven.

“If I’m being honest, Hermione, I’m pretty shit,” Harry finally said. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I mean, you know, we spent years trying to fix these problems and everyone relied on me for so long. I feel like I’ve already lived an entire life and I’m barely eighteen. You know, like, what’s left for me? I got the fucking glory, whatever. I’ll always be that to everyone else but what about now? What do I do now?”

Something about the way Harry spoke hurt her. It hurt because she knew exactly what he meant.

“Do you want me to respond?”

“Yeah, please.”

Hermione wandered from her room and settled on the floral armchair in the living area. “I think your feelings are absolutely valid. No one trained us for the war and no one trained us for after. We’ve been on this sort of high from saving everyone that now we’ve crashed, reality’s here. And Harry, I genuinely think there is so much left for you. You have a family now, you have Ginny. You get to grow with her and make the family you wanted to have with your parents. You have a million things you’ve yet to experience. I mean, have you ever left England?”

“Hogwarts is in Scotland.”

She smiled. “You know what I mean. There’s so much, far too much really, for you. And Auror training is just for the year. After that, you can choose where life goes. You can decide never to work again even. Or you can come back to school, finish your NEWTs, and become the defence professor you were always meant to be. The world is yours Harry. You have no one to answer to anymore.”

The other end was silent, so silent she had to check he was still there. After a while, she heard a small sniffle.

“Harry?”

“I’m here,” he coughed. “I’m here.”

“Me too,” Hermione said. “I’m always here.”

The portrait door swung open, followed by two Slytherins. Hermione could hear them from down the hall already. She got up from the chair and started towards her room when they walked in.

“Hermione!” Theo exclaimed. “Merlin, what is that?”

“A mobile phone,” she said. “You talk to people who are far away with it.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “And, you’re doing that now?”

She nodded. “Yes, Theo, I am.”

“Who is it?”

“Harry.”

“Potter?” he joked again. Theo plucked the phone from her ear. “Hello Harry Potter, this is Theo Nott, I reckon we’d make great friends.”

“Theo!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Harry says he loves you and will talk to you soon,” Theo said, walking down the hall towards his room. “I’m talking to him now!”

She laughed slightly as he left, wishing she could have prepared Harry for Theo’s antics. On the other side of the room, Draco stood carefully watching her. Hermione looked right at him, refusing to let awkwardness get the better of her. Honey met silver and she didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t saying anything, just staring, like always. Hermione turned towards her room and just as she was about to shut the door,

“You’re avoiding me.”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I didn’t want to infuriate you.”

Draco hummed in response as loud laughing came from Theo’s room. They both looked in the general direction before back to each other.

Hermione scratched over her jumper, gently, as not to make herself bleed. It burned as she looked at him, like it knew it needed him. Her arm was growing a mind of its own.

“I accept your apology,” she said.

“Took you a few days.”

“I can just as easily take it back.” He nodded, running his tongue over his teeth slowly. “Mr. Fairer told me to keep my distance from you.”

Draco’s eyebrow twitched slightly. “Why? Does he think I’m dangerous?”

“No, actually. I’m the problem.”

“That’s a first.”

She snorted. “I know. I incited your altercations with Ron apparently, so my staying away keeps you out of trouble.”

“Fairer said that?” Draco asked, sounding disinterested.

“He called me the center of attention,” Hermione said, playing with the bedroom door handle. “He must’ve been onto something, there haven’t been any fights.”

“Fights started by your boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

Their eyes met again and the ache in her arm spurred. She scratched again, focussing on not walking up to him and kissing him right there. It would fix her problem and he was looking at her with those damned eyes.

“Ex,” Draco repeated, shoving his hands into his trousers pockets. As she watched him, she noticed a white mint flitting around his mouth.

She scratched harder. “What are the terms of your probation?”

He rolled his eyes slightly. “No fighting, no drinking, no unsupervised magic, no leaving Hogwarts without explicit permission and I have to be accompanied by a trusted individual,” he mocked. “I have to keep high grades, be a peer student. I cannot send or receive owls, unless they are from the Ministry, or be caught anywhere alone.”

“Is that it?”

“No.”

She nodded at his terse response. “You have to peer a class?” He nodded. Hermione remembered the day she went to steal from Slughorn’s stores. She turned into her bedroom and walked to her desk, scribbling something down on a piece of parchment with her signature. Then, she confidently walked across the living area and held it out to Draco. “Give this to Professor Slughorn.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking only at her.

“He asked me to peer potions and I never gave him an answer so this is my answer. Give it to him.”

“I’m not an owl, Granger.”

She sighed, holding it out to him closer. “Just take it.”

Draco grabbed the parchment and read it over. “No. I don’t do handouts.”

“It’s not a handout, consider it a favour. You need to peer, Slughorn needs a peer and anything with my signature is, for some reason, considered highly important,” she said, stepping back.

He narrowed his eyes at her, shoving the note in his pocket. “And why would you do me a favour?”

Hermione didn’t have an answer, she felt like she owed him after he apologized to her. Everything about their interactions left her more confused than the last. There was something about him, something so inherently different than the person he used to be, and she couldn't ignore it. Maybe this was reconciliation.

“Now you’re indebted to me,” she said simply.

“What do you want?” His voice deepened as he looked down at her with lazy silver eyes. She wanted to kiss him, so, so badly. For the sake of her arm, of course.

“I’ll let you know.”

...

“What are you doing for Halloween?” Ginny asked as they walked through Hogsmeade. She was sucking on the sugar quills they had just bought from Honeydukes, insisting that breaking bread with Ron required candy. Copious amount of candy.

“Nothing, probably. I don’t think I’ve ever celebrated Halloween,” Hermione said, popping an every flavour bean into her mouth.

“Ever?” Ginny asked. “Even when you were little?”

“Nope.”

“Well then we have to do something! Though, it should be the day before because I’m going to see Harry the day of, you know, his parents.”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“He seems better since you talked to him, lighter,” she said, taking a chunk out of the sugar quill.

“I’m glad, I feel better too. I hate arguing with him, and Ron.” They were approaching the castle again. “Do you think it’s going to be okay?”

“With Ron? Oh yeah, fine. Mum and I both yelled at him but feel free to, if you have anything to say. I think he’s ashamed more than anything.”

As they entered the castle, Ron was waiting against the wall, playing with a chocolate frog card. He looked up when they heard their voices and a small, sheepish smile crossed his face. Hermione smiled back, actually glad to see his kind blue eyes again.

“Hey,” he said, twiddling the card in his fingers.

“Hi,” Hermione said.

“I’m really sorry. I’m an idiot and an arsehole and you deserve someone so much better than me. I am so fucking sorry for hitting you, it was a complete accident. I would never hurt you, you need to know that. And, I consider myself lucky that I even get to have you in my life and if that’s as my best friend then I’m happy. I would say I love you but I don’t want to scare you off,” Ron sputtered out.

Hermione laughed. “I’m sorry too, for not being a better girlfriend. So, we’re fine then?”

“Yeah,” he smiled.

The three of them started walking towards the quidditch pitch. Ron started on about he finally found the Andros the Invincible card that he had been looking for for years. Ginny poked fun at him and as they walked Hermione could only feel the giant pit in her stomach getting bigger. They were her friends and she should be happy to be with them again, to be in this place. It was the normal she had been looking for, she was the Hermione Granger she had been trying to return to and suddenly all felt so wrong.

Had she forgiven Ron too easily? Something in the back of her mind told her yes. He made an assumption about who she was. Of all people, shouldn’t Ron know her? Shouldn’t he know that she would never hurt him? But she had, and with someone so much worse than Theo Nott. This didn’t make sense. It was a forced affair, this reconciliation with him. Hermione was pissed and guilty for feeling pissed.

Forgiving Ron was the right thing to do, the expected thing to do. It needled her, the little voice telling her normal was no longer for her.

A ball of tears got caught in her throat as they rounded a corner and she stopped. She couldn’t be this person again.

“Mione, are you okay?” Ginny asked.

“I’m feeling really sick suddenly, I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been sick a lot, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Stress I think. You guys go on without me,” she said as she turned back around.

Ginny shouted a response, one that became too muffled to hear in her panicked state. Hermione found herself on the moving staircase, stuck waiting for it to connect again.

“Hermione Granger?”

A very small Gryffindor stood on the moving staircase with her. The little girl looked up at her with hopeful green eyes and a shy smile.

“You’re Hermione Granger, right?”

“I am,” she smiled through her panic. “What’s your name?”

“Sylvie Roberts, I’m a first year.” The little thing was so shy.

“And Gryffindor, I see. Good choice.” Hurry up, hurry up.

Sylvie laughed. “I wanted to be Gryffindor ever since I heard about you.”

Hermione raised her brows. “Really?”

“Mhm! Oh, it was so exciting when I got my letter!” she continued. “My parents are muggles, we didn’t even know magic was real. When I got my letter, my mum and I went to Diagon Alley right away and found out everything we could. Obviously everything that happened was dreadful but then I found you.”

The stairs found the landing and stopped moving, allowing the two girls to walk up them. Hermione found herself not wanting to run for the moment.

“Where did you see me?”

“First Witch Weekly, there was an article about you. You’re a muggle-born witch, the most powerful and brightest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw, that's what it said.” Sylvie stopped in front of the Gryffindor common room.

“My mum fell in love. She read more about the wars than I did. She knew how awful it was and how they were trying to get rid of people like us. But then there was Hermione Granger, defying all odds, the world stacked up against you and you did it. You saved the world,” she smiled so brightly it made Hermione’s heart break. “It's because of you that I get to be here and every moment that I have, I promised my mum not to waste it for you. You’re my hero, really, even when I didn’t know you were fighting for me. Thank you, Hermione.”

Sylvie walked into the Gryffindor tower, leaving Hermione stunned in the middle of the hallway.

There was a purpose to the war, everyone had their reason for fighting. Harry’s was for everyone who died loving him. Ron’s for his family. Hermione fought for the ones like her. She fought for the next muggle-born with hope and magic just as powerful as any purebloods to have a chance at life. Hermione met who she fought for and walls came crumbling down.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she scurried towards the prefect's toilets. Shoving the door open, the sobs began their descent.

“Fuck,” she whispered, wiping the tears foolishly. They wouldn’t stop coming. “Shit, stop crying!”

Hermione gripped a porcelain sink, her knuckles turning white as she hung her head.

“Stop crying.”

She looked up. Who was in the mirror?

It wasn’t Hermione Granger, it wasn’t the person that doe-eyed little girl just described. It wasn’t the girl who could laugh with her friends and act like everything was okay. Everything was not okay, the farthest thing from okay. The tears fell freely from unrecognizable honey eyes, down cheeks she had never seen before.

Who is this person?

Her chest felt hollow as she cried, her hands gripping the sink started to ache. Her arm burned.

In the mirror, she looked at herself. Olive skin, curly brown hair everywhere. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles under them, less than healthy sallow cheeks.

Who are you?

Hermione screamed at the girl in the mirror and she screamed back.

“Stop!”

The amount of tears falling down her face could rival the river Nile. The confusion and hatred she felt was like no other. She was unrecognizable. She was living outside of herself, floating somewhere in the back of her mind, trapped between who she is and who she was. Lost in the inner turmoil, stuck in the unending war.

“And what are you going to say to your teacher, Miss Mione?” her mother asked.

The little girl squared her shoulders and lifted her head. “My name is Merminey Granger! I am five and I love school!”

Mr. Granger crouched down next to her, smoothing her mane back. “Her-my-on-ee.”

“Merminey!”

Mrs. Granger laughed. “Repeat after me. Her.”

“Her.”

“My.”

“My.”

“On.”

“On.”

“E.”

“E.”

“Hermione.”

“Merminey!”

Hermione Granger. Hermione Jean Granger.

It wasn’t her in the mirror. Who was that? Who was looking back at her, broken, bruised, bleeding?

“Your mum’s name is Roxanne. Dad’s is Thomas,” she whispered, keeping eye contact with the broken girl.

“You have three, wonderful best friends. You love reading. Books are your favourite thing on the planet. You live in London.”

Honey eyes swirled with tears and she watched them fall.

“You lived in London,” she whispered. “You hate the taste of pumpkin. You always wanted a little sister. Your parents are...”

It was happening again. She couldn’t associate herself with the mirror. It was mocking her.

Who am I?

Her breathing became ragged; she choked for air. Squeezing the sink so hard her fingers were sure to break.

“Shit,” she stuttered through gritted teeth. “Shit, shit.”

The mirror shattered. Everything happened so fast. Her knuckles were bleeding. Glass was in the sink, in her skin.

Hermione, in the reflection, was distorted, broken. She was cracked, falling apart. She was sharp shards of glass ready to kiss the skin of any who touched her. Make them bleed, make them cry. She was a mirror, showing everyone exactly what they wanted to see. The thing with mirrors though, everyone saw something different. She was something different to everyone who looked at her, looked to her. There were so many versions of Hermione Granger and she could not understand a single one of them.

Who was she now, in the prefect’s washroom, crying, wishing for the life she never got to live? Who was she on this listless day in October? Who was she in the pieces of mirror, in the blood that marked her skin?

Who am I?

She tapped her pencil against the table in fours. Tap four times. Stop for four. Tap again. Arithmancy was tedious this afternoon and she couldn't bring herself to concentrate. Her leg bounced up and down under the table as she listened to the profesor drone on and on about the importance of order.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Her eyes flickered to the clock on the left wall, thirty more minutes. Thirty minutes was fine, she loved class. She could stay thirty more minutes. Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek, counting the fours in her head. Shaking, chewing, tapping, counting. Waiting.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to stop doing that.”

She looked next to her to find Cormac McLaggen with a tight smile. When had she been sitting next to him? Had she really been so oblivious?

“Sorry,” she said, dropping her pencil. Shoving her hands underneath the table, she started picking at her cuticles.

“You alright?” he asked, writing slowly as he spoke.

Hermione looked at him with a furrowed brow. “I’m fine, Cormac, thank you for asking.”

The clock ticked louder, no one else seemed to notice. Twenty-seven minutes left. With no more tapping left, she counted the amount of times her leg bobbed up and down before the second hand hit twelve. She couldn’t stop moving, she had to. If she wasn’t moving she would scratch her arm and causing a bloody scene in the middle of arithmancy was not on her agenda.

Hermione scratched her nose, pushed her hair behind her ear, smoothed her eyebrow. She pulled at the dead skin of her lip, scrunched her nose, put her hair back over her ear. She sat up straighter, pulled her shoulders back and rolled her neck. Hermione looked over her right shoulder and stilled. Not an inch of her body was moving.

He was staring. Silver eyes studying her like an animal at the zoo. She looked at the clock. Twenty-five minutes. Now that she knew he was watching, she simply couldn’t think straight. Not over the incessant ache in her arm, not over his eyes boring down on her. Hermione grabbed her parchment and textbook and shoved them into her bag. The chair screeched against the floor as she stood up and everyone looked at her. With a hole in her stomach, she quickly stalked out of the room.

Was everything spinning? The walls were dripping like a shitty oil painting. The ground under her turned into pools of water. She braved the waves, searching around her for anyone else in the halls. The water was rising and she couldn't breathe.

“Hermione?”

“Professor Slughorn!” she said, overly enthusiastic. “Hello!”

She squeezed her eyes once as she blinked, forcing everything back to normal. Trying to remember what the castle looked like before, no dripping, no drowning.

“I was hoping to speak to you after class tomorrow but since you’re here, do you have a minute?” he smiled jovially.

“Of course! How can I help?”

Breathe, you can breathe. In and out. Focus on his face.

“I received quite the interesting note from Mr. Malfoy…”

He kept talking, she knew he kept talking but she couldn’t even think over the mention of his name. He could fix this but she couldn’t go to him. Mr. Fairer said to keep her distance and she was keeping her fucking distance. So, she made sure the distance was there, all the way in the dungeons. She couldn't cause a problem. That wouldn’t be in her character.

Who are you?

“Hermione, are you alright my dear?”

She saw him again, pink cheeks, wrinkles and all. An unnaturally wide smile crossed her face and she laughed once.

“I am so sorry professor! Could you repeat what you said? Something pertaining to...a student,” Hermione said, overly eager to help. Wasn’t that her? Always one to help.

Slughorn nodded slowly, taking her in carefully. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy gave me a note saying that you are unable to peer my class and that you recommend him instead. I hope you understand why I am asking, my dear. You two never seemed to be much in the way of friends.”

“No, no we’re not friends. It is part of...Mr. Malfoy’s probation to peer a class and as Head Girl, it is my job to help my fellow students,” she said. “I hope I haven’t caused an issue.”

“Of course not!” Slughorn laughed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Wonderful! Now if you don’t mind, I need to be going.”

“Yes, yes, I will see you in class.”

Choking, she was choking. Her feet led her through the castle as her eyes watered, she couldn't breath. Her throat was closing in on itself as she rubbed at it. She coughed, nothing helped.

Spinning. Everything was spinning.

God, it burned.

Just a scratch.

A little, not a lot.

Fuck Draco Malfoy.

He’s infuriating.

He’s the problem.

Hermione didn’t do anything wrong. He should stay away from her.

But she needed him and she hated that she needed him.

It got darker as she walked, the walls getting closer together until they met in a corner. She stopped, still not breathing, tears falling down her cheeks from the suffocation. Hermione collapsed against the wall as a tear slipped into her mouth.

Salt, she could taste that. Salty tears.

Breathe, Hermione!

Who’s Hermione?

You are!

Who?

You!

Why?

I don’t know!

What does it mean to be Hermione?

I don’t--

Hermione. What does it mean to be Hermione?

It means...it means I’m the girl who knows the answer to everything except that fucking question.

No.

No?

What does it mean?

Nothing.

Correct. You mean nothing.

...

They were just outside the door waiting for her. They were worried and they had every right to be, but Hermione didn’t want worriers or pitiers, she wanted them out of her bloody common room. She wanted to be able to walk out of her bedroom and not be bombarded by two gingers with their fucking saviour complexes. She was fine, there was absolutely nothing wrong. So what she left class without so much as an answer to her professor? It didn’t matter. She was fine.

Dead center of her bed she sat, with her knees up to her chin and her hair atop her head. It couldn’t touch her skin. If it touched her skin she would scream. Nothing could touch her. She was stuck in the center of her bed, only the comforter under her feet. She wore nothing but her undergarments, everything that touched her made her ache.

Her eyes were trained on the photograph of her parents. She noted the blue sky, the serene sight of clouds and rays of sun behind her mother’s head. Three wide smiles. Parents swinging their little girl between them. It was her favourite picture. It was her only picture.

“Mione?”

No. “Mione, are you alright?”

She squeezed her arms tighter around her legs, burying her face into her bony knees. With her eyes shut, she could see the universe. The swirling of patterns, blue, purple, green. Shapes took place, circles, squares. It was static as it danced, the little universe behind her eyes. Until it all faded into darkness, utter blackness and she had to open her eyes again. Hermione couldn't be faced with the dark.

“It’s just me,” her soft voice whispered. “Ron’s gone, Theo isn’t here. It’s just me, love.”

Ginny. Let me tell you.

“If you’re asleep, this would be pretty embarrassing,” she laughed slightly.

Everything’s stuck.

“I know you’re not asleep,” she whispered. “You snore a little.”

It hurts.

“Do you want me to leave?”

No. I want to tell you everything.

Ginny’s shadow moved under the door, Hermione could see her ginger hair spilling underneath.

“I don’t want to leave, but I will if you say so.”

Hermione chewed her lip, pulling the dead skin, scratching with her teeth. She looked down at her gauze covered arm, watching the blood seep through. A wine stain on a white shirt. An error. A mistake. A fault.

“Harry said he thought Theo was a nice bloke,” Ginny said. “Gabbed his ear off for hours. I hope he doesn’t leave me for him.”

More silence.

“Would you be upset if Ron started dating someone else?”

No.

“I told him you wouldn’t, that you’d be happy for him. He hasn’t told me who but I reckon it’s Romilda Vane. Though, I did see him looking at Daphne Greengrass a little too long the other day. Wouldn’t that be a riot, Ron dating a pureblood Slytherin, the Greengrasses no less.”

Yeah, weird.

“I say pureblood like we’re not,” she said with a sigh. “Different for us though.”

Yeah, different.

“I think I want to drop out, reckon that’d made Fred proud,” she laughed, the hint of sadness there. “I want to play quidditch, I don’t want to fuck around with potions and runes anymore.”

You’d be a great quidditch player.

“Which sounds better? Ginny Weasley for the Holyhead Harpies or Ginny Weasley for the Wimbourne Wasps?”

Harpies, definitely harpies.

“Then if I marry Harry, does that change to Ginny Potter? Well, obviously, but I mean on my jersey. Should I have it say Potter?” Ginny mused. “He’s already famous enough. Then again, having his name on my back makes my stomach do funny things. Ugh, being in love is gross.”

What’s it like?

The shadow moved.

“Did you say something?” Ginny asked.

Hermione looked at the light under the door where her hair was. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like, love?”

“Being in love.” Hermione’s voice was small, hoarse, and rough.

“I’m not good at fancy words like you but it feels like…” Ginny struggled. “Like the first time I rode a broom by myself. No big brother holding me, yelling at me to stay still. The wind flew through my hair and, Merlin, the smile on my face. I was mad with a smile for weeks after. That probably doesn’t help.”

Hermione shook her head even though Ginny couldn’t see.

“You know that feeling you get before an exam and your stomach’s aflutter? That happens all the time. Or when you know you have something exciting to do the next day and you can’t fall asleep because you just want it to be tomorrow, like that everyday. It’s like you’re a kid again and everything he says or does is candy. Even when he says something stupid like, ‘have you ever counted all your freckles?’, you can’t help but laugh. Or when he spills a cuppa all over himself on your first real date and his face flushes all pink and he can’t stop apologizing for some reason, you don’t care. You don’t care about being embarrassed because you’re still in shock that he even showed up in the first place.”

Hermione stood from her bed and forced some clothes on, shuddering through the feeling. She opened the door and saw Ginny sitting next to it. The latter quickly got up and looked at her friend with a smile.

“It sounds like Harry is the luckiest man in the world,” Hermione said.

Ginny laughed. “He’s a terrible mess but I love him. So much, it’s really sickening.” They both smiled. “Are you alright? Neville told us you ran out on arithmancy.”

“Sick again, I think I caught a bug.”

“A bug?”

“A cold, flu, something like that.”

“Is it serious?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. Please, Ginny.

Her friend nodded. “Okay, well let me know if you need anything. Even if it's just biscuits or those weird crackers you like, the ones with the almonds.”

“I will.”

“Okay.” Ginny looked at Hermione for a moment, something distressing in her eye. Not pity, not sadness or sympathy. Maybe it was care. “Well, now that I know you’re alive, I’ll leave you alone.”

Please don’t.

“Okay.”

Ginny smiled and winked before she grabbed her bookbag and headed towards the door.

“Gin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Big, brown eyes sparkled as they looked at Hermione. “Anything for you, love.”

What was it this time? Was it warding her bedroom door for three days, to keep everyone out? Was it throwing her mobile phone in the bottom of her trunk, enchanting it with silencing charms? Was it avoiding the people she’d just made up with? Was it Ginny’s incessant need to be helpful? Was it Ron’s judgement? Was it Harry’s muffled voice over the phone? Was it Theo’s infectious laugh that never seemed to fit in her life? Was it seeing him in the hallway? Was it meeting his gaze in fleeting moments of weakness? Was it the pressure to be herself? Was it not knowing herself?

What was it this time that sent Hermione over the edge?

Perhaps it was the edge itself. Teetering between life and the void. The void that seemed to tempt her every time a fag met her lips or the taste of alcohol on her breath. The void that sent her to the kitchens the night before and stole a bottle of fire whiskey; the little black void had so much over her. It knew what she wanted and it was happy to provide. Just over the edge, she had dipped her toes in. The void was serene, calming waters of the perfect temperature. It didn’t expect anything of her. It let her lose herself to the imbalance of the universe. Ah yes, the little black void. What was in there? She yearned to know.

The not knowing anything after believing she knew everything for 19 years sent her to the edge. To the brink of it all. What did Hermione know for certain?

She knew nothing. Nothing but the pain.

It was eating her alive. Whatever it was in her skin, burying itself into her veins, burning her from the inside out, it was eating away at her. It gnawed and it shredded and all she could do was let it. All the dittany in the world couldn’t mask the pain. It ached so grossly she considered cutting her arm off completely. Then the pain would be gone forever and she wouldn’t be laying on the cold tile of the washroom floor, sweat caressing her body.

Her breaths were heavy like she’d ran a mile, her head was dizzy. The alcohol would help and she knew it but she couldn’t get up. She hadn’t been sober or without his touch long enough to feel this sort of pain. It was all-consuming. Her head lolled to the side, met with the open wound. Blood festered at the edges of the word. It bubbled as if it were a potion in a cauldron, waiting to burst. The edges were worse. Her skin was pulled back, exposing the muscles underneath. The bruising was purple in nature. It felt like getting branded constantly. If she scratched, the damn broke and she would bleed. If she bled, she’d have a mess to clean up and she didn’t fancy cleaning.

A bolt of lightning passed through her arm, striking her muscles. Her arm shook constantly. It was pure fire under her skin and she ached to mollify it. The tile of the washroom floor was cooling but not enough. Hermione’s eyelids felt heavy as she lay there, unable to help herself.

What time was it?

The fluorescent lighting above flickered and the gentle hum of the bulbs tickled her ears. A wash of blue-white light covered the small room, making her skin look sicker. The pain was draining her magic. She felt impossibly weak. If she could just get to her room, find the remaining murtlap, anything. A drink wouldn’t hurt either.

“Granger! Turn off the bloody light!” Theo shouted from his room.

“Sorry,” she whispered, coughing from her dry throat.

“Merlin!” She heard shuffling then a door opening. “It’s the middle of the night, what— oh my gods.”

Theo crouched down next to her, not sure where to touch.

“What the fuck? Are you okay?”

A small smile crossed her lips. “Peachy.”

“You look like you’re dying, are you dying?” He was panicked. “You’re arm, why is it like that?”

“My room...murtlap...”

“Yeah, okay.” Theo ran out of the washroom, leaving Hermione on the ground. He came back quickly, vials in one hand, alcohol in the other. “I don’t know why you have this but will it help?”

She nodded as he carefully dropped everything on the ground. He picked her up by her waist, sitting her against the wall. His brown eyes were filled with worry and fear.

“Vodka,” she mumbled. He handed her the opened bottle and she poured some over her arm, hearing it sizzle against her skin. Then she tipped it back, drinking four shots worth. In the midst of his panic, Theo looked impressed.

“That doesn’t look like it's helping.”

Her arm inflamed more, the blood pockets close to bursting. It was boiling under her skin.

“Just put the murtlap.”

“Hermione, this isn’t good, you need actual help. I can take you to Madam—“

“No!” She was ashamed of the scar, no one besides the people in the room that night knew about it. She wanted to keep it that way.

“No, just put it on Theo.”

He grabbed the vial, looking over her revolting arm. “Listen, I would love to help but I don’t want to go to trial again because someone thinks I killed you. Let me take you.”

“I said no. Give me the murtlap.”

Theo put it down, just out of her reach as he ran out of the room again. Hermione groaned in pain and frustration before extending her left arm to the little vial. With every movement she felt her muscles hiss in opposition. Then, a blue light passed the door, a patronus in the shape of a black bird, flew out of the head dorms.

“Theo!” she tried shouting. “I said—“

“I know,” he said, coming back in with a towel. “It’s not going to Pomfrey or any professor.”

Theo took the towel and pressed down on her arm, the blood spilling everywhere. Hermione shouted in pain. He pressed down harder, trying to suppress the wound.

“What happened to you?”

She met his eyes. They were the kind of eyes she could easily find herself falling in, convincing eyes, tell me all your secrets eyes.

“Long story.”

The portrait door swung open, Theo called. Into the blue-white light, Draco appeared before them, carrying a bag. His eyes danced across the scene before him, trying to understand without asking any questions.

“No,” Hermione said. “Get out.”

“Hermione, he can help you,” Theo said.

She laughed weakly, thinking back to Mr. Fairer. “No, I can’t be the problem.”

“I’m fine leaving,” Draco said. “I was happily asleep.”

“No, Malfoy, stay.” Theo said before turning to the broken girl. “You need help.”

“Then you help me.”

The curly haired boy looked from Hermione to Draco to the bag he held. Theo grabbed the bag and sat it next to him, opening it with one hand.

“What did you use for your mark?” he asked.

Draco furrowed his brows. “A lot.”

“Holy shit, Malfoy! Tell me what and how much!”

He started removing the towel from Hermione’s arm but she grabbed his wrist. Something in her eyes begged him not to move, not to let Draco see.

“Okay, fuck, okay,” he thought quickly. “Stay on the other side of the door and answer my questions. Hold the attitude.”

Theo kicked the door in his face before turning back to Hermione. Removing the blood soaked towel, her arm revealed itself to still be bleeding. It seemed like it would never end.

“Malfoy, there’s a lot of blood.”

“Okay, make it stop.”

“Yeah I was hoping to!” Theo shouted. Then mumbled. “Fucking arsehole.”

Hermione coughed. “It won’t stop. It doesn’t stop.”

“How—“

“I wrap it and it...scabs...over...”

“She’s passing out!”

“Don’t let her.”

Theo groaned. “Okay, something for the pain first?”

“Calming draught and healing potion,” Draco’s voice came through, sounding distant.

He grabbed said potions from the well organised bag and tilted Hermione’s head back. The liquids poured into her mouth, soothing her nearly immediately. Her throat was no longer dry and her heart was beating normally again.

“Are you okay?” Theo asked.

“I’m awake,” Hermione said before looking into the bag. “Why does he have all of this?”

“Nosy as always,” Draco mumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “Dittany next.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“I know, it won’t stop. I have to put dittany or murtlap on it and wrap it then it stops on its own.”

“That’s not how wounds work, Granger,” Draco said. “What does it look like, Nott?”

Theo shrugged before realising he couldn’t see him. “Like she got splinched but a million times worse. Her skin is on fire and bruised and—“

“He gets it,” Hermione said.

“Dittany first.”

“Told you,” she said to Theo, who poured an excessive amount over her skin. Hermione started rubbing it into the open wound, essence spilling into the M, then the U and so on.

She could feel the pain starting to subside to the constant ache she was used to. Leaning her head back against the wall she closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

“Dittany’s on, now what?” Theo asked.

“There should be a bright purple one in there, you don’t need a lot,” Draco said through a yawn.

Hermione opened her eyes, watching Theo uncork the bottle of purple liquid. With a careful wrist, the potion met her skin, causing her to cry out in surprise and pain.

“Oh, yeah,” Draco said. “It stings.”

Making a fist with her hand, digging her nails in and trying to distract from her festering wound, she looked to Theo. He poured one or two drops into each letter, finally clear enough to see exactly what her scar was. The stinging wouldn’t stop as it was an antiseptic, trying to clean out what Hermione had neglected.

“Why is he here?” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

Theo looked up through his dark lashes. “I told you he could help. Hermione...what happened?”

“Is that it, Malfoy?” she called.

He cleared his throat. “At the bottom, in an unlabeled jar, put that on then you can wrap it.”

She reached towards his bag when Theo stopped her. He took charge in lathering the mysterious yellow cream over her arm and wrapping it in gauze. He held her arm a moment longer, a stricken look on his face. Hermione placed her hand over his and as he met her eyes, she offered the smallest of smiles.

“Thank you, Theo.”

Hermione grabbed his wand and scourgified the ground, towel, and her clothes as the washroom door opened. Draco looked down at them, something worth addressing in his eyes. The brown eyed boy helped Hermione to her feet before handing Draco his bag back. The latter fished inside for a small vile before tossing it to Hermione who barely caught it.

“Blood replenishing potion,” he mumbled. She nodded, squeezing it in her hand. “What? No, thank you?”

“Mate,” Theo warned.

Hermione scoffed, shoving past the two Slytherins on the way into her bedroom. She shut the door, forgetting the wards and pulled on the closest jumper she could find. Looking to her
alarm clock, he saw it was half past two in the morning. Just as she was about to climb into bed, her bedroom door opened.

“Fuck off, alright!”

“You shouldn’t go in there, mate.”

Hermione chewed her bottom lip for a moment before deciding. “It’s fine, Theo.”

After retreating footsteps and a closed door, Draco stepped into her bedroom, closing the door behind him. He dropped the leather bag on the ground and looked at her with narrowed stony grey eyes. Hermione leaned against her bedpost, staring back at him. He waved his arm towards the door, casting a silencing charm.

“Show me,” he said.

“No.”

“Show me your fucking arm, Granger.”

“I said no, Malfoy.”

Draco rubbed his face before tangling his fingers in his white hair. Hermione could still feel an ache in her arm but it was better than nothing.

“You’re going to need to do a lot of explaining,” he demanded.

She raised her eyebrows. “Actually I don’t. I don’t owe you anything.”

“I fixed it, that was my favour to you. Now you owe me.”

“Theo fixed it and that’s not how favours work.”

“Theo couldn’t have done shit without me,” he bit, stepping forward. “Now tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Hermione pushed herself from the bedpost, challenging his tall stature with her gaze. “I’m supposed to stay away from you, remember?”

“I don’t give a shit, Granger, you’re explaining all of this,” he said.

“And what if I don’t? Will that just infuriate you more?”

Draco’s fists curled beside him as he looked down at her. She shook her head dismissively.

“You’re so used to getting everything you want. You’re not getting this, you don’t deserve to know,” she spat.

“Know what?” he challenged.

“Why I kissed you! Why I needed your help just now! You don’t deserve to know because its all your fucking fault!” Hermione was losing her grip. The void was right there, teasing her.

Draco watched as she laughed, watched as she walked to the other side of her room, not sure where to go or what to do. Hermione felt mad, she sounded mad, laughing instead of crying. This was never supposed to happen. It was the Ministry’s fault for making her come back. It was Ron’s fault for her making her get so drunk the night she kissed Draco. It was Draco’s fault her arm was like this.

“It’s your fault,” she said again, turning to face him. “You didn’t do anything and that’s the problem, Malfoy! You stood there and you watched it happen! You could have stopped her, you could have said something but you didn’t! It’s all your fucking fault and I hate you! You did this to me! I fucking hate you.”

She ran up to him and shoved his chest. “I hate you! Fuck you and fuck your apology! You’ve done nothing worthy of my forgiveness.”

Hermione stood in front of him, breathing heavily, feeling tears on her cheeks. When she had started crying, she didn’t know. Her entire body was shaking with rage as she looked up at him. She tried taking a few breaths to steady herself as she wiped her cheeks with her jumper.

“I never should have kissed you. I was beyond pissed,” she started, sniffling through her words. “Ron had just told me that he loved me and I didn’t say it back and then you were just there. God, you make me so fucking mad!”

She ran her hands through her hair with a groan, she kept going. “It would help if you were ugly! But no, you have to be arsehole and look like fucking Adonis. So yeah, I kissed you. Sorry!”

He wasn’t saying anything. His face gave nothing away, stoic and sullen. She couldn’t stop herself now.

“Then I did it again, what's the excuse for that? I wasn’t drunk the second time. I was curious.” Hermione laughed once. “Curious because after the first kiss, my arm stopped hurting for a while. There was no pain, almost like it was never there. Why? Then you just so happen to be in the healing section of the library, fucking prick. So I tested it again and it worked. You made it go away! So now you’re an arsehole, Adonis, and the remedy to whatever the fuck is wrong with me. Then you give me this weird, cryptic apology and make me feel like an idiot for ever even looking at you. I mean honestly, why do I infuriate you? What have I ever done to you--”

Draco grabbed her face and crashed his lips against hers. Surprised at first, she quickly kissed him back, rising on her toes to reach him. His cold hands moved into her mane of curls, tangling themselves in throes of incensed passion. Hermione’s heart thudded against her chest as she pulled on the front of his black shirt, willing him closer. It was wrong. She hated him but the way his lips molded to hers and the feeling of his tongue on hers replaced the hate.

He pulled back, breathing heavily as he looked down at her. “Feel better?”

“Fuck you,” Hermione whispered, pulling him back down.

Her hands found his neck, wrapping tightly around, fingers burying into his hair. Draco’s hands gripped her hips, pressing her against him. His hands travelled under her jumper, icy fingers on her hot skin made her shiver, goose pimples traversing her body. His kisses were quick and rushed, he was starved of her. She was just as eager, willing to lose herself within this, willing to make a fool of herself for the feeling of his warm lips and silky hands. He tasted just as she remembered, mint, tobacco, sweet. Tantalisingly sweet. Draco’s hands crept farther up, his thumbs ghosting her breasts. Hermione wasn’t stopping him, she couldn’t. It was everything she knew she shouldn’t be doing, it was very un Hermione Granger. It was perfect.

Draco stepped forward, causing the backs of her knees to hit her bed. She fell back onto the white comforter, taking her with him. Hot kisses trailed her jawline to her neck, to the pulse point where he nipped, grazing his teeth against her skin. A breathy moan escaped her lips as he marked her. His hands moved her jumper up when she stopped him.

“You’re trying to take off the wrong thing,” she said, moving his hand to the waistband of her shorts.

He stopped and looked at her, his eyes strikingly bright, nearing white. “What are you doing? You hate me.”

“I know,” she said, reaching for his pajama bottoms. “Your choice.”

Draco’s eyebrows raised slightly before he kissed her again. He grabbed her shorts and underwear and ripped them down her legs. His lips took control of hers as his hand gripped her leg before tracing his fingers along her inner thigh. Hermione breathed in sharply as she widened her legs. With every touch her mind screamed at her to stop yet with every anticipatory beat of her heart, it spurred her on. She had her hands in his hair, entangling her fingers in his criminally soft locks. His fingers swept through the curls below before touching her clit gently. A small moan escaped her, spilling into his lips. Draco moved his lips to her neck again as his finger slid to her entrance, teasing her there.

“You shouldn’t be letting me do this to you, Granger,” he whispered, hot breath hitting her ear. His voice was low, sultry on the edge of sexy, but she’d never admit that.

His finger collected her wetness before sliding through her folds to her clit. He rubbed in circles around it, not quite touching where she needed him to.

“I fucking hate you,” Hermione said through quick breaths.

He rubbed her clit and she widened her legs even more. He started faster, earning soft moans from her. Hermione pulled on his hair as she felt herself becoming wetter, dripping even. She wanted him, no, needed him to fuck her.

Hermione moved one hand, tugging at the waist of his bottoms. “Just fuck me, Malfoy!”

Draco kicked his pants off before pulling his boxers off. He edged at her center, teasing her further before completely sheathing himself inside her. Hermione let out a strangled gasp as he did, pulling on his hair again. He let out a low groan into her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She pulled his lips back to hers, hungry for their touch again. Kissing him hard, he thrusted into her quicker.

“Tell me you hate me,” he said into her lips. Honey met silver and he pounded into her. “Tell me you hate me, Granger.”

Hermione gasped and moaned with every thrust, every movement inside her. “I hate you. Oh, God! I fucking hate you!”

One hand found her clit again, rubbing slowly as he fucked her. She was coming undone underneath him, arching her back to meet every touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned quietly.

“You’re a fucking--! Oh--!” She said between breathy gasps, “Oh, God! Fuck you!”

An infinitesimal change in his thrusts and he had her screaming. She clutched the bed sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, feeling herself coming undone.

“Yes! God--oh!” Hermione screamed. “I think--shit! I’m gonna come!”

“Do it, Granger,” Draco said, nipping at her neck. “Come all over me.”

Short, quick moans came from her as he thrusted slower. Her thighs were quivering on the brink of total collapse. Her back arched into him, throwing her head back in ecstasy. With her eyes closed, all she could feel was the wetness pooling under her as she came. She saw stars.

“Oh my God!” she said, trying to catch her breath. When she opened her eyes, he was staring. Hermione grabbed his face, pulling him down with her. She kissed him fervently, biting his bottom lip and pulling back. She whispered into his lips, “Come for me, Malfoy.”

And he did and nothing felt better than the utter control she had over him. His groan was so raspy and breathy, she could feel her lower abdomen stirring again. He finished inside her and it was the best worst decision of her life.

They both came down from the throes of contemptuous passion, slowing their breathing. Draco stood up and pulled his bottoms back on. Hermione followed, pulling her shorts on after silently scourgifying herself and the sheets. In the deafening silence, he grabbed his bag from next to the door before looking back at her. She sat in the middle of the bed, biting her bottom lip, cheeks and neck undoubtedly flushed scarlet. Draco swiped his tongue over his own bottom lip as he looked at her and without saying anything, he left.

Hermione fell back onto her bed, expecting to feel shame or regret but she didn’t. She felt fucking alive.

Hermione shoved her wand in her mouth as she ran down the stairs, carrying her shoes and bag. She had woken up late after the first completely peaceful nights sleep she’d had in months and she had Draco to thank for that. The pain in her arm had been mollified for countless hours. Longer than after she would attempt to heal it, longer than after being pissed, longer than after just kissing him. She continued running through the hall, trying to slide Mary Janes on her feet without falling. With her hair flying behind her, she struggled up a flight of stairs to the astronomy tower.

“Hermione!”

She stopped halfway up the stairs and turned around, taking her wand out of her mouth. “Theo, hi. Listen, I’m already late but I’ll--”

“What happened?” he said, coming up the stairs behind her. “I’m not normally one to pry into people’s personal lives but… It was bad, Hermione.”

Her eyes flickered around, not wanting to meet his eyes. She collected her hair as she collected her thoughts, stabbing her wand into the mess of curls.

“I know and I cannot thank you enough for helping me, really. If there’s anything--”

“Hermione, I’m no healer but that,” he said, looking at her covered arm, “that’s not good. Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, seek help?”

“I appreciate your concern, Theo, I do, but I’m fine,” she insisted, voice stern and concise. “I know what I’m doing, you just have to trust that. I’m sorry you found yourself involved. Now, I have to go.”

Hermione continued on her way to astronomy with her previous buoyant mood replaced by a concerned roommate and a needling in the back of her mind. Her plan for the year, to keep her head down as the perfect student was utterly ruined. If her arm hadn’t been a problem enough, she had to navigate Theo’s knowledge of it. No one had seen her like that, not a single person. It hadn’t gotten that bad over summer, she was able to manage it and keep an eye on it but being back at Hogwarts seemed to send it into frenzy. The stress of school combined with the stress of Ron and suddenly Draco, it fed on her panic. It spurred her insecurities, made her feel less than herself. These were all things she could handle because they were her problems, just hers.

But now Theo. Would he tell anyone? Ginny? Draco? Would he try to help? She didn’t want his help or his concern. She could handle it herself, she handled everything herself perfectly fine. Hermione Granger never asked for help and she wasn’t going to start now.

...

“Now that you’re better,” Ginny started as they walked through the hall, “Halloween. What’re we doing?”

“I am going to sit in my common room with the book I have been trying to finish for the past two years, accompanied by a cup of tea and the coziest blanket I can possibly find,” Hermione said.

Ginny laughed. “Absolutely not, we’re going to do something worth remembering.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Oh, God.”

“A club!” the ginger exclaimed, gaining looks from passersby. “Mione, we should go to a muggle club!”

“Gin, I’m not really the club type,” she said, pushing the hospital doors open. “They’re too loud and there’s too many people.”

“I am begging you to not act like an old maid for just one night.”

She rolled her eyes as they approached curtained off cots. Hermione informed her friend that she would only be a minute before finding the medi-witch. Looking over the desk and the cabinets lining the wall, she thought about taking a few vials of dittany and murtlap. She couldn’t ask Draco for help again and she was out of her own stores.

“Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey said as she approached. “Are you in need of help dear?”

“Yes, actually, I’ve been doing some research on healing, specifically magical wounds, and I was hoping to ask a few questions.”

“Of course, is this anything I need to be concerned about?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “No, I’ve just found myself interested in healing. I am looking at a few prospects for after graduation and this is one.”

The medi-witch smiled. “That’s wonderful, what’s your question?”

Hermione opened a notebook she’d been carrying and readied her pen. “Say I had a patient who came in unconscious with a wound affected by magic. This wound won’t stop bleeding and seems resistant to healing, what sort of potions or pastes should be used?”

“My, this sounds like an exam question,” she laughed. “For the bleeding, I would administer blood replenishing potions as often as possible. A combination of murtlap, dittany, and common healing potion should do just fine. Wounds aren’t typically resistant unless they’re afflicted by lycanthropy or poison.”

Hermione’s pen halted. “What would indicate poison?”

“Many things, depending on what was used. Of course many known poisons have antidotes and using a diagnostic would be the only way to know which poison it is. Quick acting poisons are more obvious, they cause foaming of the mouth, blood in the eyes, delirium, and often immediate fainting. Slow acting poisons are much rarer though bezoars have been shown to help them.”

She scribbled more. “And the diagnostic spell is in An Introduction to Healing by Mungo Bonham, correct? I’ve read it's difficult to conjure, how can that be remedied?”

“For natural healers, it's no problem. Many students at St. Mungos do struggle. I would recommend constant practice and a clear mind. No distractions, preferably in a quiet space, once it’s conjured the first time it becomes very simple,” she said.

“How do you know if you’re a natural healer?”

“Familial lines have much to do with it. Though, I have found the best healers are gifted occlumens. Being able to block parts of themself for maximum focus and of course subsiding the pain you inevitably feel for more difficult cases is helpful.” There was a wail from within the room. “If you don’t have any more questions, I must go attend to my patient.”

Hermione smiled and closed her notebook. “Of course, thank you for your help.”

Madam Pomfrey regarded her before skittering away. Hermione’s head was reeling with questions now. Putting her notebook in her bag, she looked to the cabinets at the back wall. She turned around, finding no one there. Quietly, she approached the cabinets and opened the first door. Hermione grabbed two vials of dittany, two of murtlap, and a wound cleaning potion. Just as she was about to close it, she spotted a bright orange potion labelled contraceptive. She took four.

Using an extending charm on her bag, she shoved the vials and bottles in and made her way back to Ginny. The ginger started on again about Halloween plans but Hermione was only half listening. Halloween was just another day and she would treat it as such, even if it meant she got dragged along to a skeezy club in London. Her mind was too filled with the possibility of her arm being infected with poison.

She needed to figure out the damn diagnostic spell as someone who was clearly not a natural healer. There wasn’t anyone she knew who was or an occlumens for that matter.

“Do you think Harry would come?” Ginny asked as they rounded the corner to the library.

“Being hungover on the anniversary of his parents’ death might be a good thing,” Hermione said.

“Actually, you’re right, and it will force him to let me take care of him!”

“You’ll be hungover too.”

“I don’t get hungover,” Ginny laughed before opening the door.

They claimed a table with their bags before walking into one of the aisles. Ginny leaned against the bookcase as Hermione grabbed any and every text she deemed worthy.

“Are you wanting to be a healer?” Ginny asked, plucking a random book.

She shrugged as she took another. “Maybe, I’m looking at my options.”

“They should just make you minister, you’re good for it.”

Hermione gave Ginny a tight-lipped smile as they headed back to their table. She didn’t want to be minister, in fact, she didn’t want to have a single more responsibility for the rest of her life. Not after spending seven years carrying the fate of the world on her shoulders. The thought of leaving her life for a normal muggle one crept in again. She always had dreamed of going to university, perhaps Oxford.

“Ron should bring a date, be good for him,” Ginny said, looking through the books Hermione had picked.

“I suppose,” she mumbled.

“I just don’t want him to be uncomfortable. You two coming would’ve been fine if you hadn’t broken up.”

She looked up, narrowing her eyes. “Sorry?”

Ginny looked up too. “Oh! That’s not what I meant! I just don’t want either of you to feel like third and fourth wheels to me and Harry and you shouldn’t go together, obviously.”

Hermione nodded once before returning to her reading, catching a slight sigh from Ginny. “Who should he bring?” she entertained.

“Well, it turns out Romilda is talking to Pavarti so,” she trailed off. “Everyone’s either dating or talking to someone it feels like.”

“It doesn’t have to be a date, he can take someone as a friend.”

“You’re right, but, hey! You should take someone too. Maybe someone fit, single,” Ginny said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Hermione flushed slightly, there was absolutely no one she could think of to take. As she looked at her friend’s teasing eyes, she noticed a striking pair just beyond her. Silver.

He was staring. Across the library, he caught her eye like he always did. They hadn’t seen each other since last night, Hermione had been avoiding him for obvious reasons. Not only was she trying to avoid questions about her arm, but she worried what sort of things her mind would come up with when she saw him.

Now that those eyes were on her, her mind was painting quite the picture. She ripped her eyes away, focussing on the book in front of her again.

“I think Zacharias just broke up with Milicent, you should ask him,” Ginny said, propping her head in her hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him, Gin.”

“Okay, what about Neville? I’m sure Hannah wouldn’t mind.”

Hermione looked up again, frustrated from the constant distraction that was Ginny Weasley. “Neville in a muggle nightclub?”

The ginger laughed. “Yeah, nevermind.”

From behind Ginny, yet another person she had been avoiding came swaggering up to their table. With a charming smile and devious eyes, he stopped between them, placing his hands on the table and leaning down.

“Sorry to interrupt, but can I borrow your friend here?” Theo said to Ginny.

Hermione watched the spark ignite in her big brown eyes. She looked at Theo then to Hermione, then back to Theo as a meddling smile crossed her face.

“Theo, love, what are you doing for Halloween?”

“Gin,” Hermione warned. Ginny batted her eyelashes at the handsome Slytherin as he looked between them with a quirk in his brow. “Ron would burst,” she added.

“You didn’t actually sleep with him!” she said. “Did you?”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed, earning hushes from within the library. She stood up quickly, brushing her skirt down as she glared pointedly at her friend. “I’ll deal with you later. Theo.”

The pair wandered outside the library, just beyond into a secluded corridor outside. Hermione wrung her hands together as they walked, surreptitiously planning the conversation in her head. She had the answer to every question he could possibly ask...she hoped. As they entered the chilly air, goose pimples immediately sprouted on her legs.

Theo leaned against the wall, looking around to make sure no one was outside with them. “What’s happening on Halloween?”

“Ginny’s dragging me, Ron, and Harry to a muggle club. Ron doesn’t want to third wheel with me since we just broke up so we were trying to find someone for him.”

“And I was the logical choice,” Theo grinned.

She snorted. “No, you would be my date. Ginny said I should ask someone too and I’m not asking you.”

“Shame, I would’ve loved to see you get absolutely wasted in a sexy costume
with a bunch of muggles.”

“I’m afraid sexy is not in my vocabulary,” Hermione said, plucking a curl that flew into her face.

Theo looked her up and down. “I know a few people who’d disagree with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re one of them?”

“I was, until you nearly died in my arms.”

“There it is. Why can’t you just leave it alone? I’m clearly alive and breathing.”

“What would have happened if I didn’t find you?” he asked; she shrugged. “Hermione, I just don’t understand why you have that scar or why it bled like that.”

“I don’t know why it does what it does but I’m trying to figure it out, I already told you. You just--”

“Have to trust you, right, you said that. Listen, I’ve got trust issues so forgive me for not believing you,” he half-joked. “You need help, let me help you.”

“I appreciate the offer but no.”

“Then let Draco help.”

“No.”

“Why? He already did.”

“I hate him.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “He fixed it, or at least brought you back to life.”

Hermione chewed her bottom lip as she thought. She didn’t know anything about Theo or his relationship with Draco. How much did he know about what happened?

“How well do you know Malfoy?” she questioned.

“I’d say very, known him since I was born.”

“The war, what did he tell you? What do you know about his family, what happened to them?”

“He told me everything and I kept him from a lot of stupid decisions.”

“This,” she said, holding out her arm. “You don’t know how I got this do you?”

Theo furrowed his brows. “Obviously not. I’m confused, are you trying to tell me he knows?”

She shrugged. “He was there when it happened and he didn’t help me. In fact, he watched as I screamed and cried, so your suggestion that I let him help me is almost laughable. I can figure this out alone, I don’t need him or you or anyone else, okay?”

Something was stirring behind his eyes, she could see it. Theo nodded once and she started away.

“Oh, none of my friends know and I’d like to keep it that way,” Hermione added before heading back inside.

...

There comes a time when our mistakes catch up to us. The secrets we’ve kept, the lies we’ve told; everything comes back around at some point. Hermione was a sitting duck waiting for her karma, waiting for everything to ultimately blow up in her face. Yet her most recent lie, one she’d been needling in her head, had caught up with her quicker than the rest. And the lie?

I don’t need Draco Malfoy.

She didn’t. Hermione could find something else and she would. Getting caught up with him in the first place had been a mistake and she knew it was just the pure adrenaline. That was what spurred her on. It was the distraction from the pain, the ease of ache stemming from thoughts of getting caught. It was exciting but there were other exciting things. Safer things. Safer than subjecting herself to the person she told herself she hated more than anyone else. Safer than getting caught by her friends and facing whatever repercussions lie there.

As she stepped into her common room on October 30th, waiting for Ginny to dress her in some utterly ridiculous costume, she convinced herself she didn’t need him. It had been four days since they’d last interacted. Four days since she told Theo that his best friend lied to him about something. In those four days, nothing seemed amiss. When would it all catch up to her?

It burned and she resented it as she rubbed over her sleeve. Four days wasn’t long, she’d gone longer without a fix. She had gone a whole week without so much as a drink and suddenly four days was nearly unbearable. Difference was, alcohol numbed, Draco healed. It was laughable.

Hermione opened her trunk and grabbed the last bottle of vodka she still had, finding a measly amount. She drank the rest swiftly before taking the bottle of fire whiskey she nabbed a while ago. With a deep breath, preparing for the awful cinnamon burn, she took down two shots worth.

“Never took you for an alcoholic.”

She put the bottle down, looking out her bedroom door. Theo was leaning against the kitchenette counter, lit fag in his hand.

“Liquid courage,” she said, putting it back into her trunk. “I’ll need it for tonight.”

He nodded once, the tension was palpable. In those four days, he hadn’t spoken to her either. She was sure he was avoiding her as she never saw him in their shared dorm together. Hermione, with her hands behind her back, approached her door before leaning against the frame.

“Any fun plans tonight?”

He looked at her through his eyelashes, taking a long drag. “I haven’t talked to him.”

“Are you going to?”

He shrugged. “Would you?” Her eyebrow quirked. “If it were Ginny, and you found out she did something awful and never told you, would you confront her?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “But that’s what I’ve always done and if Ginny had kept something from me, I know it’s serious because she has no secrets.”

Theo hummed, letting the smoke float to the ceiling. “Draco is made of secrets. I always figured there was something he never told me.” Then he looked at her, something in those eyes made her uneasy. “Should’ve known it’d be about you.”

“What does that--”

“I’m so ready to get fucked up and then fuck my boyfriend!” Ginny exclaimed, walking into the common room, carrying a large bag with her. She looked between the two. “Sorry, loves, have I interrupted?”

Theo smiled genuinely at her, snuffing his fag on the counter. “Nah, just talking. Have fun tonight, tell Harry I dream about him.”

Ginny winked as he took his leave to his bedroom. “I like him, you should date him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as her friend skipped into her room. She almost admired Theo for being able to return to himself when Ginny showed up. How could he do that so easily? Mask like it was nothing?

“Right, this is yours,” Ginny said, handing Hermione a plastic costume bag.

She looked inside, pulling out a headband with a halo on it. “Gin, where did you get these?”

The ginger smiled as she put her own headband on, adorned with red horns, of course. “I told Harry what to get, I reckon he did well.”

She pulled out two more items, a comically small pair of wings and a short piece of white fabric. Hermione held it up, trying to figure out what it was. “I think something’s missing.”

Ginny shed her clothes, standing before her in only her underwear. She took the white fabric from her and stretched it out, then she held it up to Hermione’s body. “No, that’s it. It’s just a dress.”

“This is not a dress,” she said, watching Ginny squeeze into her tiny piece of red fabric. It was absolutely skin tight and nothing Hermione would ever wear. Then again, who was Hermione?

She took the dress and the wings and started towards the washroom. After locking herself in and shedding her uniform, she looked at her bandaged arm in the reflection. It had bled through the gauze and needed replacing. She carefully peeled it back, exposing the muddled scar. It looked worse. The grey, spidery veins had gotten longer, encroaching on the edges of her arm. The letters seemed infected, still bubbling and bruised purple and blue. After tossing the gauze in the bin, she ran her arm under the biting cold water. Hermione grabbed the dittany from where she hid it behind the toilet and let two drops slip out. Carefully, she rubbed it over the wound, hissing in pain from the inexplicable ache.

“Done yet?” Ginny knocked.

“Yeah, one minute!”

Hermione quickly wrapped her arm, skin tight this time, before casting a disillusionment charm. She slipped on the white dress and looked at herself in the mirror. Whoever it was looking back at her, didn’t look half bad. The dress was too short, ending at the tops of her thighs, and it dipped low, showing too much cleavage than she was comfortable with. The white stood out against her olive skin and brown hair. Taking a deep breath with the mirror, she shrugged on the wings and the halo, preparing herself for wherever the night took her.

“What have you got Ron and Harry in?” Hermione asked as they headed towards the castle’s entrance.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun!” Ginny smiled mischievously.

She sighed, walking wearily in her silver heels down copious flights of stairs. Ginny seemed a natural in her red stilettos, like a right business woman. Though she looked like the after party, all fire and spunk with her red horns and tail.

A wolf whistle came from below as they walked, making Ginny chuckle loudly. Seamus and Dean were coming from the Great Hall, hand in hand as the girls came down

“Look at yous!” Seamus exclaimed.

“Damn, Ginny, why’d we ever break up?” Dean joked.

“You’re gay and I’m in love with Harry,” she smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Hermione stood uncomfortably, pulling the dress farther down her legs. She crossed her arms in front of her, feeling the itchy wings pull tightly against her back. The three of them spoke for a while, laughing and joking, making Hermione wish she’d taken more shots. Her arm burned and she looked a right mess. She started walking towards the entrance alone, slowly as to not leave Ginny too far behind. Casting a wandless warming charm over herself, she let her arms down.

“Weasley seen you yet?” a dark voice asked from her left.

Hermione turned and saw him leaning against the wall at the entrance of the castle, eyes slightly bloodshot. He was not shy in looking at her, eyes lingering on her thighs longer than the rest of her.

I don’t need it.

“No,” she said, looking behind her to see Ron had joined the conversation, next to him, Fay Dunbar, a fellow Gryffindor. She was pretty, long blonde hair and green eyes. She was all legs while Hermione was terribly average in her eyes. Hermione had hardly noticed they were matching in a muggle officer and prisoner get up. She rolled her eyes at the sight.

“Are you drunk?” she asked Draco.

“No that’s against my rules,” he said slower than normal. “They never said anything about gillyweed.”

She looked at him, finding a gillyfag between his fingers. With another glance behind her for safety, she walked up to him. Hermione took Draco’s hand and positioned his fingers in front of her lips as she took a drag. Her lips brushed against his skin as she did, looking directly into silver eyes, which slowly turned white. Letting go of his hand, she tilted her neck up, releasing the yellow smoke into the night. When she looked back, he had reached his hand out, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. His eyes followed his hand as he trailed it down her arm, a cold shiver ran down her spine.

I don’t need it.

“Mione!” She whipped her head around to find her friends walking towards her. Then a crack. She looked again, he was gone.

They caught up to her and she gave Ron a tight smile and Fay a friendly hug. Ron’s eyes lingered on Hermione too long, she noticed him staring right at her breasts. Taking Ginny’s hand, they apparated to London.

...

Soho was crawling with nightlife, every club was full, lines down the block. Bars were rowdy with muggles in joke costumes. Girls wore skirts too short and heels too tall, all in the spirit of 1998. Hermione found herself fitting in more than she expected. Ginny pulled her hand down the street as she searched for the nightclub, one of many on one road. She took a glance around at the townhouse style buildings, searching for a street name to place herself. She grew up in London, she ought to know where they were.

“We’re here!” Ginny said, looking up at the neon lights.

The Astoria. The line was incredibly long, rounding the block. The thumping music could already be heard from where they stood. Ginny pulled her forward again, ignoring the long wait as she approached the bouncers at the front. There were several exclamations of protest as the four of them cut a mile long line.

“We’re with Potter, Harry Potter!” she said loudly.

One of the men opened the chain, allowing the four of them entrance. Upon walking in, Hermione realised she had never seen a place like this. Even though it was muggle, it nearly took her breath away. The ceilings were deceivingly high, long, singular lightbulbs of varying colours hung down. The club, simply put, was mirrored. On every wall was a mirror, the bar was made of mirrors, and behind the DJ was a giant mirror. Everyone could see themselves, many men taking advantage of watching how their cocks rubbed into poor girls’ bums.

“Harry!” Ginny exclaimed, letting go of Hermione’s hand. She watched as she ran into her boyfriend’s arms, being scooped up and spun around. A slight pang in her chest brought her to look away, she’d never been envious of a relationship before.

“Mione! Hey!” he shouted, over the music. Harry took her into a hug, gesturing his head towards the bar.

They settled at the end, grabbing drinks for all of them. Hermione looked around, already feeling the weight of the mirrors caving in on her. Which Hermione was she supposed to be?

“How are you?” Harry asked, leaning into her ear.

“Not drunk enough for this,” she shouted back. He nodded and she noticed his costume, a muggle firefighter, adorned with a tight white shirt and big red trousers held up by yellow suspenders. She jokingly squeezed his arm. “Auror training treating you well?”

He smiled and even in the heat of the club, she felt her heart break like it always did when Harry smiled. “Told you!” His eyes wandered back to their friends before he looked at Hermione again. “No date?”

She thanked the bartender as they grabbed the drinks. “No.” Keeping her answer short meant more time to drink and find the fittest muggle she could to forget how alone she was.

After downing her drink in record time, Ginny took her and Fay into the depths of the crowd, forcing them to dance with her. The music was terrible and the people were sweaty and Hermione was wonderfully pissed. Ginny grabbed her hips, pulling her towards her front. Hermione laughed, feeling the mix of drinks taking control of her, as she danced against her friend. Fay danced in front of Hermione, sandwiching her between the witches.

She danced with her arms in the air, eyes closed, feeling the vibrations of shitty beats entrance her to the feeling of freedom. There was something about a club in the middle of Soho where no one knew her that made her veins twitch in excitement. There were hundreds of people, it would be all too easy to lose herself in the crowd. She could do whatever she wanted. She could do whoever she wanted.

I don’t need him.

Hermione opened her eyes, finding Ginny snogging Harry far too aggressively and Ron dancing a fool with Fay. Her time to get away was now. She continued dancing into the crowd, looking around with lazy eyes and flush down her chest from the heat.

“Hey!” She turned around, finding herself in front of a taller man with tan skin and dirty blonde hair. “You’re hot!”

She laughed. “Thanks!”

“Wanna dance with me, babe?”

“Are you American?” she shouted.

The man smiled brightly, strikingly white teeth shining under the blue lights. “Hell yeah I am! And you’re a fucking sexy British chick!”
Hermione laughed again, grabbing his bottle of beer and downing it all. She shoved it into a passerbys chest as she looked up at the American. He wasn’t unattractive, perhaps not her type, but tonight she wasn’t being picky.

The American pointed to his chest, “You spilled some.”

She looked down at the wet trail slipping between her breasts. With one finger, she swiped it up and sucked it off, making eye contact with him. He raised his eyebrows before gripping her hips and turning her around in the same way Ginny did. Hermione pressed herself against him, feeling his cock hardening under her bum. She ground against him to the awful rap music thumping against the walls. The American’s hands travelled around her waist and up until each of his hands held one of her breasts. He squeezed them unpleasantly hard as he kissed her shoulder. She lifted her arms behind her, pulling his neck down. His lips left messy kisses up her neck.

“You’re so hot!” he shouted.

Hermione turned around and looked up at him with her best fuck me eyes. “Shut up!”

She crashed her lips to his, he tasted of pretzels and cheap ale. He kissed her back, tongue prodding her mouth carelessly. Her hand found the bulge of his jeans and she squeezed. The American groaned into her lips and she swore she never heard anything less enticing. He slipped calloused hands under her dress, pushing it over her bum for the whole club to see. Digging his fingernails into her flesh, he leaned down to her ear,

“Let’s get outta here.”

She lifted onto her toes, whispering back, “No.”

Hermione shoved him off, pulled her dress back down, and stumbled back towards the bar. She asked for something strong and as she waited, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Between bottles of liquor and flashing lights, she saw a bloody mess. Her halo was crooked, her hair a mess around her shoulders, the lipgloss she once wore rubbed off. The bartender gave her the drink and she knocked it back in one gulp. To her right, she saw another generally attractive man looking at her. She smiled and tilted her head slightly.

“Wanna party, love?” he asked, his voice heavily accented from the North.

“I am!”

He slid his hand across the bar top and when she looked down, through her haze of drinks and flashing lights, she made out a small baggie with a yellow pill in it. She looked to the man again, finding he was substantially older than her. Then her arm burned.

I don’t need him.

“Is it free?”

“Dance with me and it is,” he said, leaning in close.

Hermione dry swallowed the mysterious pill before taking the older man’s hand, leading him in the crowd and away from her friends. The music changed, it was faster now, and the thumping in her bones rattled her. She couldn’t think straight as the man pulled her close to him. In the same position again, he rubbed his covered cock between her cheeks. His meaty hand wrapped around her neck, pushing her chin up and back. Lips were on hers and all she could feel was the scratch of his stubble on her face.

She kept dancing as everything started to change. The flashing lights started to look wavy as she moved. Everyone else in the club was dancing and jumping slower, their mouths moving funnily. Hermione laughed as she looked around. The mirrors were distorted, creating muddled images of the people moving. It was a haze and she was floating through it. She held her arms in the air, swaying and giggling, trailing her hands down her body, over her breasts.

Hermione was so lost in the obscurity that she hadn’t noticed her dress get pulled up again. Thick fingers squeezed her bare skin, moving closer to her core. She felt something off in the smog of her mind and stumbled forward. The man gripped her arm and pulled her back, pressing himself into her. She struggled against him, kicking him in the shin with her heel. The man groaned in pain and as she turned around, she sent a silent hex his way, effectively blinding him.

Through the crowd of thousands, she searched for red hair. She could hardly see as her legs carried her outside. Her ears started ringing from the sudden quietness of the street. Looking around, she recognized nothing. As she went, she pulled off her heels and carried them in her

hands. A headache crept into her temples and as she reached to rub at it, she felt the headband. Discarding it somewhere in the street, she continued barefoot in a skimpy dress down the streets of Soho. No one stopped her as she went, a few catcalls and whistles here and there but she soldiered on. Past more old buildings, red and orange trees, her feet crunched under fallen leaves.

Then she stopped. Hermione recognized the building in front of her. A Pantheon beyond nightclubs, The British Museum. She looked at the columns, the steps, and the stone. This wasn’t far from home.

“Look at this one, dad!” Hermione exclaimed, pointing to a Greecian statue.

“Ah, you like this one?” Mr. Granger asked, pulling his daughter under his arm.

“She’s beautiful.” Big, honey eyes looked up at the statue of the goddess, forever enshrined in that moment of beauty.

“That’s Athena, goddess of war. She’s quite powerful, smart as hell, a ruthless warrior.”

Hermione smiled. “I wanna be like her.”

It was so far from home.

...

By some stroke of luck, Hermione made it back to Hogwarts. Her head was thumping and her arm was burning and she most certainly did not regret blinding that man. It felt fucking good. What she did regret was drinking recklessly enough to lose her wits and accept something from a stranger. She knew better than that and she kicked herself for it.

As she made her way up to the head dorms, she rubbed at her arm which lost its disillusionment. She was thankful for the time, no one was around to see her a drunken mess, carrying her heels in shame. The portrait door opened and as she walked in, she smelt the fireplace and it soothed her headache. Crackling fire always made her feel comfortable. She continued in, rubbing her eyes as she walked, trying to rid herself of the haze until she ran into someone.

Hermione opened her eyes and found Draco looking down at her, holding her by her shoulders. She was reminded of the man.

“Don’t touch me!” she exclaimed, stepping back. “You can’t--you’re not allowed to touch me with--without permission.”

The heels clambered to the ground as she looked into his silver eyes. “Sorry,” he said.

“I blinded him,” she said, walking past Draco into her bedroom. “I fucking blinded him! Oh my God.”

She sat on her bed, staring at the dresser mindlessly. Everything was coming down, crashing and burning. A hand appeared in her line of vision, holding a glass of water. She took it and sipped on it slowly.

“I’m gonna go to Azkaban,” she whispered. “Fuck.”

“Who did you blind?” Draco asked.

She shrugged, swallowing her next sip. “I don’t know his name.”

Hermione stood up and reached for her dresser. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out a pair of underwear and the next drawer, a sleeping shirt. Then she turned and looked up, he was watching from her doorway.

“Did he deserve it?” Draco asked.

“He tried to…” she sighed, gathering her hair into a ponytail. Draco’s eyes darkened and she noticed him tense slightly. “He...yeah, he deserved it.”

Hermione started pulling her dress off causing Draco to turn around. She changed quickly before walking past him into the kitchenette. She filled her glass with more water, thankful that it was pulling her back down to earth.

“Is Theo here?”

“He’s with Pansy.”

She nodded, watching him walk back in, standing between the living area and the kitchenette. Hermione lifted herself onto the counter, feeling the cold granite on her bare skin.

“Isn’t it weird? I mean you dated Pansy, right?”

“When I was fifteen,” he said, “and she’s a bitch, so no, it’s not weird.”

Hermione snorted into her water. “Yeah, she is.”

Placing her water down next to her, she rubbed her arm over her shirt and took in a deep breath. She looked at Draco, finding him watching her arm.

“You know what is weird?” she asked, laughing oddly.

“Granger,” he said slowly.

“Malfoy.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“You know,” she started, scratching the back of her neck. “I’m supposed to be staying away from you, but here you are and I’m still sort of drunk and I am very inclined to say something I might regret but I don’t care.”

Draco shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as he searched her face carefully. After a moment of her not saying anything, he cocked an eyebrow. “Okay.”

“We had sex!” Hermione laughed. Draco pressed his lips together and nodded. “I really liked it, which sucks because I’m supposed to hate you! I’d never orgasmed before!”

He raised his eyebrows as she laughed into her hands, flushed cheeks turning into a flush chest.

“I want to do it again, I mean only if you...You probably hated it! Of course you hated it, we haven’t spoken to each other in days and--”

“Granger, stop talking.”

Hermione huffed quietly, taking the chance to look up at him. Draco ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he walked up to her. Her heart beat faster and her chest tightened as he stood in front of her. He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of the counter around her. Draco looked into pools of honey before his eyes travelled down to her bare thighs and back up again. A piece of white hair fell in front of his eyes; Hermione wrapped it around her finger before pushing it back.

“Did you hate it?” she whispered.

“No.”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“You told me not to touch you without your permission,” he said, his voice becoming raspy.

Hermione placed her hand atop his as she lifted it onto her thigh. She traced her finger over the veins on his hand, feeling his soft, alabaster skin cooling hers.

“You can touch me whenever this happens. I want you to touch me, Malfoy.”

He placed his other hand to her other thigh, slowly squeezing, rubbing his thumbs into her muscles. His hands snuck higher, under the long shirt she wore, to her hips. Hermione took in a deep breath, holding it as he stared into her eyes. They were white again, filled with want; he wanted her and her stomach fluttered.

“Weasley never made you orgasm?” Draco asked, lips brushing against hers.

“No,” she whispered, swallowing hard.

“Hm. Interesting.” Then he captured her lips with his, pressing want into her. Hermione grabbed the back of neck, pulling him closer. She arched her back into the kiss as his hands traveled under her thighs. Draco pulled her into him before swiftly picking her up. She held onto him as he kissed her harder, his tongue flicking into her mouth. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulling slightly and eliciting a low groan from him.

He sat down on the settee, her in his lap, hands rubbing up and down her thighs, kneading her skin roughly. Hermione’s hands found his dress shirt and she unbuttoned it quickly before trying to shrug it off him. He grabbed her hand to stop her, letting it rest on his chest. She didn’t question it as she moved her kisses down his jaw. Draco gripped her underwear and started pulling it down, making her rise onto her knees to remove them. There was something unspoken between them, not allowing each other to see the other’s scar as his hands traveled up her abdomen, under her shirt. Palming her breasts in his hands, he squeezed them gently.

“Harder,” Hermione whispered, bringing her lips back to his.

Draco kneaded her breasts harder, pinching her nipples, eliciting soft hums of pleasure from her. She found his belt, quickly undoing it and discarding it somewhere behind them. She took to unbuttoning and unzipping before he pushed them to his knees. Hermione glanced down at his hard cock, her eyes widening slightly as she tried not to compare it to her previous encounters. She lifted herself onto her knees, nervously looking at him.

“I’ve never done it this way,” she whispered.

Draco stroked himself a few times, holding her up with his other hand. “Just go slow, don’t try to please me.”

Her heart thudded faster from his words, finding herself more inclined towards this gentle version of himself. Hermione held onto his shoulders, feeling the tip enter her. She tensed up immediately, closing her eyes. He held her up still, not forcing her into uncomfortable territory. He nudged his nose into hers, making her eyes open again.

“Relax, take a deep breath,” he said, the baritone of his voice soothing her.

Hermione nodded against him and took a breath before lowering herself more. Draco groaned from her wet core taking him in inch by inch. He pressed his lips to hers again and she kissed him hard, squeezing his shoulders as she lowered herself more. She gasped into his mouth when he thrusted slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Good girl.”

That sent a frenzy into her stomach as she took the rest of him in. Short, breathy moans escaped her as he lifted up again. Draco still held her under her thighs, helping her move up and down as she liked.

“Alright?” he managed through gritted teeth.

She nodded, undulating her hips slightly faster. Hermione’s hands moved down his chest, her fingernails scratching him gently, inciting a deep moan from him. Draco’s lips found her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point. Her moans were quick and long as she moved over his cock. He thrusted carefully, hitting her spot perfectly.

“Oh! Yes, yes--there!” she moaned, throwing her head back.

Draco thrusted again, another shout escaped her, dripping in profanities.

“Harder, a little faster,” she said, catching his eyes again. They were white as snow on a sunny day, beautifully blinding.

He did what she asked, pulling her down as he thrusted harder into her. Hermione leaned her forehead against his as they breathed in each other’s moans.

“Good girl, Granger,” he moaned.

“I like that. Oh! Fuck--yes! Yes!” Her hands pressed against his pecs as she moved quicker, only spurred on by his low groans and curses. She was the cause of those noises, those perfect little noises.

“Malfoy! I--I’m--”

Her thighs shook harder as he held her, head tossed back, hair springing from her ponytail at every angle. Her breathing quickened through tiny moans, before she stilled completely, coming all over him. She cried out, “Malfoy!” as she did, making him tense inside her. Hermione dripped onto him, coming down from a long orgasm. She pressed her lips to his again, controlling the kiss

as she focussed on finishing him. She moved her hips into him rhythmically. Draco bit her lip hard as he came.

“Oh, gods, Granger,” he groaned, leaning his forehead onto hers.

They looked at each other, still breathing heavily as they came down from their high, still inside one another. And again, Hermione felt fucking fantastic, for more reasons than one.

She lifted off of him, her legs still shaking as she found her underwear. Hermione scourgified herself, him, and the settee before pulling them on again. Draco stood, pulling his trousers up, and when he looked up he found a very concerned looking girl in front of him.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he started buttoning his shirt.

Hermione walked up to him again and stopped his hands. She pushed the shirt to the sides, exposing his perfectly lean, muscular chest fully to her. With a tentative hand, her delicate fingers danced over the scars riddling his chest. Slash marks from two years ago, spanning the width of his pecs and down to his bottom right rib.

“I forgot,” she said, looking up at him.

“I went through worse.” Draco plucked her hands from his chest as he finished buttoning. He ran a hand through his hair, touseling it effortlessly. “You have a contraceptive, right?”

She nodded. “Of course, have you forgotten who I am?”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth barely twitching. “Goodnight, Granger.”

Hermione watched him start out the door when she said,

“They’re not ugly...your scars.”

With one last glance from striking silver eyes, the portrait door shut.

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed, running into her just outside the head dorms. She was frantic, eyes wide with worry. “Merlin, you’re here! Ron said he hadn’t seen you since Friday and Harry and I couldn’t get in touch--is that a hickey?”

Hermione’s hand flung to her neck, her mouth slightly agape. “I, um…”

Ginny laughed before smacking her arm. “Gods, you’re more than fine aren’t you? Is that from someone at the club? They really got you, huh? What was he like? Was he tall? Was he big?”

“Ginny!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, don’t be shy, love. You needed to get laid.”

Hermione shook her head as they started to class, trying her hardest not to think about Friday night. It had completely sent her into a spiral over the weekend. She’d been drunk all night, throwing herself at random strangers, trying to rid herself of the exact thing that made her spark. It was invading her mind, everything that happened. The hatred she’d convinced herself off seemed to slip into the deep end when he held her.

Draco made the pain go away but he caused it in the first place.

She had to keep reminding herself of that. He was a terrible person, he always had been. He was terrible until he looked into her eyes, white ablaze, asking her if she was okay.

“So, was he?” Ginny asked, interrupting her thoughts.

They were stopped in front of charms class, a few of Hermione’s classmates filing past them. She held the strap of her book bag tighter as she furrowed a brow.

“Was who what?”

“Was the guy you shagged big?” Ginny laughed. “Was he good? I mean, could you walk after?”

Hermione caught a random student’s eye as they walked in, slowly snickering to themself. She shook her head with a huff.

“I am not telling you.”

“You told me you would tell me when you shagged someone!” she whinged. “It’s the least you could do since you won’t let me talk about Harry. Merlin, I could go on and on about the weekend, I mean he--”

“Gin! He’s like my brother, stop!” Hermione flushed.

The ginger laughed, nudging her shoulder. “C’mon, just tell me something.”

“It was…” she looked to the side, trying to find the word when she saw him. He was listening to Pansy talk his ear off about something, looking towards the ground. She could see the mint flitting around his mouth, remembering the feeling of his tongue on hers. As he and Pansy approached the door, his silver eyes met hers and she looked away. “...incredible.”

Ginny squealed. “I’ll take it. But next time, I want details, explicit details.”

Flitwick spoke from inside, requesting the class begin. Hermione walked into class after Ginny said something about single guys at Hogwarts. She took her seat, shrugging her robe off and setting on the back of her chair. Looking to her right, she saw a little black notebook.

“You’re in the wrong seat,” Draco whispered.

“I didn’t realise it was taken,” she said, pulling out her notebook and pen.

“Merlin, why are you sitting there Granger?” Pansy bit from Draco’s right.

Hermione looked around the room then back to her. “The other seats are full, Parkinson.”

“I’m really tired of your attitude.”

“Likewise.”

Pansy glared at her hatefully until Flitwick started up again, gaining the attention of the class. Hermione started her mindless scribbling on the page when she heard a slight murmur.

“What?” she whispered, looking up from her notes.

Draco met her eyes, looking from the table in front of her and back again. “Do you have another one of those?”

She held out the pen to him before grabbing another from her bag. Draco opened his small notebook to an empty page, and started scribbling something down. She watched in quiet admiration as his fingers glided across the page, his handwriting frustratingly impeccable, likely trained from a young age. Draco’s fingers were long, unlike Ron’s where they were elegant and strong rather than awkward. The veins in his hands contracted with his movements and she resisted reaching out to run her fingers over them. When he stopped is when she realised he was left handed.

“Don’t be nosy, Granger.”

Hermione met his eyes again, feeling a twist in the bottom of her abdomen. She quickly looked away, covering her flushed cheeks with her hair, effectively ignoring him for the rest of class. Once they were dismissed, she noticed he took her pen with him.

...

She walked through the hall with a stack of books up to her chin, balancing them carefully as she weaved through students and maintained her footing on magical stairs. Amongst the thoughts rifling her mind, two stood out the most. Draco and Madam Pomfrey’s mention of poison. Her arm, despite being less of a bother lately, was getting worse and she still had no idea what the cause of it was. Something sick and twisted from Bellatrix forever etched itself into her skin burying itself in her muscles and she needed answers. Once she found the answers, she could rid herself of Draco, stop causing more problems for herself. Merlin only knows what would happen if anyone found out about them. The sooner she could fix her arm, the better.

Balancing the books, she entered the head dorms. As she kicked Theo’s shoes out of the way, she emerged from the hall, noting the white haired boy sitting in the heinous floral armchair. Hermione avoided him as she struggled into her room, dropping the books at the end of her bed and her bag on the mattress. She grabbed the book off the top of the stack, shucked her shoes off and sat on her bed.

“Granger.” Hermione looked up and was faced with, as she once said so eloquently, fucking Adonis leaning against the door frame.

“Malfoy,” she responded, rubbing her arm. His eyes flickered to her arm and back again. “I’m not showing you.”

“Didn’t ask,” he said tersely. “Does it hurt?”

“Are you going to treat me like an invalid now that you know?” she bit.

“I don’t know anything, you won’t tell me.”

“Don’t be nosy.”

Hermione situated herself with her book, opening it to the diagnostic spell chapter. As she started reading, she found herself becoming quickly distracted by Draco’s presence, standing there, watching her. It was a simple charm, no harder than any other spell she’d done. She read on,

...recommended that the student in question practice the diagnostic charm on another person rather than themself.

Fantastic. She could hardly keep her nerves around him. Hermione sighed and looked up, meeting a silver gaze. “Fancy making yourself useful?”

Draco shrugged.

“I’m asking for my favour, Malfoy.”

“I already did you a favour,” he said, looking her up and down slowly.

Hermione shifted in her spot. “I never asked for help.”

“No, you would’ve just bled out and died.”

“Do me a favour or get out of my dorm,” she said seriously.

With a slight cock of his eyebrow, he stepped into her room and closed the door behind him. She shoved her bag off the bed and gestured for him to sit in front of her. Draco sat close, one leg hanging off the side, his other knee brushing hers. She leaned into it slightly, feeling her heart rate pick up. She read over the wordless spell a few times, studying the movement of the wand. Pulling it from her hair, she looked to Draco again. He looked at the curled frenzy surrounding her, reaching out to move a piece in front of her face.

“Sorry.” Perhaps his new thing was apologizing.

Hermione held her wand tighter. “Do you have any wounds currently?”

He held his hand out, in the center of his palm was a long, thin slice. “Paper cut.”

Hermione took his hand in hers carefully, treating him like a scared animal. His skin was always freezing but she relished in it, allowing it to cool her naturally hot skin. She traced a finger over the flimsy paper cut before looking at her book again. Holding her wand, she waved her wand over his hand in precisely the right fashion. Nothing happened. Recalling what Madam Pomfrey had said about focussing, she attempted to clear her mind. No distractions. Taking in a breath, she thought only of the movement of her wand, the simple wave and swirl.

Hermione tried again. Nothing.

“Can you stop staring at me?” she said, looking up at Draco. “It’s distracting.”

“Where am I supposed to look, Granger?”

“I don’t know, close your eyes.”

With a sigh, Draco closed his eyes. Hermione watched him for the first time, actually studied him. His eyebrows were perfectly neat and curiously dark compared to his white hair. Eyelashes nearing black stood out on his alabaster skin. Even with his face resting, there was a line between his brows as if he was constantly concerned or angry. His cheekbones were sharp, his jawline sharper yet soft and perfect to hold, she could imagine. No blemishes affected his skin, no freckles, no moles, nothing. Her eyes lingered on his lips far too long. They were fairly thin, the bottom one fuller than the top and pinker towards the center.

Hermione wrenched her eyes away and tried the spell again. Focussed harder. Then again. Wave and swirl. Again.

She huffed and he opened his silver eyes. “It’s not working.”

“Or you’re doing it wrong,” Draco said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Then you do it.”

She pointed to the paragraph in the book as he took his wand out. He looked over it once before turning to her.

“Wounds?”

“Funny,” she said before grabbing the page of the book and slicing the tip of her finger. She brought it to her lips and licked the blood off before holding it out to him. Draco held her hand tighter than she had before flicking his wand. An enchanted square appeared in front of her finger, detailing everything wrong.

“Small laceration of the index finger, non life threatening. Recommended spell, episkey,” he read before the square disappeared in the same way a patronus did.

He flicked his wand again and her paper cut was gone. The only other time she’d ever seen someone wordlessly heal her was Ginny.

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, picking the book up again. “Do you have a family history of healers?”

He snorted. “The opposite actually.”

“Are you an occlumens then?” she questioned, rereading the passage again. When he didn’t answer, she looked up. His face was guarded, eyes darker.

“That’s not something an occlumens would reveal, Granger.”

“You are,” she said, suddenly realising. Hermione put the book down and looked deep into his eyes, trying to watch him block off his mind. “You’re doing it now.”

“Doing what?” Draco’s voice lowered, sounding raspier, heavier.

“Protecting yourself.”

There was a silence between them, some inconceivable amount of secrets floating through the air like dust.

“You were doing it wrong,” he said. “Swirl then wave.”

Hermione grabbed her wand, flicking it again. Nothing happened. Draco put his left hand over hers, leading the wand in the correct formation, summoning the square. It read the same as hers had, though rather than her index finger it was the palm of his hand. In the corner of the square was a little beating heart with the number ninety-seven under it.

“Your heart rates fast,” she said, looking up at him.

“Is it?” he whispered.

Hermione put her wand down and placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. It was beating faster now, thudding under his chest, his hard, lean chest. Draco’s eyes flickered to her lips and lingered there.

“Does your arm hurt?” he asked, quieter than a whisper.

“A litt--”

He grabbed her waist, pulling her into his lips. Hermione kissed him back as her hands slid to his face. She held his jaw and it fit perfectly in her hands, just as she imagined. His lips were hurried as he kissed, trying to drown himself in the feeling of her. Pulling her closer, she lifted herself onto her knees, lifting his face up with her. Draco gripped the backs of her thighs, squeezing roughly. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip before biting it and pulling away. Soft lips met his jaw, kissing across it. Hermione swiped her tongue over the pulse point of his neck, eliciting a deep hum from him. Under her lips, his heart beat faster and she smiled as she left a mark on him, revenge from the mark she currently wore. Hermione had control of the little noises he made and rapid pounding of his heart, she craved this feeling.

Draco’s hands inched higher and around, pulling at the band of her underwear. She kissed his lips again, pressing herself against him. Hermione adjusted her knees as she spread her legs farther. He moved one hand to her inner thigh and rubbed through the fabric. She let a surprised sound escape her as he kissed her harder. Draco found her clit with his thumb and as he pressed into her, she could feel herself becoming wetter. His other hand found her bum, squeezing hard as he rubbed her clit. Hermione moaned into his lips, breaking the kiss slightly. She ground her hips into his hand, feeling her knees slip open wider.

Heavy breaths encased her chest, they were quick in between her whimpers. Hermione gripped the back of his neck, her fingernails digging into his skin as her thumbs pressed into his jaw. He moved his finger deliberately, listening to her responsive moans and feeling her warm breath on his lips. She leaned her forehead against his as her core tightened. Thighs started shaking as he held her harder.

“I--I--” she stuttered, getting wetter and closer to the edge. “Oh--God! Malfoy!”

She gripped him tighter as she came, hips pulling up, legs trembling from extreme pleasure. Draco moved his hand back to her thigh, holding her up as she came down. Hermione opened her eyes and lifted her forehead from his. He looked at her with burning white eyes and swollen lips. It was slightly impressive he did that without taking any of her clothes off.

“Better?” he asked.

“Fuck off.”

“Honey, I’m home!” Theo shouted; the portrait door closing sounded into the common room.

Draco swung his hand out, effectively locking her door. Hermione pushed back but he was still holding her up.

“Does he know you’re here?” she whispered

“No,” he said harshly.

“Well you invite yourself in a lot,” she bit back.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with that five seconds ago.”

“What if he does know you’re here? Then what?”

“He’s been avoiding me, I doubt he thinks I’m here.”

Hermione knew why Theo had been avoiding him, it had been her fault after all. Why shouldn’t she have told him? It was her secret to tell, never Draco’s. She didn’t feel bad and it all came crashing down who she was sitting on top of.

“Hermione, are you here?” Theo asked.

Wide honey eyes bored into Draco’s as she raised her eyebrows. Her heart was thudding for a completely different reason now. He started to speak when she slapped a hand over his mouth. Draco narrowed his eyes before flicking his hand again, silencing the room. He pulled her hand off, looking towards the door.

The mobile phone on her desk started buzzing, catching their attention. Hermione crawled across the bed and reached for her phone.

“Harry?”

“Hey, she’s alive. Are you free?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking into silver eyes. “I only have a second, what’s up?”

The sound of Theo’s footsteps retreating eased her as her shoulders dropped. Draco leaned against the bedpost with the healing book.

“Oh, okay. I just wanted to let you know before the Daily Prophet got to Hogwarts.”

She sat up straighter, Draco looked up through his lashes at her sudden movement. “Did something happen?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange’s husband got sentenced today,” he said.

Her chest tightened from hearing her name. “How long?”

“Life.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry, I just thought you should hear it from me.”

“No, no, I’m glad you called. Thank you.”

“I’ll let you go. Love you, Mione.”

“Bye, Harry.”

Hermione flipped the phone closed, twirling it in her hand before looking back up.

“Your uncle got sentenced to Azkaban for life,” she said.

Draco’s jaw tensed slightly and without meeting her gaze, he tossed the book back onto the bed and stood up. “Good.”

He grabbed his wand and started towards her door, opening it slightly. Seeing that Theo wasn’t in the living area, he stepped out and started for the door. Hermione sighed as she sat on her bed, running her hands through her hair. Theo knew and he saw and she didn’t know what to do. Draco knew something now too. She’d put a wedge between them and as much as she didn’t want to feel guilty about it, she did. Theo hadn’t done anything wrong, if anything he’d been more than kind and she’d fucked up his friendship.

Every carefully constructed façade was slowly crumbling down. Hermione needed to figure this out before questions were asked that she couldn't answer. Once her arm was fixed, she could rid herself of Draco. Everything could go back to normal.

Normal.

Whatever that meant.

“Daddy!”

“Miss Mione!” Mr. Granger said in the same, high-pitched tone.

“Daddy, Daniel said his favourite colour is green but it can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“My favourite colour is green, it’s not fair!” she whinged, the little boy coming up behind her.

Daniel grabbed her hand, their little fingers wrapping around each other. She looked at him with angry eyes. “I can pick a different colour,” he said.

“No, no, Daniel, you can like green too,” Mr. Granger said, squatting down to their height. “Miss Mione, why are you friends with Daniel?”

She shrugged. “He’s our neighbour.”

“Yes and so is Mrs. Kittering but you’re not her friend.”

Hermione scrunched her nose up. “That’s because Mrs. Kittering is mad.”

Mrs. Granger and Daniel’s mother laughed from behind him. Mr. Granger himself tried stifling his chuckle.

“You’re not friends with Mrs. Kittering because you have nothing in common, my dove. You and Daniel both like green, it brings you together.”

Daniel pulled on her hand. “We like kites!”

She giggled. “And chasing!”

“Tag!” he said, pushing her shoulder.

The little mane of curls squealed. “I have to go get him, daddy!”

“Go!” he exclaimed.

Hermione ran, her little legs carrying her as fast as she could through the fields of grass. She chased Daniel in circles, her little giggles ringing like Christmas bells. She ran and she ran, only worrying about tagging him back. In the fields with her parents and her friend, Hermione smiled and laughed as it was all she had to do. Simply being filled with joy was good enough.

Sometimes she preferred the nightmares, at least then she knew what to do. When she woke from a dream, of her life once before, she felt her chest collapse on itself. After a nightmare, she’d smoke, reminisce on everything she did wrong. After a dream, all she could do was lay still in her bed and stare at the blank ceiling. She thought about everything she could have been, what her life would have looked like had she never known she was a witch.

She would have attended secondary school, been the nerdy know-it-all. Maybe she would have dated Daniel, simply because she knew him. He was her longest friend, she’d see him during summers home. He was simple, easy going. There was nothing complicated about Daniel or her townhouse in Notting Hill. There was nothing complicated about walks through her neighborhood or feeding the birds. Simple was what she always thought her life would be. So simple in fact that maybe she would have married Daniel. They would move into a flat by the university where she would study to become a civil servant. He would welcome her home with easy kisses and they would talk about the news.

Her parents would be happy for her. They loved Daniel. Their parents were friends. She’d find a wedding dress with her mum, her dad would walk her down the aisle. They’d marry at a church in front of their families. Then, some years later she would have children, one or two. That was supposed to be her life. University, marriage, children.

Life now was toeing the line between morally wrong and excusably right. It was battling her inner demons and suffering through beautiful dreams. It was listening to Ginny laugh and feeling her lungs ache because she couldn’t. It was having days when getting out of bed was the best she could do. Having everyone look at her funny when she didn’t speak in class or ask how she was feeling when she ate no more than a piece of toast. Life now was convincing herself that everything would work itself out. That Draco was temporary, that she would be able to fix her arm, that she could forgive Ron.

Hermione was a terrible liar to everyone but herself.

In the back of her mind, she knew the truth and it hurt more than the festering ache. The truth cut deeper than that dagger and she was finding it hard to accept it. Truth was, everything wrong in her life was simply her fault. Every last thing.

She sat up and crawled to the end of her bed, reaching into her trunk. Hermione pulled out a small red notebook and opened it to the ribbon bookmark. This notebook had been her confidant for the first six years at Hogwarts. She kept using extension charms because of how much she told it, all her little secrets.

March 14th, 1993

This will be brief, simply because I cannot comprehend this myself. I have reason to believe that I fancy Ronald Weasley and I have no idea what to do. That’s all.

She flipped more pages.

January 25th, 1995

They called me it again. I know I shouldn't care and that’s what I tell everyone. It shouldn’t affect me but it does, so much. I try so bloody hard to be perfect. I know everything there is to know about this world, I’m at the top of the class, the professors all love me. I have done everything I can to prove that I am just as good as them. I guess it will never be good enough. Not for any one of those purebloods. Not for Pansy Parkinson when she walked up to me, shoved a piece of permanent sticking gum in my hair and spat ‘Mudblood’ in my eye. I wish I was a muggle.

Hermione rubbed her arm and flipped more.

November 19th, 1996

It’s getting worse. I’m so scared all of the time but Harry and Ron don’t know that. They can’t know how terrified I am. Something changed over the summer, I can feel it and I can see it on the faces of worried students. It’s changed so much in fact that I’ve found myself becoming concerned with Draco Malfoy. I swore to never write about him, keep his name out of my head, but I can’t. Something happened over summer, something awful, I just know it. Harry thinks he’s a Death Eater. I’m not sure. I want to believe he isn’t. The fairytale lover in me wants him to defy the expectation that he would take the mark. Even if he hadn’t, something’s wrong. There’s no confidence in him, he looks so defeated. Something sucked every piece of joy from him, he won’t make a single snide remark to anyone. He’s impossibly quiet and solemn. It worries me because it looks like he has no one. And I’m telling you this, diary, because Ron would laugh, Harry would tell me not to be concerned over someone like him. I want to talk to him and tell him that he doesn’t have to become like them. He can prove himself better and that if he can put aside his elitist beliefs, we would help him. I would help him. God, I sound like an idiot. I shouldn't care, I should hate him. I just can’t stand to see someone as broken as everything is starting to feel. It’s definitely getting worse.

Hermione stopped as she looked at her scrawled handwriting on the page. What if she had spoken to him? Would Dumbledore still be alive? Could they have avoided getting taken to the manor? Would none of it change?

She flipped to the last entry.

July 1st, 1997

We have to go. Everything’s fallen apart and it’s going to keep falling if we don’t go. Fuck, I am so scared. It feels like the end of the world. I don’t know if I can do this. I’m just me. (I should never have been a witch. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I’m not good enough. I can’t save all of these people. I’m so lost. Everything’s broken. I’m scared. I can’t.) I can. I have to. I have to leave my parents behind and that’s the worst part. They won’t remember me, that way, if I die, they won’t hurt. If I die, they won’t know. Who will?

Hermione grabbed a pen from her desk and sat with the notebook on the ground, back against the bed. She held the pen on the page, waiting for the words to come, waiting for everything she needed to say to just come out.

November 10th, 1998

It’s me.

I’m lost.

Help.

...

She walked into the Great Hall for the first time in a week. Forgiving Ron so easily was a mistake and she couldn’t be around him. Not when he still thought she was an easy bitch. He said sorry and yet somehow sorry wasn’t good enough. Hermione passed the three tables and started for Slytherin. The cloud of despair that hung above the table was ever present, the only students talking were older. She felt a pang in her chest for the younger students, the impressionable, hated for wearing green. Then, she stopped at the end of the table.

“Hey Theo, um--”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Pansy spat, clinging onto Theo like a leech.

Hermione averted her eyes from her dorm mate to her, biting her tongue of every nasty thing she wanted to say.

“I just came to talk to Theo,” she said flatly.

“Why? No one wants to hear what you have to say.”

“You don’t have to listen, I just--”

“Need to talk to my boyfriend? About what exactly? Are you going to prove Weasley right? Fuck him for all of us to see?” Pansy laughed, Blaise and other snakes chortled with her. “He doesn’t want you, no one does, you’re a fowl, filthy little Mudblood and you always will be.”

“Pansy,” Theo warned, pulling his arm away.

“What?” she asked, eyes pure fire. “She’s scum under our feet, Theo. She’s dirty, her blood is filthy.” Pansy looked Hermione dead on. “Fucking Mudblood, ruining everything.”

Hermione clenched her jaw, and rubbed her arm. Theo noticed and stood up from the table. “You’re being a cunt.”

“You can’t call me that!” Pansy exclaimed, standing up.

“I can if it’s true,” he said.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, I just wanted to tell you--”

Pansy grabbed her left arm and yanked it off of his shoulder. Hermione groaned through gritted teeth, holding her arm to her. Don’t panic.

“Don’t touch him!”

“Why? Because I might infect him? Make him lesser than?” Hermione bit.

Pansy scoffed. “Yes, actually. Mudbloods have no place here, you don’t belong. You’re just a sorry excuse for a witch, no better than a fucking Squib.”

“Does it make you feel better Pansy? Bullying me like we’re thirteen again? It makes you look sad and pathetic, fucking grow up already.”

Hermione was glaring at her when Pansy’s eyes widened, a smile creeping onto her face.

“Oh, Drake, won’t you come here?” Pansy said, holding out her perfectly manicured hand. Draco walked around Hermione to stand next to his ex-girlfriend. She wouldn’t look at him.

“Why don’t you tell her? Tell her how disgusting she is. Go on, I know you love calling her a filthy Mudblood.”

Hermione looked up, meeting stony grey eyes. “Go on, Drake.”

He furrowed his eyebrows slightly, looking to Theo. Neither of them said anything, leaving Hermione to scoff and shake her head at the utter childishness of the situation.

“Theo, McGonagall wants to see us after last class.” She turned to Pansy, “That’s all I wanted to say, your fucking highness.”

She turned on her heel and started away, rubbing at her arm as she went. It was idiotic to think either of them would have said anything in her defence, they weren’t friends after all. They were a few cases of misdirection that she found herself stuck in. She never should have come back here. Everything was so fucking stupid, all of it. It was childish and she was far beyond this petty treatment.

“Granger.”

She kept walking, seeing no one else in the hallway.

“Granger!”

Hermione turned around. “What? Come to call me a Mudblood? Save your breath, I already know.”

Draco jogged up to her, cutting her path off with his tall figure. “What happened?”

“Why do you care?” she asked, trying to get around him.

“What did she do?”

“I really don’t want to deal with this, it’s stupid, okay? Let me go please.”

“No.”

She met his eyes, huffing slightly as she crossed her arms. Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

“I don’t need you to pretend to care, alright? We’re not friends.”

Draco narrowed his eyes too. “I care enough to let you keep using me.”

“Using you?” she laughed.

He gestured his head to her arm. “I fix it, whatever’s wrong, you said I fix it. So, yes, Granger, you’re using me.”

Hermione scoffed. “Well, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

She turned around, deciding to head to the library instead. God, he had some nerve. He fucking owed her, he did this and he owed her. Hermione ran a hand through her hair as she walked, mind muddled with too many erroneous thoughts. She didn’t know what was right anymore. Then, she was grabbed by the waist and shoved against a wall.

Draco stood in front of her, wrapping a hand around her neck, though applying no pressure. He pushed his hand up higher, forcing her to look at him. Eyes like molten metal, shined in the dark corner he pulled her into.

“You are using me,” he whispered, voice deep and sultry, “but I didn’t say I had a problem with it.”

“If I had a choice, I wouldn’t.”

He pressed his other hand on the stone wall behind her, leaning closer to her face. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I would never have kissed you if I hadn’t been pissed that night,” she said, feeling her heart beating faster.

“You know, for someone who says they hate me so much, you should’ve at least had the wherewithal to keep your lips to yourself, pissed or not.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never made a stupid, drunk decision.”

“I’m not saying that,” he said, his eyes flickering to her lips, making it all the more difficult not to kiss him. “There was a reason, what was it you said? I look like fucking Adonis?”

“Fuck you.”

“Go ahead.”

Hermione placed her hand over his on her neck, lifting onto her tiptoes. She leaned forward and ghosting his lips she said,

“I hate you.”

Draco’s thumb found her lips, gently he swiped over them before pulling her bottom lip down. She took in a sharp breath, her body leaning towards him more.

“Do you?” he asked, pushing his thumb between her lips. Hermione angled her head up and holding his eyes, she took his thumb into her mouth. She lapped her tongue over it, his skin was salty and soft as she pursed her lips around it. Draco pressed himself closer to her, his eyes white as the moon. His knee snuck between her legs, pushing on her core.

He leaned down to her ear. “If you hate me, why are you wet?”

Hermione whimpered quietly, pressing herself into his knee harder. His tongue shot out across his lips as he looked at her. He took his thumb from her lips and replaced them with his two middle fingers, watching her lips surround them, feeling her tongue lick between them. With his other hand, he pulled her underwear down under her skirt. He took his fingers from her mouth and moved south.

Draco looked into her honey eyes and whispered, “You have to be quiet, none of those pretty little noises.”

Hermione swallowed hard before feeling his fingers enter her. She gasped suddenly, making Draco cover her mouth with his free hand.

“Be quiet, or you’ll get us caught and everyone will know what the Golden Girl sounds like when she comes.”

Her heart was racing as she nodded her head, succumbing to the control he had over her. It felt better than her own control, all she had to do was listen. He pressed his fingers in harder causing her to grab onto his shoulders. With her mouth agape, she took in quiet breaths with every thrust of his fingers. She held onto him tightly, watching as he looked at her. Something got caught in her throat, nervous from his gaze.

Hermione closed her eyes and threw her head back, allowing Draco to kiss her neck, his lips moved slowly. His fingers curled inside her and she bit her bottom lip as the quietest moan came out of her. He found her clit with his thumb, rubbing gently. She could already feel herself coming undone. It wasn’t just him inside her, it was all over. It was his scent, tobacco and mint entranced her senses, leaving her vulnerable to fall into him. It was his gentle lips on her neck. It was his fucking voice. Deep, warm, terribly beguiling. She wanted to listen to him speak, whisper nothings into her ear, tell her she was beautiful.

Those were not thoughts about someone she claimed hatred for.

He circled her clit, moving faster now. Her lips found his ear and his, hers. His warm breath caused a shiver down her spine as she arched into him more.

“Tell me again, Granger,” he whispered, his voice full of pure sex, “how much you hate me.”

“I--fuck!” she whispered, gripping his shoulders tighter.

“Go on, tell me you don’t like it when I touch you.” He nipped her earlobe, licking it slowly. “Tell me you don’t need this, that you don’t think about it everyday.”

Her breathing was shallow, the feeling of him everywhere made her thighs shake, her knees go weak from utter satisfaction.

“You need me, Granger.”

She finished, holding onto him, moaning into his shoulder. Her legs shook so much, he had to hold her up by her waist. Hermione moved her head back, leaning against the wall, chest heaving, ears ringing, she looked at him.

Draco held her still as he pulled his fingers out. Piercing her with a white hot gaze, he slowly licked his fingers, watching as she swallowed hard. Deliberately, he pulled them back out, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Hermione’s heart was pounding, she swore he could hear it.

“Like honey,” he whispered.

Then he pressed his lips to hers chastely before walking away. She stood against the wall, her head spinning. Hermione pulled her underwear back up, leaving her a puddle of nerves on the ground. She was putty in his hands and what worried her more was that she couldn’t find it in herself to hate that.

...

Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.

One hundred steps from her last class of the day to the headmaster’s office. Hermione had been inexplicably nervous the past few hours. After her encounter with Draco, she was struggling with thoughts that she should never have about him. She wanted him and she shouldn’t. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t.

As she stepped up to the gargoyle, the stairs started turning, inviting Hermione to walk up to the office. She played with the hem of her skirt as she walked up, knocking tentatively on the door. It opened for her and she spotted McGonagall at her desk, Dumbledore in the portrait above took his leave.

“Ah, Miss Granger! I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, standing from the desk. “Please come. Sit, sit.”

Hermione sat, putting her bag on her lap, fingers gingerly playing with the strap. “I’m sure Theo’s on his way.”

“I’m actually quite glad he’s running late, I was hoping to speak with you for a moment.”

She nodded, smiling nervously as her eyes found the glass jar of sherbet lemons on the desk. She started counting what she could see. One, two, three, four, five…

“I’m afraid I have become quite busy this year, duties as headmaster exceeded my original expectations,” she laughed jovially. “I did want to let you know that the letter you had written at the beginning of the year was superb, I have not had any concerns from parents since.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, professor.”

...six, seven, eight, nine…

“Now,” McGonagall said more seriously. “You may be Head Girl but that doesn’t bar you from discipline. I heard about your altercations involving Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy.”

“I can assure you, nothing has happened since.”

“I know, my dear, I wanted to ask how you were.” Minerva smiled and Hermione felt herself inclined to tell her the truth.

“Fine, yeah, good.”

The older witch nodded slowly as she folded her hands on the desk. She studied Hermione carefully and suddenly Hermione was hyper aware of everything she was doing. She stopped fidgeting with her bag, meeting Minerva’s eye with a smile.

“Have you checked in with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy since?”

“Yes, though I have been keeping my distance from them both. Ron, well, we broke up but he’s fine,” Hermione said, keeping her tone professional. “Malfoy’s probation Auror requested that I keep my distance from him as well.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “Did he? Hm, that seems an odd request. Has he kept his toe in line?”

She cleared her throat, hoping her lies were convincing. “As far as I’m concerned. Theo spends most of his time with him, I believe.”

The office door opened followed by a red faced Theo. He sat down quickly dropping his bag and running a hand through his mop of curls.

“Pardon my lateness professor, Hermione.”

She looked at him, his brown eyes were dark, one brow still furrowed in what looked like contempt. Had he spoken to Draco?

“No matter, Mr. Nott,” Minerva said. “This meeting should be fairly quick. First, I wanted to thank you both for your wonderful jobs as head students this year.”

“Thank you, professor.”

“Thanks, love.”

“Now to business. There are many students who find themselves without a place to return home for Christmas, in addition to those who simply prefer the holiday at Hogwarts. I propose to you both an opportunity to organize something to bring a sense of home to the castle. Nothing to distract you from your other duties, simply something for those who have lost their home lives.”

Her eyes lingered on Hermione too long as she spoke, making her shift uncomfortably in her seat. Theo cleared his throat before he spoke.

“And this would be, what exactly? Decorations, homemade cookies?” he was terse with his words, slightly disrespectful.

“I think what Theo is trying to ask is what exactly the goal here is. Would there be a student gift exchange to replace gifts? Activities for break?” This sounded like hell but she didn’t need to agitate McGonagall like Theo had.

“Whatever you can manage,” she smiled. “Holiday spirit is important to healing, I trust your judgment as I will be away for the holiday. Now, if we are settled I have much work to return to.”

Hermione looked at Theo, who stood quickly and nodded before heading out. She apologized on his behalf before chasing after him down the hall. He was supremely fast, long legs carrying him farther than she could go.

“Theo, stop!”

He did, in the middle of the hallway, waiting for her to catch up. Once she did, he started walking at a normal pace, tossing his bag over his shoulder.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t give a shit about Christmas and I don’t give a shit about all of these poor little orphans,” he bit.

“Theo, stop,” she said, stepping in front of him. “You’re acting like a prick. What happened?”

He looked down at her before running his hands through his hair, letting out a long, hard breath. He rubbed at his eyes then looked at the ceiling for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I do hate Christmas though.”

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Pansy’s whats fucking wrong,” he bit, walking around her again. She stepped in time with him as he spoke. “I’m sorry she said that to you, really. Gods, she’s such a bitch.”

“I thought you knew that already,” Hermione said as they rounded the corner towards the head dorms.

Theo opened the portrait door, letting her walk in first. “I did know that but after her trial in the summer...I don’t know, we connected. She was different until we came back here.”

“What changed?” she asked, putting her bag on the settee.

He followed, kicking his shoes off next to it. “I don’t know. Normally, I’d talk to Malfoy but I can’t.”

He sat on the back of the settee as she grabbed a glass of water from the kitchenette. Theo shrugged, picking at his fingernails.

“Why?” she asked, not trying to sound too interested.

“He’d just tell me to break up with her, that he was right all along, that I never should have dated her. I felt like she understood me and we could relate to what we were going through,” Theo said, surprising Hermione with his sincerity. “And I’m not gonna lie, she’s a good lay.”

She rolled her eyes, though not maliciously. “Why would he suggest you never should have dated her?”

He looked up. “Like I said, man’s made of secrets. Something happened between them, I don't know. Needless to say, when he found out about us he was livid. He’s not an angry person, outwardly, so when he gets pissed, you know something’s wrong.”

She leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip from her drink, thinking back to the beginning of the year. She provoked him, Ron provoked him, what had they said?

“What did he do?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I should share, you already hate him, it would just feed the fire,” he said, chuckling lightly.

Hermione shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant. “If you want to share, you can. I have a feeling you do more listening than venting.”

“Brightest witch of our age,” he smiled. “I listen because I have the privilege to, other people need to be listened to. They’ve gone through worse shit than me and if I can provide an ear, then I’m doing something right.”

“I can be an ear,” she said, taking another drink.

Theo raised his brow, considering for a moment. He stood from the settee and approached the kitchen counter, leaning forward on his elbows next to her. “There was a lot that happened between the last day and the first day back at Hogwarts. I’m not gonna say anything else, all you need to know is he was fucked up. He was perpetually angry so when I told him about Pans, he lost it. We were at a muggle bar, of all places, and to be fair, I may have chosen the wrong time to tell him but there never was a right time, you know? It was an accident and it was my fault, really.”

“What did he do, Theo?”

“He was drunk. I remember telling him, the words tumbled out, and the next thing I knew, the glass in his hand shattered. Bartender lost it, Draco destroyed the bar. Every last bottle, glass, the wood splintered everywhere. Place was packed with muggles who’d seen the bar they were in magically explode.” He took a second, shaking his head. “I had to obliviate every person in there. I barely covered our tracks, they still don’t know who did it. He wanted to get caught, taken to Azkaban. I fucked up, really bad. I’m his only fucking friend. I just made it worse.”

Hermione didn’t say anything as he paused. A myriad of questions crossed her mind but she kept herself from asking them for his benefit. She knew what it was like to not be able to talk, to have everything mangled on the inside of her chest, wanting to come out.

“Gods, I’m a fucking idiot,” he said, his tone venomous. “I fucking hate myself, I should just break up with her. I’m just so worried about being a good person and trying to do the right thing. But I’ve already hurt him and I-- He forgave me, I don’t know how or why but he did. He shouldn’t have. He’s a better fucking man than me.”

Hermione set her glass on the counter quietly. She turned to the side, resting her hip on the counter, looking down at him, hunched over the counter with his head in his hands. Rubbing up and down his back, she tried to soothe the mess inside his mind. If she hadn’t already been filled to the brim with questions, the majority of them about Draco, she was now. There was so much to learn and she had always assumed the worst. It was time to stop.

“I don’t know what happened but I do know you’re not a bad person, Theo,” she offered.

“You hardly know me.”

“I know that you’re a good person who has tried to be good for so long and sometimes even good people make mistakes. You’re clearly an amazing friend and even the best of us don’t always make the right choices. Sometimes you have to do what’s right for you before you can mend what’s broken with others,” she said, running her hand up and down.

Theo stood up and looked down at her with comforting brown eyes before pulling her into his strong arms. She hugged him back, letting him rest his chin atop her head.

“You’re brilliant,” he said.

“No, I’m just a terrible liar. I have to tell the truth and that’s the truth. You can be good and still fuck up.”

Listen to your own advice.

Neither of them heard the portrait door open or the footsteps that followed. Hermione let him hug her as long as he needed, as long as she was there, he could hug her. If she was being honest, she needed it too.

“Am I interrupting?”

Theo pulled away, ruffling his curls as he turned towards Draco. Hermione refused to look at him as she picked up her glass of water and stepped back.

“Hey mate,” Theo said. She could hear it in his voice, him trying to sound like normal, upbeat Theo, but it faltered ever so slightly.

“Alright?” Draco asked, voice deeper than normal.

“Yeah, yeah. Let me go change and we’ll go to Hogsmeade, right?” Theo walked backwards as he spoke, earning a nod from his friend.

Hermione started towards her room, glass of water still resting at her lips when she felt a gentle hand on hers. Her heart picked up from the simple touch, stopping to look up at him. His eyes were stony as he looked down, searching her face for something wrong.

“Alright, Granger?”

She nodded, feeling her chest twist in confusion. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be simple? Why couldn’t she understand anything?

“Fine.”

He nodded this time. Draco pushed the glass of water from her lips before leaning his head down and capturing her lips in his. She kissed him back even though Theo was just a room over. It was wrong and it was dangerous and she could have taken him right there.

“Ready?” Theo’s voice came down the hall.

Hermione pulled away quickly and walked into her room, closing the door behind her. She heard muffled voices before everything went silent and she was forced to be alone with her thoughts for the night.

Hermione had plucked every book from the library shelves with the words healing or poison in the title, as well as a variety of complimentary books. She’d pushed a few tables apart in the library and was sitting on the ground surrounded by knowledge. With her hair tied up and her sleeve pushed up, she was determined to figure out what was wrong with her.

Her pen flew over the pages of her notebook, filling every centimeter of every page; if she wasted space, she wasted valuable room for more information. Behind her, the large window showed just how long she spent hunched over a precarious stack of books. Blackest night turned to a deep hazy purple and it wasn’t until her hand physically could not hold her pen anymore that she stopped. Hermione cracked her back as she sat up straight, looking at the three notebooks she ended up filling with information and streams of consciousness. Her leatherbound wristwatch indicated the time to be half past three in the morning, approximately nine hours spent gathering knowledge and for what?

She still didn’t know what was wrong.

Hermione grabbed her wand in her cramped hand and attempted the diagnostic. It failed. With a short huff, she tightened her grip and tried it again. Nothing. She closed her eyes and rolled her neck side to side, trying to release lingering tension. Just a bit of focussing and she could conjure it. Swirl and wave. She thought of Draco’s hand moving with precision before he conjured it. Opening her eyes, she thought of his wand moving. Finally, it worked. The square appeared in front of her showing a longer list than before.

Severe laceration of the left antebrachium. Severe infection present, seek medical attention immediately. Poison: recorded, unidentified. Injury is life-threatening. Recommended treatment: unknown

“Life-threatening,” she whispered.

She let her wand slip from her hand as she looked out towards the empty expanse of the library. Her eyes found the table where Ginny showed her the fortune teller. She grabbed her bag and shuffled through it until she found the little menace. Holding it in her hands, she thought of the same question and the same runes appeared.

Depression.

Mortality.

Manipulation.

Frailty.

Rashness.

Lust.

Hermione felt inexplicably empty as she stared at the glowing runes. Mortality suddenly made sense and she wished it hadn’t. In the back of her mind, she always supposed her arm was worse than she knew, but Hermione Granger could fix everything. Hermione Granger knew all of the answers. Hermione Granger was the brightest witch of her age.

Hermione Granger was gone.

She died that night in the manor. March 28th, 1998. She died and what lived on was a sorry excuse for a girl. A girl who was awful to her friends, slept with the one person she said she hated, and was destined to live long enough to die.

“Life-threatening.”

A sudden onslaught of tears coursed down her face in a river of undecided futures and fates. Was death guaranteed? Sometimes she hoped it wasn’t, that all the people she lost lived on in another time. Would she get the same? Would she be allowed to live on in another time, fulfill every whim her earthly self would never get the chance to do?

Then she was sobbing and she couldn’t stop. Not a single noise escaped her. They were the tears that hurt the most, the silent tears filled with every broken piece of her. She didn’t wipe the tears away, she let them be for what they were; a guarantee.

She let herself cry for as long as the tears would come; she let herself shake and sniffle until her face was red and she could hardly breathe. The scar under the gauze didn’t burn. It laughed. A shrill laugh, so ear-splittingly high it sent an uncomfortable shiver down her back. The laugh of a woman who was dead and needed to stay dead. But no, she lived to mock her, to remind her of that horrific night. The night she was forever branded a disgrace, dirt under the sole of the wizarding world. A Mudblood.

Perhaps that’s who she was. All this time spent not knowing, maybe she was just that. Everything she did to prove herself differently, the risks she took to save those who didn’t deserve saving, the ones who still spit that word in her face with such confidence. People like Pansy Parkinson, or the ones who stood by and laughed. They never changed, after everything. Hermione felt like no one changed, they just got worse.

Her worst was killing her and she didn’t know how fast. Wiping the tears from her face, she picked up Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions, searching for another diagnostic she’d read about. It was in the chapter on common poisons, a diagnostic used to identify which poison was in the patient’s body and list the counter ingredients or potions. Once found, she grabbed her wand and practiced the movement a few times. She held her left arm out, waving her wand correctly.

It didn’t work again. Once more. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Just one more. Nothing.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, tossing her wand on the ground.

In the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of the fortune teller. It was right once, perhaps it could go two for two. She took it in her fingers, thinking how to phrase the question.

“Is the poison going to kill me or the blood loss?” she said, half to herself, hoping it would come up with a rune for an answer. She moved it four times and opened the flap.

“The poison,” she whispered. “Wait, I thought this only answered in runes.”

“Am I Hermione Granger?”

Four times again.

“Yes.”

“Can you help me identify the poison?”

Four.

“No,” she read, sighing deeply. “Great.”

Frustrated and broken, she laid back on the maple wood floor of the library and stared at the ceiling. She’d spent so many years with her nose in a book that she never noticed the ornate painting. It was the night sky, astronomically labeled and depicted in calligraphy. Hermione held her hand up and with squinted eyes, she started tracing the constellations. She wished she had a better namesake, forever remembered through the universe once everything else died away.

Her fingers traced sirius, orion, cygnus, scorpius...

Draco.

She dropped her arm, concentrating on that one particular constellation. Tracing with her eyes instead, she started with the triangle, then up, then down, then up again in a curve. A dragon amongst the stars. To most, a symbol of evil, danger, and fire. To others, power, strength, and hidden knowledge. The embodiment of untamed chaos.

Perhaps that’s what she lusted for; untamed chaos. To be held in evil and feel power. Maybe she wanted more of that and maybe she was tired of fighting it.

If she was going to die anyway, she might as well do what she pleased.

“You’re a fighter, Miss Mione, you can do anything you set your mind to,” her mum said, smoothing her curls down as she hugged her close.

“What if it's getting too hard to fight? What if I can’t find the answers?” she sniffled.

“Oh, it will be hard sometimes, I won’t lie and the answers may not always be clear. They’re not all in a book, my dove. Sometimes we have to make up our own answers and that’s okay.”

“Make up an answer?”

“If what you think should be the answer doesn’t fit, make one up,” her mum smiled. “There are no rules.”

“Yes there are! There’s so many,” she whinged.

“No, we’ve given ourselves rules, unnecessary rules. If we give ourselves rules, who's to say we can’t make up the answers? No one but us.”

Hermione looked up at her mum as she wiped her tears away.

“You’re a fighter and the answers are there, you just have to decide what they are.”

She would fight, but not now. Maybe not even tomorrow. But she would fight. Hermione did not survive a war to let degradation kill her.

...

Hermione felt utterly numb the next day. Being presented with more life-threatening scenarios could do that to a person. Once you’ve thought it was over and done, it creeps back in. What was left to feel besides utter numbness? For now, she would feel it. Later, she may still but later she had to start fighting, even if she didn’t want to.

With her bag slung over her shoulder, she walked into the dungeons, hoping that the potions classroom was vacant. If she was going to figure this out, she would need ingredients and lots of them. Only problem was replacing them after she stole, potion masters were meticulous about their stores.

Looking left and right, finding no one in the halls, she opened the door and locked it behind her. With no one else around, she sat her bag on a random desk and started for the bookshelf. It was a long shot but if she could find the advanced potion book once owned by the half-blood prince, perhaps she could know more. As she looked over the textbooks, trying to find one tattered and torn, she heard a noise behind her.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked.

“I’m Slughorn’s peer, you ought to remember that,” Draco said, closing the supply closet being him.

“Right,” she said before turning back to the books. There was one, looked worse than the rest, and she plucked it from the shelf. Opening the front page, she looked at the names listed by previous owners. The most recent being, Draco Malfoy.

She opened the book, finding very similar notes and writings to Snape’s old one. Hermione looked behind her again to find him tidying Slughorn’s desk, it was odd, seeing him do something so mundane. Shaking that thought off, she sat the textbook in front of him and pointed to his name at the bottom.

“That’s my name, very good, Granger.”

“You made notes in it, lots of them.”

“Maybe they’ll help someone who is terrible at potions,” he said, closing it and moving it away.

She took the book back and sat on one of the stools. Fingering through, she saw the notes were extremely specific. When a potion called for half of a newt, he had written, three-fourths creates for more potency and a longer lasting effect. Similar notes were listed next to nearly every ingredient. Every potion had a more in depth history behind it, accounting for side effects, long and short term, specific uses in everyday life, even healing.

“Did you do this all yourself?” she asked, watching him stack cauldrons on the back shelf.

“Mostly, I learned a lot from Severus.”

“I didn’t realise you two were close,” she said quietly.

Draco turned around after stacking the last cauldron. “He was my godfather.”

“Did he train you in potions?”

“He taught me his secrets,” he said, walking towards her. “How to make a potion last longer, increase the effects, even how to make my own.”

Hermione nodded as she flipped another page. In the top right corner of one, in small letters she saw, never use sectumsempra. Draco took the textbook from her hand, flipping through it on his own. She watched him as he looked, wondering what he was thinking.

“Are you in charge of Slughorn’s stores? Inventory and the like?” she asked.

He looked up, handing her the book back. “He didn’t trust that I wouldn’t take anything at first but yes, I do the inventory.”

“Would he notice if anything went missing?”

“Granger,” he warned, narrowing his eyes slightly. “What are you doing?”

She squared her shoulders as she looked at him, trying to be the fighter. “I have to fix my arm. Taking the pain away is one thing but getting rid of it all is another. I have to fix it.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

Hermione bit her lip, debating on letting him know or not. He should feel guilty, he should feel responsible and showing him that this was killing her would do just that. But it was her point of weakness and she didn’t need him holding it over her.

“Yes, sort of. I need ingredients for potions, can you cover it up for me?”

His eyes narrowed again. “Do you know exactly what you need and how much?”

“Not yet, but--”

“I can’t take anything if you don’t know what you need. He already hates me, I don’t need to give him a reason to fuck up the rules of my probation.”

Hermione sighed, holding the book to her chest. The poison in her body was unknown. How was she supposed to figure out the antidote without knowing what the poison was made of? All she needed was a bit of everything, to try combination after combination until something fixed her, or put her out of her misery. Until she had a thought.

“You’re clearly intelligent,” she started. Draco crossed his arms, waiting for her to continue. “You know more about potions than I ever would. Have you ever taken an already made potion, not knowing what it was, and reversed it?”

“Reversed it?”

“Dissected it, found out what every ingredient was. Once you know the ingredients, you know the use or how to make something to counteract the effects. Is that something that can be done?” she asked.

“I’m sure it could but it would take a while.”

“How long is a while?” Life-threatening didn’t come with an expiration date.

“Depends on the complexity of the potion.”

“What about poison? How complex are they?”

He took another step forward, looking down at her with those silvery eyes. “You want to dissect a poison? What aren’t you telling me?”

Hermione held her head high as she looked at him, feeling her knees brush against his legs. “You’re not entitled to know everything.”

“I am if I’m helping you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of stealing supplies on my own, I don’t need your help.”

Draco grabbed her left hand and held her arm out, she was glad it was covered by her jumper. He held it up, showing it to her. “You don’t need me? When it starts to hurt and you bleed out, you don’t need me?”

“You’re not allowed to hold this against me.”

“I’m not. I’m asking.” He dropped her arm, instead, lifted her chin up as he looked at her.

Her chest tightened, squeezing the book closer to her. “I don’t need anyone.”

His fingers trailed down the front of her neck, ghosting past her collarbones, to where her shirt was unbuttoned. “Not anyone?” he whispered. Hermione took in a breath as he skillfully unbuttoned the next, soft fingers trailing down to the valley between her breasts.

Someone tried the door, making Draco pull his hand away. Hermione stood up, holding the book over her chest, hoping to cover her freshly flushed skin. The door became unlocked and Slughorn walked in, finding the two of them.

“Miss Granger, lovely to see you as always,” Slughorn smiled, walking towards his desk and dropping his keys.

“I left my textbook here yesterday, just came to pick it up,” she said, smiling tightly.

He nodded before looking at Draco. “The door lock itself again?”

Draco looked at Hermione for a brief moment, unnoticed by the professor. “Must have.”

“I’ll have to ask Argus to fix that,” the professor mumbled to himself. “You’re free to go my boy, can’t have you working on a Friday! Off you go.”

“Goodbye professor,” Hermione said, slipping out of the classroom first.

She walked out of the dungeons, hearing him come up behind her. They didn’t speak for a while and she could feel her pulse racing in her veins as she kicked herself for feeling so nervous for no reason. They ambled up the stairs, earning looks from a few younger students as they went. Most scurried away in fear of him, Hermione tried not to notice.

“If you want supplies from Slughorn’s stores, I’m going to need to understand why,” he said as they stood outside the portrait door.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Hermione said. “As long as this still exists on my skin, I don’t owe you a damn thing, Malfoy.”

She opened the door and walked in, kicking Theo’s shoes aside.

“Hermione! Alright?” Theo asked as she quickly walked to her room.

“Fine, tired,” she said, closing the door behind her.

The Daily Prophet came the next day and it seemed to be the buzz around the castle.

Rodolphus Lestrange, husband to the late Bellatrix Lestrange and notorious Death Eater, convicted of several crimes. The use of the Cruciatus curse on forty-eight separate occasions constitutes for forty-eight years in Azkaban. The Wizengamont counted an additional thirty uses of the Killing Curse using location inventory and wand identification from the Department of Mysteries. This resulted in thirty more years to Lestrange’s sentence, accounting for a total of seventy-eight years. At fifty-seven years old now, Lestrange will spend the rest of his life under constant supervision by Dementors with no connection to the outside world.

As the trials come to their end, the Wizarding World is anticipating the last few and most difficult cases. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy’s trials are set for the following weeks. Rumor amongst the Ministry is that these trials may rival the length of Antonin Dolohov’s trial, which lasted twenty-nine consecutive hours. Our world is reaching its peace as the last Death Eaters find themselves in Azkaban.

“Last of the Death Eaters, it says,” Seamus scoffed, tossing the newspaper on the coffee table.

Hermione was in the Gryffindor common room, deciding it would be best to be around her friends when the news broke. That and she couldn’t bear to think about poison any longer.

“They write like there isn’t one walking around here free as a bird,” he continued.

“There could be more, unmarked but still Death Eaters,” Dean added.

“Them’s called loyalists, pureblood fucking elitists,” Seamus said.

“You can only be called a Death Eater if you wear the mark,” Hermione said, studying the faces of everyone around.

Ron rolled his eyes. “I’ll call anyone who wears green a bloody Death Eater. And Seamus is right, it’s not the last of them as long Malfoy still breathes.”

“Ron, you can’t say things like that,” she said.

“Like hell I can’t! He’s a fucking monster, him. Should be cozied in that cell will Lestrange or, better, six feet under with the other!”

He laughed, Seamus and a few younger, and severely impressionable, Gryffindors laughed with him. Hermione was simply furious.

“You think that of everyone in Slytherin?” she questioned.

“Absolutely,” Seamus said, fist-bumping Ron.

She nodded slowly, her anger slowly rising. “That’s no better than Voldemort’s thinking.”

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed.

“It isn’t. He thought that about every muggle or muggleborn wizard, just because they were connected to this label, they were automatically deemed less than,” she said, glaring directly at Ron. “Saying that you want every Slytherin in Azkaban or dead, is exactly the same. You don’t know them, you know their label. And for God’s sake, there are children in that house. Eleven year olds! No better than Riddle trying to off an infant.”

“So you’re comparing me to Riddle are you?” Ron bit. Everyone else was silent as they watched the exes stare each other down.

“If you genuinely believe what you said, then yes,” Hermione said seriously.

He scoffed, laughing slightly. “And I bet you think Malfoy deserves this little second chance he’s getting, don’t you? You think he’s some sort of an exception because he didn’t actually kill anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you fucking mad, Hermione?” he shouted. “He bullied all of us, called you that name! He let a hoard of murderers into our school with no remorse and he watched you get tortured in his home!”

Her face paled. “Ron.”

“He didn’t help you! You have that bloody thing on your arm and he watched. He’s--”

“Ronald!” Hermione shouted, standing from her seat. Her eyes were watering, her chin shaking from trying not to cry. No one knew about that night. No one besides the people there and she wanted to keep it that way.

The tears came down as she looked at him, his face softened. “Hermi--”

“No, no, shut up!” she screamed. “You weren’t there either, you didn’t see it happen, you didn’t experience it! You don’t get to take my pain as some shitty excuse for hating someone else. I get to do that! Only I can!”

“I know, I’m sorry, I--”

“Fuck you,” she snapped. Hermione’s tears kept falling and her arm was on fire, she could almost hear the bubbling. She looked around at her friends, their mix of expressions before she landed on Ginny. Her heart cracked and she stormed out of the Gryffindor common room.

She wiped frantically at her cheeks as she ran. How dare he? How dare Ron say anything about that night? He knew she wanted it to be kept to them, she asked him in such a moment of vulnerability. He said yes, he said he would do anything for her and there he goes, in his ignorant rage, spewing her secrets. She was beyond hurt, she was furious and she hated herself for ever trusting him.

Barging into the head dorms, she cried louder, tripping over Theo’s shoes again. She grabbed his expensive fucking loafer and launched it down the hall, hearing something break. As she walked into the living area, she saw the both of them standing up, wide eyed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, have I interrupted something?” she spat, feeling more tears.

“It doesn’t matter, are you alright?” She didn't know who asked, she was so deep in hatred and panic and insufferable ache that she couldn’t think straight.

“You were talking about me, weren’t you?” Hermione asked, wiping more tears away. It burned, it burned so much, she couldn’t take it. “Talking about this?”

“Hermione--”

She ripped her jumper off, leaving her in just her bra, baring her arm to the both of them. Blood was seeping into the gauze, dripping over the ground as she tore at it, pieces flying from her nimble fingers. Without her having to scratch it, it bled. It bled and it bled and it bled. The grey veins extended farther than the last time she looked, her muscles could be seen inside the words.

“This! This fucking thing that hurts me all of the time! It seems like everyone’s topic of conversation today!” she laughed.

“This happened to me! Not you,” she shouted at Draco, “not fucking Ron, but me! It’s not anyone’s secret to tell but mine and now people know! I never wanted anyone to know because I am so fucking ashamed of it!”

She was sobbing, she could barely breathe through her screams.

“I got out of every situation but that one! She ruined me and this is what I have to live with. This permanent scar, with that fucking word! I’m the filthy Mudblood bitch, right? Now I have to see it everyday and I can’t think of myself as anything else!”

Hermione slapped her right hand over it, covering it in blood as she walked up to Draco. She held her hand up to him, shaking and crying.

“Are you surprised it looks exactly the same as yours? Are you surprised it's not muddy and brown?” She wiped the blood over her bare stomach. “Are you!”

Hermione kept crying, feeling lightheaded from the lack of air she was taking in and the amount of blood she was losing. Her eyes never left him as she cried and cried and cried. Everything she thought about the people she knew was flipped on its head and everything was coming out of her.

“Granger,” Draco tested, speaking softly. “Let me help you.”

“Why? So you can stop feeling guilty?”

“You’re losing a lot of blood, you’re going to pass out.” He walked around the settee and grabbed her wrist, blood staining his hand.

“Let go of me,” she said, ripping her arm away. Hermione started walking backwards, pointing at him. “This is all your fault, you in your fucking manor!”

“I didn’t do that to you!” Draco shouted suddenly. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Exactly! You stood there and you watched. You let it happen because you’re a fucking coward!”

“She would’ve killed me!” He said, eyes nearing black. “She was insane, she didn’t care about anyone but Voldemort. They were going to call him and if he found out the three of you were there and we hadn’t told him, my family would have died. I didn’t go through everything that I fucking did to die at the hands of that fucking man. I didn’t do what I did to have him kill my mother next to me.”

Draco stepped backwards pulling at his hair. “You don’t know anything, Granger. If I could’ve done something, anything, I would have been the first person to help you! You looked to me for help and I couldn’t do anything! Fuck, you don’t know what that did to me and you don’t know what happened after. It fucking haunts me and I...”

He looked at her across the room, chest heaving from his confession. Draco looked to the ceiling and let out a long sigh before rubbing his face. Hermione watched him with her mouth slightly agape, words on the tip of her tongue but none worthy enough to say aloud. He met her eye again as he chewed his lip.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry that I wasn’t selfless enough to help you and I’m sorry that you infuriate me for that very reason,” he continued, much quieter. She could only stare and listen, she was too deep in shock to do much else. “There’s so much I wish I could change, especially that night, above everything else, and not just for you.”

She wasn’t sure if her heart was still beating though she was certain she wasn’t breathing. She couldn’t bear to breathe, to make a sound over his words, she needed to hear everything and she did. What was left?

Draco took a deep breath before speaking again. “If I could find the words to apologise for every disgusting thing I said to you, I would. If I could have kept her from hurting you, I would have. I know who I am and I know what I’ve done and there’s only so much I can do to convince people of forgiveness. All you need to know right now, is how fucking sorry I am.”

Hermione sniffled through the stream of tears falling down her face. She looked to her arm, noticing the pool of blood she was standing in. Everything was coming in and out of focus, she could hardly think.

“It hurts,” she whispered.

“Let me help you,” he said, walking up to her.

“Okay.”

Her eyelids felt heavy as he grabbed her around the waist. She fell into his touch, her legs wobbly and her head thumping. He held her upright with one strong arm around her, the other cupping the side of her face, keeping her head up.

“Mate,” Draco said to Theo, who had been standing in stunned silence the entire time. He quickly rounded the settee, looking between them with a confused eye. “Can you get my bag from the dungeons?”

“Yeah, is she…?”

“She’ll be fine if you hurry,” he said.

Theo left the room swiftly as Draco picked Hermione up in his arms. He brought her into her room and laid her on the bed, propping her head up on a pillow. He took her arm in his hands, looking at just how frightening it was. Draco swallowed hard as he looked at it, shame rising in his chest.

“My sheets…” Hermione mumbled.

“Don’t worry about your sheets, Granger,” he said, pushing her hair from her face.

She looked at him through heavily lidded eyes, her body burning from the ache and rage. She was still furious but for the first time, she didn’t direct it at him. No, she wanted to eviscerate Ron with her words.

“I hate…” she trailed off.

“I know you hate me but you need to let me help you.”

She shook her head slightly. “No, I hate...Ron. He...he…”

“As much as I would love to hear you talk about how you hate Weasley, you can tell me later.” He placed his hand on the side of her face, wiping away old tears with his thumb. Hermione nuzzled her face into his touch, wishing she was as cold as he was.

“Do you want a new shirt?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly. “I’m hot.”

Draco pulled out his wand and casted a cooling charm over her body, causing her to shiver slightly from the suddenness. In her exhausted state, she looked into his silver eyes, feeling his gentle touch on her cheek, he made the hate go away. How was she supposed to hate someone who looked at her like that? Who held her carefully, even respecting her anger towards him?

He looked away when Theo appeared, slightly out of breath, holding Draco’s leather bag. He looked at Hermione, to Draco’s hand on her face, and back to his mate, the gears working quickly.

“Theo, will you get me a wet and dry towel?” he asked, putting the bag on the bed next to him. Theo hesitated for a second before walking out again.

Draco started pulling out everything he needed as Hermione watched him; he pulled out two vials and mixed them in a larger one before sneaking a hand under her neck. She sat up, allowing him to pour the mixture into her mouth. He gingerly wiped the corner of her mouth when some slipped out, making her heart stutter.

“You’re very attractive,” she mumbled incoherently, feeling the potion mixture calm the pain.

Draco huffed a small laugh. “And you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Theo came back in, handing him the rags and standing awkwardly next to Hermione’s bed. She looked at him, trying to spell out her apologies with her eyes. Draco carefully wiped the blood from the open wounds with the wet rag, showing just how deep the letters buried themselves in her skin.

“Mate, keep giving her blood replenishers, would you?” he said to Theo.

Hermione watched her arm as his hands moved over it almost expertly. Something he had given her made the bleeding lessen and she felt less lightheaded with the potions Theo gave her. Gentle hands dried her arm before pouring wound cleaner in them, with warning this time. Hermione groaned in pain, squeezing her fists tightly. After every healing ingredient, he would dry her arm, keeping the blood from bubbling out again. He finished off by lathering on a thick layer of the mysterious yellow paste onto her arm before wrapping it loosely.

“I’ll wait in there,” Theo said, closing the door behind him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, watching him put everything back into his bag.

“Don’t thank me, Granger.” Draco grabbed the wet towel and wiped her right hand clean before moving to her abdomen. His hand held the curve of her waist as he carefully cleaned the blood from her body. Hermione felt herself take a deep breath as his hands touched her so, so nicely.

She took his hands in hers, admiring it and the contrast between them. Olive and alabaster, honey and silver. Hermione laced her fingers with his, meeting his gaze again.

“I’m tired,” she whispered, eyes nearly fluttering shut.

He nodded. “You need to sleep.”

“Stay,” she said, holding his hand closer to her.

“Okay.”

Hermione closed her eyes, finally letting herself be free of thought just for the moment. When she woke up, she could panic, for now, she needed sleep.

Draco closed the bedroom door after she’d fallen asleep. Faced with his best friend, butterbeer in hand, he walked towards him. Theo slid another bottle to him across the counter. He watched his friend take a long drink, assuming he was wishing for actual liquor.

“Should we sit?” he asked.

“Trying to let me down gently?” Theo joked as he sat on the settee, stretching out.

Draco sat in the armchair, holding the bottle against his knee, he looked to his friend expectantly. He’d honestly never expected this conversation. Hell, there were several things that happened this year that he never expected, not that he was complaining. His eyes switched to the door and back to Theo, checking for a shadow underneath. He could have this conversation, but not if she was listening.

“I’m a man of honesty, Malfoy, we know this,” Theo started. “It seems you haven’t been completely honest with me.”

“Do you really expect me to tell you everything?” he said, taking a short sip.

“I don’t need to know how many times you shit in a week but the last few hours need a bit of explaining.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Where do you want me to start?”

Theo took another drink, raising his eyebrows as he thought. “Hermione told me you knew about her arm, that you were there when it happened, so I guess start there.”

Draco cleared his throat and took a longer sip, this time wishing for himself that it were liquor. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking back to that night that seemed like ages ago. It was seven months.

“Few snatchers caught Potter, Weasley, and Granger using the taboo. They brought them to the manor and I was asked to identify them. Potter had a stinging jinx on his face which made it easier for me to lie.”

“Lie?”

“I didn’t give him up, said I didn’t know if it was him.”

“Why?”

“I never wanted him to win, you know that, giving up Potter meant he would.”

“I know but you hate him,” Theo added.

“Hated, but you’re right. I did for a long time but that was before this fucking thing marked me,” he lifted his arm up, “and ruined my life. Nothing had affected me directly until that summer and everything sort of changed. I didn’t want to be who I was, I didn’t want to become my father but I didn’t have a choice. I resented Potter after that but I didn’t hate him.”

“So when he came to the manor, you didn’t give him up,” his friend pieced together. “What about Hermione and the ginger?”

“They insisted it was them, mother recognized Granger, father knew it had to be Weasley. I think I said it might be them but no one was listening to me at that point. Then Bella insisted on talking to Granger alone, the others went to the cellar with Lovegood and Thomas.” Theo nodded, recalling Draco mentioning that previously.

“Why did she single out Hermione? If she thought it was Harry, shouldn’t she have...hurt him instead?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “You would think but Bella was a sadist. She trained me in occlumency, she knew everything about me. Every thought I’d ever had, memory, all of it.”

“She saw Granger.”

“She saw Granger,” he repeated slower. “She took my idiotic feelings and used them against me. Granger’s right, if I never fancied her and Bella never saw it, she’d be fine. She wouldn’t have that scar and it wouldn’t be… It’s my fault.”

“What happened exactly?”

“Bella used the cruciatus curse on her, more than once. Then she took her dagger and carved it into her skin,” he said, looking at his knees. “I should’ve done something. Even if she killed me, it would’ve been worth it if it saved her from this pain. I hate myself for it.”

“Mate,” Theo said, earning his friend’s eye again. “You can’t change it now, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“No, I have to. As long as shit like this keeps happening to her, there’s no forgiving myself. Hell, if I could take the pain for her, I would.”

Theo smiled slightly. “You’re such a bloody romantic, Malfoy.”

“I wouldn’t call that romance,” Draco said as he took another drink. “But, since I can’t endure it for her, I try my best to take it away.”

“How do you mean?”

Draco leaned forward and placed his nearly empty bottle on the coffee table, preparing himself for the ridicule that was to come. He loosened his emerald tie and leaned back in the chair.

“I was here, waiting for you to come back from Hog’s Head, in the middle of September. I was minding my own business when she came stumbling in, pissed out of her mind. She said she hated me, she was angry for how I treated her, which she had every right to be. Then she kissed me.”

The shit eating grin on Theo’s face irritated him. “You kiss her back?”

“Yes, Nott, I did. But she was pissed and then you interrupted--”

“Mate, if I had known you were snogging the girl you’d been obsessed with for years, I would’ve splinched myself to get outta there.”

Draco let out a small laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment. Anyway, it was a few days, maybe a week later when she did it again. Sober this time and in the middle of the library. I questioned it, kicked myself for questioning it. If she was kissing me willingly, I should’ve accepted it and I had when Fairer came along and told her to stay away from me.”

“Cock-blocking prick,” Theo said, smiling into his drink.

“Yeah, well, she had been successfully avoiding me until you sent that patronus. When I talked to her after is when she told me why she kissed me. She said I took the pain in her arm away, made it like it was never there.”

Theo furrowed his eyebrows deeply, thinking about that comment for a while. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

He nodded. “Granger said the pain went away and if I could do that for her, I would.”

“You also get to snog her though,” Theo said, smiling like a madman. Draco rolled his eyes at his childishness. “So that’s what you were doing in there. Too bad you didn’t shag her.” He laughed, raising his bottle before he sipped it.

Draco didn’t react as he felt a ball form at the base of his throat. He simply watched his friend. He watched as Theo laughed, took the drink from his lips, and looked at Draco a little too long. He watched as Theo slammed the bottle on the coffee table and sprung from his seat, eyes wider than ever.

With his jaw hanging open and his brows at his hairline, he pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You did! You shagged her! Oh my gods!”

Draco still didn’t react, his way of letting Theo know he was correct.

“Well?” Theo said, raising his eyebrows higher. “How many times? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“No, no, no. You’re telling me, you always tell me.”

“Sorry, mate.”

“You owe me this, Malfoy! Do you know how many years I had to endure your gabbing? I was so sick of hearing how fucking pretty Hermione Granger was. Her silky brown hair and her infectious smile. ‘She’s so smart, Theo!’ ‘Did you see her hair today?’” he mocked as he sat back down, leaning forward on his knees. “I did not spend my teenage years listening to you pine over this girl for you to not tell me! You told me about Pansy, hell, I told you about Pansy. I told you about Romilda and Terry and Daphne and--”

“Yeah, you got around Nott, I know. I had to endure that.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me or I’m going to wake her up and tell her that you’re in love with her and scare her away forever, your choice.”

“I’m not in love with her.”

Theo laughed incredibly loudly, smacking his knee. “That’s a good one, you got me. Just give me something, mate. Not only do I deserve it from being your personal diary but I’m also extremely touch starved.”

“Pansy not doing it for you?”

“She’s doing it for Blaise, I’m just waiting for her to tell me,” Theo said, a hint of sadness to his voice.

“Are we going to finish that conversation?” Draco asked. Theo had decided to talk to him about Pansy, about what to do when Hermione came in.

“Later, first, tell me.”

“She’s…” Draco thought carefully about what to say. He thought about the first time, how confident she was in what she wanted, it blew his mind. He thought about the feeling of her lips, plush, unnaturally enticing, and full. Draco could kiss her forever and he’d never tire of it. His favourite thing about her, sexually, was how unabashed she was with her sounds. Those perfect, high pitched, breathy moans that sent him over the edge. Quick, like she couldn’t quite catch her breath, deep in her chest as it moved fervently. Gods and when she said his name, he swore he’d never change it.

Granger with her supple skin like the heat of a thousand suns, kissed by the gods in the most perfect olive colour. When she got flustered or on the brink of release, how she reddened, from her cheeks to the valley between her breasts. Eyes brighter than his namesake, golden infused with pure beauty, flecked with honey and hints of marigold. She was the divine. She was the page in his favourite book that he read until it ripped. She was the taste of warm tea, sweetened beyond normal. She was the saving grace in a world filled with hate.

He may be a star but she was the sun.

Draco chewed his lip as he thought about what to say. “Let’s just say, I never want to hear another woman moan my name.”

...

Theo had finally gone to bed, after hours of much deserved teasing and taunting. Draco knew it was all in good fun but something needled in the back of his mind. This, whatever this was between them, wouldn’t last and he didn’t want to spend his time thinking about the end. He needed to live for the now and do whatever he could to take the hurt away.

Tentatively, he opened her bedroom door, finding the window open. The white moonlight spilled over the white sheets, across her chest and face. In the light, she shined perfectly, even with mascara under her eyes and the few curls laying across her forehead. He swore he’d never see anything this marvelous again.

He grabbed the gauze from his bag as he walked towards where she lay, her arm still exposed to him. Carefully, he removed the loose gauze from before, which allowed the wound to breath. He looked at it, at that awful name he had once called her, now forever tainting her perfect olive skin. Tensing his jaw, he gently ran his fingers over it, trying to understand, trying to apologise. She was the last person to deserve a pain like this, to suffer. Gods, he wanted to take it from her, it made him sick. It was the product of every wrong choice he’d made and he would always blame himself.

Draco wrapped the wound again, tighter this time. She stirred slightly as he ripped the excess between his teeth, tossing the extra back in his bag. He stood back, convincing himself that watching her was purely protective, not at all creepy.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to her surroundings. She looked down at her wrapped arm and exposed torso, Draco caught her flush slightly.

“Could you grab me a shirt?” she asked, her voice raspy with exhaustion.

Draco opened the top drawer, immediately recognizing his mistake. He closed it, but not before seeing a variety of lacey things he’d kill to see her in. The next drawer was successful as he grabbed a random shirt before handing it to her. She sat up and pulled it on over her mane of hair as he studied how sheer it was, still exposing her pink bra to him.

“You stayed.”

“You asked me to,” he said.

Hermione looked into his eyes and Draco felt his chest tighten from the pure honey enchanting him without even trying. She opened her mouth to say something then quickly closed it. Her eyebrow quirked and she pulled her full bottom lip in, chewing on it slowly.

“Will you please come sit down?” she asked. “You’re very intimidating.”

Draco sat in front of her, keeping a safe distance in case she decided to hit him. “I’m intimidating?”

“Yes. You’re very tall and you don’t say a lot which leaves other people guessing what they said wrong. And your eyes are very piercing, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I hadn’t.”

“Few words again,” she laughed shortly, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

She nodded. “I know but I want to. I suppose I’ll start easy then. Theo knows?”

“He does,” Draco said again, kicking himself for answering shortly again. He was used to simple, straight to the point responses. His father would hit him if he spoke too much.

“What exactly does he know?”

Hermione picked at her fingernails, shifting in her spot. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, he was worried he already had.

“He knows why, I told him what you said to me, that I take the pain away.”

“But he knows the what to the why too,” she stated rather than asked.

“Yes.”

She wasn’t looking at him so he let himself smile, nothing more than his lips moving up a centimeter or two. He wanted to smile more around her, because of her. He hadn’t smiled in so long.

“I apologise for exploding in front of him.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said, his fingers twitching to reach out to her.

She looked up, letting out a short breath. “I find this entire situation to be frustratingly confusing and all of me wants to tell you to get out and never speak to me again. Every last part of myself has been convinced to hate you just as much as Ron, or anyone else, hates you.”

He didn’t say anything as she paused, preparing himself to leave with any shred of dignity he still had left.

“But, I don’t know who I am so every part of me that says that is essentially null. You apologised and I want to forgive you but forgiveness needs to be earned. I want to believe you’re a different person, probably so I can convince myself that I haven’t done anything morally wrong. I just...I don’t know anything, at all! I don’t know what to do or what’s right. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that even though I should kick you out, I’m not going to.”

She never failed to confuse him, more so now than ever. Draco watched as she looked around her room, pulled the comforter closer to her, and chewed her lip all the while.

“I’ve also been convincing myself that the only reason I kiss you or sleep with you is for the benefit of my arm. That somehow admitting to myself that I actually enjoy it makes me a horrible person or a whore. I just!” Hermione put her face in her hands before running them through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m so tired having to have everything figured out. I want to be able to make mistakes without feeling like the whole world is watching. I want to scream when I’m angry and cry when I’m sad. I want to figure out how to fix this, and I don’t feel like I’m asking a lot.”

“You’re not,” he said, catching her eyes again.

She let out a breath that let her shoulders drop. Hermione pushed the covers from her lap and sat directly in front of him, her knee resting atop his. He felt his pulse quicken from her proximity, heat radiated from her bare knee through his trousers. Her eyebrows were deeply furrowed as she looked at him, he instinctively put up his occlumens shields, something he did when anyone met his eyes directly.

“Stop doing that,” she said.

“What?”

“Since you told me you're an occlumens, I can see you block everything. Stop doing it.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. I just told you what I haven’t told anyone else, it's the least you can do.”

Draco swallowed hard. He knew she wasn’t a legilimens, he knew she couldn’t into the innermost parts of his mind and rip his memories to shreds or expose the terrible thoughts he’s had. He knew it but he couldn’t bring them down. He spent so long keeping them up that tearing them down would take more work. For her, he’d try. He opened the door instead of letting the wall down, he let her step inside while maintaining the ability to push her out.

“I’m very confused and very frustrated. You help but I don’t want to use you. I’ve never been good at asking for help, in fact, I hate it,” she sighed, looking tentatively from her hands to his eyes, “You’re right, and I hate that you’re right, but I need you. I have to keep it a secret. You, this, my arm, all of it."

He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to claim her with his lips over and over. He wanted to shout, he wanted to say that he would do anything if it meant this. He’d keep her secret for a thousand years for the chance to have her for a day.

“Just tell me the rules, Granger.”

Hermione placed her hands on his jaw, her delicate fingers reaching the hair on his temple. She looked at him for a moment before pressing her lips to his. Then she pulled back, her honey eyes soft and almost...accepting. Draco’s heart thudded against his chest so hard it ached. He let her look at him for as long as she wanted; this was all for her. Everything was for her.

Hermione kissed him again, harder this time, fervently, achingly. He pulled her in by the flimsy fabric of her shirt, his hands finding her warm skin underneath. Draco melted under her lips as his hands traveled to her back, pushing her shirt up with them. She crawled into his lap, fitting perfectly against him. Her breasts pressed into him as she leaned forward, quickly making him tense from her touch. Draco had immense self-control but not with her, he needed her everywhere and all the time.

She pulled away, feeling his hands pushing her shirt up. Hermione grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. Her hair fell around her shoulders and Draco thanked whatever gods in the sky that allowed this to be happening. He looked over her for a second before she kissed him again, quicker this time. His arm wrapped around her back, pressing her into him as he lifted onto his knees. Draco laid her back onto the bed, shoving the thick comforter aside. Hermione swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, and started pulling it down his arms when he stopped.

She grabbed her wand from the bedside table. Pointing it at his left forearm, she casted a disillusionment charm and discarded the wand.

“You’ll have to show me eventually but right now, I don’t care,” she said, pulling the rest of his shirt off.

Draco felt his lower abdomen hollow from her words and her hands tracing down the length of his body. Over the scars, over the lean muscle crafted by years of quidditch and self-hatred. Having her to be the one to touch him sent his head into a frenzy. There truly was no better feeling than this.

He kissed her again, feeling soft lips capture his as her hands wrapped around his back, pulling him closer. His lips moved down her neck, finding her sweet spot, just under her jaw. He nipped at it with his teeth, eliciting a gasp from her. A small, beautiful gasp. He felt himself getting hard, pressing against the zipper of his trousers. Draco pressed his covered cock to her thigh, groaning slightly himself. As he marked her neck, her hands found themselves at the waist of his trousers. Draco stopped her hands, grabbing them and placing them on the bed next to her.

“Patience, Granger,” he said, looking into her bright eyes. “Keep your hands here or I’ll use a sticking charm, yeah?”

Hermione nodded, biting her bottom lip. He continued his assault of kisses down her neck, to her chest. Swiftly, her bra was on the ground somewhere as he kissed between her breasts. She arched her back into his touch as he pulled back to look at her.

“Disappointed?” she said quietly.

Draco’s eyes shot up to hers again, wrapping a hand around her neck gently, caressing her soft skin. “How could I be disappointed?”

“Ron was.”

“He’s a fucking idiot, anyone who doesn’t see how incredible you are is.”

Hermione grabbed his face and kissed him hard again, he let her for a moment before shoving her hands back down.

“Do I need to force your hands down?” he asked.

She shook her head, watching him kiss back down her chest. One of his hands found her breast, kneading it roughly, earning a little moan from her. Draco licked her other breast before circling her nipple with his tongue. As he pinched one, he nipped at the other, pulling it between his teeth. Hermione’s moans came out in hums of wonderful music, songs he wished he’d heard sooner.

Draco continued his descent of kisses to the waistband of her skirt. He grabbed it with both hands, ripping it straight down the middle and tossing it away. He placed a kiss at the waistband of her underwear before licking long the length of it. His hands slid up her thighs, squeezing them roughly as he went.

“Malfoy,” she moaned, gripping the pillow above her head.

Her underwear came off and he spread her legs further apart, pressing kisses along her inner thigh, encroaching on the place he wanted to taste most. Hermione’s breaths became quick again as his arms wrapped around her thighs and pushed her hips to the bed. Draco’s nose brushed against the curls as his tongue slowly licked through her folds. She gasped again, short, perfect little gasps. He pulled her closer, her knee resting on his shoulder. His tongue licked through her again, spreading her wetness to her clit. He teased her entrance, pressing his tongue inside slowly.

“Oh my God,” she said, gripping the pillow tighter.

Draco looked up at her, shining in the moonlight, sweat already caressing her body. He watched her breasts rise and fall with her quick breaths and her head toss back as he curled his tongue inside her. He ravished himself in the taste of her, sweet like the honey of her eyes, impossibly addicting. His tongue found her clit again, lapping over it quicker. Her hips bucked from his touch, making him squeeze her hips tighter, definitely leaving bruises.

“Please,” Hermione moaned.

He stopped. “Please what?”

“Let me touch you.”

Her eyes were bright in the white light, her cheeks flushed scarlet and all he could do was give in. Draco continued licking her clit when her hand found his hair pulling and massaging his scalp. Her other hand intertwined itself with one of his, resting at her hip. He was getting harder, listening to her moans, throbbing from her gentle breaths and short curses.

His tongue moved faster, encouraged by her tighter pulling and louder moans. She was getting wetter under him, honey dripping from her core. He collected it again, tongue teasing her entrance again.

“God, don’t stop.”

Draco sucked her clit, focussing on the perfect amount of pressure for her. He licked, and sucked, and teased her into oblivion.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Hermione cried. Her thighs tightened around his head and he could feel himself close to finishing, just from touching her. Her hips lifted into him, legs shaking furiously as her moans became shorter and breathier.

“I’m--I’m! Oh, Malfoy, yes!”

She stilled as she came, twitching from overt amounts of pleasure. Hermione dripped into his mouth, pooling under herself. Draco held her hip and hand tighter as he groaned into her center, tasting her sweetness as he came.

Hermione lifted onto her elbows, eyes wide as he came up from between her thighs.

“Did you finish?” she asked incredulously.

Not once in his life had Draco ever felt embarrassed. Until now.

“Malfoy,” she said, eyes still wide, eyebrows to her hairline.

“Yes,” he said, crawling back over her.

Hermione placed her hands on the sides of his face, a small smile playing at her lips. His eyebrows quirked in confusion. “That was, for lack of a better word, really fucking attractive.”

He smirked before pressing his lips to hers, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue. That alone could make him finish again

“But, I want you inside me,” she whispered into his lips. “Now.”

Draco shed his trousers and briefs, positioning himself in front of her. Hermione trailed her hands over his muscular arms that held him over her. She held his gaze as he pushed inside of her, low noises coming from the both of them. Hermione kissed his neck, pulling him closer to her. She wrapped her legs around him, undulating her hips onto his hard cock.

“Fuck, Granger,” he groaned, pushing the rest of himself inside.

Hermione licked his neck, nipping just above his collar bone. He moved inside her at a comfortable pace, groaning and cursing as he did.

“Faster, Malfoy, fuck me harder,” she whispered, pulling his chin up to meet his eyes. “You’re not going to break me.”

Draco did as she wanted, pounding into her harder. Hermione held his eye contact as she gasped, eyebrows pulling together in pain and pleasure. He nudged his nose to hers before kissing her roughly. Their kisses were broken by groans and gasps, prolonged eye contact, and shared heavy breathing.

“Fuck, good girl, Granger,” Draco groaned.

Hermione nodded, grinding her hips into him. “Say that again.”

“Good girl,” he whispered into her lips. She moved again, making him groan. “Fuck me.”

“God, I’m gonna come again,” she moaned, tossing her head back. He kissed her exposed neck, slick with sweat and dark with his markings. His. She was his.

The thought sent him over the edge as he moved harder, more deliberate thrusts into her, making her scream his name.

Mine, mine, mine, mine.

“Yes! Oh, fuck, I’m--” Hermione stuttered, gripping onto his shoulders tightly.

He watched her, eyes closed, mouth barely open, curls sticking to her neck. Her skin glistened and her breathy moans filled the air.

Mine, mine, mine, mine.

She finished again, thighs shaking around him and tiny moans echoing in his ears. Not a moment later did he finish inside her, as she captured his lips, feeling him moan into her. He stayed inside her as they came down from utter ecstasy. Draco swore nothing was more addicting than having Hermione Granger writhing under him, screaming his name. She was his.

As he pulled out of her and went to find his briefs, he heard her say something.

“What?”

He looked to find her slipping on his dress shirt, the arms too long, the entire thing swallowed her. It made his pulse skip and his throat run dry, the sight of her in his clothes. It was dangerous, he could get used to that.

Hermione buttoned the shirt over her breasts, before reaching a hand out to his arm. “I don’t feel like dealing with a prefect complaining that you were walking back to your dorm in the middle of the night. Stay here.”

Mine.

Draco crawled into the bed next to her, pulling the covers over both of them. Hermione turned on her side and pressed her back against him as she drifted asleep. So easily he could get used to this.

Poisons are commonly used amongst magick folk. Whether to maim, curse, or even kill, there are a variety of poisons in the works. The most common poisons that we know of stem from bites, stings, or cuts from magical creatures. The Antidote to Common Poisons, found in Magical Draughts and Potions, can cure several poisons. . . .

The danger surrounding potion creation has greatly decreased in the past five hundred years as more safety precautions are taken in selecting potioneers. Uncommon poison can be remedied through known counteractive ingredients. . . . For unknown poisons, seek immediate medical attention from the nearest potioneer or healer.

“Bloody unhelpful,” Hermione mumbled, closing the book and shoving it to the side. There were two stacks of books she currently had in front of her, one of informative books and ones that would not help her. She currently had one book that would help, Moste Potente Potions.

Looking around the library, she saw no one was close enough to see. She pulled out her wand and attempted the poison specific diagnostic charm again. Thinking about the movement and intention, she waved her wand. It wouldn’t work. Hermione took a deep breath, trying not to let the frustration get to her. Once more and a similar square appeared, this time maroon in colour.

Poison: traced, unidentifiable. Dark magic recognized, source unknown. Extremely lethal. Life-threatening.

She put her wand down slowly before running her hands through her hair. Focussing on breathing, she refused to let the ball of angry tears bubble up her throat. If she saw the words ‘life-threatening’ again, she would lose her mind. The words weren’t lost on her, in fact they haunted her, it was all she could think about. What was she supposed to do?

“Mione?” Ginny stood next to the table, holding a bag to her chest as she offered a small smile. “Can I join you?”

Hermione pushed a few books away, allowing Ginny to sit. She held out a brown paper bag to Hermione, and she took it tentatively. Upon opening it, she found a few sugar quills, cherry pasties, and her favourite banana nut muffins.

“Peace offering,” Ginny said. “Though I did eat a sugar quill, I just can’t resist them.”

“You’re not the one who should be offering peace,” Hermione said, pinching off a piece of muffin.

Her friend nodded. “I know and I’m sure he’s sorry but I haven’t spoken to him.”

“Why?”

“It’s not just you he’s been like this with,” she started. “He’s constantly angry, always finding something to argue about. He visited home the other weekend and got into a fist match with Charlie. George said he was trying to talk some sense into Ron when he lost it. Mum’s pissed, but when isn’t she.”

“Is Charlie okay?” Hermione asked, not giving a single thought about Ron.

“He works with dragons, I’m sure a measly punch from that lanky prick didn’t do any damage,” she laughed. Then her face softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I never wanted anyone else to know. Luna and Dean only know something happened but they’ve never seen it. Only Harry and Ron and…”

Ginny grabbed her hand, giving it a loving squeeze. “You don’t have to show me and we don’t have to talk about it, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I’m not. I think I’m dying and I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t do this alone, please Ginny, let me tell you.

“I am,” Hermione smiled, squeezing her hand back

“Good. Oh! Mum wanted me to ask if you’re coming for holiday next month. You have a home with us, even if Ron is there.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing yet. McGonagall wanted Theo and I to do some Christmas thing for all of the students with no home to return to. I’ll have to talk with him first.”

Ginny had started to respond when white hair caught her eye. Hermione watched as he walked into the library, his eyes searching the room until they landed on her. She felt her heart stutter just from his eyes on hers. Draco gestured outside with his head before walking out again.

“Thank you for the sweets, Gin, but I just realised I’m late for a tutoring session,” she lied, packing up her bag. She waved her hand and the books all returned to their shelves.

“Okay, I’ve got quidditch in a few anyway. But hey,” she said, putting her hand on Hermione’s, “can we hang out soon? Just you and me? We can go to Diagon, get ice cream, I’ll even suffer through Flourish and Blotts.”

It was easy to forget other people when she was so caught up in her own head. She’d forgotten Ginny a lot, failing to realise she was constantly there for her. Hermione pulled her into a tight hug, agreeing to a day out with her, whenever time would permit it. After suppressing more tears, a mix of anger and guilt, she started on her way out of the library. As she started along through the halls, she couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Lost?” his chilling voice came up behind her as she walked.

“No, what did you need?”

He walked next to her but she followed as they wove through the halls, past more lingering eyes. “Are you still interested in potion reversal?”

“Have you figured it out?” she asked as they descended into the dungeons.

Draco opened the classroom door and as she walked in, he locked it behind them. She put her bag down on a random table before approaching three cauldrons bubbling on a table together. Draco shrugged his blazer off as he walked up next to her.

“Can you identify all of these?” he asked.

“Do you not know?”

He quirked his eyebrow slightly. “I spent the morning making them, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes before lifting on her toes to look into them. The first was lilac coloured and smelled severely of sulfur and asphodel.

“Draught of living death.”

She moved to the next one, immediately recognizing the scent from sixth year, though slightly changed. Clear notes of fresh parchment, her father’s favourite black tea, and something sweet. Her cheeks flushed realising who tasted that sort of unidentifiable sweet.

“Amortentia.”

On the last one, she peered into the cauldron. It was a grimy green with spots of brown, almost like it was moulding. She scrunched her nose from the smell, she didn’t know what it was. Turning to Draco, who was leaning against another table, watching her, she shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Good,” he said, walking towards them again. “Now there aren’t any known potions that can reverse the effects of living death but the smell of asphodel and, if you have a keen nose, sopophorous bean, give it away.” He pointed to the amortentia. “Potions like these are dangerous, smell different to everyone and if you don’t know the ingredients, there’s no way to undo it. Bezoars work but we’ll pretend they don’t. So then, the last one. What do you smell?”

Hermione looked from him to the disgusting moss coloured potion. Holding her hair back, she stuck her nose in further. It was rancid, foul even. Pulling her head out, she coughed lightly from the smell.

“Something mouldy, it’s almost sickly. Like when you’re congested.”

Draco smiled slightly before grabbing a thick book from behind him and handing it to her. She took the heavy thing, looking at the title, Encyclopedia of Ingredients.

“There’s only three ingredients in that potion, figure them out,” he said.

“Why do I need to do this?” Hermione sighed, placing the giant book between the cauldrons.

“You have an unknown poison in that cauldron and you need the antidote.”

“You could just tell me.”

“Granger,” Draco said as he sat on a stool. “If you’re trying to dissect an unknown poison to create an antidote, there’s not going to be anyone to tell you what’s in it.”

Hermione looked away from him, mindlessly stirring the amortentia. “I mentioned that off-handedly.”

“You don’t do anything off-handedly,” he said. “Why a poison?”

She grabbed the book of ingredients and sat on the stool across from him, setting the giant thing on her lap. Opening the dust cover to the first page, she looked up at him again.

“Just three ingredients?”

“Just three.”

Hermione started flipping through the book, leaning over to smell the awful potion every so often. She stirred it, noticing it was supremely thick, the ladle hardly moving through it. Her finger ran down the pages, reading the descriptions of every ingredient, their designed purpose and smell. Looking up with only her eyes, she saw Draco holding the same little black notebook and the pen he nicked from her.

“What does it do?” He looked up. “The potion, what does it do?”

“It’s a mildly poisonous draught,” he said, returning to his notebook.

She huffed slightly, returning to the book. She came upon the middle of the Fs when something finally stuck. Keeping it in the back of her mind, she continued reading. She read and she read and she found it frustratingly tedious as he could simply tell her what was in it. It was difficult admitting he was right, that she needed to be able identify ingredients as easily as he could, but she wasn’t a potioneer.

Hermione believed she identified the final two ingredients and closed the book with a loud thud. She stood and approached where he sat, attempting to take a look in his notebook when he closed it, sliding it into his trousers pocket.

“Nosy,” he reminded. “Did you figure it out?”

“Flobberworm mucus, on account of the thickness and sickly smell. Pond slime on account of the mouldy smell, and sneezewort, for the mild poison,” she said confidently.

“Why sneezewort? What about venomous tentacula or streeler shells?” Draco asked, leaning forward.

Her stupid little heart fluttered the closer he got. “You said it was mild, those are highly poisonous ingredients. And streeler shells would reject pond slime, being from freshwater snails.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Brightest witch of our age for a reason then.”

A piece of shiny, fair hair fell over his eyes and Hermione found herself reaching out to move it. She ran her fingers through his hair, her fingernails gently scratching his scalp. Draco grabbed her right hand and pulled her closer before resting his hand on her hip.

“Was I right?” she asked.

“Yes, Granger, you were right.”

“What does it do?”

He looked behind her at the nasty thing. “It’s called foul brew, I made it when I was seven or eight. It gives you a fever and makes you retch. I’d use it to get out of galas and fancy dinners.”

“I guess all children aren’t all that different,” Hermione said, her hand finding the nape of his neck, fingers still gently scratching. “I hated my great aunt Greta, she would always pinch my cheeks too hard and tell me what a beautiful boy I was.”

“Did you look like a boy?” he asked.

“No! I had long curly hair and almost exclusively wore dresses. I’d even put a ribbon in my hair when she came but I got out of it a few times by chewing up food and then spitting it out into the toilet so my parents would think I was sick. My dad always knew though.”

Her voice softened at the mention of her father, looking away from his eyes. Draco noticed, pulling her closer. “You’re smarter than I was. I did the retching.”

Hermione nodded, still not looking up. What would her parents have to say about her arm? Would they know? Would she tell them? What of Draco? Would she tell them about him? About this entire fucked up situation?

She reckoned not. If she couldn’t bring herself to tell Ginny, she certainly wouldn’t tell them.

“Does your arm hurt?” he asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

She looked up, back into beautiful eyes and shook her head. “Not really.” Draco nodded once. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him, then her stomach coiled in on itself at the implication of his question. Hermione placed her other hand around his neck as she placed a small peck on his lips. Then another and he pulled her in, squeezing her hips as he did.

Draco kissed her hard, swiping over her bottom lip before biting it and pulling back. He started down her jaw when she pulled his lips back to hers. She just wanted to kiss him and she was trying hard not to think about what that meant. Her lips parted for him, allowing his tongue to caress hers.

As they kissed her mind raced. Was she wasting time by not telling him about the diagnostic? If she said it out loud, to another person, “This is life-threatening.” It would become too real. What if she couldn’t pick herself out of that sorrow? She needed his help but she didn’t want to be dependent on him, she could figure this out, she had to. The thought of him helping her still needled, it didn’t make sense.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco asked.

Hermione pulled back and let the little moons of his eyes take her in. “Everything.” There was always too much to think about, too much to worry about and she was tired of it all. She wanted direct answers and she wanted them now.

“Why are you like this?” she asked, dropping her hands from him. “Why are you helping me? Why aren’t you being awful? Why did you let me kiss you? Why did you kiss me back?”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“Malfoy,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m sorry I still find it hard to believe that you would do anything out of the kindness of your heart. Especially for me. Forgive me for questioning your intentions. I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything, your apology, all of it. How do I know this isn’t a joke? Or that I’m a means to an end for your probation? I need actual help and I can’t afford to waste time worrying about these things.”

Draco let go of her and stood up, tousling his hair as he went. He grabbed his bag from Slughorn’s desk and riffled through it before pulling out a leather bound notebook. He turned back and stood behind the cauldrons, first pointing to the draught of living death.

“This takes four hours to brew successfully,” he moved to the amortentia, “this one five,” then to the foul brew, “this one two. They all take specific ingredients. Tedious stirring times, perfect proportions. To do this, to make three different potions at the same time, that each require different conditions, takes a lot of time. I didn’t make these for fun, I made them for you. I’m trying to help, Granger.”

He tossed the notebook onto the table in front of the cauldrons. “I’ve been researching ingredients and their counterparts. Which ingredient is the perfect antidote for arnica for example, what combinations will work the best. Potency amounts, all of it.”

Hermione grabbed the notebook and opened it, finding his impeccable handwriting all over the pages. In the margins, he had written more specifics, things he already knew, what would work and what wouldn’t.

“I woke up far too early to make these and I’ve only been researching for a few days but I’m doing it all because you asked for help.” He spoke clearly and pointedly but no hint of malice laced his words.

“Are you trying to guilt trip me because I asked?” she said, looking up at him.

Draco’s jaw tightened and he looked to the ceiling. “No. I’m not telling you this to try and manipulate you, I’m telling you to answer your questions. I don’t do jokes and if I did I wouldn’t spend half the time on them that I spent on this.”

“Why?”

“Why am I helping you? You asked.”

“You wouldn’t do this for Pansy or anyone else,” she said.

“I wouldn’t do a fucking thing for Pansy,” he bit, though not at her. “I’m trying to fix what I broke. It’s my fault and I’m trying to help.”

“It wasn’t your fault, I said that because I was angry and--”

“No, it is my fault. If I hadn’t--” Draco cut himself off.

Hermione looked at the notebook then at the potions before looking back at him. She let out a long breath before speaking again. “What do you smell? In the amortentia, what do you smell?”

“What?” he asked, his eyes were dark and his jaw was tense as he looked at her.

“What do you smell?” she repeated.

Draco stepped forward, and all while looking at her, bent down to smell the cauldron. Her eyes were on his, waiting for the answer, the right answer.

“Roses from my mother’s garden, rain, and,” he stopped, looking her up and down, “honey.”

Hermione’s throat went dry at his gaze. Honey. Biting the inside of her lip, she walked around the table and handed him the notebook. He watched her the whole time, taking the notebook and holding it lazily by his side.

“Can amortentia change?” she asked in a quiet voice, even though she knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Has yours ever changed?”

“No.”

She nodded, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Too many thoughts again. Maybe she needed to stop thinking.

“You should kiss me now.”

Draco didn’t hesitate. He pulled her in by her hips and, cupping the side of her face, he kissed her quickly. Hermione lifted onto her toes tasting the strange and delicious sweetness from his lips. More mint and less tobacco accompanied, creating the perfect mixture of want. Their lips moved fast, filled with miscommunication and guilt and uncertainty. No more thinking, no more time wasting. Just him, everywhere and all the time.

...

“So,” Theo mused, leaning against her bedroom door. Hermione had been finishing up homework she had neglected in favour of researching how not to die.

She looked at the curly haired boy with his wiggling eyebrows and slight smirk. She tightened her bun, waiting for him to finish his thought.

“Malfoy,” he continued.

“Did you have a question?” Hermione asked, scribbling down arithmancy equations.

“I thought you hated him.” He took a step into her room, looking around a bit. She thought she hated him too, but she needed him. Hell, maybe she even wanted him. If her life was down to seconds on the clock, why shouldn’t she?

“I did.”

Theo sat at the end of her bed, leaning against the bedpost. Part of her wanted to smack the little smile from his face, part of her thought it was endearing.

“We’re not dating.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“Well did you have a question? I’m trying to do my work.”

“I have a myriad of questions, but he answered most of them,” Theo said, plucking a piece of parchment from her bed.

“What did he tell you?” she asked, trying to focus on her work.

“Everything, well, except the shagging. Couldn’t get it out of him.”

She stopped writing and looked up at him. “Isn’t that what all schoolboys do? Talk to each other about that sort of thing?”

“He used to. You’re just different, I guess.”

“Hardly.” Theo wiggled his eyebrows at her. “What? I’m not telling you.”

He groaned. “Bunch of prudes.”

She snorted a laugh before returning to her work. Draco not telling Theo anything, did that mean something?

“I did want to ask,” he continued, “how you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“Hermione.”

“I’m sorry you had to see it, again, and the shouting. I’m sorry, really, it was embarrassing. It won’t happen again.”

“Didn’t you say that last time? You had it under control, to trust you?”

Hermione sighed and pulled out her three notebooks from her bag, handing them to Theo. He started flipping through them, seeing all of the notes she had taken, the facts, the questions she still needed answers to.

“I do, okay? I’m still figuring it out. That was just, a panic attack, I guess. Ron’d exposed my secret while I was busy defending Malfoy and--”

“You were defending him?” Theo asked, taking her by surprise.

“Yes and no. He and Seamus were saying awful things about the entirety of Slytherin, that they wanted to see all of you gone. That he wanted to see Malfoy dead, essentially. It was no better than what Voldemort thought, they were lumping you into a category because of the house you’re in, just like he had about muggleborns. I know what that’s like and I wasn’t going to sit there and listen to it.” She was getting upset again, looking ahead of her instead of at him. “Then he brought up the manor and said it outloud to everyone. No one saw it but now they all know what happened.”

“He’s a fucking arsehole.”

She shook her head, “No, he’s just--”

“Emotionally abusive?” Theo interjected, sonding miffed. “First he assumes you're a slag, hits you--”

“On accident!”

“--and then outs your biggest secret to everyone, knowing you didn’t want him too? That’s not fucking okay, Hermione.”

“He’s just an angry person, he lost a brother, he’s been through a lot,” she said, not even convincing herself.

“You shouldn’t be making excuses for him.”

“No but I can make them for Malfoy, right? I can excuse everything he did or said to me because he’s sorry suddenly? Where’s the line, Theo?” Hermione threw her arms up, laughing humourlessly. “Am I to blacklist everyone who has made bad choices? Or said something wrong? I’d be on that list ten times fucking over.”

Theo sat up, forcing her to look into his easy brown eyes. “What has Weasley done to gain your forgiveness? For any of it?”

That stopped her. Over the eight years she’d known Ron, how many mistakes had he made? How many times had he said something or made her feel like nothing? Was it equal to Malfoy? Did it even matter anymore?

He mocked her for being smart and caring about school. He ruined her Yule Ball and made the entire thing about him. She found someone who wanted to take her, who thought she was beautiful, and who wanted to kiss her! He ruined her perfect night with Viktor. She was always his last resort, especially over Harry. He shoved his relationship with Lavender down her throat, she didn’t blame the girl.

God, he was even awful to Ginny about being in a relationship. Then what, after everything she did for him last year for a horcrux to get the best of him. Everything he ever wanted to say came out and then he left. And he expected open arms when he came back!

Not once had Ronald Weasley ever apologised to her. Not when it mattered and not of his own volition.

What she thought she knew about the people around her was quickly changing and she couldn’t catch up. In the span of three months at Hogwarts, she suddenly despised Ron and wanted Draco. Was this right? Was it wrong?

Where did Hermione draw the line between forgiving and forgetting?

“I have a lot of work to finish,” she mumbled, ignoring Theo and returning her attention downward again.

For the rest of the night, she thought about every choice she’d ever made. All of the ones she hadn’t and where she would be now if things happened differently.

But they didn’t and she was stuck.

“I see Bill a lot, which is nice. I try to have dinner at the Weasleys as often as I can but I feel a bit smothered by Molly, I know she means well…”

Hermione held the phone to her ear as she stared into the mirror. Half-listening to Harry’s words, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander again and again. Her thoughts were too big and too small, she was worrying about things that haven’t crossed her mind in years. Things that were immensely less important than fixing her arm. But she couldn’t help it. When her mind started racing, she couldn’t stop it. It went on and on and scrutinized everything it could.

As she looked in the mirror, she worried about the way she looked. Again, meaningless, unimportant. Hermione hadn’t thought about how she looked since the Yule Ball, the one night she made the effort. Looks weren’t important to her, even with Ron. God, especially with Ron. She couldn’t remember if he ever called her pretty or even nice. So, as she looked in the mirror, she thought about looking nice. Why?

Was she honestly thinking about making the effort for him? After all those years of hair pulling and name calling, she wanted to look nice for him?

But he apologised, Hermione.

What was she doing? Was this all a mistake? He said he cared, he said he was doing this all for her. Why couldn’t she just let herself believe him?

She lifted her shirt up and studied herself. She wasn’t perfect, she had awkward moles over her stomach, one on her left breast. Turning to the side, she pinched the rolls under her bra. She glared at the pooch under her belly button. Unbelievably average. Her thighs were bigger than other girls, they touched when she walked. Her skirt always ended up shorter on her because of her hips, she couldn’t pull it down. Why was she so worried about this?

“Harry,” she interrupted.

“Uh, yeah?”

She ran her finger over her eyebrow. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Oh, um, I mean yeah.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, walking away from the mirror. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“No, it’s not. Are you okay?”

“Fine, yeah, all good.”

“Mione.”

“It doesn’t matter, just forget I asked.” She pulled out the chair to her desk and sat down, noticing how her thighs got larger and squished together. She pulled down her skirt and grabbed one of the books on dark magic she’d taken from the library.

“Did someone say something? Was it Malfoy?” Harry pressed.

“No, Harry, it’s fine. Listen, I have to go.”

“Wait, you can talk to me. I mean--”

“It’s stupid, okay! I just...Ron never complimented me and I’m just being an idiotic teenager. I know it’s ridiculous, please forget I asked.”

She opened the book and stared at the first page, not actually reading anything.

“Ron’s the idiot,” he said. “Why are you worried about this? Are you seeing someone else?”

Her initial reaction was to say no but even then, was that a lie?

“Just something girls think about, but I have to go, lots of studying to do.”

“Okay,” he said after a pause. “Love you, Mione.”

“Bye, Harry.”

After hanging up, she got up again and faced the mirror. There was a good chance she was dying and this was occupying her mind over everything else. Hermione stepped closer, pulling at her under eyes, noticing the darkness there. The few freckles on the bridge of her nose were barely noticeable and she hated them. She ran her finger over her lips, wishing her top lip was as full as her bottom.

Why did he kiss her back? When she looked like his, why would anyone?

Hermione walked away from the mirror and grabbed her biggest jumper, pulling it on over her head. It swallowed her whole and it was perfect. Grabbing the book on dark magic, she walked into the kitchenette for a glass of water. At the same time she filled it, the portrait door opened followed by the two Slytherins.

“No, I’m happy for her, really. Happier for myself, Blaise gets to deal with her fucking whinging now,” she heard Theo say as they came down the hallway. “Hey Hermione.”

She offered a smile, more of an upturn of her lips before looking at Draco. He was already looking, eyes bright, making her feel even worse about herself. Why was he always staring? Was she really that hideous?

Theo looked between them, smacking his lips together. “Right, I’ll leave you two alone. Don’t be too loud.” He smacked Draco’s back before walking to his bedroom.

Hermione pulled the jumper away from herself as she walked into her bedroom, followed by Draco. She sat at her desk with her book and her water, leaving him to do as he pleased. She started to read but could barely focus, her nagging teenage brain pulling her from the important matters.

“I’ve been cross examining more ingredients,” he said behind her. “Have you discovered anything else?”

“No,” she said shortly, leaning her head in her hand as she flipped through the chapters.

“Alright?”

She shrugged. Draco approached the side of her desk, leaning against it. Hermione hid her face with her hair, frizzy and unruly as it was. He was watching her, watching how she read the same page in the amount of time she could have read five. He put his hand over the book, making her sit back.

“Does your arm hurt?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Are you going to make me pull it out of you?”

“Why should I tell you?” Hermione said, looking up at him.

“I’m not going to make you.” She almost hated this, hated this weird gentleness from him.

“Why did you kiss me back?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Why when you said all of those things to me? Why when I look like this?”

His eyes got darker as she spoke. “I apologised, I’ll keep apologising.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Draco stood up, holding his hand out to her. She looked down at his hand and hesitated before taking it. He led her to stand and walked her to the mirror that haunted her just moments before.

“Malfoy, I don’t--”

“Look,” he said, standing behind her, holding her against him. She kept her head down, causing him to gently grab her chin and force her up. He met her eyes in the mirror. “Look at yourself.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, voice breaking slightly.

Draco waved his hand, closing her bedroom door, still looking at her. His hands found the hem of her jumper and as he started pulling it up, she stopped him.

“Don’t.”

He held her gaze, not saying anything. Gingerly, he took her hands and moved them to her sides. He took her jumper again, pulling it over her head, letting it fall to the ground. Hermione hugged herself over her button-up, already feeling too exposed. Draco leaned down to her ear, brushing her hair aside.

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

He started unbuttoning her shirt, over her breasts, down her stomach, making her suck in. He’s already seen her, she knew that, but this was different. This wasn’t in the heat of the moment, this wasn’t ending in foggy minds and racing hearts. This was just her allowing him to see everything she hated. After her shirt was unbuttoned, he ran his fingers down the middle of her torso, his icy touch making her push back into him. Draco brushed his fingers over her collar bone to her shoulders, pulling the shirt off her. As it landed at her feet, he pressed a kiss to her neck and one on her shoulder.

Hermione felt her breathing shutter as she watched him. His hands found the button at the back of her skirt, letting it drop too. So she stood, completely exposed in front of him, in just her mismatched underwear. As she looked, she saw nothing remarkable, in fact, she saw herself as so much less than. She wasn’t athletically built like Ginny, curvy like Padma, or supermodel-esque like Pansy. She was just Hermione.

Draco looked her up and down, his hands caressing the sides of her stomach, tracing the curves over and over. She looked at him, into his bright silvery eyes, expecting him to laugh at her. Her in her most vulnerable state, pulling any shred of confidence she had left from under feet.

“Look at you,” he said.

“I hate it,” Hermione whispered.

“Hate what?”

“All of it. The moles,” she ran her fingers over them, “my thighs are too big. My hips are too wide. I’m so ugly.”

Draco placed his hands over hers as they rested on her abdomen. Lacing his fingers into hers, he kissed her neck again. “Close your eyes.” She did without hesitation. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I’m sorry I ever made you feel anything less than utterly perfect. I was ignorant and blind for so long. Let me show you what I see.”

Her chest caved in on itself and swallowing hard, she nodded. He moved their hands to her neck, his fingers guiding hers along the length of it. Down to her chest, she felt the pronounced collar bones under the tips of her fingers. Suddenly her skin felt delicate and soft; she felt warm, inviting.

“You are not ugly,” he whispered, moving their hands down, between her breasts, her palms ghosting her bra. “You are the farthest thing from ugly.” Hands down her sides, over the curve of her waist, she squeezed her eyes tighter. He let their hands rest on her waist.

“Perfect for holding,” Draco said, squeezing between her fingers. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Granger. Not a single thing.”

Their hands travelled to the middle of her stomach and she sucked in tightly. He rubbed small circles there as he kissed her other shoulder, whispering into her left ear. “Let go, you’ve nothing to hide.”

Slowly but surely did, she let her body be for what it was. All of herself under his touch felt different. Under his gaze, even with her eyes closed, felt worthy. It was the first, and only time, she’d ever felt safe under someone’s touch. She felt wanted and it hurt.

“You are a dream,” he whispered. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re real, but then I remember, I could never imagine someone this perfect. Someone so stunning.” He moved their hands lower, ghosting at the edge of her underwear. Hermione’s eyes shot open as she took in a breath. She stared at their hands, his slender, porcelain fingers creeping under the elastic.

“Someone so…” she met his eyes, strikingly white, “irresistible.”

Draco let go of her hands, sliding his hands down her thighs, keeping his eyes on hers. “Beautiful doesn’t do you justice.”

She was leaning into him with her full weight, unsure she could keep herself up from his words. She’d never been spoken to so serenely, every inch of her was relaxed but her mind still ran. Her heart was pounding unhealthily fast, she was sure to melt right there. He was making everything so much more confusing for her. Except she couldn’t care, not when he was looking at her like that. Like he’d never seen a woman before, like he’d never want to see another.

“I kissed you back because I wanted to,” he said. Her chest tightened and her stomach coiled. “Because when the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen kisses you, you kiss her back.”

Hermione grabbed his arms and wrapped them around her, pulling him tighter against her. She chewed on her bottom lip as she looked at him. She knew he wasn’t lying and that’s what made it harder to accept. She should hate him, she had every reason in the world to and yet, where had that hate gone?

“You’re the first person to ever call me beautiful,” she managed to say.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is. Besides my parents, no one ever has. Not Ron, not Viktor,” Hermione said. “Just you.”

Draco took her waist and turned her around, placing a hand on the side of her face. His thumb ran under her eye and down to her lips where she pressed a kiss. Still, she knew it was wrong to be doing what she was with him and still she couldn’t keep herself from it.

He leaned his head down and kissed her gently, causing a storm to erupt in her stomach. His lips were so soft and easy to understand, easy to fall into.

Bang. Bang.

“Are you quite done yet? He’s my friend!” Theo shouted.

Draco pulled back, letting out a long sigh. He looked up, turning his head towards the door. “Fuck off, Nott!”

Hermione untangled herself from him, reaching to put her clothes on again. As she pulled the large jumper over her head, there was another bang at the door. Draco pulled her into him again, kissing her harder. She lifted onto her tiptoes, pulling him into her.

“Malfoy!”

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

She smiled, sliding her skirt on again. “Go.”

He took out his notebook from his bag and handed it to her. “Here, look over this while I’m gone.”

While I’m gone.

He started for the door when she grabbed his hand. “Malfoy,” he turned around, “thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Granger. Just believe me.”
…

She looked down at the book in front of her, one she hadn’t dared touch since her sixth year. Secrets of the Darkest Art. Her poison diagnostic had said dark magic was present, unsurprising considering the wielder of the dagger. Tracing her fingers over the cover, she could practically feel the magic coursing through it. She felt drawn to it even, as if it were something she had been missing.

“Sorry I’m late, practice was running long until I realised I’m the bloody captain!” Ginny laughed, sitting in front of her. Other players started filing into the Great Hall as well, famished for dinner. Hermione shoved the book into her bag and offered a smile.

“Want to go to Hogsmeade?”

“I look a wreck! I’m all sweaty, my hairs all messy,” Ginny complained.

“Come on, well get tea from Puddifoot’s and walk around, no sitting commitments,” Hermione said, grabbing her bag. “We’ll even walk in the shadows so no one can see you.”

Ginny laughed. “Don’t reckon I look that awful!” She got up and looped her arm with Hermione’s, shoving her things at Ron at the end of the table. “Take that up to my dorm would you?”

“I’m not your mum!” he said.

“No, you’re just my bitch!”

Hermione pulled her along, letting the other boys laugh and smack him around. She felt different with the weight of the book in her bag, hitting her leg as she walked. It was strange, the feeling she got, she ought to be concerned yet it didn’t feel so disastrous. Ginny skipped and hummed as they went along, gabbing her lips off about quidditch this and quidditch that. She was never one for the sport, even though it made her friends impossibly happy. Soon they found themselves in Madam Puddifoot’s tea shoppe, surrounded by other students on dates.

“Oh, lovely, come to ruin everyone’s evening, have you Mudblood?” Pansy spat. Everyone in the shoppe went silent.

Ginny stepped forward. “Who the hell are you calling Mudblood, Parkinson? Sure isn’t the girl who saved your bloody life, is it?”

Pansy laughed. “Got your girlfriend to back you up, have you? Can’t even fight your own battles.”

“Says the girl who spent her time in the dungeons while the rest of us were fighting for our lives,” Hermione said calmly. “Oh, I wanted to ask you the other day, how are your parents?”

“Shut your filthy fucking mouth,” Pansy snapped, pushing herself from the table. Blaise simply sat back, observing the altercation.

“Are they finding Azkaban to be all they dreamed?” She felt increasingly more confident the pettier she got. Pansy grinded her teeth as she looked at her.

“You’re pathetic.”

Hermione had pulled Ginny to the counter with her, smiling at Madam Puddifoot. “Two Earl Grey’s if you please.”

“One sugar for me, love,” Ginny said, still staring between Pansy and her friend.

“Does it get exhausting? Thinking about me all the time?” Hermione asked as she paid. “It must. I pity you, really.”

“I don’t want your pity, you cunt.”

She raised her eyebrows and grabbed Ginny’s hand, keeping her friend from saying anything. “What did I ever do to you, Pansy?”

She didn’t say anything, perhaps because there was nothing to say. Whatever reason Pansy had for hating her seemed to slip her mind as she grabbed her purse and stormed out of the tea shoppe. Blaise watched her go, taking a slow sip of his own tea. Ginny grabbed the teas and as they left, Madam Puddifoot told Hermione she would never let Pansy dine there again. Small victory but a victory nonetheless.

The two girls walked for a while, the silence between them was easy and neither seemed inclined to speak of the past few minutes. It wasn’t new for Hermione and yet every time she heard that word, something crawled under skin. The war may have ended but prejudice lived on.

As they walked, Hermione noticed the Shrieking Shack again. She stopped to look at it, the building in its entirety. Broken, shambled, siding in pieces. With a gust of wind, it looked like it could fall over. For some strange reason, she felt herself drawn to it again, to the darkness she knew it held.

“Wanna sit?” Ginny asked from behind her, gesturing to a stone bench.

They both sat, staring at the shack and the setting sun behind it. Hermione knew what she wanted to say and yet finding the words seemed of the utmost difficulty. She was never good at speaking in round about ways, always very straight to the point, she was.

“What sort of person do you see me with?” she finally asked.

Ginny looked at her, a sly smile on her face. “Why? Have you found someone?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly and honestly.

“Right, is it the guy from the club? The one who rocked your world?” She wiggled her eyebrows, nudging her slightly. “You’ve got to tell me more about him.”

“It is not about him, just answer the question please.”

Ginny looked back to the shack, thinking for a moment as she sipped her tea. “Someone equally as smart as you, or more, take down that ego a bit.”

“Ego?” she exclaimed.

“Just a little,” the ginger laughed. “Well deserved ego, don’t get me wrong. I feel like with Ron, he was happy to listen to you but he couldn’t offer anything more to the conversation. You need someone who can challenge what you say, even disagree with you. Besides, tension is sexy.”

Hermione sipped her tea, not disagreeing with her. “What else?”

“Someone who can stand to be in the library as long as you can. Someone who has all of your particularities memorized.”

“My particularities?”

“Yeah, for instance, I noticed at the Burrow you drink Earl Grey straight but chamomile with one sugar, one milk, and green tea with honey. You’re particular.”

“Are you trying to say you’re in love with me?” she joked.

“Yes,” Ginny said, turning to face her. She sat her tea down and grabbed her hands. “I am in love with you, Hermione Granger, please do me the honour of marrying me.”

“I would love to Ginny Weasley.” They both laughed and Hermione felt lighter. “What about...physically?”

Ginny picked her tea up again and shrugged. “Well you dated Ron, so you don’t care that much. Personally, I like someone who is taller than me, bless me Harry is short but I’m shorter. That way you feel, I dunno, taken care of? Sounds silly.”

He was taller than her, much, much taller. “No, not silly.”

“I’m a sucker for eyes, dunno about you. Harry’s are so green but if you look closer there’s bits of yellow. I’ll be damned if my children don’t have his eyes,” she shook her head. “I think the rest is just, the rest. I always went for personality, except Michael he’s a real brick. Oh! You know what really helps?”

“What?”

“If they can satisfy you in bed.” Hermione coughed some of her tea out. “I don’t just mean size either, and there is such a thing as too big. But I mean, does he think about you? Are you just a hole to him or does he know you’re there?”

Hermione thought back. He knew she was there, he really knew. Her face started flushing at the thought of it again. Ginny nudged her shoulder.

“Go on, tell me who it is!” Her smile was wide and infectious. “Is he muggle? Do you correspond over owl or muggle mail? Is it love that defies magic?” she asked dramatically.

She couldn’t tell her but she wanted to, so badly. Hermione straightened up and turned completely to face her friend, sitting cross legged on the bench. Ginny followed.

“Out of everyone you know, who is the worst person I could ever be with?” she asked.

“Hagrid, he’s too old for you.”

“Gin, seriously.”

“Alright, alright.” Ginny blew a raspberry, looking around the village. “Maybe Terry Boot, he’s right boring. Oh! No, I know! Draco fucking Malfoy. Gods, what a prick! Imagine, the two of you. You’d bloody kill each other sooner.”

Ginny was laughing as she looked past her friend, failing to see Hermione’s face fall. It felt like a bludger had hit her in the stomach at full speed. She was expecting the answer and yet it didn’t hurt any less.

“I mean, could you really forgive everything he said to you? Made you cry a lot and his parents, imagine those as in laws. Merlin, I could never. Oh, here he comes.”

“What?” Hermione turned around, finding Draco walking next to Theo, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head cast down. Theo seemed buoyant as ever, talking with his hands and laughing. Draco looked up, an easy smile on his face as he looked at his friend. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, she’d never seen him smile more than a smirk.

“He is bloody fit though,” Ginny said. “All those years of quidditch definitely paid off and I’m not against the idea of blondes. It’s the personality that ruins it. Though, Theo? I can totally see you with him. He’s funny, charming, his hair’s curly.”

“Why don’t you ask him out then?” she said, a bit harshly.

The ginger was about to respond when Theo noticed them. Hermione turned back to her drink, forcing herself to take an excruciatingly long sip. They had made their way up to them and Theo’s smile was as wide as ever.

“Alright, girls?” he asked.

Ginny smiled. “Yeah, yourself?”

“Bit buzzed, won’t lie to you. Hog’s Head gets me every time.”

“No, you’re just an alcoholic,” Draco mumbled.

Hermione watched Ginny give him a once over, her eyes narrowing slightly. If she knew, would she hate Hermione forever?

“Theo,” she said suddenly. “Are you single?”

“Who's asking?” he said, leaning his forearm on Draco’s shoulder. “If it's Harry Potter, yes. I am all his.”

Ginny laughed, a little too hard. “Funny, he’s taken. Though if I die, tragically and suddenly, I hope he finds his way to you.”

“Smart girl, I like this one Hermione.”

She finally looked at them, her eyes got caught on Draco’s like a fish in a net. His eyes squinted ever so slightly, almost as if he were asking if she were alright. She shifted in her seat, holding her tea to her lips. She tried so hard to tell him to leave but she was no occlumens.

“Theo, what’s your type?” Ginny asked, tilting her head.

Hermione looked at him, seeing he was too blasted to understand her silent words. She looked back to Draco who hadn’t moved his gaze from her. Gesturing towards the castle with her eyes, she looked back at him. He looked to Theo and she shook her head minutely.

“Oh, I’m not picky,” Theo said. “I go for all types, men, women, centaurs if I’m so lucky!”

Hermione pressed her lips together, feeling the defeat coming.

“Have you ever considered dating Hermione? I mean she’s single and she’s smart--”

“Gin,” Hermione said, looking at her friend.

“What? I hate seeing you alone.” Ginny smiled, putting her hand on Hermione’s before looking back at Theo. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes then to Draco then back to Ginny.

She wouldn’t look at him, she couldn’t. It was childish, the entire conversation.

“Oh, well, I--I mean, it's not--I guess because--” he was tripping over his words.

Draco smacked his back, gripping his shoulder noticeably too tight. “You’re pissed mate, let’s get you to bed.”

“To bed!” Theo announced, starting on his way alone.

Hermione looked up just as Draco started away, missing his eyes. Then quickly, she got up too, vanishing her tea. She grabbed her bag and as she started to walk away, Ginny stopped her.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m tired, going to turn in early, I think.” She kept walking, forcing Ginny to run after her.

“Mione, did I do something?”

“No, you didn’t.” You just made everything impossible. “I just don’t fancy Theo and we have to room together.”

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t make things awkward,” she apologised, genuinely. “Are you seeing someone? Is that why?”

Hermione sighed, keeping her pace as they entered the castle. “I don’t know.”

“Okay, well is there someone you’re interested in?”

“Yes!” she finally said, throwing her hands up. “No? I don’t know. I just...it’s not on my list of priorities at the moment.”

Finding themselves in between the Gryffindor common room and the head dorms, they stopped walking. Hermione had her arms crossed in front of her, feeling the ache in her arm start up again.

“I’m sorry, really. If you want to talk about him, I’m all ears.”

You’re not. You hate him.

Hermione nodded as Ginny slipped into her common room. With urgency, she launched herself up the stairs to the head dorms, quickly reciting the password and walking in. She looked around the living area and found no one as she tossed her bag onto the settee. A noise from Theo’s bedroom caught her attention. She waited by the settee, hearing the door softly close and footsteps coming closer. Draco appeared in the dim light, seeing her immediately.

“Your friend wants you to date Theo then?” he said, his voice giving nothing away.

Hermione walked up to him quickly and grabbed his face. “Shut up.”

She kissed him hard, an odd sort of vengeance slipping from her tongue at the thought of Ginny’s words. Lifting onto her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. His hands found her back, running his cold touch under her shirt. She held him as tightly as she could manage, pressing every inch of herself against him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning his forehead on hers.

She kissed him again, moving her hands to the belt of his trousers. As she pulled away, she looked into his white hot eyes. “I don’t want Theo.”

Draco picked her up, lips moving fervently on hers, as he set on her on the counter. Hermione ripped her underwear off as he pulled his trousers down. He grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, kissing her hard again. Her hands found his shirt, ripping the buttons off and she pulled on it. She kissed down his neck, marking him all the way down to his chest, eliciting quick, raspy moans from him. Hermione didn’t want Theo.

He grabbed her face again, pressing his lips to hers. Hermione wrapped her legs around him, feeling him slowly sheath himself inside. A soft moan escaped her lips as he moved faster. Holding herself up with one hand, she gripped the back of his neck, licking his lips and peppering kisses across his neck. She didn’t want Theo, not now, not ever.

“Fuck, Granger,” he groaned as she nipped his neck.

“Tell me again,” she said, breathing hard, “what you think of me.”

His eyes met hers, his mouth slightly agape as he buried his cock inside her. She undulated her hips into him, taking him deeper as she threw her neck back.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Gods Granger, you’re fucking perfect.”

She held him tighter, feeling him inside her was pure euphoria. His lips, his smell, his eyes, all of it was intoxicating and she was absolutely drunk off Draco Malfoy. And there was nothing that anyone could say to make her stop. This was hers and hers alone.

Fuck everyone else.

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table in the only empty space next to her ex-boyfriend, who thankfully, paid no mind that she had arrived. She started on her tea, grabbing chamomile and trying too hard not to think about her particularity. There was a loud murmur around the Great Hall, everyone was whispering close together, when she noticed the smattering of newspapers around the tables. Ron was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, more scattered in front of him and their friends.

“I feel bad for him,” Neville said.

Seamus scoffed. “I don’t! I say good riddance, they were awful people.”

“I kind of agree with Neville,” Ginny added. “They may have been terrible, he may be terrible but no one deserves to lose their family.”

Ron and Ginny looked to each other, acknowledging her words.

“What do you say, Ronnie?” Seamus asked, tossing his copy down. Hermione grabbed it, stunned by what she saw.

“I say,” Ron started. “Fuck the Malfoys, I’m glad she’s dead.”

BREAKING: Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) found dead in her home of Malfoy Manor

Last night, November 28, 1998, Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) was found deceased in her home of the Malfoy Manor. It was just earlier this week when notorious Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, was sentenced to life in Azkaban for the crimes he committed during the war and his continued allegiance to the Dark Lord. Malfoy was permitted a return home before his subsequent arrest to say his goodbyes. Auror Marcus Cho, who was guarding the manor, informed the Prophet that he heard a strangled cry late in the night. He struggled to open the front door, resorting to blasting it open.

“When I finally got inside, there was a house elf standing in the foyer, just crying, I’d never seen something like that before. Then, I heard more struggling upstairs,” Cho reported. He then informed his reporting Auror of the following events. The Prophet offers a warning to sensitive readers.

“There was yelling, lots of it. I could hear the blasts of spells and by the time I had made it upstairs, I saw them. Mrs. Malfoy was on the ground of their bedroom, Mr. Malfoy stood over her with his wand. There was a grotesque amount of blood on the scene, it looked like a massacre. When Mr. Malfoy saw me, he dropped to his knees. I guess he knew what he'd done and he was already going away for life.”

Lucius Malfoy is scheduled for one more trial for the murder of his wife, tomorrow November 30, 1998. He will be sent to Azkaban no matter the result of the trial.

To Draco Malfoy, heir to the fortune and manor, we offer condolences.

Hermione read the article over and over, trying to fully comprehend what had happened. Her eyes fixed on the photo on the front of the paper, all three Malfoys posed in a family portrait. Narcissa was smiling, Hermione noted her blue eyes sparkled, she looked genuine. Always the symbol of pureblood perfection, she was. Lucius, no matter how he looked, his angular face and dark grey eyes sent a shiver through Hermione. He was haunting in his poised grace. Then of course, Draco. He was younger in the photograph, no older than sixteen.

Her heart sank to her stomach at what she’d read. She didn’t know much about the Malfoy’s but she had an inkling of understanding of the relationship Draco had with his mother. Why would he kill her?

Suddenly, a powerful bang came from the doors of the Great Hall. Everyone looked up from their papers, every table had been reading and gossiping. That was until they saw the last Malfoy, barreling into the hall, wand pointed in front of him. Draco’s eyes were nearly black as he approached every table, casting incendio to every last Prophet he saw.

“You’ve all read it, haven’t you?” he yelled and his deep voice shook the chandeliers. Casting more fires, the tables started burning. “They make great kindling!”

He sent fire charm after fire charm. Pointing his wand at the empty professor’s tables, he casted reducto, causing shards of wood to paint the hall. Chandeliers came crashing down, sparkling glass embedding into the skin of innocent students. He screamed and he shouted as his wand blasted everything in sight. Students took cover as they ran from the hall.

With fury in his movements, he approached the end of the Gryffindor table where Hermione sat with her friends. Ron stood quickly, pulling his wand from his side. Draco had his pointed at the papers scattered between them. Hermione watched him carefully, catching his dark eyes glisten with oncoming tears. At the end of the table, where, thankfully, the younger students had fled, he flicked his hand, watching it rain with the remnants of food and splinters. It was a mass destruction of the one person Hogwarts feared most.

“You need to calm down, Malfoy,” Ron bit.

Draco looked up through his eyelashes, though not at Ron. He was focused on Hermione. She felt pure fear course through her body in the way he looked at her. She hadn’t seen this Draco in so long and she wanted him gone.

“I bet you’re fucking happy,” he spat.

Her body ran cold. Why was he addressing her specifically?

“I bet you’re all so fucking happy!” he shouted. “Especially you pathetic Weasleys. Always had a fucking vendetta against my family.”

He caused another chandelier to crash on the other side of the room, not hitting anyone else. Everyone, except the end of the Gryffindor table was left in the Great Hall. Hermione was on edge, stuck between going to him and running away.

“Enough,” Ron warned.

Draco looked the lanky ginger up and down before laughing hard. “Oh, what are you going to do, Weasel? Make me eat slugs?”

This wasn’t him, this wasn’t the man Hermione knew. He was falling apart.

“I could do worse,” Ron said, tentatively stepping closer.

The table in front of them erupted into flames at the same moment Draco went flying into the wall behind him. Ron stalked towards him quickly, standing over him in pride and fury. Hermione scrambled out of her seat as everyone else took care of the fires.

“That your worse?” Draco mocked, coughing from the heavy impact, struggling to his feet. He held his arms out, a sinister smile crossing his lips. “Go on, avada me.”

Ron lifted his chin, reveling in the power he held over him. “Sectum--”

“Expelliarmus!” Hermione shouted as she ran in front of him. His wand flew across the hall, shock riddling his features. “What are you doing?” She shoved his chest back.

“He was--”

“He was what?” she shouted, face scarlet with fury. “He didn’t touch you! He didn’t touch anyone! He broke some tables and set fire to some paper and you were going to fucking curse him? Like I said, no better than Riddle.”

Ron took a step forward, rage filling his eyes. He was taller than her, overtook her with his height. With a taut jaw and fists at his sides, he loomed over her. “Do not fucking compare me to that monster. I am nothing like him, Hermione.”

She held her chin up, refusing to let him have anything over her. “Then stop acting like it.”

Ron lunged at her, she winced quickly as his friends pulled him back. Seamus, Dean, and Neville all spoke hurriedly as they shoved him back to the table. Ginny’s eyes were wild as she looked from her brother to her best friend. Take my side, Ginny.

“Ronald Weasley, what the hell is wrong with you?” Ginny snapped.

Hermione stood back, trying to catch her breath as she looked at a person she couldn’t recognize. Everything happened so fast and when she looked to her left, Draco was stalking away, breaking more things in the wake of his anger. She started after him.

“Malfoy!”

She ran as he stalked through the halls to the outside. He was faster than her, ripping his blazer off as he went, throwing it somewhere into the autumn leaves.

“Malfoy!” Hermione shouted again, following him down the hill.

They were nearing the Black Lake when she shouted again,

“Draco!”

“What?” he screamed, turning around to face her. He looked a mad man with pitch black eyes and a red face, veins protruding from his temples.

She stopped, not expecting his overwhelming, booming voice, one that shook the trees and scared the birds. “What the hell was that?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he walked forward, arm pointing to the castle. “What was that? My father murdered my mother and you’re asking me what exactly?”

“You can’t do--”

“Do not tell me what I can do, Granger!” he yelled, pointing his wand at her. “Do not fucking tell me a damn thing! You don’t know anything so stop fucking acting like it!”

She shook her head. “This isn’t you, this--”

“This is! This is exactly who I am! I’m Draco fucking Malfoy and it was about time I started acting like it! Everyone’s been expecting this, well here it is!” He was laughing through his screaming, laughing like a man who’d lost everything. “Feast your fucking eyes, Granger, it doesn’t get better than this.”

“Malfoy, you need to calm down, you’re not thinking clearly,” she said carefully.

“I’ve never thought clearer! I’m going to fucking kill him,” Draco said, his voice lower, terrifying her. He started back towards the castle. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

His legs were too long, he moved faster than her and she could hardly catch up. He was storming through the castle, towards the entrance. She needed to stop him before he got there. He couldn’t apparate, not now, not in this state, he’d splinch himself to death.

“You’re just like him!” Hermione shouted. There was no one else in the halls as her voice carried to him. Draco stopped, turning around slowly.

“What did you say?”

“You said you didn’t want to become your father,” she said. “That’s what you’re doing right now. You think killing him is going to fix anything? It won’t bring her back.”

“Shut up!” he screamed.

“She’s gone, Malfoy, I’m sorry!” Hermione shouted back. Her chest hurt, she needed to help him. “Killing your father won’t help her. You’ll end up in the same place he’s going.”

“That’s where I belong! You said it yourself!”

She shook her head, taking a few steps to him. “Doing this, going to kill him, is no better than what he did to her.”

“I don’t know why he fucking did it!” Draco cried, she could see the tears streaming down his face. “Everything that I did, I did to protect her and now this!”

“He did it because he was scared,” she said, taking more steps closer to him. She didn’t know what she was saying, everything was happening on pure instinct. “He was scared to go to Azkaban and he didn’t want to live without her. She got out, she didn’t get convicted because she didn’t do anything wrong and he couldn’t accept that.”

“He didn’t have to kill her,” he said, his voice breaking along with her heart.

“I know and I wish he hadn’t.”

Draco shook his head, looking to the ceiling. “Fuck! Fuck him! I can’t, Granger, I can’t. I have to kill him, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

He turned around and started out of the castle. She ran, her legs moving faster than she ever thought they could. Her hair was flying everywhere, her heart was pounding in her ears. He couldn’t do this. She reached the bridge, and she saw him at the end of it with his wand in the air.

“What about me?” she yelled. He didn’t move. “What about me, Malfoy?”

Draco was still as a statue, giving her the chance to catch her breath and walk towards him.

“You can’t do it, I won’t let you.” Her voice carried across the bridge; she didn’t need to be loud. Wind blew between them, carrying leaves as it went. She watched his back move and his arm raise higher.

“If you kill him, you go to Azkaban and you leave me here to suffer,” she continued. “You were right, I need you.”

She was so close now; she could hear him crying. “Malfoy, please, think about what you’re saying. She wouldn’t’ve wanted this for you.”

Draco’s arm fell to his side and she reached out to him. He rejected her touch, ripping his arm away. Slowly he turned around, his beautiful face tear stained and his eyes still black.

“If I kill him, I can join your little club,” he spat. “You and Potter and me. Poor little orphans.”

All the air left her body, she swore her heart stopped. “What did you say?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was it a secret your parents are dead?” Draco mocked.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? They are. They’re not in Australia or America or whatever pathetic little lie you told.”

“Why...why do you--how do you know that?” Don’t cry, Hermione, don’t do it.

“I heard them. They were making their plans to kill muggles, take their shots at whoever they could. The Creevys, the Grangers.”

“No.”

“I didn’t fucking suggest it,” he said. “No, the man who you’re keeping me from ending did. And you know who killed them Granger, do you?”

She swallowed hard. “No.”

“My father.”

Her chin shook and her eyes felt hot as her head spun from the reality of the situation. All this convincing she had been doing, justifying this thing with him. He came from pure evil, who's to say he wasn’t?

No, not after what he said to her. She wouldn’t let this happen, she couldn’t.

“You’re not him,” Hermione whispered.

“Why are you doing this?” Draco asked, taking a step towards her. He stood over, just like Ron had but she didn’t feel scared. “You’re making the wrong choice.”

She carefully took his wand from him, holding his dark eyes with hers. “You can’t be this person. Not now, you lost that chance when you kissed me back. You’re not your father and you’re not going to kill him.”

“I already am this person, Granger. Everyone expects me to be this person. I’ve lost it, I’m the big, bad fucking Death Eater, aren’t I? I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not and you cannot keep me from that.”

“You aren’t. You’re better than what people think of you, you’ve shown that to me--”

“What? Because I kissed you and called you pretty, I'm suddenly a saint?” Draco scoffed. “That’s not how this works.”

“So, you lied then?” she asked, letting the tears fall now. She needed to make him feel like shit, he deserved it. “You’re not sorry for everything? You don’t regret what you said to me? You liked seeing me get tortured in your home? You don’t think I’m beautiful? Is that it then, Malfoy?”

“Stop.”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed. “I can do it too! I can be the bad guy!” She shoved her finger into his chest. “You can be the bad guy all you want, but not to me. Never to me, not again. You don’t get to have said what you did to turn around like this.”

“I meant what I said,” he said, his eyes slowly turning back to normal.

“Then prove it.” Taking his wand, she pushed it into his chest. “I don’t care if you treat the rest of the world like shit. I don’t care if you want to be the fucking pariah but you’re not doing this to me. You’re stuck helping me whether you like it or not. Until my arm is fixed, I need you.”

He took his wand back from her, breathing in shakily. “You’re making the wrong choice.”

Hermione lifted onto her toes and grabbed under his chin as she bore her eyes into his. “I have never made the wrong choice and I’m not starting now.”

Draco looked back at her, his stare equally intense, and yet, slowly, he nodded. She let go of his face and sunk back down to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her heart returned to its normal rhythm and she could breathe again. Hermione was beyond admitting that she needed him, she had, to herself at least, admitted that she couldn’t do this without him. That perhaps wanting him wasn’t such a mad idea.

“You’re too good for this,” he said suddenly.

Hermione looked up at him again and simply shook her head. “I’m not too good for anything. All I know is that I haven’t spent the past three months doing this, for you to throw it all away on an idiotic whim.”

He looked past her; his jaw still tense. “It’s not idiotic, its avenging my mother.”

“You don’t need to,” she said. “Let him suffer in that cell. Let the dementors taunt him and take away his sanity. Make him sit there and think about everything he did wrong and how he’ll never be the man his son is becoming.”

He looked at her again and she reached her hand out to his face, holding him there. “You’re better than him. You’re better than what he made you, you’re showing me that. And when you go to that trial tomorrow, you’re going to tell him about me. When he says his goodbyes, you remind him of the little Mudblood bitch who ruined everything, the same one you’re fucking and proudly.”

Draco grabbed her face and kissed her hard. She was learning to forgive him and though, she hadn’t quite yet, she didn’t want to think about it. All she wanted to feel was his lips on hers and the ache of what adults ruin for children without choices.

The train was utterly silent, not a sound or spark of conversation came from anyone. Even the trolley woman knew better than to offer sweets to children who’d witnessed the death of their great headmaster. Albus Dumbledore died and at the hands of a student no less. Of course, Hermione knew the truth, Harry informed her and Ron of what happened the moment he saw them again. He told them everything and suddenly the end had begun.

It started with the horcruxes and it would end with them. It was unspoken between the three of them, they wouldn’t return to Hogwarts next year. How could they when everything had fallen apart at their feet? They needed to end this once and for all. Carrying on was reckless, too many people had already died and more were going to. Hermione knew, in the back of her mind, she knew she would never be able to tell her parents. They didn’t quite understand magic as it was and she never mentioned Riddle, not once. If she had, they would have pulled her from Hogwarts and Harry and Ron would have been on their own.

Thomas and Roxanne Granger were good people, simple people. They were dentists, they loved Christmas a normal amount, and their daughter an abnormal amount. Hermione loved them back just as much, if not more. Of course, everyone loved their parents, everyone understood the sacrifices they made for them to live the lives they did. So different it was for her, all of the sacrifices she made for them and they never even knew. All the nights over summer she would hole up in her bedroom and cry because she couldn’t bear to burden them with the nonsensical magical world.

Hermione’s parents were her everything. Growing up, even from a young age, with her unruly hair and teeth that stuck out farther than normal, she was picked on. Besides her neighbour, Daniel Peckherdst, Hermione had no friends. Even as she got older and the girls got meaner and the boys got louder, she was picked on and picked on. But when she returned home after an excruciatingly long day of primary school, she was welcomed with banana nut muffins and a game of Sudoku with her father.

Thomas always challenged his little girl to think more, think beyond what everyone else questioned and knew. He created a free thinker who put herself in a box based around society's standards. Hermione was the smartest little girl he’d ever known, and she would always ask how many he knew, of course, he knew only the one. He encouraged her excitement and childhood wonder as much as he encouraged her to read The Odyssey at age ten. She would run around in the mud as he quizzed her on her times tables, mastering them by the age of four. He would sweep her up and throw her on his back, aeroplaning through the British Museum as she memorized the names of every statue and painting there. Though, her favourite memories with her father were the simplest ones.

One in particular, a recurring incident, one that fueled her patronus charm. On the nights it got colder, between November and December, her father would light the fireplace. On a large, brown leather sofa with a woven blanket of old scarves, he would prop up his feet in front of it and pull out a book he’d been meaning to get around to. It wasn’t until Hermione was three that she would steal a pair of his socks and shove them on her own feet, sneak under his arm and stare at the pages of a book she couldn’t read just to snuggle up next to him. Those moments didn’t end until she was eleven, deciding that she was a big girl who would read next to him, rather than in his lap. And yet, the days with fireplaces and too big socks spurred her happiest memories.

Roxanne Granger was never the ideal mother, much to the dismay of Hermione’s grandmother. She never planned a fancy Christmas dinner, she didn’t force Hermione into dresses on Sundays and take her family to church when she knew they all didn’t believe. She wouldn’t pack homemade lunches or bake for her daughter like the doting mother she ought to be. No, Roxanne was a living mess and that’s what Hermione loved most about her. She was transparent and kind and audaciously funny. She would shove a premade lunch into her daughter’s lunch box and buy her all the banana nut muffins the bakery could offer. Hermione took after her mother in more ways than one. Just as smart and kind, she took on particularities; her toothbrush had to be on the right side of the cup, shirts had to be folded horizontally, trousers vertically. Thomas teased the both of them for the slight neuroticism.

Her mother, beyond all else, was her best friend. Even after she met Harry and Ron, whenever someone asked who her best friend was, Hermione would say mum. Mum with her equally frizzy hair and sloppy handwriting. Mum who would push her around in the shopping trolley, tossing bags of crisps like a game. Mum who woke up in the middle of the night when Hermione was a baby, fearing she had stopped breathing, and would lay down next to the crib, letting her baby daughter hold her finger in her entire hand. Roxanne encouraged poetry as much as she encouraged Madonna. Hermione doted on her mother, strived to be half the woman she was. If she had half the humour, confidence, and appreciation for the world as she did, Hermione would count herself lucky.

Even then, Hermione had never met two people more in love than Thomas and Roxanne. She would catch her father ogling at her mother when she managed to burn the pasta water. When her mother’s hair was such a mess that she couldn’t be bothered, he would take the time to comb it and braid it, something he did for Hermione later on. When Roxanne picked up painting or pottery, Thomas was right there with her. When Grandma Jean died and she couldn't get out of bed for a week, he stayed right there with her, picking her up as she fell. But of course, Roxanne always said she loved him more, as any sappy couple does. She got flustered around her husband even years into their marriage; she was always blushing. She would remember to bring red velvet cake and cream cheese icing on their anniversary, not because he enjoyed it but because she couldn’t let go of the time they met. When Thomas found himself homeless during university, she brought him in, not once questioning or asking for anything in return. Because, when you love someone as much as Roxanne Miner loved Thomas Granger, you don’t question it.

So, as Hermione rode on the Hogwarts Express, back to King’s Cross station, she thought about the best way to protect her parents from this world she found herself in. Settling on mild obliviation, make them forget her, send them off to Australia. It was a plan as good as any, it was set in stone and she was prepared to do it. She was prepared, at seventeen years of age, to make her parents forget her in order to keep them safe. It was never something she should have been forced to do. It was mad and it was unfair but those were the cards life had dealt her.

Her parents didn’t pick her up from the station so she took a few busses home. She didn’t live far enough to worry Harry or Ron. As the last bus stopped at exactly 6:19 PM on July 1st, 1997, at the station five minutes walk from home, she prepared herself for the obliviation. She rounded the corner, smelling the warm tones of fresh bread from the bread shop she lived next door to. Hermione stood in front of the townhouse, between the bread shop and old Mrs. Kittering with Crookshanks by her side and her wand tight in her hand. She decided to do it right away, any time spent with them before would only make it harder.

Leaving her trunk and bag at the bottom of the steps, she and her cat ascended the stairs. Crookshanks meowed and meowed and he wouldn’t stop, forcing Hermione to shush him. He ran away that night and she never saw him again. He left her to open the front door alone.

“Mum? Dad?” she called into the dark house.

There was no response. She found the light switch and the long entry way illuminated yellow, inviting her to walk in further. There was no sound, no smell of dinner, nothing. It was eerie and she found herself worried. Holding her wand tighter, she held it in front of her as she walked. Hermione opened the door to the living room.

Thomas and Roxanne Granger died together, at least she could say that. She didn’t know if it had been painless or who had done it, though she had an idea. On the brick of the fireplace, scorched into the wall, was the Dark Mark. Hermione had never screamed quite as loud as she did that night. The tears that fell down her face threatened to never end and she truly thought they might never. She held her parents tight as she could, rocking back and forth on the floor of the living room. Nothing hurt as much as having her parents lay limp in her arms, no warm smiles, no hearty laughs. There was no, “Welcome home Miss Mione!” She’d never hear that nickname again.

It wasn’t until there was a knock at her front door that she ceased her rocking.

“Hermione?”

She ran to the front door, finding the not-so-little boy she grew up with.

“Daniel?”

“Oh my goodness, are you okay? Why are you crying? What happened?” he asked as she fell into his arms.

Hermione held his face, trying to find comfort in worried blue eyes, when the realisation hit her. “Daniel, Daniel, I need--please--I can’t, I have to go.”

“Hermione, slow down, please. What’s going on?” He held her tightly as she cried, waiting for her to form a coherent thought.

“They’re dead! My--my parents are dead.”

His eyes widened. “What? How? Are you sure?”

“Daniel, I need you to do me a favour,” Hermione said, sucking in her sobs. “Please, I need you to listen to me and I need you to not question a single thing I say. I’m going to sound mad and you can believe that I am but you have to accept that what I am about to tell you is true. You can never tell another soul as long as you live, not your parents, not your future children. No one, ever, do you understand?”

“You’re really worrying me here.”

“Daniel.” She clung to his jacket, looking between his eyes. “Please, I need this from you.”

“Anything, what is it?”

She took in a breath before she told him everything. She told Daniel she was a witch and that her boarding school was far from average. Her parents had been murdered because of a war she’d been a part of, against her will, since she was eleven.

“I have to disappear, tell the police they took me, tell them I’m dead too. Tell everyone I’m dead. Your parents, Mrs. Kittering, everyone has to think I’m dead,” she was speaking so fast, he could hardly keep up.

“Where will you go?”

“I have friends, I’ll be okay, I will. I have to be, I have to save everyone I love.” She cried more. “Please, I know I’m asking a lot of you, I do.”

He hugged her quick, letting her sob into his clothes. “It’s okay, I don’t think you’re mad. Will I see you again?”

She held him tighter. “I don’t know. I might die, I might not. If we don’t win, you’ll know and I’m so sorry. If we win, nothing will change for you.”

“You can’t die, Hermione.”

“I don’t want to,” she said as they looked at each other again. “You’re a genuine person, Daniel Peckherdst, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Then she kissed him, not too long, just for her. “I reckon you would have made a wonderful boyfriend to me if my life had turned out differently. I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

Hermione pulled away from him, ambling down the steps, she grabbed her trunk and bag. She grabbed her wand and pointed it to the sky.

“Wait!” he called. She turned to face him. “You were always my best friend and the strongest girl I’ve ever known. I love you, Hermione.”

The last tear fell and just before she apparated to the Burrow, she said,

“Please, keep yourself safe.”

“Are you going with him?” Hermione asked Theo as he walked into the living area.

“Yeah’ve got to right?” he said, struggling with his tie.

She walked up to him and undid it before straightening it out. She tied it as she spoke. “Are you worried?”

Theo looked up from her hands and she could see he was. “About Draco? Yeah I’m always bloody worried about that prick.”

“You don’t think anything’s going to happen, do you?” She brushed her hands down the length of the tie before straightening out his lapels.

“Considering the Wizengamot will be crawling with arsehole Aurors, I hope not. Draco’s smart, I can give him that at least.”

Hermione held onto his suit tightly as she looked up at him. “Theo, you didn’t see him. If I hadn’t been there…”

“Hermione,” he started, putting his hands over hers. “I’ve seen him in worse positions, trust me. I kept him from doing more shit than that, I think you should throw me some credit here.”

She nodded. “Okay, I’m sorry, I just...I don’t know.”

Theo smiled, tilting his head slightly. “You care about him.”

“I--”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell him,” he winked.

The portrait door opened and they heard his footsteps coming down the hall. Hermione pulled herself from Theo as she saw him enter. He was adjusting his cuff links and she found herself flustered at the sight of him in a suit. She knew it wasn’t the right time to feel such a way but when he looked that good in a suit and tie, she couldn’t help it. Draco pulled his arms down, allowing the suit jacket to adjust itself as he looked up.

“I’m gonna start on my way to McGonagall’s office,” Theo said, patting his mate on the back as he went.

Hermione watched him go before looking back at Draco. He ran a hand through his hair before realising he messed it up.

“Shit,” he said quietly.

She smiled slightly, grabbing his hand and leading him to her bedroom. As she made him sit on her bed, she grabbed a comb and turned back to him.

“I like your hair better when it's messed up,” she said quietly, fixing his soft white locks.

“I’ll remember that,” he said, holding her hips under her shirt.

Hermione lifted his chin to make him look at her, still fixing his hair, slowly but surely. She felt her chest heat up as he watched her.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“No, I’m furious,” he said calmly.

She dropped the comb onto the bed next to him before straightening out his tie like she did for Theo. Draco pulled her closer, making her flush against him. Her mind was racing. She knew he wasn’t stupid enough to cause a scene, to try and kill his father in front of everyone but she couldn’t help it. Everything was changing, he was more angry now than before, more outward about it.

“Don’t do anything,” she said.

“I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were, I just said don’t do anything.” She moved her hands to the sides of his neck, her thumbs ghosting along his jaw. “You can be furious but don’t cause a scene.”

“You forget I was raised in a pureblood household, I know exactly when a scene needs to be caused,” he said, caressing her sides with his thumbs. “The Prophet will get their article out of it and that’s it.”

“What if someone tries to interview you? What will you say?”

“I will say that my mother was an innocent woman who deserved better than the likes of that man,” Draco said, sighing slightly. “I’ll tell them I denounce pureblood ideals, that I haven’t accepted them for years.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You will? Why?”

“Because it's true.” He studied her reaction, it hadn’t faltered. “You said forgiveness had to be earned. I can apologise to you every day but if I don’t do anything, you’ll never believe me.”

“You’re doing it for me?” she asked, suddenly feeling off. It was too much, he couldn’t do things for her that she hadn’t asked. It wasn’t part of her plan.

“Don’t. You don’t have to do that,” she said, moving her hands off him, refusing to meet his eye.

“I’m doing it for me too,” he said. “I’m done with it. He’s going away, I have no one to answer to, why would I continue to hold ideals I don’t believe in?”

“Because you’re you, you’re a Malfoy. Your family sets the precedent for everyone else.”

“Aren’t you the one who fought against that?”

Hermione shrugged, trying to free herself from his hold but he was too strong. Everything was feeling too real, everything was changing. Who was he?

“What’s happening right now?” Draco asked.

She sighed, finally looking at him again. “I don’t know. It just feels wrong, like something you wouldn’t do and I--”

He took one hand from her hip to hold her face, forcing her to keep looking at him. “A year ago, you thought helping you is something I wouldn’t do. Granger, I’m trying, really fucking hard and you can’t keep doing this back and forth shit.”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of change,” Hermione sighed. “Of what everything means, of people finding out about us.”

“Us?”

Her eyes flickered down, more nerves rising in her stomach. She could feel the panic coming on, her arm aching again. “You know what I mean. This...arrangement.” Mindlessly, she scratched at her arm.

Draco stood up, leading her head up with him. He held her gently, his fingers tangling in her hair before he kissed her gently. It was terrifying, the way her stomach fluttered and her heart pounded, just from a simple kiss. Was he more than she thought? More than just someone to take the pain away? Why was this so difficult?

When he pulled away, he could see the wall behind his eyes.

“Stop doing that,” she said.

“I’ll stop when you do,” Draco said, as he walked away. She watched him go out the door, stopping to wonder what he meant.

...

Her knee bounced up and down under the table as she read over Draco’s notebook. It was unsettlingly quiet in the potions classroom, she could hear a slight buzzing in her ears, like the air was humming. His notes were extremely detailed, cross connecting ingredients and their respective antidotes. He’d done more work than she had so far. She was so busy getting caught up in the thought of him, worrying about how she felt, how she looked, how she shouldn’t feel. Her bloody teenage hormones were getting the best of her and she couldn’t stand it anymore. She needed to get something done, something substantial. That, and she couldn’t bear to think about the trial any longer.

Hermione stood from the table and approached the supplies shelves. Grabbing a vial, a sharp knife, and as many towels as she could. Setting everything back on the table, she flipped to the last page in his notebook that he’d written in and in her sloppy handwriting added Hermione’s poison.

She took off her jumper and ripped a piece off. With just her vest on, she used the piece of jumper as a tourniquet, hoping it would work. After tying the fabric tightly, she unwrapped the gauze and looked down at the wound. It hadn’t changed much, it was still just as evil looking. The spindly grey veins hadn’t extended any further; she took it as a good sign. Taking the knife, she poked at one of the greyish veins.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed between her teeth.

Dark, sluggish liquid seeped from her skin. Dropping the knife, she took the vial and held it under the seeping fluid. After filling the vial, she pressed a towel to her arm, hoping to suppress any blood from following. She untied the makeshift tourniquet, tossing it onto the table. She held the vial up to her eyes, looking at the deep, purplish colour. It seemed to coagulate as soon as it left her body, almost turning out jellylike. She grabbed a bowl from nearby and poured it in before poking at it with her knife. It was utterly disgusting as it moved around. Lifting the bowl up, she tried to smell it but no scent came out.

Hermione put it back into the vial, placing the stopper on top as she grabbed the pen and scribbled down meaningless notes next to it. Sighing deeply, she sat forward, holding her head in her hands. Everything seemed so difficult and far off. She couldn’t figure anything out for the life of her. Not her arm, not Draco, not any of it.

Suddenly, her arm started burning like never before. Excruciating couldn’t begin to describe it. She ripped the towel off and looked down at her arm. The vein she had poked was ripping her skin apart. She cried out in anguish, clawing at the tearing skin willing it to stop. Hermione stood up quickly, making the stool clatter to the ground. It was a slow pull, as if a ghost held a knife to her skin and was pulling it unbearably slow. She wailed in pain, balling her fist as tight as she could.

Hermione stumbled to the potions stores and quickly grabbed a vial of pure dittany. She pressed the plant against the gruesome cut but it rejected it immediately. She tried murtlap next and it failed. Tears were falling down her face as she screamed louder, pressing her arm against her leg in an attempt to prevent more blood loss. It was pulling deeper than the initial wound, it was cutting down, nearly to her bones. She summoned her wand quickly.

“Expecto patronum!”

Nothing.

Dad, socks, fireplace, books.

“Expecto patronum!”

Nothing.

Mum, banana nut muffins, Madonna.

“Expecto patronum.”

Nothing.

“Because when the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen kisses you, you kiss her back.”

“Expecto...patronum…”

The otter appeared in front of her, snuggling onto her lap. Hermione spoke into it. “Help, arm, potions classroom. To Malfoy, go.”

The little otter skittered off, leaving her to sit in the supply closet and wait for her solace.

...

“Granger. Wake up.”

Hermione stirred, feeling herself being shook slightly. Her head lolled to the side, unable to keep herself up. She couldn’t keep doing this.

“Granger, I swear to Merlin.”

Cold hands met her cheeks and her eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry, out of focus. Lost in obscurity, she was reminded of Halloween in the club. She couldn’t keep doing this.

“M...Mal...Malfoy?”

She blinked a few times, pure whiteness coming into focus. Then silver and she felt calm. She could see him clearly, the slight of contempt in his brow mixed with concern. Hermione blinked a few times before she could see behind him; they were in the potions classroom still.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Your...trial...”

He looked down at her arm and back to her. “What did you do?”

She groaned as a response, still not coherent enough to form full sentences. Draco gently let go of her and stood up, shuffling around in the potions above her. She could see behind him, a large box on one of the tables. He bent back down, holding the back of her neck and lifting a potion to her lips. Her eyes shot open and her body felt like sparks, the effects of a pepperup potion.

“God, my head fucking hurts,” Hermione groaned, rubbing her eyes. Then she remembered and she looked at her arm, only to find it completely covered and fixed.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” he asked, standing back up, walking to the large box and picking it up.

“No,” she said, helping herself up. “I was just...it doesn’t matter.”

Hermione approached the table, shoving the vial of poison into her pocket. Draco narrowed his eyes at her, looking at the messy table.

“It’s not a secret anymore, Granger. I’ve seen it,” he bit.

“I wasn’t suggesting that it was,” she said, holding her arm close to her.

“Was it the veins?” he asked. “You tried to cut your fucking arm open to see what was inside? And you did that alone?”

He was being aggressive, something had to have happened at the trial.

“I wasn’t--”

“Thinking?” Draco snapped. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I can’t deal with this right now.” He started to leave the classroom when she called out to him.

“What happened?”

“Fuck all happened, Granger!” he shouted. “He’s a monster and he’s fucking gone, they both are! It's done, yeah?”

She took a step forward, understanding his anger, trying not to give into it. “Did he say something to you? What happened?”

“My mother’s not getting a proper fucking funeral because I can’t leave this fucking place! There’s nothing I can do about it, nothing! I—" Draco’s entire body tensed, the large box he held was tightening under the weight of his arm. He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking anywhere but at her. “I’m trying really fucking hard not to take this out on you so do me a favour and stop asking.”

He turned around and left, this time she let him. Hermione grabbed her bag, the notebook and vanished the mess on the table. Her arm still ached and her head hurt but she couldn’t keep herself from worrying about him. Theo wouldn’t tell her, she already knew. She left the classroom, taking the steps two at a time, getting out into the main hall when she heard,

“Miss Granger!” She turned around, finding McGonagall standing in front of her office. “If you please.”

Hermione blanched, suddenly feeling like she had done something wrong. Holding the notebook tighter to her chest, she followed the headmaster into her office. McGonagall was silent as they took their seats, even taking the time to hand pour her cup of tea and stir it slowly. She tapped her spoon against the edge before setting it down and taking a long sip. Hermione watched, trying her hardest not to shake her leg.

“Many things have come to my attention as you might know,” McGonagall started carefully. “Horace insinuated that you have taken a special interest in Mr. Malfoy, am I correct in saying so?”

“I suggested he be potions peer,” she responded, unsure of what to say.

Minerva nodded slowly, setting her teacup down. “Yes, well, I wanted to speak to you about his outburst yesterday. While I understand emotions were running high, I simply cannot justify his actions. I’m afraid he has broken the rules of his probation and must be expelled.”

“No!” Hermione said, sitting forward. Minerva raised her eyebrows, causing her to realise her mistake. “I mean...his mother was killed by his own father, professor. I understand that causing that kind of destruction seems unwarranted but I don’t think it was. We all react differently in grief. Please let him stay, I’ll make it my personal responsibility that he stay in line.”

The headmaster rose from her desk to sit in the chair next to her. She took Hermione’s hands in hers and looked into her eyes. “Hermione, I know it is not my place to ask but I consider you very dear to me. I only want you to be safe and happy, yes?” Hermione nodded. “Is there something between you and Mr. Malfoy?”

For so long, she’d been telling herself no. They weren’t dating, he wasn’t her boyfriend. She just needed him. Desperately and all the time, she needed him. She couldn’t figure this out without him, she couldn’t do anything. God, she was such an idiot. After everything he said to her growing up, she felt guilty for being scared. But she was trying to forgive, she was trying to change their narrative. Did she want him? Was she able to say it out loud for the first time and to her professor, of all people?

Hermione held her frail hands tighter, taking in a deep breath. “Yes.”

“I see,” McGonagall said, nodding slowly. “You understand the person he is. Are you safe?”

“I understand the person he was. I can’t explain it because I don't understand it myself but, yes, I’m safe. He’s not who everyone believes him to be, not with me anyway.” She looked at her professor, her friend and mentor, pleading with her eyes. There was no way to make her understand and she couldn’t very well tell her. “It’s not something I want publicised, no one knows. But you have to let him stay, please.”

“I trust you, dear.”

She hugged her quickly, trying to find the maternal bond she had so long lost. There were so many secrets, so many things wrong and she didn’t know what to do. For the first time, she knew where to start. Hermione needed him; she needed to stop being scared.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

It was relentless, the ticking. Constant, consistent, caustic. It was the only sound in the room, besides her laboured breathing. Tightening around her lungs; she felt like choking. Perhaps it was panic. All she could do was lay there, staring up at the canopy, feeling the pain in every inch of her body. She’d made a mistake by trying to remove the fluid from her arm. It was worsening. Was it killing her quicker? How much time was left? Why wouldn’t she move?

She felt like she deserved it, the pain. It was repentance for failing her parents. Every person she let die over the course of the years because she wasn’t quick enough, smart enough, good enough. How many lives could she have saved if she knew better? With every arduous breath, she recounted those she failed.

Mum.

Dad.

Cedric.

Remus.

Tonks.

Fred.

Colin.

Sirius.

Lavender.

Dobby.

Dumbledore.

Too many and too many more were lost. She felt responsible. Self-inflicted panic, it was back and with a vengeance this time. It hurt. It was as simple as that, it hurt. She deserved it. She was weak, she hadn’t done enough.

Hermione gripped the sheets next to her as she tried calming her breaths. She needed to take control over this situation. One, two, breaths in. Three, four, out. It wasn’t working, she wanted to scream. Why? Why her? Why this?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

No one responded, not even the voice in her head.

“Please, I don’t know what to do.” A tear slipped down her temple, settling into the pillow. How many tears would it take before the end?

A knock. Then a pause. Two more.

She closed her eyes, remembering that knock. It was simpler then, even just four months ago. On the brink of December, everything had changed.

“Come in,” Hermione said quietly, forcing herself to sit up.

The door opened, allowing brief white light to seep into the dark room as he entered. She gathered her hair back, tying it at the nape of her neck. He stood at the side of her bed and in the darkness, his eyes were stars in the black room. Through her struggling lungs, they felt like a breath of fresh air, those eyes. Hermione patted the spot in front of her as he slipped his shoes off, sitting cross legged in front of her. It was odd, she thought, seeing him unpoised.

She scooted closer to him, her legs atop his. She needed him there, to know he was tangible, that she wasn’t alone. Draco put his hands on her bare thighs, letting them rest there as she looked at him. Reaching her hand out, she pushed his silky hair back as a late tear escaped her eye.

“Alright?” he whispered.

“I should be asking you that,” she said, letting her hand fall to her lap again. “What happened?”

“I already talked to Theo.”

“Oh.” She rubbed at her eyes, sighing quickly before looking up at him again. “You can talk to me too, if you want.”

“I was never one for talking,” he said.

“How are you feeling?” she whispered.

“We don’t need to talk about it, Granger.”

Hermione nodded before leaning her forehead on his shoulder. She wanted him to open up but she wouldn’t force it, not when she could barely process anything she was feeling. Draco’s hands moved to her back, gently rubbing up and down with the tips of icy fingers. She wrapped her arms around him, under his shirt, trying to stave off the heat radiating from her body. He smelled nice, she thought. It was comfortable, just like this. This, where she didn’t have to think about being the fault of everything that happened. He took it all away, the ache, the panic, the thoughts.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, letting her be there with him. It was easy to let it be when he was this way. It wasn’t until she thought about the rest of the world that fear settled in.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.

“Nothing.”

“Then why do I feel like everything is wrong?”

“You overthink.”

Hermione picked her head up to look at him. “How do you know that?”

“Granger, everyone knows that.”

Her eyebrows pulled together as she bit her lip. “Ron told me it was stupid once, that I overthink. He said letting myself get spun up was just for attention, like I wanted to do it. Sometimes I wonder if he was right.”

“He’s not. I don’t think that little prick has ever been right about anything.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure he was right about a few things, at least I hope. Like me, I hope he was right about me.”

“Right about you?”

Hermione unlatched her arms from around him, deciding that the collar of his cotton long sleeve was more interesting. Her fingers played at the edge, ghosting along the skin of his collar bones.

“Right about fancying me, that I was worth fancying,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “It's ridiculous, I know but it's easier to focus on the ridiculous things instead of,” she lifted her arm, “this.”

Draco placed his finger under her chin, nudging her to look at him. When she did, she felt nervous again, even in the darkness of the room. He scanned her face, making her flush under his gaze. I think I like you.

“You’re worth fancying,” he whispered.

Her lips turned up slightly before she kissed him. She was getting used to these easy kisses, ones saved for quiet moments of comfort and knowing. They were her favourite. Then, he kissed her back, his hand grabbing under her chin a bit roughly. Her hands moved around his neck as she kissed him faster. Draco’s other hand slid up her back, dragging her shirt along with it. Hermione pulled back, taking her shirt off and dropping it on the bed next to her.

“That’s new,” Draco said, looking at her nude-coloured mesh bra. It was practically see through. His thumb rubbed over the fabric, causing her nipple to harden from his touch.

“All my other ones are dirty,” she said sheepishly.

He smirked slightly. “I like this one.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Draco kissed her again, grabbing her by the waist and letting her fall back onto the bed. Her hands crept under his shirt, helping him to take it off. She grabbed his face again, needed his pure velvet lips on hers, licking, kissing, pecking, biting. She needed it all, all of him. His kisses moved down her jaw, finding the spot underneath, nipping and marking her. He moved lower, his tongue trailing down her chest.

“Wait,” she said.

He huffed slightly. “Yes?”

Hermione crawled backwards until her back hit the headboard, making Draco sit up, eyebrows slightly furrowed. She held her hand out and he took it, eyes not leaving hers. She pulled him closer before pushing him against the headboard and straddling him. Hermione moved her hips, feeling his cock grow harder under her. Leaning forward, she planted messy kisses along his neck before whispering in his ear,

“I want to get you off.”

Then she leaned back, watching his throat bob up and down as he swallowed. She chewed on her lip for a moment. “But I’ve never done it.”

“You don’t have--”

“I want to,” she interrupted, moving herself down his legs until she was settled between them. She unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them all the way down his legs. Next came his underwear and his throbbing cock sprung free.

Hermione took it in her hand, stroking it up and down slowly. Draco groaned deeply, leaning his head back against the headboard. Her thumb swiped over the tip, eliciting another moan from him, making her stomach flutter.

“Tell me what to do, Malfoy.”

He opened his eyes, looking down at her as she leaned towards his cock. He swallowed hard again. “Open your mouth, love.”

Love.

God, his voice alone could get her off.

Still looking up at him, she licked the head, watching his chest sink and rise quicker. Placing a kiss to it, she moved her hand up before trailing her tongue up the shaft. He shuddered under her touch and she loved it. With her hand at the base, she took his pulsing cock between her lips, swirling her tongue over it slowly. Draco gripped her hair, leading her down further.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “relax your jaw.”

She did exactly that, taking more of him into her. He was salty and utterly wonderful as she tasted him. Moving her head back up, agonisingly slow, she moved her hand along where she couldn’t reach.

“Faster.”

Hermione bobbed her head up and down faster, her hands following as she looked up at him. His eyebrows were pulled together fiercely and his mouth was agape, she swore she’d never been more turned on until then. Why she hadn’t done this before was a mystery. It was an absolute pleasure, watching him moan, feeling him pull her hair too tight. Under the dim light from the moon, caressing the expanse of his alabaster skin, he was a god under her touch.

Draco looked down at her, licking his lips, chest heaving faster. “Good girl. Oh--fuck, a little faster.”

She moved quicker, her tongue lapping over the tip as she lifted up before sinking down fast and hard. Trying to take in more of him, she relaxed her throat, letting him thrust into her mouth. He was getting harder as she sucked, reaching his peak. Draco’s deep moans and breathy curses encouraged her. Hermione pulled her lips off his cock, her hand still moving as she looked at him.

“Do you want to come in my mouth?” she asked innocently.

His eyes widened slightly as he nodded. “Gods, yes.”

With a small smile and eyes locked on his, she bent back down and took him in. His cock was impossibly hard, ready to finish inside her. Draco gripped her hair so hard her eyes watered but she reveled in it. “Fuck me, love!” With one last lick up his shaft, he came down her throat. His moan was long and raspy and made Hermione soak her knickers. After pulling his cock from her mouth, she crawled back up to him.

“Did I do it right?”

Draco hooked his finger under the band of her bra, pulling her down as he captured her lips. She smiled into the kiss, taking his fervent need to kiss her as the answer until he pulled back,

“You’re unbelievable.”

He grabbed her flimsy shorts and underwear, ripping them down her legs. She lifted up, kicking them off her feet. Draco held her up by her bum as he scooted down the bed until his head was between her thighs. Suddenly, his tongue licked through her folds, making her gasp and hold onto the headboard. He held onto her bum, squeezing tightly, definitely leaving bruises. He slipped his tongue into her already dripping wet core and she sunk down on him.

“Oh my God,” Hermione moaned breathily.

She gripped the headboard tighter, her knuckles turning white as he spread her legs wider. Draco was holding all her weight, her knees couldn’t be trusted in this situation. Not with her loud curses and hips grinding into his tongue. He moved his mouth to her clit, licking and sucking gently.

“Oh--shit! Draco!” His name left her lips so easily, naturally even. He seemed encouraged by it, sucking on her clit harder, making her scream louder. She threw her head back, gripping tighter, as her thighs started shaking. She wouldn’t last much longer in this position, not when he was moving his tongue like that.

“Don’t stop! Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

Draco wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her hips tighter. When he gave her a squeeze, she yelped which turned into a moan, spurring him on. He dug his nails into her skin as he lapped his tongue quicker.

“I’m gonna--fuck!”

Her legs shook furiously as she came, screaming his name. Hermione could feel herself spilling into his mouth, shuddering a bit as he licked her core again. Carefully, she moved off of him before collapsing on the bed, her legs still shaking. As her chest heaved, she ran her hands through her hair, staring at the canopy in post-orgasm disbelief. When she turned her head, she found her favourite white, blazing eyes looking back at her.

She turned on her side, placing one hand on the side of his face and the other under her head, propping her up. Draco pulled her in by her waist, his hand caressing her side. I think I like you.

“You’re fucking art,” he whispered.

Hermione swore, for a moment, her heart completely stopped. In the light from the moon, his hair glowed, his features were softer. He was complex but this, just this now, was simple. She admired him as he lay next to her, trailing her hand down his neck and over his shoulder. The arm that held her wore the one thing that could ruin this façade if she cared enough to let it.

“Can I see it?” she whispered. Draco’s eyes dimmed, the wall coming up, and she moved closer to him causing her nose to brush against his. “Stop doing that.”

Hermione sat up, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over her head. Sitting up next to him, with covers over their legs, she took his left hand in hers and turned his arm out. Maybe it was fortunate it was dark in her room, then he wouldn’t see her face pale. She traced gentle fingers over the mark, feeling long, tiny ridges over it.

“What happened?” she asked, looking back to him.

Draco was looking at his arm with his jaw tensed. “I never wanted it, I tried everything.”

She continued tracing it before rubbing over the raised scars with her thumb, as if she were trying to wipe it all off. He wasn’t that, he was so much more than that. It hurt her heart to see it, confusing her once again but this time she accepted the confusion. He was different than she thought, she could empathise with him, she didn’t have to be angry all of the time.

Hermione leaned down and kissed the mark, letting her lips linger on it. Draco’s left hand found her cheek, leading her to look at him again. He smoothed his thumb over her warm cheek, making her flush again. It was the simple, easy things he did now that made her nervous. Nervous in an utterly wonderful way. She laid back down with her head in the crook of his neck, pulling his arm around her. Wrapping herself up in him, she knew this was more than need and she didn’t have to question it any longer.

Almost as if he knew, Draco held her tighter and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. This, right here, in the middle of the moonlight, wrapped up in former hate, Hermione felt nothing but pure serenity.

I think I like you.

...

“No fucking way,” Ginny said, running up to her friend in the hall.

“Hi?” Hermione responded.

“I can see that bloody thing from the quidditch pitch!” she exclaimed, pushing Hermione’s hair over her shoulder.

She moved her hand to her neck, covering the unknown love bite Draco had left. He really needed to stop doing that. Hermione casted a wandless glamour charm to cover it before moving her hair again.

“That’s it, you’ve got to tell me,” Ginny said. “Or I’ll list every single person in this dreadful place and wait until you blush.”

“I don’t blush.”

“Yes you do. Now, who is it?” She stepped in front of her, making them stop in the middle of the hall.

“Why does it have to be a big deal?”

“Not a big deal, a huge deal! I’ve never seen you fancy someone besides Ron and he’s awful.” Ginny placed her hands on Hermione’s shoulders, forcing her to look at her. “Give me a hint. I already know he’s amazing at sex apparently.”

Hermione sighed. “I just want to keep this to myself, okay?”

“Why? Is it because of me? You’re afraid I’ll scare him off aren’t you?” she frowned.

No, I’m afraid he’ll scare you off.

“No, like I said before it's not on my list of priorities, right? And it’s just sex,” Liar, liar, liar, “and I don’t fancy everyone knowing about my sex life.”

“I will figure this out,” Ginny said, pointing a finger.

Hermione grabbed her wrist and brought her hand down. “Ginny, I’m asking you not to. Please just let it be, okay? Please?”

She sighed, eyebrows deeply furrowed, tossing her head back dramatically. “Fine, but only because I love you.”

“Thank you. Now, I need to get to potions,” she said, side stepping her friend.

“Why?”

“I need to check on my brew for class.” Not a complete lie.

Ginny nodded. “Doesn’t Malfoy work down there?”

“I think so, why?” Her heart was in her throat.

“Well, after his outburst, are you sure you should be alone with him? I’m surprised he wasn't expelled, isn’t that why you chased after him?” Her brown eyes were wide and Hermione was nervous.

“Um, yeah, I gave him detention. I tried offering my condolences too but…” she trailed off, trying to sound convincing. “I’m sure he won’t be down there, it’s almost dinner. And if he is, I’ll just ignore him, like I’ve been doing for years.”

“Right, okay. Hex him if you have to. Bat bogey always does the trick,” Ginny winked before walking off. “If you’re not done quick, I’m coming to find you!”

With a tight chest and shaking hands, she made her way into the dungeons. Finding the hallway empty, she picked up her pace until she found the classroom door. Pulling it open, she saw Draco, alone, standing over one of the tables, hands flat against the wood. Hermione locked the door behind her as she approached.

“Alright?”

“You need to stop leaving bruises on my neck,” she said, sitting on a stool.

“No.”

“Ginny asked again, just leave them elsewhere.”

Hermione was busy pulling out a book from her bag, failing to notice Draco’s intense gaze on her. She flipped through it, trying to find her place when two of fingers stopped her. She looked up.

“Leave them elsewhere?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said simply. Leaning forward, she pulled down his shirt collar, exposing a bruise she’d left under his collar bone. “See? You can cover that, it’s not hard.”

Draco smirked a bit. “Right.”

She continued with her book, trying to discover anymore she could about dark magic. Of the reading she had done, she realised she already knew her fair share. What she needed was to identify what exactly was in her arm and if it was enchanted with ancillary curses.

“Granger.”

“I’m trying to read, Malfoy.”

When she looked up, she found him at another table, looking carefully at a long, locked box. He took it in his hands and walked back to their table, moving everything aside. She closed the book and looked nervously between him and the box.

“I was given a box after the trial,” he started. “Everything that hadn’t been taken by the Ministry as recompense or artifact was in it. Everything I own is now either in that box, in my dorm, or in two vaults. This was in the box.”

“Okay, what is it?” she asked carefully.

Draco looked at her. “I think it's Bella’s dagger.”

Hermione stood from the stool and stepped back, her back hitting another table. Suddenly she couldn’t look away from the long, black box. Her arm began to ache like it was calling out to it. That was the answer, if they could analyse the dagger, see if it was cursed, extract the poison from the source, she could live.

“You think?”

“I haven’t opened it.”

She nodded, trying to piece her nerves back together. Hermione stepped back up to it and started to reach for it when she stopped. As if he knew, Draco handed her a pair of gloves. She turned the box to face her, the lock no more than a simple keyhole.

“Do you have the key?” she asked, adjusting the gloves.

He flicked his hand, unlocking the little latch. She took in a deep breath as she removed the little lock, setting it aside. Opening the lid, it creaked quietly. Then she was faced with it, the dagger that ruined her life. It was beautiful and she hated it. Sheathed inside an amaranthine blade cover, the design was uniquely Bellatrix. Spindling, ornate intricacies surrounded it. The handle was fairly plain, violently vermillion with a silver snake coiling around it. With steady hands, she pulled it from the velvet inside, finding it was surprisingly wieldy. Hermione unsheathed it, revealing the pristine goblin wrought iron dagger, the very same that inked her skin.

“I hate it,” she said, barely audibly.

She looked around the room, searching for her next plan of action. Instructing him around the room, he grabbed everything she needed, spreading it all out on the table between them.

“Is there something...already dead in here?” she asked. “An animal or something?”

Draco nodded, heading back into the stores. As he looked, Hermione carefully moved the dagger to the center of the table, next to it, her vial and the notebook. Suddenly having the answer in front of her, she felt a surge of hope in her chest. They could figure it out, whatever it was that was buried in her skin had to be in the dagger. Whatever curses were tied to it, she could solve it. She had to. She wouldn’t die like this.

He came back with a covered tray, setting it next to the notebook as she shoved her wand into her hair, designating focus. He took the lid off the tray revealing the dead murtlap underneath. Hermione frowned at the sight of it, yet she was glad it was already dead, she couldn’t bear to kill it.

“Will Slughorn know?” she asked.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said.

“Are you sure? I can find--”

“Granger, you’re more important than a dead murtlap,” Draco said. “I can get another one.”

She nodded. “Okay. Put these on,” she handed him another pair of gloves. “When I cut into it, you need to collect whatever comes out of the dagger into the bowl. Try not to get any blood.”

“You’re sure there's something in it?”

“I ran a diagnostic on my arm; it said there was poison, that’s why I asked before,” Hermione said, not looking at him. He couldn’t see her holding back the rest. Life-threatening. “I pulled something from my arm the day of the trial, it could be the poison or it could have been affected by my blood. I need exactly what comes out of this so we can figure out what it's made of.”

He looked as though he wanted to say something but stopped before he did. Then he moved the metal bowl under the creature as she grabbed the dagger again. Leaving the cover in the box, she lifted up the murtlap and held it over the bowl, angling it so whatever blood came out wouldn’t get in. With a hard swallow, she pressed her lips together and sliced down the back. Blood dribbled onto the table, followed by dark fluid. Draco moved the bowl to catch it as she held the dagger out, letting more of the poison slip out.

“Look,” she said.

Dark veins, similar to the ones riddling her arm, started extending from the cut. They travelled faster across the little creature’s body, dark as night whereas Hermione’s were grey. She started cutting it again, allowing him to press a towel against the blood. More poison came out, sizzling as it hit the bottom of the bowl. It was spilling out, filling the bowl almost completely. She put the poor creature back down, covering it again before dropping that dagger on the table.

Hermione grabbed the vial of the coagulated poison she’d collected from her arm, comparing it to the fresh liquid. The vial was black, thick, almost gelatinous while the liquid was a dark plum, nearing the same colour at the dagger’s cover. Her arm started burning again and she fought the urge to scratch at it.

“Now what?” she said, looking up at him.

“Now,” Draco said, opening the notebook, “we figure out what it is.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know.”

How much longer did she have?

Suddenly there was a pull at the door followed by loud knocking. Hermione quickly resheathed the dagger and put it in the box.

“Mione!”

She sighed aggressively as she looked at the mess in front of them. Draco scourgified the blood before putting several protective wards over the bowl of poison. She shoved the notebook and vial into her bag after throwing her gloves into an empty cauldron.

“Miiiiooooneeee!”

“Yeah, Gin?” she called back.

“Are you done with your potion?” The door rattled. “Why is this bloody door locked?”

“Go,” Draco said. “I got it.”

Hermione walked to the door and wrenched it open, looking at her friend with raised eyebrows. “Did you need something?”

Ginny looked behind her to see Draco casually cleaning, like it was his job. Then she looked back to Hermione with tight eyebrows. “How are you still alive?” she whispered loudly. “What is he even doing?”

She looked back, finding him vanishing the hidden murtlap before carrying the box to his bookbag. “He was helping me with my potion actually.”

“Helping you? Why?”

“Seamus messed it up in class and I was trying to figure out how to fix it,” she said, making it up as she went along. “He’s potions peer for a reason right?”

Ginny narrowed her eyes as she looked behind Hermione again, she looked behind her too, catching Draco looking up as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Little Weasley,” he said, nodding his head up.

“Malfoy,” Ginny responded tersely.

He started towards the door, holding Hermione’s bag out to her. She took it tentatively, muttering an awkward thank you. Looking back at Ginny, she smiled tautly. “Dinner?” She grabbed her hand and started pulling her away from the dungeons.

Ginny started going on about something when Hermione took one last glance behind her, catching a wink from Draco.

I think I like you.

A lot.

...

“No running in the halls!” Hermione called out as she walked. A few distant apologies came from the younger students as they slowed to a brisk walk.

Ambling up the moving staircases, she waited at it connected to the next platform. She couldn’t stop thinking about the poison, about how long it would take to figure out. There had to come a point when she needed to breathe, let herself not think for a moment or two. As the stairs connected again, she continued on her way past the Gryffindor common room when the portrait opened.

“Oh, hey,” Ron said.

Hermione nodded as she continued.

“Wait, can we talk, please?”

She turned back around, stopping a few feet in front of him. “About what?”

“I ought to apologise for how I acted, don’t you think?” he said, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Are you asking me if you should apologise?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Or did Ginny tell you to?”

“Well, yeah but--”

“God, you can’t even apologise without someone telling you that you should. Do you not understand what you did wrong?”

His friendly demeanor slipped off as his eyes hardened and his mouth formed a straight line. “I shouldn’t have outed your secret about your arm, I really am sorry.”

“That’s the only thing you're sorry for?” Hermione questioned. He nodded. “It’s the same thing over and over with you. You ruin something or you hurt my feelings without ever realising it. There's so many things I could hold grudges for but it would be too exhausting. You hurt more than just me.”

Ron narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. “If you’re talking about those Slytherin leeches, I’m not apologising for hating them.”

“What about almost hitting me after I stopped you from cursing Malfoy? Or what about that, huh? Are you going to apologise for nearly killing him?” she said, holding her stance as he loomed over her.

“I wouldn’t’ve killed him, not that he doesn’t deserve it,” Ron said, his lips curling in disgust.

Hermione scoffed. “His mum died and you were going to use that blasted spell on him. You know what it's like to lose someone and feel nothing but anger, you should not--”

“Do not compare Fred to the likes of the Malfoys!”

“I’m not!” she exclaimed. “I’m saying that if he had died under different circumstances, you would have reacted exactly the same way Malfoy did. But everyone would make excuses for you.”

“Just like you’re doing for him?” he growled. “Why are you so hellbent on defending him, huh? Have you gone mad? Fancy him or something?”

“No. I just know what it's like to be treated as the dregs of society and no one, not even him, should have to feel that way.” She took a step back, holding his once kind blue eyes in hers, realising just how angry they were. Maybe they’d always been like that, she’d just been blinded by her feelings to ever see it.

“I don’t accept your apology. It’s not genuine and neither are you.”

Then she walked away.

She was bent over the ingredients encyclopedia with the only light coming from her wand. Her hand was cramping from holding the pen so long, taking sloppy notes around Draco’s. She was trying to identify the poison, but he wouldn’t let her go near it if he wasn’t with her. Normally she would have found that to be incredibly frustrating, but she was doing everything in her power to keep from dying, she didn’t need to accidentally spill it on herself.

Taking inventory of every ingredient, plant, herb, animal, or the like that was labeled from mild to highly poisonous, she made her list. For the first time she felt totally focussed, no thoughts of insecurities or worries riddled her mind for the first time. Then the classroom door opened, creaking loudly, and pulling her away from her work.

“He said you might be in here,” Theo said, walking in. He waved his hand, lighting the few candles around the room.

She still hadn’t looked up. “Is everything okay? Did you need something?”

Theo pulled out the stool from across from her, settling in while nosily looking at what she was doing. Then he placed her mobile phone on the notebook in front of her. “Thing’s been ringing off the hook.”

Hermione flipped it open, finding three missed calls from Harry. She sighed slightly before pushing it away.

“And we should talk about Christmas, McGonagall stopped me in the hall today.”

She finally looked up, dropping her pen. It was only December 4th, why was she so arsed about Christmas? “Right, yeah. Are you staying here for the holiday?”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on it but where else have I got to go? Of course, I could make myself scarce if you and Draco--” She kicked his shin under the table as he chuckled. “Are you?”

“I don’t know. Ginny wants me to go to the Burrow. Actually, I bet that’s what Harry was calling about.” Hermione grabbed the mobile again, thinking about calling him.

“You don’t want to.”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t want to go, I can see it on your face,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows.

She sighed softly. “I just don’t want to deal with Ron or Molly, she’ll ask too many questions. Ginny will bring up the fact that she thinks I’m seeing someone and I don’t know if I can do it. Besides, we have to make this hell home.”

“Right. Well, party planning has never been my forte, I usually am the party.”

“Of course,” she smiled.

Theo nudged his shoe against hers under the table. “You seem happier.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You do. My best mate have anything to do with that?”

“Theo--”

“C’mon Hermione, I won’t tell him.” He was smiling widely, those convincing brown eyes laid on her.

She looked around the room, rubbing the back of her neck. She needed to tell someone; if everything went wrong, someone should know. “You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you, I’m completely serious.”

He sat up straighter and she watched as his eyes lost their teasing spark. “Okay.”

“I think I fancy him, a lot, and that by itself and wonderful and terrifying but…” She chewed her lip, looking away from him. “But my arm is killing me. I’m dying and if I can’t figure out what’s wrong then...then there’s no point in acting on my feelings. I have no idea how long I have and we just started trying to figure out what the poison is. I can’t...I--I don’t know what to do.”

Theo leaned forward and took her hands in his, ducking his head to meet her eye. “You’re not going to die, you can’t. He won’t let you.”

“I don’t want to. I’m not resigned to it, I’m just thinking rationally,” she said. “We know nothing about it and I don’t know how long it will take. If I could cut off my arm, I would but it’s in my veins, spreading probably.”

“You haven’t told anyone? Not even Ginny?”

“God, especially not Ginny. I told you, no one knows how bad it is. Harry and Ron still think it's just a scar.”

Theo squeezed her hands, huffing a bit. “You have to tell him.”

“I can’t,” Hermione whispered, feeling her heart squeezing.

“You have to.” He shook his head, taking more breaths. “I’ve been a bit concerned this whole time that you’ve been leading him on but you want him, right? Gods, he’ll kill me if he knows I’ve said this but the bloke’s been infatuated with you for years. You can’t fall for him, let him fall harder for you just to die without him knowing. That--that is fucking selfish.

“He’s been doing all of this for you, hasn’t he? If you tell him, he’ll only work harder, faster even. He’s bloody smart and the two of you can figure this out but he needs to know. And, I hope this doesn't happen, but if you can’t figure it out, wouldn’t you rather spend what time you have left knowing that he’s yours?”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheeks, trying desperately hard not to cry. She didn’t want to, she’d done enough crying and panicking and worrying. Theo was right, so right in fact that it frustrated her further.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“Of what?”

“Of dying. I was so prepared to last year. I would have sacrificed myself if it meant the end and no more lives lost but then we won. We won and I could start over, have the life I wanted. It was all just false hope because of this fucking thing. God, I’m so scared, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave everyone behind, especially him. I’ve had the least amount of time with him and it wasn’t until a few days ago that I finally fucking accepted what I feel.” She shook her head, her eyes hot and pricking with tears that she wouldn’t shed. Not anymore.

“But, I don’t want to tell him. You saw what happened when Narcissa died. If I can figure this out without him ever knowing, that would be best.”

Theo shook his head. “No, you can’t do that. I’m saying that because I know what happened. Hermione if you die without him knowing, this whole castle will go up in flames, not just a few newspapers.”

She let go of his hands to bury her face in hers. There was always something cataclysmically wrong and she wanted to fucking scream. In the moments she was alone with him it was as if nothing was ever amiss. He was there and he was gentle and considerate and everything she ever thought she would want but as soon as she stepped away from him, the world crumbled at her feet.

Beautiful isn’t it? Utter destruction.

Maybe once she thought it, now she found beauty in what was meant to be beautiful. No longer did she play symphonies for the rose in a garden of thorns, she played now for the entire forest. Everything that flourished, was green and lush and inviting; she wanted to sing the praises of all that was lovely and safe. Finding beauty in the broken moments was no longer enough. She craved the moments of ease and comfort, moments when he held her and everything else was a blur.

...

She sat alone at the Gryffindor table, staring at her empty teacup. Telling Draco she was dying was the last thing she wanted to do. It would hurt too much and there was never a right time. Theo had been right, again, about all of it. She was happier, truly happy and it was because of him. Those feelings were placed on hold as she contemplated the worst news she could give him.

She sat alone, with no one bothering her. Her friends seemed to sense she didn’t want to be bothered with mindless chat about the holidays or quidditch or whatever else healthy people talked about. Hermione grabbed the tea kettle and hand poured the water before selecting Earl Grey. Earl Grey was easy, there was nothing surprising, you got exactly what you were expecting. She wished life was a bit more Earl Grey. Taking a sip, a few owls flew overhead delivering letters when two fell in front of her.

The first was simply addressed to her, no return name. Upon opening it, she saw that it was an unnecessarily long letter from Molly, inviting her to come for Christmas. She said the usual, you’re our child as much as the rest, don’t worry about Ron he’s a right git. A part of her felt guilty for not wanting to go but she’d be miserable. She loved Christmas and she didn’t want to force herself into misery on her favourite holiday.

The next letter was a completely blank white envelope with no seal. Taking another quick sip, she pulled out the small piece of parchment and unfolded it. A small, white feather floated out, landing on the table in front of her.

In another life I would be able to ask you this in front of your friends but since I’m still keeping your secret, this shitty little note will have to do. I overheard little Weasley say Christmas was your favourite holiday and in this said life, I would have invited you home and pampered you with gifts. Since I no longer have a home and you are not a woman fond of pampering, fancy spending your holiday here with me?

DM

Hermione looked up, hoping to find her favourite pair of silver eyes across the Great Hall but she fell short. She found brown eyes instead. She furrowed her eyebrows, as if to ask where Draco was. Theo pointed down before using his fingers as legs, mimicking stairs. She smiled slightly before grabbing both of her letters and heading away.

“Hey,” Ginny said, grabbing her hand. Hermione turned around, presented with a banana nut muffin. “You have to eat something.”

“Right, thanks.”

She continued down to the dungeons, finding her way into the potions classroom. She opened the door and locked it as she always did, finding Draco standing at their table with gloves on. He looked up when he heard her and her stomach fluttered when he smiled slightly.

“No dinner?” she asked.

“Not hungry.”

Hermione walked up to the table, noticing there was nothing there he would have needed gloves for. “If I’m not allowed to research the poison alone, neither are you.”

He pulled the gloves off, tossing them onto the table next to the notebook. She lifted herself onto the table adjacent to him, swinging her legs. When he turned to face her, she held out a piece of muffin to him.

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. I forget to eat a lot and Ginny has to remind me,” she said, still holding the piece out. “I am being Ginny.”

Draco rolled his eyes before taking the piece from her. She smiled to herself as he looked back at the notebook, clicking the pen he nicked from her against the desk.

“I received two Christmas invitations this year,” Hermione said, taking another bite.

He hummed in response. “Have a lot of suitors, do you?”

She set the muffin down, watching him scribble something down. “Yes, I suppose so. One of the letters, the writer invited me to their humble home where four eligible young bachelors live, one who works for the Ministry. I am considering it.”

Draco turned back to her and took a step forward, placing his hands on either side of the table around her. He looked at her with lazy silver eyes, dark eyelashes dangerously attractive on him. She felt her stomach jump in excitement from his gaze and proximity.

“What’d the other say?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Oh just some homeless, penniless man looking for a Christmas companion. I suppose I could entertain it, sympathise with those who have less than I do.”

He cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows slightly. “That would be generous of you. I think he’d rather appreciate your company.”

“What do you think he would suggest we do?” she asked, tilting her head.

“If he’s a gentleman, he’d take you to dinner, buy you whatever you wanted. Then again, it’ll be cold, he might fancy keeping you up in your bedroom for two weeks,” Draco said leaning closer to her.

“Would he?”

“I believe he would,” he said before kissing her.

Hermione kissed him back, smiling into it. She held the sides of his face, his jaw fitting perfectly in her hands. When he pulled away, she asked,

“Would you actually take me to dinner?” she asked, playing with the collar of his button up.

“Yes, in another life,” he said, moving his hands to hold her hips.

She looked up at him. “I had another life once, not too far from here.”

“I don’t fancy muggle nonsense.”

“I’m muggle nonsense,” she said. “No one knows us there and you could take me to a proper dinner like the pizza place in central London, they’re greasy but delicious. Unless of course, you’re all talk.”

Draco placed his hand on the side of her neck, his thumb angled her head up further to look at him. “Are you using my word against me, Granger?”

“I could always ask Theo, I’m sure he’d love muggle pizza.” She was teasing but she could see the wall behind his eyes. “I would want to show you around London for a day or two, genuinely. And I am not against the idea of dinner but I’m not fancy.”

His face softened somewhat. “You actually want to spend Christmas with me?”

“Yes, I do.” Draco kissed her again, longer this time. She melted into him so easily, it was almost pathetic. When he pulled away again, she pecked him quickly, not wanting his lips to leave hers, ever.

He pushed a curl from her face. “What do you consider fancy?”

She laughed. “Um, the fanciest dinner I have ever been to was Slug Club in sixth year.” He narrowed his eyes. “What? I had to put on a dress and care about how my hair looked. I was not raised in galas and I didn’t learn to walk in a ballroom.”

“I’ll try not to make it too arduous for you,” he smirked before turning back to the table.

“Found anything?” She hopped off the adjacent table before walking around it. Leaning over the notebook, she noticed even more scrawling before one particular note caught her eye. “You think it's cursed?”

“I’m not ruling it out,” he said, cross referencing more toxic ingredients.

Hermione slid on his pair of gloves as she found the glamoured bowl on the back shelf, enchanted so only they could see it. Setting it back on the table, casting the wards off, she looked into it. It hadn’t coagulated or changed any, problem was finding out what was in it. Remembering what Draco had said about smells tipping off certain ingredients, she hovered above the bowl, trying to discern a specific scent. She recognized it but it was difficult, something she didn’t smell often enough to know.

“I can smell something but I’m not sure, though I reckon you have a better nose than I do.”

He looked up. “Is that a complement?” She rolled her eyes as he bent over the bowl, seeming to smell something too. Then he started flipping through the notebook, quickly running his finger down the pages until he found it. “It smells like wet dirt which could one of two poisonous plants, hemlock or deadlyius.”

“So it could both or just one,” she sighed. “God, this is going to take forever isn’t it?”

She moved the cauldron from atop the ingredient encyclopedia, finding Draco’s little black notebook underneath. Hermione grabbed it, tempted to open it when he noticed. He carefully pulled it from her hands, sliding it into his trousers pocket.

“Why are you so secretive?” she asked, pulling the encyclopedia in front of her.

“I could ask you the same question.”

Flipping through the encyclopedia slowly, she looked up at him. “Tell me a secret.”

Draco clicked the pen against the table as he looked at her, considering what to say. She continued flipping until she came upon the ‘Hs’, starting the search for hemlock.

“My favourite colour is periwinkle but I tell everyone its green,” he said quietly.

She smiled as she looked at the book, trying to suppress a laugh. “Periwinkle?”

“Yes, periwinkle,” he said, pointing to hemlock with his pen. “Now you, a secret.”

She held her place before looking up, trying to think of a good one. “I drink every single tea differently.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you? It used to drive my dad mad, he gave up making me tea by the time I was six.”

Draco leaned forward on his hands, a rare and playful glint in his eye. Hermione tilted her head as she looked at him, some odd feeling of warmth surrounding her heart.

“You only drink green tea with honey,” he started, “and only when it's sunny out.”

“Is that it?” she challenged.

“Earl Grey plain and only when you’re upset. Peppermint after exams or around the holidays. Chamomile with one sugar, one cream, and only when you’re stressed, and you drink it a lot.” She rolled her eyes. “You won’t drink anything with ginger or mint in the name and you finish every cup with a single biscuit.”

She was overwhelmed by how much he knew, flattered even. Someone who has all of your particularities memorized.

“Have you been stalking me, Malfoy?” she teased.

“Just observant.” Those eyes studied hers, making her nervous and excited all over again. The flush creeping up her neck caused her to look back down at the book. She found hemlock and began reading over its properties as Draco scribbled something down in the notebook.

Hemlock is a small, flowering plant known for its uses in multiple poisons. When ingested this plant proves to be particularly fatal. The deadly plant causes several of the following symptoms: nervous trembling, respiratory failure, salivation, lack of coordination, convulsions, and oftentimes death. The most well known use of hemlock is in Doxycide, created by Zygmunt Budge.

Acknowledging her lack of symptoms caused by hemlock, she flipped to the front of the book, searching for deadlyius. Upon reading, something made sense.

“It’s not hemlock,” Hermione said.

“Why not?” he asked, walking around the table.

She pointed to the description of deadlyius. “It says, ‘Deadlyius, a rare fungi commonly found on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, is a highly poisonous ingredient. When used, the fungi can cause severe and sustained bleeding. Due to its severity, deadlyius has not been used in potion making since the late nineteenth century.’” Hermione looked to him. “That’s why it bleeds incessantly, it's this.”

Draco raised his eyebrows slightly. “I’m trying to think of any way to refute it but the smell and the bleeding...it has to be part of it, and if it’s in the Forbidden Forest, we can get more.”

“To recreate it, once we find the rest,” she said, he nodded.

Then she let out a small, sudden laugh. They could figure this out, they would. She wouldn’t have to die like this and she would never have to tell him.

“Mione? Are you alright?” Ron whispered.

She turned to face him in the bed, pulling the cover over her shoulder. It was dark and she was thankful for it; he couldn’t see the silent tears that had been falling down her face.

“Fine,” she said.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

“Was it...okay? I mean…”

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, it was good. Nice.”

The house under them settled, the wind whipped through the open window in his confined bedroom. It was a particularly cold day for June and the crickets seemed more alive than they’d ever been. It was the first time she missed the noise the Burrow was known for but in the dead of night, there was no reason for it.

“Did you…”

She opened her eyes, finding the faint outline of his nose in front of her. The answer was obvious, she hadn’t finished, she hadn’t even come close but she couldn’t say that. Not with the tight air and the hefty quilt, not when everything felt overwhelmingly suffocating. That’s how everything with Ron felt, suffocating.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good.”

“I’m going to get water, do you want a glass?” she whispered.

“No, thanks.”

With a quick nod, she climbed out of bed, finding her pajama bottoms. He hadn’t even taken off her shirt. He barely even kissed her. It was weird and he was awkward and she hated every second of it. At least she wasn’t a virgin anymore, at least someone had wanted her.

Walking down the stairs, she tried to remember which ones creaked, attempting to avoid them in the pitch darkness, only lit by the natural glow of night. Something about the Burrow made her uneasy. It wasn’t always that way. She used to love the Burrow, the feeling of family being around wherever she turned, but it was all too much. It hindered on her desires to constantly be alone. If she had somewhere else to go, she would. On the first plane to Germany, or anywhere, she would go but she promised Molly she’d stay. No one breaks a promise to Molly.

Finding herself in the kitchen, she grabbed a mug from the sink and filled it with water. She drank it quickly, needing to fill it again.

“I don’t want to scare you, but I am in here.”

She turned around, squinting through the dark. “George?”

“The same,” he responded. “Come sit, I don’t bite.”

He had lit the few small, nearly through candles on the long dining table, offering a warm glow to the room. Hermione cozied herself at the end chair, pulling her knees up to her chest. George was sitting back, a bottle of muggle beer in his hand. His red hair was ruffled and circles under his eyes were apparent even in the dim light.

“It’s late, you alright?” he asked.

“Everyone’s always asking if I’m alright,” she responded, taking a sip from the mug. “Are you?”

“I’m drinking my third beer, alone, in the dark, on a Wednesday,” George said. “I’d say I’m doing just fine.”

She smiled slightly, appreciating his ability for humour still, even without Fred. They sat together, taking small, quiet sips of their drinks, appreciating the quiet that came so late. Hermione scratched at the nape of her neck, feeling her hair coming out of its tie. She thought she’d be sweaty after sex, or at least out of breath.

“George?”

“Mm?”

“You’re like my brother.”

“Just so, you’re another sister I never wanted.” She looked at him. “Teasing.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it a secret?”

She shook her head. “No, but I don’t mind if you keep it one.”

“Right, go on then.”

She looked down at the mug, finding a small bubble spinning along the edges of the water. Then it popped. “Do you think we’ll be okay again?”

He sighed, putting the empty bottle down before leaning his head on his hand. “Eventually, at least I hope.”

She nodded. “Me too.” Then she looked at him and he smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I lost two people really close to me. Close as Fred was to you and I don’t know...it feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I haven’t been able to think about it until now.”

“I did forget how to breathe,” he said. “Still not sure I’m doing it right, if I’m honest.”

An owl oohed outside the window, catching both their ears. Hermione looked outside, finding the moon; it was a crescent tonight, close to being gone again. The moon always came back, it was never gone for long.

“Maybe we’ll never breathe the same again,” George continued. “We’ll figure it out again but I reckon it’ll be different.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, watching the owl fly past the moon.

She sat in the floral armchair with a glass of water balanced on her knees pressing into her chest. Looking out the window, she found the moon was gone for tonight and there was nothing in the sky besides a smattering of stars to look at. Her chest felt heavy and her heart was beating at its own pace, too fast for what she was doing, simply sitting. It did that a lot, beat too fast. Even when she was okay, or convinced herself that she was okay, it would beat inside her chest cavity just fast enough to stir up some resting anxieties. As it was now, and all she could do was let it.

“Bloody scared me,” Theo said, padding down the hall, rubbing his eyes. “Why’re you awake?”

“Dream woke me up.”

He sat on the settee, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. “What was it?”

She shrugged. “A memory, they always are. Why are you up?”

“Oh’ve got my own haunts,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning his head on the back of the settee.

“I can be an ear,” she said, taking a sip of her forgotten water.

He huffed slightly, sort of a laugh. “You are quite the ear, know what to say. It’s nothing really, just some blasted memories from when I was a lad.”

“You never talk about your childhood, or your family.”

“For a reason. I had a, uh, rough time, we’ll say. Only made it through because of that blonde prick,” Theo said, his voice getting quieter. “It’s always the same memory, like my mind’s playing some joke on me. It’s got others to choose from, too many even, but it always picks the same one.”

“What happens?”

He didn’t say anything for a long while, the only sound coming from their soft breathing. She was used to Theo’s nonstop chatter, without it, the world seemed dull.

“I was fifteen. I was a kid, you know, but my father, he didn’t care about my age. He decided that breaking any ounce of innocence I had from a young age would make me strong, some bullshit like that. ‘Nott men were vikings, Theodore,’ he would say. ‘Men of power, men of will.’ I’m not going to lie, that man fucking beat me round. As soon as I hit five years old, there was hardly a day I made it out with a bruise or a scar. Nothing permanent, can’t be tainting our name with scars.

“Anyway, I was fifteen, right about to be sixteen, and I was home for Easter. This was fifth year and, you know, I always knew my father was horrid, beyond even. He was...I guess I just never thought he’d be one of ‘em. A Death Eater. So, Easter, I was home, and he said we had a guest. That man, if you can even call him that, was in my home. With his fucking yellow eyes and his long fingernails, he was there. Said he was looking for young recruits, said my father recommended me.” Then he laughed.

“Recommended me to the bloody Dark Lord. Fifteen, I was fifteen. I said no, I said it politely too, I remember. He didn’t like no. I got cursed when I tried to run but I made it to the floo. I got to the Malfoys and thank Gods his parents weren’t there. I fell into a seizure and I can remember every second of it, can feel it now even. In all honesty, I’m lucky. Draco, he...he had it worse. And I guess after his dad fucked up, Vold sunk his teeth into him and I wasn’t there to stop it. But, you know, I tried, I was there. It was bound to be one of us, sometimes I wish it was me.

“Just that night, it comes back. When it does, I don’t sleep for a week after. And it makes me ill, if I could forget it...a healer offered to erase it after my trial. They used it, did you know that? They used that memory in front of the Wizengamot, fucking bastards. She offered to erase it and I said no. Maybe I was trying to prove a point by keeping it but I’d feel guilty. If Draco has to live with his memories, I can keep mine too. Every shitty thing that happened before and after, we get to keep them all.”

A prolonged silence filled the air after he finished and she didn’t know what to say. Possibly saying nothing was best, as was the job of an ear. Quietly, Hermione rose from the chair and sat her glass on the coffee table. Taking the blanket from around her shoulders, she carried it with her to the settee. She sat down next to him, tossing the blanket over the both of them. Theo picked his head up when he felt her wrap her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

There was nothing that needed to be said. Her heart went out to him and all she could offer was a bit of solace, a moment for him to understand that he wasn’t alone. Theo was one of the best people and the best people didn’t deserve to hurt. So she held him, trying to communicate every word of despair and guilt she could never say.

...

She was scribbling all over the page, getting her running thoughts out. Everything that contradicted the deadlyius fungi, everything that would work in harmony with it, she scribbled down. It wasn’t long before she realised just how little she knew about potions in general and the various ingredients and their uses. She was never fond of becoming a potioneer, why would she need to know? Forethought proved helpful.

“This seat taken?” That voice, smooth as still waters, crawled up her back. She looked up, meeting silver eyes. He gestured around the room to the full tables. “Nowhere else to go.”

Hermione pulled her book bag off the table, giving him room to create his own organized chaos. Draco sat down, pulling out his charms textbook and the leather notebook they’d been using. He casually placed it in front of her before returning to his own class work. She took it, deciding to see if he had any greater insight than her own about the fungi. As she skimmed their notes, she felt his shoe bump hers under the table. She looked through her lashes, finding that he was seemingly focussed on his work. His leg stretched out further under the table, sneaking between her ankles.

Hermione set her chin in her hand, her fingers covering the small upturn of her lips that she was desperate to hide. She truly felt like a thirteen-year-old with a bloody little crush! It was ridiculous and it felt stupidly thrilling.

“Deadlyius has no interactions?” she whispered.

Draco looked up. “Unfortunately, it is congenial with everything.”

“That makes our job harder,” she mumbled, flipping aimlessly through the notebook. She stopped when she came upon a drawing. It was simple yet profoundly intricate for a doodle. Hermione couldn’t draw to save her life. She admired it, the little scene of the Hogwarts castle amongst the trees. Etched finely into the page as she ran her finger over it.

“Hermione!”

The entire library shushed as she looked up, searching for the voice. Ron was stalking through the library, his red hair complementing a red face.

“Jesus,” she mumbled as he came over. “Any chance you have a polyjuice potion?”

Draco hummed in response, not picking his head up. Ron was focussed on her as he stormed through the tables and aisles. He finally came up to her small table, a bit secluded from everyone else, face still fuming.

“You can’t yell in the library, Ron.”

“You’re not coming to the Burrow for holiday?” he asked.

“No, I owled Molly already.”

“Yeah, I fucking know!”

“Do not shout at me,” she said calmly. “Is there a problem?”

“You’ve broken an old woman’s heart, that's the bloody problem. And she’s got it all blamed on me,” he snapped. “It’s my fault you won’t come is it? Are you not mature enough to have Christmas with my family?”

“You’re asking me if I’m mature?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m not coming, I have responsibilities as Head Girl here. I’m sure Molly understands that I’m not abandoning anyone.”

“She loves you like her own, you can’t do this to her.”

“I can’t do it to her, or I can’t do it to you, Ron?”

He stopped, his face paling. She waited for a response, watching as he scoffed a laugh, looking away from her. Then he saw Draco, sharing a library table with his ex-girlfriend.

“Fuck are you sitting here for, Malfoy?” he spat.

Draco looked up, pointing his pen around. “Nowhere else to sit Weasley.”

“You could’ve left.” He looked at Hermione. “Why are you letting him sit here? He’s a maniac.”

“He’s doing his homework, not bothering me, why do you care?” she sighed.

“Oh, homework?” He looked at the long parchment in front of Draco, writing that had taken a lot of time and effort. Ron ripped the parchment from the table before tearing it straight in half as Draco watched.

“Alright,” Draco said, carefully setting down his pen. Ron balled up the parchments before throwing them, hitting Draco square in the chest. Hermione watched, watched as Draco’s jaw tightened and his eyes turn dark. Under the table, she moved her ankle against his, trying to calm him down with whatever touch she could manage.

“You should walk away mate,” Draco said, standing up.

“Don’t fucking mate me, you piece of pureblood scum.”

Draco scoffed. “Clever.” Ron stepped forward before spitting on the Slytherin, clear liquid coating his neck and cheek. With a hard glare, Draco wiped his face, shaking the excess to the ground. “I’ll say it again, walk away.”

“Hell you think you’re talking to?” Ron said. He jabbed his finger into his chest as he scowled up at him. “You can’t do shit, Malfoy. Not unless you want to join dear old daddy in Azkaban.”

Draco ducked his head down, eyes narrowing in on Ron’s. “If it means kicking your fucking teeth in, I’m happy to go.”

“Both of you, enough,” Hermione said, placing her hand on Ron’s shoulder.

He turned slowly, blue eyes darker than normal, his eyebrows pulled together as he glared at her. “Why are you constantly defending him? He’s a fucking monster, Hermione. You of all people should know that.” Then back to Draco, he shoved his finger farther, causing him to take a step back. “Find somewhere else to fucking sit.”

Hermione caught him looking to her, jaw so tense she was afraid he’d break his teeth. His hands were in fists and his eyes were starkly black, she shook her head, telling him not to do anything. No amount of beating Ron up would be worth it, not where they would send him.

She stepped forward, placing her hand on Ron’s chest, turning him to face her. “I’m sorry I won’t be there for Christmas, send my love when you go, will you?”

“You didn’t answer me. Why the fuck are you defending him?”

“Christmas won’t be the same without your family and—”

He cut off her blatant distraction. “What the fuck, Hermione? Are you fucking serious? He’s fucking insane, you saw what he did just because his whore mother—”

Draco was about to lunge forward when she intervened,

“Ronald,” she said harshly, pointedly, pressing her hand harder against his chest. “You’re on thin ice, you have been for months. I’m so close to not tolerating it anymore so please leave. I’ll see you after holidays and maybe Charlie and Bill can talk some sense into you. Until then, leave me alone.”

His eyebrows furrowed harder, the line between them burying deep. “Hermione--”

“Thin, fucking ice,” she whispered.

Ron took a step back, nodding slowly as he went. He barreled past Draco, shoulder checking him as he went. Hermione let out a tight breath before sitting against the edge of the table, her hands gripping the hard wood. He was an absolute menace and there was nothing she could do about it. She felt she could hardly breathe anymore without inciting a severe amount of aggression from him. It was all her fault; she broke up with him and now he’s just this constantly hideous person. She took in a deep breath, focussing on the scuff marks of her Mary Janes. She couldn’t control him, she never could. As she took her breaths, a much nicer, shinier pair of shoes came into view.

“I apologise for him,” she said, looking up.

“Don’t apologise, especially not for him,” Draco said, his voice hard and his face still tense. “You know, if you didn’t care about him, I’d fucking kill him.”

“Good thing I care about him then.”

He scoffed, looking somewhere beyond her. “Not sure why. He deserves a fucking right hook to the jaw.”

She could see it in his eyes, the same amount of indescribable anger and defeat from the day his mother passed. Again, something she’d never understand but instead of the frustration she felt with Ron, she felt desire to help. Bumping her shoe against his, he looked back to her. Her eyes were soft, brows pulled together in considerable concern and determination.

“Please, calm down,” she whispered. “No one is going to get hurt because of me. He’s just…”

“Hurting you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, to possibly defend Ron when she realised just how little there was to say. Pulling the dead brother card wasn’t a valid excuse anymore. Her parents had died, and she hadn’t let it change her, maybe she became more sullen, more addicted but she was still her. Ron wasn’t himself.

Pushing herself from the table, she sat back down, smoothing her hands over the scattered parchments around her. “He’s just angry all of the time. But I can handle him, I always have. It’s best he takes it out on me anyway.” Then she shrugged, focussing her attention on one word in the notebook. Divisive. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“Just because you can handle it, doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Hermione looked up through her lashes, finding him sitting in front of her. His eyes were dulling, a stony grey now. He was calming down. “When did you become so wise?”

“I’ve seen it before.” She was about to ask for an explanation when he continued. “Weasley did say something interesting though. You, constantly defending me?”

“The day your mum—”

“He wouldn’t have said constant if it was one time.”

She sighed, sitting up straighter in her seat as she gathered papers together. “He said he hates Slytherin, every last person who wears green. He said he wanted to see them all dead, especially you.”

“I’ve heard worse, Granger.” She felt his leg slot between her ankles again, this time he was the source of soothing.

Hermione stopped fiddling and looked at him. “That’s not the point. No one should have to experience what I did. It’s the prejudice, the same thing Riddle thought now targeted at you.”

“I can’t see that little prick becoming the next dark lord.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, I—”

“As much as you want, you can’t change the mind of every person you meet.”

She looked into his eyes, a current of every wrong thing, every right feeling coursed through her in fleets of never-ending questions and aggravation. Something had to give. She didn’t want it to be her.

“Have I changed your mind?” she asked quietly.

He looked around the library as his hand slowly crept across the table. She held hers out until the tips of their fingers touched. He held them, lightly brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

“Amongst other things but yes, you have.”

She watched their hands, admiring the way his slender fingers held hers almost perfectly. Even just this simple touch made her impossibly weak. Though, she couldn’t find it in herself to mind the affect he had on her anymore, it simply was, and she reveled in it.

“When did it change?”

“Definitively, when I took the mark.”

She looked up then, tightening her hold on him. “You didn’t want it.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” he asked.

“You told me you didn’t want it.”

He nodded once. “I tried to convince myself that I did, that I was chosen for something special and important.” Draco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes still on their hands. “I always believed that whatever my father said was fact. I was better than everyone else because of my blood. It wasn’t until I met others who believed otherwise that the question slipped into my mind. Then this annoying little girl with frizzy hair had the audacity to be smarter than me and I was confused for years. How could she, someone I was told was beneath me, be better than me at everything?”

“I was not annoying,” Hermione said, biting away a smile.

“You were but I was worse, we’ll leave it at that.”

“So, you’re inherent need to be the best made you question your ancient family values?” she questioned.

He shrugged. “Planted a seed at least. Then I found myself fancying the insufferable know it all and I had a bit of an existential crisis.”

“You fancied me?” she asked teasingly. Then she remembered what Theo had said to her, infatuated with you for years.

“Don’t act surprised, Granger.” He finally looked at her and her favourite silver was back, gleaming with…was it nervousness?

She raised her eyebrows. “I am genuinely surprised. Can I ask what made you fancy me?”

“You can ask but I won’t answer.”

Under the table she wrapped her ankles around his leg as she leaned forward. She laced their fingers together, forgetting for a moment they were in plain sight. Everyone else was focussed on their work and she was intensely focussed on him.

“I won’t tease,” she said, suppressing a smile. “Tell me.”

Draco chewed his bottom lip as he looked at her. He shook his head slightly, eyes finding the ceiling as he let out a long sigh. “The Yule ball.” He looked back to find her smiling. “Fair, I wasn’t the only one.”

“What an awful night that turned into,” she said, thinking back. “What was it then? The proper curls, Ginny’s sticky lip gloss, the dress?”

He shook his head. “It was just you.”

More flutters, relentless and childish as they were, she found comfort in the flutters. Looking back to their hands, Hermione traced the back of his, down the pronounced veins, over his knuckles.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat, making her look through her lashes. Draco pulled his hand away, pushing himself from the table. “I need a book.”

He walked down one of the longer aisles until he disappeared behind the tall shelves. Hermione looked around again as she counted in her head. After ten, she casually stood up, brushing her skirt down. She straightened out a few more papers before taking the same walk through the aisle. Looking left and right, she found no one around as she rounded the corner near the restricted section. She searched more, an extremely tall man with white hair shouldn’t be so difficult to find. Until a cold hand wrapped around her wrist, did her thoughts stop. He pulled her into him before pressing her against the far wall of the aisle. He grabbed her hands and pinned them against the wall before crashing his lips on hers. She kissed him back fervently, reaching on her toes to meet his lips. Soft yet rough and indescribably hungry as their lips moved together. Hermione smiled into the kiss, unable to keep herself from the uphill of emotions creating a fire in her heart.

Draco pulled away, leaning his forehead against hers as his own smile crossed his lips. He never smiled. That meant more than any of his beautiful words.

“Now you’re mine,” he whispered.

It echoed in her heart.

Mine.

Yours.

She tasted pennies. Lifting her hand to her bottom lip, she’d realised she’d chewed too hard. “Shit.” Scooting off her bed, she opened her bedroom door and made her way to the washroom. Which was currently occupied.

“Theo?”

“In the shower, love!”

“Can I just grab some loo roll?” she shouted through the door.

“’spose!”

Hermione opened the door, keeping her eyes cast to the tile as she walked in. The floor was slick from the steam and she willed herself not to trip as found the roll, ripping off a few squares. The shower turned off as she folded the paper. Theo’s legs came into view, dripping wet. Then a towel followed, and she finally looked up. He smiled, shaking his mop of curls, getting her face and shirt wet.

“You’re a menace,” she said. She pressed the tissue to her lip as she exited the washroom.

“You love me, really,” he said, following her out. “You alright there?”

“Fine.” Hermione leaned against the kitchenette counter, pulling the paper from her lip, looking at the blood. It looked wrong. It wasn’t bright red, no, more of the purplish red as seen in her arm.

Theo noticed, crossing his arms over his body, he nudged his head towards it. “That doesn’t look alright.”

She sighed, soaking up the rest and crumbling the tissue in her hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Haven’t told him, have you?”

“Theo—”

“Bloody selfish,” he said, shaking his head. “Leading him to grief.”

“Are you saying I’m going to die?” she bit.

He shrugged. “I don’t want you to, believe me. I just think—”

“I don’t remember asking your opinion, Theo. Do me a favour and keep it to yourself.”

He held his arms tighter against himself as he looked at her, brows pulled together, eyes filled with incredulity. “You can pull that shit with your ginger friends or Harry but not with me. I’ve not said anything out of line, I haven’t gone and told him myself, which I ought to do. Dying isn’t a matter of secrets, Hermione, and if you’re going to keep this a secret you need to stop whatever it is you have with him.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m not fucking finished,” Theo said, voice jarringly calm. “We’ve all been through shit and I know that, but I am not letting anything else happen to him. I’ve done all I can to keep that prick above water and you dying will make him fucking drown. We’ve all got our Achilles heel, you’re his. So, hear me when I say this. You’re going to tell him and you’re going to figure this out. It’s not an option.”

There had to come a time when she understood why Theo was a Slytherin. This was that time. She knew he was right, as always. It was so much harder to say it out loud.

Hermione went to chew her lip again when she remembered. Sighing deeply, she met his brown eyes again, still stern and hard. “I don’t know how to tell him.”

“There’s not going to be a right time, you just have to. Or I will and I reckon that’d piss him off more.”

“He’ll be angry with me?”

“Might,” he said, shaking more water from his hair. “He’s not keen on secrets.”

“No but he can have his lot of them?”

Theo snorted a laugh. “Welcome to Draco. There’s not a thing about me he doesn’t know but I couldn’t tell you his favourite colour.”

“Periwinkle,” she whispered, looking down at her socked feet.

“What was that?”

The sound of the portrait door opening made them both stop and look down the hall. Draco walked in, carrying a few books in his hand, bag slung over his shoulder. He looked between them, eyes resting on Hermione longer.

“Alright?”

“Fine,” she smiled.

He looked to Theo. “Fancy some clothes mate?”

Theo laughed, somehow becoming himself again. “Think I’m trying to steal your lass?” He walked through the rest of kitchenette, smile wide on his face. He patted Draco’s back as he went, disappearing down the hall to his room.

“Are you still doing schoolwork?” Hermione asked, discreetly vanishing the used tissue. “It’s almost Christmas.”

Draco walked towards the settee, tossing his bag on the ground next to it. He gestured to the cushions as he took his seat. She followed, sitting cross legged next to him.

“I found something,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He grabbed her chin and angled her head up, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” she said, wrapping her hand around his wrist. His eyes lingered on her lips, the crease between his brows becoming more pronounced. “Malfoy, I’m fine. It’s just a nick.”

“Episkey.” Her lip stitched itself back together, but he lingered longer.

She gently pulled his hand from her chin, wrapping her arms around his as she leaned her head on his shoulder. She pulled the book forward on his lap, tapping at the cover. “Show me what you found.”

He sat back against the settee, relaxing under her touch. Opening the book to a certain page, she noticed something catching. “You can’t dog-ear pages,” she said, smoothing out the top corner.

“I can and I have.”

“You’re going to ruin the book, just use a bookmark.”

“I don’t carry five-hundred bookmarks with me, Granger,” Draco said.

She huffed, propping her chin on his shoulder to look at him. “You don’t need five-hundred, you just need one.”

“What if I have to mark multiple pages?” he challenged.

“Use a post-it note.”

“A what?”

“God,” she said, playfully rolling her eyes. “Just show me.”

He pointed to a drawing of a shrub. “This is rue. It’s proven to work successfully in counter acting poisons, even having healing properties. I don’t think it’s a cure all but, here,” he pointed to a paragraph farther down the page, “it says deadlyius refuses to grow near it.” He flipped the page, showing a drawing of fungi growing in a line, across from it, shrubs of rue, neither plant touching.

“You think it’s the counter ingredient?” she asked, sitting up.

“I think it could be one. With poisons, there’s usually more than one ingredient needed to counter the effects.” He flipped more pages, finding the next marked one. Hermione smoothed out the dog-eared corner with her thumb.

“Rose oil,” she read aloud.

“Potioneers stopped using deadlyius in the late nineteenth century. Rose oil and poppy head were commonly used then as healing ingredients. It’s a bit of a long shot but it might work.”

Hermione looked at him, her eyes narrowed in acute disbelief. “I never would have found this.”

“Don’t reveal your weakness, Granger,” he said, smirking slightly. She shook her head. Draco grabbed his bag and sat it on his lap. “Do you want to test it?”

“You have all of it?” He nodded. She grabbed his bag and placed it on the coffee table before settling on the ground. Leaning over the table, she dumped his bag out, various papers and bottles came out. She caught sight of his little black notebook.

Draco sat on the other side of the table, slowly grabbing the notebook and dropping it into his lap. “Nosy.”

She rolled her eyes before clearing everything but the ingredients off the table. Looking at the labels of everything, she found herself unsure of where to start. Draco summoned a bowl from the kitchenette, setting it between them. Summoning a candle and grabbing one of his books, he transfigured everything into a proper cauldron and fire.

“Cat hair and dandelion, standard potion ingredients,” he said, pushing them together. “Rose oil and poppy head could be one or the other, both would be ineffective. They do essentially the same thing, but fungi are picky.” He pushed them together before grabbing the little bottle labeled rue. “Then this.”

Hermione looked over the bottles before grabbing the last one, a vile green liquid settling like oil in the glass. “Is this from the deadlyius?” He nodded. “Did you extract this yourself?”

“Yes.”

“It’s poisonous, you have to be careful,” she chastised.

“I was,” he said, taking it from her hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

Looking over the many bottles in front of her, she decided to start. Grabbing the cat hair, she dropped a few hairs into the cauldron, followed by the rue and poppy head. Mixing it with a pen, she watched as they started coagulating. Draco took a bottle that had fallen on the ground and poured some of the clear liquid into the cauldron. The standard ingredient caused the ingredients to commix. She stirred more, the scent of the poppy head making her slightly lightheaded. As she stirred, he had retrieved a few glasses for testing.

Hermione poured the potential cure into a glass before looking back to him. “What are we supposed to test it on?” Draco rolled up his sleeve, barring his right arm out to her as he set it on the table. “No, we’re not testing it on you.”

“What if it works?” he countered.

“What if it doesn’t?”

“There’s going to be a combination that works,” he said.

“If this one doesn’t work, you’re going to bleed out until I find one that does,” she said, holding the liquid poison away from him. “What if none of them work?”

“I’m fairly confident in my research abilities, Granger. Give me the bottle.”

Her brows pulled together as she looked at him. She didn’t want him to get hurt. “This is ridiculous. You’re healing bag isn’t here and—”

Draco stood up from the coffee table, retreating down the hall towards Theo’s bedroom. Hermione sighed before grabbing their notebook and ripping a paper out of it. She folded it into four, four variations of ingredients, four attempts to stop the bleeding. They should test it on her, she already suffered through constant bleeding, she knew how to handle it. After she finished writing the variations on the papers, Draco had returned with his bag. He held it out to her before setting it on the table opposite the cauldron.

“Was that here?” she asked.

“I asked Theo to keep it, just in case,” he said as he sat back down. He placed his arm on the table, looking at her with raised brows. Hermione ran her fingers over his soft, unaffected skin. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. Draco grabbed her arm where it lay over his, forcing her to look at him. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“I—”

“It will work,” he assured.

She opened his leather healing bag and took out everything that he used on her. Organizing the coffee table into the sections of her mind, she looked over everything again. Hermione prepared to start the next potential cure as the first one worked. It had to be used right away, fresh ingredients rarely lasted long in potion form.

“Okay, have this ready,” she said, handing him a blood replenisher. She unscrewed the liquid deadlyius and took in a deep breath before holding it over his arm. Hermione placed her hand in his, squeezing it tightly as she let a few drops fall onto his skin. Nothing happened at first. She grabbed the glass of the first cure, readying herself to use it.

Then his skin started to sizzle. Draco squeezed her hand tighter; she was worried her fingers would break. Steam erupted from the liquid as it corroded his skin. Then the blood came sputtering out, bleeding profusely from the small laceration. She poured the first cure over it. The wound immediately rejected it, growing wider on his arm. More blood spilled out.

Hermione pressed a towel to his arm as he drank the blood replenisher. “Press down on this,” she said, grabbing his other hand and replacing hers.

He groaned quietly, craning his neck back from the pain. She hurriedly concocted the next. Dandelion, standard liquid, rose oil, and rue. She stirred slowly, for if she rushed it, the ingredients would reject each other and go to waste. As she stirred, she watched him struggle to keep the pain down.

“Are you okay?” she asked, trying to focus on the potion and him simultaneously.

“Been better,” he said, pressing down harder.

“Take another.” Hermione pushed a replenisher towards him as she poured the potion into another glass to cool. She held his hand again, rubbing the palm of his hand in comforting circles. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

The potion had cooled enough; she lifted the bloodied towel from his arm and immediately poured the potion over it. Draco untensed his jaw slightly as they watched it. The blood had lessened, and the wound started to close in on itself when it stopped.

Hermione looked over the ingredients she used and decided to try one more time. Cat hair, standard liquid, rose oil, and rue. She kept her eye on his arm as she stirred. He wiped the blood away, making the wound itself clearer. It’d gotten smaller but it was still bleeding. The burning had gone down yet steam still arose.

She poured it into the next glass, waiting for it to cool. As they waited, she took the wound cleaner and poured some over it. Draco didn’t flinch from the sting or as she rubbed it in with the towel. “Has anyone ever told you, you should be a healer?” Hermione asked.

“Once.”

“Twice now,” she said, looking at him. “You’re talented.”

“I don’t think St. Mungos wants a former Death Eater working for them.”

Hermione grabbed the cooled potion and poured it over his arm. The bleeding stopped the wound closed completely. It worked. “Talk to Madam Pomfrey, I’m sure with some lessons and a recommendation letter from her, they’d have to let you into the program.”

“Doubtful. I don’t have many prospects for jobs after Hogwarts. It’s Borgin and Burkes for the rest of my life,” he said.

She lifted his arm up, showing him what he fixed. “You did this. Who says you can’t have a fulfilling job?”

“Fairer, the Minister, the entire ministry, actually,” Draco said, pulling his arm away. He started shoving everything back into his bags.

Hermione stood and rounded the table before sitting next to him. She placed her hand on his cheek and forced him to look at her. “Malfoy, you just found a cure for this. No one else has been able to do that for hundreds of years. If you can cure me completely, that will be one hell of an argument to present Minister Shacklebolt.”

“You’re not a project to prove my worthiness as a healer, Granger.”

“I know, but why shouldn’t you benefit from this? You’ve put in more work than I have already and I’m the one with the bloody problem.” She offered a smile, scooting closer to him. “You’re incredibly intelligent and clearly talented, you deserve to have a chance. If you want to be a healer, nothing should stop you from doing that. Do you not realise what you’ve just done! Look!”

She grabbed his arm and rubbed her thumb over the faded white scar. “This isn’t nothing. This will help me; you’re helping me, and I don’t mind being the bargaining chip for your chance at St. Mungos. God knows I owe you everything and—”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Draco said seriously. “Not anything, ever. Do you understand that?”

Hermione smiled gently. “You’re very dramatic.”

“I’m serious. Don’t do anything for me because you think you owe me.”

She looked into his eyes, striking silver intense and concentrated on making her understand. Placing her hands on the sides of his neck, she placed a slow kiss to his lips. He held her waist, pulling her against him as he kissed her back. Hermione pulled back, placing one last peck to his lips.

“I’ll do things for you because you deserve them.”

“Granger.”

“Good people deserve good things, Malfoy,” Hermione said, this time her gaze intense. “You’re a good person.”

“To you,” he whispered.

She smiled. “That’s all that matters.”

...

Happy (almost) Christmas!

Merlin, do I miss you! I fully understand why you stayed at Hogwarts but that doesn’t mean I will complain any less. I got the presents you sent, and I have to say, I’m a little pissed you sent one for Ron. He’ll think you’re not mad at him and that when we come back, you’ll be there with open arms. He’s bloody mental, Mione. I left the Burrow two days into break and have been at Grimmauld Place since. He’s already gotten into another fist match with Charlie and he won’t stop going on about Malfoy. Do you know if anything happened between them again? It’s getting ridiculous. Harry’s talked to him, but he won’t tell me anything. I’m his girlfriend! I think he should, but no, some best friend pact or whatever shit. Mum’s been pissed, what’s new there? Dad’s just worried, I feel bad for him. Stress hasn’t been doing him any good. He went to St. Mungos for his heart a few months ago, its fine but Ron isn’t helping.

Anyway, sorry for all the negativity! Its Christmas! I hope Errol didn’t drop our presents to you. Harry attached a few for Theo from us. (I swear they’re in love.) And Mione, I’m trying very hard to not press on the mystery guy thing, but I just have to know, did you stay for him? Are you having wonderful, romantic days with him? Or are you just getting shagged out of your mind? In any case, I just want to know if you stayed for someone. Not who or anything, just yes or no. Oh, and a little explanation on one of my gifts for you. Don’t open it around Theo and you have to trust me. Hermione, when I tell you I had Harry wrapped around my finger, it does not even begin to describe. Please put it to good use and tell me everything, that’s all I want for Christmas. Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Harry says to call him.

Love you most,
Gin x

...

It was snowing. The blanket of white surrounded the castle and hills beyond turned from mossy green to fluffy pillows of snow. Out the window of her bedroom, she could see the thick layer of snow on the castle roofing. It was snowing on Christmas and it was perfect. It was perfect until she felt a stabbing pang in her chest, remembering everything she would be missing this year. No Weasleys, no football match that she would be forced to referee, no mum and dad. No Yorkshire pudding or stories by the fire. No dad reading A Charlie Brown Christmas. No mum with her awful wrapping. No Daniel coming in unannounced in the afternoon to share gifts. No London. No townhouse. No family.

Just snow on Christmas, her favourite feeling. One she couldn’t seem to reach as the inevitable sadness came boring down on her body. So, she sat on her bed, watching the snow fall quietly as the sun peeked over the horizon. It was beautiful. It was every child’s dream. Snow on Christmas.

Suddenly, consistent knocking at her door. Excitable knocking, quick and furious. Then the door opened, and a giant child jumped into her bed, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her down with him.

“Happy Christmas!” Theo shouted into her ear. “Its Christmas and its snowing!”

He shook her in his arms, jumping all over the bed, tossing her around like a ragdoll. She wasn’t laughing with him or trying to push him off. Theo stopped and looked at her, concern riddling his face.

“Why aren’t you smiling? Its Christmas,” he said, catching his breath.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Theo, trying to remember she wasn’t alone. That there was a castle full of children under her without their families. That the friend she held had no one to go home to. She could mourn and she could remember but she needed to live for her new life, for however long she could have it.

“I miss my parents,” she said, pulling away from their hug. “But you’re right, its Christmas and there are presents waiting for us.”

“I bet they miss you more,” Theo said as he kissed the top of her head. “Now, do you open gifts before or after breakfast? Please say before.”

She laughed. “Obviously before.”

He clapped his hands once. “Wonderful! I will go get them because your bed is warm, and I want to open them here.”

Theo bounded off the bed as Hermione waited, hearing scuffling he collected everything. He walked back in, arms filled with various gifts, wrapped in various papers and bows. Dropping them on the bed, he crawled under the covers next to her, shimming his body close to hers. Hermione giggled as he did, reaching towards her bedside table and holding out a gift to him.

“Wait,” she said, stopping short of his hand. “I thought you hated Christmas.”

“You’ve got me a gift?” he asked, eyes wide in surprise.

“I get all my friends’ gifts.”

“We’re friends?”

“I hope so,” she said, grabbing a box with her name on it. “Now tell me why you’re so excited.”

“I love receiving things,” he smiled. She narrowed her eyes slightly. “It’s the first Christmas I’m spending away from my father. I think the holiday cheer infected me.”

“Well then, happy Christmas, Theo.”

“Hermione,” he said suddenly, making her raise her brows. “I think I’m in love with you.”

She laughed, ruffling his mop of curls. He laughed too before ripping open his gift. She felt nervous, knowing that he came from incredible amounts of money. Theo lifted the lid and stared into the little box, making the nerves worse. He hated it.

“I know it’s a bit silly, but I thought you’d like it. I got you a backup present that’s much less interesting but—”

“No, no, this is brilliant. I love it,” Theo said, taking the mobile phone from the box. “You’ll have to show me how to use it.”

“I will and I’ve enchanted it, so you never need a charge.”

“A what?”

She shook her head, “Nothing.”

Theo sat the phone in his lap before digging through the gifts, presenting one to her. “From me.”

The wrapping came off as she tore through, until she was presented with an intricate, white leather notebook, engraved with her name at the bottom of it. On top was a golden tipped quill with an iridescent, white feather. As she turned it in the light, it caught fragments of pearlescence.

“They’re for letters. Only you and the person you address can read them. So, bare your soul to a dead person and no one will ever know,” he explained.

“It’s beautiful, Theo, thank you.”

“Now we’ve done ours, I’m ripping everything open.”

And he did. Hermione watched him, glad to see him like a giddy child tearing through his gifts. Two from Draco, one from Pansy, one from Blaise. A few from Harry and Ginny. She opened hers thoughtfully, grateful to receive yet another sweater from Molly. This one was blue with a white initial and it was just as soft and comforting as they always were. A lovely letter from Molly and Arthur joined it, telling her how much they loved her and that they hoped to see her again soon. It created a pit in her stomach that she tried desperately to ignore. Would she be able to see them again?

Theo also received a sweater, much to her surprise. He put it on immediately, reveling in the warmth. She opened the next gift from Harry, a thin gold bracelet with an hourglass engraved into it, reminiscent of their third year together. It warmed her heart to think of Harry still being there, even when Ron wasn’t. The first gift from Ginny was simple gold necklace with a teardrop pearl at the end of it, perfectly paired with Harry’s gift. The second, she carefully dropped to the ground, taking her comment to not open in front of Theo very seriously.

“Last one’s yours,” he said, holding it out to her.

Messy wrapping paper, poorly tied bow, and an ‘R’. She cradled the small gift in her hands, unsure of where she stood with Ron. Sending him a gift, even if it was just some candies from Honeyduke’s, was definitely a poor move on her behalf. When she looked up, she noticed Theo watching her.

“I’ll open it later,” she smiled, putting it back on the bed, slightly far away from her.

“Breakfast then?” he asked, getting out of the bed. “I can’t wait to show off my sweater.”

Hermione forced a smile, agreeing to follow after she got dressed. As she pulled on a jumper, she couldn’t help but stare at the little gift on her bed. Why was he acting so out of sorts? Was it really all Hermione’s fault? Fist matches with Charlie, pissing Molly off, nearly screaming at her. What was the cause of it all?

She wanted to help him, they were friends after all, but part of her couldn’t bring herself to care. Whatever Ron had buried deep, he needed to figure out. She couldn’t keep up the façade of caring when it no longer benefitted her. Grabbing the box, she shoved it into her jumper pocket and made her way to the Great Hall with Theo. He’d done a wonderful job decorating the castle, something she still felt guilty for leaving to him to do. As she looked around, she took in the twinkling white lights, the various mistletoe hanging anywhere they could. It smelt of hot cocoa and freshly baked bread. For a moment, Hermione considered calling Hogwarts home. In this time of oneness between those without families and the warmth of the holiday season, something about home felt worth claiming.

Theo continued to the one table where Draco sat. The tables weren’t house designated during breaks. She watched him sit down with him, pulling at his sweater and smiling. She noticed Pansy wasn’t there, though Blaise was. Then she looked to the Gryffindor table, finding Seamus and Dean joyfully eating and sharing small kisses. She couldn’t bring herself to interrupt that. Wringing her hands, she looked back to the three Slytherins. Silver eyes caught hers and her heart skipped, like it always did. Looking from Seamus and Dean to Draco, she made a choice. Her feet carried her before her brain could interrupt.

“May I join you?” Hermione asked.

Blaise looked up from his seat next to Theo. His eyes looked bored; she couldn’t remember ever speaking to him before. Theo cleared his throat, offering his hand out to the table. Hermione smiled before taking her seat next to Draco. Purposefully, she pressed her thigh to his, making sure there was no room between them. He tensed up next to her as he grabbed his goblet, taking a drink.

“Happy Christmas, Blaise,” she offered. “Did you, um, get any gifts?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly.

She nodded curtly as she grabbed a teacup. She started to pour her water when Draco handed her a peppermint tea bag. Taking it without saying a word, she placed it in the water. A piece of her was excited to be able to sit next to him, that he even gave her the right tea without asking. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like if it wasn’t a secret anymore. Underneath the table, Draco slid his hand to her lap, letting his fingers rest between her thighs.

“Good thing Pansy isn’t here, mate,” Blaise said as he bit into a croissant.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked.

Blaise looked up; his eyebrows pulled together as he scoffed. “You’re good at keeping secrets, but not this one. It’s a little obvious now.”

He looked at Theo who conveniently shoved an entire hard-boiled egg into his mouth. Hermione tensed slightly, the sudden reality of who they were hitting her. She should have sat with Seamus and Dean, or a random group of younger students.

“You’re dating,” Blaise said nonchalantly. No one corrected him. He kept his eyes on Hermione the whole time he took a sip of his tea. “Pansy’s going to eat you alive, Granger.”

“Did you tell him?” she asked Theo, no anger in her voice, just a hint of sadness.

“No!” Theo said, sputtering out some egg. He swallowed hard. “No, I swear.”

“No one told me, and I don’t care,” Blaise said, wiping his mouth. “But my bird’s another story. She’s not one to be controlled. She already hates you and now that you’re seeing her ex, you’ve got hell to pay.”

“I thought you said you dated her when you were fifteen,” she said to Draco.

“I did.” He took another drink, narrowed eyes not leaving Blaise.

“Then why would she care?”

“She’s insane,” Theo said. The other two nodded.

“Is it just because its me or would she act the same if it were anyone?” Hermione questioned.

Blaise shrugged. “She’s got a personal vendetta against you, Mudblood shit and all. Draco here has a, let’s say, special place in her black heart.”

She looked at Draco who was still glaring at Blaise. “That’s enough, alright?”

Blaise stood up from the table, taking one last sip of tea. “You ought to warn your bird if you’re going public. Gentleman thing to do.” Then he walked away.

She thought back to Pansy’s explosion in Madam Puddifoot’s. She never said why she hated her. Could it just be because of her blood? There had to be something more. Pansy was going to be a problem if Hermione continued to sit where she wanted, but she wasn’t the only one. Across the Great Hall, she caught Dean’s eye. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed as he looked at her. She watched as he whispered to Seamus who also looked. It wasn’t confusion on Seamus’ face, it was pure anger. She looked away, not wanting to deal with that.

Hermione pulled out the gift from her jumper pocket and placed it in front of Draco. He looked at it before looking at her.

“Did you get me something?” he asked, his voice decidedly deep today, making her skin prick.

“Yes, but that’s not it,” she said, looking to Theo. “It’s from Ron. I didn’t know if I should open it and I didn’t want to do it alone.”

Theo picked up the small box, shaking it near his ear. “Doesn’t sound like a bomb.”

Draco grabbed it from him as Hermione sighed. “Ginny said he’s gotten worse since he’s been back at the Burrow. I don’t know what to do about him when he comes back.”

Draco ripped the poorly wrapped paper off, tossing it aside before removing the lid of the box. Inside was a pebble, nothing else, just a pebble. He picked it up, looking at both sides of it before handing it to her. She looked at it in utter confusion and embarrassment from being worried to open it. Then Draco pulled out a folded-up note. She grabbed it, dropping the pebble on the table.

Hermione,

Thought you’d like to have a piece of the Burrow with you over Christmas. I hope you’re not too alone without Gin. I really need to tell you something and you know me, bad with feelings. I’m sorry if this is the wrong way to tell you but, I’m still in love with you. More than a friend, I want you, Mione. I realised how…

She stopped reading. He couldn’t say that; he wasn’t allowed to say that. Had he somehow misread every interaction between them? How could he think this was remotely the right thing to do? It was selfish and fucked. It made her chest ache. The panic was coming back. No. God no. Why did he do this? Why?

Hermione left the note as she stood from the table, walking out of the Great Hall. She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew she needed to get away. The farther away from that note she could get the better. Busting into the girl’s washroom, the kicked open all the stalls, making sure no one was in there before she screamed. Guttural, it held every pent-up ounce of frustration and anger that rested in the pits of her stomach. Everything was a whirlwind. She stopped pacing as she stood in front of the mirror, noticing the tears that fell. No. She wiped them off. She wouldn’t cry because of him. Not anymore.

Hermione was so tired. She was tired of not being able to chose what hurt her.

The washroom door creaked open. Expensive shoes echoed against the tiled walls, encroaching on where she stood in front of the mirror. He came up behind her and she noticed the note in his hand.

“I hate him,” she whispered.

“Did you read the whole thing?” Draco asked.

She shook her head as he slipped it into her hand. Her fingers tightened around it as she took in a deep breath. Then she picked up where she stopped.

I realised how lost I feel without you. You’re the only girl for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love anyone else. I hope you can think about this over holiday. I don’t expect an answer right away, but, Mione, I’m worried about you. Has Malfoy done something to you? It’s not like you to defend him or to even be in his presence without wanting to curse him. Did he hurt you? Is he forcing you to say these things? I swear to Merlin, I’ll kill him if he’s hurt you, I will. I’ll rip him to shreds. Stay away from him. I don’t trust him, and neither should you. If you’re in immediate danger, go to McGonagall and I’ll come back. I love you so much.

Ron

She ripped the note in half, then again, and again until it was confetti in the sink. Fuck him.

Looking through the mirror, she saw Draco leaning against a stall, head looking down. Hermione turned around and stepped towards him. She pressed her hand to his chest, and he looked up at her, eyes dark.

“Have I hurt you, Mione?” he mocked.

“Malfoy.”

“No, I’ll fucking kill him. He’s trying to scare you away from me and he doesn’t even know it!” Draco said, laughing through his anger. “He’s a fucking idiot and a piss-poor manipulator.”

“Malfoy, I know—”

Draco grabbed her head roughly, forcing her to look into his eyes. Black. “You’re mine. You’re all fucking mine, Hermione Granger, do you hear me?”

Her heart was thudding hard enough for him to hear, she was sure. When he said her name, she finally felt sure of who she was. She placed her hands over his, lifting onto her toes as she searched his eyes. “I know. I’m yours, only yours.”

His jaw was tense, and his nose flared slightly, she swore he’d never been this angry. Not even when Narcissa died. “I’m going to fucking kill him. I’ll ruin his fucking life if I have to. He’s not allowed to love you. He’s not allowed to say a fucking thing to you.”

She pressed herself against him as she grabbed his hands, holding them as they slid down to the sides of her neck. “You’re not going to do anything. If you do, you’ll go to Azkaban and—”

“I don’t fucking care about that.”

“And you’ll lose me,” she finished. He let out a tight breath as he looked at her. “Tell me that you won’t do anything. Promise me, Malfoy.”

Draco leaned his forehead against hers, still breathing heavily from his rage. “I can’t make promises, but I’ll try. For you, I’ll fucking try.”

Hermione nudged her nose towards his. “Then show me. Show me that you’re mine.”

He leaned back, looking dangerously between her eyes before crashing his lips to hers. She tried to kiss him back, but he was filled with control. He forced her mouth open as his tongue laid a passionate assault to her mouth. Hermione quickly unbuttoned her jeans before reaching for his trousers. Draco walked them backwards until her back hit the sink. He pulled away to rip her jeans down her legs. She helped unbuckle his belt and pull his trousers down. Once they were down, she grabbed his face and kissed him again. He was rough and unforgiving. She needed to be kissed like this. She needed his urgency, his all-consuming anger to take her under to the place they could both thrive in it.

Draco gripped her hips tight enough to make her gasp. He was digging into her skin, bruising her muscles but she’d never want anyone else to touch her like this. Fervent lips trailed down her neck, biting and sucking aggressively. He was marking what was his and she was glad for it.

“You’re mine,” he growled into her ear. “All mine.”

He plunged inside her without warning, eliciting a shout of pain and pleasure as she took him in. He was forceful, paying no mind to her moans of pain as she clawed at his back. His vigorous thrusting made her scream like she’d never had. It was exactly what she needed, to be hurt, to be wanted. To feel his mania pressing into her, filing her with everything she’d been keeping down.

Hermione wrapped her legs around him, trying to take him deeper. It felt impossibly good as he moved inside her. She kissed him again, letting him control every aspect of this. Every thrust, every bite, every bruise left on her thighs. He needed to make her know there was no one else. There never was.

He fucked her harder, the sink shaking under the weight of them. He fucked her over the ripped note. No one else was allowed to love her. No one. Ronald Weasley was completely forgotten. She hated him.

Hermione arched her back as he kissed down her neck. He groaned into her sensitive skin, hot breath tickling her. “Fuck, Draco,” she moaned into his ear. Her thighs shook around him as she came, tightening around his hard cock. He thrusted slower, deep, enticing moans escaping him. Draco bit down on her neck as he came, muffling his groan.

She held onto him as he finished, tears pricking her eyes from the pain of his bite. He pressed his hands into the wall behind her as he pulled away. With a heaving chest, he looked into her eyes, finding the honey he needed to survive. One hand met the side of his face as she looked at him.

“You’re everything to me,” he said.

The next day, Hermione didn’t leave her dorm. She’d thought about Ron too much for her own good. Ginny said that Harry had spoken to him. Had Harry known Ron was going to do this? Did he know the rest? The arguments, the prejudice, all of it. Ron wouldn’t have told him because Ron always believed he was in the right. He could never do something wrong.

Pushing herself from the settee, she started for her room. She opened the drawers to her desk, searching for her mobile phone. Searching through the mess of books and papers atop, she couldn’t find it. It wasn’t on the dresser, the trunk, it wasn’t in the trunk. She started towards her bedside table when she tripped on something. Ginny’s second gift. Theo wasn’t here. Hermione picked it up and sat it on her bed, ripping the wrapping off. After lifting the lid, her cheeks immediately flushed red.

“Ginny Weasley,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Hermione lifted the silk, light blue robe from the box, noting the lace detailing at the end of the sleeves. It was beautiful and it felt expensive. Laying it down on her bed, her face flushed more, feeling the heat coursing down her chest, as she saw what else was in the box. A matching lingerie set. She lifted the brassiere by its straps, admiring the see-through lace cups. The lace was intricate, flowers and vines detailing around the wiring. There was nothing left to the imagination with it. She put it on top of the robe before grabbing the matching knickers.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, turning it around.

A thong. The sides rode up high and the bit used for covering was cut down low. Shaking her head in embarrassment, she placed it on the robe too. Lastly, there was a garter that she was supposed to wrap around her waist and clip onto a pair of stockings. She thought practically for a moment, stockings rarely stayed up on her thighs, every time she walked, they would fold down. A garter just might solve that problem.

Hermione arranged the racy lingerie on her bed before taking a step back to admire it. She would be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t stunning. Silk, intricate lace, a garter. Her lower abdomen stirred at the thought of wearing it. She toyed with her bottom lip, thinking about Draco seeing her in it. He’d want to do salacious things to her, and she would absolutely let him.

Then the portrait door opened. Quickly, she grabbed the pieces and shoved them under her blanket. As she turned around, she found Draco standing in her doorway, dressed in an entirely black suit. He was twirling a single red rose between his fingers as he looked at her. She looked him up and down, swallowing hard as she took in the sight of him in a suit. This time, more appropriate to admire than the last. He was dangerously attractive, even more so in all black, a stark contrast to his pale complexion and white hair.

“Hi,” she said, stepping forward.

“Hi,” he repeated, looking her up and down. She was dressed in a jumper and sweats, nothing worth looking at. “Do you recall agreeing to a fancy dinner?”

She smiled. “I do.”

“Good, we’re leaving now.”

Hermione looked down at her clothes. “Malfoy, I’m not ready. I don’t even own a dress. A little warning would have helped.”

He smirked before pulling a small box from his pocket. Casting a wandless enlargement charm, he held the wrapped box to her. “Happy Christmas.”

“Christmas was yesterday,” she said, taking the box.

“I’m aware. I’ll be waiting on the castle bridge.” He started away before stopping short and turning around. Draco held the rose out, tucking it behind her ear. “For you, love.”

Love.

She flushed crimson as he winked before leaving the dorm. Closing her door, she sat the box on her bed and opened just as she had Ginny’s gift. Lifting the lid off the box, she was presented with a stunning white dress. She pulled it out of the box, finding that it was a short, satin finish with a square neckline and billowing sleeves. Admiring it for a long while, she remembered he was waiting for her. Hermione shed her jumper and sweats until she was in her plain pink bra and yellow underwear. Her eyes caught the mound under her blanket. If there was ever a time to wear lingerie, now would be it. Discarding her undergarments, she started with the bra, then the knickers. She decided to save the garter for later.

Hermione tossed on the dress before standing in front of the mirror. For the first time since the Yule ball, she thought she looked nice. The dress hugged her figure wonderfully, not extenuating any of those pesky insecurities. She grabbed a hair clip from her desk, pulling half of her hair up. Then she pulled out two curls to frame her face. Throwing on what makeup she could muster, she hurried to her closet, grabbing her beaded handbag and the same pair of heels she wore on Halloween. Shoving Draco’s gifts into the extendable bag, she grabbed a coat and the remaining pieces of lingerie, which she also shoved into the bag.

Throwing on her coat, as to not gain questions or look for her appearance, she carefully descended the stairs, focussing on not falling. It wasn’t until she was walking through the main hall that the nerves hit. Hermione had only been on one date in her life, her birthday with Ron. That barely even counted, she was pissed out of her mind. But this, this meant something to her. He meant something to her. Her hand tightened around the string of her bag as she steadied her breaths. She exited the castle, finding Draco at the end of the bridge, facing Hogsmeade. Checking behind her and finding no one, she shed the coat and shoved it into her bag. Bracing herself for a proper dinner with someone raised in prestige, she walked across the bridge.

Draco turned as he heard her heels, finding her a few feet from him. Her breath caught in her throat at the way he looked at her. Silver eyes scanned her up and down, lingering on pools of honey. She bit her lip nervously as she stepped up to him.

He reached out, brushing her hair over her shoulder, making goose pimples rise to her skin. She looked into the little moons of his eyes, falling, slipping, and tumbling into them. Those eyes enraptured her every sense and she found herself never wanting to be away from them.

“You’re a masterpiece, Granger.”

“And you’re a sweet talker,” she laughed. “Thank you for the dress, its beautiful.”

He nodded, trailing his hand down the curve of her waist. She leaned into his touch just so, savouring every second of this. There would be no amount of time long enough to let herself drown in the depths of Draco Malfoy.

“Of course. Ready then?” he asked. She nodded and he intertwined their hands together. “Hold your breath.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as he apparated them away. Landing swiftly and surprisingly finding herself steady, she opened her eyes. A smile found itself on her lips as she recognised the sights and smells of London. Taking his hand tighter, she pulled him forward with her, looking around at her home. They were just a few miles off the city center, the London Eye looming in the distance, still large enough to be impressive. Looking around at the passerbys and the old buildings, she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging.

Hermione looked behind her, finding Draco also looking around. “Have you ever been to muggle London?”

“No,” he said, looking back at her.

“Thoughts?”

“Its loud.”

A car passed by; the driver laying on the horn as it went. She laughed. Hermione took a step forward, trailing her hand down his chest, appreciating the suit he wore. He looked around before she placed a hand on his cheek and turned him back to her.

“No one knows who we are,” she said. “You could kiss me, and everyone would be none the wiser.”

“Is that an invitation?” he smirked, wrapping his hand around her waist.

“Maybe.”

Draco pressed a light kiss to her lips, his tongue trailing along her bottom lip. She deepened the kiss, leaning closer into him. Smiling into his lips, he pulled away and kissed her forehead. A flood of flutters crashed into her stomach when he did, making her flush deeply. Draco checked his watch as he took his other hand in hers.

“Fancy a short walk?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, allowing him to lead her through London. As she observed her surroundings, she started to recognise where they were. Hyde Park was near, Buckingham Palace not far behind. As they rounded a corner, she saw the great Mandarin Hotel, ridiculously expensive and somewhere her parents always joked about staying in for a night. She smiled to herself as he led her down the sidewalk, past several people, many of which were women ogling at Draco. She couldn’t blame them. Then he stopped and she looked to him, finding him looking up at the hotel. Her face paled.

“Malfoy, this place costs an arm and leg,” she said, pulling on his hand.

“I’ve inherited the entire Malfoy wealth,” he said. “I think I can afford dinner at a muggle hotel.”

“You may be able to afford it, but my table manners say otherwise. I’m going to make a fool of myself. Look,” she said, pointing to the entrance, where several men in matching uniforms were opening doors and valeting cars, “there’s a valet and doormen. This is beyond fancy.”

“What’s a valet?”

She looked at him, realising he genuinely didn’t know. It was almost endearing. “They take the cars and find parking for them; it’s considered something only wealthy people can afford. You’re essentially paying someone to park for you.”

Draco placed his hand behind her neck, tangling his fingers in her curls. “It’s just food, you’re going to be fine.”

“Okay,” she said, finding comfort in him again.

Hermione squeezed his hand as he led her across the street. The doormen in matching navy-blue suits and top hats, nodded as they entered, calling them ‘madam’ and ‘sir.’ She felt severely out of place. Draco placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her through a small crowd of people near the front desk. They headed to the left, finding the fine dining restaurant. Anxiety rested in her chest as she looked at the white tablecloths and dim lighting. There were expensive people eating there. Women with lace hats and red bottom heels. Men in suits that had never seen a wrinkle.

“Welcome! Name for the reservation?” the hostess said. Hermione caught her eyes flicker down Draco’s figure.

“Draco Malfoy.”

She looked down the list before her eyes widened. When she looked up, she offered an extremely wide smile as she looked between them. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy, follow me.”

Her heels clacked against the marble floor as she weaved through the many tables. The array of food smelled wonderful, making Hermione realise just how hungry she was. The woman led them near the back of the restaurant, a few tables away from prying ears. She set the menus on the table before letting them know a waiter would be right with them. Draco pulled out her chair and she sat with a quiet, “thank you.”

Hermione hung her bag on the chair before smoothing the skirt of her dress down. She looked around at the lavish décor. Chandeliers hung on the ceiling, the diamonds dripping down towards the guests. The walls were covered in expensive, most likely original, works of art. The table itself had two forks. Hermione didn’t know what to do with two forks.

A waiter approached the table. “Welcome, my name is Noel, and I will be your server for the evening. May I start you off with a wine or champagne?”

She looked to Draco, counting on him to make all the decisions. He addressed the waiter, requesting some wine she’d never heard of. Under the table, she bounced her leg, suddenly feeling her arm starting to itch. She was doing this to herself, making herself anxious for no reason. Trying to scratch at her arm without him noticing proved fruitless.

“Granger,” he said, slotting his leg between her ankles. “It’s just a restaurant.”

“I know. Everything is just so lavish and expensive, and I’ve never been on a proper date, so forgive me for being a bit nervous,” she said.

His face softened as he looked at her. “It’s just me and all we’re doing is eating food.”

“Just you,” she laughed. “You make me bloody nervous.” She grabbed the menu, focussing on reading the words, trying to ignore the insane price tag next to every meal. He was staring and she could feel it. “Stop staring at me.”

“No.”

“Are you trying to make me more nervous?” she asked.

“Haven’t decided.” She could hear the smugness in his voice.

Deciding to ignore his silver stare, she continued reading the menu. Much of it was in French, and what she could understand, she had never eaten in her life. Her mum was a frozen pizza and apple juice mum, Hermione had never eaten a scallop in her life. She started chewing on her lip as she read, hoping to make sense of at least one entrée. As she read, she became aware of her posture as she sat up straight, holding her chin up. Looking over the menu, she watched Draco. He always sat perfectly straight unless he was alone with her. Who was she kidding? He was two forks and raised pinkies. She was messy papers and ink-stained fingers.

“Malfoy.”

“Granger.”

“I don’t know what any of this is.”

He suppressed a smile. “Most of its fish. There’s a few pasta options.”

“You speak French?” He nodded. “Of course, you do.”

Draco chuckled as she reached for a glass of water. “Do you want me to order for you?”

“I am perfectly capable of ordering food,” she said, taking a slow sip. He looked at her with a cocked brow, making her roll her eyes. “Alright, fine, yes, if you must.”

The waiter returned with the bottle of wine. He presented it to them before pouring their glasses. Hermione said a small, “thank you,” as he did. She sipped the dark-coloured wine, her mouth salivated at the hints of plum and blackberry. Draco ordered for the both of them, the French slipping off his tongue musically. She never thought she could be attracted to a language. The waiter nodded and took their menus before walking away.

She took another sip as he did, her heart fluttering from the way his eyes never left her. “How come you never told me you speak French?”

“Didn’t seem relevant,” he said. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Just another one of your many secrets I’m guessing?”

Draco leaned forward on the table, placing his elbows down as he went. He studied her face, the way her cheeks flushed, how she pulled in a bit of her lip to bite on it, the way the curls perfectly framed her face. “Dis moi un secret.”

She thought a moment, taking another languid sip of wine. When she placed the glass down, she trailed her finger over the rim, circling it slowly. “My amortentia smelled like you.”

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, making her press her thighs together. They hadn’t even gotten their food yet and she wanted to leave; take him away and tell him everything with her lips. Under the table, she rubbed her ankle against his, making him lean farther towards her. They looked each other up and down, eyes lingering on lips and eyes, tension building dangerously fast. This is what she wanted every day. She wanted to have this, be able to have him in front of everyone at Hogwarts. There was no shame with him.

After a while of silent sips of wine and soft smiles, the waiter returned with their food. Pasta dishes with vodka sauce and chicken adorned their plates. As the waiter left, Hermione waited for Draco to pick up his fork, the one closest to the plate. She followed, taking a bite of the dish. It simply melted in her mouth eliciting a quiet moan from her lips. Draco looked at her, shaking his head slightly as he ate his own. She was well aware of what she was doing, and she loved it.

They ate for a bit when she decided to ask a question. One that had been playing in the back of her mind for weeks. Setting down her fork and blotting her mouth with the cloth napkin, she folded her hands in her lap.

“Can I ask about your mum?” Hermione said.

Draco put down his fork and sat back in his chair. “Why?”

“It seems like she meant a lot to you. You said that everything you did, you did for her,” she spoke carefully. “What does that mean?”

He cleared his throat as he sat his napkin on the table. “Not really dinner conversation.”

“I know but I want to know you and that includes your family.”

“My family?” he asked. She watched the wall go down behind his eyes. “You can read about them in books. The Malfoy name is long, the Black name longer.”

“I don’t mean the history; I mean you and your life. I can gather what I know from everyone else, rumors and all but hearing it from you is best, don’t you think?”

“What do you want to know? Do you want to hear about life before or after the mark?” he bit. “The picture-perfect childhood everyone thinks I had? Or the fucking nightmare no one knows about?”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve asked.” She looked away from him, eyes stuck on her nearly empty glass. Residual red stained the crystal, she followed the pattern it made.

Draco sighed quietly before extending his hand out across the table. She looked at his hand, placing hers in his. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers slowly. “My mother was the reason for everything I did.” Hermione looked up through her lashes to find him focussed on their hands. “I took the mark for her. He threatened my family, first my father. I said I didn’t care about him then he grabbed my mother, threw her to the ground in front of me and used the cruciatus on her until he finally heard my screaming.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “It wasn’t new to me, seeing her get hurt. I like to believe at one point my parents had a happy marriage, that he truly loved her. Then something broke and I had to pick up the pieces.” He squeezed her fingers as he continued, “I didn’t take up healing for a hobby, Granger. No thirteen-year-old spends his summer reading books on healing to help his mother. After the mark, it was threat after curse upon her. Anytime I hesitated, blinked too much for the lord’s liking, she got hit.”

“She loved you.”

“She lived a nightmare because of me.”

Hermione laced her fingers with his, ducking her head to meet his eye. “You didn’t have a choice. You’re allowed to forgive yourself.” Draco looked at her, the wall still present behind his eyes. “Tell me something nice about her.”

He let out a tight breath before picking his head up and straightening his back. Letting go of her hand, he grabbed his wine and drank the rest of it. He placed the glass down, his fingers rubbing up and down the stem as he looked at it.

“She used to send me sweets every day.”

“I remember that.”

“Do you?” he asked, looking at her. “I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth.”

She laughed. “What else?”

“She insisted that she be the one who taught me piano.” He spun the glass stem between his fingers. “The manor garden was filled with roses and dahlias, her favourites. She would tend to it every day if she could. She’d walk through the hedge maze with me from a young age. We’d speak almost exclusively in French, my father never learnt. She was an artist, remarkable really.”

Hermione smiled, placing her head in her hand. “I wish I could’ve met her properly, in another life.”

“She knew about you.”

“You spoke to her about me?” she asked, her eyebrows raising.

“Not by name,” he said. “But she was quite fond of what I told her.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

The glint of silver returned to his eyes as they crinkled. Her heart hurt as she looked at him, it was sympathetic and confused and utterly happy. The waiter came by again with the check which Draco signed and paid for. He stood from the table after the waiter left, holding his hand out to Hermione. She grabbed her bag and took his hand, basking in the feeling of holding him publicly. His hand was still icy, but she felt nothing but warmth.

He led her through the restaurant and into the lobby of the hotel. She looked around at the high ceilings and ornately wallpapered walls. Every inch of the building was impressive, marble, gold décor, and Roman columns. Draco stopped walking, causing her to turn around.

“I’ve paid for a room if you fancy staying,” he said.

“Malfoy!” she exclaimed quietly. “These rooms are outrageously priced.”

He pulled her towards him before holding her by her waist. “Are you feigning annoyance to mask your nerves?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, looking up at him as her stomach turned in on itself.

Draco cupped her face with his other hand, looking between her eyes. “Why are you nervous, Granger?”

She took in a deep breath as the anxious heat coursed over her skin in waves. “I really like you,” she laughed shortly, “and I feel like a little girl with a silly crush, and I don’t know what I should be doing or saying. I’m very out of my element here.”

“Granger,” he said quietly, slowly. “Do you fancy staying?”

“Yes.”

...

Six floors up, the presidential suite. Of course, she thought. Draco opened the door for her and as she stepped past the threshold, her jaw dropped. Presented before her was the living area, decorated with hand-gilded mirrors and velvet sofas. Dark blue and gold surrounded the room. A large bookshelf covered one end of room, and much to her pleasure, it was filled with books. Many for decoration but books, nonetheless. She walked through the sofas and past the coffee table towards the double balcony doors. Opening one, she stepped out into the frost air, looking over Hyde Park. It had begun to snow; flakes covered the trees and shrubs beyond. Lanterns from below created a warm glow across the night.

Draco stepped up behind her, brushing her hair to the side. He kissed her neck, she tilted her head as he did, her eyes fluttering closed from the feeling. His hands found her waist, gripping tenderly as his kisses moved down her shoulder.

“Wait,” she said, turning around. “I have to give you your Christmas present.”

“I’m patient.” He kissed her mouth for a moment before she pushed his chest. Huffing slightly, she grabbed his hand and led him back inside. Down the hall, the first door on the left, she brought him into the bedroom. She kept herself from gawking at the décor again for his sake.

Hermione kicked her heels off and sat on the bed, patting the spot next to her. As she placed her bag on her lap, she carefully searched for the two little gifts, avoiding the remainder of the lingerie hidden inside. Draco sat next to her, pulling his own little box from his pocket. She placed the smaller gift atop the other before handing them to him. He placed the little box in her hand as she smiled.

“Open yours first,” she said. He took the lid off the first one, finding a stack of yellow paper squares inside. He looked at her with raised brows. “They’re post-it notes. You can write on them and stick them in books without ruining them.” She peeled the first one off, showing him the sticky edge.

Draco chuckled shortly before opening the second. Removing the bow and the lid, he revealed a bookmark. It was silver metal, an intricate snake carved into the center. At the bottom, the letters D.L.M shined in an emerald green. At the top, a matching tassel tied through. He picked it up and ran his finger across the engraved design.

“I suppose I won’t be dog earring any more pages,” he said as he looked at her. Hermione was chewing her lip anxiously. “I love it.”

He nodded his head towards the present he gave her. She pulled at the ribbon, watching it unfurl before removing the top. Inside, a simple gold band, sized to her finger. Draco picked it out of the box and grabbed her left hand, slipping it down her middle finger.

“I’ve charmed it so that whenever you start to hurt,” he said, reaching into his suit pocket, pulling out a similar silver band, sliding it on his finger, “I’ll know.”

It wasn’t anything ostentatious or particularly expensive, but she had never felt more cared about in her entire life. Everything he did was for her and it only took her four months to realise it. Hermione grabbed his face and kissed him, speaking appreciation with her lips. He kissed her back, his hand finding her outer thigh as it crept under her dress.

“Wait,” she said.

“You’re testing my patience, Granger.”

Hermione laughed. “I have one more thing, stay here.”

She took her bag with her as she entered the washroom. Locking the door behind her, she took in the continuously impressive space. She eyed the large oval tub, suddenly longing for a warm bath. Shaking her thoughts away, she sat her bag on the counter and pulled out the garter and robe. Hermione unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor before stepping into the garter.

“Shit,” she whispered. “Stockings.”

Chewing her lip, she looked around the washroom until she found two hand towels. She took her wand from her bag and transfigured them into sheer white stockings. Her heart pounded as she slipped them onto her legs, clipping the garter onto them. Trying not to think to hard about what exactly it was she was doing; she shrugged on the robe and took a step back.

The girl in the mirror looked back at her, nerves creeping over her skin like fire ants on a hot summer day. Through the glass she looked at her left arm. The gauze was clean, she hadn’t had a flare up in a while. Disillusioning her arm, she turned her focus to the garter, centering it around her waist. She was riddled with anxiety as she looked at herself. If she could think clearly for a moment, she’d realise the contrast of her olive skin with light blue was stunning. Hermione reached behind her head and unclipped her hair, letting the brown curls spring free. With a tight breath, she wrapped the robe around her, effectively covering what was underneath, and tied the silk ribbon.

One, two, three, four…

There was nothing to be afraid of.

Five, six, seven, eight…

But this felt different.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

She knew it was different.

Hermione shoved her dress and hair clip into her bag before pushing it to the back of the counter. What if he laughed at her? It was a bit ridiculous, the whole thing.

She looked into the mirror, pushing a stray curl back into the mane. More thoughts came quicker than she was able to push them down. Suddenly the doorknob was in her hand and the door was opened. She stood at the threshold socked feet cold under the tile.

“Will you close your eyes, please?” she asked, picking at the lace of the sleeve.

“Why?” he called back.

“I’m not going to curse you, Malfoy. Just, please.”

“They’re closed.”

Swallowing down the negative thoughts, she willed her legs to move into the bedroom. She watched him as she walked in. He’d taken his suit jacket and tie off and was sitting on the side of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes still closed.

“Keep them closed.”

It took six steps to get to him. Six, excruciating steps.

“I’m going to touch you, don’t open your eyes.”

Short breaths, pounding heart, she could feel it in her veins. His eyes were closed, she could keep them closed as long as she wanted. Hermione took his hand in hers, leading it towards the silk ribbon around her waist. She placed the ribbon in his hand, closing his fingers around it. The knot in her stomach was weighing down on her.

“Open your eyes and pull,” she whispered.

When she saw the silver of his eyes, the knot slowly untangled itself. The ribbon fell to the ground as the robe opened, slipping over her breasts. Draco’s eyes looked her over, again and again until his eyebrows raised higher than they ever had. He let out a long, tight breath as he reached towards her thigh; his finger hooked under the garter clip. Eyes lingered on her thighs, then her waist to her breasts. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes scouring her as she stood, just for him. No one else would ever see her like this.

“I feel absolutely ridiculous, can you please say something?” she asked, nervous breaths racking her chest.

Draco met her eyes, both of his hands rounding her thighs and gripping roughly. Fingers dipped under the stockings as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “You’re not ridiculous. You’re fucking everything.”

Hermione ran her hand through his hair, holding the nape of his neck. She leaned down and kissed him slow and long. The flutters had never lasted so long before, she was aching for his touch all over her. He pulled her in, hands moving higher, hands moving between the backs of her thighs. His lips were a storm, wreaking havoc over her nerves.

“I want you to have your way with me, Malfoy,” she whispered.

Then, she took a step back, watching his white-hot eyes and parted lips drinking her in. Draco leaned back on the bed as he slowly shook his head. He swiped over his bottom lip with his thumb.

“Take the robe off,” he said.

She deliberately ran her fingers across her chest, taking the robe with her. Once it reached her shoulders, she let her arms down, the silky blue fabric pooled under her feet.

“Turn.”

She did, slowly, she spun around, running her hand through her hair, and tossing it over her shoulder. Draco stood up, walking towards her. He wrapped his hand around her neck, forcing her head up. His grip was tight, and it awakened something in her.

“I could write poetry about you,” Draco said.

“What’s stopping you?”

“It’d never be good enough.”

He placed a single kiss to her lips, then another, then one on her cheek, under her jaw, down her neck. His hands found her waist, fingers creeping under garter. More kisses, bites and bruises, found their way down her chest. He licked over the exposed skin of her breast before sinking his teeth into her. A breathy moan of pleasure, infringing on pain escaped her. Draco unhooked her bra swiftly, pulling it off her. Hermione’s hands found the buttons of his shirt and began undoing them as quick as she could manage.

He shed himself of his shirt, socks, and shoes before sinking to his knees in front of her. Fingers found her bum, digging deep into her flesh as his lips nipped the skin of her stomach. His kisses moved down, above the line of her knickers and down one of her thighs. Hermione tangled her hand into his hair, breathing heavily from his tongue traversing her skin. He unclasped the garter on both stockings, watching as they slowly started slipping down her legs. Draco worshipped every inch of her, his own personal Aphrodite. To love, to bite, to care, to pleasure. All for her.

He grabbed a stocking, ripping it down the center, exposing her leg. His tongue trailed up her inner thigh as he tossed the stocking aside. She moaned loudly, pulling at the fine hair on his head. Draco ripped the other stocking, discarded it, and squeezed the flesh of her thigh as he left marks all over it. She pushed the garter over her hips, letting it fall to the ground. Hermione placed a finger under his chin, making him look up at her.

“Stand up,” she said. He did.

She unbuckled his belt, tossing it aside. Pulling down his trousers and underwear, she watched his thick cock spring free. Hermione took it into her hand, moving slowly as she kissed his neck. Draco groaned deeply, his head falling back. Purposefully, she pressed her breasts to his chest, her hand stroking slower and slower. He looked down at her, leaning towards her lips when her other hand grabbed under his jaw roughly.

“Sit on the bed,” she said, pushing his jaw.

Draco fell back onto the bed, watching her slide the thong down her legs. With a smirk on her lips, she looked him up and down. “I told you to have your way with me and now I’m telling you what to do,” Hermione said, walking towards him.

She straddled his lap, running her hands over his chest as he kissed her neck. “I like it,” he said.

She laughed before grabbing his cock and positioning it under her. Sinking down, she slowly took in his length, stretching her pleasurably. Her brows pulled together as her lips parted, long, breathy moans escaped her. Hands found his head, running her fingers into his hair. She rolled her hips, taking him deeper. Draco dug his fingers into her hips, forcing her down further until his cock thrusted into her cervix once. Quick, breathy sounds escaped both of them, tangling into the air thick with intense desire.

Hermione kissed him slowly as he moved inside her. There was no rush, just the feeling of him holding her, kissing her. He made her feel wanted, deserving of more than she’d ever known. Under his icy fingers, running up the length of her curves, she felt for a moment that she transcended words. Any need to speak had left her, knowing that one look from a silver gaze could piece together every worry she had. She looked into those said eyes, cradling his sculpted face in her hands, she felt safe.

This was the difference. He looked at her and she couldn’t find the wall, not like she had before. There was always an inkling of separation when he touched her, and she couldn’t find it. He was there, all for her. She held him there, hands and lips speaking louder than she ever could. Passion erupted from white eyes, the profound way he looked at her incited an uproar of flutters. The difference felt unequivocally greater than anything she’d ever known.

He helped move her hips quicker, gripping and digging his fingers into her bum. Her walls tightened around his cock as she clawed at his hair, pulling it hard. Quick moans escaped her as she rocked faster; his length hitting her perfectly over and over. Leaning her forehead on his, she let whatever sound escape her, high-pitched curses, short in-takes of breath.

“Oh, Draco.” He gripped her tighter, pulling her down harder, faster.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, capturing her lips again.

She held him tighter, pressing every inch of herself against him. His lips moved down her shoulder as she buried her crimson face in his neck. The scent of him enraptured her, sweet, mint, musky tobacco, she was close. He thrusted deeper suddenly, making her throw her neck back. She pushed his chest down until he laid flat on the bed. Hermione ran her hand through her hair, keeping it away as she pressed down on his chest. Her walls started clenching around him as her movements stuttered.

“Oh! Yes, yes, yes!” she exclaimed.

“Gods, Granger,” Draco groaned, feeling her tighten around him.

“Oh! I’m—I’m close!” she exclaimed. It came crashing into her. Hermione gripped the sheets around him as she came continuously. It wouldn’t stop as her thighs shook harder and harder. “Fuck! Oh my God!” Her breath was catching, her lower abdomen felt hollow. He kept moving as she shook and screamed. She came again, slick covering his cock as she sunk down further. Peak ecstasy coursed through her, she felt heightened and impossibly satisfied.

Draco thrusted his hips into her as she finally stilled, on the brink of his own orgasm. He tossed his head back into the bed, Hermione kissed and sucked on the sensitive, pale skin as he moaned lowly. A string of curses followed as he came inside her; she felt it all, wanting more and more. Until she lifted herself off him, laying on the bed and catching her breath. Scooting her body so her head could rest on a pillow, she closed her eyes, willing her heart to return to its natural rate. Her legs were still shaking, if she stood up, she’d topple over.

“I’m not done with you,” Draco said. When she opened her eyes, he was looming over her, his hair a right mess on his head. She let out a small laugh as she tousled it, trying to find a semblance of his normal look.

“That’s never happened before,” she breathed out. “Give me a second.”

Draco smirked. “No, no I don’t think I will.”

Hermione pulled his face down, kissing him slowly. He moaned into her mouth, making her stir for more. Lips moved down her neck, allowing her to close her eyes and rock her head back. Deliberately, he made his way down, kisses sloppy and needy. His tongue lapped over her nipple as languid moans escaped her. He crawled down the length of her, his hands squeezing her anywhere and everywhere as he went. Once he was between vibrating thighs, he massaged them with his knuckles. Then, without warning, his tongue met her clit. Her hips bucked suddenly before he could shove them down. He licked through her folds spreading her insatiable wetness over her clit.

“Wait,” Hermione moaned.

He looked up at her, continuing his deliberate swipes over her clit. She felt one of his fingers press into her core. Her head tossed back as she gripped the pillow above her. Two fingers entered her, curling towards her point of pleasure.

“Oh! Don’t!”

He stopped and she looked down at him. “Don’t?”

“Don’t stop!”

Draco chuckled, moving his fingers deliberately, rubbing and curling. His tongue flicked over her clit, making her legs shake more. She was going to finish too fast, one right after the other.

“Don’t—oh! Don’t fucking stop!” she screamed.

She gripped the pillow tighter, her back arching nearly off the bed. Her toes curled and her legs shook violently as she came, moaning and shouting into oblivion. Hermione collapsed back onto the bed, having no opportunity to catch her breath as Draco captured her lips in his. She kissed him back languidly, feeling the sweat riddling her body. Physically, she’d never felt better but her legs were relentless.

“Can you take another?” he asked, pushing the sweat-stuck curls from her face.

“You’re,” she tried catching her breath, “insatiable.”

“You make me loose control, Granger.”

She pulled his face to hers, kissing him tenderly. He grabbed her left hand and pressed it into the mattress. A faint sound of scratching metal caught her ear. Looking to their hands, she saw the gold and silver connecting.

“How do these rings work?” she asked.

“I told you,” he said, kissing her again.

Hermione pushed him back. “I know but what if it makes you feel what I feel now?”

He cocked a brow. “It’s only supposed to work when you’re hurt or anxious.”

“Pain and pleasure go hand-in-hand,” she said.

He smirked. “They do.” Their lips met again. She could feel his hard cock pressing against her thigh, rubbing against her. “Tell me stop and I will.”

Feeling his want through their magic, she couldn’t bring herself away. She wanted him again and again, no matter how sensitive she felt. “Be gentle with me,” Hermione whispered, nudging her nose against his, kissing him lightly.

Draco placed his free hand on the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His other hand pressed hers into the mattress. He kissed slowly, spelling out care with his lips. When he entered her, he moved tenderly, taking his time with her. Hermione tangled her hand into his hair, letting small moans spill into his lips.

He braced himself against the mattress, leaving her other hand free to run her nails down his back. Rhythmically, he moved inside her, faster yet still careful. She held him close as his lips moved down to her jaw, leaving small whispers of passion all over her. Hermione felt herself close again, the sensitivity overwhelming her. Draco groaned deeply, resting his forehead against hers. She watched him as his eyes squeezed shut and his lips parted; she loved seeing him like this. Nothing burdening him, just her bringing him unadulterated pleasure.

“I’m close,” she whispered.

She lifted her hips into his, grinding along with him, feeling every inch move inside her. He felt made for her. Draco moved a little harder, listening to her moans and gasps as he went. He looked down at her, flush and honey and sweat. Pure perfection. She raked her nails down his back as her head tossed back. Her chest rose and fell quicker as she tightened around him.

“Hermione,” he moaned. Her eyes shot open, finding him looking down at her. She kissed him quick, feeling her orgasm crash into her. Moaning into his lips, her legs shook furiously again, she could feel her heart beating in her thighs. He continued moving inside her, slowing as she felt him close to finishing. Once he had, with his own chest heaving and a graveled moan into her mouth, they both stayed there, looking at each other.

She reached out, pushing his own matted hair from his forehead. When he pulled out of her and laid down, Hermione grabbed the covers and pulled it over them, legs still shaking slightly. Silently, she scourgified herself as Draco pulled her into his side, allowing her head to nuzzle into his neck. She moved her hand up his chest to his cheek, turning him for a sweet kiss.

Burning silver through the darkening of the room created a sense of longing, even though he was right there. “Vous êtes mon coeur.” He ran his fingers up and down her back as she fell into a sleep, unperturbed by the troubles in another life.

She woke up before him and snuck out of the bed, legs delectably sore. Plucking her underwear and his black dress shirt she tiptoed into the washroom. She quickly used the loo and dressed before finding her bag on the counter again, catching her reflection in the mirror. There was mascara under her eyes, which she quickly rubbed away, though other than that, she looked healthy. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were bright. What struck her most was the natural upturn of her lips, something she hadn’t seen in years. She collected half of her hair as she dug in her bag for the hair clip.

Digging deeper, she found some things she had left over from the last time she used it in the summer. A tin of mints, a pen, a sweatshirt, her winter coat, and a photograph. Popping a mint into her mouth, she looked at the photograph. Molly had given it to her at some point over the summer. It was from second year, when her parents joined her in Diagon Alley for the first and last time. They loved it, but it was overwhelming for them. Hermione’s hair was a bush on her head, the curls blowing in the wind. Her mum and dad stood behind her, and as the photo moved her dad pressed a kiss to her mum’s cheek. She grabbed the sweatshirt and the photograph as she made her way back into the bedroom.

He was still asleep as she crawled back in, sitting cross-legged facing him. Putting the things to the side, she looked down at him, feeling a smile steal her lips. She pushed a stray hair from his forehead, admiring how relaxed he looked. She lightly traced his face. Down the bridge of his nose, under his eye, under his chin. Leaning down, she placed a chaste kiss to his eyelid, wanting him awake. His brow twitched in response. She kissed his other eye then his lips.

“Mmm,” he stirred, his head falling to the side.

Draco’s eyes fluttered open, closed, then opened again as he saw her. He stretched his arms forward, his lean muscles flexing as she watched him. He rested a hand on her thigh, giving her a small squeeze.

“Good morning,” Hermione whispered.

“Morning,” he responded, his voice deeper than normal, complimented from morning rasp. “Come here.”

She leaned down, letting him kiss her. His tongue slipped into her mouth briefly before he pulled away. Hermione rolled her tongue around her mouth, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Stop stealing my mints, Malfoy.”

“Don’t make it so easy.” He sat up in the bed, looking at the sweatshirt. “Where’d you get that?”

“It was in my bag but, I wanted to show you this,” she said, scooting closer. She took the photograph and handed it to him. “You told me about your mum so, here. Those are my parents.”

He watched the moving picture on its continuous loop. “I’ve seen them in that still photograph on your dresser. You still look like your father, but you’ve got your mother’s eyes. She’s beautiful.”

She smiled. “I wish you could’ve met them. I think you’d’ve taken easier to my dad, he was the self-proclaimed intellect. Mum would be the one you’d have to win over, considering our past but also just because you’re…involved with me. She was very protective.”

“What are their names?”

“Thomas and Roxanne,” she said as he handed it back to her. “They would not let you call them Mr. and Mrs., they said it made them sound old.”

Draco grabbed her hand. “You really love them.”

She nodded, trying to keep back tears. “I do. I want to tell you everything about them, but I don’t know when I’ll be ready.”

“There’s no rush.”

Hermione put the photo back on the sweatshirt as he summoned his underwear, shucking them on under the covers. She moved her leg over his as she sat on his lap, running her fingers down his chest, over his pronounced white scars. His hands rested on her thighs, tenderly massaging her aching muscles.

“That feels nice,” she said as he rubbed deeper. “Mm, I’m a little sore.”

He smirked. “Are you? I would apologise but I don’t want to.”

She shoved his chest lightly before wrapping her arms around him. A little smile played at her lips as she looked at him. Hermione placed a kiss on his chest, propping her chin on it as she looked up at him.

“I want to show you around London.”

“This place is riddled with muggles.”

She narrowed her eyes, sitting up again. “They live here, they’re people too. I thought you were—”

“Granger,” he interrupted. “Muggles or wizards, I’ve never been fond of crowds.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“Well.” She hugged him tighter. “I want to show you my London. Just a few places, I won’t overwhelm you. Besides, I shouldn’t be away from Hogwarts long. Head Girl and all.”

“They’ll survive without you,” he said, leaning towards her. He kissed her for a while, feeling herself getting lost in him again.

Draco’s lips moved down her neck as she hummed in contentedness. “If you don’t stop, we’ll never leave.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered.

Hermione grabbed his face and kissed him quickly before getting off the bed. He groaned as she tossed his pants onto the bed. She gathered the mess of the lingerie, her sweatshirt and retreated into the washroom, figuring out what to transfigure into wearable clothes. As she took off his shirt, her hand grazed her gauzed arm. She watched herself dress in the mirror, her eyes rarely leaving her arm, still disillusioned, she didn’t want to break the spell. As she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, a sudden onslaught of reality hit her.

It wasn’t going to be like this every day, no matter how much she wanted it to be. She’d give up so much to be able to live like this, just him all the time. Him with his endearing smiles and intoxicating lips. It couldn’t be the fantasy she had made up in her head. Not when she was still flirting with death. He didn’t even know. It didn’t feel like she was leading him on. When she was with him, she felt as though she’d live forever but she wouldn’t. She may not even make it through the school year.

“Alright?”

Hermione turned around, finding him standing in the doorway. “Fine.”

Draco held his hand up, the silver ring glinting in the light. “Try that again.”

She shrugged. He walked in, handing her the boots she transfigured from her heels as he grabbed his dress shirt. Leaning against the sink, he buttoned his shirt, waiting for an answer. “I remembered we still have a lot to do to fix me. Just overthinking.”

She buttoned her jeans, turned from her dress, before shoving the boots on. As she shoved everything else into her bag, he watched her, placing the photograph in as well. “We’re going to figure it out.”

“I know.”

...

La Petite Boulangerie came into view as they crossed the street. Hermione opened the door for him, much to his distaste, the gentleman that he was. She’d never actually been to this bakery despite the many stories that came out of it. It was always somewhere she longed to visit and who better to bring?

“The little bakery?” he asked.

She stood next to him in the cramped store, looking in the sweets case. “That’s the literal translation, yes.” A couple was leaving one of the few tables in the corner as she looked around. “I’m going to get that table, order for me?”

He nodded as she walked over, shrugging her winter coat off and hanging it on the chair. On the wall, just behind the table was a bulletin board with newspaper clippings, upcoming events, and pictures of what she assumed was the owner’s family. As she looked it over, she caught sight of a woman with unruly hair and brown eyes. She was much younger in this picture, quite possibly Hermione’s age now. She brushed her thumb over it, wiping off the dust as she looked. It was her mum. Of course. This was the bakery in the story they told her about how they met.

Draco sat their food on the table, taking his own coat off. She sat down, noting the aptly chosen banana nut muffin in front of her. She looked at his.

“You’re having cake at ten in the morning?”

“Eleven,” he corrected. “The old woman told me I had to get it. Red velvet and something called creamed cheese frosting.”

She stopped smiling, looking from the slice of cake to the woman at the counter. Some part of her thought she’d find her mum standing there, throwing her a cheeky wink. Instead, there was a kindly old woman cleaning the top of the sweets case.

“That’s odd,” she mused. He cocked a brow as he took a bite of it. “My parents met here, that’s why I brought you. Dad was picking up a cake for his mum or nan or someone, and it was that cake. My mum told him it was her favourite and then the rest is…history.”

“Do you think she knows you?” he asked.

“No, anyone I knew before thinks I’m dead, or they should, at least, that’s what I told him to say.”

“Who?”

Hermione smiled. “Nothing. Do you like it?”

“Yes. Granger, who are you talking about?” She picked a chunk of her muffin, keeping herself busy with eating so she wouldn’t have to respond. “Granger.”

“No one, nothing.” His eyes narrowed. “Please, just, leave it. I don’t want to dwell on things I can’t change.”

He didn’t press but he also didn’t offer anything more to the conversation. As they ate in silence, she looked over at the old woman. She was overthinking again; she didn’t know the woman. Red velvet was a common flavour. Hermione Granger was dead.

Dying.

No.

No.

No.

Her leg started shaking under the table. She squished the muffin wrapper. Draco finished. She stood up. She grabbed their trash and threw it away. She grabbed her coat. He followed. She grabbed his hand. She pulled him back out into the cold. Heat rested behind her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She pulled him down the street. She found a photobooth. She pulled him in. He sat down. He said something. She didn’t hear.

“It takes still photos,” she thought she said.

He said something else. She didn’t hear. He grabbed her wrists. She was looking at him. His mouth was moving. She couldn’t hear. His eyes were searching. She couldn’t hear. He was blurry. She couldn’t see. He grabbed her face. She couldn’t feel it.

Dying.

Then, a shock coursed through her body. She could hear and she could see, and she could feel. The sound of a double decker driving past caught her attention. It was heavy, she knew the difference.

“Breathe,” Draco said, still holding her.

She heard herself breathe but it didn’t feel like she was doing it. It was out of body. She placed her hands over is. Her face was wet. She had been crying, was crying, currently. Hermione threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into his neck. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Tighter,” she sobbed. “Please, hold me.”

“I am,” he whispered. He held her harder, until it became hard to breathe. She could feel him, but she couldn’t. It was disembodied, she was disconnected. Where was she? What was happening? She couldn’t stop crying, realising just how much she didn’t want to die. She wanted him, to be alive with him.

“I’m so scared.” She clung to him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

She felt him cast a few spells around the photobooth. A wash of warmth overcame her as her cries became softer. The disconnect was still there. Was it her that was holding him? Was she someone else? Dying. It crept back in. Dying. It felt paper thin. Dying. She felt his arms around her, was it real? Eyes squeezed shut as she struggled through her breathing.

“You’re okay,” Draco said, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “It’s okay.”

He was there. He was speaking. She could feel him speaking, his dark voice reverberating in her chest. Sweet. Mint. Tobacco. It was him. She was her. Draco. Hermione finally pulled back, holding his head between her hands.

“I’m scared. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t want—I don’t—” She couldn’t breathe.

“Look at me. Breathe.” He placed his hands over hers, taking a deep breath. She watched him as she took in a pathetic, shaky breath of her own. He did it again and she tried to match him. His chest rose, hers followed. It was difficult to see him, he was watery. They were breathing. “Good girl.”

Hermione kept breathing, feeling her heart pounding, skipping beats. She loosened her hold on his head, allowing him to grab her hands and pull them down. He held them tightly, making her know he was still there.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You can’t be mad at me. Please,” Hermione begged, moving closer.

His eyes switched between hers, searching. “Is it Weasley?”

“No.” She bit her lip, trying to keep it in. “Please just listen and don’t get mad. I told Theo first because I’m so scared and I didn’t know what to do. He told me to tell you, that I was being…being selfish. I’m not trying to I’m just so terrified.”

He held her hands harder and she could see the wall behind his eyes again. She took more breaths, finding the words to say. It was simple and yet, utterly defeating.

“I’m dying.”

Draco stilled. “You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Granger—”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You’re lying,” he said hardly.

“I’m not,” she said harder.

“Granger, I swear—”

“Malfoy! Don’t make this fucking harder!” she shouted. Wrenching her hands away, she pulled her coat off and threw it on the ground of the booth. She reached into his coat pocket, took his wand, and pushed her sleeve up. With a shaky hand, she casted the diagnostic. It had changed.

Extremely lethal. Life-expectancy: LOW Seek medical attention immediately.

“I’m dying,” she said again. “This is killing me, and I’m scared. I don’t want to die. I haven’t even fucking lived! I need to fix this! I don’t know how long I have and I’m sorry if I’ve led you on. I’m sorry that this might be the end and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you because I’m fucking selfish!”

She collapsed against the wall, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. It was maddening, all of it. Why couldn’t she be happy for more than a day? Could she have a week? A year? When she looked back, he was looking ahead, at the flimsy red curtain. Wiping at her snotty nose, she felt like she had ruined everything. She just wanted to live in her fantasy, six stories from reality, wrapped in his arms. But she couldn’t.

“What did Theo say to you?” Draco asked, his voice steady.

“I don’t know,” she said defeatedly. “I’m selfish, I led you on. That if I wanted to keep it a secret, I needed to stop this with you; that you’d be angry with me.”

He didn’t move, it felt like he didn’t breathe. She watched him, expressionless, waiting for something. Anything.

“You are angry,” Hermione said.

More silence.

She set his wand on the seat between them as she stood up. She grabbed her coat from the ground and slid it on. When she reached for the curtain, it wouldn’t budge. She pulled harder. Nothing.

“Why did you tell him?” Draco asked.

She turned around; he wouldn’t look at her. “I needed to tell someone. He already knew about my arm. I needed a friend.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could fix it before it got worse and you would never have to know.”

“What changed? Why tell me now?”

She sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. Wiping her eyes with her sleeves, she looked down at him, stony in front of her. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Draco looked up, his steely gaze not giving anything away. She huffed shortly, removing the clip from her hair before running her hand through it. There were so many things he could say, so many things she expected him to say or do but he just sat there. Somehow that made it all worse.

He stood up, grabbing his wand, and shoving it in his coat. He rubbed his chin, over his mouth as he looked towards the ceiling.

“I’m not angry with you.”

A breath of relief escaped her. “You seem angry.”

“I am, I’m fucking pissed.” He stepped forward, cornering her in the booth as he reached his hand out to her face. Cradling her cheek, she felt okay again. He was still there.

“You’re angry with Theo,” she said, trying to read his eyes.

“Yes, and myself. And the fucking bitch who did this to you.”

“Why are you mad at yourself?”

“Because I didn’t do anything!” Draco exclaimed suddenly.

Hermione lifted onto her toes, resting her hands on his shoulders. “We’re not doing this again. You didn’t have a choice. This isn’t your fault.”

He pulled her forward, both hands holding her face. “You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice broke.

“No, don’t apologise.” He tilted her head up, looking at her intensely. “I’m going to figure this out, alright? Do you hear me?” She nodded. Draco took in a taut breath. “You’re mine, remember? I’m not letting you go.”

...

The snow had stopped. The cold remained. She ruined London. There were so many things she had broken yet somehow, she’d managed this. He was still next to her. Hermione looked at him, watched as the wind blew through his hair. She reached out and pushed it back, earning a look from him. There weren’t many other people around as they sat on the nondescript park bench, in a place between here and there. The cup sat on her leg, the condensation dripping onto her jeans.

As she felt the biting air turn her nose pink, she thought about where she was. She’d been clinging to this idea of London being home for so long and yet, it wasn’t. There was no home for her. The bakery wasn’t for her, it never was. Hogwarts was never meant for her. She didn’t want to go back. Facing the realities, she preferred the other life. The wizarding world was entirely too suffocating.

Then, as they sat, mostly alone, the sound of a cat mewling caught her attention. She looked around, searching for the little friend, and coming up short. When she looked back at Draco, there it was, laying on his lap. Her eyes widened.

“Crookshanks?” Hermione asked, sitting forward so quickly the cup dropped to the grass. He meowed. “Oh my God. Where have you been?”

She took the little cat’s head in her hands, scratching at the back of his ears. He crawled into her lap purring and nuzzling his head into her sweater. A disbelief filled laugh escaped her as she coddled him.

“Is that the same one you had at school?” Draco asked.

“Yes, I thought he ran away.” She ran her hand along his tabby fur, appreciating his scrunched-up nose. “Why did you leave?”

“Crookshanks!”

They both looked up.

“Crookshanks!”

A man was shouting, Hermione saw him at the edge of the park, his back turned. The cat buried his head further into Hermione, pawing at her hand to pet him. The man turned around, spotting the cat on her lap.

“I am so sorry!” the man laughed as he walked up to them. “He’s an outdoor cat even though I try to keep him in! I hope he didn’t…”

He stopped as he approached the bench. Hermione’s hand stilled on Crookshanks’ back.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Daniel Peckherdst.”

His eyes were wide, his mouth agape as he looked at her. The tabby jumped from her lap, deciding to claw at a nearby tree. She stood up, rubbing her hands on her jeans. Daniel was in shock, it seemed but he stepped forward, looking her up and down.

“You look the same and yet so different,” he said, laughing slightly. There was a silent and awkward communication of a hug between them. She took the tentative step forward, wrapping her arms around him quickly.

When she pulled away, Draco had stood up, placing his hand on the small of her back. Daniel looked up at him then back to Hermione. “Sorry, hey, hi. I’m, uh, I’m Daniel.” He held his hand out. Draco looked at it, making no move to shake it.

“Right,” Daniel said, awkwardly smoothing his hand down his coat. “I’m sorry, I usually am not at a loss for words. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I know,” she said, smiling sadly. She looked up, finding Draco looking down at her, his eyes stony. Grabbing his hand from her back, she gave it a squeeze and smiled. Back to Daniel. “I suppose I owe you a conversation.”

He laughed. “That would be nice. Can I steal her for a moment, mate?”

“Not your mate,” Draco said with narrowed eyes.

Hermione placed her hand on his cheek. “I won’t be long.” He furrowed his brows, his jaw tensing. She pressed a short kiss to his lips, whispering, “It’s okay.”

When she faced Daniel again, she gestured towards the bench on the other side of the park. He nodded and they started on their way over. She chewed on her lip as they went, never expecting something like this to be happening. London was a rabbit hole of everything she could never return to.

“Your boyfriend’s very, uh, protective,” Daniel said as they sat down.

“Oh, he’s not—” she cut herself off, looking back to Draco. Crookshanks had made himself comfortable on his lap again. She was done lying herself, they were never friends, but they weren’t just classmates either. It was more than that, he was everything.

“Yes, he is.”

Daniel nodded. “Seems, uh, nice, I suppose.”

She smiled. “He’s not keen on other people.”

“He’s like you then? A witch?”

“Wizard, but yes, we go to school together.”

“So, you’re still in school?”

Hermione looked down at her hands, twisting the ring over and over. “I spent what would have been the last year of school trying to keep the world intact. So, yes, we’re all trying to finish our education.”

Daniel nodded, scratching at his forehead. “I hoped everything had worked out, seeing as how this world didn’t change. You won then? And your friends Harry and Ron, they’re alright?”

“We won and we’re…well we’re alive,” she said. “We lost a lot but we’re fine, in the relative sense of the word. What about you? How’s your family? Are you at uni?”

“I am, yeah. Family’s good. My grandad passed a few months ago but, we’re good. I’m visiting for the holiday. I’m going to Trinity in Dublin, actually.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great. Are you studying history like you always told me?”

He nodded, chuckling. “Yep, yeah. I’m, uh, I’m seeing someone too. A bloke, actually.”

Hermione smiled. “Really? What’s he like? What’s his name?”

“Conor and he’s very Irish. A bloke’s bloke but I love him. Mum loves him.” Then his smile faded. “She misses you, dad too. They were distraught for, for months, Mione. Are you coming back? Is it safe?”

She twisted her ring again, catching Draco out of the corner of her eye. “No, I’m not. I can’t. If anyone finds out about what I’ve told you, they’d erase you and your parents memory of me. I shouldn’t have told you anything, I was terrified and stupid, and I didn’t know what to do. But I cannot thank you enough, Daniel. If there is anything you need, ever, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Nothing I can think of. Does that mean I can speak to you again?”

“Yes, yes, I’d love to but…I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?” Tears started pricking her eyes. “I’ll never be able to see your parents again. You can’t tell Conor, you—”

“Can’t tell anyone, I know,” Daniel said, reaching for her hand. “I haven’t, I promised I wouldn’t.”

She wiped a tear away, forcing a smile. “Sorry. Um,” she dug in her bag for her pen. “I have a phone. It might be hard to reach me, but I will text you, if you have that ability.”

“You forget, I live in the real world.”

She laughed. “Of course.” Daniel pulled out a phone, much nicer than hers. She entered her number as a contact, HG. “I’d love to meet Conor in the future.” If I’m alive. “Tell him I’m Grace Allen or someone from school.”

“God, I’d pick someone better than Grace Allen.” They both laughed. “Are you okay, Mione? I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, literally. That bloody cat has kept me company though.”

“I can say, for sure, that I’m happy,” she looked to her left, at Draco, who was watching them. “But I’m hurting, if that makes any sense.”

He nodded. “It does. I hope he treats you well. He’d understand the best, yeah?”

“I’d never thought it’d be him,” Hermione said, looking back to Daniel, “but, yes. He’s exactly what I need.”

“What’s his name? Or is that a secret too?” he teased.

“Malfoy. Draco, I mean. Draco Malfoy.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed. “Wait, I’d know that name anywhere. Posh boarding-school boy, poked fun at you?”

“I forgot I told you about that. People change, though.”

“For the better, I’m hoping.”

“For the best,” she smiled.

He patted her hand. “Good. I wouldn’t be able to take him anyway, he’s very tall and intimidating.”

They both smiled, taking the moment to see each other. It was just over a year and somehow everything was nothing. He was his own person; he had a life and a love. He was safe and happy, and it brought her peace. Perhaps she hadn’t ruined everything.

“Crookshanks found his way to you then?” Hermione asked.

“He did. I think he hates me, though. He’s gentler on Conor.”

“You took him to uni?”

“Had to, dad’s allergic. Hope that’s okay.”

“No, no, fine. I just forgot how much I missed him.”

Daniel pointed discreetly. “I think he loves Draco.”

She looked, finding Crookshanks eating a piece of leftover pretzel that Draco held out to him. Her heart fluttered at the sight. Kneazles knew when to trust someone. That meant the world.

“You should take him with you, wherever it is you go.”

“Won’t you miss him?” Hermione asked.

He shrugged. “A bit, yeah, but you deserve a piece of home, I think. He knows Mione.”

Mione. It was different when it came from Daniel. It was one step away from her parents’ Miss Mione. One step away from the life she wanted back.

“Daniel,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Sounds like another goodbye,” he said sadly.

“It is but not like before. I’ll see you again. I am just forever grateful for you and your kindness. Your friendship. It means a lot to me.” I hope I see you again.

Daniel pulled her into a tight hug, one she recognized from another life. She hugged him back just as tight. “I still call you my best friend, whenever someone asks.”

Hermione placed her hand on his cheek when they pulled back. “You were my first friend, my best. Don’t tell the others.”

He laughed. “I won’t.”

They hugged again before standing from the bench. Draco stood when he saw them, eyes only on her. When she reached him, he grabbed her hand, rubbing over her ring. “Alright?”

She nodded then picked Crookshanks up from the bench, kissing his smushed face. “Want to come with us?”

He purred happily, stretching his paws on her shoulders. Daniel laughed. “I’ll miss you too, mangy thing.”

Hermione smiled. “You have my number, please use it. I’m counting on meeting Conor.”

“I will. You’ll love him, he’s smart like you.” Daniel turned to Draco, holding his hand out again. “Nice to meet you.”

Draco looked at his hand again, feeling honey daggers on him. He shook it. “Daniel,” he said simply.

Daniel started away when he seemed to remember something. “Hermione, your parents,” he said, making her heart stop. “They’re buried at south hill; thought you should know.”

Then, he waved his goodbyes as he left the little park, the sun going down with him. Hermione let Crookshanks jump from her arms and tangle himself through Draco’s legs. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. He held her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. As the thoughts of her parents, the years she spent with Daniel and where she was now, she realised just how many lives she had lived. The one with Draco now, was the one she wanted next.

“Ready to go back?” he asked.

She looked up, finding silver. “As long as you’re there.”

He held her face before kissing her sweetly. “You can’t get rid of me now, Granger.”

Hermione smiled, kissing him again as they apparated back to Hogwarts. As the thoughts came with her, there was one little one she didn’t find herself afraid of.

Doubled over the encyclopedia, running on nothing but overly caffeinated tea and two hours of sleep, Hermione rustled through the never-ending amount of papers and books. Her eyes were struggling to focus. She pinched them shut then wide open, blinking rapidly, hoping to ween out at least another hour of concentration. She had narrowed a few of the poisonous ingredients down into a more comprehensive list based on their side effects. Most were unknown, much to her dismay but her research wasn’t without trying. Over sixty had turned into just over twenty, progress was being made.

Holding up one of the papers, she willed her eyes to work. They wouldn’t. With a loud huff, she slammed the paper back onto the desk, her hand making a loud smack. Crookshanks mewled behind her, rolling onto his other side. Hermione stood up from her desk, weaving her way through the books scattered around her floor. She gave the tabby a scratch on his head as she padded out of her room.

She made her way into the washroom, tying her hair up loosely as she went. Running the water, she pushed her sleeves up and splashed some onto her face, looking for refreshment. After patting her face dry with a towel, she caught sight of her left arm. Hermione removed her jumper just as her breath was stolen from her. She’d had her arm disillusioned for so long. She’d been deluding herself into believing that it was fine, that it hadn’t gotten worse. The mirror said otherwise. In the reflection, her eyes followed the long veins spreading and curling around her elbow, extending onto her upper arm. They reached downwards similarly, encroaching on her hand, wrapping around her wrist like manacles.

They were darker now, the veins. No longer an unperturbed grey, they were infringing on black. It was painfully ominous, whatever it was that lurked under her skin. Tracing over the veins, they ran cold. All of it, cold. Her arm, the skin surrounding, it was all cold. Frigid. She squeezed at her upper arm where the veins seemed to stop, it was warm there. The rest felt…

It felt dead.

Tickles started in her nose. Heat seeped behind her eyes. She couldn’t cry anymore. Her heart skipped a few beats, maybe more. No. She needed to breathe. Gripping the sides of the porcelain sink, she pinched her eyes shut. A shaky breath escaped her, one in. How could she be so foolish? Leaving it disillusioned for so long, she’d tricked herself into thinking she had more time. Were the veins a measure for how long she had? Once they reached the tips of her fingers, was that it?

Everything she didn’t know about what was wrong suddenly came crashing down on her until she could not longer breathe. Holding in her breath, she watched the swirling behind her eyes, the little universe. It was fading all into void. Into dark. How close was she to that darkness?

Hermione opened her eyes, finding the faucet still running. She didn’t want to move from where she was. The water slipped down the drain, droplets splashed against the basin. It was a trickle not a rush. How much of life was a rush? How much water was left?

She turned the faucet to the left, waiting for the heat. It was flowing more now, falling straight down the drain. What a waste. Steam built up, rising from the sink. Dipping her finger in, it burnt her skin. She brought her left arm under the water, waiting for the burn. Nothing came. Dead couldn’t feel. She couldn’t feel the pain. It was nearly boiling. Her eyes never left the spot on her arm the water ran over. It was turning red, blistering even. She left it there. She just wanted to feel it. Dead couldn’t feel.

Then a drop hit the basin from above. Her head turned up; a girl was in the mirror. She was crying.

“Stop it,” Hermione whispered. She cried more. “Stop doing that.”

There was no burn, just the heat in her eyes, dripping down her face in scornful mercies.

“Crying hasn’t gotten you anywhere, why do you keep crying?” she asked the girl. “The tears won’t save you, so stop fucking crying.”

Her chin shook. Then a cat mewled, and she looked to her right, finding Crookshanks looking up at her with his big brown eyes. He jumped onto the sink and pawed the faucet handle until the water stopped.

“Granger?”

Crookshanks leapt from the sink, finding his way out of the washroom. She couldn’t look away from the mirror. It was happening all over again. Who was that? Why was this happening? She was so happy not so long ago. She just wanted to be happy.

“Granger.” His voice was soft, he sounded tired. She looked to her right again. “What’s wrong?”

Pushing herself from the sink, she turned and held her arm out to him, in all its gruesome glory. She watched his eyes darken, his jaw tense. He took her left hand in one of his as he traced the veins with his other. A sob got caught in her throat.

“I can’t feel you.”

His eyes shot to hers. “What?”

“I can’t feel you touching me,” she sniffled as his fingers rubbed over the burn. “Where the veins are, I can’t feel anything.”

“You didn’t feel this?” he asked, gesturing to the burn. She shook her head. He reached his hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her skin. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said. Draco brought her arm around his body as he held her closer. She hugged him hard as he held her face, wiping the tears away. “You’re going to be okay.”

“But what if—”

“It’s not an option. I will do everything I can and even everything I can’t to make sure you’re okay.”

Hermione chewed on her lip as she looked at the raw determination in his eyes. She wondered what she did to deserve to have someone who cared about her this much. Someone willing to go to the trouble for her.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“You.” She didn’t hesitate. She thought about him all the time.

His lips turned up ever so. “I’m right here.”

She nodded, feeling the familiar ache in her heart. The one that accompanied stars and icy touches. That thought returned, the one she wasn’t afraid of. Draco kissed her forehead, creating the serene comfort she needed from him.

“Will you sleep with me?” she asked.

“That’s very forward of you, Granger,” he teased. A small laugh escaped her as she smiled. His thumb caressed her bottom lip. “There it is. I love that smile.”

Flush crept into her cheeks as she looked at him. Her chest was surrounded by warmth from every little touch, every beautiful word from him. He took her hand, leading her back into her bedroom. After pulling back the comforter, he crawled in and patted the spot next to him. She followed with a small smile and bleary eyes. Hermione cradled herself into him, legs tangling together as she buried her nose into his neck. Draco wrapped her up tightly as his icy hands found their way under her shirt and his fingers moved in circles on her back.

“How did you get here so fast?” she asked. He made a questioning sound. “You felt me through the rings but how did you get here so soon after?”

“I was already here, having a talk with Theo.”

She lifted her head. “You were having a talk?”

“If cursing him out equates to a talk, then yes.”

“Why were you cursing out your best mate?”

Draco looked down at her, moving his hand to cradle the back of her head. “He shouldn’t’ve spoken to you the way he did; said what he did. It wasn’t his place.”

“You didn’t need to curse him out.”

“I did. No one speaks to you like that.”

She lifted her hand to his cheek. “But he was right. If he hadn’t been hard on me, I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to tell you, if I even told you at all.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, considering her words deeper. “Well, you’ve told me, but he still didn’t need to be an arse about it. Besides, it was time I returned the favour, keep him in line as he does me.”

Hermione squinted her eyes. “You enjoyed scolding him.”

“I won’t say I didn’t.”

“Malfoy,” she chastised. “He’s still your best friend. He’s still important.”

“He can handle it and anyway, you’re more important,” Draco said, pulling her impossibly close. He nudged his nose against hers before placing a whisper of a kiss on her lips. “You’re always more important.”

The little thought came back, and her heart soared at his words. She kissed him back as their lips moved together slowly. He created a flurry of flutters in her stomach from such simple touches.

“You should sleep,” he whispered.

“Mm,” she hummed as she buried her face into his neck again. Draco held her gently, peppering soft kisses on her neck and shoulder. He kissed up the side of her neck to the underside of her jaw. Kisses met her ear, her jaw, her cheek.

“I can’t sleep if you’re doing that.”

He chuckled and her skin lit afire from his hot breath and the vibrato of his silken voice. “Sorry. Try to rest, mon coeur.”

And she did and the little thought still lingered, following her into the depths of sleep.

...

daniels number! just lettin u kno its me. talk soon?

She put the phone back down on her bed, continuing to cross reference ingredients and their properties. Draco sat at the end of the bed, leaning against the post as he did his own research, Crookshanks on his lap. His leg was pressed against hers, something she realised he did often. He always had to be touching her in one way or another. It was an unspoken language from him, perhaps it was his possessiveness seeping into the need to know she was always there. Even if he couldn’t show everyone else that she was his, he needed her to know. She did and didn’t want it to change.

“What about cowbane?” she asked. They were attempting to narrow down her list even farther.

He flipped through the book until he found it. “It’s not highly poisonous and its use in Doxycide is for its natural paralyzing qualities. You’re not paralyzed.”

She sighed, crossing it off the list. “Death Cap?”

“You’d be dead already.”

Crossed it off. “What about foxglove?”

“Very mild, it makes you sneeze and your toes tingle.”

She looked up; her brow quirked slightly. “First-hand experience then?”

He looked up through his lashes. “I was a novice potioneer once, and an idiot eight-year-old.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head before returning to the list. Tapping the pen against the notebook, she felt frustrated. So many unknowns, so much confusion. She was never known for her patience and she wanted the cure now.

“What about—” The phone rang. It was Harry. “I should probably answer this. Look at bloodroot and boomslang please.” She picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he sounded out of breath. “You free?”

“Not entirely but I can talk. How are you? How was Christmas?” she asked as Draco rested his hand on her ankle, wrapping his fingers around her.

“It was fine, nothing to write about,” he said, huffing more. “Thanks for the gifts though. I haven’t burnt them yet.”

She smiled. “When Ginny told me you didn’t have proper cookware, I was shocked, then I remembered you’re an eighteen-year-old boy who doesn’t think about that sort of thing. I hope they fit in your cabinets.”

“They do.” He huffed some more.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just running. Fucking Auror training bullshit. Apparently, I’m strong enough but not quick enough,” he said. “Anyway, not important. I wanted to ask if you received your gifts.”

“I did and I wrote Ginny. I—”

“Shit, right. Sorry, I—God. I—Just—Did you get Ron’s?”

Hermione sat up straighter. Draco looked up through his lashes. She held the phone a little tighter. “Yes.”

“Well?”

“Well, what, Harry? It was a rock.”

“It was more than a rock, Mione.”

“So, you read it then?” she asked, her voice becoming incredulous. “Or you helped him write it? Perhaps there’s a rough draft I ought to see?”

Harry sighed on the other end. “I didn’t help him write it. Hell, I didn’t even tell him to. I merely suggested that he write out what he wanted to say to you. You know, have it sorted. I thought that would be something you would suggest and that maybe—”

“That maybe he’d do it? Because he so often took my suggestions or listened to the things I had to say, ever?”

Draco tightened his grip on her ankle, making her look at him. She grabbed her pen and notebook, scribbling down a quick note. Harry’s on about Ron. She showed it to him, and his grip tightened more.

“I never said I was good at suggestions or advice, that’s what I had everyone else for,” Harry said.

“Why are you even asking about it?”

There was a bit of rustling on his end. “Break’s over in two days and he hasn’t heard from you. I don’t know what Ginny has told you but, he’s lost it a bit. I’m not sure if its after affects of everything, the war whatnot, if it’s you, Fred, or—”

“If it’s me?” Hermione asked, wrenching her ankle from Draco’s grip, and getting off the bed. Crookshanks became spooked and jumped from the bed, nestling himself on her desk. “Are you suggesting that I’m the cause of Ronald’s incapability to reign in his emotions and apply them like a regular human being? That my existing alone makes him turn into a heinous person that I don’t recognize? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Mione, really, you know—”

“Or maybe,” she said, throwing her arm in the air, “maybe we missed a horcrux and he’s been fucking carrying it around this whole bloody time, making the rest of us feel like shit!”

“You can’t blame him for being an angry person.”

“Like hell I can’t,” she bit, pacing around her room. “I tried the excuses, Harry. He lost Fred, I know, but that shouldn’t constitute this sort of anger. If anything, you’re the one who should be angry, taking it out on the world.”

Harry sighed; she could picture him scratching his jaw as he often did when frustrated. “It’s hard for you to understand.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, eyebrows up to her hairline. “Tell me, Harry, what is hard for me to understand?”

“It’s easier to lose control of your emotions, even get furious, when you’ve lost someone. You, personally, never have.”

She ground her teeth together tightly, the grip on her phone becoming dangerous. She stepped around her bed to be in Draco’s eyeline again, she needed to calm down. He looked at her, putting the book down from his lap and sitting up.

“I have, Harry. I’ve lost someone, two people, actually and I can never get them back. You want to know what makes it worse? I didn’t get the fucking chance to be angry about it!” She laughed and no humour lied in it. “I didn’t even get to be sad. I didn’t get to cry; do you know why? Because I had to be there for you and Ron. I had to be there for the entire world and all I wanted to do was scream at it for taking my parents away from me!”

“They’re not dead, Mione, they—”

“They are, Harry!” she shouted. “They’re fucking dead! I lied to you because I thought it would make it easier. You already had the weight of the world on your shoulders, and I didn’t want my dead parents to add to that. I didn’t want you to blame yourself, I didn’t want Ron to either because I care about my friends. I consider how they feel and how my actions affect them! Countless nights I spent crying after the both of you went to sleep! I could tell you all about that! Or that I started praying to the fucking God I don’t believe in that this was all some fucking nightmare! Wishing that I could take everything back! The letter to Hogwarts, the magic, all of it! So, don’t fucking talk to me about grief, Harry. I know grief as well as you do and I’m sorry I don’t know it better! I’m sorry that everything I fucking did for seven years was for you and that sorry excuse for a fucking friend!

“He can be angry. God, he can be angry all he wants but you know what? I’m angry too! I’m so bloody pissed but you don’t see me taking it out on other people. You don’t see me nearly cursing someone because they broke a few tables! Or nearly hitting my friend as she tried to protect them. There’s something else wrong with him and I am sick of being the one everyone expects to fix it. He’s your friend more than he ever was mine.”

She was breathing hard, her face undoubtedly crimson from screaming. The other end was quiet. Hermione looked to the ceiling and shook her head at the absolute unbelievability of her life. When she looked back, she found Draco sitting at the edge of her bed, watching her carefully. She stepped up to him, pushing the hairs that hung over his forehead back. He held her hips, hugging her gently.

“I’m sorry, Mione,” Harry finally said. “I don’t what else to say besides I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for your apologies or sympathies, Harry,” she sighed. “I’m just tired. I’m fuming and I’m exhausted. Ron needs to sort himself out and I can’t be the one to help him.”

“I know. I was only suggesting it because he loves you.”

She took in a sharp breath as the words spilled into her ear. Her hand moved from Draco’s hair to the side of his face and as she looked into his eyes, she found her answer.

“That’s his problem.”

“Right, well—”

“I have to go.”

“Okay, I’ll call—”

She hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed. Cradling Draco’s face with both of her hands, she crashed her lips to his. It was rushed and it was hungry, and she was pissed. It was what she wanted. Needed. Craved. Felt. Not Ron. She didn’t love Ron.

Draco pulled back, reluctantly, as she could see by his white eyes. He took her in for a moment, seemingly trying to address the situation. “Do you want to talk?”

“No, I’m done talking about him. I’m done thinking about him,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“Okay.” He kissed her again, short and tender. She nudged her nose against his affectionately when he pulled away again. “Do you want to keep working?”

She sighed. “Not really. I want to bash my head into a wall if I’m honest.” A gentle knock at the door. “Yes?”

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Theo pop his head in. He looked between them, a smile rising to his lips. “This is nice.”

“What do you want, Nott?” Draco asked.

“Oh, right. Well, I heard shouting so, I wanted to make sure everything was okay, but also I was going to whip up something, if you’re hungry.”

“Everything’s fine,” Hermione said, not even believing herself. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, forcing an oncoming headache away.

Draco squeezed her hips. “You should eat. I’m still looking into those ingredients you asked about.”

She reached around him, grabbing the large book before she took his hand and pulled him to standing. Theo turned out the door, followed by her and Draco. She sat the book on the kitchenette counter as she led him in front of it.

“If I have to eat, so do you. And this way,” she said, opening the book, “you can still read.”

“Innovative, if I do say so myself,” Theo said, leaning against the opposite counter.

She leaned her elbows on the counter, holding her head up. “What are you making?”

“Anything you want. Little known fact about me, I have magical powers.” He pulled out his wand. “This stick, you see, can do whatever I want it to do.”

She laughed. “Can it conjure me a pot pie?”

“Why, of course it can!” Theo flicked his wand dramatically before one appeared on a plate in front of her. She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I accio’d it from the kitchens, same magic they use to vanish our plates, now eat up!”

As she grabbed her fork and started to cut into it, Draco turned the book to face her. “Boomslang. Highly poisonous, slow to act. Causes acute to severe numbness, lack of feeling. When bitten by a boomslang, the target will experience severe aches and pains followed by dark, unnatural veins protruding from the entry point.”

Hermione stood up straight, dropping her fork. “Does it say how long it takes to kill someone?”

“Four to five days.” Her face fell. “I think it might be it. There has to be something else too and I can almost guarantee there’s a curse on it and that’s why nothing has happened. This is part of it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“We can still experiment but yes.” She let out a sudden laugh as she grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him. He held her waist, pulling her closer. Her kisses were short and quick and filled with hope. When she pulled away, lips in a wide smile, she looked at him.

“I told you I’m going to fix this.” Hermione nodded and kissed him again.

“You two,” Theo said, making her suddenly untangle herself from Draco. Though, he kept his hand nestled on her lower back. Theo shook his head, a playful grin on his face. “So cute. You’re perfect for each other really, it makes me nauseous.”

“Fuck off, Nott.”

...

One day.

Less than a day.

Ron would be back.

She would be forced to talk.

Forced to be civil when all she wanted to do was scream.

It wasn’t just an answer to Ron, it was an answer to everyone. Hermione was involved with his entire family; they shared a best friend. When she tells him no. When she says the words, “I don’t love you,” it will be collapse of everything she’s ever known. All of the comfort. They will tell her they still love her, that she is still their family, friends. There will be a shift. They won’t see it. They won’t see how they’ll favour him over her.

Less than a day and what becomes of the second life she tried to make?

What of the other life? What of Draco? How long will she keep him a secret?

He shouldn’t be a secret. She wanted to want him out loud, in front of everyone. What of consequence?

Less than a day to have him out loud before the consequences came home. Less than a day, she ought to start now.

Hermione left the library, leaving the books to put themselves away as she started through the castle. She could hear the voices of judgment in the back of her mind. It was expected. Was this wrong? Should she break this secret just before he returns? Should she have done it sooner? Should she never?

No. This was her life. She ought to do what she pleases with it, considering the time she may not have. She surged on through the halls, searching for white hair and silver eyes, searching for solace. As she mounted a flight of stairs, they began their transition to another landing.

“Hermione,” she turned around, “heya.”

“Seamus, hi. How are you?”

“Fair, bit sad holiday is over but, whadda do?”

She nodded.

“Say,” he continued, “I saw yous sittin’ at the Slytherin table on Christmas. Thought ya were a trick of me eye.” He laughed.

“No, I was sitting there,” she said, turning to look how much longer the stairs would take. Seamus pressed his lips together, as if he were keeping himself from saying something. “Theo and I have become somewhat of friends, living together and all.”

“Sure, yeah. But, uh, yous were sittin’ next to Malfoy.” He said it like an accusation. She’d done something wrong.

Hermione looked him dead on. “We’re seeing each other.”

“Yous and Theo?”

“No.”

The pin dropped. She watched as his eyes widened, his jaw dropped open. She’d given him the juiciest piece of gossip Hogwarts had heard since Ron and Lavender. Had it been a mistake?

Then he laughed. A lot. “Good one! Yous almost got me!”

She didn’t laugh and as the stairs found their landing, she didn’t turn to go. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what’s funny.”

“Yer serious?” Seamus asked, eyebrows pulled together so strongly, she thought he’d give himself a headache. “Yer datin’ Draco Malfoy?”

“That is what I said, more or less.” She waited for a response, watched the paled face boy stutter for one when she continued up the stairs. As she found her way near the hall to the head dorms, she heard three sets of footsteps, one behind, two in front. The one behind was running.

“Wait!” Seamus called.

Around the corner, Draco and Theo appeared, speaking lowly to each other, something serious. Theo waved when he saw her, causing Draco to look up. The recognition in his eye, the glint of possessiveness, the subtle upturn of his lips when he saw her made telling Seamus worth it.

Then her wrist was grabbed, and she was forced to turn around.

“Does Ron know?” Seamus asked.

“No.”

He laughed again, this time in disbelief, possibly frustration. He caught sight of the Slytherins nearing them. “Has he got yous cursed?”

She pulled her arm away from his hold as she straightened herself up. “No, Seamus, I’ve not been imperio’d. That’s rather disrespectful of you to suggest.”

“I wouldna be surprised! Comin’ from him an’all.”

The footsteps stopped next to her. She looked up, finding those eyes on her. Hermione slipped her hand into Draco’s, watching as the confusion riddled his features.

A scoff from Seamus made them both look. Draco’s eyes narrowed in on him. “Can I help you, Finnegan?”

He shook his head slowly, looking at their intertwined hands. “Gotta be a joke.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, that he could question and jeer all he wanted. But, if she wanted a rumor, it might as well be the truth. She turned to Draco and lifted onto her toes as she turned his face towards her. A soft kiss met her lips, short, wishing for more.

“I can’t watch this,” Seamus said. “Yer feckin’ mad.”

Draco slowly turned his head to look him up and down. His eyes were dark, menacing. “No one asked you to watch, Finnegan. Now, fuck off, would you?”

Seamus looked to Hermione, as if she would say otherwise. Her eyebrows raised, a sudden feeling of unrelenting power from being the one Draco held and defended ran through her. The Gryffindor’s mouth hung open again, shaking his head over and over. They watched him go, a breath of curses escaping him as he went.

Hermione looked down the hall to the Gryffindor common room, imagining the sort of uproar Seamus’ rumor would cause. Though, it was no rumor, it was simply the truth. Sometimes, the truth hurt. Not for her, this truth had never felt better.

“What was that about?” Draco asked.

She looked up at him, a coy smile on her face. Hermione stood tall again, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to keep you a secret anymore.”

He smiled, though small, it was genuine, and it made her heart ache. “Sick of the clandestine affair, are we?”

She laughed. “A bit, maybe. I just want to hold your hand in the hall if I so please. I want to sit next to you at meals and I want you to kiss me whenever you want.”

Then he did. He kissed her and the thoughts of anyone returning to school had completely left her mind. It was just him. He was enough.

“Gods, I’m so fucking single,” Theo suddenly said.

Hermione untangled herself from Draco, laughing slightly. She held his hand again, relishing in the feeling of his thumb rubbing over her skin. It was small and juvenile, but she couldn’t help but think how electric it felt.

Draco clapped Theo on the back, earning a teasing, annoyed look from him. “I love you two, really, I do, but keep rubbing this shit in my face and I’ll lose it.”

“Then lose it,” she said, pulling Draco away with her.

He followed her through the halls, past students whose eyes lingered too long on them. Whose jaws dropped open and whose whispers ravaged the school. Hermione had flipped their reality and the entire school was a flutter with their names.

“Malfoy and who?”

“Are you sure?”

“I thought she hated him!”

“She has to be cursed.”

As they descended the last flight of stairs, she led him into the Great Hall for dinner, deciding, very poignantly, to seat him at the Gryffindor table. It was one thing for her to join the Slytherins, it was expected but this, Draco at the lion’s table, sat on the same whorls of wood Ron always occupied, made a statement. Suddenly she was a writer, her statements were everywhere.

She handed him a plate as the food started to appear in front of them. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Eating dinner,” she said, scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate.

“Granger.” She stopped to look at him. “Tell me.”

“I did. You shouldn’t have to be a secret, not mine anyway.” He looked at her with uncertainty creeping up like the wall. Hermione placed her hand on the side of his face, pulling him closer to her. “You’re mine just as much as I am yours. Why should I hide it?”

Draco leaned forward, a smile playing at his lips as their noses brushed together. “That bit about,” his lips ghosted hers, “kissing you whenever I want?”

“Mhm,” she whispered. “What about it?”

“Just making sure I heard you right.” He kissed her gently, cupping her face in both of his hands. She felt him deepen it, his tongue sweeping over her lip like warm tea. All too quickly, she felt herself lost in the music of his touch, the song of lips, ultimately forgetting they were on display for everyone.

Someone cleared their throat. Hermione pulled away, finding Professor McGonagall at the end of the Gryffindor table. She brought her fingers to her lips in an awkward attempt to cover them.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy,” she regarded them both carefully, her knowing eye lingering on Draco a bit too long. “Let us keep our displays of affection private, yes?”

Hermione felt the flush from head to toe, beyond embarrassed and yet utterly happy. “Sorry, professor.”

She thought she caught the slightest upturn of Minerva’s lips. “Enjoy your dinner. Oh, and Mr. Malfoy, this is for you.” A small piece of parchment with his name was exchanged between the two.

“Thank you, professor,” he said monotonously. He wouldn’t meet her eye.

Minerva nodded before walking away, leaving the rest of the school’s eyes on them. Hermione tried to ignore the daggers and arrows coming at them from every table, even the Hufflepuffs.

“What is it?” she asked, taking a bite of her potatoes.

Draco broke the seal and read over it quickly. She noticed he looked at it longer than it ought to take him to read it. “It’s from Pomfrey.”

She sat her fork down. “You told her?”

“What? No,” he said. “I, ehm, I took your advice.”

“Did you?” she asked, trying to hide her smug smile.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. She’s offering classes for me and an entry exam to St. Mungos.”

In her excitement, she grabbed the letter from him and read it over. “Oh my God! Malfoy, this is amazing!”

“I’m not saying yes.”

She looked up, eyes wild with confusion. “What? Why? Do you not want to be a healer? I’m sorry if I forced you—”

“You didn’t force anything and don’t apologise,” he said sternly. “The classes would take time away from helping you, and the entry exam, even if I passed, they’d reject me.”

Grabbing his hand on top of the table, she forced him to look at her. “Taking those classes will help me,” she whispered, prying eyes meant prying ears. “We don’t know everything, and Madam Pomfrey is a wonderful healer.”

“She doesn’t specialise in dark magic and poisons.”

“Neither do you but look what you’ve figured out. I could not have possibly done this without you.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Granger, top of class and all.”

“I’m my own worst critic,” she said, then she held the letter out to him, “and your biggest supporter. You’re doing this. You’re going to be the best healer that damned hospital as ever seen.”

She needed to make sure he listened, that he heard her. She needed to know that if they failed or that if she died before they finished, that he would have a life. A good one. Something fulfilling. The way he looked at her now, she suddenly became worried he would try and use legilimency on her, piece together her worries. She didn’t want him knowing what she thought about. Dying, leaving him behind, leaving him with a life worth living.

“You’re my priority,” he said, folding the letter back up. “Not this.”

“Malfoy, this is will—”

“Granger,” he cut her off with cold eyes. “Do not argue with me on this.”

“I’m not arguing, and I am also not taking no for an answer,” she said, matching his look.

“You are—”

“The priority, I know.” Hermione took his hand and laced their fingers together. “At least take the entry exam.” He wasn’t budging. “For me.”

Draco sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her. She knew he couldn’t say no to her, and she was taking advantage of it. It was selfish but at the same time, it was for him. It was a give and take that she was willing to fight him on. Take advantage even.

“Alright,” he said. His jaw was still slightly tensed, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Hermione reached out, tracing her free hand over his jaw as she leaned towards his ear. She pressed a kiss just under it before whispering,

“You’re quite sexy when you’re frustrated.”

He swallowed hard, biting his bottom lip as he looked at her. Her eyes were languid, looking at him with pure desire. Draco moved his hand to her upper thigh under the table, his fingers sneaking between her legs.

“Careful with that mouth of yours, Granger.”

She placed her hand over his, moving his fingers higher. Spreading her legs ever so, she trailed his finger over the seam of her jeans, down towards her core. Hermione’s eyes never left his as she did, making a show to breathe a little harder. He cleared his throat quietly as his eyes became lighter, almost glowing white.

“Everyone’s watching,” he whispered.

“Then take me somewhere they’re not.”

...

Her laughter filled the empty corridor, somewhere between one classroom and another. No one would find them there. She walked backwards as he watched her until her back hit the wall. Honey eyes swam with pure joy and want as short, breathy laughs escaped her. He approached her, looming like a shadow through the darkness, the only light emanating from his eyes. Her heart skipped again as he placed his hands on the wall behind her, trapping her under him. He searched her face, scouring every inch of her.

“What?” Hermione asked.

His eyes burned. Hesitation. Something else?

“Nothing.”

Then he kissed her roughly, very roughly. His lips were unapologetic as he bit her lip, licking and sucking. She whimpered under him. He kissed down her jaw, down her neck, nipping all the way down. He moved farther; hands still steady against the wall as he met the clasp of her jeans. Hermione bit her lip in anticipation. Then she watched as he took the denim between his teeth and pulled, his tongue pushing the button from its clasp. Draco looked up at her, her chest rising faster, watching how fucking attractive he was between her legs. His tongue led the zipper into his mouth, slowly pulling it down. He gripped the waist and ripped them down her legs with her underwear.

Hermione gripped his hair as his tongue swiped through her folds. A low moan escaped her as he went again, collecting her pooling honey. His nose brushed against the curls, his tongue swirled over her clit and her neck arched back.

“Oh,” she breathed out roughly. “Malfoy.”

His tongue moved over her again slowly as she gently pushed his head further, holding his hair tightly. Suddenly, his lips were around her clit and he was sucking. A gasp of surprise left her as she looked down at him. Vibrant eyes stared back at her, the flush coming in a rush of passion. Draco sucked harder, his tongue swiping and lapping over her.

“Oh! God!” Hermione moaned, her voice echoing through the emptiness. “Malfoy!”

Then he stopped and pulled his mouth off of her. She furrowed her eyebrows as his tongue swiped over his lips which were glistening with her wetness.

“What’s my name, Granger?” he asked, voice raspy, making her stir.

“Mal—”

“No.” Two fingers thrusted into her core. She gripped tighter, groaning loudly. “I like it when you say my name.”

Fingers curled inside her, pumping and rubbing her point of pleasure. He was moving faster, making it hard for her to catch her breath or speak through her gasps and moans.

“C’mon Granger, say it.”

Harder.

“Say my name.”

“Oh, fuck! Draco!” she whimpered. With her eyes pinched shut, she felt his tongue meet her clit again. Her legs twitched and her hips bucked towards him, forcing him to hold her against the wall.

He moved faster, sucking, curling, licking, thrusting. Her moans were quick, her heart was pounding, and she was clenching around his fingers.

“Draco! I—”

“Yeah?”

God, his voice. He licked again, quicker, over her clit and over again. She started tightening more, her back arching against the wall. Long curses, short breaths. She was climbing as his fingers fucked her harder, pumping in and out. Hips began to shake as she came crumbling, coming down his fingers.

“Oh—oh my God,” Hermione stuttered as she finished.

Draco stood up, towering over her again. He smirked down at her pink cheeks and sweat clad curls against her forehead. As he started to raise his slick covered fingers to his lips, she grabbed his wrist and brought them to her mouth. She swiped her tongue over the tips of fingers before sucking down the length of them. He groaned deeply, pressing himself against her.

Her tongue swiped between them as she pulled them out of her mouth. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered.

Hermione wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him quick. “I hope not.”

His arms were around her, his face buried in her neck as she smiled. Draco kissed her bare shoulder, peppering more down her arm. There was a stir in her stomach, flutters, the feeling of pure joy. He held her closer, flush against him as his fingers moved in gentle circles over her skin. Over the moles, connecting them as he drew.

“They’re a constellation,” he whispered.

She laughed, turning her head towards him. “Technically you’re a constellation.”

He smiled and she couldn’t help but think how beautiful it was. Hermione nudged her nose into his before she kissed him. Draco’s hand found her face, his fingers tangling with the mess of curls. His lips were gentle and though his touch always a bit too cold, she craved it. She angled her body flat against her bed as he kissed her deeper. Fingers traced down his chest, over the scars, the pronounced lean muscle. She hardly took enough time appreciating him, he was the definition of perfect and she was bloody lucky.

Draco pulled back and looked at her with those same eyes. They held a certain look she’d been noticing from him more often, something gentler, something deeper. He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, a small smile forming on his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

Hermione felt the flush rising to her cheeks, suddenly feeling very demure. “Stop.”

“No,” he kissed her left cheek, “you’re absolutely,” one on her right cheek, “indescribably,” one on her forehead, “maddeningly,” one on her nose, “beautiful.”

Her brows pulled together in utter disbelief of him. The little thought came back, and she longed to voice it. It thudded against her chest, beaming like a new source of life. It was a good sort of ache. The same kind that made her chest twist in on itself when he looked at her.

“Malfoy,” she started, biting her lip.

“Granger?”

She sucked in a breath before kissing him again. She had time; the little thought wasn’t going away soon. Maybe it would never leave and maybe she couldn’t find it in herself to hate that.

He kissed her deeper, pressing her into the mattress. If she could wake up like this every morning, she’d never complain again. Then his fingers started travelling up her left hand, over her wrist and then the sensation stopped. She pulled away to look at her arm. His hand was tucked around her elbow, his thumb rubbing over her skin. Everything came back, crashing down. There was no feeling.

Lightly, she pushed him off and got out of bed, taking the top sheet with her. Keeping the tears down, she took in a deep breath and started for her dresser.

“Granger,” Draco said gently. He got up, finding his trousers as he watched her.

She grabbed random clothes, holding them to her chest as she willed herself to be calm. It was nothing. Losing the feeling in her arm, not being able to feel him touching her, was fine. Hermione chewed on her lip, feeling her pulse quicken. She was doing the opposite of calming down.

“Hey,” he said, walking up to her. “It’s okay.” The grip on the sheet tightened, her knuckles turning white as she looked at him. Draco held her face, taking a deliberate deep breath. She followed, searching his eyes for that comfort. That peace.

“Can you feel this?” he asked, moving his hands further into her hair. She nodded. He kissed her forehead. “And that?”

“Yes.”

Then his hands rested at her waist and he squeezed softly. “You can feel this.” He kissed her temple, then her cheek, her jaw, her ear. “You can feel me.” He rested his forehead against hers as he pulled her closer. “You felt me last night.”

Hermione let out an unattractive laugh, making him smile. “So inappropriate.”

He kissed her briefly then looked into her honey eyes, searching for something. “You’re okay and you’re going to be okay.”

“Promise?” she asked, feeling like a child.

“I promise.”

The little thought popped up again and it stayed.

...

She skipped down the steps towards the main hall, eager to finally lay this conversation to rest. Ron had returned from holiday and she needed to be the first person he saw and spoke to. He needed to hear it all from her. She needed to have control of this, and she would. It was going to be fine. It was.

Landing at the main entrance to the castle, she saw a few other students coming in from the train, but it seemed to be the last of them. No Ron or Ginny could be found anywhere, so she led herself into the Great Hall. There was a group at the end of the Gryffindor table, all laughing, hugging, coming together. He was there, taller than the rest with his mop of red hair. Hermione started towards them as she watched his face fall. She stopped. He was smiling just a moment ago and now…now he looked murderous.

Then he looked up and his blue eyes locked onto hers. No longer kind, no longer Ron.

“They’re lying,” he said loudly. Everyone around him stopped talking, finding Hermione just a few feet away. The air was still, cold.

“Tell me,” he said slowly, “that they’re lying, Hermione.”

Her mouth was dry. She hadn’t been quick enough. “Lying about what?”

“Don’t fuck around,” he snapped, taking a step forward, separating himself from his friends.

She looked past him, finding Seamus with a smug look in his eye. Of course, she’d been stupid enough to think he wouldn’t tell him first. It hurt just how pleased with himself he looked.

“They’re not lying.”

Ron nodded, rubbing at his chin with his hand and over his mouth. His eyes were almost empty, nearly devoid of the kind blue she’d become accustomed to some years ago. He was breathing steadily, deliberately. She saw his jaw tense, watched as he passed his hand through his hair. Even the muscles in his arms were tight. He was fuming, so much he wouldn’t show it. A deep sort of rage, one saved for moments like these.

“You’re a fucking whore,” was the first thing he decided to say.

The air left her. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said calmly. “Fucking. Whore.”

“That’s hardly appropriate, Ron. I—”

“No, Hermione, you want to know what’s hardly appropriate?” he snapped, finally letting the caged rage free. “You fucking Malfoy! That’s…Gods, I don’t even know who you are!”

There was her own anger, bubbling in the pits of her stomach. Was that how Seamus phrased it? She was a slag and nothing more?

“It’s not like that. I—”

“Isn’t it?” Ron shouted.

“No!”

“Oh!” He laughed, throwing his hands up. “Must’ve heard wrong then! Go on, tell me!”

He was being cruel. Mocking her, making her look an utter fool in front of the people she once considered her friends. Even Ginny stood there, watching.

“It’s…I—I mean.” Why was she struggling to say it? Why was he looking at her like she ruined his life? “I—he’s…we’re dating. It’s not like—”

Ron nodded quickly, brows raised, eyes wide, fucking mocking her. “Oh, dating? Oh! Yeah, that makes it better!” Then he laughed again, wiping his hand down his face. “No, no, fuck this. You know what I could’ve tolerated? You fucking him. At least then, maybe, it could be excusable. I could right you off as the fucking whore you are, but dating?”

“Do not call me a whore, Ron, I—”

“Do not fucking interrupt me!” he screamed. He screamed so loudly a few floating candles extinguished. In the wake of his anger, the entire hall was still with silence. No one seemed to breathe. “Merlin, you’re really dating him? That fucking vile piece of shit! Do you not remember what he did to you?”

“Yes, but—”

“But! Gods, I could tell you everything I ever heard. Everything I never told you about to spare your pathetic little feelings. The things they said about you and now you’ve fucked the enemy! Made friends with them!” His face was beat red, and his hands were in fists by his side.

“You’re not being fair, Ron. I haven’t even—”

“Fair! I’m not the one being fair?” He laughed again. She thought this was it, his breaking point. He’d finally gone mad. “You want to know what isn’t fair? Coming back from holiday to tell the girl you love you want her back only to hear that she’s dating a fucking monster! That’s not fucking fair!”

“I’m not obligated to love you!” she shouted. Ron stilled at her words. “I’m not and I don’t. I don’t love you. I can’t, not when you’re standing here, yelling at me, calling me a whore!”

“You are,” he said quietly. He strode towards her until he stood over her, nothing behind his eyes. No Ron. “You’re a filthy, little whore and I’m disgusted by you.”

Her heart shattered. She’d never been more hurt by anyone’s words. Worse even, he wasn’t just anyone.

“You want to know something?” he continued. “If it had been anyone else, I mean anyone, I would’ve stepped back. Let you be happy, it’s what I would’ve wanted for you, but this? This is the worst thing you could have ever done to me. I never thought you’d betray me, not like this. I’ll never be able to look at you again. You’re stained.”

They were words she never thought he was capable of. Words that cut deeper than the dagger used to end her. Words that changed everything she knew about the people she once loved. It was shattering. She felt empty and…stained. It hurt worse knowing he was right. Some part of his words, no matter how soul-wrecking and heart-breaking were right.

She’d done the one thing they promised never to do.

She betrayed him.

“I hope he breaks your fucking heart.” It was the last thing he said to her before walking away.

And she was left with a knot at the base of her throat and heat behind her eyes, forced to look upon the people who thought exactly same thing. Those she once called her friends. Those she fought next to, those she would have risked her life for, now watching her as if she’d ruined their lives. Frowns and sneers alike, not an inch of sympathy, not a crumb of understanding. Just judgement and hate. Pure hate.

It was all she felt too. She hated him.

He was right and she hated him.

...

Hermione had been through this already. She’d fought herself on it for so long. There was no possible way she should ever consider Draco as anyone less than someone she despised. She’d done this. She thought it, she acknowledged it. He apologised. Had she forgiven him? Was it an apology worthy of forgiveness? Was he? Was he worth all of this pain?

She’d been through it and she’d accepted it all. Yet, hearing it from Ron brought her back to reality. She had been a blind, ignorant girl who longed for someone. She chose the wrong someone.

But had she?

She did.

No, she didn’t.

The things he said to her.

He called her beautiful.

He called her a Mudblood.

He said she was everything to him.

He said she was filthy.

He healed.

He caused the hurt.

Over and over. It never ended. Perhaps it would never end. The questioning, the judgement. She thought she could handle it.

Was she happy with him?

She was.

Wasn’t she?

What of the little thought?

It was a dangerous little thought.

She hadn’t been afraid of it.

Not until now.

Ron made her afraid.

Ron ruined it.

She hated Ron.

She hated Draco.

No.

No.

She hated herself.

She did this. She ruined it all.

He’d never be right. She’d always be wrong.

They could never be, they should never be. She’d been fooled by longing gazes and sensual touches. Whispers of promise and apology. Words of beauty and grace. He fooled her. He caught her in his little web of hope.

It was wrong.

No, it wasn’t.

It was until it wasn’t and then it was again.

She wanted him.

No, she didn’t.

She was a filthy whore.

He was the reason.

She betrayed.

He was the reason.

She was crying.

He was the reason.

She was dying.

He was the reason.

Where was the answer? Where was hope? Where was right and wrong? Where was the line? Where was mercy? Where was anger? Where was love? Where was everything she’d ever wanted? Where was everything she was supposed to have instead? Where was life? Where was death?

Where was he?

When she needed him, where was he?

But no.

She couldn’t have him.

Stained and betrayed and filthy and ugly and worthless and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and and and and and and and and

Ron

and

Draco

and

hope

and

hurt

and

she was dying.

Did any of it even matter?

...

A knock. Then another.

It wasn’t his knock. She wanted his knock. No, she didn’t. Yes, she did.

“Sorry, bit busy,” Hermione called to the knock. She was lying, of course. She was laying in her bed, blankets pulled around her, mascara staining the pillow she held to her face. Crookshanks was curled in the crook of her hips, his head resting on her thigh.

“Hermione? It’s me. I was hoping we could talk.”

Ginny.

Why? She wanted to ask. You stood there too. You watched. You didn’t say anything, you didn’t keep him from calling me those names. You were complacent just like the rest of them.

“Like I said, bit busy.” She sniffled into the pillow. The pillow that smelled of mint and tobacco and something sweet. It hurt. He could never come back here.

“Hermione, please. I just…please.”

It hurt to hear Ginny beg. Why should she let her in? She’d always been her friend; she’d always been there. Perhaps comfort.

“Fine.”

The door opened and she sat up, deciding not to hide the mascara-stained pillow or her inflamed eyes. Perhaps sympathy.

Ginny approached her carefully, sitting at the end of the bed. She looked at Hermione with a flood behind those brown eyes. Perhaps care.

“What do you want?” Hermione asked, lifting the tabby onto her lap.

“Ron shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

“You need to stop apologising for him.”

“I know.”

“He’s not sorry.”

A pause. “I know.”

“Then what do you want, Ginny?”

She sighed, looking down at her hands. The lack of confidence made Hermione uneasy. Perhaps she thought wrong. No comfort or sympathy.

“I want to know if it’s true, that you’re dating Malfoy. I know you said they weren’t lying but, I think I need to hear you say it.”

“I am.” Was she still? She shouldn’t. Ron was right.

Ginny shook her head slightly, still not meeting her eye. “It was him then, the mystery guy?”

“Yes.”

“Gods, Mione.” She looked up, hurt covering her features. Why was she hurt? “Are you serious? How long?”

“Long enough.”

Ginny nodded. “Do you love him?”

The little thought. Like bells in her ears. Someone else had said it, the little thought left someone else’s lips. Hearing it out loud made it real. It was no longer just in her head, someone else acknowledged it.

“Do you?”

Hermione looked at the stained pillow, tracing her fingers over the dried mascara. He always laid on this pillow.

“Does it matter?” she whispered.

“Yes, I think it does.” Why did her voice sound so stern? Was she upset with her?

Hermione met brown eyes and without their playful glint, they were incredibly hard to recognize.

“Will my answer change how you’re thinking?” she asked.

Freckled brows furrowed. “Probably not.”

“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking?”

“Do you want to hear it?”

Hermione sighed. “Not really.”

There was silence comingled with palpable unease. It was like that now, uneasy, a sort of weariness in the air. She ought to get used to it.

“I’m sorry but I’m just worried about you,” Ginny said.

She nodded.

“I want to be happy for you, really I do but not if its him. Why him anyway? After—”

“After everything…I know,” she finished for her.

Ginny sighed. “Then you at least see where we’re coming from? You get how this is hard to understand?”

She nodded again.

“I don’t know,” the ginger kept going, “I suppose I thought you would have had a little more self-respect.”

Ron stabbed. Ginny twisted.

“You could have had anyone. You didn’t have to stoop as low as Malfoy to find affection, Mione.”

She wanted to scream. She hadn’t stooped, she hadn’t lowered herself. They were wrong!

God, but they were right.

“I know,” Hermione whispered.

“Why did this happen?”

“I guess I don’t know what you mean.”

Ginny shifted. “It’s not like this was happenstance. You aren’t without history with him. I can’t make sense of it. Were you drunk? Was he? I just…its wrong.”

Wrong.

Was it wrong when he touched her, and she felt alight? Was it wrong that his lips sent her into the stratosphere? Was it wrong that she never thought she could care about someone so much? Was it wrong that she wanted to feel him? Just holding her, arms wrapped around her body, whispering how perfect she was, kissing her neck.

But that was wrong.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” Ginny asked.

“I heard what you had to say, unless there was more.”

The ginger sighed deeply, brows still pulled together, eyes still dull. There was no change. No understanding, no concern or comfort. Just an ache worse than one still riddling her arm. Ginny stood from the bed, brushing her hands down her jumper. Hermione waited for something more. She waited for Ginny’s warmth, her words a hug, her laughter a comfort.

It never came.

“You know, I never thought it was Ron,” Ginny said. “The person for you, I never thought it was him.”

“Me either.”

Her face did something strange, fleeting concern maybe, or more disgust. “It’s not Malfoy, I know that too.”

Not Malfoy. Not Draco. How did she know? She never saw them together. She didn’t give Hermione the opportunity to gush over the mystery man, to tell her everything she loved about him. She didn’t get to reveal it on her own terms, and it was her own fucking fault. She was too excitable, too naïve to think it would have gone any other way.

She always wanted Ginny on her side. Maybe she never was.

“You can leave,” Hermione said, holding eye contact.

She was frustrated, that much was clear. Ginny nodded as she went away, Crookshanks following her out into the living area, leaving Hermione in the wake of every wrong decision she’d ever made. She felt empty. She was null.

What of Draco?

A tear slipped out and she let it fall. It didn’t mean anything; it was just water.

Should she end it?

Should she ignore him? Tell him? Break it off?

Should she go to him? Seek him? Love him?

They were right. Everyone else in her life was also so fucking right. She’d never been so wrong. About everything, she was wrong. What she thought she knew about Ginny was wrong, about Ron. Did that mean everything in her life was wrong? The feelings? The want and need? The incessant ache when he wasn’t there? Was that wrong? Was it wrong to miss him when he was gone and feel like a child on Christmas when he came back?

Why was everyone else always right?

Hermione picked up the pillow and threw it across the room. It knocked the framed photograph of her and her parents off the dresser. Shattered.

“I’m sorry,” she said to them. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

She moved to the end of her bed to look at the shards of glass. Each one a different shape, none like the other. Snowflakes, almost beautiful. Borderline lovely. Why didn’t every ache bring something lovely? Why did it always have to hurt?

She narrowed in on the shard of glass over her mum’s face. “Mum? I need you. So badly, I need you.”

Hermione pinched her eyes closed, trying to remember how her mum looked the last time she saw her. She just needed her. She just needed a hug.

“Am I wrong?” she whispered. “Is all of this wrong?”

No one answered.

“Are they right?”

Nothing.

“They are, aren’t they?”

A sudden flap of wings came into her room, causing her to open her eyes. Errol flew in, landing on the bed next to her. She never thought she could hate a bird. Snatching the note from his beak, she immediately recognized the writing as Molly’s.

Had he told her? Like a bloody child! He tattled to mummy!

Hermione ripped it open and unfolded the note.

My dear,

I hope this gets to you within the day. We received letter from Ron this morning. I can sincerely say that I have never been disappointed in you. Until now. It rips me up, my dear, it really does. You’re a smart girl and I expected you to make smart choices. This is not a smart choice. You are better than this. That boy comes from nothing but hate. You are not a person filled with darkness. He is. I feel it is my right as a mother to tell you how this hurts me. I hope, from the bottom my heart, that this is some teenaged mistake or a whim. This is not you. You are good, he is not.
I do not want a response. I am so disappointed in you, Hermione. I can’t bear it.

Molly

The tears filled her eyes, and she found a strange sort of comfort in the warmth of them. Now here, in her hands, it was written in ink. Forever embedded into parchment just how much of a disgraceful person she was.

“I feel it is my right as a mother,” Hermione read aloud. Drops fell onto the page. Anger fell into her chest. “You’re not my fucking mother!”

It was all coming up, she was shaking, she was afraid, she was panicking, she was hated, she hated, she loved, she wanted, she couldn’t, she shouldn’t. Her eyes caught sight of the ring on her finger. Quickly she pulled it off. He couldn’t come. He couldn’t feel her pain and come to the rescue. That wasn’t befitting of him. He was Draco Malfoy.

She was Hermione Granger.

They were never meant to be.

Oh.

But in another life.

In another life, they were. They were perfect. She could be the sun and he the moon, chasing her around the earth for eternity. Spelling out care and love through nights and the moments when they were both in the sky at the same time could be moments she held in her heart forever. He would wait for her to wake up as he went away. She would wait, as long as she could, setting slower and slower each night just to catch a glimpse of the silvery moon.

Perfect, silvery moon.

Her moon.

Hers.

But no!

No! Hermione didn’t get her moon! She wasn’t allowed her stars! God forbid she ever experience happiness! Or love!

It was everyone else’s fucking choice and they just had to be right! Painfully, excruciatingly right!

No more moon.

No more stars.

Just the sun.

Bright and burning and painful and so, so lonely.

No one could stand to look at the sun.

The water was still as she looked at it. With her knees pulled up to her chest and her face buried in them, she watched the still, clear water. It had been a while since she’d gotten in the bath. At some point the water had been warm and now it was tepid. She moved her fingers under the water, watching how her movements affected the surface. Little waves, little disturbances. All she did was move her hand and she broke the calm.

All he did was called her a whore and he broke her heart.

Goose pimples scattered over the exposed skin of her back and shoulders. She appreciated the cold, at least it felt like him.

No more stars.

She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face deeper into her knees. Then a tear slipped down her knee and fell into the bath. Little disturbance. She reckoned she’d cried enough tears to fill a hundred baths just this year. On one hand she could count the number of times she felt genuine joy in the past twelve months. One hand and one person the source of them all. One person she could no longer have because everyone else was right.

It wasn’t just Ron’s words. It was Ginny’s eyes. Hermione hurt her, betrayed them both. Betrayed them all. Those comforting brown eyes so hollow, so lost. She caused that. His words so callused, so vicious. It was all her fault. The people she loved, the friends she held dear to her all hated her and why? Because for the first time she put herself first. She had what she wanted.

This is why she never put herself first.

The water was still again. It was beautiful when undisturbed. Just serene waters, calming, clear and lovely. Her eyes caught sight of her arm. The veins were getting worse somehow. They were encroaching on a darker, deeper shade of black. Onyx, deeper than the sky at night, starker than pure ink. Wrapped around her wrist, twisted up her arm and there was no feeling. How much longer?

She dunked her arm under the water, willing the calm to fix the hurt. Just as he’d done. His calm voice, his deep eyes, fixed her hurt. Without fail, he fixed her hurt. There was no fixing this hurt, and he couldn’t come. The ring was somewhere else, in her room. She didn’t want to lose it, but she couldn’t wear it. If he came, she would have to face him and tell him.

Tell him what, exactly?

Tell him that she couldn’t be with him because of Ginny’s eyes. He couldn’t be her world because of Ron’s voice. He shouldn’t hold her tenderly because of Molly’s words. He no longer could kiss her and call her ‘mine’ because of everyone else’s judgement. Because of betrayal.

Hermione couldn’t lose the only family she had left. Letting them go simply could not be an option. She could not be alone for the rest of her life because of one, stupid mistake of a boy when she was nineteen.

Rest of her life?

Stupid mistake?

A curl slipped and fell over her eye, even it was a dull brown, hardly coiled. Limp, it had lost its spring. She was pathetic. Truly and really. Everything that everyone else thought of her was true. Everything that Ron had said was true. Molly was right. Ginny too.

“You’re a fucking whore.”

“I thought you would have a little more self-respect.”

“I have never been disappointed in you. Until now.”

“You’re stained.”

“I just…its wrong.”

“You are better than this.”

“I hope he breaks your fucking heart.”

“It’s not Malfoy, I know that too.”

“You are good, he is not.”

Like a merry-go-round, the words went. She could even hear Molly’s voice. See Ginny’s eyes, feel Ron’s rage. Why her? Why this? Why now?

Perhaps death was a better choice. She’d die a filthy whore who was a disappointment to everyone she loved. They would remember her as someone who didn’t respect herself enough, who was a grotesque idiot. They would pretend to miss her. A disgrace in life, a model in death. This was not life she was promised. These were not the loves she wanted. Nothing was right.

Hermione untangled her arms from around her legs and laid back in the bath, under the water. With opened eyes, she let the water sting as she watched the ceiling. The fluorescent lighting twitched. She could hear the hum under the water. It broke like glass through the still. She tilted her head to get a better look at the dull white ceiling. Her lungs started burning, she let a few bubbles free. Under the water was where she would stay until all of the hurt went away. Under the water, losing air, losing hope. Losing him.

She closed her eyes, waiting for it all to come to its end. It was better this way. They could believe they were right, and she would never have to be without him. She would never have to watch as she told him no longer.

A knock. A pause. Then two more.

Her eyes drifted open, more sting. Why did he have to come now? Why couldn’t he have waited just a few more minutes? When she was gone.

“Granger.”

She pulled herself from the water, taking in a deep breath. The air was stale and breathing hurt. Living hurt. He hurt. They all hurt.

The handle rattled. Hermione looked at the door and the chair under the handle. Sometimes muggle ideas were more effective than magic ones.

“Granger.”

“Leave me alone.” She wasn’t sure if she was loud enough.

“Theo’s worried. Says you’ve been in here hours.”

“Go away.” She pulled her knees back up, shivering from the January air that seeped through the walls.

There was a sigh. “What’s wrong?”

Hadn’t he heard? Hadn’t Ron got to him?

“Let me in.”

“No.”

“Granger.”

“Go away!” she said louder.

Another sigh. “Let me help you.”

She pinched her eyes shut as she took in a shaky breath. “I don’t want you.”

Take it back. Take it back, Hermione!

“What?” he asked, something caught in his voice.

“I don’t want you, Malfoy. Leave me alone.”

Stop! Hermione stop it!

“I don’t think leaving you alone is the best idea.”

Why did he have to care? Make this easier for her! Hate her!

“They’re right,” she said, resting her forehead on her knees. “They’re right and you need to go.”

“Who’s right?”

She sighed. “Ginny and Ron and Molly and Seamus, all of them! They’re right about you. About us, this, whatever.”

He didn’t say anything, not even a sigh. Tears pricked her eyes, and it was hard to breathe.

“I can’t have you. I shouldn’t. Please, just,” her voice broke, “leave. We’re done.”

No. No, no, Hermione!

“What did they say to you?” She could picture his dark eyes and tense jaw as he spoke.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re right. I’m a fool.”

“Granger, this isn’t—”

“Leave!” she shouted. “I don’t want you! We’re done, Malfoy!”

More silence. She heard her heart break in two. Worst of all was the little thought still lingered, dancing at the tip of her tongue. She had to make the little thought go away for the sake of family.

Footsteps descended and she was alone again.

...

It took everything in her to get out of bed the next morning. She didn’t bother with her hair. Her sweater was wrinkled, and she left her tie elsewhere. There didn’t seem to be a point in effort. As she left her room, she noticed the lack of Theo in the morning, loud and bubbly. He’d probably hate her now too. She did the one thing he told her not to. She did the one thing everyone never wanted her to do. It stuck out in her mind that everyone could hate her. They could call her whatever they wanted, insinuate the worst of her but they could never hate her as much as she hated herself.

Perhaps she should have stayed in the bath longer. Under the water, losing air, losing feeling, it was where she belonged. Then, of course, she felt an idiot. Succumbing to such dramatic thoughts and over what? A boy? Another who broke her heart? A girl whose eyes pierced her soul? A mother’s words? Maybe she’d been thinking about it longer than she realised. All the times she was unable to recognize herself in the mirror, she thought it. Every time the sting of liquor entranced her senses, the thought lingered.

She had a way out. An excruciating, debilitating way out but it was there. Ravaging her arm in tendrils of pain and modicums of panic was her way out. She could wait for her it to take her under, do her in as it was always meant to. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Letting it take her, was that weak? Or was that the bravery she had long left behind? The bravery that turned into fear and panic at every second of the day.

There was hardly enough time to think any longer as she approached the large, opened doors of the Great Hall. She stopped short, just before entering. Her fingers gripped the hem of her sweater and she bit her lip roughly, looking from one table to the next. The Gryffindors were jovial as always, even Ron was laughing. It hurt. He shouldn’t be allowed to laugh when he made her feel like this. He looked up, a wide smile still on his face and until their eyes connected, he hadn’t frowned. Simply, he stared. His face was unmoving, stern, judging. Hermione had to pull her eyes away. Then, almost unconsciously, she looked to her left, towards the Slytherin table.

Pansy Parkinson was clinging onto his arm like her life depended on it. He hadn’t seemed to notice her, so she let herself look. She let the pain sink in. His eyes were cast down at his empty plate, and yet he looked just as beautiful as ever. It hurt. God, it hurt. She wanted him to look up, she wanted to see his eyes, even for one more time. Pansy caught her eye, sending her what would have been a menacing look days ago, now it was nothing. It had no effect. She watched her lips move and Draco’s head snapped up. There they were those eyes like stars.

No. No more stars.

Hermione looked back to the Gryffindors, finding Ron glaring at Draco. There was nowhere for her to sit so she turned around. Her heart was aching. It was tearing in half, slowly, the knife coming down, making sure she felt every pull. It was too much, and she didn’t want to cry, she’d done enough fucking crying for a bloody lifetime.

A cooling touch grabbed her hand and her heart lurched.

“Granger.”

Hermione pulled her hand away and turned around, looking up at the little stars. They had dimmed, there was a wall.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy,” she said, looking away from him.

“No, you owe me an explanation,” he said harshly.

“You told me I don’t owe you anything.”

“You do now.”

She focussed on her scuffed Mary Janes. “Just leave me alone.”

A tentative hand met her cheek, the touch wonderfully icy and addictive. He led her head up to face him as she tilted her head into his touch. “Why are you doing this?”

Hermione pinched her eyes closed and grabbed his wrist, removing his hand painfully so. She couldn’t do this anymore. She needed a family. Ron and Ginny were that family and if they couldn’t stand her with him then she wouldn’t be with him. That was how this would have to be. That was the right choice.

Wasn’t it?

“Please,” she said, opening her eyes again. “Leave me alone.”

Draco shook his head. “Granger this isn’t—”

“You heard her, Malfoy. Leave her alone.” Ron stood just beyond them, arms crossed and eyes dark.

“This has nothing to do with you, Weasley,” Draco bit.

Hermione stepped back, looking at Ron with a mix of emotions. Why was he coming to her defense now? Would he forgive her? He looked back at her and raised his brows expectantly.

“He’s right,” she said. “You need to leave.”

“What did he say to you?” Draco asked. She couldn’t bear to look at him. It hurt too much. “Granger. What did he say?”

“He was right!” Hermione exclaimed. “So was Ginny. It’s wrong. I can’t be with you.”

“What? You’d rather be with him?”

Her head snapped up. “No, no, I—I just…I can’t lose them. They’re my family, they’re all I have.”

Draco shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair. Then his eyes settled on Ron with more anger than she’d ever seen. More furious than when Narcissa died, worse than when he read Ron’s letter. He looked ready to kill him. She caught sight of Theo coming up quietly behind him, taking in the tension.

“What did you say to her?” Draco asked slowly.

“She told you,” Ron said, an irritating smug smile on his lips. “You’re a vile piece of shit and she was dumb enough to fall for you.”

Draco stepped forward. “Don’t fucking call her that.”

“Ron, stop,” she said. “Can you just give me a minute to talk to him?”

His sneer was directed at her now, unflinching. She feared he would always look at her like that.

“Why? So, you can whore yourself out to him one last time?”

In the blink of an eye, Draco had his hand wrapped the ginger’s throat and had backed him against the nearest wall. Ron’s feet weren’t touching the ground as he kicked.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Draco growled.

“Malfoy! Stop!” she exclaimed, running over to them.

He slammed Ron’s head against the wall, making him whinge in pain. “Say it again, Weasel. I fucking dare you!”

“What?” he choked out. “She’s a whore!”

Draco kneed him in the gut and as he let go of his neck, Ron doubled over, coughing from the impact. As he started up again, Draco punched him clean across the jaw. There was a loud snap as Ron clutched his face, crying out in pain.

“Malfoy, please, stop,” Hermione begged.

He wouldn’t look at her, she wasn’t sure he even heard her. He was deep in rage, obsidian eyes focussed solely on Ron. She looked to Theo who was watching carefully, waiting for it to get worse.

Ron recovered and pulled his wand out, making Draco laugh. “Perfect! Use your little curse on me. Potter did and you follow him around like a fucking puppy.”

The ginger’s grip tightened around his wand. As he started to lift his arm, Draco used a wandless spell that threw him across the hall. He landed with a loud thud and another painful crack. Hermione ran up to Draco and shoved his chest back. He still wouldn’t look at her. She shoved him harder, trying in vain to make him stop.

“You’re being reckless, you need to stop!”

When his eyes finally met hers, she shivered in panic. “Why do you care?”

“Don’t. I still care about you, I—”

“What is this then?” Ron shouted. He was stalking towards them, wand pointed right at the pair. “Is this some ploy? You think breaking up with him will make you any less of a filthy, little whore? You’re wrong! You—”

Draco stepped around her, throwing wandless hex after hex. “Petrificus totalus!” Ron fell to the ground, stiff as a statue. He walked over him and kicked him once in the side. As soon as he was going to bring his polished shoe down on his nose, Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him away. She kept pulling him into the nearest washrooms.

Once inside, she shoved him back until he hit a stall. “What is the matter with you?” she cried.

“He fucking deserves it for what he called you!”

“He already called me a whore yesterday! He called me a lot of things but that does not excuse this behavior!”

“Like hell it doesn’t!” he shouted. “I’m going to fucking kill him!”

He started towards the door again and she shoved him back. “He’s not the one you should be cross with! I broke up with you, not Ron!”

His eyes were still dark, and his face twisted into sneer perfected over the years. “He made you.”

“He didn’t make me do anything!”

“He still fucking called you that fucking name—”

“Like you’ve never said worse?”

Draco stood tall, looming over her as he took a step forward. She wouldn’t shrink, she wasn’t afraid of him. “I apologised and I never called you a whore.”

“What good is an apology when you clearly haven’t changed?”

“Haven’t changed?” he bit. “What do you call the past five months then? Do you think I’ve done what I have because I don’t care? I care, far too much, I care!”

She stuttered for a moment knowing he was right. “Arguing with Ron like that? Beating him? You’re not fourteen anymore, that’s not change!”

“Gods!” Draco shouted. “How are you letting him get in your head like this? He hasn’t even been here! Did it really take one day for you to fucking turn around on me?”

“This isn’t about him. These are my words, my—”

“You said he was right! That they were all right! You hadn’t had these thoughts until he came back!”

“It’s not about him!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it’s not!” she cried. He stepped around her, starting for the door again. Hermione grabbed his arm and shoved him again, then harder. “I’m the one you should be angry with! I broke up with you! I’m hurting you!” She shoved him again until his back hit the wall. Then she beat against him with angry fists.

“You want to be angry?” Hermione shouted. “You want to act like a bloody idiot? Take it out on me!” She kept beating against him. She couldn’t stop. “You love having all the power! Hit me back!”

Draco’s jaw was tense as he watched her slowly becoming unhinged.

“Hit me!” her hands slapped his chest and they tingled from the impact.

“You need to calm down.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, Malfoy!” she cried, accidental tears falling out. It made her furious. “You love being in control, taking it out on Ron when I’m the one hurting you. You hit him now hit me!”

Her eyes were dark and wild as she glared at him. Hermione beat against his chest like a mad woman.

“Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!”

Draco grabbed her wrists, trapping her against him.

“Let me go!”

“Enough.”

She struggled against him as more tears fell. Was she losing her mind? Hermione kicked his shin eliciting a loud growl from him. She struggled and kicked and hit. Then her fist met the underside of his jaw. She froze.

Draco moved quickly, wrapping his large hand around her throat, turning and throwing her against the stone wall.

“I said ENOUGH!” he screamed. His voice, it crept through her bones, dark and rattling. “Is this what you want, Granger?” He was past furious. “You want me to fucking scream at you?”

“Yes!” Then she laughed. “God, yes! You should hate me like the rest of them. You should stop defending me.” More angry tears and she hated herself. “You can’t do that anymore. We’re done!”

His jaw was tense but the hand around her neck wasn’t, no matter what, he wouldn’t hurt her. “Why?” Dark eyes searched hers. “Why?”

Her chin quivered as she looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t get to fucking apologise for leaving me! That doesn’t make it better!” he said through gritted teeth. “Why are you doing this?”

She sobbed and sobbed. Grabbing onto his wrist, she held him there, pushing his hand tighter around her neck. She deserved this and she didn’t want to breathe. Draco’s eyes looked down to her neck then to her eyes, surreal concern crossed his face as he pulled his hand away and took a step back. He shook his head slowly, not understanding why.

“I’ve done the worst thing I could have ever done to them,” she said. “I betrayed them by being with you. They’re all I have to call family and I can’t lose that.”

They stared at each other in a long silence. The air was filling with everything they never said to each other, every opportunity they never got to have.

“You’re all I have,” he said after a while. “But you can lose me, right?”

More tears.

“It’s me or them and you chose them?”

“Malfoy, please.”

“No. No, you—” He cut himself off, running both hands through his hair. “If they really loved you, if he really loved you like he says, he would forgive you. They all would.”

“He’d only forgive me if I said I loved him back.” Hermione looked straight into his eyes. “I don’t love him.”

Draco took in a sharp breath. There was a certain knowing in the air. The tension that had built up seemed to stand still, boxing them in, trapping them in this moment. It felt hard to breathe, hard to look at him.

“And me?”

She looked away. “There’s no use in saying it. Not if I can’t have you.”

He walked towards her, stopping just before they could touch. What broke her heart even more was seeing the lingering tears in his eyes, ones he wouldn’t let fall.

“I can say it,” he said. “I’ve been feeling it for years, the least I can do is say it, right?”

“Please, don’t.”

“Why? Are you afraid of the truth?”

“I’m afraid that I can’t have the truth.”

“You can,” he said softly. He went to reach for her but stopped short, turning his hand to a fist as he dropped it. “I’m yours and you can have me, every second, every day. I’ll never stop being yours. Even when other people think it’s wrong and try to convince you to leave, I won’t stop.”

Tears coursed down her cheeks and she whispered. “Draco.”

“I’m in love with you, Granger, and I will never stop loving you. Not until you tell me that you don’t love me.” A single tear fell down his face. “So, tell me.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head and wiped her face. This was the one thing she’d been wanting to hear. Those little words, that little thought. It was almost perfect. Only if she could have him.

“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I can’t…I—I have to go.”

She allowed herself one last look into his eyes, finding them red and welling with more tears. Maybe she shouldn’t have looked. Hermione walked briskly out of the washroom, more tears streaming down her face. Her heart was utterly shattered, there was no more beating without him. It felt pathetic to even think that way, but it was the truth. He took away her pain and now she was nothing but. And it was her own fault, but she needed her family, she needed a home.

Bumping into someone, she muttered a quiet apology as she kept going. Then the person grabbed her arm and held her there.

“Hermione, what did you do?” Theo asked.

Rage.

Her head whipped up and she looked at him through watery eyes. “I didn’t do anything! I’m so tired of you making me feel like I’ve done something wrong with him!”

“You left him and that is wrong.”

Hermione shoved his shoulders back, making him stumble. “What about me?” she screamed as her voice became hoarse and shrill. “Why does no one ever think about me? I’m hurting! I’m in pain! I’m a fucking person too!”

He just watched her cry, offering nothing. Had she truly lost everyone?

She kept going, barreling through students in her way without a care in the world. Everything had fallen apart. She could hardly breathe; everything was breaking down. This hurt more than anything else. In an attempt to keep her makeshift family close, she ended up pushing every last person she loved away.

Every. Last. One.

She wanted so badly to say it back. He deserved to know.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she asked, picking at the grass in front of her.

“I think, maybe, I used to,” Harry responded.

She rolled the shards of grass between her fingers, green staining the pads of her skin. The sun beamed down on them; the Black Lake curled with the calm wind. It was a rare moment of still for them, quiet in the middle of a constant storm. So much had happened, yet so much was to come, towards the end of their sixth year, still so young, still so brave.

“What changed?”

He sighed softly. “Life.” Harry plucked a stray dandelion from the ground and spun it between his fingers. “It’s wrong but sometimes I think there is no future.”

Hermione looked at him, eyes squinting from the loud sun. “There is, there has to be.”

“What if there isn’t? Not for us anyway.”

The wisps of the dandelion flew away, toiling through the air, floating into the sky. Far away they went, lost to the wind. Oh, to be a dandelion.

Hermione would never admit it, but her thoughts often mirrored his. So much so she wondered if the thoughts would ring true, if they would fail and life would end, and it would be nothingness. She had to be the voice of reason.

“You can’t think like that, Harry. It’s going to be fine,” she said, her eye catching the scar on his forehead. “We’re going to be fine.”

He nodded, pushing his glasses up. “When?”

“Sorry?”

“When will we be fine? When will the nightmares stop? When can I take a deep breath and close my eyes without…without feeling like the world will fall apart?”

The wind blew gently, wafting through their hair. She opened her hand, letting the bits of grass travel away. “Soon, Harry, I think it will be soon.”

...

She believed she was right her entire life. Hermione Granger was the little know it all, and not far from the moniker, she truly knew it all. Every book in the Hogwarts library had once been in her hands. She knew everything about every subject. Facts, history, lore, myth, she knew it all.

What she didn’t know was how to handle heartbreak. What she knew of love, she knew from her parents and their love was one to be envious of. It was near perfect, the ideal relationship. Hermione had never truly been heartbroken. Not when Ron snogged Lavender, that didn’t hurt this much. Not even when she lost her parents because she at least knew she wouldn’t be left alone. She had her second family. Now?

Now there was no one. No Ron, no Ginny, no mum or dad, or Molly. No Theo. No Draco.

The ache superseded anything she had ever known. Even now as she gripped the porcelain bowl, emptying yesterday’s food from her stomach. She retched again; this time only blood came out. Dark purple, dripping from her lips as if she didn’t already have a constant reminder. Her eyes watered and her knees were cold from the hard tile below her. As her left arm laid over the bowl, she couldn’t even feel the sting of cool. It was getting worse, not even a tingle remained. Once she was sure nothing else was coming up, she flushed the toilet and laid flat on the ground.

As she looked at the ceiling, with the fluorescent light humming, she knew she’d been here before. Last time on the brink of bleeding out and Theo came. Draco came. She didn’t want him then; she resented his help but now more than anything she needed him. His arms around her, to scoop her up and brush her hair from her face, to tell her everything would be okay. To tell her he would fix this.

Would he still? Did he still care?

Perhaps she ought to put the ring back on for times like this, when she couldn’t get off the ground, when the pain consumed her, and the thought of death didn’t seem so frightening.

No. Get up.

Her eyes drifted shut.

Get up. You’re not doing this.

Her muscles relaxed.

Get up!

She sighed deeply, letting the tears fall onto the tile floor. She couldn’t keep doing this. She was strong enough; she didn’t need anyone. Not that there was anyone left to need. Hermione pushed herself from the ground, all of her muscles were uneasy, vibrating from ache, possible deterioration. Opening the washroom door, she flicked the light off and struggled to her room. Her hand used the wall for support as she made the little journey down the hall. It wasn’t far, her bed was just around the corner, she could do this.

As she entered her room, she noticed the sun peeking through the curtains and Crookshanks sleeping soundly on the bed. Then the phone started ringing and she felt overwhelmed all over again. It had to be Harry. She could not begin to imagine what he would say to her. What new, imaginative words would he use to describe her? Slag possibly? Perhaps traitor, someone he would never trust again. It stopped ringing as she sat on her bed. A moment later it started up again, jumping against the wood of her bedside table. When it stopped for good, she let herself breathe.

Next to the phone, the rising sun caught the gilded glint of her ring. She could hardly keep herself from it, from slipping it on and letting him feel her pain. It would be so easy to. So now, she picked up and held it gingerly, afraid that he could feel her just by holding it. She would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want him to come. More than anything she did but she couldn’t. Fixing her relationship with Ron and Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys by proxy, was her biggest concern. Family was her concern. Not a boy.

But the boy changed so much. About himself, about her, about how she saw the world.

She put it down.

...

How had she let the days slip through her fingers like this? One week it had been since she last spoke to…to anyone. Hermione hadn’t spoken in class, not to her professors, not to the students who passed her in the halls. Not to Pansy Parkinson when she tried to berate her. Certainly not to Theo, she rarely even saw him. A part of her hoped Ginny would be the one to make the first move. Though perhaps that was her job now. She fucked up and now she had to fix it. She couldn’t bring herself to. How was she supposed to face the people she hurt when she couldn’t even face herself in the mirror?

Everything was wrong.

She was sat in a secluded alcove of the library, away from prying eyes. Of course, books surrounded her and of course, she couldn’t bring herself to open them. She wanted to read something else. To just hold a work of fiction and escape to another world where she wouldn’t have to fix any problems. She could just watch someone else’s life unfold, undisturbed by the troubles she was constantly facing.

There was a published journal, not quite fiction but it was someone else’s life. She picked it up, noting it was from an unknown practitioner from hundreds of years ago. Flipping through it listlessly, she found a random page and started reading.

It has been approximately thirty-six hours since I have been affected by the poison. I fear the worst will come. Dinae has been reminding me, relentlessly if I may add, that I never should have ventured into the forest alone. She does not quite understand the importance of my research. It was a full moon, and the marsh was awake. The critters hardly came out and if I had been right, in all of my years of study, the boomslang only came out on the first full moon of every year. Then again on the seventh. I could hardly wait until the seventh moon to continue this. Unfortunately, in my desire for success, to capture the boomslang in its natural world, I made a crucial error. They move under the marsh and swampy waters, unseen to the untrained eye. It got me then but as it latched onto my ankle, I got it! Though three days and I fear the end of me is nearing.

She flipped to the next entry.

Man is no match for boomslang. But, oh, the graphorn is! It is the fifth day since I have been bitten, the venom has seeped into my veins. The dark-coloured lines protruding from the bite marks look dastardly. I must thank Circe for this gift, the gift of the graphorn. As I was making my rounds, my quiet goodbyes to those I love, Jeffers came by, boasting about the graphorn his son had killed on his latest excursion to the mountains. He said he sold the horns for nearly sixty thousand galleons each! Oh, just my luck. Then, Jeffers handed me one. He said, ‘for being a friend.’ Unbeknownst to him, graphorn horn is the antidote to several uncommon poisons. I went to work immediately, thanking Circe, thanking Jeffers. With a bezoar, graphorn horn, and standard ingredient, I concocted the antidote to the venom of boomslang! They will never publish my work. A disgrace they call me, but I will preserve this journal. They will never erase me!

Hermione flipped the book to the cover, noting the dusty lettering. Whoever had written this had been forgotten, their name corroded over hundreds of years tucked into the back of the Hogwarts library. In that moment, Hermione found herself thanking Circe too. Thanking Jeffers, thanking the mysterious writer. Then, she did something utterly preposterous.

She dog-eared the page.

A spark of hope ignited, and she took the journal and grabbed her bag, leading herself towards the dungeons. If the universe had mercy perhaps Slughorn would have a graphorn horn in his stores. Rare as it was, she could think of madder things. As she bounded down the stairs into the dank dungeon, she prayed that this would be the answer to help her forward. She could start on a new antidote compiled of the boomslang antidote mixed with the deadlyius antidote, perhaps she could live.

Living meant time. Time to make amends with everyone. This would work. Hope. It was there.

She entered the potions classroom, immediately sat her things on the nearest table and started for the stores, rounding Slughorn’s desk and opened the closet door.

Silver eyes looked over his shoulder and down at her. Air got caught in her throat. Of course, he was here.

“Sorry,” she said as she backed up. “I can go.” Hermione started for her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

Draco stepped out of the stores and closed the door behind him. “You don’t need to go. I’m finished anyway.” He grabbed his bag from Slughorn’s desk, eyes on her the whole time. “You don’t need to apologise either.”

Hermione grabbed the journal and used it as her distraction as he started for the door. Something overcame her and she could hardly stop herself.

“Have you read this?” she blurted out.

His hand was on the handle as he looked at her. She held the cover out to him, still not looking up. “No, I haven’t.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. Well—” She chewed on her bottom lip, unsure of where he stood with helping her. Was he still?

“Well?” he asked.

“I just—it has something in it.” Hermione put her bag down again before flipping to the page she marked. Sheepishly, she smoothed the dog-ear back as she handed it to him. “I don’t know if there’s any truth to this, but I hope there is.”

Draco took it and his fingers brushed against hers, creating icy shivers. She pulled her hand away and immediately wished she hadn’t. Taking the chance to look up as he read, she let her gaze linger on him. His skin was paler if that were possible. She noticed he let his sleeves be rolled halfway up his arms, exposing the mark. It gave her joy, knowing he wasn’t hiding it anymore. He didn’t need to, it wasn’t him. There was darkness under his eyes greying his skin. As he lifted his hand to run through his tousled hair, she caught a glint of the ring.

He hadn’t taken his off.

I love you. I’m sorry.

He looked up, silver meeting honey. She longed to reach for him, to hold him.

“Where did you find this?”

“I’ve had it a while. It was shoved in the back of a shelf, why?”

He shook his head. “The writer mentioned a Dinae, I think it may be Exedius Lovegood’s journal. Dinae was his wife, and they were both extreme practitioners. Most people didn’t believe anything they studied and for years they were dismissed, even when their findings proved true. A lot of his work is actually quite…” Draco trailed off as he looked from the journal to her.

She wanted him to keep going. The comfort he had grown accustomed to around her was still there as he rattled off information. It warmed her to know she hadn’t damaged everything irreversibly.

“A lot of his work is what?” she asked.

He handed the journal to her. “It’s amazing. But Slughorn doesn’t have a graphorn horn, no one does. They’re endangered now and hunting them is against the law.”

“Oh.” Hermione held the journal to her. “I mean that’s great that they’re being protected and all, just another dead end for me.”

She grabbed her bag again and as she shrugged it on, she noticed that there was no wall behind his eyes. There should have been but the lack of one gave her wistful hope, not that she should have any. As long as her friends hated him, she couldn’t have him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you with this.”

“It’s not a bother,” he said quietly.

He was searching her eyes; she could feel it as she looked at him. She knew she shouldn’t be looking at him this long or at all. They shouldn’t be in the same room together. Not when all she could think about was his arms around her and his lips scorching her skin. Not when she wanted to hear him say it again.

“I’m still helping you, you know that right?” Draco asked.

“You don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to,” Hermione said, her voice weaker than she hoped.

“I’m doing it for you.” He pulled his bag higher on his shoulder as he opened the door, he took one more look at her. “I do everything for you.”

As he walked away, she felt her chest cave in on itself. It took everything in her not to follow him, to grab him and kiss him with apology. To look into those eyes like stars and…

No. No more stars.

Not if she wanted a family.

...

Another day. They all started to feel the same, stringing together in an unending mass of sleepless nights and tear-soaked sheets. The only thing separating her from time was the hurt. Undoubtedly her arm was getting worse and tenfold at that. Since the breakup, there was hardly a second she wasn’t seconds away from sawing her arm from her body. Pulling her shoulder from its socket, twisting until the skin pinched together so tightly it mirrored a rubber band, and snipping off the entire appendage. If she weren’t so afraid of losing a vital piece of herself, perhaps she would have done it by now. Or maybe it was the lack of bravery holding her back.

Bravery.

That word was laughable. When in the past eight months had she been brave? Not once. It was such a big fucking joke she found herself almost laughing aloud in the middle of arithmancy. What kept her back was the feeling of Cormac’s eyes on her. He’d been watching her as if she were a bomb the past week and a half. That, for some reason, at any moment she might explode.

Perhaps that wasn’t such a crazy thought.

Though, she sort of invited his stare. At least it was different, he was original in his thinking. Looks from other students consisted of pure disgust, pity, extreme hate, confusion. It was all too much and then again it was almost like the world around her wasn’t there. Not when she spent her time watching her Mary Janes as she walked through the halls. Hermione was afraid that if she looked up from the old leather, she would find silver eyes or a mop of red hair, and she couldn’t decide which she was more afraid of.

Ron hadn’t spoken to her since that day. He may have thrown her evil glares and debilitating sneers, but she never would’ve known. She never looked up.

“Miss Granger? Do you have the answer?” Professor Vector asked.

Still, she wouldn’t look up from her desk. “No, professor.”

She almost found herself laughing again when the class erupted into murmurs. How dare Hermione Granger not know the answer? How dare she change the pace of the blithering monotony of their twisted fucking lives? What a bitch!

Hermione lifted her hand to cover her mouth. Laughing would be inappropriate. She’d look mad.

“Miss Granger, is everything alright dear?”

Peachy.

“I just don’t know the answer,” she responded quietly.

“Which is fine but—”

“89 degrees, polarising,” he interrupted. “That’s the answer, professor.”

Why did he do that? He wasn’t—he—fuck!

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

The professor moved on and the ache in her arm kept on. It was making her truly mad. She wanted to scream. Mostly at him. Why did he help? Why was he sitting behind her so fucking easily?

She didn’t even know if he was hurting and God, she was. She hurt so bloody much. Did he think he was being helpful? Or was he mocking her too? Panic, panic, panic, panic.

No, he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

“Class dismissed.”

The sound of chairs scratching against the ground and the chatter of students made her anxiety worse. She didn’t move to put her book away or grab her bag. Hermione stayed completely still, staring at the whorls in the wooden desk. They were all different shades of brown, she noticed. How interesting.

The scuffle of Cormac leaving still didn’t encourage her own leaving. For some reason she was stuck there, letting her mind race over itself with thoughts she knew she would never be able to keep at bay.

“Hermione?”

Why had she expected it to be him? Had a part of her wanted him to stay behind too? Would he have?

“Hey, um, are you alright?”

She finally wrenched her eyes from the whorls and found Neville standing beside her desk. No one else was in the room.

“Fine,” she said.

He nodded, his brows pulling together as he searched her face. She wondered what she looked like, having not seen a mirror in over a week. She couldn’t bear to see the person who ruined her life.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to, but I thought I’d let you know that if you want to, you can talk to me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, um, sorry.”

She just noticed how tall he’d gotten. “You’re not the last person I want to talk to.” He nodded. “Shouldn’t you be with Ron?”

Saying his name tasted like sour bile rising up her throat.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him in a week or so, not after what he said to you. No one should ever say that and I’m sorry you had to hear it.”

Hope.

“Thank you, Neville.”

“For the record, I don’t see why you can’t be with who you want. I mean, I get it, the feud between Malfoy and Ron, and I get the caution everyone feels about Malfoy but you’re smart,” Neville said. “You wouldn’t do anything without extensive research, right?” He laughed. “I’m sure there was some version of that with Malfoy. If you were anyone else, I might be questioning it more, but I trust your judgement. Ron should too.”

Neville offered a smile and patted her hand before leaving the classroom. A conversation most unexpected turned into her greatest hope. Though it still hurt. How come someone so far removed from her personal life had to be the one to comfort her? But it was comfort, nonetheless. A smidgen of hope that would keep her going for even just a little while longer. Until it all broke down again. But until the break, she could hope. It had to be enough.

...

Stood in front of Theo’s bedroom door, she realised she’d never been down this part of the hall. Turning around was still an option but the ache in her arm was incessant. It hadn’t hurt this much since the last time she depraved herself from Draco. It was the ache that led her here. With a tentative hand, she knocked at his door.

“Yeah? It’s open!”

She felt nervous having to face him, but she sucked it down as she poked her head in. He was sitting at his desk and had leaned back, the legs balancing on the wood floor.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said roughly. “What do you want?”

“Do you still have the medical bag?” she asked, wringing her hands.

“You mean Draco’s bag?” he asked. She nodded. “Can you even say his name?”

Her brows pulled together. “Yes. Malfoy’s bag, do you have it or not?”

Theo eyed her with disdain as he stood up and crossed his room. She waited as he opened his wardrobe and rifled around. His room was fairly similar to hers, though he had a wardrobe instead of a dresser and instead of books, his floor was clear. He grabbed the leather bag and walked towards her. As he started to hold it out to her, he stopped.

“Why should I give this to you?”

“Because you don’t want me to die?” she said incredulously.

He rolled his eyes. “That’s debatable.”

Hermione scoffed. “I didn’t do anything to you, you know. You don’t need to act like a complete arse to me.”

“No but you broke my best mate’s heart and nearly ruined his life, so.”

“I didn’t ruin his—”

“Fairer came. Day after his and Weasley’s little spat over you,” Theo said. “He and McGonagall had a long conversation. Too long for my liking and they nearly kicked him out.”

She paled. “Over what? He didn’t kill anyone.”

“No but he broke the rules of his probation. Got into another fight, used unsupervised magic, damaged school property; gods you should’ve seen that washroom after you left. In pieces. And it was all your fault.”

“I can’t control other people’s actions. He did that all of his own volition.”

Theo narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. “He did all because of you and he nearly got sent to that fucking prison in the sky. I had to step in, again, like I always do. At the beginning of the year, I had to, when he lost his mind at the trial, I had to. Everything is your fucking fault, so yeah, I’m not very pleased with you at the moment.”

Hermione looked at him, unable to recognize his brown eyes. They were hard now, had lost their kindness. “I don’t even know what happened at the trial, he wouldn’t tell me anything. And it’s not my fault Narcissa died.”

“No, it’s not but when Draco went to speak with his father after the trial, you came up. Lucius said some nasty things about you, things no matter how cross I am with you, I will never repeat. To say Draco lost it would be an understatement.” Theo tossed the bag at her feet. “It took three Aurors, me, and Fairer to get him off his father. He beat that man so bloody, he nearly killed him. Why? You, that’s why. One too many nasty comments about the love of his life nearly sent him away. So, don’t try and convince me that everything isn’t your fault.”

Taking in a breath, she grabbed the bag and looked back at him. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I know I’m at fault for…for everything that’s gone sideways in my life.” Her eyes started welling and she looked to the ceiling, trying to keep them down. “I blame myself for all of it, my parents, everyone we lost in the war, Remus, Fred, all of them. I blame myself. And I blame myself for betraying Ron for thinking that I had done nothing wrong, for hurting Ginny, somehow, for Molly. I blame myself for leaving Malfoy even though I love him so desperately and it’s the last thing I wanted to do. But I had to. So, please, Theo, please hate me all you want but do not remind me of everything I have ever done wrong. Do not remind me that I am the fault for others’ miseries because I know! I know and I hurt myself over it more than you ever could.”

She bit her tongue as she lowered her head from the ceiling. “Thank you for the bag.”

When she walked into her room, she found her mangy little tabby cat sprawled out on her bed, basking in the last few hours of sun that poured through her window. She sat on her bed with the bag and rubbed his belly as he purred. “It’s just you and me now.”

The cat opened his eyes and rolled onto his stomach. He tilted his head and blinked a few times. She scratched behind his ear before he jumped from the bed. Crookshanks walked over to the side of desk and started clawing at something. Then he pulled the something out from behind a stack of books and jumped back onto the bed.

“Oh, Crookshanks,” Hermione whispered. He dropped the green and silver tie onto her lap before nuzzling his nose into it. She took the tie into her hands, feeling the silkiness between her fingers. It smelled of him and that alone caused more tears to prick at her eyes. They wouldn’t fall, she wouldn’t allow them to.

He pawed at the tie and mewled at her. “He’s not coming back, I’m sorry.” Crookshanks mewled again. “I know you loved him, but he’s not coming back. No matter how much we want him to, he can’t.”

Crookshanks jumped from the bed again and walked out of her bedroom. She watched as he curled himself on the couch, far away from her. Now she really had no one, even her bloody cat was cross with her. Sighing, she placed the tie atop his old pillow, the one she slept with every night, and turned to open the medical bag. Hermione rolled her sleeve up and unwrapped the gauze from her arm, tossing it into the bin by the door.

The wound was ugly, obviously getting worse and worse. It was all black, pitch dark, and at first, she thought it was the poison. Then, as she started to pour the wound cleaner over it, the dam of blood broke and out spilled the black fluid. She let it fall, knowing that stopping it was fruitless. As she continued cleaning, she noticed something else. The letters had buried themselves deeper into her skin. So deep she could see her bone. It was eating away at her and it was not something the deadlyius or the boomslang did. There was something else involved, something that gnawed and corroded her very skin and muscle. If she wanted to live, she wanted to keep her arm and that meant the bone inside of it.

Something in her told her time was running out faster than she expected. Suddenly the clock had started, and it was counting down. The only thing she didn’t know was how much time was left.

After two weeks, she figured out the perfect time to eat during meals. Hermione would show up five minutes before breakfast would be over, which happened to be the same time Ron finished and his friends would follow him out. As she had started to do, she did now. She walked into the emptying hall and grabbed herself a plate, picking through the remaining food. A piece of toast, half lemon curd and half strawberry jam, a few blueberries, and a banana. She transfigured a teacup into a thermos, selecting Earl Grey and a single biscuit. Once she had everything, she didn’t stay in the Great Hall to eat. Hermione ventured out into the courtyard and found a bench under the tree furthest from passersby.

It was becoming lonely, her entire existence. Not that it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle but it twisted into her mind the feeling that it would always be like this. Instead of worrying, she focussed on eating her toast, one side at a time. First jam then curd.

“Is this seat taken?” Ginny asked as she approached.

She covered her mouth as she chewed. “No, please.”

Ginny sat on the farther end, leaving a space between them. Hermione looked to her left, finding her watching the world beyond them, the rolling hills still icy, the snow still fluffy. It felt like Hermione had lived another lifetime and yet, it was still only January.

“I heard you broke up,” Ginny finally said. “And that it wasn’t mutual.”

“Actually, I think it was,” she said.

Ginny looked at her. “You didn’t want to?”

Hermione put her toast down and shrugged. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“It does, Mione.”

“It doesn’t!” she snapped. Ginny didn’t flinch. “I need you and Ron and your whole family. I need a family and if that family despises the person I want to be with then, I have to make a choice.”

“You have a family. As much as we love you, you can still get your parents back.” Hermione stilled. “What?”

She shook her head and put her plate down on the grass, letting the ants get to her food. “Harry didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Ginny asked.

“My parents are dead, Gin. They died the night I came to the Burrow, sobbing my eyes out.”

Ginny’s mouth fell open slightly. “I—I…you said you obliviated them. That they wouldn’t remember you, not that they died! Hermione, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to burden our mission. Harry already had stacks of guilt on his shoulders and Ron was already nervous about his own family dying, I didn’t need to add to that stress.”

Ginny grabbed her hands as she scooted closer. “Hermione you should have told someone. You should not have had to bear that all yourself! That is the worst thing that could have ever happened to you and you kept it a secret. I—I don’t—are you okay? I mean…Gods, how are you so strong?”

She shook her head. “I’m not, I’m really not.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Please,” Hermione laughed out, covering her growing sadness.

Ginny wrapped her arms around her tight, pressing her hand to the back of her head like a mother would. She held her for a while and even though two weeks isn’t long, she forgot how wonderful it was to be held. Comfort. First Neville, now this? Could it really be comfort?

“I am so sorry,” Ginny whispered. “I’m more sorry that you thought you couldn’t tell me. I know we were never as close as you were with the boys but, I always considered you a sister. Really and truly. It’s my fault that you didn’t feel you could come to me and I’m so sorry for that.”

She wanted to say it wasn’t her fault, that she had made the choice not to say anything, but it felt nice to hear someone else take the blame. It eased the tension that had built up over the months.

When Ginny pulled back, she held Hermione’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. Then she let go, making her miss the warmth. “Right, we were on about you and…and Malfoy. You didn’t want to end it.”

She sighed, deciding to keep this conversation up. More hope, perhaps. “Honestly, no, I didn’t. But, like I said, I need a family.”

Ginny nodded slowly. “I think that, for me, emotions were running high, and I want to apologise for what I said to you. It wasn’t okay. I know it’s nothing compared to my disgusting brother but still. And, Mione, I am so bloody pissed at him. I’ve ran him through the ringer, got a few nasty ones to the jaw from me, you better believe it. He should never have said that to you.”

“Gin, it’s alright, really I—”

“No, that is the farthest thing from alright. I ended up telling mum about what he said and she, and the rest of them, want to beat him round. You shouldn’t be looking for his forgiveness, at all. He has some shit he desperately needs to sort out and he has taken so much of it out on you, and I am so sorry for that.” Ginny squeezed her hands, her brows tight with sympathies and concern. Hope.

Hermione managed a taut smile. “That means a lot, really, Gin, but he was right. I betrayed him and that is one thing he, Harry, and I agreed never to do to each other.”

“I don’t think dating Malfoy is a betrayal. If you killed one of us, yeah, that would be a betrayal,” she said, almost laughing.

“But—”

“Love, I don’t feel betrayed, the girl who got mind-controlled by the Dark Lord because of Lucius Malfoy. I think Ron believes that you owe him, that after all those years he spent fancying you, you ought to be with him. And honestly if he’s going to feel betrayed about anything it’s that you don’t love him. But that isn’t betrayal either, that’s just how people work,” she said, her comforting brown eyes coming back. “In the grand scheme of things, what have you really done wrong? Fallen for someone you shouldn’t have? Maybe, but who am I, or Ron, or anyone else to say who you should be with. I still don’t understand it but knowing you, he has to have done something to gain your affections.”

Hermione chewed her bottom lip as her chest warmed with love and comfort. She had no idea how much Ginny’s understanding would affect her. It meant the absolute world and then some.

“He apologised, for everything. And yes, apologies are just words but its more than that,” Hermione started. “He really has changed, and I would never have considered this if he hadn’t proven himself to me.”

You wouldn’t do anything without extensive research, right?

Ginny smiled. “I know, you’re a bloody smart girl and I was stupid enough to think you hadn’t thought out the arse with this.” They both laughed and Ginny’s smile softened as she tilted her head. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Immensely,” she whispered.

“Then why aren’t you with him?”

“Because—”

“Of what my dimwitted family will think?” Ginny finished.

“Because you all hate him, and I need a family.”

“I don’t hate him,” she said. “I don’t hate anyone, except Cho Chang that one time she kissed Harry and even now I don’t hate her.”

“What about George and Bill and Charlie and Percy and—”

“Slow down,” she said, squeezing her hands again. “George doesn’t have a hateful bone in his body. Bill and Charlie will act more like defensive older brothers than anything else and Percy, well he may be a bit of a prick but that’s him. As far as mum and dad goes, there’s going to be rocky waters, but you just have to think about what you want. Is he worth dad’s feud with his family and mum’s over protectiveness? Is he worth the endless Witch Weekly articles that are bound to come out of a relationship like this?”

“Yes,” Hermione said without hesitation. “He is.”

“Then do you know what I say?” the ginger asked, a sly smile on her face.

“What?”

“Fuck Ron.”

Hermione laughed. “Fuck Ron.”

...

For a moment, as she walked through the empty halls, she allowed her arm to be disillusioned. Turning her hand over, the veins crept up the back of it. Not too far up, maybe a fourth of the way up, but the veins were moving. She pinched the skin just above the longest vein and she could still feel. Then a pinch over the veins and nothing. Skipping down a flight of stairs, she pushed her sleeve up and stalled. Her skin was turning grey. It was a living death.

Hermione shoved her sleeve back down and disillusioned it once again. The panic was threatening to creep up as the ache in her arm continued. It had been a dull pain for the weeks she spent without him. She felt numb so did her arm. Now she was panicking and so was her arm. Rounding the corner, she knocked on the door to the potions classroom. No one answered, signaling an ‘ok’ for her to enter. Once she did, she immediately went for the private stores. Scanning quickly, she found no bottles of calming draught. She resorted to Slughorn’s desk and upon opening the first drawer, she was surprised to find a bottle of fire whiskey.

Fuck it, she was in pain. Flicking the cap off, she downed an unhealthy amount of alcohol in an attempt to subside the panic and pain. It was a hug from an old friend. The warmth cascaded through her veins, burned and ignited her insides. Wiping her mouth, she recapped the bottle and slid it into the drawer. She then leaned against the desk and closed her eyes, willing the alcohol to whisk away the pain.

Remembering Draco, she pinched her eyes shut and pictured him breathing with her. One long one in, slowly. And out. A few more times and then she opened her eyes. Things were already slightly dizzying. She pushed herself from the desk and returned her attention to the task at hand. On the table farthest from her and near the equipment shelves, she noticed the leatherbound notebook she hoped to find.

Upon approaching the desk and notebook, she noticed a post-it stuck to the cover.

In the cauldron on the bottom shelf. I hope this helps.

DM

She plucked the note from the notebook, letting a bit of joy seep through at the sight of him using his Christmas gift. After pocketing it, she moved to the shelves and bent to the lowest cauldron. When she removed the lid, her body ran cold.

A graphorn horn.

How had he gotten this? And so quickly? She mentioned it not days ago. This could fix so much. This could bring her closer to living. This was everything.

I love you.

It was fairly large, grey, and cracked but a horn, nonetheless. Part of her was afraid to touch it, that somehow, she would damage it and this gift would be gone to waste.

“Miss Granger?” Slughorn’s voice called out.

She stood quickly, offering a smile. “Professor! Hello, sorry to intrude, I left my notebook in here again.”

“Was it on the ground?” he asked.

“Oh, no, sir. There was a cauldron that had been left out, I was just putting it away.” Hermione grabbed the notebook and started back towards the door.

“That was very kind of you, dear, thank you.” He walked to his desk and sat down with a great huff.

“No problem at all.” Then as she started for the door, a burning question caught her tongue. She turned around. “Professor? What do you know of graphorn horns?”

Slughorn raised his eyebrows. “Graphorn horns. Wonderful poison antidotes and outrageously expensive. Though, I suppose the price comes with the fact that hunting the creatures has a ban. Why do you ask?”

“I was doing some reading and I came across it. I had never heard of it before.” Then came the question. “Do you happen to know how much a single horn would cost?”

“My,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You’d be a lucky girl to ever come across one, but I’d say upwards of a hundred thousand galleons.”

Her jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, did you say a hundred thousand?”

“That I did. Now I don’t know about you, but I could never afford such a thing,” he laughed.

She smiled. “No, no I could never. Well thank you professor, have a lovely night.”

“You as well, my dear.”

Hermione left the classroom and with each step the number echoed in her ears. One hundred thousand galleons. The exchange rate of galleons to euros was offensively uneven. That meant, if Professor Slughorn was correct, that Draco had spent half a million quid on a single graphorn horn.

Half a million.

For her.

She needed to catch her breath. There was no possible way in hell she would be able to pay him back. Not with the money she had now. Not even with a steady ministry job. Perhaps her retirement fund if she made it that far.

Half a million.

Hermione owed him everything. No matter what he said, she owed him her life. Her love if he would still take it.

Hermione woke on Sunday to a cat-less bed. A bit thankful for the breathing room, she stretched out her limbs and aches from sleeping so curled up. And yet, even though Crookshanks wasn’t there, she still managed to get his orange fur into her mouth. Sputtering it out, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Crookshanks, come here,” she yawned.

He didn’t jump up.

“Are you still mad at me you mangy thing?” she asked, kicking the comforter off. Hermione stretched her legs as she got out of bed. Looking around her room at the ground where an old jumper lay and at her desk, she saw no sign of him.

Pulling on a pair of sweats, she moseyed out of her bedroom and into the living area. No Crookshanks on the couch or in the armchair. No ball of tabby fur on the rug or in the kitchenette sink. Stifling another yawn, she opened a cabinet for a glass and filled it with water. She leaned against the counter, sleepily drinking when Theo came down the hallway.

He avoided looking at her as he retrieved his own glass, also filling it with water. There was an uncomfortable silence between them, the knowing tension filling the air too early in the day.

“Did Crookshanks sleep with you?” she asked.

“No,” he said tersely.

She nodded once before taking her glass back to her room with her. Crookshanks often went on adventures around the castle in her earlier years, so she wasn’t awfully concerned about his whereabouts. As she walked into her room, she heard a shrill ringing.

“Fucking hell,” Theo said, storming towards his own room.

Shrugging it off, she sat her glass on her dresser and adjusted the now glassless photo frame of her parents. Oh, how she missed them.

“Will you please answer the fucking phone?” Theo shouted.

Hermione turned around to find him barreling into her room, his own mobile held out to her. She cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“I don’t know what you do with your phone to make it shut up, but Harry has not stopped calling me for almost two fucking weeks and he doesn’t even want to talk to me. He’s calling for you so answer the damn phone.”

She took the ringing device from his hand and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed.

“Harry, is everything alright?”

“Well, there’s no emergencies if that’s what you mean.”

“Right,” she said, looking at Theo who seemed to be waiting for an answer. “Well, I have a very angry Theo in front of me right now who says you’ve been ringing.”

“I got an owl from Ron a few weeks ago,” he said.

She nodded and started to close her door, leaving Theo to stomp off again in a huff. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and wrapped her arm around the bed post as she leaned her head against it.

“And?”

“And,” Harry said. “And, I dunno, Mione. I wasn’t really sure what I was reading. I think he wrote too fast so then I went to the Burrow and got an earful from Molly. Is it true?”

“Yes. It was.”

“Was? Meaning no longer?”

“Was, meaning I have no idea what I’m doing, and I feel like I have a hundred people coming at me from all sides voicing their own opinions that I feel like I’ve lost my own,” she sighed.

“Right. I spoke to Gin through the floo yesterday and she said you two talked Thursday or something. Then she proceeded to tell me nothing else, so. I feel very out of the loop here.”

Hermione sighed. “Let me make it easy for you. Have you called to call me a whore or to tell me that you hate Malfoy? Or both, one fell swoop.”

“Woah, no,” Harry said, and she could imagine him sitting up. “I didn’t ring to call you anything. I do want you to know I’m fucking pissed with Ron though. Really pissed, I refuse to open the mirror when he calls.”

A spark of hope.

“I’m calling because you’re my friend and I care about you and selfishly, I need an explanation.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you already know?”

“That you’re dating, er dated, him. That something happened with him and Ron, what Ron called you, and that you had a talk with Ginny. That’s truly it.”

“Okay, well, what do you want to know?” She pulled her knees up and sat cross-legged.

There was a bit of a pause. “Did he apologise to you?”

“Yes.”

“Is he good to you? Kind?”

She thought of his beautiful words. “Very.”

“Good, that’s good.” Another pause. “Do you love him?”

This was different with Harry. He was her best friend. Why was it harder to say to him?

“Would you hate me if I said yes?”

“No, Hermione, I wouldn’t hate you.”

“Then yes.”

She could hear him breathing, picture him scratching the nape of his neck or pushing his glasses up. For some reason, when she thought Harry hadn’t known, she didn’t let it worry her. She had gotten so caught up in Ron and Ginny to even think about what Harry thought. Even so, if Harry told her he couldn’t accept her for loving Draco and wanting to be with him, she would say fine. She wanted her stars more than anything else. It was the hope from Neville and the comfort from Ginny that led her here, to chasing her stars again.

That didn’t mean the fear didn’t linger still. Harry was family too and what he thought mattered to an extent. But she wasn’t about to let everyone else tire her with false opinions anymore. Yet she still needed to know.

Please, Harry.

“You know, he apologised to me,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Who?”

“Malfoy. He came to my house and he apologised to me.”

Hermione was suddenly on her feet. “What? When?”

“Over summer. I think it was actually the day after I saw you.”

“Well, is that all you’re going to say?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

A bit of ruckus on his end. “He asked me not to tell anyone outright but that if they asked, I could answer.”

“Since when have you ever listened to him?” She was pacing now.

“Never but I was shocked enough to, and I believed everything he said. There wasn’t a reason for me not to listen.”

She was pacing and biting her nails now. “God, are you going to tell me what happened? What did he say? What did you say?”

“Stop biting your nails, you’ll make yourself bleed,” he said, knowing her.

Hermine stopped and sat on her bed again, tucking her free hand under her thigh. “Go on.”

“It was a cold night, rainy I think, and—”

“Harry James Potter, I will hurt you.”

He laughed and she let herself smile a bit. “Alright sorry. I do actually think it was raining though.”

“I don’t care about the bloody weather!”

He laughed again. “It was in the evening. Ginny had left to finish collecting her things from the Burrow for going back to Hogwarts, so I was alone and shocked to hear someone knocking at my door. There are a shit ton of wards on my house, and no one can see unless I want them to. I hadn’t planned on any visitors.”

Harry was pouring himself a tea when there was a knock at his front door. He stopped cold, waiting for it to come again. Perhaps it was a mistake, a trick of the rain. The knock came again. He set the kettle down and with his wand at his side, he started down the hall. He was shaking and he felt an idiot for being afraid. They were done, there was nothing left to be afraid of. He knew that, so why was he scared?

With a flick of his wand, the door unlatched. No one on the other side moved to open it. Harry reached for the handle and upon opening it, found Draco Malfoy with not an ounce of rain on him.

“Malfoy?”

“Potter,” he responded, the lilt of disrespect still ever present. “Care to let me in, it’s a bit chilly.”

“Why the fuck are you here?” Harry asked.

“I’m a civilised person, Potter, I like to have conversations indoors.”

Harry rolled his eyes and opened the door wider. Draco stepped in, his gaze obvious about flickering around the home. From the worn-down wallpaper, the poorly carpeted stairs, and the laughable furniture in the living room, he looked down on it all. As was his nature to do so.

“Do you want a tea, I guess?” Harry asked, feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

“No, thank you.”

“Right, well, I do. Go sit in there and don’t make any snide comments, I don’t care to hear them.”

Then he continued on his way towards the kitchen. With his mug he and Ginny found from a charity shop, adorned with a cartoon wizard on it, he removed the tea bag and dumped in a bit of sugar. He then had the thought of contacting the ministry. He was instructed to if anyone got past the wards of his house or even knew where he lived. After all, he was still Harry Potter, saviour to the world. But to the man in his living room, he was just Potter. He didn’t contact anyone.

With his cartoon mug in hand, he entered his barely furnished living room to find Kreacher standing by the other entrance.

“Master Malfoy, come to take Kreacher home?”

“No, Kreacher,” Draco responded. “You are bound to this home.”

“Master Malfoy is a Black. Kreacher serves the ancient house of Black,” the leathery old elf said.

“I am aware, thank you, elf,” Draco bit. “Leave now.”

Kreacher moaned as he walked away, spouting something about Malfoys. Harry sat on the sofa across from Draco with his brows pulled together. He took a long sip, trying to make sure Draco was as uncomfortable as he was.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked. “More importantly, how are you here?”

“This is my property, easy to find.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Your property? Sirius left me his house, not you.”

“Legally, I own it. I am a Black, after all.”

“You’re not.”

“I am and I haven’t come here to argue with you about my lineage or to try and steal your home.” He looked around. “I wouldn’t want it anyway.”

“Enlighten me then, why are you here?”

Harry took another sip as Draco sat straighter, adjusting his cufflinks as he went. Harry found it odd how he was dressed like he was attending a funeral in all black, head to toe, while he wore sweatpants and a shirt. The tension merely grew.

“To make this quick and painless, I’ve come to apologise,” Draco said then cleared his throat.

Harry coughed into his mug. “Apologise? To me? For what? I mean, I can guess for what, but I’m interested to see what you think you should be apologising for.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I’m apologising for everything I ever did or said to you. I understand that accounts for a great amount of misdoings but after your kindness in my and my mother’s trials I thought it pertinent. I also understand that—”

“This is a rehearsed apology?” he asked, leaning back on the sofa.

Draco sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Are you going to let me apologise or are you going to be a prick?”

“Oh, there he is. Thought someone nice possessed you for a minute there,” Harry joked.

Draco stood up. “Fuck this, this is a waste of my time.”

He started for the door and Harry almost let him go, almost let him walk away and forget this awkward encounter ever happened but being the curious person he was, he couldn’t.

“Jesus, learn to take a joke, Malfoy.”

“I don’t fancy jokes.”

“Clearly,” he scoffed. Draco stood still between the living room and the hall. “Please, sit, continue.”

With another glare, he sat again. “Will you let me speak this time? No interrupting?”

“Is it still rehearsed?”

“Are you still a prick?”

Harry laughed. “Perfect. Go on, then.”

Draco rolled his eyes and tensed his jaw. “I know that apologising for everything includes a lot and I also know that merely saying sorry is not a good enough apology. Not after everything I said to you growing up, not after my involvement in the war. I understand and can accept,” he cleared his throat again, “that you have every right not to forgive me. You are not obligated to, but you should know that I am genuine. I’ve never had to apologise for anything in my life so, if you can, forgive my manner and consider that this is very difficult for me to do. Since words are only sufficient for some, I have taken the liberty to donate a sum of money in your name to the reconstruction of Hogwarts. You should also know that—”

“You donated a sum of money in my name?” Harry interrupted.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t interrupt,” Draco said.

“Just—how much?”

“Sixty thousand galleons.”

“Holy fuck,” Harry murmured. He slouched against the sofa, trying to imagine that sum so easily leaving Draco’s pockets. It was more than half of what the ministry gave him for reparations.

“I’m going to finish now. You should also know that this apology stems from my probation. My probation Auror suggested that as part of my probation that I make amends with everyone I wronged. What he doesn’t know is that would take the rest of my life. He is also unaware that I have come here today. Essentially, I am gaining nothing by apologising to you. Now, I understand that money and words may still mean nothing, and I will still accept your refusal of forgiveness. Just understand that my apology comes with an outstretched hand. If you should ever find yourself needing assistance, whether that be financial or otherwise, I am offering that to you.”

Harry listened with his guard up. “You want to be my friend?”

“I never used those words.”

“Do you?”

“Not particularly,” Draco answered honestly.

“Hmm,” Harry considered. He would have said the same thing. “And if I asked you for ten thousand galleons right now?”

“For what reason?”

“None. I just want it.”

Draco nodded once, still tense. “I would oblige.”

Harry laughed and sat up, placing his mug on the coffee table. “You do see how this doesn’t make any sense, right? You see how I would think you mad?”

“Yes.”

“Okay? What’s the goal here, Malfoy? What are you trying to gain from this?”

For the first time that night, he met Harry’s eye. “Nothing.”

Harry nodded slowly and pushed up his glasses. “Nothing.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Potter, brutally fucking honest, alright?” Draco said, his stony demeanor dropping. His shoulders dropped and he slouched to meet Harry’s eye level. “I fucking hate myself. More than anyone on this earth could ever hate me, I’ve got that covered. And I wished every night leading up to my trial that you would stand there and berate me. That you would tell those Wizengamot pricks what a terrible person I really am because I know I deserve it. I wanted to go to Azkaban, I still do. But here I am. I’ve got an entire life in front of me, and I don’t even want to live with myself. If I could, if I weren’t a damned coward, I would just end it all. But I can’t break my poor mother’s heart.

“So, I’ve got to find a way to live with who I am or become a person I can actually stand. This apology is the starting point to a long list of bettering myself and you can sit there, and you can mock me. I’ll even welcome it but that’s it. So, what am I gaining from apologising from you? Nothing, absolutely nothing because this may fail, and I know I will still hate myself when I go to bed tonight regardless. What am I losing from this apology? My last shred of dignity. It’s all yours, Potter.”

It wasn’t the first time Harry felt pity for Draco Malfoy. True, genuine pity. Though, it was the first time he related to him. Even though Harry was the saviour, the Boy Who Lived, a part of him, and it was a large part, that hated himself too. He hated himself for the mistakes me made and the chances he never took. For the people that died and the emotions that he let get to him in the middle of it all.

And so, he did what Draco would never have expected.

“I forgive you.”

His eyebrows rose. “You forgive me?”

“That is what I said,” Harry said, picking his mug up again.

“Why?” Draco asked.

“Pity, relatability even, but I’ll spare you the sob story.”

“I don’t want your pity and it wasn’t a sob story,” he bit.

“You may not want it, but you have it, just like I received an apology I never wanted but now have.” He took a sip, catching the uncertainty in Draco’s eye. “It’s a genuine forgiveness, Malfoy. Take it.”

Draco stood again. “I am. Thank you, Potter.” Harry went to stand when he held his hand out. “I can find my way out.”

As he started away, Harry stood and called out to him.

“I think, if everything had been different, you could’ve been a good person from the start.” He pushed his glasses up. “But there’s no time like the present, right?”

Draco nodded. “Right. Goodnight. Oh, and get better wards.”

“Then he left,” Harry said.

Hermione had laid back on her bed as she listened to the story. The story she never would have believed if it came from anyone else. Draco was a good person; she knew that to be true. She knew that he had changed, that he was genuinely trying, and it warmed her further.

“You forgave him,” she said.

“I did.”

She sat up. “What of me with me?”

“Are you looking for my permission?” Harry asked.

She sighed, hating this. “Yes and no.”

“Hermione, you don’t need my permission to date people, I’m not your father.”

“I know but you’re still my family and I don’t know if I can handle more than one of you hating the person I love and want to be with. Ron takes up the same amount of space five people would with his anger and opinion. I just need to know—”

“You’re my family, you have a home with me no matter what. Ginny would say the same. There are people who love you and when you love someone, you set aside your own beliefs to understand and listen,” Harry said. “I don’t care if you date Malfoy. As long as he isn’t an arse to you and as long as you’re doing what makes you happy, then we’ll all be happy. And you know what?”

“What?” she whispered, holding back emotion.

“Fuck Ron.”

Hermione laughed as a tear came out. “Fuck Ron. You know Gin said that too?”

“Said fuck him? Not surprised. He’s on my shit list right now,” Harry said.

“Mine too.”

“I think there’s someone you need to go see,” he said, and she could hear his smile. Oh, his smile and this was real. She could have her family and her love.

Hermione could have her stars.

“Yeah, there is.” She stood up from her bed and wiped the stray tear from her cheek. “Thank you, Harry. I love you so much.”

He laughed. “I love you too. Talk soon? And by soon, I mean don’t leave me hanging for nearly three weeks.”

She laughed next. “Yes, talk soon.”

“Bye, Mione.”

“Bye, Harry.”

She hung up the phone and squeezed it in her hand. Could everything truly be perfect? Could she have everything?

Then, her arm ached. No, of course not everything but she could have enough. She could have him and that—

The portrait door opened. Hermione tossed the mobile onto the bed and swung her bedroom door open. Coming down the hall was a man with white hair and striking eyes carrying a fluffy tabby cat with a mushed face. Coming down the hall was her love.

“I’m just returning your cat,” Draco said as he sat Crookshanks on the settee.

Hermione nodded and watched as he bent down and scratched behind the tabby’s ear. She watched as he stood back up and she watched as he looked at her. There was still no wall behind his eyes, even after what she did. He was open and he was there, and she was a massive idiot.

Draco cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. He looked to Crookshanks again who was already looking at him. Hermione chewed on her lip as she looked. She wanted him so, so badly.

“Can you stay and talk?” she asked, squeezing the mobile in her hand. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I can stay,” he said.

She nodded and took in a discreet breath, already feeling the nerves tangling in her chest as she sat on the settee. He followed and Crookshanks crawled into his lap, nuzzling his head under one of his hands. Even her bloody cat knew better than she did.

“I want to start by thanking you for the graphorn horn,” she said, making sure she was sitting up straight and looking him in the eye. “I can’t imagine how you got it, but it means a lot. And, I will try to pay you back though it may take a while. Hopefully, you accept payment plans,” she awkwardly laughed. The nerves were turning her into an embarrassment.

“You don’t need to pay me back,” he said.

“I do. I owe you that at least. You’ve done so much for me and I owe you an unbelievable amount and—”

“Granger.” Her heart turned over just hearing her name from his lips. “I already told you, you owe me nothing.”

Hermione squeezed the mobile again, grounding herself from the nerves. “What I owe you is an apology.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair again. “You never need to apologise to me, ever.”

“No, I do and I’m so sorry,” she said, watching him carefully. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you or acted in the way I did. I shouldn’t have let you go like that, without an explanation. It was wrong of me and I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

“Granger.”

“You have to let me apologise,” she said. “Especially when I mess up, and I have messed up and you should be angry with me. You have every right to be. I don’t expect forgiveness or even understanding for what I did, and I know that saying sorry truly means nothing. I’m just—I’m trying to express—I’m not sure—sorry, I—”

She buried her face in her hands, the mobile pressing into her forehead. Where to begin with this apology was beyond her and the nerves were creeping up faster, wrapping around her neck, cutting off her ability to think straight. Running her hands through her hair, she attempted a deep breath only to manage a shaky gasp.

“I am incredibly sorry, and I regret what I said so much. I didn’t want to leave you and I didn’t want to make you believe that I didn’t want you because I did. I do. I just—I’m very weak if you hadn’t noticed and I let what everyone else said influence me. And it wasn’t even what they said about you, it was me! It was everyone thinking less of me. You know I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove myself to everyone, to be liked, and to hear what they thought, I just…” She shook her head as she looked at her lap. “I’m sorry, this isn’t about me. What I’m trying to say is that if there is a chance you can forgive me for being small minded, and for letting fear of abandonment and judgement cloud my love for you then that is all I’m asking.”

When she looked up again, she found him sitting closer, his arm resting on the back of the settee with the cat gone from his lap, and the intensity of his eyes heightened. He was searching her eyes and for that moment she wasn’t afraid of him using legilimency on her, even though he never had. If that made it easier for him to believe her, she would let him.

“Say that again,” Draco said.

Her brows pulled together. “Say what?”

“The last part, say that again.”

“I’m trying to ask for your forgiveness because I love you and I don’t know what to do without it.”

“That,” he said, his eyes becoming lighter. “Say that again.”

Her eyes flickered between his as she took in another careful breath. Almost unconsciously, she leaned closer, letting her knee graze his where they sat and that modicum of touch, that inkling of feeling, calmed her completely.

“I love you,” Hermione said.

He chewed his lip as he took a slow and deliberate breath. She watched the careful rise and fall of his chest, noticing how he moved closer too.

“I’ll forgive you if you promise me one thing,” he said, his voice quieter than normal.

“What?” she whispered.

“Promise me that you’ll never stop saying that.”

Hermione smiled lightly. “I love you.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief as he took her face in his hands. She leaned into his lips; eyes stuck on his. “I love you.”

He kissed her hard as his soft touch cradled her head. She kissed back harder, relishing in the lost feeling of him. His lips, still, were gentle, and his scent was much of the same and she felt as though she was being brought back to life. Hermione’s hands found his face too, her thumbs rubbing over his porcelain cheeks.

Draco pulled away first and rested his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” she whispered again.

He smiled and it was the world. “I love you, mon coeur.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Hermione said as her voice broke.

“I forgive you.” He picked his head up and looked at her deeply. His hands moved into her hair, fingers tangling with her mane. “You don’t have to be sorry anymore.”

“I know but I feel like you shouldn’t forgive me. What I did was—”

“What you did was nothing in comparison to my disgraceful past.”

“But I hurt you.”

“And I’ve hurt you.”

“I’ve forgiven you,” she said seriously. “You’re not that anymore and I know that. You’ve changed, you’ve proven yourself to me time and time again and I’ve not done that. I gave you a sorry excuse for an apology.”

“Granger, I need you to listen to me,” Draco started, pushing her hair away. “As long as you love me there is not a single thing you can do to push me away. Make as many mistakes as you want, I’ll forgive every one of them. Yell at me, fight me, hit me but as long as you come back, I’ll forgive you and I will love you. Until the day you tell me you don’t want me anymore, I’ll spend every waking minute making sure you understand the depths of my love. You are worth the mistakes, mon coeur, you’re worth it all.”

A tear fell and for the first time it didn’t carry the weight of heartache. It was a tear of hope. A tear of forgivness.

“You’re worth it too,” Hermione said. “I love you so much.”

He kissed her again. “I love you with everything.”

She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. Draco ran his hands around her back and held her closer. Holding her to his chest, he picked her up and laid her on the settee. Their lips danced together in perfect harmony as they each craved their touch so long lost. His hands trailed under her shirt and Hermione nearly cried from feeling him all over again. Draco pulled away as he took her shirt with him. His lips met her neck, ravishing down her chest to her stomach. He was gentle, taking his time with her as if he were afraid she’d disappear. Her bra came off deftly and she pulled him back to her lips.

“I love you.”

Hermione gripped his sweater and pulled it over his head. Nervous fingers trailed over his chest, over the memorized scars and ridges of muscle. She was afraid if she touched him wrong, she’d lose him again, that he’d realise she wasn’t worth the trouble. Those worries left with the glint of white in his eyes looking over her with more love than she’d ever known. Their kisses and gentle touches continued until the only clothing left to remove was Draco’s trousers.

He kissed down her stomach and over her hip. As his lips moved down towards the inside of her thigh, her breath caught in her throat and suddenly she was incredibly nervous. Draco’s hands caressed her legs softly and his every touch spilled with all of the love he had for her, spoken and unspoken. She ran her hand through his hair, and he looked up from between her legs.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, moving his hands to her hips.

“No.”

The pads of his thumbs massaged her hips as his kisses resumed up her thigh. His mouth ravished her with soft kisses as he gently spread her legs further. Hermione tossed her head back as his tongue finally met her. She gasped and moaned his name and her love, and every moment of every touch was something she never wanted to be without. Not again, not ever.

“I love you,” she moaned as his tongue toyed with her clit. He moved quicker, spurred by her constant declarations. She couldn’t stop saying it, especially not with the way his fingers became involved, slowly inserting themselves and curling perfectly.

Hermione flicked her hand, and his trousers came off, neatly folding themselves on the coffee table. She grabbed his face and brought him to her lips, eager to feel him inside her again. No more waiting, no matter how good it felt.

“Please, I want you,” she whispered into his lips.

Draco pushed into her and the stretch had never felt better. The weeks without him made her every sense heightened and this moment, true and honest and them, was everything. He kissed her neck as he moved inside her roughly, in contrast to his careful fingers and tender lips. She wrapped her legs around his hips and ground into him as her fingers dug into his hair. Hermione kissed his shoulder, biting gently on his soft, alabaster skin. He groaned into her ear, the sweetest words of love and longing.

“Gods, I love you, mon coeur.”

“You’re perfect.”

“I’m not letting you go, Hermione.”

And when he said her name, she came apart under him. She came with the taste of his name on her lips and the sound of forever in her ears. Draco followed soon after, cradling her completely in his arms, every inch of their skin flush together. When he picked his head up from her shoulder and moved her hair from her face, the flutters stirred again. Honey met silver and she knew this was the right choice. He would always be the right choice.

Hermione woke the next morning with an awful headache and a burning arm. She was feeling regularly ill as of late though she couldn’t understand why. It could very well be the weather, or it could be her arm, wrecking its havoc over the rest of her body now. She turned in the bed, meeting a hard chest. As she snuggled into him, he wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

“No, go back to sleep,” she said, pulling the covers higher.

He chuckled and held her tighter, running gentle fingers over her bare side and back. Draco buried his nose into her hair, leaving more kisses. She pinched her eyes together, trying to force his kisses to will her headache away.

“We have class.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

“I see that, but I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Legally, I do.”

Hermione picked her head up and rested her chin on his chest as he looked at her. “When does your probation end?”

“When we graduate but I still have to see Fairer for six months after that.”

“Hmm, that sucks.”

He smiled. “Aptly put.”

“Shut up.”

Draco laughed again before pulling her in for a kiss. She hummed happily into his lips with the knowledge that this was what she wanted. Nothing else would come between them, not if she could help it.

“Will you stay here?” she whispered.

He furrowed his brows. “I have class, Granger.”

“No, I know. I mean later, will you stay?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, pressing her lips together. “Is there something else?”

She shrugged.

“Granger.”

Hermione pushed his hair back and kissed his jaw. “I don’t want you to leave, ever. I want you here every night, in this bed, with me. No Slytherin dorms, no dungeons. Just you,” she trailed her hand down his chest, her fingers swirling over his lean muscle, under his naval. He shuddered from her touch, swallowing hard. “Just you, here, with me.”

When she met his eyes again, they were heavily lidded, gleaming white. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I’m telling you to sleep in the same bed as your potentially naked girlfriend every night, are you trying to complain about that?”

Draco pulled her onto his chest, and she straddled his waist, pressing the weight of her body into him, trying not to grimace in pain. She pressed her hands into the pillow, hovering above him as her hair created a curtain around their faces.

“Are you complaining, Malfoy?”

He raked his eyes over her, down to the bare breasts pressed against chest. His tongue shot out over his bottom lip before he pulled it in with his teeth. “Gods, I love you.”

Hermione looked over his beautiful face, feeling her heart fill with warmth. “Will you stay?” she asked quietly.

“Of course,” he said, kissing her nose. “Are you alright?”

“I just don’t want to be away from you like that again,” she whispered.

He took her face in his hands and looked at her gently. “I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’m with you. Look,” he put his hand up and she watched as he tapped it, “do you feel that?”

A sharp tingle shot up her ringed finger. “How did you do that?”

“I’m second in class, Granger,” he smirked. “You can tap it when you need me for anything.” She lifted her hand up and with her thumb, she tapped her own ring. The tingle that fell through his ring shot through her hip as he held her.

“What do you need, love?”

As she looked down at him, she considered her answer. Even though she was completely and utterly happy with her decision, she was afraid to leave the comfort of this room. At some point, she would have to venture into the world. She would have to face everyone who didn’t stand up for her, everyone who believed Ron when he called her that name. She would have to face Ron.

She moved off of him and the bed, making her way to her dresser. As she grabbed her uniform and started putting it on, Draco caught her opened blouse and pulled her towards the foot of the bed.

“What did I do?” he asked.

“No, no,” she said as she reached her hands around the nape of his neck. “You’re wonderful, I’m just scared. Or worried, I suppose is a better word. Nervous.”

Draco pulled her closer by her blouse before he started on the buttons. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t want anything to happen with Ron when he sees us. He hasn’t spoken to me since but, and I say this with love, you’re very protective.” He looked at her with a cocked brow. “I don’t want you to do anything reckless if he says something.”

“Define reckless,” he asked, adjusting her collar.

“Malfoy, I’m serious. I need you here, not in Azkaban.” She turned back to her dresser and pulled her skirt on. He watched her, his eyes lingering on her thighs. “Are you listening to me?”

He smirked. “I’m listening and admiring. It’s not my fault you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she slipped on her socks and shoes. “I’ll personally kill you myself if you act like an idiot.”

Draco got out of the bed and pulled his trousers on. He looked around for his sweater when she grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her.

“Promise you won’t do anything,” she said, looking at him with knitted brows.

He ran his hand up her arm and to her neck. “I’m not going to sit by if he decides to open his big fucking mouth again.”

“If he does, I am perfectly capable of using a wand.”

“I know you are but—”

Hermione summoned her wand and before he could finish talking, she had the tip pressed under his chin. She lifted onto her toes and pushed the wand a bit harder as she looked at him.

“You were saying?”

Draco smirked and caught her lips in a kiss before she could react. “That was incredibly hot.” She laughed and he grabbed the wand and brought it down. “I know you can handle yourself, but I also know how much heart you have. I don’t want him to hurt you again. I worry about you, even though you’re going to be okay, I still worry, alright? You don’t need anymore stress and I’ve tried to keep it away from you, so forgive me for being protective but you’re all that matters to me and I’ll be damned if I don’t protect you.”

Her heart softened at his words. “I love you.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. He mumbled something in French before kissing a string of “I love yous” down to her lips.

She pecked him again quickly before heading for the washroom. As she made her way back into the kitchenette, she saw Crookshanks sitting on the counter. Hermione went to pet his little face, giving him a kiss on the top of his head. He purred happily and it filled her heart to have both of her boys with her again. Crookshanks sat up and she grabbed his little legs and placed them on her shoulders as he stretched. Then as she picked him up to take him into her room, Theo came down the hall.

“Good morning,” she said. He huffed and rolled his eyes as he shoved past her to grab a cup. “Are you still being awful to me?”

“Are you still being awful to Draco?”

“Theo.”

“No, I’m sorry, but you’re being fucking ridiculous. Why do you care so much about what your ex-boyfriend thinks of you? Or any of them? He loves you and you’re acting like a bitch for no good reason.”

She held her tabby tighter as his words hit her. “Don’t talk to me like that. You can be mad at me all you want but you don’t get to call me a bitch.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m only telling the truth. You act like a bitch then I’m going to tell you.”

Her bedroom door slammed behind him and she saw a now fully dressed Draco standing there. Theo turned around. He looked from Draco to Hermione then back to Draco. He tried sputtering out some form of apology when he was cut off.

“No, please, call my girlfriend a bitch again, Nott. See what fucking happens,” he said, adjusting the cuff of his sleeves.

She knew she just told him not to do anything, but he looked so good when he was angry, and God help her for thinking so. Draco took a step forward, standing only slightly taller than his mate as he looked at him with murder in his eyes.

“We’ve had this conversation, Nott, but now I can’t help but wonder what else you’ve said to her when you know I’m not around. Is this an often occurrence? Do you enjoy berating someone you know is already going through fucking hell? Or have you decided to turn into your father?”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Malfoy.”

Draco laughed and no humour laid in it. “At least your father could stand by his word. Do you think its okay to speak to a woman like that? What else have you said to her? When you think you’re being a mate to me, you’re hurting her, so unless you want to end up like that spineless git, you’re going to tell me.”

Theo didn’t respond and Hermione could feel the air becoming tighter. She set Crookshanks on the ground as Draco spoke again.

“Answer me!” he shouted.

She walked around Theo and pressed her hands against Draco’s chest. “My love, we just talked about this.” He wouldn’t look at her; his eyes were locked onto Theo and he wasn’t budging.

“Draco,” she said gently. His eyes flickered to her for a moment, his hardness wavering slightly. Hermione carefully grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “We just talked about this. I think he gets it, okay? I’m sure he’s sorry. Aren’t you, Theo?”

“Yeah, yes. Yes,” he said from behind her.

“I need you here, remember?” she whispered. “I’m fine, that’s what matters right?”

“Fuck off, Nott,” Draco said as he looked into her eyes.

She heard retreating footsteps but wouldn’t look away from him. “I love you, but you need to calm down. You do things because you think it will protect me. Theo does it because he thinks he’s protecting you. I know,” she said, cutting off his parting lips, “that it doesn’t seem like that, but it is. You can both speak later, civilly. For now, I want to go to breakfast, and I need my calm, level-headed boyfriend there. So, please.”

He wrapped his arms around her and dropped his head to her shoulder. Hermione held him close as she ran her hand through his hair. She tenderly kissed his neck as he let out a tight breath.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her neck.

“It’s okay.” She took his head in her hands and lead his forehead to hers. She brushed her nose against his a few times until the corner of his mouth turned up.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you nose kisses. My dad and I used to do them when I was younger.” Then she pecked his lips and grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

...

The anxiety of going to breakfast that morning was outweighed by the incessant headache piercing behind her eyes and the lethargy weighing her down. They decided to sit at the Slytherin table and despite their later start to the morning, they were still early to breakfast. No Ron, no Pansy. Hermione closed her eyes and gently rubbed between her brow bone and eyelid, attempting to soothe constant ache. She hadn’t given a second thought to her health in over two weeks. After vomiting blood and having constant headaches, she really should have.

When she opened her eyes, she found a steaming cup of tea in front of her with a single biscuit. She smiled and looked to Draco who was buttering a blueberry scone. She took a sip, tasting the chamomile with the perfect amount of milk and sugar. A dull pain sprouted in her forehead and she pinched her eyes shut again as she rubbed it away.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’ve just got a rude headache.”

Hermione leaned her head on Draco’s shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her waist as he kissed the top of her head.

“Here, take this,” he said. When she opened her eyes, she found him holding out a small vial of blue liquid. She took and looked to him as a question. “Calming draught.”

“If you don’t become a healer, I’m going to be mad,” Hermione said with a laugh.

Draco smiled, and with his arm still around her, he pulled her closer and kissed her temple. She grabbed his hand and pulled his arm all the way around her. As he held her close, she sipped her tea and watched as the Great Hall filled with students, many of which looked in their direction and whispered furiously to each other. She looked away and found Draco had pulled out their leather notebook and was flipping through it.

“Do you think we have everything?” she asked. “The graphorn horn, the deadlyius antidote, is there anything else?”

“I’ve been trying to look into curses but there’s only so much I can do when Madam Pince won’t let me into the restricted section,” he sighed.

“I can sneak you in there. What sort of curse do you think is on it?”

“There’s no reason, based on the poisons, that you should still be alive.” She sucked in a breath, knowing that he didn’t mean any harm but the words themselves still hit her. “I’m counting on Bella’s sadistic tendencies honestly. She prided herself on making her victim’s suffer.”

Hermione tensed under him, trying to focus on the words on the page instead of the words he spoke. She refused to spend time thinking about the woman who did this to her.

“Is it okay if we don’t, um, don’t talk about her?” she asked quietly. “I know she’s your family and everything but—”

“Hey.” He nudged her chin up with his other hand, forcing her to look at him. “She’s not my family. You are. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it, but I won’t bring her up again.”

His family. God she was such an idiot not to see what was right in front of her. He had no one. His family was as gone as hers and she failed to see it. Her and Theo. That’s it. That’s his entire life.

“I love you so much, I just need you to know that,” she whispered.

He cradled her cheek and kissed her softly. Her heart still fluttered from his touch and she knew that would never go away. It was love, those little flutters.

“I know,” he whispered back, “and I love you.”

Her lips turned up slightly before she leaned her head back on his shoulder. In the entrance of the hall, she noticed a gathering of Gryffindors walking through. Her mouth went dry when she saw Seamus and Ron, laughing and speaking loudly as they came in. Draco must’ve noticed too because the grip he had on her waist tightened. They didn’t look their way, much to her relief. She watched the entrance carefully as Ginny walked through with Neville. She was speaking animatedly and as her eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, Hermione picked up her head. Ginny’s eyes lingered on her as she continued talking to Neville.

Hermione sat up straight as she watched Ginny walk towards the Slytherin table. Draco closed the notebook and deftly slid it back into his bag.

“Good morning,” Ginny said as she sat across from them. “Pass me the pumpkin juice, would you?”

Draco sent the pitcher down and Ginny poured herself a drink. Her eyes peeked over the rim of the goblet as she drank, watching them carefully.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Better,” Hermione said.

“Good,” Ginny smiled. Then she turned to Draco with raised brows. “I suppose we ought to get to know each other. I should tell you now that I’m probably the easiest Weasley you’ll have to deal with. Maybe Charlie, he’s tough but he’s a big softie. Mum’ll probably hate you.”

“Ginny,” Hermione said.

“What? I’m being honest. She’s not one to forgive and forget. She rarely forgives and never forgets. I have my own fair share of issues with her. Dad’s got a better head on his shoulders and his problems are with your father, so, we’ll see. The rest will obviously be hesitant, perhaps confused, but mostly overprotective. Nothing like Ron, the fucking git. You’ve got a lot to look forward to Malfoy. Or is it Draco?”

“Malfoy,” he said tersely; Hermione could hear the edge in his voice.

She placed her hand on his leg, trying to keep him steady. Ginny took another sip of her drink as she watched him. When she looked at Hermione, she expected Ginny to change her mind, to tell her she was wrong.

“So, Malfoy, what is it that I need to know about you?” the ginger asked instead. “I mean, I already know you’re phenomenal at sex apparently.”

“Ginevra Weasley!” Hermione exclaimed, giving her friend the wide eyes. Draco covered his mouth with his free hand, coughing to hide the laugh that escaped him. “I haven’t told you anything!”

“No but I saw those love bites and that spring in your step,” she said knowingly. “What? Are you going to deny it in front of him? Be a bit embarrassing if you ask me.”

She refused to look at him as she narrowed her eyes on her friend. “Quite honestly, Ginny, I don’t know why this is even a conversation.”

“You said you would tell me when you were shagging someone and then you were and you didn’t tell me shit,” she said, grabbing a cranberry muffin. “I am here to hear the shit.”

“I can go,” Draco offered.

“No,” Hermione said, putting her hand on his chest. “We’re not talking about this now or ever.”

“Right,” Ginny said, winking exaggeratedly.

She huffed. “Was there something you actually wanted to talk about?”

“Not really.” She took another bite of the muffin. “I’m mostly sitting here so Ron can’t see you. I honestly don’t know where his head is at anymore. I mentioned that he might consider seeing a healer to have someone to talk to, but he tore me a new one. Absolutely lost his mind. We don’t need another fight between the two of you.”

“There won’t be,” Draco said shortly.

“Well, you’re both lose cannons. Got some anger issues yourself, there don’t you?”

His jaw tensed and Hermione squeezed his leg. She looked at her friend pointedly and shook her head. “Gin, it’s fine, okay? I don’t want to keep you from your other friends.”

Ginny looked past her and moved to get up. “The snakes are coming anyway, my cue to leave. I love you, let’s go on a date soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hermione smiled.

“Good. And you,” she said to Draco. “Don’t break her heart.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

“Good answer. See you, love.”

Ginny bounded off and Hermione turned to look at her boyfriend. He had a small, goofy smile on his lips and her brows knitted together in response.

“Phenomenal, huh?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I never said anything.” He raised his brows and she retorted. “You’re average at best.”

Draco leaned into her ear; his hot breath hit her skin in sparks. He nipped at her earlobe before whispering,

“Tell that to me next time I make you come in my mouth with my tongue alone. When you’re twitching under me and screaming for more, begging me to fuck you. Tell me again how average I am, Granger.”

The heat coursed over her skin in waves of temptation. She pressed her thighs together, feeling his voice affect her so dramatically. When he pulled away and looked down at her, he smirked, running his thumb across her warm cheeks.

“I love it when you blush.”

“I don’t blush,” she said.

He laughed. “Whatever you say.”

Draco pecked her lips and pulled away in enough time for the other Slytherins to sit at the table. Theo came down too, sitting across from Hermione, keeping his gaze cast down. She kicked him under the table and when he looked up, she leaned across the table.

“Are you still being awful to me?”

“No,” he said, looking briefly to Draco.

“I’m talking to you, not him,” she said gently. “I’m not upset with you, Theo. I know you have his best interests at heart and that you just wanted to protect him, it’s alright.”

“I am sorry. I was a little harsh and you don’t deserve that, considering.”

“You haven’t treated me differently before because of it, don’t start now. I forgive you, okay? Can we be normal again?” she asked, smiling lightly.

He smiled too. “Yeah.”

“What the fuck is this?”

Hermione leaned back, biting her tongue from the sound of Pansy’s shrill voice. Draco held her close, ignoring Pansy as he took another bite of his scone. She slammed down on the bench between Theo and Blaise, giving her the best glower she’d ever seen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Pansy asked. “Why the fuck is this Mudblood cunt sitting here?”

Before Hermione could stop him, he slipped her wand from her skirt and had it pressed under Pansy’s chin. He jabbed it into her throat as he leaned forward.

“Sorry, Pansy, did you say something?” he asked casually.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said. “Stop.”

“No, no, I thought I heard her say something.” He shoved it further. Pansy’s chin was pointed up and as she looked at him, she didn’t look afraid. “Go on, say it again.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” she goaded.

“I wouldn’t test that if I were you,” he bit.

Hermione looked to Theo who was perfectly calm, as if this were an often occurrence.

“He almost killed me this morning, I wouldn’t test your luck,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth.

“Say something about her again, say anything and I will not hesitate to fucking kill you. Say it behind my back, I’ll hear about it so I would watch your fucking tongue, Parkinson,” Draco said through his teeth.

“Fine,” she said. “Get that fucking thing away from me.”

Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled it back, sticking the wand in her bag. She removed Draco’s arm from around her waist and scooted slightly away from him.

“There’s a reason you got your wand taken, mate,” Theo said. “You can’t be trusted.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can I have the notebook, please?” Hermione whispered.

Draco pulled it out and when he handed it to her, she got up from the bench, slinging her bag over her shoulder. As she started away, he grabbed her wrist and moved to stand too.

“No, finish your food. I’m going to go study,” she said, holding up the notebook.

When she started away again, she only made it a few feet down the hall when he caught up with her again. She ignored his obvious stare as she kept walking. Then he pulled her into an empty hallway.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face.

She sighed and held the notebook closer to her. “I appreciate how protective you are of me, but you can’t go around and threaten everyone who says one crooked thing.”

“I can and I will.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away from him, down towards the main hall. “You got your wand taken away. You threaten to kill anyone who says one wrong thing to or about me. You have anger issues and I know they’re not your fault, and I don’t love you any less because of it but…”

“But?” he asked carefully, backing away from her.

“It’s what drove me away from Ron. Amongst other things but he could never control himself. It became a detriment to everyone around him, it still is,” she said, looking at her shoes. “It made my anxiety worse, and it was part of the reason I turned to alcohol over the summer. That and this,” she gestured to her arm. “I’m not saying you’re him because you’re not, but I can’t do that again. I know you’re angry, that you have every right to be after the life you’ve had but there has to be a better way to control it.

“Bite your tongue when someone says something. Walk away when you get mad. I don’t know! I don’t know, Malfoy, but I can’t do that again.” She looked up and found his eyes cast down the hall. “You can protect me all you want but it doesn’t need to come to extremes.”

He didn’t say anything. She watched as he rubbed his eyes with two fingers, as he pinched his nose. He ran a hand through his messy hair and took a deep breath.

“Are you upset with me?” she asked.

“No.” he said. “No, I’m just…you’re right. I was doing fine. Fine for me and then my mother died. It was almost bad again, but I had you. Then fucking Weasley and I didn’t have you. I wrecked that washroom. I wrecked my dorm room and Blaise’s when he told me to stop. I was fine and then I lost you and—and gods, I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?”

Her resolve softened and as she moved to speak, he cut her off. He pulled his bag to his front and dug in it as he spoke.

“I’m not perfect. I’m so fucking far from perfect, but I try so hard. Fairer made me keep this,” he said as he pulled out the little black journal. “I was to write in it, rip pages out of it, burn it, do fuck all to it if I thought I couldn’t keep everything in check. I tried. I tried so hard, and I fucked it up.” Draco stepped forward and held it out to her. “I don’t want to fuck this up, Hermione. I love you an unbelievable amount and I want to be better for you. Take it.”

“That’s yours, you don’t have to show it to me. It’s private—”

“Please,” he whispered. “Take it.”

She looked at him, finding that he couldn’t look at her. The little black notebook that had been of interest to her for months now was right there and he was letting her see it. She took it gingerly and held it in her hands. Embedded in the front were his initials and when she opened the cover, he had written,

Property of Draco Malfoy
FUCK OFF

Her eyes flickered to him again, finding him watching her hands. Breathing deep, she flipped the page. The first entry was dated September 19th, 1998. Her birthday. There were five words.

She feels like a virtue.

She turned the page and found something that made her lips part. It was a drawing of her. At the Gryffindor table with a book in front of her and tea in her hand, it was her. It was beautifully drawn and striking realistic. Hermione thought she looked beautiful. When she turned the page, she found another drawing. This time of her in the library. Again, beautiful. It hit her then that this is how he must see her. Was she really worthy of art?

As she thumbed through, it consisted of more drawings. Of her, of the castle, of the hills. More short entries, the longest no more than a line or two. Then Draco reached out and led her hands to flip to the latest entry from yesterday. January 28th, 1999.

She loves me. I never want to live a day without this feeling. Gods, I fucking love her. I think I’m going to be okay.

Hermione read it over and over. It was the least eloquent he had ever been and yet somehow that made it mean so much more. She took his ability to think straight just by loving him.

But the last line.

God that last line was the reason there were tears welling in her eyes. When she looked up from the book, he was finally looking at her.

“I was told to burn it or to write about every bad day, every bad thought. I didn’t want to carry that around with me, so I wrote when I felt joy, even for a moment.” She tried to keep the tears from spilling as he looked at her. There was no wall, or hate, or distance. There was just him with soft silver eyes, bearing his soul to her.

“You are my joy, Hermione. You’re the reason I stayed here, the reason I have for getting up in the morning. I cannot have fucked this up because if I did, if I lost my joy, I’ll never forgive myself.”

She closed the notebook and slipped it into his pocket. He watched her carefully, almost as though he weren’t breathing.

“You didn’t fuck it up,” she said. “I just need you to burn your book, not the world.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he held her close, strong arms nearly lifting her from the ground in his hold. She nudged his nose with hers and kissed him gently.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” he said.

“I think you’re going to be okay too.”

...

She sat up against the wall of the washroom, sweat covering her body. Steady breaths surrounded the room along with the knowledge that this was getting worse. Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as another wave of nausea hit her. It was all blood in the toilet, blood over the tile, blood in her hair. Her arm had lost all feeling. There was no more burn or ache and yet somehow it was worse. The unknown was worse.

Shaking limbs and a racing heart was all she was anymore. The magic in her veins felt weak and as she attempted to scourgify the mess, it wouldn’t work. Hermione crawled to the sink and grabbed a used towel hanging off it. She mopped up the blood, moving as efficiently as she could. It all hurt, so, so much.

As she finished and moved to stand, her lungs constricted and suddenly she was coughing into her arm; she covered her mouth only to find more blood now on her skin. With one of her fingers, she wiped her bottom lip, more blood came off. Dark blood, almost purple, like the poison.

Her bedroom was dark as she struggled for her wand on the side table. Managing a vanishing charm over her arm and lips, she dropped it on the ground and crawled back under the covers. Draco shifted next to her, his eyes fluttering open in the deep night. He pulled her close, holding her back to his front as he nuzzled his head in her neck. She reached around him, raking her fingers through his hair.

“Alright?” he mumbled.

She nodded, not wanting to wake him. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

He couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t anything new, he hadn’t been a sound sleeper since he was fifteen. On rare occasions, most spent with her, he could manage five or six hours. On those occasions, he counted his blessings. Tonight, sleep refused to take him. Or perhaps, he refused to take sleep. He couldn’t, not with the way she had been looking as of late. She said she was fine when he’d ask, and it took everything in him not to pry into her mind. He respected her too much for that.

It wasn’t just looking ill, she wasn’t eating. Hermione would pick at her food and shuffle it around the plate, but she would hardly eat any of it. She still drank her tea and he made it his mission to make it perfect every time. After classes would conclude for the day, he would watch her struggle up the stairs. It wasn’t something that would be obvious to the rest of the students, but to him it was. Hermione was always in a rush, no matter where it was she was going. She would spring up and down the steps, her hair bouncing along with her. Lately, she’d been taking them almost leisurely, similar to himself. It was the first time he could keep up with her and he hated it.

What worried him the most was how much she slept. After class, she would toss her bag onto the ground and crawl under her sheets without saying anything. She wouldn’t wake until the next morning. Draco had taken to doing her homework. He enchanted a quill to write in her sloppy cursive. Often times he felt like an overbearing new mother, sitting next to the bed to make sure she was still breathing. She would breathe every time he checked and yet the panic never went away.

No one else seemed to notice anything was wrong. Theo, though Draco was still fairly cross with him, hadn’t said anything. Ginny hadn’t suggested anything as far as he knew. He would sit in her room as her muggle phone rang almost every other day. He knew it was Potter. Part of him wanted to wake her, to force her to be Hermione again. He knew she wasn’t seeing Ginny because she always sleeping and on the rare days she would stay awake, she was with him. He needed her to talk to someone. Someone besides him and Theo needed to know.

As the night fell harder around him, the dark becoming darker and silence getting longer, he sat against her dresser with a mess of books and papers around him. With his hair a mess and ink staining his hands, he struggled to understand what else was wrong with her. They had the antidotes to the known poisons but there was something else. He couldn’t shake the feeling.

Draco was never fond of Aunt Bella growing up. He heard the stories from his classmates, what she’d done to Longbottom’s parents. He regarded her a living nightmare, one locked in Azkaban far, far away. Then she was there, right in front of him. She was terrifying, even at sixteen, he found himself afraid of this woman. She got into his mind. She made him believe in what was never there. She would laugh and he would scream. He had never met someone with magic so tangible. It was incredibly dark magic, worse than even the Dark Lord. The thing about dark magic was the feeling.

On his tongue it tasted tangy, something sour and all together displeasing. The magic would creep into his bones and devour him from the inside out. He thought it stemmed from the mark, that feeling, but it was Bella. There was something more to her that no one else had known. Something far more sinister and murderous than everyone had thought. That feeling left the day she died and only recently had it returned.

It was in Hermione and he could feel it.

Draco plucked Crookshanks from his lap and gently sat him on the ground. When he moved to stand, the muggle phone started to ring and loudly. Hermione stirred in bed as he tripped over a stack of books on his way to grab the ringing device from her bedside table. He pressed a green square and the ringing stopped.

“Mm, Draco?” she mumbled.

His heart skipped when she used his given name. Every time, without fail.

He bent next to the bed and gingerly pushed her hair back. Her eyelids fluttered and she nuzzled her head further into the pillow. There was a darkness under her eyes and the freckles over the bridge of her nose had almost disappeared. Carefully, he trailed a finger over her cheeks to her pale lips. His heart sunk as he watched her. Then he kissed her forehead and with lingering lips, whispered,

“I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

With the phone clutched in his hand, he quietly left her bedroom.

“Hermione?”

Draco’s head whipped up, looking around the room.

“Are you there?”

The voice was coming from his hand. He held it up to his ear and listened. “Mione?”

“Potter?”

“Malfoy?” he asked. “Well, I guess that makes sense. Is Hermione awake?”

“No, it’s the middle of the night. What do you want?”

“I just—never mind. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said. Draco recognised the tremor in his voice.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “What made you call so late, Potter?”

“Don’t worry about it Malfoy.”

“This is that outstretched hand,” he struggled to say.

Potter tried to laughed. “Right. It’s fine. But, uh, thanks, I guess.” Draco pinched his eyes shut and sighed. Potter cleared his throat. Neither of them hung up but Draco didn’t know how to. “Do you get nightmares?”

He opened his eyes and looked around the room. On the settee sat Hermione’s bag; he responded as he dug through it.

“Yeah, I have.” He found her wand and pocketed it as he left the head dorms. This isn’t weird. You offered a hand.

“Did they stop?”

Draco put a silencing charm on himself as he walked through the halls. “No. They, uh, they’ve subsided mostly.”

He heard some strange noises come through the device as he crept through the castle. The nightly patrolling of professors had lessened this year, something he learnt early on. As he checked for prefects, he recalled Theo complaining that they never did their jobs.

“How? I mean,” Potter coughed, “what did you do differently?”

He waited on the moving stairs, tapping his foot impatiently as they went. “I had something to look forward to in the morning,” he admitted. “No matter how bad they got, I knew something better was a few hours away. That and having someone to sleep next to helps.”

There was a prolonged silence between them. He knew this was awkward for them both but in the back of his mind he reminded himself that Potter was Hermione’s friend. He mattered to her and so, for the sake of her, he would get along. That and his apology couldn’t be all for naught.

“Ginny didn’t answer tonight,” he finally said, letting out a tight breath. “I call her through the floo when they get too much, and I can’t calm down. She didn’t answer so I thought Hermione might be up studying or something.”

Draco nodded, despite not being seen by him. He continued through the hall as Potter continued.

“She was that for me. What Hermione is for you, I mean. What you said about having something better.” Then a pause. “Sometimes I wish I went back to Hogwarts, then I’d have her every day.”

He wasn’t sure how to comfort him. Or how to talk to him, really. “Tea with a bit of dreamless sleep helps if you want to go back to bed.”

“I don’t.”

“Do you still fly?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Do that,” Draco said as he slunk into the library. “The cold will shock you and hopefully you’ll forget long enough to make it to morning. Then call this device and I’ll give it to Weasley.”

“You’d do that?”

“It’s not a big deal, Potter, don’t make it one,” Draco said.

“Yeah, course not.” He heard a smile. “I’ll ring later. For Gin, not for you.”

“I’d hope not.”

“Night, Malfoy.”

“Goodnight.”

Thankfully, Draco didn’t have to figure out how to turn the device off. He shoved it into his pocket as he stood in front of the restricted section. There was only one other time he’d had to break in. That was sixth year under extremely different circumstances. He prayed to Merlin that the wards hadn’t changed.

Taking out the veined wand, he made the swift movements around the door attempting to counter the many wards. One of them wouldn’t budge and he knew it was close to going off. He strained against it until it broke, and the lock fell open. The restricted section was free to him.

Several of the shelves came to life around him. His arm burned. No, they weren’t alive for Draco, they were alive for who they thought he was.

Some leaped from the shelves at his feet, but he quickly locked them back in. Madam Pince couldn’t know he was in here. This was far and wide outside of the terms of his probation. No unsupervised magic, no being alone in the castle, no restricted section. Of course, stealing his girlfriend’s wand and using it without her knowledge weren’t explicitly stated but he could assume Fairer would be less than pleased.

As he rounded the corner, he started his search. After all the time spent with Bella, he wished he had been strong enough to flip the legilimency on her. Then he could know exactly what to do. He could fix this even when he felt like he couldn’t.

Draco took a few books as he walked through. The shelves whispered to him, their voices the sound of wands on chalkboard. He rubbed at his ear with his shoulder before shaking his head.

“They’re not real,” he whispered.

“Draco.”

“Come here. Come to us, Draco.”

“My dragon.”

He stopped. “Mother?” Draco turned to the shelves and one of the books fell open. The Most Ancient House of Black 1977. The page was opened to a portrait of his mother, only twenty-two years old. She looked so beautiful and yet so different. He’d never seen her with such light in her eyes. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders softly and as her cerulean eyes twinkled at him, he felt his resolve breaking.

“Mother,” he whispered, picking the book up.

“Oh, my dragon. You look as though you haven’t slept,” Narcissa said. “What’s the matter?”

He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep the emotions at bay. Crying wouldn’t help him now.

“I’m tired,” he confessed. “I’m trying so fucking hard and I’m so tired.”

“Language,” she warned.

“I don’t care. Gods, I don’t fucking care! I’m trying and I’m exhausted and I can’t fucking stop!” he shouted. “I can’t stop, I have to fix this. I promised her.”

“Draco, this is beyond you,” she soothed. “There’s nothing that can be done.”

“That isn’t— wait…how…you never knew. I never told you,” Draco said. “Her arm…you don’t know. I don’t…”

“You forget, I was there the night it happened.”

“No, I didn’t forget,” he bit.

“There was nothing I could have done.”

“She would’ve killed me if I stopped her, but you. Bella cared about you.”

“Bella cared about no one. Not even the Dark Lord.” Narcissa smiled sadly as she looked at her son. “When I say there’s nothing to be done, I don’t mean to be vicious. The magic in her dagger was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It was poisoned and cursed during our time at Hogwarts by a student who was sufficiently adept in the dark arts. I never knew of a counter curse.”

His eyes were dark as he looked at her. A knot got caught in his throat. No there had to be a way. He would make a fucking way.

“Who?” Draco demanded. “Who was the student? If they’re alive, I can track them down and—”

“He’s not alive.”

His heart fell.

“Who was he?”

“Draco, it won’t help you to know. There—”

“Mother, tell me who it was.”

She sighed, looked away from him. The magic in the restricted section was taking its toll on him. His head was spinning. It was hard to breathe. His arm burned.

Narcissa finally answered.

“Severus Snape.”

...

Everything was happening so quickly. It was all a blur. He dropped the books as soon as he entered the head dorms. Time had gotten away from him in the library. The sun had begun to rise by the time he escaped the voices.

Draco busted down Theo’s bedroom door, shocking his friend awake.

“Gods! What the fuck?” he groaned as he fell back onto the bed.

“Get up.” He grabbed clothes from Theo’s wardrobe and threw them at him. “Get the fuck up, Nott. We’re going.”

“Where are we going? What time is it?”

“Fuck! I don’t know!” Draco shouted.

“Malfoy?” her quiet voice came down the hall.

His heart pulled in the direction of her softness as he looked down the hall. He turned back to his groggy friend. “Put your clothes on and meet me at the door.”

Draco found himself at her bedroom door and willed his heart to stop pounding. He had to be steady for her. He had to keep the stress away from her.

When he opened the door, she was sitting up, legs slung over the bed with her head hung down. She was gripping the mattress for the life of her as she breathed slowly.

“Hey,” he said as he knelt. Draco ran his hands over her knees, becoming shocked at how hot her skin felt. “What’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t feel good.”

The back of his hand met her forehead, and it took everything in him not to pull away. She was burning up.

“Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No,” she whispered. “No, she’ll see and tell McGonagall. Everyone will know and—”

“Okay. Okay…shit,” he said, looking around her room. “I hate to do this, but I have to leave.”

The phone started ringing. He left it alone.

She looked at him and those eyes like honey were glossy and dull. Her dark brows were pulled together over her unhealthily pale face. “Please don’t leave.”

Again, his heart fell. Draco ran his hands up the sides of her thighs until his arms were wrapped around her middle. Hermione rested her head on his; he could hear her breathing falter with oncoming tears.

“I won’t be gone long, I promise.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and his will faltered. “You’re going to be okay, love. Do you want Ginny to be here while I’m gone?”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to speak to my probation Auror. Theo’s coming with me.”

Hermione picked her head up and looked at him, though her eyes were heavily lidded. “Are you in trouble? Draco, I told you not—”

“I’m not. Everything’s fine.” He held her face as he tried to keep his own calm. He summoned one of her hair ribbons and gathered her mane up as she watched him. In a messy knot atop her head, he secured it in hopes to cool her down. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know,” she said, and her voice was strained.

He kissed her sticky forehead, telling her to wait a moment. When he left her room, he saw Theo already waiting by the door, eating a banana. Draco snatched it from his hand and vanished it quickly.

“I need you to not be a smart prick today. I have to speak with Fairer and I need you there,” Draco said seriously. Theo nodded and stood up straighter. He reached into his pocket and handed him Hermione’s device. “I need you to get Ginny and bring her here. Tell her that Granger is sick and that’s it. Nothing about her arm, just sick. Call Potter with this on your way and tell him you’re finding Ginny. When you both get back, we’re leaving.”

Theo took the device and started pressing loud buttons when he looked to his friend with concern. “Is everything okay?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair and finally exhaled. “I don’t know but it fucking needs to be. Go, I need to take care of her.”

As Theo left, Draco tried to steady himself again. He found Hermione where he’d left her. Gathering her in his arms, she fell against him, nuzzling her head into his neck. He led her arms around his neck and lifted her with an arm under her knees. As he carried her into the washroom, he could feel her radiating heat. Draco helped her sit on the toilet as he ran a cold bath. As unpleasant as it may be, she needed desperately to cool down.

The sound of the water filling the tub came between them. Hermione was still in her uniform from the day before, true to her constant need for sleep. Draco unbuttoned her shirt and helped unstick it from her body. He knelt in front of her, peeled her socks off and helped pull her skirt down. She rubbed her eyes and when she looked up at him, he felt more anger and frustration than he ever had. Here she was, this absolutely perfect woman who fought in a war and won, now struggling to stay alive. Above everyone else in this blasted world, she did not deserve this.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Draco grabbed her face, trying to communicate how much he loved her through just one look. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I feel like an inconvenience.”

“Being sick isn’t an inconvenience. You’ve done so much for so long and I am more than happy to be right here, helping you. I know it’s hard but you’re going to be alright.” He kissed her softly and when she tried to kiss him back, he felt the dam breaking. Draco closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m going to take care of you, no matter what.”

He helped her stand, removing her under garments before he helped lift her into the frigid water. Her left arm hung over the side and he took the opportunity to unwrap the bandage. It was gruesome. The word could hardly be made out anymore as the carvings stretched into each other. The veins were reaching up her arm, coiling around her shoulder. He wanted to scream for her. Instead, Draco quickly summoned his medical bag from her bedroom and took to redressing the wound.

Hermione lolled her head against the tub to look at him. “Tell me something nice.”

“Something nice?” he repeated, and she nodded. He finished rewrapping her arm, making sure to disillusion it as he thought. “In my bedroom growing up, my mother had enchanted the ceiling as the night sky. She would tuck me in at night and show me the stars. She would tell me that if I ever got scared or felt alone that I could look to the sky. ‘The sky is your family; the stars are your home,’ she would say.”

Her lips turned up slightly as she reached her left hand to his cheek. He held her sleepy eyes in his, appreciating the gentleness that was her.

“You’re my stars,” she whispered.

His chest twisted in on itself as he wondered what turn of fate led him to be loved like this. He knew that for as long as he lived, he would never have this chance. The life he was brought into should have led him away from her but gods if he weren’t the luckiest man on earth to be able to say he was loved by her.

“You’re my sky,” he said, kissing her palm.

“Draco!” Theo called.

“I’ll be right back.”

When he walked back out, he saw Ginny lingering in the living area on the phone as Theo waited by the door. Ginny was nodding and as her lips moved without any sound coming out, he sensed the silencing charm. She hung up quickly and turned to Draco with a worried brow.

“Is she okay?” she asked. His gaze flickered to Theo for a moment, but it had been long enough for her to notice. “What am I not being told?”

“She’s sick,” he started. “She needs to stay here. I don’t care if she complains about missing class, she needs to rest. I have to take care of something with Theo, so I need you to stay with her. If that’s okay.”

“It’s fine but why does she need help?” Ginny pressed. Draco ran a hand through his hair, considering the truth. “Don’t lie to me, Malfoy, I grew up with six brothers, I can spot a bloody lie.”

“It’s not my secret to tell.”

“But you’ve been harbouring it.”

“Tell me that you wouldn’t keep a secret for Potter even though you know you shouldn’t. He begged you and you love him so fucking much that despite your better judgement you keep the damned secret,” he said harshly. “Tell me you wouldn’t.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” he snapped. “Because I can’t possibly care about her that much? Because I’m not your piece of shit brother?”

“No, I just mean…” She looked to Theo who seemed to hold the answer for her. “I’m sorry, I’m still getting used to this, and you.”

He nodded once, thanking the gods that she seemed to have more sense than her family. “It’s her choice if she wants to tell you. She’s in the bath now and she’ll need to eat. Force her to eat, keep homework away from her, and try to keep her calmed. I’m going to go,” he gestured behind him.

Hermione looked relaxed enough in the tub and that alone reset the knots growing in his shoulders. She opened her eyes as she heard him come in, letting a smile fall to her lips. He knelt next to the tub and pushed some of her fallen hair back.

“Ginny’s here. She’s going to stay with you while I leave with Theo. You’re not going to class today, I’ll let McGonagall know, and please try to eat something and sleep if you can, you just need to—”

“My love,” Hermione said, placing a wet hand on his. “Take a breath.”

He did. “I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

She nodded. “I trust you. Come back whole.”

“I will,” he managed a smile. Hermione cradled his cheek and brought him in for a short kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she said. Absolutely impossible.

...

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Theo asked as they jogged down a flight of stairs.

Draco ignored him, his focus on getting to the headmaster’s office before breakfast. There was so much happening inside his head. From Hermione to the poison to his mother to Bella to Snape and back again. He couldn’t accept what Narcissa said. There had to be an answer to this because if there wasn’t that meant Hermione would—

No.

No. No, she was going to be okay. He promised her, Draco was not about to break his promise.

His body was pulsating with nerves as he all but ran through the halls, Theo on his tail. McGonagall better grant him this, despite everything he’s done this year, she needed to trust him. He almost laughed at the idea of asking her to trust him, but nothing could make him laugh. Not right now.

“Draco!”

“What?” he shouted as he turned to Theo.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.

Draco sighed and grabbed his arm, pulling him along. Theo tried to pull away, but he was unrelenting. “I’m on the verge of fucking losing it, Nott. Can you just trust me?”

“I trust you far too much, but I also need to know what I’m signing up for.”

They reached the gargoyle and Draco banged on the wall next to it. Theo recited the password and the stairs descended. He avoided his question again as he raced up the stairs and busted into the office. McGonagall had been speaking to a sobbing student, one far younger than himself when her eyes turned from open and understanding to absolutely furious.

“Mr. Malfoy this is quite—”

“You, out,” he said to the crying little girl. She stood quickly, looking at him with frightened eyes. He couldn’t find it in him to care. “Now.”

She ran out and Theo almost moved to console her but thought better. McGonagall stood; her bony fingers pressed into the desk as a menacing look took over her eyes. If Draco was still in second year, he might’ve quivered before her.

“You are of no position to be barging into my office, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. “And as for you, Mr. Nott, and I am most disappointed.”

Theo shrugged. “Yeah, well.”

“I need to see Fairer. Now,” Draco said.

She held her head higher, trying to make herself taller than him. “I am under no obligation to assist you especially after your display just now.”

He stepped forward, keeping eye contact with the older witch. “I am allowed to call for my probation Auror when I see fit. Are you trying to keep me from seeking help when I need it, professor?”

Merlin, he knew he was being an absolute prat, but this was important. This was for her.

She crossed her arms. “What could possibly be the matter?”

“I’m under no obligation to tell you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You will if you desire to use the floo in my office, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I’m more than happy to summon my probation contract for you to reread, professor. It explicitly states that when I am in need of assistance from my probation Auror for personal and-slash-or private reasons that I need not explain myself to the sitting headmaster.” He was teetering on a cliff and if he fell, she would feel his resting rage. But he was managing, and gods be damned if he wasn’t proud of himself. Burn your book.

“And why must Mr. Nott be in attendance?”

“It’s part of my terms that if I am to leave Hogwarts I must be accompanied by a trusted individual,” he stated. “Given the fact that you appointed him to the position of Head Boy, he would fall under that category. Have I satisfied your questions?”

McGonagall considered him for a moment, looking frequently between him and Theo. She sighed after a while, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I expect you both back in this castle before dinner,” she said, and Draco’s anxiety merely heightened.

“Thank you, professor,” Theo said when Draco’s words failed him.

He grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him to the fireplace. Theo took charge in grabbing the floo powder when he recalled something else.

“Gran—Hermione won’t be in class today,” Draco said.

“Why is that?”

“She works too hard, I told her to take a day off.”

McGonagall nodded once. “For the first time, Mr. Malfoy, I agree with you.”

The fireplace flourished green.

Theo sent them to the ministry main level, much to Draco’s annoyance. He already started on his way towards the lift when Theo stopped him.

“Mate, can we take a second here? I still have no idea what’s going on.”

“I don’t have a second. I’m running out of fucking seconds,” he said, earning several glares from passing witches.

“Okay,” Theo said carefully. “I need you to slow down and take a breath. Does this have anything to do with Hermione?”

Draco rubbed his face furiously, trying to keep himself from spiraling in the middle of the ministry. “I spoke to my mother; she said there was nothing I could do help her. Bella’s dagger was cursed by Severus of all fucking people and I swear to Merlin if that bastard weren’t already dead—”

“Wait, you spoke to your mother?” Theo asked.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was in the restricted section and she called out to me.”

Theo sighed and entered the lift, giving hard glares to anyone who tried to enter after them. He selected the floor for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the gate closed.

“You’re really trying to get in that cell, aren’t you?” he asked, shaking his head. “If you keep doing this shit, you’re going to get expelled and sent away. Is that what you want?”

“No, Nott, but—”

“There is no room for exceptions here!” Theo exclaimed.

“I’m doing it for her,” he said lowly.

“Merlin, Draco, I know! Do you think she’d be happy knowing what you’ve done? She wants you safe as much as I do, and I can almost guarantee that you haven’t told her how many times you’ve almost been sent away. Or how many times I’ve had to bloody step in. If you want to be here to help her, you have got to be smarter about it. Hell! Ask me! I would’ve gladly broken into that restricted section or apparated to Ireland for that damned horn. Just stop being so reckless, yeah?”

More often than not Draco would forget just how much Theo loved him. He would always say he was alone, that he had no one before Hermione but it was a lie. He had someone who cared so fiercely for him that he would forget in depths of his wallowing who it was that pulled him out.

“I’m sorry, mate,” he finally said, succumbing to guilt. “I’m just so fucking scared I can’t think straight.”

Theo stopped the lift just before the doors opened, effectively locking them in until further notice. He turned to Draco and leaned against the wall.

“What happened in the restricted section?”

Draco matched him, leaning against the opposite wall, raking shaking hands through his hair. He tried to sort through his mind, shielding off unnecessary emotion and worry with his occlumency.

“She said there was nothing I can do to fix Granger’s arm. She said she never heard of a counter curse for the dagger. I’m…I’m fucked, Nott,” he choked on emotion. Damned shields.

“You mentioned Snape?”

Draco snorted haughtily. “He’s the one who enchanted the dagger with the poison and whatever fucked up curse that’s tied to it. And to think I ever looked up to him. Gods, Theo, I wasted hours grieving and feeling guilty over his death, thinking there was something I could have done differently to find out that he’s the one killing my Granger. Fuck him. He was never a good fucking person.”

Theo shook his head. “Mate, he was still your godfather. You can love him and hate him at the same time. Like your father.”

“I don’t love that bastard. I haven’t since I was sixteen.”

Theo seemed to leave the subject there and he was thankful for it. He didn’t need thoughts of his father riling him up beyond this.

“So, we’re seeing Fairer because?”

“I need to speak to my lawyer. Figured pulling the probation card on McGonagall would appeal to better sympathies than a posh boy complaining to his lawyer,” he sighed. “That and Fairer has to be involved in every conversation I have with anyone outside of Hogwarts.”

Theo started the lift again with a flick of his wand. The door opened and with a supportive squeeze of his shoulder, the two of them made for the probation sect of the DMLE.

More shields found their places around Draco’s mind as he sorted. He had to remain completely level-headed if he were to get what he wanted. He pushed every thought of Hermione into a separate section in his mind, finding himself pulling strength from the thought of her rather than falling into an inconsolable mess. He had to be as strong as his witch was everyday of her life.

He knocked on the office door of Matthew Fairer, P.A. of the DMLE. Draco straightened his tie and adjusted his cuffs as he waited, breathing in thoughts of wild dark curls and glorious flushed cheeks. I’m going to take care of you. You’re going to be okay.

The door swung open. “Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I wasn’t expecting…did we have a meeting I’ve forgotten about? I’ve been a bit out of sorts this week, please come in. Lovely to see you as well, Theo.”

Fairer stepped to the side as they entered his cramped, file ridden office before closing the door. The Slytherins sat as he fussed at his desk, collecting files and sorting them with flustered eyes. After a moment, he huffed and gave up cleaning up to fold his hands on the desk as he addressed his client.

“How are you?” Fairer asked.

“We didn’t have an appointment but—”

“And we’re sorry for showing up unannounced,” Theo butt in, bringing the pureblood manners Draco forgot all to often.

“Right, I apologise for not sending an owl.”

“Is everything alright? You haven’t gotten yourself expelled, have you?” Fairer asked as he pulled off his glasses. “You give me more grief than that damned baby at home. God love her though.”

Draco shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I was hoping to have a discussion with my lawyer if the time permits. It’s rather pressing.”

“Malfoy,” he started, wiping his glasses with his rather heinous mustard tie, “You’re supposed to be focussed on finishing your NEWTs, not making a list of people to sue.”

His shields shook at the thought of the end of year exams. Not once had he cracked a textbook to study, not when he had something worlds more important keeping him occupied.

“It’s nothing like that,” he said, trying to remain cordial. “If you could send a notice now, that would be most appreciated.”

“Listen, I’m sure whatever it is that you need to discuss with your lawyer is important, but I’ve got about six disciplinary actions burning a whole in my desk and—”

“You’re about to have seven if you don’t assist me, Fairer,” Draco bit.

Theo sat forward, trying to place himself in front of his friend, always the middleman. “We know you’re busy and we respect that, but this won’t take but ten minutes,” he said, even though Draco hadn’t told him what exactly he needed to talk about. Fairer looked at Theo with uncertainty but he continued. “You look like you could use a break. Send that notice and we’ll conduct our business here while you take a long coffee. And I’m sure if those disciplinary actions are anything like Draco here, you’ll have a new file within the next week and more time to shoulder through it all.”

The Auror looked between the two as he sat back in his chair. “Fucking Slytherins,” he mumbled before conceding. “You’re lucky to have a mate like this.”

Draco nodded as Theo sat back, patting his back. He watched as Fairer pulled out a small scrap of parchment, scribbled quickly, and sent the paper aeroplane on its way. The Auror stood from his desk and grabbed his coat as he regarded them.

“Don’t go snooping and don’t break anything. We’re not all pureblood heirs.”

Then he left and for the time being, Draco could breathe and thank the gods for Theo.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

Draco narrowed his eyes as he looked to his friend. “Don’t be a prick.”

Theo nudged him. “Go on, say it again.”

“Nott, honestly, I’m not in the mood for this.”

His face softened. “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood, mate. Why did you…”

Everything went silent as the ring on his finger sent a current through his arm. Shit. She needed him. He ran his finger over the metal, hoping Ginny could help for the time being. There was no anxiety from her yet, no incessant hear beat or physical ache that would come through previously. He tapped back, letting her know he felt her. If only he could say more.

“Mate?”

“What?”

“Were you even list—”

The office door swung open and in walked Draco’s lawyer, bun so tight it pulled her eyes back, pencil skirt straight enough to use as a ruler. She’d been the Malfoy’s lawyer for years and to say she was a stern, unbearable woman would be an understatement.

“Mr. Malfoy, what seems to be the issue?” Mrs. Avery asked as her eyes danced around the room. Her nose scrunched at the sight of the unruly office.

“Was Lucius named as executor in Severus’ will?” No more bullshit, he needed answers and he needed them now.

The severe woman dropped her briefcase on the messy desk, taking a tentative seat in Fairer’s old leather chair. She folded her hands atop the expensive case, looking over her half-moon glasses at the pair.

“I have no knowledge of Severus’ will, I was not his lawyer,” she said tightly.

“No but you’re Lucius’, you would know.”

“I may,” she said, giving another look to Theo. “Though that be the business of your father, not of you.”

Draco’s jaw tightened at the mention of that man being his father. No more than an abusive sperm donor, he was.

“Since he is currently preoccupied, I’ve taken over responsibility of any and all Malfoy business. Anything under his name is now under mine. Do you or do you not have access to Severus’ will?”

Another shock shot up his arm; he rubbed the ring.

“As it may be true, though the role of executor still lay with your father. As he is merely imprisoned and not deceased there is—”

“What’s he going to do with the will? Use it to keep fire in that cell?” he bit. “If you have the will, you’re under obligation, as my lawyer, to give it to me.”

“Mr. Malfoy that is not—”

“What’s going to happen?” he shouted, coming to standing. “No one’s going to take legal action against you, least of all a dead man or a rotting one at that. Give me the will, under the table if you have to. I’ll fucking pay you off if that’s what it takes, and I’ll find myself a new damned lawyer.”

“Mate.”

“Not now, Nott.”

Mrs. Avery straightened her back as she looked up at him, looming over her. Her lips pursed as if she’d eaten a sour lemon and the graying at her hairline seemed starker the closer he got. She rose her chin, jutting it out in a feigned attempt at dominance. Fuck her age, he had the money to end her.

“I’ve been working under Narcissa Malfoy long before you were born. I would advise you not speak to me in such tones.”

“I don’t fucking care how long you’ve worked for my family. I’m the one who pays you and I’m the one who will stop. If you don’t give me the will, you’re done here and you’ll never be able to work for another aristocratic family in this world,” Draco warned, eyes heavy with disdain.

She didn’t seem flustered, not until he caught the twitch of her left eyelid. One utterance of Narcissa Malfoy having a distaste for anyone amongst the elite, pureblood families and they were done for. Though she was gone, her power remains and through Draco it stayed. Mrs. Avery knew it as fact.

“I would have to inform your father,” she finally said.

“Fine.” He stood straight again, running a hand through his hair. “And while you’re at it, tell him I hope he fucking rots.”

She stood, grabbed her briefcase, and made for the door. “I must return to my office for a moment. Please do, wait here.”

He sat back in the seat and held his arms out. “I’ve got all day.”

The ring, again.

She left and he let out a tough breath. Draco pulled the ring up and rolled it between his thumb and finger. It flicked back and forth as he felt his heartrate quicken. It wasn’t his own.

“She better fucking hurry,” he mumbled.

“We have until dinner,” Theo said, his voice breaking his focus on the ring.

Draco started shaking his leg; his knee bouncing up and down. He kissed the cold metal before sliding it back down. “I don’t. She needs me.”

“She’s with Ginny, she’s fine.”

“No.” His stomach knotted. “She’s not. Shit.” He rubbed his face, focussing on his eyes.

“It’s alright, mate.”

The ring, again.

“I need the vault key and I know its with his will,” he said, feeling his body run hot. “I need to look through all of the shit he undoubtedly kept from all of his years of potion making. It’s all in his vault, I know it is, I just—fuck!”

“This is when you ask for help.” Draco glowered at him. “I can go to Gringotts for you. Let me help.”

“I don’t know what to tell you to look for, I hardly know.” The ring.

Draco sprung from his feet and started pacing. Hermione was panicking and Ginny clearly wasn’t helping, not if it was affecting him this much. He looked to the door, deciding whether or not to run out on this. He needed this to help her and yet he needed to be there. A rush hit his stomach and he bent over, holding his knees as he struggled for breath.

“Are you alright?” Theo asked, coming to his feet.

It was getting caught in his throat, the sobs she couldn’t get out. His hands were shaking; he’d never felt this much before.

The office door opened again, and Draco forced himself to stand tall again, despite the need to curl into a ball on the ground. Mrs. Avery stopped as she saw him, holding the will in her hand. He snatched it immediately.

“The key, where is it?”

“Key?”

“To the fucking vault,” he snapped.

She huffed shortly and slowly retrieved it from her briefcase. Before she was able to hand it over, he took it and tossed it to Theo. Draco folded the will quickly and shoved it in his pocket. Without so much as a thank you, he rushed out of the office. Shoving past unsuspecting ministry workers, he struggled through the panic to find his way out. Someone called his name, but he kept forward. She needed him.

“Draco!” Theo caught up to him, grabbing his shoulder. He tried to wrench himself free when he was pulled back. “What am I looking for?”

“What?”

“I’m going to Gringotts for you, what do I need to find?”

“I…he did it during his years at Hogwarts,” he managed. “Anything from first to seventh year, look at dates, private journals, anything that mentions Bellatrix or potion making. I trust your judgement, but I can’t—I have to go.”

Theo nodded, squeezed his shoulder, and made for the ministry floos. Draco skirted through more workers until he found the apparition point.

...

The edges of his sight were turning black as he ran towards the head dorms. Sputtering out the password, he flung the portrait door open and made for Hermione. As he searched the living area, Ginny came out from her bedroom with red eyes and a red nose.

“She’s in there, been asking for you.”

Something in the way her voice sounded almost made him stop and ask if she was alright. He never suspected the little Weasley to lose her spark. She was too like Theo, when he was afflicted by emotion, the world felt raw.

He went ahead anyway.

Hermione was standing in front of her desk, looking out the window when he closed the door. Her head turned and the moment she saw him, she ran into his arms. Draco held her tight as she grabbed at his shoulders, trying to pull him as close as she could. She wasn’t saying anything, no tears stained his shirt as he cradled her head into his shoulder. Her breathing was uneven, and her heart was hammering, even against his own chest he could feel it. In an attempt to soothe, he tangled his fingers through her hair as he kissed her head.

“You’re okay,” he whispered.

“You didn’t answer.”

His heart turned over. “I know, I’m sorry but I’m here now. I promise, I’m here.”

“I feel lost when you’re gone,” Hermione whispered. “I couldn’t…there was too much. I—I told Ginny.”

He stilled and she held him tighter. “Told her.”

“That I’m dying.”

Draco took her face then, forcing her not so lightly to look at him. “You’re not. I don’t want to hear you say that. You’re going to be fine.”

“Malfoy, I’m—”

“No, Granger, don’t you fucking dare.” He held her close again, pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m going to fix this, remember?” She nodded against him as she took his shirt in her fist, holding tight. “Is she angry with you?”

Hermione shook her head at the same moment there was a knock at the door. She called out in a muffled voice and as the door opened, she made no move away from him. He held her close as Ginny walked in. She looked at Draco and suddenly her red eyes made sense, she was hurting too. Seeing her like that made a weight fall from his shoulders. He could handle a lot but this—he needed this.

“I feel like I shouldn’t leave,” she said, holding her arms around herself.

Hermione pulled away enough to reach her hand out, though his arms still remained around her. She turned to her friend, who took her hand fiercely and even Draco could see how tightly she held it. Their sad, soft smiles tore at him and if anything were to make him work harder for her it was this. She wasn’t just his, she was the world’s and a world without Hermione Granger wasn’t a world worth living in.

Her dulled honey eyes met his as the arm around him squeezed. She turned to her friend again, “I don’t mind if you stay.”

They both sensed a ‘but’ lingering after her words and, thankfully, she was the Weasley with sense.

“I’ll be in the living room. I just don’t want to be far,” Ginny said. Her eyes slid to meet his and he knew the look in her eyes. Nodding once, she seemed satisfied enough before walking out again.

Without words, Hermione took his hand and pulled him towards the bed. She sat, running her hand over the fabric next to her. He didn’t sit, he didn’t feel like he could.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

Draco squeezed her hand as he held her face with the other. As she looked up at him, he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. The bags were starker and her lips had fallen into a natural frown rather than their adorable upturn. Gods, it hurt.

“What are you scared of?”

“Dying.”

“You’re not going to.”

“But what if—”

“There are no what ifs here,” he said again, trying not to snap at her. It wasn’t her fault. “I will do absolutely anything to fix this.”

“Not if it gets you expelled.”

“Anything, Granger.”

“Draco, please. I know you want to help but I can’t have anything happen to you either.”

He ran his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Please,” her voice broke and then there were tears. “Please don’t fight me on this. I-I can’t—”

Draco finally sat, gathering her into his arms as the headboard met his back. She wept into his arms and it took everything in him not to weep with her. He’d never experienced a hurt quite like this before. Not even with his mother.

“I’ve always wanted to visit America,” he said suddenly. “There’s a school there, I always wanted to see it. Have you ever been?”

“To America?” she asked through her tears.

“Yes.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Would you like to go with me?” he asked, pushing her hair from her shoulder. She held him tighter as her head rested against his lower chest.

“I would.” She seemed to forget the tears; it worked, the distraction. “Though I reckon you’d hate it.”

“Do you?” he smiled a bit.

She nodded. “I’ve gathered they wouldn’t live up to your sophisticated standards. What with your suits and multiple dinner forks.”

“Do they eat with one fork?”

“Malfoy, everyone eats with one fork.”

He chuckled, spotting a gentle smile on her lips. Thank Merlin.

“There’s a place I’ve heard is quite popular. New York, I believe.”

“You hate crowds.”

He shrugged. “I find I hate them less if you’re there.”

“There’s more crowds there than London,” she said as her fingers found focus on a shirt button. She unbuttoned it, slipping her fingers onto his skin. His stomach turned, fluttered, some might say.

“Are you saying I can’t handle it?” he questioned.

Her fingers started on patterns, small circles. “No,” she teased. “I have always wanted to see a Broadway play.”

“Then we’ll go. This summer.”

He felt her silent sigh though attempted no remark against it. There was no blaming her for fear or doubt. He was more determined than he’d ever been to ensure her life. A long, beautiful life, no matter how or with whom she lived it, he needed to give that to her. She deserved life more than anyone else. So, he’d start with the promise of summer, a time that felt so far from now. Summer then forever.

He was going to give her forever.

...

The conversation had with Ginny drifted into night. She was accusatory, to put it lightly. He hadn’t expected less from her. Blaming him was the easiest route to take when she had heard, not hours before, that her best friend was on the brink of death. So, the exclamations of hatred, the drawn-out speeches of how underserving he was of Hermione, and even a hard slap to the face hadn’t come as a surprise.

He waited patiently as she cried, as she gripped a pillow so tightly that feathers oozed out. Ginny cried for her friend, cried for the things she wished she had done differently. When he tried to reassure her, he was dismissed. He was never good at comfort, not in the way the Ginnys and the Theos of the world were.

But when the little Weasley decided to throw her arms around his shoulders and cry into his wrinkled shirt, he felt surprised. Draco patted her back as she sobbed, unable to find the words to make this hurt less. Amongst her incoherent sobs and curses to the life they were forced to grow up in, she took everything out on him.

“Bloody fucking Malfoys.”

“Always ruining everything.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Monster.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She loves you.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“She can’t die. Of all bloody people, not her.”

“You’re fixing this, Malfoy, do you fucking hear me? You’re fucking fixing this, and Hermione is going to live for fucking ever and she’s going to be so blasted happy and I—I’m…gods fucking damnit, I’m not losing my best friend!”

By the time she left, still barely holding it together, Draco had convinced her not to reveal Hermione’s secret to anyone else. It was hers alone. With the absence of Ginny and a pile of tomes Theo had brought back with him, Draco felt the weight of what it meant to lose Hermione to the rest of the world. The weight of what it meant being the one to save her.

Sleep never came again.

Days. Weeks. He’d lost track of time. Everyday was spent holed up in the potions classroom, flipping through the endless of amounts of Severus’ journals and notebooks from the seventies. Hermione continued to sleep and rarely eat. She continued to look wane and worn, her olive skin becoming paler and greyer. Her eyes completely dulled, not a speck of golden honey anywhere to be found. While she slept, he would read. He would burn useless notebooks, rip apart others. The fury rising in his chest every passing day was nearly suffocating. Only a few sentiments ever crossed his mind as he worked:

For Granger.

Fuck Severus.

On the classroom floor he sat, covered in dust and scrawl of a dead man’s worthless work. A journal from Severus’ sixth year levitated in front of him as he rubbed away aches in his neck. Some of the things he had read, that this man divulged to paper and ink were sickening. So much so that it reminded him of himself. Though Draco found the difference.

Severus wanted his mark. Draco never did.

The potions door opened without the hard steps that usually accompanied a heavy lidded Slughorn. The steps that came now where dignified at best.

“Hey, mate,” Theo said. “Been in here a while.”

“Is that a question?”

“Nope.” He grabbed a book off the highest stack, flipping through it without much attention.

“Did you need something?” Draco asked, letting the journal fall. He shoved a used post-it in it to save his place.

“No, no,” he said flippantly. “Hermione wants you, though.”

He struggled to his feet, the lack of sleep hitting him like a bludger. Theo gripped his shoulder, trying to steady him as his vision stirred with small black spots.

“Is she okay? She’s supposed to use her ring if she isn’t. Shit,” he said, flourishing her stolen wand and shrinking all of the tomes into his bag again. “Why didn’t you lead with that? How long has—”

“Draco,” Theo said quickly, earning his eye. “She’s fine, just wants you is all.”

Air escaped him suddenly and the tension that made its way to his shoulders lifted slightly. He slung his bag over his shoulder and pocketed her wand as he patted his friend on the back. Draco’s mind was constantly reeling, and he feared the questions she never asked. How she never asked anything was a mystery to him. His little swot losing her curiosity was more damning than anything else.

He walked with his head down, focussing on the stones, focussing on breathing. As he went through the many journals and tomes he had read in his head, someone shoulder checked him on his way. When he turned around, he found an extremely smug looking ginger smirking at him.

“Mature,” Draco commented before he continued on. Breathe. Burn your book.

“Off to find your whore?” Ron called.

He stopped short, fisted his hand. Burn your book.

“Watch your mouth, Weasel,” he said tersely.

“Or what?” he laughed. “Got your wand snatched, didn’t you? You can’t touch me.”

He could say it, make him bite his tongue and forget his words. He could tell him. She’s dying, he could say. But he wouldn’t, no matter how much he itched to throw it in his face.

“I pity you,” he decided.

Ron blanched. “I don’t want your pity.”

Draco shrugged, occlumency shields up as he feigned indifference. “I just find it a shame; you’ll never know what its like to be loved by her.”

The ginger’s face turned red as his hideous hair, leaving Draco impossibly satisfied with himself. With nothing more to say, he found his way up to the head dorms.

The lights were dimmed on the way through the hall. His heart leapt as he headed into the living area, seeing her lighting various candles with her hands. He dropped his bag on the ground quietly, looking over the scene in front of him. She wore a lilac-coloured dress that ended mid-thigh. Her hair was tied at the nape of her neck, messy curls springing out and around her face. Then she turned around and the smile that lifted her lips made him impossibly happy.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He let his eyes flicker around again, noticing the coffee table covered with various foods and white feathers coating the ground. “What’s all this?”

Hermione held her hands behind her as she smiled sheepishly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Shit.

“Well come on,” she said, taking his hand.

A few pillows surrounded the coffee table and in the dim light emanating from the candles, he couldn’t help but feel an idiot for forgetting. She sat close to him, taking his right hand in hers as she rubbed her thumb over it.

“I’m embarrassed to say that this holiday has slipped my mind,” he admitted.

She smiled, shrugging smally. “I nearly forgot too but I feel alright today so it must be a good sign.” His hand tightened around hers. “I don’t blame you; you’ve been busy. Besides, it’s my turn to woo you. With that overtly expensive Christmas dinner and all.”

He couldn’t help the smile that rose to his cheeks. “Woo me?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and he could see the effort it took for her to do. “Yes, Malfoy, woo you. I’ve got candles, littered the place with white feathers, and stolen every sweet thing from the kitchens that I could manage without my wand. Which I have to ask, is in your possession?”

“It is, though not for malicious intent. I’m not as adept with my wandless magic as you.” He looked down at her before tucking a loose curl behind her ear. The way she looked at him now could positively make him melt and forget every awful thing around them.

“Did you say every sweet?” he asked.

She laughed and turned to the coffee table. “Almost. I took everything I’ve seen you indulge in, including extra sugar cubes for your ridiculously sweetened tea. Honestly, you’re going to get a cavity.”

“A what?”

“Another time.”

Draco looked to the table, noticing that her observational skills were quite keen. Blueberry scones, cherry pasties, sticky toffee pudding, brandy snaps, even half a Victoria sponge. There were a few candles sticking out from the latter.

“When you say you stole everything?”

She plucked the candles from the cake. “I may have taken someone’s leftover birthday cake.”

He laughed. “Honestly, Granger, what’s gotten into you?”

“The things I do for you,” she said wistfully, though he couldn’t help but feel the truth behind her words. How they echoed in his heart every time he felt near the brink of collapse.

Hermione leaned forward on her knees, reaching across the table as Draco caught sight of her dress riding up her thighs. Merlin, was he fucking lucky. When she sat back down, she held a small plate with little chocolate balls and whipped cream.

“I’m sure you’ve had chocolate covered strawberries before, yes?” He nodded. “Well, my mum hated strawberries, so my dad came up with this. The only thing I made and did not steal; chocolate covered blueberries with whipped cream. A bit messier to eat but the novelty is they’re frozen. Taste much better this way and I would argue that they’re much better than strawberries. No little seeds or wasted leafy ends.”

Hermione took one and held it to his lips. “Indulge me, would you?”

Any fucking day.

When she put it into his mouth, he, not so discreetly, licked her fingers, inciting the flush to return to her neck and cheeks. He chewed thoughtfully, deciding she was absolutely right.

“You’ve ruined strawberries for me now,” he joked. She smiled and ate her own. As she set the plate back down, he allowed his hand to run up her bare arm to the thick strap of her dress. His fingers skated over her collarbones to the cheek farthest from him. He took her in carefully, noticing how much dimmer she looked and yet not any less breath taking.

“Have I told you how utterly gorgeous you are?”

“Not today,” she whispered.

“I’m a prized idiot then.”

Draco pulled her in for a kiss, shivering from her hands wrapping around his torso. Her lips were much cooler than the warmth they had always radiated as they moved languidly against his. The tightening in his chest returned with a mockery of double meaning.

Hermione pressed her forehead to his as they pulled away and he let his hands cradle her face. Her skin was too cold. She must’ve seen his brows pull together slightly as she pressed a few more quick pecks to his lips and cheeks.

“Don’t make my theft go to waste.”

He managed a smile despite the heaviness in his chest. She took a free plate and piled one of each sweet onto it for him as he poured their teas. With quiet smiles and soft gazes filled with too much sincerity for him to handle, they ate their way through the table. They spoke of nothing important, though he sensed her desire to question him on research. At some point, Draco took a feather from the ground and twisted it through his fingers before tucking it behind her ear. It was a beacon amongst her dark curls and olive skin, and she wore it beautifully.

“Can I confess something?” she asked after a moment of quiet.

“Of course.”

Hermione looked to her hands, picking another feather as she smoothed it out. His hand met her thigh in attempt to comfort. It must’ve been met as she placed her hand over his before tracing her fingers over the pronounced veins and lengthy fingers.

“Sometimes I wonder if my love isn’t enough.” His heart stopped. “You said you fancied me for much longer and I just can’t help but wonder if you will come to resent me for not…not giving you enough. Especially with all that you’re doing for me.”

Draco nudged her chin, letting her settle her eyes on his even expression. “You’re enough. You’re so much more than enough and I wonder what I did to deserve even a second of your love, mon coeur.”

The way her eyes sparked ignited a fire inside of him. She stoked the flame with her mouth on his and arms around his neck. He knew her insecurities stemmed from the darkness ravaging her arm and he had to fix it. Call her beautiful, tell her how loved she was, find the cure. For now, his lips would mend and his touch, as it made her shiver, would piece her back together. Their lips quickened and Draco helped her lay back onto the carpeted floor. He felt her struggle through her lips, forcing himself to take his time with her. Hermione kissed slowly, running her too cold hands under his shirt.

Kisses started over her jaw and down her neck as he left sweetness on her skin. One hand trailed up her thigh, squeezing her hip and as he moved to her lips again, he noticed blood.

“Your nose is bleeding,” he said, helping her to sit.

Her hand flung to her nose and he watched as she carefully lifted to her feet, moving as swiftly as she could to the washroom. He followed not far behind and yet slow enough for her to close the door.

“Are you alright?” he asked, not wanting to intrude right away.

“Yes, just…” rustling, too much of it, “…one second.”

He waited impatiently, feeling his nerves wrack up again. Or perhaps they were hers. Muffled coughing came through the door and he itched to open it. It wasn’t until a heavy breaking sound occurred that he came in. She was on the ground, all colour drained from her face.

“Hermione,” he said quickly, rushing to her side. There was glass and toothbrushes on the ground as her head leaned against the tub.

“I’m not okay, am I?” she asked. He saw the tears pooling in her eyes.

More blood fell down her nose and when she coughed into her hand, he saw the blood stain her skin. It was too dark for blood; it was the poison infiltrating her body. Rage filled him again. Burn your book. Burn your book.

She clutched her stomach and reached for the toilet, retching into the bowl. He pushed the longer stray hairs behind her ears and rubbed her back as the bloody poison came out. Summoning a rag, he muttered a quick aguamenti with her wand and held it to the back of her neck. More coughing and gagging escaped her and all he could do was wait it out. After a while, she rested her head on her arm, attempting to breath evenly again.

“How long has this been happening?” he asked.

“Middle of January.”

When the Weasel ruined everything. Gods and he wasn’t there.

“Sometimes it happens,” she coughed, “and I wake up. You’re usually not here.”

Fuck! He wanted to scream.

Quietly, he casted the diagnostic just where she couldn’t see.

Beyond repair.

...

“I need help.”

Theo looked up from where he sat on his bed with his homework. Slowly his quill was placed down, and his eyes trained on Draco.

“You look like hell,” Theo said.

He looked down. Dress shirt buttoned wrong, laces untied, undoubtable dark circles under his eyes.

“Nott, I’m—I’m serious,” his voice almost broke. Draco cleared his throat, shields went up.

The curly haired boy pushed himself from his bed and looked at him with too much care and concern. “What can I do?”

“There’s too many books and journals and I can only read so fast,” he started, shaking his hair out with his hand. “I need to figure this out and soon.”

“How soon?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know fucking anything, she just…she looks sick. She’s sleeping for hours on end, she’s vomiting blood, I—fuck! Nott, I-I can’t. I—”

Don’t cry. Burn your book. Burn your fucking book, Malfoy.

“I need an answer,” he resolved. “And I need it now.”

“Okay. Do you want a calming draught? I think I’ve got some gillyweed stashed away in here,” he offered, walking to his bedside table.

Draco rubbed his eyes, not saying no. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt truly calm. Theo held out a gillyfag to him and he took it gratefully. It never did anything more than calm him, he never was a giddy high like his friends. Lighting it with a snap of his fingers, he sucked in as much as he could.

“How many have you gotten through?” Theo asked as he took the fag.

“Barely made a dent, you took a lot.”

“I took what I thought would help.”

“There’s too much. I just need one fucking answer.”

Draco took the fag again, holding the smoke until it burned, releasing it through his nose. They both started for the living area where he had already set out the multiple tomes in no particular order or sense. As soon as Theo saw it, he let out a heavy sigh. It was a lot, stacks of a lot, they both knew that, but they didn’t have much of a choice either way.

As Draco picked up a tome, settling on the ground, back against the settee, he started reading again. Theo followed, taking home in the floral armchair. Only a few minutes passed when he spoke and thank gods for the gillyfag, or Draco might’ve lashed out.

“Do you think a third set of eyes would help?”

He tossed the useless book and took another as another drag entered his lungs. “I’m not forcing her to sit up and read when she can hardly stay awake in class.”

“I didn’t mean Hermione.”

Draco looked up. “Then who?”

Theo shrugged. “Ginny knows now.”

“I’m not getting help from a Weasley. She has a big mouth anyway.”

“She hasn’t told anyone. Even Harry.”

His eyes narrowed. “So, what you’ve been having conversation with her then? Talking about Granger behind both of our backs?”

“No, not like that. Fucking! Just...get high so I don’t have to listen to your drama,” he said, and Draco puffed again, knowing he was right. “She’s worried just like we are, and you asked her not to tell anyone. It’s weighing on her mate.”

“Like it’s not weighing on me?”

“Get high faster. You’ve had time to process, as have I and we had each other. As stubborn as you are, you have me to turn to. You have Hermione. Who does Ginny have to talk to? Not Potter, certainly not fucking Weasel,” Theo said sternly. “She’s worried about her friend and she feels helpless. If we let her help, we can ease her, you get boyfriend points for being friendly with her. Best of all, another set of eyes to get through all of this.”

Reluctantly, he agreed. That’s what they did, for an entire week. Everyday after class, not even bothering with dinner, they would sit in the head common room and study. Read over everything Severus had ever written about in his years at Hogwarts. Anything with Bellatrix’s name was ripped out and put in a separate pile for extra eyes. Anytime there was a mention of Lily Evans or those ‘fucking poofs’, it was immediately burned.

One week passed and then some. They were nearly through February and it seemed like nothing was happening. The tomes were still looming in the distance. Hermione could hardly stay awake in class. When Draco made a nonchalant comment about researching with Ginny she was confused. She hadn’t been awake long enough to see them working around the clock. He could see the ware in Theo and the worry in Ginny. He felt it all himself. There was too much and not enough all in the same vein and he wanted to fucking scream.

He thought about what they knew so far, all the potion ingredients that felt like they were going to waste. That damned graphorn horn and the grief it gave him, burning a hole in his mind. It was impossible to see the light and even harder when his was constantly asleep. Draco hardly saw her eyes anymore. She stopped laughing, smiling was becoming difficult that he could see. Most nights she would wake long enough to retch or to have a nightmare. She was either covered in sweat or impossibly cold. Her arm…

Her arm was catastrophic. The veins had reached her fingertips. They coiled around her shoulder, infringing on her chest now. It was a measure of how much time Draco had wasted, how much more he refused to give up.

Then one day, March 3rd, deep into the night and one too many rounds of pepperup potions later, as the three of them felt hope slipping away, Hermione opened her bedroom door and Draco sprung to his feet.

“Hey,” he said, reaching her in an instant.

Her eyes were sleepy, and her smile was strained. “Hello my love.” She wrapped her arms around him, nestling her head under his chin. “What time is it?”

“Half past three,” Theo said.

“Hmm,” she hummed.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to her.

She looked up at him with watery eyes, though not of tears, of pure exhaustion. Sickly was the best word now for her. She was impossibly pale, the beautiful olive tone of her skin nearly gone. Her hair was flattened, and her eyes were always bloodshot. It took several disillusionments and pepperup potions throughout the day for her to look normal for class. He fought the urge on more than one occasion to tell McGonagall, to receive real help but he knew nothing would come of it. She would know less than he did.

“I miss you,” Hermione whispered as her frigid hand met his face.

“I miss you, love,” he said. Draco kissed her forehead and held her close. “Do you want to sit with us? You can sleep if you want.”

She nodded and he led her to his seat on the ground. He pulled her between his legs, and she sighed against his chest. Draco felt a pull at his heart when she laced her fingers with the hand around her waist. She felt so small pressed against him now, not as strong or full of life as she had just months ago.

He levitated one of the books in front of them so he could hold her close, revel in the feeling of her. He kissed her neck and she hummed contently.

“I think you’ll get sunburnt,” she said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“When we go to America this summer, I think you’ll get sunburnt. You’re very pale.”

When we go to America.

Fucking shit. Don’t cry. Burn your book. Burn your book.

Even the cadence of her voice had changed. She spoke so wistfully, so like Lovegood he could hardly stand it. The change was too much, the feeling of the end was too much. He held her tighter, burying his nose in her shoulder.

“I love you, Granger, more than anything.”

She turned, leaned her head on his. “I love you, Draco, twice as much.”

“Malfoy,” Ginny said suddenly. He looked up and she was on her feet, holding a journal he recognised from Severus’ sixth year. “Take another after your own, leave a mark, and reap what you’ve sown,” she read aloud. “Then there’s some more, I’m not sure what it says exactly…in bloody runes.”

He sat up straighter, mindful of the sick woman in his arms. “Can I see that?”

Ginny levitated it towards him, and he opened it in his lap. He read over the line again. Harrowingly prophetic for a murderous dagger. As he read it over, he heard Ginny and Theo mumbling, their voices lighter than what had been for the week and change.

“The blood is a promise, the blood is a payment,” Hermione whispered.

“You can translate that quickly?” Draco asked.

“I’m quite fond of runes, just ask Ginny.”

“Could you try more? As much as you can,” he said, rubbing calming circles over her stomach.

She nodded, taking the time to read it over. Slowly she pieced more together.

“Desire…for more…cursed in name… sorry, the handwriting’s atrocious.” He nodded, urging her forward with more gentle touches. “To be named thus, the night, the smoke, the dark, and hate…to want more after death that you know will not take…in lies a curse, one of blood and one of name… no curse greater…to cut, maim, a hell awaits…comes from those Black in blood, Black in name…one repair, a betrayal at best…to go against those you love, now rest… That’s all I can make out,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. This is…” Draco looked to Theo whose eyes were already wide with confusion and understanding, no doubt mirroring his own. “You’re wonderful, you did wonderful.” He kissed her cheek as she rested back onto his chest.

“Was there anything else over there? What was this journal around?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Ginny turned towards a small pile that had been at her feet. She gathered two books and walked over to him. “Just these, though it is a bit of a mess in here.”

One was untitled, yet extremely old in form. The other bore a title not too far from his own thinking.

Blood Bonds and Other Rituals

“Did I help?” Hermione asked, her words barely enunciated and her head falling into his neck.

“You did, love, you’re amazing.”

She hummed happily, snuggling against his chest. “I like it when you say pretty things. I like you.”

He looked to Ginny who was watching Hermione with the most stricken face. The ginger had her lips pressed in a firm line, her eyes watering as she watched her brilliant, brave friend fall into this incomprehensible person. It happened too fast for any of them to come to terms with.

“Mione?”

“Gin?” she asked, her eyes fluttering open then shut. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi. You seem a bit tired, would you like to come lay down with me?” she asked.

“Sounds…nice, I think.”

Draco handed her the books back and scooped Hermione into his arms as he carried her into her bedroom. As he tucked her under the covers, she mumbled incoherently under her breath. He kneeled next to the bed, brushed her hair away, and kissed her nose. She scrunched it slightly as her eyes drifted closed.

For the first time, as he looked down on his sleeping forever, he considered something so dangerous, so reckless that the mere thought made him crave it more.

“An Unbreakable Vow.”

“No! Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“At this point, maybe.”

“I said I’d help you but not with this,” Theo said.

Draco looked up from the middle of rune translation to glower at him. “It’s not something I take lightly, Nott.”

“I should hope so. Gods, are you really serious?”

“Of course, I am.”

“So, what then? What’s the vow?”

“I vow to keep her alive, to save her,” he said, eyes heavy with sincerity.

“And should you fail, you die. That’s how this works.”

Draco slammed his pen on the kitchenette counter. “If I fail, she fucking dies! If I fail and she dies tied to the vow, at least I won’t have to live through that.”

Theo stood back; arms crossed as he shook his head. “The two of you are perfect for each other. Both selfish as all hell.”

“Don’t talk about—”

“What you don’t want me to talk bad about her? Have you heard half the shit that Pansy says or Daphne or any of them? I’m not being malicious, I’m being honest. You’re talking about some permanent shit here, Malfoy. Gone from my life forever shit, do you get that?” he shouted, tossing his arms about. “The world isn’t just you and Hermione. It’s me too. The one person who was there for you, the one person who fucking puts his neck on the line for you. You can’t just up and decide to die if she does because guess what you big, fucking prick? You’re all I have too! You and that stupid fucking blonde hair! Take some fucking consideration for me!

“I’m here right now. I’m translating runes, I’m reading this old arse book for you and her. I don’t want her to die either and not just because she’s my friend but because I know what that will do to you. You’re hanging by thread and she’s the tether and I know that. I know and I’m here and I’m fucking helping. I would’ve helped sooner if you two weren’t the most stubborn people on the planet. But you know Malfoy, I’m here and if I hear you spout anymore bullshit about Unbreakable Vows or dying, I promise to beat the ever-loving shit out of you, yeah?”

It was a kick in the teeth, but he knew he was right. Theodore Nott, king of always being so bloody right. Draco dropped his head into his hands as he leaned over the counter. There wasn’t a choice here, there never was.

Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.

That’s it. That’s all he has to do. Fuck NEWTs, fuck probation, fuck consequence. Save Hermione.

He grabbed the book from Theo and shoved the rune translation to him instead. They were trying to get Hermione’s translation on paper to make sense of what they heard. It hadn’t made any sense to Ginny and she hadn’t bothered to ask, leaving them with the brunt of this work. She would stay with Hermione even as she slept. It was becoming a routine for them, this odd synchronicity.

He didn’t respond to Theo, a mutual understanding that he heard him. His eyes moved over old pages. Blood rituals, sacrifices, none of which would help. Flipping more pages, he quickly skimmed, trying to find something worth grabbing his attention. As he filtered through the monotony, something caught his eye.

Familial Blood Curses and the History thereof.

Common amongst pureblood families is the use of blood in various bonds, rituals, and curses. This can be said for the latter to points of severity. To bind one’s blood in a curse requires them to relinquish a piece of themselves, this piece is often their sanity. The creation of blood curses has long since ended. The last known curse was performed by Arcturus Black against his daughter’s soon to be husband, Septimus Weasley, before their wedding day. The curse failed as described in The Weasley Lineage. Many assumptions as to why this curse failed have been studied by historians, healers, and potioneers alike. The most probable cause is the blood itself. A pureblood cannot use their cursed blood against another pureblood, in this case Black against Weasley.

There has yet to be any proof whether or not the blood of a pure wizard would curse that of half-blood or a muggleborn. …

Draco considered the passage. Had Severus tied Bella’s blood to her dagger? He continued reading, hoping for the answer to a cure or a mistake, a loophole, anything. The words provided nothing more. Nothing but an idea.

He took the rune translation from Theo who didn’t seem to mind much. They managed a few sentences while some were still the fragments of Hermione’s words. There was something here and he could feel it. He pulled a pen from his pocket and started scribbling, quick and sloppily with no concern for legibility. Piecing words together, plucking rune meanings from the back of his memory he created a something. Something to make sense of it all. Severus had to be cryptic, writing in fancy, using runes instead of written English. It was clever but incredibly obnoxious, even for him.

Draco read it over again.

The blood is a promise, the blood is a payment. That is how it must be when one’s desire for more outweighs the sanity of many. She is of a family cursed in name from now until the end. To be named thus, the night, the smoke, the dark, and hate is to be named of unparalleled miscreancy. More. More is her word and yet she wills not to give. To want more after death that you know will not take is purely insidious.

Here in lies a curse, one of blood, one of name. To see her wishes come to fruition she must give herself to the will of magic. There is no curse greater than this. The one to cut, maim, a hell awaits for the one touched by this metal. This must be of free will. Prick the skin which comes from those Black in blood, Black in name. No harm done from skin to skin, blood of same blood.

I cannot leave without fair. There will be one repair, a betrayal at best. Who will wish to stop the curse, to go against those you love, now rest. You will know the key, you may not believe, you may not try but this you know. The poison be simple, the rest you will know.

For this I leave my lily love, I would never wish this on you. I leave the reverse, the answer. It is only in them, the wreck, the keep.

You the seeker of keys, you will know. These words are show, the write is not. You will know.

“This doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

Theo stood next to him, reading the translation over his shoulder. “No but you figured it out.”

Hermione’s bedroom door closed; Ginny followed the sound. She offered a strained smile as she approached the counter. He watched as her eyes scanned the book, journal, and translated parchment in front of them.

“Did you figure it out?” she asked.

Draco pushed the parchment to her as he rested his head on his arms. He cursed Severus for being so fucking convoluted. This should never have happened. She should be healthy and happy and studying for the bloody NEWTs! She shouldn’t be incapacitated by exhaustion. If he would have just done something that night. He should’ve cursed Bella off of her. He should’ve held her in his arms and apparated her to safety. He should’ve made the right fucking choice.

“Lily is…Harry’s mum?” Ginny asked, half a question half a statement.

Draco looked up again. “Why would I know that?”

“No, I mean Harry’s mum’s name is Lily and here,” she pointed to the parchment, “you’ve translated lily as though it was the flower. Snape was infatuated with Harry’s mum, so ‘Lily love’ is her, not the flower.”

He took it again, reading the section over. I would never wish this on you. “Wish what?” he said aloud.

“Bella’s wrath?” Theo supplied.

“Why would Bella hate her?”

He looked to Ginny then, she looked as though she knew more than he did.

“Harry’s a half-blood,” she said. Draco rolled his eyes, that he already knew.

“That doesn’t—”

“His mum was muggleborn.”

Muggleborn.

The gears turned.

I would never wish this on you.

I leave the reverse, the answer.

Draco grabbed the book again.

There has yet to be any proof whether or not the blood of a pure wizard would curse that of half-blood or a muggleborn.

A pureblood cannot use their cursed blood against another pureblood…

Suddenly he was at the settee, bag in hand, rifling through it like a mad man. The box hit. He pulled it out, tossed the lid. The dagger, the blasted dagger was in his hand. Taking steps back from the settee, he set the dagger on the counter between them. Theo and Ginny stepped back. Draco shoved his sleeve up, brandishing his left arm to the world. He caught her eyes lingering on it but made no move to snap at her. It wasn’t the time.

Draco grabbed the dagger and unsheathed it, watching as the goblin wrought iron tinkled in the light. It felt like hell in his hand. The dark magic flowing through it was tangy. It was Bellatrix. He moved the blade to his skin.

“Draco!” Theo shouted. “Fucking stop!”

He lunged for the dagger, but Draco took an easy step back. There was a thrumming in his chest as he held it. He felt willed to use it, to carve, to kill.

“Malfoy,” Ginny reasoned.

Theo moved again but he was quicker, flicking Hermione’s wand at his feet, effectively sticking him there.

“You’re not doing this!” he shouted again.

The wand clattered to the ground. The thrumming became louder. Blood rushing around his ears. His eyes were wide, and his will was gone. The dagger came down. Across the mark, his skin opened, deep and raw. There was a gasp, a cry, the thrumming kept. Blood slipped from his arm and onto the ground. It was almost lethal the way he sliced, nearly down the length of his vein.

He watched intently as the blood and poison started to bubble and burn. It was agonizing but he made no move to shout or cry. It spurted from his arm, the deep purple, it dripped out of the cut. It left his body and his skin stitched itself back together. Not even a white scar remained. Nothing.

When his eyes returned to focus, his eyes landed on the ginger. The thrumming was falling away, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he held.

“Give me your arm,” he said.

“Draco,” Theo cut in.

“Give me your arm,” he said again.

Ginny didn’t look frightened as she pushed the sleeve of her jumper up, holding out pale, freckled skin to him. He gripped her wrist too hard as Theo exclaimed in the distance. The dagger kissed her skin, not as deep or bloody. They watched as the same thing happened.

The poison escaped. The wound closed. No scar.

Without asking, Draco turned to Theo and sliced his arm, cutting the fabric of his sleeve along with it. He hissed in pain as Draco grabbed his wrist and ripped the sleeve. Again, it healed itself.

He dropped it onto the counter as his eyes moved from one kind brown pair to the other.

“I would never wish this on you,” Draco recited from the journal. “I leave the reverse, the answer. He knew. He knew what he was doing could kill her and he fucking did it anyway. So, this? This is some cryptic explanation, some apology.”

“But what does that mean? The reverse, the answer, what does that mean?” Ginny asked.

“Fucking nothing.”

Theo tried to grab the parchment, but his feet kept him from moving. Draco quickly unstuck him and handed him the paper.

“He keeps saying you will know,” he read. “I think…I think there’s a way to reverse this but, you’re right, it’s cryptic. You will know.”

Draco sighed. “Well, I don’t fucking know.”

Theo and Ginny looked over the parchment again as he stewed in his frustration. It wasn’t getting any easier. It was wrong turn after wrong turn, and he felt himself running out of time.

He grabbed the books and dagger before retrieving the wand from the ground. With everything piled in the crook of his arm, he hurried for the settee, throwing everything into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and making for the door.

“Hey,” Theo said, catching up to him. “What’re you doing?”

Draco opened the portrait door with a sigh. “I can’t keep not knowing. I’m going to look at this until I’m fucking red in the face or until I know.”

“We can help. Let us help.”

“I know but—this…this is something I need to do.” Theo looked at him warily. “If I need help, I’ll ask but right now I have to—Theo, I just have to.”

He nodded before patting his back. “I got you mate.”

...

The words burned his eyes. The senseless way Severus had written. Cryptic, ridiculous. If this was his way of trying to redeem himself from this act of no return, he was a fucking coward and Draco knew that. An idiotic fucking coward with no fucking sense. None. He loved a muggleborn and he still fucking did this. Fucking coward. Fucking piece of shit, fucking—

“Fuck!” he slammed his hands on the table in front of him. “You’re the same. You’re just like him!” He laughed. Gripped the edge of the table. “Trying to fix something already broken…gods we’re the fucking same.”

Draco rubbed his face, leaning on his elbows over the lost words from twenty years ago. There was no doubt in his mind that he needed to fix this, no doubt. Then the question arose:

Was it past time?

Was he too late?

Was this it?

“No,” he said aloud to no one.

He shoved the books and the dagger to the side before collecting the stash of antidote ingredients. As he moved, he checked the wards on the dungeon door. It was late into the night, Slughorn shouldn’t be coming by anytime soon but there were only so many risks he was willing to take. None of them included getting caught.

With everything laid out in front of him, the graphorn horn, a bezoar, the antidote ingredients to the deadlyius fungi, he thought deeply about where to start. He had one chance to get this right. One graphorn horn and one mistake would ruin it all. He would spend millions of galleons on his witch, that was no issue. Problem was, this was the only horn in the circuit. This was it.

Draco grabbed the bowl of poison and the dagger, setting his eyes on them as he puzzled everything out. The ingredients were right, that he was confident of, but the bloody notebook was taunting him. Something in him knew it wasn’t enough.

“Fuck it.”

A cauldron landed on the grate, the flame already rising under it. He began meticulously cutting and separating the ingredients, measuring exact amounts. The poison was deep in Hermione’s body, so far inside the mechanisms of her being that he knew he would need an exponential amount of patience with this brew. Overt amounts of rue and rose oil filled the pewter cauldron. Cat hair, enough to cover Crookshanks twice over, joined with the bubbling standard ingredient. As he left it to comix, Draco grabbed the dagger and held the wieldy thing in his hand. The thrumming returned; he denied it.

The cold iron dragged across his skin again and as his blood seeped from the skull and snake. Then as quickly as it came out, it trickled back in. No trace of a cut. He cut himself again. Then again. Again.

Nothing.

Draco dropped the dagger, the metal clattering against the table in the silence of the classroom. The brew popped and bubbled under the low flame. He had to be patient, this had to be perfect. But he was feeling everything but patient. Pacing in front of the cauldron proved unhelpful as he recited the passage in his head.

The reverse, the answer.

Draco scoffed as that line taunted him. Severus granted the ability for this curse to be reversed and he did so in such a fucking cryptic way that it prickled his skin. He could practically feel the blood rushing through his veins. The socks inside of his dress shoes were suddenly too itchy. He loosened the tie around his neck, feeling suffocated, and as his fingers met the fabric, he revolted at the feeling.

“Black in blood, Black in name,” he whispered. “Black in blood, Black in name.”

The steam erupting from the cauldron turned from grey to yellow as he threw in the cut-up horn and bezoar. The potion squealed as the flames rose, licking higher the sides of the cauldron. As he stirred slowly, the flames rose and caught his sleeve. Draco whipped his arm back, cursing as he stamped the flame away. The flames rose and rose, threatening to catch the ceiling before suddenly dissipating to a gentle sizzle.

He let the flame die before looking in. The antidote was pure white, glimmering like a pearl produced from the depths of the ocean. There were no erroneous smells, in fact there wasn’t a single scent coming from the cauldron. He knew enough about potions but nothing about the properties and effects of a graphorn horn. It was the rouge variable and fuck if it didn’t make him nervous.

With a quick stasis charm, he left the cauldron to rifle through Slughorn’s stores. Draco discovered rather quickly that the potions professor refused to kill any animal needed for ingredients. It seemed as though he would simply stun them and wait until he forgot they weren’t dead. As he opened the secret bookcase, a stunned murtlap laid before him. Draco picked it up and felt for its heart, pulsing so slowly it ought to be dead already.

It all happened meticulously. No questions or hesitations. Ignoring the bile rising in his chest, he sliced the murtlap with the poisoned dagger, watching the dark plum liquid seep into its skin. The murtlap looked up at him; he shut the little thing’s eyes.

He dug through a drawer of supplies as the poison infected the little creature. Finding the syringe he needed, he pulled the antidote into the tube, watching at the pure white swirled in anticipation. With the murtlap in hand, he bit his tongue and injected the antidote into the open wound. White filled its veins, chasing the poison at a rapid pace. Swimming through its body, Draco held his breath. When nothing happened, he grabbed Hermione’s wand, releasing the stunning charm on the creature.

It writhed in pain. The shrieks of the murtlap rivaled that of a mandrake on even its worst days. Draco’s eyes pricked with tears, refusing their will to fall. He wouldn’t let this break him. Then it stilled, its breathing evened out and its eyes fluttered shut. He watched the rise and fall of its chest before reaching for its pulse. Slow but present.

He cast the diagnostic.

Small laceration of the skin. Poison: traced, dissipating. Dark magic present, life-threatening.

“No.”

He cast the diagnostic again.

Life-threatening.

“No! Fuck!”

Empty glass vials met the walls in a cacophony of glittered shards. The discarded spell book, torn from the table, tossed into the air, caught fire at the flick of his wand before bursting. The room flooded with heat, a hell on earth as it were.

Draco eyed Severus’ notebook at the same moment the dagger met his grip. Without thought and too much feeling, he stabbed the notebook. Over and over and over. He screamed and he cried, and he cursed the world they were brought into.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” he bellowed. “You fucking piece of shit!”

The sobs wracked his body, crying not for failure but for the life he would lose. His witch.

The dagger soared across the room, sticking into the stone wall at the force he threw it. Bent over the table, hands pulling at his hair, he stared down at the notebook, at the words that meant nothing.

Until something.

Then they meant everything.

Blood of same blood…

A betrayal at best…

Who will wish to stop the curse…

Black in blood, Black in name…

You will know…

Draco took in a deep breath as his chest ached. It was caving in on itself, his heart thudding against its bone cage. He plucked a shard of glass from the table and sliced down the length of his right hand. Closed in his fist, he squeezed tight, nails digging into the wound before bright red dripped onto the table. He grabbed the murtlap, spreading its wound open as he let his blood fall inside.

Red chased white, mixing with plum until black struck the veins of the creature. It broke free of its stunned state and writhed and screeched until it fell again.

Thick, coagulated liquid seeped from the wound and onto the table. The scar closed and the murtlap’s eyes opened. Breathing heavily, Draco took the wand in his shaking grip and cast the diagnostic.

Perfectly healthy specimen.

The wand clattered to the ground as an onslaught of tears broke free.

Draco sliced his hand again and again until he was pouring with blood. It cascaded into the cauldron, red falling into the pearlescent white. He squeezed his hand as he stirred with the other. The fire below the cauldron lit itself again and the potion bubbled. Steam surrounded him, becoming thicker by the second. It started to feel suffocating as he hovered in the line of steam.

Then the potion started changing.

The white lightened to a pink, then to a crimson. He stirred faster, straightening up in anticipation. He still hadn’t taken a breath.

Draco stirred and stirred as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It was the last chance and by any fate of the universe, it had to work. His last shred of hope was in the cauldron. He kept himself from thinking what would happen if it didn’t work when,

It turned black.

In a flash, just before his eyes.

Black.

Black in blood, Black in name…

...

It was morning by the time he made it back to the head dorms. The hours in the dungeon seemed to go by quicker than he imagined but it was worth it. In his bag, he carried the antidote.

Opening the door to Hermione’s room, he quietly set his bag down next to the bed and moved to open the curtained window. Dewey morning light poured into the room and over her sleeping form. Draco sat on the edge of the bed next to her, smiling lightly as he pushed stray curls from her face. He kissed her forehead, feeling her icy skin against his lips.

“Granger,” he whispered, “time to wake up.”

She didn’t stir as he pulled the covers back. The cool March air swept through the room; goose pimples peppered his skin. He ran his fingers through her hair as his thumb traced over her cheekbone.

“I’m here, my love. Have to wake up now.”

Still, she didn’t stir.

His hand fell into hers where nothing but ice coursed over his skin. He gripped her shoulders, her face, her hair. Her beautiful, wild hair. He pushed it from her face, searching for Hermione.

“Granger,” he said louder, still gently.

His hands started shaking as he looked at her. They moved over pallid skin and lips nearing grey, he felt his heart twist and twist and twist. No.

“Hermione,” Draco said forcefully. “Wake up.”

He pressed his hand on her chest, over her heart. Nothing. Something in him snapped. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Everything he had done—

“You’re okay,” he said as tears swept over his voice. “You’re okay, love.”

Draco let her go carefully as his body trembled. She’s fine. She’s asleep. She’s fine. He grabbed his bag and ripped it open. Syringe filled with black antidote in his hand, he took her arm and pushed the sleeve up.

“I did it, Hermione,” he whispered. “I fixed it. Like I said I would, I fixed it. You’re okay. You’re fine.”

The needle entered the middle of the muddled wound before the liquid seeped into her veins. He watched as black chased away black, through the veins and up her arm. He squeezed her arm, trying to press life back into her.

“You’re okay. You’re fine, just like I said.” A sob caught his throat as he watched the veins stir under her skin. Over her arm, shoulder, onto her chest and over her heart where they ended. He placed his hand over her heart again.

Nothing.

“No. No!” This time he screamed. He screamed loud enough to shake the trees in the Forbidden Forrest. He let the world know that it would pay for this. It took the last thing he loved from him and he would let everyone fucking know.

Rubbing her arm harder, he forced the antidote to race through her veins and reach her heart. Hands met her arm, her face, her hair, trying in vain to press life back into her. Cradling her head, he lifted her against his arms, burying his face into her neck.

“I did it. I promised you, Hermione, I fucking promised.” He rocked back and forth, her arms limp at her sides, the warmth of her missing.

“You can’t do this,” Draco sobbed. “You can’t—you—fuck! Please, please, please Hermione, don’t do this. I can’t—not without you—gods!”

Deep in the cavern of his chest, his heart tore itself apart. Ripping at the seams, slowly tearing until there was nothing left but the image of crinkled honey eyes and musical laughter. Nothing left but warm hands threading through his hair, soft, full lips whispering forever to him.

Hermione met the bed again as he let her go. Raking his hands through his hair as he looked down at her, there was nothing left but unadulterated rage. A blood curdling scream escaped his body as he bent in two. He grabbed the lamp from the bedside table, throwing it across the room.

“Fuck!”

Tie ripped from his body with trembling hands, he stalked back over to the bed and lifted her into his arms. She fell slack against him, her head rolling back into nothing. Then the bedroom door burst open.

“Draco!” Theo yelled.

He stopped instantly, looking at his friend, tears running down his face, cheeks stained red as he held the love of his life’s body in his arms. Theo looked from him to her, and he watched the realisation hit. Draco saw his heart break and his knees shake and it was all suddenly too bloody real.

“She isn’t…” Theo trailed off.

Without responding, he held Hermione tighter and barreled past his mate on the way to the door.

“Draco!”

“What?” he shouted. “What the fuck could you possibly have to say to me right now, Nott? Huh?”

Theo stuttered, his lips trembling as tears fell down his face. The look in his eyes told him everything. It told him of the end.

“She’s not d—” he cut himself off, holding her tighter. “I’m going to fix this. I promised I would.”

When he started off again, he heard Theo running behind him. Draco’s legs carried him through the castle, the early risers watching as he carried the lifeless body of their beloved war heroine. Gasps and murmurs erupted through the castle; more students fled from their common rooms to watch him storm through the castle. Anyone in his way met the wrath of his wandless magic, throwing them against stone walls as their bones cracked in the distance. He heard cries, shouts. Nothing mattered. Nothing but her.

With an aggressive bombarda, the doors to the hospital wing exploded, wooden shards soaring through the air. The stone around the doors came crumbling down, adding to the mess of voices behind him.

“Pomfrey!” he yelled.

The little witch appeared around the corner and stopped in her tracks at the sight. Immediately he knew her thoughts, he knew how it looked and all at once the view of the world was suddenly his. He did this.

Hand over her heart, Madam Pomfrey shook her head slowly. When her hand moved to cover her mouth, he yelled again.

“Your job isn’t to fucking cry, witch! Help me!”

Clearly taken aback, she stumbled over her feet before rushing towards the nearest cot. Draco followed and laid Hermione down on it. He took her hand and held it tightly, looking down at the light that never should have gone out.

“What did you do, Mr. Malfoy?” Madam Pomfrey asked quietly.

His eyes shot to hers, narrowing viciously. Standing to his full, overwhelming height, he looked down on the accusatory witch with nothing short of rage.

“I tried to fix it.”

Voices filled the hospital; he ripped the curtain back, watching as students and professors alike took in the damage of the door. More students were carried in, sporting concussions and broken bones from his storm. He stepped forward, watching the shocked and scared faces.

“Get out!” he shouted at the same moment he flicked his hand, causing stone to rain from the ceiling. Stained glass from the newly constructed windows imploded with his ferocity and suddenly everything was sparkling. It hurt and it was sparkling.

Theo stepped through the rubble, approaching him with careful eyes. Through the dust, he saw a familiar head of red hair running towards them. She stopped at the sight of him, red-faced, eyes swollen and clothes askew. Ginny clutched Theo’s arm tightly as she looked at Draco.

“She’s gone,” Theo whispered.

“No, she’s not,” Draco growled. “I fucking fixed it. I figured it out! I gave it to her, she’s fine! She’s going to be fine!”

With a hand over her heart, Ginny approached him. Something about her kind brown eyes now more broken than the day she discovered her best friend’s sickness, made his walls come crumbling down. He sucked in a sob as she wrapped her arms around his middle. His head fell atop hers and flood gates opened. Draco allowed himself to cry in her arms, to let every last inch of his occlumency walls come down until he was left with dust.

Ginny held him tight, whispering words he couldn’t make out through his choked cries. When he pulled back, she held his face in her hands and nodded slowly.

“You did everything you could,” she said calmly. “I’m so sorry, Malfoy.”

He ripped her hands from his face, rage ripping through him again. Draco was as tumultuous as the sea beyond the castle, fighting against the stone walls of his mind and heart. He shoved her away before stalking back to Hermione’s cot.

Madam Pomfrey stood over her, casting several charms, pulling up larger more in-depth diagnostics that Draco wished he knew. He fixed this! He knew he did!

The medi-witch looked at him carefully as she continued with her wand, flicking and swishing as she tested. Carefully, he approached Hermione, intently watching her chest for a rise and fall. When nothing showed, he took her hand in his and fell to his knees beside her. He pressed his lips to her icy fingers and over the veins that stole her away.

Whispers kissed her skin, the poems he never got to write. A string of muffled ‘I love yous’ escaped him as he held her hand tighter. Someone’s hand met his shoulder in comfort, but he could hardly feel. All he could see, all he knew, was limp curls and grey skin. All he wanted was the comfort of honey and a smile that made his heart skip.

There was a sudden ruckus behind him; Madam Pomfrey swept behind the curtain. He didn’t move from his place beside her. It was where he belonged.

Then he was pulled up from his shirt collar and dragged away from her. Someone lifted him up. Someone punched him in the face. Draco stumbled back as he grabbed his nose. When his vision cleared, he found Weasley looking up at him with a face redder than his hair, nearly foaming at the mouth.

“You killed her!” he yelled. “You fucking Death Eater scum—you killed her!”

The ginger pulled his wand out and aimed it at him, trembling through his own onslaught of tears and anguish. Draco stood still, looking down at him, waiting for a curse to hit him. He deserved it.

“I love her!” Weasley yelled.

Draco’s jaw tensed as he squared his shoulders. “So do I.”

“No, you’re a fucking monster. You did this! You—you—this was your whole plan wasn’t it? Get close to her, trick her into thinking you’ve changed just to kill her! Finish your duties, huh?”

He looked past Weasley to find Ginny and Theo watching him carefully. If he hadn’t known better, it almost looked like they agreed with the spineless git.

“Do your worst,” he finally said.

Weasley seemed struck. “What? Not gonna deny it? Not gonna whinge about how much you love her? That you’ve changed?”

He looked down, studying the once clean patent leather of his shoes, now dirtied with blood and dust. Sneaking his hand into his pocket, he found Hermione’s wand and gripped it like a vise. As he looked up, he found the shaking prick with his wand still poised in his direction. He saw Theo. Ginny. He saw nothing left for himself.

Nothing.

Draco whipped the wand out, casting a wordless expelliarmus. The wand echoed at the other end of the hospital, leaving Weasley open to any curse he decided to throw his way.

“You’re weak,” the ginger croaked.

Draco flicked Hermione’s wand with ease, sending more stone across the hospital. More cries of fear erupted and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He pointed the wand in Weasley’s direction, considering every possibility. His future was laying to his left, lifeless and grey. Nothing left.

A sparking spell met the ground around Weasley’s feet; he jumped back in shock. The wand clattered on the ground between them, deep brown covered in vines. He relinquished it all.

In the same moment he looked up, finding Weasley’s face contorted into sheer fury, the broken rubble and shattered windows parted at the entrance of the hospital. McGonagall walked in, followed by the Minister for Magic, the Head Auror, and Boy Wonder.

Ginny ran towards Potter, embracing him fiercely. All Draco could do was watch. He watched Madam Pomfrey pull McGonagall behind the curtain. He watched as Theo spoke to Potter, as Potter spoke to Weasley. He watched as the Head Auror stalked towards him, flicking his wand as shackles appeared on his wrists and ankles. Draco pulled against them, but they tightened around his skin, small spikes digging in. The Auror shoved him forward, poking his wand between his shoulder blades.

There was conversation, that much he knew. He could see lips moving, heads turning to look at him. Everyone’s face held a different look though each was strikingly clear on their opinion of him. Suddenly he was in front of Potter and his mouth was moving but he couldn’t hear. Ginny moved him aside and pressed her hand to his cheek, but he couldn’t feel it.

“…beating.”

The ringing in his ears stopped at the word. His head whipped around to find Madam Pomfrey speaking with her hand over her heart. McGonagall, her normally severe countenance, softened and drawn as she listened.

Then Madam Pomfrey shook her head softly and a tear fell down the old headmistress’ face.

Everything fell apart around him. Nothing left. Nothing.

White hair fell over his eyes as he watched the headmistress approach the Minister who, in turn, addressed the Auror. There were whispers, there were nods and looks. Potter stepped in, that’s when he noticed his Trainee Auror uniform.

Minister Shacklebolt stepped past everyone, standing eye-to-eye with him. Clasping his hands and squaring his shoulders, he spoke.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are under arrest for the murder of Hermione Jean Granger.”

Murder.

No…no…that’s—I didn’t—

“I didn’t,” he said.

“On what grounds?” Theo demanded at the same time.

“Pardon me, Mr. Nott,” McGonagall said as she approached them. “This is none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” he shouted. “You can’t just come in here and arrest someone without probable cause. Unless any of you personally witnessed a murder, there is no fucking justification here.”

“I didn’t,” Draco said louder.

Theo gripped his shoulder, looking him pointedly in the eye. “Don’t say anything, not until your lawyer gets here, okay?” He turned back to the minister, mussing his hair. “He has the right to contact his lawyer and probation Auror, who, might I add, is the only Auror with the jurisdiction to arrest him.”

“That’s bullshit,” the Head Auror spat.

Theo glared at the man behind Draco. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall inviting you to speak.”

“Mr. Nott, you have no grounds to speak here,” Minister Shacklebolt stated, straightening out his robes. “Mr. Malfoy is under ministry custody now.”

“You can’t arrest him,” he repeated slower. “Part of our probation states that if anything were to happen the only Auror with jurisdiction to arrest is Fairer.”

“Fucking bollocks,” the Head Auror spat.

Theo spun around, glaring daggers at the man behind Draco. “And what exactly is your name?”

“Gawain Robards, Head Auror of the DMLE,” he stated smugly.

“Remind me to get your poncy arse fired when I’m finished.”

“You are correct, Mr. Nott,” McGonagall started. “Though in matters of criminal offences such as this, any Auror is capable of arresting Mr. Malfoy.”

Theo turned to McGonagall but was stopped short when Draco grabbed his wrist. He turned and as Draco met his eye, he knew there was nothing else to be done.

“Let it go, mate,” he said softly.

Theo’s brows furrowed deeply. “Absolutely fucking not. You didn’t do anything wrong, Draco, do you hear me?”

The manacles were draining his magic, he felt weaker by the minute. As he responded, his eyelids dropped, and his heart slowed. “I didn’t save her.”

Theo grabbed the sides of his face, forcing him to look into his determined eyes. “You listen to me, Draco Malfoy. You’re my brother and my best fucking friend. I’m not letting this cock-sucking ministry put you away for something you didn’t do.”

He turned to the headmistress and stalked towards her. Draco could hardly focus any longer, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness, taking in a few stray moments before he was gone.

1. Theo yelling at every adult present.
2. Ginny clinging onto Potter.
3. Weasley, the fucking bastard, standing in his pride as he looked him up and down.
4. Suddenly the ground and a piercing pain in his back.
5. Bright blue eyes and a red face, someone pulling on his hair.
6. A sharp pain ricocheting across his jaw.
7. Muffled yelling, spells flying.
8. A pristine white curtain and through the peek of it, a single brown curl.

...

Endless thumping. Spinning through closed eyes. Searing pain over every inch of skin. The shattering sound of chains. Small beads of sweat spilling down his hairline, slipping onto his eyelashes.

His eyes blinked open and he was alone. Somewhere hot and yet all too cold at the same time. Draco looked down, no longer finding himself shackled but his wrists were now bloodied and raw. Holes remained in his skin where the metal tightened, and his blood still fell freely out of them.

The wall behind him was frigid as he rested his head back. It was nearly too dark wherever he was, only lit by a single torch on the far wall. He knew this wasn’t Azkaban. No, in Azkaban the screaming never ceased, and the cold was everlasting. Here, wherever here was, still held life, or at least a sense of it.

His eyes caught his clothing, torn and dirtied. Holes in his knees, trousers torn at the edges. A formerly white shirt now stained with sweat and blood. Regret fell through him when he noticed his missing tie. Maybe if he hadn’t taken it off, he could have fashioned a noose. Strung himself up by the torch on the far wall. Tightened it around his neck. Pulled and pulled and pulled until he was gasping for air and the only thing to leave his lips would be,

“I’m sorry.”

But no.

No, he was alive, and she was not. He was stuck here, in this nameless place saved for those who create storms in remembrance of their saints. Those who ruin the only ounce of good they’d ever known. Forced to remember how she looked. Grey, pale, lips a sallow blue.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to call upon the girl he loved. Anything. Her laugh, her smile. The way her eyes twinkled when she figured something out. The flush that crossed her skin, cheeks to the tops of her breasts, when he kissed her. Skin soft against his scarred chest, tracing his transgressions. Her lips against the mark on his arm, forgiving what he’d never forget.

Gone.

And he lay here, in this cavern of a room, completely and utterly alive.

Completely and utterly without her.

...

“Malfoy!”

Somewhere in the dark, light seeped through, exposing a shadowed figure.

“Get up, fucker.”

Draco watched with languid eyes as the person stood in the doorway, wand at their side.

“I said, get up!”

“F…fuck…off…” he coughed.

The person snorted a laugh before sending a spark of light into the room. Pitch dark to a blinding brightness knocked a migraine into his skull. He covered his eyes and groaned into them, hoping and praying this was a sadistic dream. Maybe he sliced his arm one too many times with that damned dagger and dear Aunt Bella was infringing on his mind. Making his worst nightmares come to life.

Suddenly his body was lifted into the air and tossed into the back wall. The crush of bones echoed throughout the cavernous room. Draco refused to make a sound. He’d never let them know. Don’t let them see you break, Draco. You’re a Malfoy.

He was pulled up by the collar of his shirt and shoved against the back wall. The Auror he recognised as he poked the wand into his throat.

“I told you to get up,” Robards spat. “Death Eater.”

Draco stared down at him, and even though he overwhelmed him with his height, he was weak. All of his magic was drained.

“You think you’re big, huh? Murdering an innocent girl.” Robards pushed him harder against the wall, the tip of his wand pressing against his windpipe. “Did you at least fuck her?”

Rage bubbled where magic didn’t. Robards was against the wall, Draco’s hand around his neck, tightening and tightening. The wand slipped into his grip and he held it at Robards’ stomach, threatening to end him.

“Shut your filthy, fucking mouth,” Draco growled. He gripped the Auror’s head and smashed it against the wall, watching the blood trickle down the black stone wall.

“Mr. Malfoy,” came a calm voice behind him, “let the man go.”

Draco tossed the coward to the side, hearing his loud cries of pain as he hit the ground. He broke the wand over his knee before dropping it to the ground. Wiping his nose with his dirtied fingers, he looked to the man with the calming voice.

“Fairer.”

He sighed. “Draco. Come with me, kid.”

Out of the cavernous hole, he followed the probation Auror through throngs of wizards in suits and witches in kitten heels, all scurrying with paperwork flying from their hands. Fairer turned down an empty hall and as he followed, he shackled his wrists again.

“Precaution,” Fairer said as he pocketed his wand. “Left the ankle ones off, don’t want you tripping.”

Draco pulled against the shackles, finding that they didn’t tighten or spear his skin. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Fairer leaned against the wall as he looked at him. Slowly, he shook his head and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve made a lot of assumptions in my life. I judge people and with you, it was easy. Here’s this kid, you know. He’s got the mark, he’s broken, he’s dangerous. They told me and I judged you and then you came into my office and instead of Lucius Malfoy’s son, the Death Eater, I met Draco.”

He shuffled awkwardly where he stood, looking behind him to find the once busy hall now nearly empty. Fairer grabbed his arm and pulled him back down the hall.

“Draco Malfoy in the Prophet, in the eye of the Wizengamot, is a monster,” he continued. “He’s a product of his parents, a loyal follower of the Dark Lord, and a pureblood elitist. Cross him, cross the Malfoys, and you’ll regret it for life. This kid’s pretentious, has hopes of becoming the next Dark Lord.”

Fairer turned down another hall until they reached a secluded lift. He jabbed the button with his wand, continuing as they waited.

“You’re a bad person. A horrible, evil person.”

“I know—”

“And so, they gave you to me. I could’ve had Zabini or Parkinson. Hell, I begged for Nott,” Fairer laughed. “But they gave me the monster. They gave my judgmental arse, the broken one. So, you know, I was ready for the Death Eater,” the lift dinged, “I was ready for this kid to fight me tooth and nail. I was ready to be made a mockery of during your trial, I was ready for it all.”

The lift doors opened, and he pushed Draco in. He pressed another button and forced the doors closed.

“Then, the infamous Malfoy walks into my office and suddenly he’s Draco,” he said quietly. Fairer turned and leaned against the wall, ducking his head to meet his eye. Draco looked up reluctantly.

“Now the Draco I know isn’t a monster. Hell, I hardly know him but he’s not dangerous. He’s fucking furious and he has every right to be.” He sighed and rubbed his face again. Draco watched him carefully, not knowing what to expect from him.

“You’re just a kid. You’re eighteen. Eight-fucking-teen, Draco. You’re just a scared, angry kid that the world, that people like me, branded a monster when you’re not! I refuse to believe that you are. Harry Potter doesn’t think you are,” Fairer said, swinging his arm out. “I’m not saying he’s the be-all end-all, but he faced the monster, right? You’re not it. You’re not! So…gods, you know…just—tell me straight. Before this lift stops, tell me you didn’t do it.”

You’re just a scared, angry kid.

Draco met his eye, carefully building up his occlumency walls, brick by brick. He mortared them together with Fairer’s words and honeyed eyes.

“I didn’t do it,” he whispered.

The lift rang, the doors opened, and Fairer grabbed his arm.

“Good.”

He pulled him through the throngs of people, all of which gawked, shrieked, and whispered at the sight of him. Up a flight of stairs, down the familiar probation hall, Fairer pulled him into his stuffy office and locked the door. Draco sat in the same seat he occupied just a few weeks ago.

“We’ve got,” Fairer looked at his watch, “ten-ish minutes before they realise Robards is out cold in your holding cell and about seven before everyone that makes me nauseous shoves their way into my office. So, we need to get a few things straight, me and you.”

His head was spinning but only one thing mattered. “Hermione, is—did they…bury her? Did I miss—”

“You were only in holding for an hour, as far as I’m concerned, Miss Granger is still at Hogwarts.”

“An hour?”

“There’s a special time charm on the holding cells. Its supposed to make the prisoners feel like they’ve been in there for months, years even. Supposed to break them down, make them spill their guts. Unimportant. What I need to—”

The door to the office swung open, followed by a dour faced woman with a severe bun.

“Avery, I fucking locked that door,” Fairer said, banging his hands on the desk.

The lawyer brandished her wand, closing and locking the door again. She took her seat next to Draco, wiped the desk with her handkerchief, and placed her briefcase atop.

“You are not to speak with my client without my presence regarding criminal cases, Mr. Fairer, you know the rules,” she stated, pushing more papers out of her way.

“I wasn’t talking to him about—for Merlin’s sake!” He ripped a folder from her hand and tossed it behind him. “I’m speaking to Draco as my client. My responsibility is to make sure he has a safe place to speak, alone. So, if you please—”

“There’s no time for emotional nonsense, Mr. Fairer.” Mrs. Avery turned to Draco, whose head was still spinning. “The Minister for Magic, Headmistress McGonagall, as well as several members from the Wizengamot will be expecting your presence for a preliminary proceeding in ten minutes. You are not expected to speak, this conversation is one for bait. Whether you did or did not murder Miss Granger is none of my concern, my job is—”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Draco said sternly. “I would never—”

She waved him off. “Your actions are your own. It’ not my concern—”

“No!” he spat. “If you plan on defending me to the bloody Wizengamot, you have to believe me. I’m not going away for this.” He studied the older woman, stiff demeanor and all. “Do you believe me or not?”

Mrs. Avery took in a sharp breath. “Frankly, Mr. Malfoy, I would not find it surprising.”

“Get out,” he said quietly.

“Mr. Malfoy, you’re being rash. Your mother would want me to represent you.”

Draco stood tall, pulling against the shackles. “My mother is dead and so is the woman I love, and my patience is fucking gone. I’ll represent myself. Get out.”

She moved to speak again when Fairer rose from his seat. “Close the door on your way out.”

Mrs. Avery grabbed her briefcase, smoothed down her skirt, tossed her chin into the air, and left the little office. She left Draco standing, considering every in and out of his current state. He saw his future and it was branded with a prisoner’s tattoo.

“Draco, sit, please. I need to understand what happened.”

He sat again and spoke. Everything he’d been harbouring for months laid bare in that stuffy office of the DMLE. Every emotion, every moment of fear. Every struggle, her struggle. Her ache and her beauty. He told him everything he could, as quickly as he could. The love he had for her, which he hoped to be his saving grace, poured out into every word. The time they spent researching, the moments he saw her drifting farther and farther, he told it all.

“I did it,” he breathed out. “I figured it out and when I went to give it to her, she—I—it was too late.”

A tear escaped his eye as soon as he wiped it off. An emptiness filled where his heart once was, escaping sorrow, reaching for love. It was endless, the grief he felt, and yet all he could do was be. Be nothing, be a coward who was unfeeling as numbness overtook him entirely.

Draco looked up and found Fairer with his own red eyes. He rubbed his thighs and sat farther on the seat as he took a deep breath.

“I never thought that I’d get the chance to fall in love with someone who saw the fucked-up parts of me and loved them harder. She was it for me,” he whispered. “I didn’t hurt her; I would never hurt her. I just…”

Fairer leaned forward, nothing but understanding in his eyes. “Just what, Draco?”

“I just wish I got to say goodbye.” His voice cracked and he squeezed his knees tight. “Tell her I love her one more time.”

He looked down at his ripped and dirtied trousers, pinching his eyes shut as they welled with tears. He saw her, in another life, and she was happy. In his minds eye, Hermione is there, under the sun as it beams down on her olive skin. Her honey eyes sparkle and when she laughs, she tosses her head back, curls bouncing everywhere. She’s happy in this place he keeps her in, where nothing can hurt her. Not even him. And in this place, all he knows is her warmth and she says to him,

“I love you, Draco. Forever.”

It’s the intensity of the heat behind his eyes and the hand on his shoulder that pulled him from his reverie. Hermione disappeared and back again he goes into the stuffy ministry office where he’s under fire for her passing.

It’s Fairer who squeezes his shoulder, bringing him into a hug. Draco swallowed the ball of tears as his head rested in the comfort of his arms. It could be his last moment of comfort. The last time someone will believe him and understand.

Fairer sat back, moved to the seat next to him, as he collected his thoughts. The air was loose around them and for a moment, Draco felt as though he could breathe. It wasn’t the same easy breathing he had with her, the kind filled with comfort and knowing. It wasn’t constricted either, the sort from his childhood, the sort that if he exhaled too loudly a cane would meet his back. Now, as he took in a breath, it burned his lungs but that was okay because at least he could breathe.

“I believe you, kid,” the Auror finally spoke. Draco’s eye’s found his, hope daring to creep in. “But I’m not the one you need to convince. You’ve got multiple charges against you, this just being the biggest one.”

“What else is there?”

He shuffled the papers around on his desk before selecting one, stamped with the ministry logo.

“Improper use of magic as delegated by probation instruction,” he started, “severe destruction of Hogwarts school property, assault of a student, and premeditated murder.” He put the paper down and took his glasses off before rubbing them on his tie. “Mr. Weasley decided to file for assault just last week and there’s no doubt that they’ll tack on assault of an Auror after your stunt with Robards.”

Draco could hardly think. “Wait. Premeditated…this wasn’t planned, I didn’t even fucking ki—I didn’t hurt her. Even if I had, this wasn’t planned. Can they prove that?”

“That meeting you had with Avery a few weeks back seems to be what they’re looking into.”

“Those meetings are confidential,” he said. “I wasn’t even asking for fucking legal advice, I was trying to get into Severus’ vault!”

“Listen, I know how this looks—”

Draco smacked the desk with his hands as he stood. “They just want to put me away,” he said quietly. He paced towards the fireplace, stacked with books inside before gripping the mantel. “When they look at me they see my father and they see the mark and that’s it. I haven’t done…I’m not…”

Good people deserve good things, Malfoy. You’re a good person.

“She thought I was good,” he whispered. “She was good.”

There was a moment of silence, filled with tension and despair as he fully realised his future. He could see the Daily Prophet now.

Last free Death Eater, Draco Lucius Malfoy, murders War Heroine, Hermione Jean Granger

“Can you represent me?” his voice cracked. “I just fired my lawyer.”

Fairer stood when Draco turned back around, new tears brimming his eyes. “I can. I don’t have much experience but—”

“You know the laws.” Fairer nodded. “Can I demand a pensieve be used in front of the Wizengamot?”

“They’re typically used in high-brow cases.”