Chapter Text
ONE
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"Draco!" Hermione's eyes shot open, wide and wild in the darkness of her bedroom.
Her chest rose and fell heavily and her body was tensed against the mattress beneath her. She was out of breath despite lying still, or at least mostly still. The blanket of her bed was wrapped tightly around her, somehow twisted in the throws of her dream.
Her dream… it had changed. Where it had once been dark tiled halls and spinning doors it was now wide open grounds, a star-bright night sky overhead and wet grass underfoot. Trees loomed in the distance, silent and strong. She would run to them, pushing herself onwards, lungs burning and legs aching. She slowed as she made it into the clutches of the forest. Everywhere she turned looked the same; tall skinny trees, nettles strewn over the ground, downed branches in the distance.
Then she would see him.
Stepping out from behind one of the shadowed trees, trying to hide behind a cold metal mask, but she knew it was him. It had always been him. Only him.
But not anymore. Now she was alone and shivering in her childhood bedroom and he… he was gone. She untangled her legs from the sheets and pulled them up against her chest. The lights from the street permeated through the thin curtains around her window, lighting the room that was barely hers anymore.
Short white shelves lined the walls crammed with books. Children's books, educational books, novels, classics, history books, and spell books all carefully organized and perfectly straight. Hermione bit her lip and glanced at the door. Sometimes she woke up her parents, but tonight they seemed to have slept through her disturbance. Maybe because she only screamed his name once tonight.
Softly getting out of bed and walking on the balls of her feet, Hemrione crouched down in front of a shelf. She ran her fingers over the creased backs of the books there. Paperbacks. Books she had read years ago. Devoured more than read really; Hermione used to burn through the pages, eagerly drinking down the ink of each word.
She hadn't read a novel in years. Ever since the end of her fourth year, she had devoted all her readings to either school work or strictly research. She left no time to enjoy the stories. She had a purpose, a drive, a job. Hermione glanced at the small white desk pushed far back into the corner where a stack of newspapers lay. Copies of the Daily Prophet that she had scoured through for any hint or mention of… of him.
She could say it was research, keeping up with what was waiting for her in the magical world and it was. She read them for that reason too, but… it was his name that she searched the papers for first. Any mention of a sighting or… anything. But the only time he ever appeared was in her dreams.
Next to the newspapers were letters. Most of them were short, scrawled notes from Harry letting her know he was alright, but that was only because she made him check in with her every three days. She always breathed a deep sigh of relief when Hedwig tapped on her window and she got a quick but kind letter from her best friend.
But underneath those was a crumpled piece of parchment that she had tried to flatten out somewhat unsuccessfully. It still showed signs that it was balled and then unballed several times before it was sent.
Hermione,
Bill and Fleur are getting married at the end of this month. Do you think you can make it?
The next part was scratched out and re-written underneath-
I'd like to see you.
Ron
She hadn't written him back but only because she was unsure of what to say. Did he actually want to see her or was he still upset over what had happened at the end of the year? He had said he wasn't, but Ron hadn't gone back to his normal, joking self before they departed from the Hogwarts Express. Maybe she was over thinking things and maybe he was just stunned by Dumbledore's death and what that meant for them, but Hermione couldn't help but notice the strange look in his eye or the tingling down her spine when she had caught him looking at her on the train ride home.
The sun would be up soon so there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. There was also no point in dwelling on Ron's letter again. She had done enough of that over the past two days.
Hermione sighed. She needed to answer him.
But not right now. Right now she wanted to lose herself in the binding of a book and let her own problems drift away with the soft crinkle of turning pages. She reached for a thick paperback and stopped. No. She should use this time to research. She would need to know as many helpful charms as possible if she was going to have to look after Harry and Ron. All signs pointed to the fact that it would happen sooner rather than later.
She moved over to the next set of shelves and pulled out an old book on charms she had picked up at Flourish and Blotts. It had been stuck on the top of a shelf far in the back and she had flipped through it seeing that there were helpful household enchantments, cleaning charms, and simple spells. She had brushed dust off the cover thinking it was a bit funny for a book on cleaning to be so dirty and then bought it because growing up in a Muggle household she had never seen many of these spells and honestly it was a little fascinating to read about all the ways wizards and witches used their magic to take care of small problems that really did not require some magical solution.
But, she supposed, it was all they knew.
She took the book back to her bed and went to light a candle when she remembered that she used a lamp here, not a candle to read by. Setting down her wand, Hermione turned the small switch on the base of the lamp and warm, yellow light flooded across her floral bedspread as she pulled the blanket up around her and settled back against her pillows.
Cracking open the old book, Hermione took a deep breath then froze. The creamy smell of parchment wafted up towards her and her heart lurched inside her chest.
Draco.
Staring down at the pages, not reading them all, Hermione ran the pads of her fingers lightly over the faded black ink.
His absence almost made it easy not to think about him. Almost. But he was always there, slumped over in the back of her mind normally sneering at her when she dared approach the thoughts of him. But sometimes he was grinning, grey eyes lighting up under a fallen lock of pale blond hair. Sometimes that was worse.
Who was she kidding? It was like getting hit by a bus that backed up and then ran her over again.
Hermione closed it and set it aside. She could try all she wanted, but she wouldn't be able to read that book. Not when it smelled like the smooth silk of his hair. Not when her heart was beating painfully in her chest at the mere memory of him.
But his memory wasn't the only thing she still had of his.
Hermione pushed the blanket down and pulled the leg of her shorts up. She had charmed it. It was wrong and bad and honestly probably a little sick, but she had charmed the bite mark on her thigh to remain. She wanted to keep it. This little something he had left her with. After all, it had been the best night of her life until…
Until it was the worst.
The same fingers she had run over the pages of the book now caressed the bruised mark on her upper thigh. He had bit her. He had bruised her. He had hurt her. But he had also kissed her. He had held her. He had loved her.
Then he left her.
With no clue or notice or hint as to where he had gone. Hermione bit her lip and chewed it a little as she traced the line left from his mouth.
"I will come for you, Hermione. I promise."
But he had broken every promise he had ever made to her.
She roughly pulled down the leg of her shorts again and threw herself up out of the bed. Moving with decisive actions, Hermione placed Charming Charms back on her shelf with a sharp thud. That book wasn't essential and she hadn't packed it with the others.
Standing up she surveyed the shelves in front of her. She had already pulled the most important ones and tucked them away in her bag. She needed to finish sorting through the leftover supplies from her Hogwarts trunk and pack a few sets of clothes, maybe a winter coat, but she had time. Not much, but some still left.
Rosy rays of dawn seeped from her window.
Hermione stared at the parchment smelling book.
She would write to Ron, tell him she was coming. Harry would be there soon too and they'd all need to be in the same place anyways. And it would be nice to be able to see the Weasleys one more time and get to say goodbye to Ginny.
Hermione tapped her foot on the floor, gaze glued to the book.
She could go downstairs and start the coffee maker. Her parents would be up soon for work and her Dad always brewed a pot while her Mum scolded him, saying he would stain his teeth with it. He'd joke back that he knew a dentist who could help him out. He had repeated it a million times, but it always made her Mum smile.
Hermione glared at the book.
Then she reached for it, pulled it swiftly from the shelf and pushed it hard down into the beaded back with the others she was taking with her.
Grey shadows stretched across her room, lifting the darkness. She let out a deep breath and her chest felt the smallest bit lighter knowing the book, and its creamy parchment smell, was safely tucked away right where she could reach it if she needed to.
Hermione raised her chin and pulled her hair up on top of her head before heading for the door and then down the stairs.
Coffee. Letter. Packing.
Today was going to be productive. Today was not going to be one of the days she waited by the window for the newest issue of the Daily Prophet and when there was no mention of him, climbed the stairs back to her bedroom to lay there and try to breathe without her chest falling in on itself.
Today she was not going to cry over him. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again.
Today she was going to smile along with her Mum when her Dad made bad jokes. Today she was going to play Scrabble with them after dinner instead of claiming to need to research. Today she was going to hug her parents a little tighter when they told her goodnight.
Because tomorrow she was leaving.
.
"Hey."
"Hi."
Hermione stood in the kitchen of the Burrow, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Her fingers twitched around the beaded bag in her hands.
Pigwidgeon had flown into her room and Hermione fed him a bit of toast to keep him busy while she opened up the letter he dropped on her desk. She had expected it to be from Ron, but it was Ginny's handwriting filling up the page instead.
Hermione,
When are you going to come and stay? Phlegm is driving me bonkers and now Mum has joined her crusade of wedding planning so I am hiding out in Dad's shed writing this so they don't make me roll anymore silverware in preparation for 'the big day'. I'm dying. Please help.
Ron keeps asking if I've heard from you. Are you two not talking again? I honestly can't keep up anymore and when I asked him about it he stomped off to his room and slammed the door in my face. I need your advice on which hex is best to use on him so if you're not talking to him at least write me back with a good one.
Whatever is going on with you he's certainly sorry for it. He keeps moping around and at first I thought it might be because of Phlegm and the wedding, but he hasn't looked twice at her since we've been home. I even caught him reading the other day. Yeah, crazy, I know. I think he misses you.
Just owl back and let me know when you're getting here. I'm not taking no for an answer because I'm not facing this wedding on my own. Do you know if Harry is coming? Have you heard from him? I've wanted to write, but… I haven't. What would I even say? 'After you're done saving the world, do you want to make out?'
Just get here, Hermione.
Ginny
Hermione smiled down at the letter. She could barely imagine Ginny sitting with Mrs. Weasley and Fleur discussing table linens and place settings. As much as Hermione did not want to get roped into this, she also didn't want to leave Ginny to fend on her own. Especially when she was still healing from her break up with Harry. They had so little time together, only a couple weeks before the world forced them apart.
Hermione felt a pang ring through her. It wasn't fair that Harry and Ginny had to give up on something good, something great, so that they could fight a war.
At least they're fighting on the same side.
Hermione shoved the thought away and picked up her quill, scratching a quick note back to Ginny telling her she would take a train to Devon tomorrow morning and be there by the afternoon.
She knew it was going to be uncomfortable seeing Ron again, but she had no idea it was going to be this bad.
"How's your summer going?"
"Good," Hermione squeaked. "I mean, it's been nice. A bit… stressful."
"I bet so."
Hermione glanced up at him nervously. Ginny might have thought Ron was acting glum, but Hermione knew he could hold onto a grudge longer than was good for him.
Ron flushed. "I just meant with everything going on, not…" He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Shit."
Hermione bit her lip and looked around the, for once, empty kitchen. A rag was drying a copper pot, a black kettle hissed over the fireplace, and dry herbs swung gently from the ceiling.
"Tea?"
Hermione nodded and Ron summoned two cups from a creaking cabinet. As they landed on the table in front of them, he reached out and switched them, taking the chipped cup for his own and giving her the one in better shape. She gave him a nervous but genuine smile as the kettle began pouring its contents, spilling a little over onto the table.
"It's good," she said as she took another sip. Drinking the tea gave her something to do besides sit here and try to decide whether or not to look at him or ask him how he was doing or if he actually did hate her for sleeping with his worst enemy and lying about it to his face for months.
"I'll tell Mum you liked it."
She could hear people shouting outside, something about gnomes getting into the cabbages again and Ron drummed his fingers against his cup a few times before glancing up at her and stopping. She used to fuss at him for always doing that, but over the years the noise of his fingers hitting his cups had almost become calming to her.
"Do you know when Harry is getting here?" She didn't mean to be this stiff or awkward around him, but honestly she just didn't know what to say and was second guessing everything she considered saying, trying to puzzle out if it might lead to something they didn't want to talk about and that made her think about him and that only made her feel more awkward about this whole situation in general because she shouldn't be sitting here in Ron's house, in the Weasley's house, thinking about Draco-
"The Order is keeping it all quiet. There's going to be a meeting here in a couple of days and they will be making the final plans then, I think." Ron gulped down a large amount of tea and ran his finger over the chipped part of the cup. "I asked Dad and he said we can help, if we want."
"Of course!" Hermione jumped forward to the edge of her seat. "Absolutely. We're in this together. All of us."
Then, as a peace offering, Hermione reached across and placed her hand on Ron's, giving it a small squeeze. He had said he didn't hate her and she needed to remember that. If Ron was willing to move past everything then she needed to be right there with him. Her and him and Harry. That's how it should be, the three of them, working together, getting through this together. They'd always had each other and that wasn't going to change now. Not ever.
Ron's ears turned scarlet and he smiled back at her, blue eyes light.
"Thanks Hermione, that means a lot to-"
"Hermione!" Ginny came tumbling into the kitchen wearing dirty coveralls and threw her arms around Hermione. "I never got your owl saying you were coming!"
"I did," Ron admitted and the two girls stopped embracing long enough to look over at him. Ron sheepishly took another drink. "He's my owl, he brought the letter to me."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Ginny huffed. "Oh forget it, it doesn't matter." She waved her hand in front of her face and shook her head, long coppery hair falling back over her shoulders. "You're here now. But we need to get out of this kitchen before Mum catches us and orders us to help with the centerpieces."
"Yes, please," Hermione nodded her head eagerly.
Ginny looked around. "Where are your bags? Where's Crookshanks?"
A pit opened up somewhere inside her and Hermione barely caught herself on the edge before falling down into its depths. "It's, uhm, just this." She held up the beaded bag. "I had to leave Crookshanks with-"
She stopped talking when her breath caught in her throat. She had picked up her orange cat and held him close, whispering that he would be okay and Mum and Dad would take good care of him while she was gone.
"They won't remember me so try not to be too sad because they won't know why, okay?" She held him close to her chest and buried her face in his thick fur. Crookshanks purred loudly. "You'll like Australia. There will be lots of sunbeams to sleep in and toads to catch." He meowed loudly and Hermione sat him down on her bed. "Be a good boy, Crooks."
Ron was beside her. She hadn't even noticed him moving around the table but here he was.
"Ginny's right. Let's get you settled in and then we can head out before she sets us cleaning the whole house. Hopefully now that you're here Mum will go a little easier on us."
Hermione smiled up at him, her chest relaxing a little so that a small breath was able to leave her.
Ginny snorted. "Fat chance."
.
Hermione thought having Harry at the Burrow would make things easier, but once he arrived she seemed to only grow more and more anxious. It was as if his arrival set in motion everything she had been dreading ever since she found out about the horcruxes. Deep down she thought she always knew it was coming, but she did not expect it to come so soon.
And she hadn't expected to be trying to keep herself from falling into a bottomless pit of despair while they were supposed to be hunting down pieces of soul belonging to the darkest wizard alive who just happened to be the Master of the man she was in love with.
It was just a lot.
But Hermione had never backed down from a challenge before and she was not about to abandon her friends in their time of need no matter how much she wanted to curl up under her covers and stay there until he came looking for her.
Hermione gasped. No. She couldn't think like that. Not even in the safety of Ginny's darkened bedroom, alone inside her head. She had half been expecting Draco to show up, hovering on his broom outside her window the night she returned back home, but he had never come. Did she even want him to?
Thinking about that night made her chest hurt and remembering the way he had dug his heel into her, glowering down with such venom made it even worse. What had been real and what had been lies? She thought she knew, she thought… but she had been wrong about him before. She had argued with Harry that there was no way Draco could have a Death Eater and all the while he had hidden the mark away from her. What else was he hiding?
Where was he hiding? She had plucked up her courage and asked Mr. Weasley, making sure Ron was busy tying ribbons around bundles of flowers, if the Ministry had any news on the Malfoys.
"They don't tell me much these days," he grimaced. "Can't trust anyone anymore. But from what I understand they are either very well protected or…" Hermione bit her lip until it hurt. "Or they don't need protection anymore. You never know with Death Eaters- it's a dog eat dog world of theirs."
She hated this waiting. This not knowing. This uncertainty. The Ministry was certainly ramping up for a fight, but the Death Eaters had been quiet. They were biding their time, but for what? When would they attack? Where would they attack? Hermione knew the answer to that one, Draco had told her.
"Once Dumbledore's dead we're going after the Ministry."
They had already broken out the remaining Death Eaters from Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy included. It had happened the day after the funeral, as if they waited until the headmaster was sealed away to make their move. Now there were even more Death Eaters at Voldemort's side and it was all because of Draco. He might not have killed Dumbledore, but he had let the Death Eaters in. He had orchestrated the whole event. He had said he would fix it.
He had lied.
Maybe he had lied about coming for her too.
Hermione turned over, curling up under the patchwork quilt and pulling it up over her shoulders.
She couldn't wait for him. He had made his choice that night and he had taken hers from her when he cast the imperius curse on her. How could she ever trust someone who could do something like that? How could she ever love- but she did. What she had told him that night was true, no matter what he did, she couldn't stop loving him. The Draco in the back of her mind lifted his head and smirked at her.
Hermione closed her eyes tightly and willed herself to fall back asleep. It was too late to be thinking about these things now. Much too late.
And she needed to be up early to help set up and decorate for the wedding tomorrow. At least it would be a distraction from the shadowy figure in her head. Hopefully.
.
She had never been to a wizarding wedding before and Hermione picked out a spot close to the side of the large white tent and watched as the guests filed in, finding their seats and chatting happily to each other.
They all seemed so happy and she felt a little jealous of the fact they seemed to be able to throw their cares aside so easily. She had spent most of her time helping Mrs. Weasley and Fleur prepare for the wedding, clean the house, gather eggs, and pick flowers from the garden. In her downtime she set about reading the copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard that Dumbledore had left her. She was surprised that she had been included in his will at all and cherished the small book, a reminder of the great man now gone.
She didn't let herself think about Draco.
Instead she found solace in her friends, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. When Ginny wasn't around they discussed the horcruxes. Hermione unpacked and repacked her bag to include Ron and Harry's items and narrowed down her selection of books to bring with her while including a few defensive books that Harry had.
Ron had been particularly embarrassed when she went searching through his shelves and found Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.
"Think you're going to be doing a lot of charming on the hunt?" She laughed and threw it back onto his bed.
Ron turned beet red. "You never know."
Their initial awkwardness has evaporated in the warmth of the hustle and bustle of the Burrow. Maybe it was because she had spent so many summers here or maybe it was the feeling of excitement in the air with the approaching wedding, but her spirits had begun to lift a little being back in a familiar place with people she didn't have to worry about upsetting over the slightest thing.
It was refreshing. Simple. Uncomplicated.
And she found herself missing the challenge.
Hermione and Ginny had gone up to her room after a quick lunch to change and get ready for the ceremony. Ginny was a bridesmaid and Hermione helped her into a stunning gold dress to which she begged Hermione to alter, just a little for her, until she gave in.
"Just around the neckline," she explained and Hermione ran her against the fabric. "Little more," Ginny prompted.
"Any more and you'll fall out."
"He'd be sure to remember that," she muttered.
Hermione paused, "Are you talking about Harry?"
Ginny blushed a little, a gleam in her light brown eyes. "I know we're not… together, but that doesn't mean that I feel any differently. Just… don't let him date anyone else okay? Hex him if he tries."
Hermione wanted to tell her that she knew exactly how she was feeling, that she understood completely the longing for someone you couldn't have. She wanted to tell her everything. Everything that was piling up inside her and that she wouldn't dare touch even to neatly organize it in her mind because it was too painful.
"Merlin, Hermione, I was joking!" Ginny laughed a little and brushed her hair out. "Sort of." She grinned back at Hermione in the mirror and this time Hermione joined in on the laughter.
Ginny helped her apply some potion to her hair to make her curls behave and Hermione once again refused to think about how Draco had always said he loved the tumbled look of them, running his fingers through her hair, pulling on a curl and watching it bounce with that handsome smirk on his face. She threw those thoughts to the growing pile in the back of her mind.
"Do you need any help with your dress?" Ginny asked before leaving to join the wedding party downstairs.
"No, I'll be done in just a moment. You go ahead."
Hermione pulled her shirt over her head, folded it and placed it on the foot of the bed. She kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her jeans. She paused while pulling them off. The bite mark was still there on her inner thigh, just as fresh as it had been the night he had left it.
She should remove the stasis charm. She should take her wand and heal it and be done with it. What was the point of keeping it? It's not like he'd ever see it.
Something cold slid down inside her. He would never see it. He would never touch it. He would never hold her face in his hands, hunch his shoulders and lean in close. He would never brush his lips against her ear and whisper, "Did my pretty little whore miss me?"
A rush of heat replaced the cold and she nearly toppled over as she pulled her jeans off and slid her dress on as quickly as she could. Hermione turned towards the mirror and saw a red flush in her cheeks.
Gryffindor red.
She tugged on her shoes and marched out, head high, but heart was somewhere below her stomach. She had made it all the way through the garden and into the tent before her breathing returned to normal.
Hiding off to the side just in case the blush hadn't faded from her cheeks, she waved a little to a few friendly faces. Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were helping guests find their seats and she found a little bit of her tension easing seeing them smile and shove each other slightly.
Harry didn't look like Harry, instead he had curly red hair and had gained about twenty pounds, but his gentle slouch and creased brows were the same as they always were. Fred and George tore off after a set of beautiful blonde girls who giggled as they simultaneously hooked the girls arms through theirs.
She expected to find Harry and Ron staring after the blonde girls as well, but when she looked back Harry was craning his neck as if he was looking for someone and Ron was fiddling with the tie on his dress robes. Thankfully he had outgrown the ones he wore to the Yule Ball. Or maybe Fleur had refused to let Mrs. Weasley tailor them; she'd seen him that night after all.
Goodness, all that seemed like a lifetime ago.
"I thought about you… After the Yule Ball… I kept thinking about you, in that little blue dress. I… I couldn't help it."
But she could.
Hermione gripped her bag tightly in her hands and hurriedly crossed the tent, heading for Harry and Ron.
Harry stopped searching the crowd and grinned at her. It was strange seeing him without seeing him, but it would have been too dangerous for Harry to walk around looking like himself and there were enough Weasleys to hide the whole Order if needed. Ron's blue eyes widened and Hermione gave him a small smile.
"Hello Harry, Ron," she said, balancing carefully in her heels.
"Hermi-"
"You look vunderful."
She had been so focused on making her way to Harry and Ron she hadn't even noticed the large, dark, and still smoothly handsome Viktor Krum coming up behind her.
"Viktor!" Her voice was much higher and louder than she would have liked and she backed into Ron as she tried to turn a little too quickly to face him. "I didn't know you were coming!"
Viktor's dark eyes glittered even in the shade of the tent and his mouth pulled in a smile. His hair was shorter, but just as thick and rich as she remembered and although she had never been a fan of facial hair, the clean lines of his dark beard made the square line of his jaw even more defined.
"You vould have to return my letters to know that I was coming." His accent was strong and rumbled the words around in his mouth before he spoke them as if they were coming from somewhere deep inside.
Hermione blushed furiously. She hadn't written to Viktor in months. In fact, the last thing she sent him had been a Christmas card. Once she had gotten back to school she had... "I- I was so busy with school-" Hermione stammered and felt Ron shift from behind her to beside her.
"Vell, we are both here now." He took her hand and placed a soft kiss on her fingers.
Hermione quickly pulled her hand back and grasped her bag tightly. She couldn't stop herself. He wasn't even here, but still… Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't pulled away because Draco wouldn't have wanted someone else kissing her hand, she had pulled away because she didn't want someone else kissing her hand.
She wanted him.
"You can sit over there," Ron said with a jerk of his head to the other side of the tent.
Viktor's eyes moved under his heavy brow between Hermione and Ron. "It's good to see you, Her-mion-ee." She gave him a smile as he moved off, walking in his heavy gait. He never had said her name right, but at least she never had to beg him to call her by it.
"Come on," Ron said, sounding a little more put out than he had been before. "Let's find our seats. Har-Barney? You coming?"
"Huh? Yeah!" Harry, going by the name of Barney, moved almost as awkwardly as Viktor in his disguised body, following Ron and Hermione to three empty seats. Hermione looked around and saw that they were about as far as they could be from Viktor and wondered if Ron had chosen these seats on purpose or because they just happened to be unoccupied.
She felt a little guilty that she didn't pay attention to the ceremony, but she was busy trying to keep the gnawing ache of loneliness at bay and before she knew it Bill was kissing Fleur and everyone was standing and clapping. Ron's hands slammed together loudly and his face broke into a wide grin, making the freckles on his face dance while Harry clapped hard, staring down the aisle at Ginny.
She leaned over to Harry and whispered, "You should ask her to dance."
Harry merely shook his head, curly red hair shaking. "No, Ron's right. I shouldn't lead her on."
Hermione wanted to shake him sometimes. "It's just a dance, Harry."
Harry met her eye and even with the Polyjuice potion, the mischievous gleam in his eye was the one she knew well.
They grabbed drinks and headed for a table near the back. Hermione sipped on her butterbeer and watched as Luna pulled Ginny onto the dance floor. Although Luna was waving her arms in what looked like a rather convincing impression of the giant squid, Ginny moved flawlessly, her long legs swaying gracefully to the music as it flowed through the large tent.
"Just this once," Ron grumbled and Hermione looked over to see Harry clutching his butterbeer like his life depended on it. "Go. Before I change my mind."
Harry started up and tripped over his feet, only catching himself on the back of Hermione's chair. "Shit! I swear, this boy has two different length legs."
Hermione laughed as Harry made his way onto the dance floor and tapped Ginny on the shoulder. Her eyes lit up instantly, as if he wasn't even wearing someone else's face and Ginny's hands landed on his shoulders.
Ron swallowed the rest of his butterbeer and turned around. Hermione felt for him; she knew that he wanted both Harry and Ginny to be happy and Ginny had been hurt when Harry called things off even though she understood why. Ron might have been Harry's best friend, but Ginny was his little sister; he was sure to have complicated feelings about the situation.
"That was kind of you," Hermione said softly, turning in her chair to face the table again.
"Well, if we're all dead in a week it won't matter anyways."
Hermione frowned. "You shouldn't-"
"I know," Ron sighed and lifted his clear blue eyes to meet hers. "But I'm not wrong. We all need to take what we can get because you never know when it will be your last chance."
If she had known that night would have been her last time with Draco, would she have done anything differently? Would he?
"Let me get one of those," Ron waved over a waiter carrying a tray of drinks and plucked a tumbler of fire whisky and took a sip of it.
Hermione watched as he pulled his lips over his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath against the harshness of the liquor.
"You drink fire whisky now?"
Ron shrugged. "It's not as bad as I thought. Certainly gave me the kick I needed after Mad Eye."
Bill had made a toast to Mad Eye after he had fallen, giving them all a generous glass of fire whisky to send him off. Hermione had tried to drink it; she had brought the glass to her lips, but as soon as the taste of the fire whisky had touched her tongue it was like someone had knocked her legs out from under her.
Draco Draco Draco.
It tasted like Draco.
On her tongue, in her mouth, desperate, moaning her name- "Granger…"
She hadn't been able to swallow and set the glass down as soon as she could.
Ron took another drink and Hermione placed her bag on the table. She checked the pocket of her dress, making sure her wand was in place and then started picking at her fingers. It was a nervous habit she had never really broken, but recently she had picked her nails down to nubs. Fleur had suggested a charm to make them grow, but Hermione declined.
"No one is going to be looking at my hands anyways."
"'Oou never know," Fleur said with a wink.
"Can I have this dance?"
She turned to see Viktor holding out his hand, hovering next to her.
Hermione looked up at him blinking a few times. "Oh," she mumbled, "y-yes." She stood up and slipped her hand into his. What had she told Harry? It was just a dance…
"Hermione, your butterbeer-" Ron interrupted.
"You can finish it if you want," she offered, seeing that he was already halfway through his fire whisky.
Ron frowned darkly and Viktor led her over to the dance floor.
"Do you remember the valtz?" he asked, a smile beginning to form on his face.
"Yes, but I've tried to forget," she gave a small laugh. "I'd never danced before and I know I was awful."
"You vere beautiful," he said smoothly. "Just like tonight."
Hermione blushed a little and bit her lip. "Thank you, Viktor."
They had exchanged letters over the years, but just friendly ones. She was interested in learning about wizarding society in Bulgaria and Viktor would ask her about her classes and what she planned on doing once she left school. They had been pen pals at best, but being here with him again Hermione remembered the few chaste kisses they had shared.
They were nothing like Draco's. In fact she didn't even think her lips had parted, only lightly pressed against Viktor's for a few awkward seconds. Draco had been controlling, as he always was, tilting her head back, snaking his tongue in between her lips, tasting her, claiming her. Then he had swallowed her whole.
"It's good to see you again," Hermione offered when she realized that she hadn't said anything in quite some time. "I'm sorry I didn't write, this whole year sort of, got away from me."
Viktor shrugged. His shoulders were barely broader than Draco's, but he wasn't near as tall. "I know school is important to you."
"How's, erm, Quidditch?" She tried not to cringe. Had she really just asked him about Quidditch? Like she didn't hear about it enough? And when had they ever discussed Quidditch before? To be honest, she could barely remember what team colors he wore. The image of Draco streaking across the pitch in mossy green and shining silver stripes flashed in her mind.
Hermione missed a step.
"Vots of practice. Vots of trovies."
"Can I cut in?"
Hermione could have hugged Ron from saving her from her failure to be able to hold even a simple conversation. She had never been a social butterfly, but now she was hardly able to talk about anything without finding a way to relate it back to Draco.
Viktor frowned and looked down at Hermione who gave him a quick smile.
"Thank you, Viktor. Let's catch up soon."
He nodded a little glumly as Ron pulled her away, placing a firm hand on her waist and leading her away from him. Hermione tried to focus on where she was putting her feet, looking down at them as they moved through the couples around them. Ron's hand gripped hers; his palm was hot and a little damp.
"I saved your butterbeer for you."
Hermione looked up at him. Ron's jaw was tight and he was watching her carefully.
"Oh, thank you."
Why did this feel just as awkward as dancing with Viktor?
"Wait, did you leave my bag at the-"
"Here," Ron pressed her hand to the front of his robes and she felt the outline of her bag against his chest.
"Oh." Would she ever stop blushing? "Thank you."
"I know how important it is to you. I mean, the books alone," he chuckled.
Hermione gave a little laugh, happy that she finally wasn't feeling so awkward.
"I just wish I knew if I was important too."
The blood stilled in her arms. "What?"
"I mean, am I always going to be pulling you away from dark wizards?"
"Viktor's not a dark wizard."
"But Malfoy is."
There it was. The unspoken name that had been hanging over their heads for weeks now. Malfoy. Draco.
Hermione looked away from Ron.
"You don't know-"
"I know what I saw."
Her eyes cut back to his, wide with shock. Her heart beat irregularly, fluttering in her chest.
"What… What did you-"
Ron dropped his head. "Not much. Enough."
She waited, barely breathing, for him to go on. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this, but at the same time, she needed to know.
"He told you to tell him you loved him and that you were leaving with him."
Were they still moving? Was the world still spinning or was it just her head?
"But you didn't. You were confused and he…" Ron's red brows pulled together, blue eyes cast in shadow. "He was all over you. Like he was taking you over."
Oh God. She could feel her mouth opening in horror.
Ron shook his head. "I tried not to look. Believe me, Malfoy's bare ass is the last thing I ever wanted to see."
"I-" she stammered. "I'm so sorry-"
"I forgive you," Ron said quickly. Almost too quickly. Like he had been waiting on it.
Hermione had been about to say "I'm so sorry you had to see that," but before she could tell him a large silvery shape sunk down from the top of the tent and landed on the middle of the dance floor. It was a shining lynx, taking a single heavy step on large, strong paws before the deep, heavy voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt filled the tent.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Hermione's heart seized in her chest. Guests started to talk in loud voices, moving about quickly and Hermione pulled her wand from the pocket in her dress and held it tightly in her hand. She saw Tonks out of the corner of her eye, wand held out in front of her, turning quickly back and forth.
Then the dark shapes were upon them. Screams and whooshes as people apperated and disapperated wildly. Spells began to fly and Hermione watched as people started running, screaming, panicking as Death Eaters flooded into the tent.
She saw Harry on the other side of the tent, still disguised as Barney Weasley, grab Ginny around her waist and press his lips onto hers, kissing her, before breaking away and making sure that Fred and George were on either side of Ginny before turning and searching the throng for Ron and her.
She should be running towards him. She should be firing off defensive spells. But all Hermione was doing was watching. Watching the black robed Death Eaters, looking for one who towered above the rest, one with shining silver eyes.
Ron's hand clamped down on hers. "Hermione!"
She gave one last glance and met a pair of eyes behind a metal mask. They were dark, almost black.
What was she doing?! Looking for him? Waiting for him? For him to what? Come and imperius her again? No.
Hermione sent a bolt of red light and the Death Eater who threw up a ward, but stumbled against the strength of her spell.
"Harry!" Ron shouted next to her and hauled her forward. Ron's outburst made the Death Eaters turn in their direction and Hermione knew they had seconds, maybe less than that, before the enemy descended upon them.
Harry reached out a freckled, thick fingered hand and latched onto hers tightly.
They need to get out. They need to go. Hermione glanced back at the Death Eaters one last night.
He wasn't here. Draco hadn't come.
Just another lie.
She squeezed Harry and Ron's hands and the tent disappeared with a swirl of color before everything turned black.
.
The floor was hard under Draco's knee and the pain was radiating up his leg, causing the muscles to cramp and the bent joints to grind. One. Two. Three. Every three breaths he let a small tremor pass through him, too small for the circle of Death Eaters around him to notice, but enough to release just a little of the tension coiling in him so he did not tremble. Other than that Draco kept as still as possible, crouched and head bent low before his Master.
He wasn't sure how long the Dark Lord kept him there, but if he was hurting he could only imagine the agony his father must have been in. Long, lanky hair fell down in front of his drawn face so Draco was not able to catch even a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. Every now and then he would emit a grunt or pained whimper, but Lucius did not fall or falter. It must have been killing him.
Wouldn't take much.
Draco gritted his teeth. This was humiliating. The Dark Lord had them groveling in front of rows of Death Eaters who had gathered for their sentencing. He could feel their sick glee at seeing the Malfoys brought so low from their once high placement in Pureblood society. His chest burned with the indignation of it and Draco let the anger fill him up. He focused on the hate pulsing in his fingertips, the rage beating in his heart.
Anything but her.
Travers was finishing up some report on the status of goblin negotiations, but Draco ignored most of it, instead focusing his energy on creating a false bottom in his mind where he could hide her. Tucked away underneath.
Travers trailed off and awkwardly stepped back into line. Draco wanted to lift his head and look around for some sort of clue as to what would come next, but kept it bent, baring the back of his neck to the Dark Lord. He could hear his father's labored breathing beside him.
This was it. Draco's body turned to stone.
"And now," The Dark Lord's high voice echoed around the hall. "We come to the Malfoys."
Draco heard a low hiss from somewhere behind him and his leg tensed, wanting to run, but it was near the point of numbness and he wouldn't get far even if he tried.
"Lucius-" he hissed and Draco felt his father tremble beside him.
"My Lord," he muttered to the hard floor, not daring to lift his head until commanded to do so.
"How many times have you failed me?"
Draco's throat was closing.
"Twice, My Lord," his father croaked.
"You're wrong."
Lucius swayed a little, almost falling. Draco thought he heard the faint whimper of his mother somewhere in the crowd of people.
The Dark Lord took a step. "Your third failure is kneeling next to you."
The Death Eaters laughed. Some low and dark, others loud and boisterous. Draco's blood turned cold in his veins and his jaw clenched tightly.
"Raising a son who can't even kill an old man?" The Dark Lord said lightly. "I expected better from you."
His father was breathing heavily, but said nothing. Draco hadn't expected him to. The Dark Lord paced in front of them again and this time Draco heard the scraping of scales on the floor. His snake had joined him.
"I beg your forgiveness!" Lucius threw himself at his Master's feet. "I serve you, My Lord. Please… let me prove it to you."
Draco hated the thought of having to beg for his life. A life he would spend on his knees. His father had always stood so tall and proud, never letting anything touch him, tarnish him. Draco had practically worshipped him growing up, did everything he could to emulate his idol, who was now clinging to the hem of his Master's robes like a child.
"Prove what? The only thing left of you that's worth anything is your name," the Dark Lord said in his high, hissing voice. "And I only need one Malfoy."
Draco stopped breathing and he lost the feeling in his fingers. Cold cold cold. It pumped through him, sliding down his spine, slithering into his limbs, and then coiling around his chest, squeezing tighter with each half second.
He could hear the sharp intake of breath from his father. Only one. He only needed one of them. Draco's mind went blank. His father was not likely to fall on his sword and even less likely to fall in front of the Dark Lord's wand. Even for his son.
"M-my Lord-" Lucius gasped.
Draco kept his head bent. Was this what it was all for? He worked for months fixing the Cabinet to free his father just to be killed for it? Or if he was lucky, to have his father killed in front of him? All that work just for another body. Had it all been for nothing?
Yes.
But now it was for her.
"Master-" Draco lifted his head and looked up into the blood red slits of Lord Voldemort. He fought the revulsion churning in him at the sight of those eyes, like two open wounds, bleeding down onto him.
"He speaks!" The Dark Lord raised what would have been eyebrows if there was hair left on them. "Well, at least you taught him that, Lucius."
The Death Eaters laughed again. Draco ignored them, throwing up hard walls to block it out.
"He also taught me to hunt."
Lucius turned his head sharply around at his son. Draco did not look at his father, instead kept his gaze steady on the two bloody pits of his Lord.
"Hunt?"
"Yes, My Lord. I can hunt. Track. Kill."
"Was Albus Dumbledore too quick for you?"
More laughter. More walls. His fist dug into the floor.
"I lost my prey because I was too busy playing with my food." Draco forced his lips to curl. His breath passed quickly through his now open mouth. "My Father wasn't the only one who taught me."
No more laughter. Only his heart beating faster and faster in his chest.
"Bellatrix?"
"She trained me. Taught me that not all deaths have to be… clean. I was eager, My Lord. I got carried away."
Draco held his gaze and felt a pressure inside his skull. The Dark Lord wanted to see.
He pulled down a wall.
Dumbledore on the tower. Wand flying from his fingertips. Granger's wand pointed at the old man's chest.
Walls, taller than the astronomy tower blocked it out as Draco narrowed it in. The Dark Lord didn't even pay attention to the light vinewood wand in his hand, only on the brief look of shock in the bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
Hate hate hate. It pumped through him. He hated the man in front of him. Hated the sympathetic smile on his wrinkled fucking mouth. Hated the curled, black hand he reached out in an offer. Hated the warm, pleasant blinking of his stupid fucking blue eyes looking at him with… pride.
They didn't look proud when Snape was murdering him. Their brightness flickered and went out and the old man tumbled off the back of the parapets. The Dark Mark slithered in the sky above.
"Yes." It hissed in his head, high and cold. "Pathetic. Weak. Dead."
Draco shivered, but stood his ground on the shaky, hollow floor. The Dark Lord might have been pleased that Dumbledore was dead, but Draco had only shown him, not committed the act himself. His Father might be a failure too, but he also had years of loyal service that Draco did not.
But Draco had potential.
A dozen dead hounds surrounded him. The Muggle, blood leaking from his ears. McLaggen's bones cracking and the scream that followed. Potter barely dodging out of the way of his cruciatus curse. Then finally, his boot on her chest, pinning her down into the mud, doe eyes widening in fear and pain.
Sick. He was going to be sick. Showing the Dark Lord this. Using it, using her. He pressed his boot down harder, forcing her back under the rotten floorboards of his mind.
"A promising start," Lord Voldemort's red eyes gleamed. "Bellatrix had done well."
"Thank you, My Lord!" Draco heard his aunt call out from somewhere in the line.
"Let me hunt," Draco said quickly, not wanting to lose his momentum. The Dark Lord was pleased with him, but the tide could quickly turn. "For you, My Lord. Let me hunt for you."
Begging. Just like his father.
The snake was circling Lucius, flicking its tongue out, tasting the fearful scent of his sweat.
"And your father?"
Draco's eyes cut over to his father. Long blond hair stuck to his head, slick with sweat. His hands shook violently and his pale grey eyes were alight with terror. What did he have to offer except more failure? Draco was rising and Lucius was falling.
Draco shrugged. "Let him do what he's always done. Slither around the Ministry. Whispering in ears and pouring poison into them. Let him run Malfoy Enterprises and fund your regime. Let him… rot. He's halfway there already."
The snake around his father hissed and snapped and Lucius recoiled. His mother cried out a heart-wrenching sob.
"Cissy no!" Bellatrix snarled and he heard his aunt trying to hold his mother back. Lord Voldemort grinned and Draco was reminded of a snake baring its fangs.
"Master," Draco said quickly as his father shook with the telltale signs of an oncoming fit. "Let him be your Malfoy. And let me hunt."
Her. Let me hunt her down.
"I have werewolves to hunt for me."
"They don't know Potter. I do." Draco's mouth was impossibly dry. He spoke carefully, making sure his tongue did not stick to the roof of his mouth. "We never… associated, but I spent the last six years in classrooms with him. I played against him in Quidditch. I know his habits, his traits, his friends." He threw his weight down on the floorboards, keeping her trapped there. Even an imaginary version of Granger didn't need to see him like this. "I know what kind of man he is."
Lord Voldemort stopped walking and trained his slitted eyes down at Draco. His voice was little more than a hiss when he spoke. "And that is?"
He had said anything. He had said everything.
Draco's lip curled over his teeth. "Once I find him? A dead one."
.