Isolation Chapter 23: Limbo

Chapter 23: Limbo

The turbulent weather and his agitated movements roused her, and Hermione carefully removed her arm from under Draco's torso.

She must have coiled herself around him during the night, but she ignored the dull ache in her elbow and cheated some morning minutes to study his unknowing face. An agitated groan escaped him as he resisted the disruptive demons of his subconscious, and Hermione decided to linger and try to chase them away. Lifting her hand, she smoothed away the creases of his frown with her fingers, and relished a secret smile when he instantly calmed under her touch.

He was so beautiful like this. Unaware of her admiring gaze. Her fingertips caressed him gently; from the proud curve of his lips, to the blond dusting of his eyebrows, and every inch of milky skin in between. Her ministrations move to his hair, which was barely affected by bed, and her nails parted his cream stands in lazy circles. He might be oblivious to it, but the harsh edge that had once darkened his presence had eroded. Inside and out. And the difference made her heart tremble.

It struck her then

As hard as thunder, and as soft as lullabies.

She was falling.

Not yet love, but kissing the seams.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, and she withdrew her curious hand. It felt wrong to have such romantic notions when the wounded and dying were just a few corridors away. Was there even room for love amongst the raucous throbs of impending War? Shaking her head and hastily leaving him alone in the bed, she scolded herself for misplacing her priorities.

There was work to be done.

Love would have to wait in the corner.

.

.

His dream was simple; neither obscure nor corrupted with metaphors or enigmas.

He was standing in a dark and dull room that vibrated with silence.

Standing in one corner were his parents; his father's face scrunched up with scorn, and his mother's aged with dejection and stress. In the other corner waited Granger; a hopeful look on her face and typically chewing her lip, and behind her was a misty and translucent version of himself.

In his dream, Draco's conflicted stare shifted between them for hours, before he finally gulped down a lung-splitting breath, and lifted his foot.

And then it ended.

Draco's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright in the bed, shudders itching down his spine and a cold sweat glistening across his body. Dropping his face into his hands, he groaned against his clammy palms and wondered why goosebumps were bubbling under his skin. His attention drifted to his side, and he frowned at Granger's hollow indentation in the mattress, but the quiet sounds of shuffling beyond the bedroom door informed him where she was.

The cold chill in the room nibbled at his pores, and he slipped into his baggy pyjama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt as he left the bed. He paused to watch the thunderstorm raging outside the window; the pane distorted by hammering rain and whipping winds, but he could see that it had washed away the snow.

Granger wouldn't like that.

Heading out of the bedroom, he stopped in his tracks and quirked an eyebrow when he saw her. Leaning over her cauldron and muttering measurements of ingredients to herself, her hair was a gravity-resistant mess surrounding her flushed features as she sprinkled some purple powder into her concoction. Nodding with satisfaction, she lifted her busy eyes and finally noticed him, and Draco's lips twitched in response.

"Good morning," Hermione said quietly. "Well, afternoon actually."

"Afternoon?" he repeated, glimpsing at the clock to find it had just pushed past midday. "You should have woken me."

"I thought you might need the rest," she shrugged. "You were quite restless in your sleep last night."

Ignoring her comment, he nodded his head at her cauldron. "What's that for?"

"It's just another batch of Dreamless Sleep Potion," she explained, giving it a quick stir. "I found some Murtlap Essence and Burn-Healing Paste too." She hesitated. "Draco, would you like me to save you some Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"I'm fine," he grumbled, his brow creasing with irritation. "Perhaps you should take some, seeing as you were apparently up all night, taking notes about my sleeping habits."

"It was simply a suggestion-

"An unnecessary one," he interjected calmly, wrinkling his nose as the sharp tang of mingling potions hit his nose. "That smells like shit."

"I brewed some Skele-Gro earlier," she told him. "It stunk out the kitchen a bit-

"Earlier? Did you even sleep?"

"The rain woke me up pretty early," she mumbled. "I wanted to get these done anyway-

"You look shattered," he remarked, moving closer and noting the dark smudges under her eyes. "You should go back to bed-

"I'm fine," she shook her head. "I need to get back and help-

"Of course you do," he drawled, rolling his eyes.

He expected his witch to make a defensive retort, but then he should have learned by now that it was futile to predict anything about Granger's behaviour. Instead, she simply studied him from beneath her lovely lashes with a knowing glint in her eyes. He didn't like that look, and he blamed his vow last night, when he had assured that he would not serve Voldemort again. She regarded him like he was different; somehow…better, and he shifted his weight with discomfort.

She didn't get it.

Did she honestly believe that it had been born out of some moral revelation? That he gave a shit about Potter and his band of feckless fools? He almost snorted. His motivation was entirely selfish; he knew now that he cared for her welfare, and he didn't want to see her hurt or killed. Simple as that. Also, they shared an enemy in Voldemort, and she could pose the 'what if he asked you to rejoin the Death Eaters' question all she liked, but the mentally-deranged psychopath was hardly renowned for his forgiving nature.

Deciding to remain neutral was the rational decision. The only issue with that was the state of his parents, for he had no idea how they'd reacted to his disappearance, or whether their loyalties still lied with Voldemort. Snape had told him that his father had been broken out of Azkaban, along with many others, about a month after the Astronomy Tower incident. He would like to believe that his parents would have resisted, but his father's fear-induced desperation to please Voldemort made Draco doubtful.

"Granger," he started hesitantly. "The attack on St Mungo's. Were…were my parents involved?"

Hermione couldn't suppress her cringe. "I don't know, Draco. They all wear masks-

"But it's likely," he finished for her. "I get it."

"Draco," she sighed. "I really don't know. There is a possibility that the…circumstances with you might have altered their-

"But you don't know," he said in a jaded tone, resting his weight against the kitchen counter and clicking his jaw. "So what do you know, Granger? What exactly is going on out there?"

He watched her intently as her spine stiffened, and the muscles in her shoulders tensed. He could see her designing sentences in that ever-working brain of hers, wondering how much information to divulge, and measuring her level of trust in him. The dynamics had shifted now; he had verbally resigned as her enemy, and that changed everything, whether he liked or not.

"It's getting worse," she finally rushed out. "Before Christmas, the Ministry seemed to have some degree of control over the situation, but since the Muggles were murdered on New Year's-

"New Year's?" he interjected with narrowing eyes. "Does that have anything to with your parents?"

He almost regretted the question when he witnessed the pain flash across her features, but his curiosity had waited long enough to be sated.

"They were killing the parents of Muggle-borns," Hermione told him with a shaky voice. "I erased their memories and sent them somewhere safe." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "At least, I think they'll be safe."

Aside from the slight flex of his fists, Draco neither moved nor spoke, but the hard pound of guilt in his stomach almost doubled him over. He didn't know where it had come from. He'd played no part in her soul-stuttering ordeal, but the guilt chewed at his insides anyway. That indefinable feeling for Granger burned a little harder in his bones as he watched her; struggling to keep her emotions subdued, and wearing a façade of composure that strained the muscles in her face.

"And now St Mungo's has been attacked," Hermione murmured, bringing them back to the current chaos. "The Ministry will be next, and then he'll be able to do whatever he wants." Her eyes shimmered with thought as she paused to glance around her dorm. "Hogwarts won't be safe anymore. Nowhere will."

Draco clicked his tongue. "Granger, where will-

"I don't know what will happen to you yet," she cut him off with an exasperated breath. "I need to discuss it with McGonagall-

"I was going to ask where you will go," he blurted, and his comment shocked them both. Recovering quickly, he donned a stoic mask and straightened his back. "Just out of curiosity, Granger."

Hermione blinked once. Twice. "I don't know," she repeated. "I will probably stay with some of the Order-

"And then you and your Gryffindor comrades will march into battle," he snapped in a scathing tone, wrinkling his nose with distaste. "How fucking gallant and noble-

"Draco, don't do that!" she demanded sternly, fixing him with a critical glare. "Don't undermine us like that!"

"Well forgive me for trying to talk you out of a suicide mission!" he countered. "You said it yourself! They are getting stronger-

"Then we will get stronger!"

"Don't be so bloody naïve!" he yelled, tossing his arms in the air with frustration. "This isn't a fucking fairytale! Good doesn't always conquer evil, Granger! You need to accept that you might not win this War-

"Then I will die trying!" she shouted hotly, and while Draco knew he should feel disgusted with her remark, he only felt his chest constrict with affection for his fiery witch.

"No!" he spat firmly, slapping his palm against the counter. "You can't-

"Why not?"

Because you're all I have left…

"BECAUSE YOU CAN'T JUST SOD OFF AND LEAVE!" Draco roared, his voice raw with intensity as he buried his pride. "YOU JUST CAN'T!"

Hermione tried to reach for his hand. "I'm not leaving-

"Not yet!" he barked, swatting away her touch. "But you said that when Voldemort infiltrates the Ministry, you will go to the Order! I'm not thick, Granger! I know that I won't be able to go wherever the hell you're going, so what? I just get tossed on my arse and left to fend for myself?"

"I told you," she sighed sadly. "I don't know where you will go, but I will talk to McGonagall-

"That old cow doesn't give a shit about what happens to me," he mumbled in a low tone. "You'd be wasting your breath-

"That's enough!" she shouted, slicing the air with her hand. "This War is bigger than you and I, Draco! People are dying! How can you be so selfish?"

His lips made an audible clap as his mouth slammed shut, and the silence pulsed in his ears. He refrained from flinching as her disappointed eyes studied him, desperately hunting for an indication of moral decency, but he knew she wouldn't find anything.

"Do you…" Hermione whispered hesitantly, moving around the counter until she could feel his breath cooling her face. "Do you care about anyone but yourself?" She worried her lip. "Do you care about me?"

Pride crumbled between his grinding teeth. "Have you forgotten that I asked you to leave with me, Granger? Do you think I just said that for laugh?"

"That doesn't answer the question-

"Yes, it does!" he argued fiercely, raising a hand to massage his forehead. "This is ridiculous. Your sodding Order put me in here, and now that I've become… accustomed to our situation, they're going to shove me somewhere else? I am sick of this mind-fuck bullshit."

"Change is inevitable in War, Draco," she said, wrapping her quivering fingers around his wrist. "All I can do is try to ensure that you will do somewhere safe-

"Stop doing that," he seethed through tense lips. "Why do you have to be so bloody concerned about what happens to me?"

Hermione gulped down the emotion wedged in her windpipe. "You know why."

Draco felt the beats in his chest quicken into an erratic staccato as he considered the subtle confession in her words. He didn't know whether to feel charmed or horrified, and once again he found himself lingering in between. Between Dark and Light. Loathing and Lust. His family and Her. What he'd been told and what he was and what he could be.

Just trapped in this soul-splitting limbo that seemed infinite, and yet somehow enlightening.

He remembered how he would have smothered Granger in her sleep and surrendered his inheritance to get out of this room, only mere months ago. Now, the prospect of the world beyond these warm walls seemed toxic and suffocating, and the idea of being separated from Granger made him feel queasy. She was both a sedative and stimulant; addictive perfection that sanity told him to reject, but instinct urged him to drown in.

"I need to get back to the medical wing," Hermione severed his thoughts, pulling away from him to organise her potions. "Professor Slughorn needs these-

"We haven't finished our discussion-

"Then we can finish it later," she mumbled, slipping the vials into her charmed bag. "I have to-

"Granger," Draco mumbled, snatching her arm and twisting her to face him. "I don't…" he released a husky breath of defeat. "I don't want this…thing to end yet."

"Yet?" she echoed, her eyes finding the floor. "Then you do intend on it finishing at some point?"

A frown marred his features. "I didn't-

"Let me ask you a question, Draco," she mumbled, and her heart faltered as she prepared a question with a potentially devastating answer. "What if we both survive this War? What then? What about our…thing, as you so eloquently labelled it?"

His stubborn silence and the indifferent haze in his rain-cloud eyes made her feel sick, so she tucked a brazen curl behind her ear, and lifted her chin with contrived poise. Again, she reminded herself of the injured victims on the other side of the Castle, and it put her personal feelings in perspective.

"I don't have time for this," she said steadily, brushing past him. "I have things to do-

"Granger, wait-

The slam of the door was louder this time, and it ricocheted around his skull until his ears felt like they were leaking blood.

More questions.

More decisions.

.

.

The bones in Hermione's fingers felt brittle and ready to snap.

After thirteen hours on her feet, with only the residual effects of Vitamix to lift her limbs, she could feel her body starting to shut down with exhaustion. When she had first arrived, her veins had been pumping with anger-fuelled adrenaline from her argument with Draco, but that had long since withered away as the day had dragged into night.

She had just finished redressing the Murtlap Essence-laced bandages around a young wizard's abdomen when McGonagall called her over for some assistance, and Hermione's eyes fell to the traumatized witch in the bed at the Headmistress' side. She instantly recognised the fragile woman, seemingly in her mid-twenties, as she had caused quite the stir in the afternoon.

After remaining unconscious since her rescue from St. Mungo's, Annabelle Snowbloom had awoken to discover that her husband of less than six months wasn't amongst the fortunate who had escaped, and she had screamed the screams of a broken-brained madwoman for hours, until her voice had simply shattered. Hermione neared the injured witch, and the sympathy was crippling as she noted the eerie void in her eyes, and how her shivering fingers absently toyed with her wedding ring.

"Could you replace the bandages on Miss Snowbloom's arms please, Hermione?" McGonagall asked, her voice scratchy with fatigue. "I just need to see Horace for a moment and get some more Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"Of course," she mumbled, moving closer to Annabelle and studying the deep and gory dents in her writs, from what must have been a violent Incarcerous. Sticky and weeping blisters speckled her flesh like macabre bracelets, but Hermione had become immune to such wounds, and she barely flinched as she withdrew her wand to clean away the pinkish mix of blood and puss. "Let me know if I hurt you, okay? This looks very sore."

Annabelle remained completely unresponsive, so Hermione started reciting her Spells and applying the dressings with gentle but precise attention, in a silence that was too tragic to be awkward.

"Is there anywhere else you were hurt?" she asked when she was close to finishing. "Or is there anything I can do for you?"

Annabelle's dead stare shifted towards her like a bullet. "Can you bring back my husband?"

Hermione flinched. "I'm sorry," she murmured, because she had no idea what else she could say. "I'm really sorry-

"It would have been better if I'd never woken up," the too-young widow said in a deadpan tone. "I don't want this life. It doesn't feel real."

Hermione's hands fidgeted in her lap. "Would you like some-

"You're a pretty girl," she remarked suddenly, but her expression didn't change, and her voice sounded bitter. "Tell me, have you lost someone you love yet?"

She nodded and felt guilty for it; it seemed wrong to compare when Annabelle's grief was so fresh. "I have lost friends-

"But not someone you wanted to spend your life with," she interrupted. "Not your soul-mate." Her voice cracked. "The person who makes you feel indestructible and vulnerable at the same time." She glanced down at her wedding ring. "The person you would die for, and die without."

An image of Draco instantly flashed across Hermione's conscious without prompt, and her heart shrivelled like a burning leaf; crackling and shrinking, just from the thought. Oh Merlin…it made a heavy lump of dread plummet in her stomach, and a shaky groan passed her lips when a stab of physical pain hit her. All from a thought. She forgot to angry at him. Words refused to form as the unsettling sensations harassed her nerves, so she simply shook her head, and refused to cry in front of a newly-made widow.

"I hope you never have to feel like this," Annabelle told her, her mourning gaze drifting back to stare at nothing. "Because it feels like dying, only worse."

Hermione could see the mental cocoon take over the witch's mind again, and she remained silent until McGonagall returned a few minutes later, placing a small vial of the purple potion next to Annabelle. "Take it when you're ready," the Headmistress instructed softly, steering Hermione away from the damaged witch. "We have done all we can for today. You should go and rest-

"I need to talk to you," she rushed out. "Privately."

"It has been a long day. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"No," Hermione refused, keeping her voice low. "I want to talk about it now. I need to talk about it now."

Sensing the urgency in her protégé's tone, Minerva bobbed her head and led them to her office, noting the younger witch's stiff posture and her distracted expression. The moment she closed the door to ensure them privacy, Hermione began to pace around the room with impatient strides, her movements restless and quivering, like the thistle in Autumn winds.

"Calm down, Miss Granger," McGonagall advised, swishing her wand to summon a chair. "Take a seat-

"I want to know what's going to happen to Draco," she blurted heedlessly, encouraged by flashbacks of Annabelle's ordeal. She did not want to be that broken-hearted and soul-torn woman. "I want to know where he will go."

The greying professor pursed her lips with consideration. "You mean if Voldemort infiltrates the Ministry, and Hogwarts-

"Don't say if," Hermione interjected with an irritated bite. "There is no if anymore! You know as well as I do that St Mungo's couldn't have been attacked like that if there wasn't already some corruption in the Ministry, so I want to know what happens to Draco when the Death Eaters take over."

"Hermione, we have more pressing issues-

"Just answer the question!" she exclaimed, clenching her fists until her nails pierced her palms. "I need to know!"

Aside from the slight arch of one cinereous eyebrow, McGonagall seemed unaffected by her outburst. "What would you suggest I do with Mr Malfoy?"

"I-I don't know," she stuttered with frustration, whipping her hair out of her face. "There has to be somewhere he can go. Somewhere he will be safe."

"Hermione, you must understand that I have lot on my plate-

"I know you do," she sighed, rubbing her bag-crested eyes. "I know you do, and I'm sorry that I am being selfish about this, but I just-

"Look," McGonagall breathed cautiously, taking a moment to select her words. "I am not blind. I know that you have become somewhat…fond of Mr Malfoy, and while I may not understand your reasoning, I have refrained from saying anything because you have seemed more…like yourself recently."

Hermione contemplated denying it, but the tell-tale blush warming her cheeks betrayed her, and a guilty tear punctuated the confession. "I never intended for it to happen-

"I know you didn't," the Headmistress assured her softly. "And I'm not angry, but you must understand my predicament. What would you do in my position? Mr Malfoy's behaviour has been completely unacceptable-

"He's different now," she defended her not-so-secret lover. "Really, he is-

"Hermione, you are-

"Please listen to me!" she implored loudly. "He told me! He swore to me that he wouldn't serve Voldemort again! Surely that changes things?"

McGonagall's green eyes flashed with surprise, but it disappeared as quick as it had come. "You will understand my reluctance to trust anything that he says-

"Then trust me," she persisted. "I know he has made mistakes, but he was a victim of circumstance. You said yourself that it was important that he didn't go through with killing Dumbledore-

"Yes, but-

"He has changed so much," she continued with desperate haste. "And I know you probably think my feelings are effecting my judgement, but I promise you that I'm telling the truth."

The older witch regarded her flustered companion thoughtfully. "Exactly how strong are your feelings for Mr Malfoy, Hermione?"

"I care about him," she admitted after a thick pause. "He has become…important to me."

"And you believe he returns these…feelings?"

She sucked in a soothing breath. "Yes, I do," she whispered. "I think I mean something to him, but even if I didn't, I would still need to know that he was somewhere safe."

Minerva felt that maternal twinge flicker in her chest, and she dipped her head with weary acceptance. "I can't promise anything," she said in a hushed voice. "But there is a possible place Mr Malfoy would be safe. I will see if I can make arrangements."

Hermione lidded her eyes as the relief swamped her, and she placed a hand over her reassured heart. "Thank you," she exhaled. "Thank you so much, Professor-

"Please don't get your hopes up, Hermione," the Headmistress stopped her. "This is entirely dependant on someone else's judgement and I can't guarantee that they will agree to it."

Curiosity crept in. "Who does it depend on?"

"It's best I don't say until I contact them," she explained, smothering a yawn with the back of her hand. "It has been an eventful day. You should go and get some rest. I assure you I will do what I can."

"Thank you," Hermione repeated, making her way towards the door. "And thank you for…understanding."

"I am not certain I do understand," McGonagall disputed, leading the younger witch towards the door. "But emotions are what make us human, and I can't condemn you for having them. You are old enough to make your own decisions; all I can do is urge you to be careful."

"I will," she said, a pseudo-smile capturing her lips before she turned to leave. "Good night, Professor."

McGonagall simply nodded and watched Hermione disappear into the inky darkness that flooded the hallways. She replayed their conversation in her head and wondered if she should have done anything to discourage her protégé's interest in the boy with a brand on his forearm, but she had secretly guessed that there was something going on weeks ago, and had decided against intervening.

She absently questioned what Dumbledore would have done in her situation, and had a sneaking suspicion that her late friend would have praised the circumstances, and the dormant romantic in her couldn't help but feel a little moved by the dilemma.

No, it wasn't Hermione's confession that had surprised her, but the revelation that Draco Malfoy had apparently vowed to sever his connection with Voldemort, and furthermore that he reciprocated Hermione's risky affections. The concept was absurd, and yet, as she meandered through the memories of the last few months, she noticed subtle clues that indicated it wasn't a one-sided romance; be it fading glamour charms on Hermione's neck, or the faint hint of a male scent clinging to her clothes.

If anyone else but Hermione had told her such details about the Malfoy heir, she would have dismissed it at nonsense.

But Hermione had told her, and that meant it was true.

Perhaps Albus had been right about the boy's soul…

Rubbing her age-creased forehead, she slowly made her way over to the fireplace and tossed in some Floo Powder, as she recited an address she had used many times in the recent months. The emerald flames rippled and twirled in bold patterns, until a familiar face hovered above the hearth, and stared back at her with confusion.

"I'm sorry it's so late," McGonagall apologised. "But I'm afraid I have another favour to ask of you."

Isolation Chapter 22: Storm

Chapter 22: Storm

Days and hours rush by when the company makes you smile for no reason.

Time becomes irrelevant.

It was a good few days since Hermione's outburst in the shower, and things had been easy and almost peaceful in the dorm; just sleepy mornings and smooth afternoons basking in the calm. It was easy and effortless, with the minutes playing host to sarcastic arguments, which were more for amusement than spite, and comfortable silences, as though neither of them dared break the moment.

In those silences, Draco often found his stare lingering on her charming features; absently counting the spatter of freckles across her nose, or secretly grinning as she mumbled something incoherent to herself when she was engrossed in a book. He always caught himself before she noticed and scolded his behaviour, but his eyes would always find their way back to her again, and learn the details of her face.

But the unanswered questions about her parents tingled the back of his throat. She hadn't mentioned them again, and he had refrained from broaching the subject in an effort to keep the relaxed atmosphere, but he needed to know. His instincts warned him that it was something to do with the War, and after months of being stashed away in here and oblivious to the outside world, he was sick of being left in the dark.

Things were happening. Significant things. He could feel it scratching the pit of his stomach.

Hermione could feel it too; the eerie static flickering in the air that smelled like Dark Magic. The snow was beginning to get lighter, and the rain would come soon, washing away the beautiful, white landscape that she loved, and making way for bleak thunderstorms.

Godric curse her for being selfish and a little naïve, but she had shoved the War to the back of her skull for the past few days to savour these moments with Draco. She felt something deliriously close to contentment in his presence; taking every excuse to touch him and memorise how his skin felt beneath her fingertips. Whether it was searching for the blue specks in his smoky eyes, or studying the softening of his face before he fell asleep, she relished all of him and remembered how to smile.

Because she knew it was only temporary.

The calm between storms.

.

.

It was his witch's squirming that slowly stirred Draco from his sleep, and he tightened the arm around her torso to keep her still. He had given up trying to keep a distance from her in bed; his body always sought her warmth anyway, and there was something instinctively pleasing about waking up in a tangle of limbs and body heat.

He could feel her hair tickling the tip of his nose and he pressed his face closer, but hesitated when he realised that something was off. Her normally silky curls felt coarse against his cheek, and when he slowly peeled open one eye, he was confronted by rusty fur instead of the chestnut mane he'd become accustomed to.

"What the…" he mumbled, rearing back to eye his lover's cat with distaste. He wrinkled his nose when the pet had the audacity to creep even closer to him, and he reached over to prod Hermione's arm. "Granger. Granger wake the hell up."

Groaning into her pillow, the sleepy brunette twisted around to face him and squinted against the first rays of morning. "What's wrong with you?"

"Your vile cat is pawing at me," he growled. "Get him off me."

"Don't call him vile," she said, stifling a chuckle when she realised Crookshanks was indeed trying to gain some affection from Draco. "He just likes you."

"Well, I don't like him," he grumbled, picking up the cat and dumping him into Hermione's lap. "Scruffy, bloody thing-

"Oh hush," Hermione tried not to laugh. "He doesn't like many people, so you should be flattered-

"Yes, I'm bloody ecstatic," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "It hardly helps his case when he wakes me up on a Sunday morning."

"It's Sunday?" she frowned, glancing at her Charmed calendar and then her clock. "Damn, I need to meet McGonagall in a bit."

He arched an eyebrow. "What for?"

"Michael's coming back today," she explained, missing the flash of jealousy that dented his expression as she climbed out of bed. "Everyone will be coming back soon, and we need to discus preparations-

"And how long will that take?" he questioned sharply, admittedly irritated that the Head Boy was ruining his chances of a morning quickie. "Fucking Corner-

"Don't start," she told him, shrugging on some clothes and casting a spell to make herself a bit more presentable. "It shouldn't take long; maybe an hour or so. Could you feed Crookshanks while I'm out please?"

"Wouldn't it be more beneficial to society to just let him starve?" he mumbled, flinching when she spun around to slap his arm.

"Don't be such a-

"Fine," he grumbled reluctantly, before his lips moulded into an knowing smirk. "Naturally, I'm going to ask a favour in return."

Her mouth stretched of its own accord, and a playful blush coloured her cheeks. "Dare I ask what it will entail?"

"I'm sure I will think of something by the time you get back," Draco shrugged, but his eyes widened when Hermione suddenly leaned in to smother his mouth with a quick kiss. Studying her curiously and subtly licking his lips as she pulled away, he slowly arched an eyebrow as she flashed him a perfect smile. "What was that for?"

"Does there need to be a reason?" she asked, twisting around and heading out of the room. "I'll be back in a bit."

Staring at her retreating back with pensive eyes, the click of the door snapped him back to the present, and he shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. It had become so natural to be this way with her now; unguarded and comfortable in her presence, but the moment he was left to his own devices, he berated himself for getting so close.

Too attached.

But there was little be could do about it now. His interest in her was embedded into his system and crawling in his veins, making his heart throb faster when she was close enough to inhale. When once it had felt like an infection, it now felt like brandy; warm and pleasant.

And the War was the hangover. The headache, the sickness, the reality.

The storm.

.

.

The second Hermione stepped over her threshold, she knew something was wrong.

The air felt thick and humid, and she hesitated outside of her door when she noticed all the Magical Portraits were peculiarly subdued or absent from their frames. The quiet hum of distant sounds was vibrating along the corridors, too low to discern but ominously consistent, and her feet began moving towards the source. When something that sounded eerily like a muffled scream harassed her ears, she quickened her steps and withdrew her wand.

By the time she could hear the shouting and panic clearly, Hermione realised she was sprinting towards the Medical Wing, and the metallic tang of blood was drowning her senses, stinging her eyes and simmering on her tongue.

Bursting into the room, she skidded to a stop and gasped at the chaos surrounding her; thirty or so people were crowded into the small space, and littered across the scarce beds and floor, all writhing in pain. Her vision blurred as she tried to make sense of it all; her focus lingering on an elderly wizard with blood weeping from his temple, before shifting to a young witch, whose arm was contorted in an unnatural shape. And then to another person with a different injury. And then another. Another…

Someone was calling her name…

She looked up and locked eyes with McGonagall, and absently registered that the Headmistress, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout and a couple of Mediwitches were tending to the victims as best they could, but there were so many…

"Hermione!" McGonagall called again. "Go to the classroom next door! Horace needs help-

"Wh-what's going on?" Hermione interrupted in between laboured breaths. "What the-

"St Mungo's was attacked!" she shouted over the racket. "I need you to help Horace! Go! Quickly!"

Nodding dumbly and spinning on her heel, she raced to the adjacent room and found a similar disturbing scene; perhaps fifteen scattered victims strewn across the desks, chairs and floor, smeared with red stains and crying in agony. Professor Slughorn and a Mediwitch were amongst the injured, frantically mumbling Healing Charms and prying open mouths to feed them potions.

Hermione was momentarily frozen to the spot as her brain sucked it all in.

There was just…so much blood…

Puddles of it were peppered across the floorboards, dissected by footprints and handprints from people scrambling around and seeking help. Some of the victims were choking on clots and coughing it up into their laps or cupped palms, mixed with watery vomit and bile. Limbs were twisted and bent in revolting shapes, flesh was sliced with deep gashes, and midnight-blue bruises were smacked across every inch of skin she could see.

This was it.

This was the reality of War.

This was the storm.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath and rushed into action.

Her eyes darted around and did a quick assessment, trying to establish who required immediate attention, before running over to a wizard on the floor with gruesome abdominal wounds, and who seemed to have trouble breathing. Sinking to her knees and dismissing the sick squelch as she landed in pool of blood that climbed up her jeans, she studied the sticky mess of his body warily and shut out everything else to concentrate on this battered stranger.

Using her wand to peel away his clothing, she flinched as she registered just how bad the damage was; splintered ribs protruding out of his torso and a wide slash halving his stomach, but she gritted her teeth, ignoring her reflex to gag, and began reciting the appropriate Healing Charm. Glancing up, she found the middle-aged man's weak gaze fixed on her, and she absently used her free hand to give his face a soothing touch.

"It will be okay," she whispered to him reassuringly. "It will be okay."

She wished she believed her own words.

.

.

Draco scowled at the clock for the sixth time in forty minutes.

When Granger had failed to return after an hour, as she had promised, he had gnashed his teeth and surrendered to jealous notions about Corner's intentions. But when the fifth hour had passed by and the day had slipped into the afternoon, he had started to feel uneasy. Granger's cat had also been rather jittery, and while he hadn't paid much attention to her boats about Crookshanks' incredible intuition, something niggled at the back of his brain and warned him to be on his guard.

Releasing a frustrated breath, he headed into Hermione's bedroom to fetch a book and distract himself. Absentmindedly rummaging in her vast collection, he accidentally caught a stack with his arm that sent several texts flying across the floor, and a curse grumbled in his windpipe as he bent down to pick them up, but his eyes narrowed at one particular book.

It was tattered with time and the title was too distorted to read, but he could make out the letters H, C and X, and his brow creased with anxiety. Surely she wasn't reading about…

He reached for the book and frowned when a few sheets of parchment fell out, decorated with hasty scribbles and signed 'H&R.' He couldn't help but roll his eyes. Salazar forbid that Potter and Weasley learn something about the art of being cryptic, but he didn't have time to mull over it, as a quick glance at the first page of the book told him what he'd suspected.

Horcruxes.

Apparently Potter and Weasley were searching for them.

And he didn't have a bloody clue how to feel about that.

He despised Voldemort; that creature had put a price on his head for his failed attempt at Dumbledore's assassination, and had forced him to go into isolation. It had all made sense when he'd been so fixated on his pureblood ideals, and even though he had accepted that Granger's blood no longer bothered him, that was only Granger. He had no idea how he felt about the other Muggle-blooded hybrids.

He might want Voldemort dead, but the idea of championing Potter's side of Muggle-huggers was far from desirable. And just where did his parents stand in all this? Surely they still couldn't be supporting Voldemort when he'd threatened their only son with death?

He didn't know how to feel about anything anymore. He. Did. Not. Know.

Tucking the letters into the book and placing it back where it had been, he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Merlin, everything was so monumentally fucked up.

.

.

Hermione sleeved away the sweat on her forehead.

Of the fifty-one casualties and staff who had managed to escape St Mungo's, four had died, and it was doubtful several others would see tomorrow.

Healing Charms drained the energy of the caster and transferred it to the subject's body, so when the scant supplies of Dittany, Wound-cleaning Potion and every other helpful concoction had been used just after she'd arrived, all they'd had was their wands. Hermione had taken two vials of Vitamix just to keep her standing, and had recited every Healing Spell she knew for six hours straight, refusing to finish until everyone had been seen to.

Hermione's muscles were aching with exhaustion and her head was spinning with dizziness, but she refused to blink until this young girl's femur had been fixed. Cringing at the sound of shards of bone clicking back into place, she glanced around to see who need her attention next, but everyone looked like they'd been seen to.

There was some level of order now; chairs and desks had been transfigured into beds, and the wounded had been wrapped in thick blankets; black if they'd been assessed, and white if not.

Aside from the young witch at her side now and the wizard that the Mediwitch was healing, everyone was donned in black blankets, and Hermione was ready to weep with relief. She knew it was far from over, and that the victims would require surveillance well into the night, but the worst of it was dealt with, and for that she was grateful. Waving her wand to change the young witch's blanket black, she started when a comforting hand rested on her shoulder.

"Good job, Miss Granger," Professor Slughorn nodded tiredly. "That's everyone now. Maybe you should take a breather-

"No," Hermione refused. "There must be something else I can do to help."

"The best thing they can do is rest," he told her gently. "Unfortunately, I have run out of Dreamless Sleep Potion, so I shall have to brew some more."

"I have some in my room," she mumbled, getting to her feet. "I don't know if I have much though. I'll go and get it, and I'll help you make some more when I get back-

"Perhaps you should have a nap while you're in your room-

"I'm fine," she assured her Professor, turning to leave before he could argue. "I'll be back in minute."

After spending the morning in a room filled with the devastated and dying, walking down the corridor felt surreal, and the air was fresh on her lungs. She sucked it in with greedy gulps and tried to comb her fingers through her hair, but they got stuck in the matted curls, and the sticky blood gathered under her nails. She absently noticed that her jeans and white jumper were spattered with it too, but she didn't care; it hardly seemed relevant under the circumstances.

Her steps were slow and weary as she neared her dorm, and as she raised a weak and shaking hand to open her door, she silently prayed that she could get in and out before Draco noticed. While a part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and steal his warmth, he would have inevitable questions, and her mind was too laden with the day's events to give him any solid answers.

Almost tumbling into the room when her balance wavered, she caught herself and instantly met Draco's wide and wild eyes; flickering with concern and confusion as they studied the state she was in.

"Shit," he breathed raggedly, jumping up from the couch and stalking towards her. "Fucking hell, Granger, you're-

"I'm fine," she interrupted, lifting her hand to stop him. "It's not my blood-

"You're covered in it-

"I know," she murmured, trying to move past him. "Draco, I need to-

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, grabbing her elbows and keeping her steady. "You look like hell-

"Draco, let go of me," she said, struggling in his grip. "I need to get back and help-

"Help who?" he asked. "What the hell happened?"

Sighing in defeat, Hermione placed her palms against his chest and closed her eyes. "St Mungo's was attacked," she told him in a deceptively even voice. "Some people managed to escape in time, and they're here-

"Attacked?" he repeated. "What does that mean?"

"It means that this War has begun," she frowned at him, pulling out of his grip and putting some space between them. "It means that you are going to have to make some decisions."

Draco's brow lowered. "And what the fuck does that mean?"

"Voldemort is getting more powerful, Draco," she explained. "If Hogwarts is next, then you are going to have to decide exactly which side you are on-

"That's not fair, Granger, and you know it-

"Don't you dare talk to me about fair!" she blurted hotly. "I just had to watch fifty people struggle to survive, so don't you dare make yourself into some kind of victim!"

"Do you realise what you're asking of me, Granger?" he fired back. "Just because that psychopath wants me dead, it doesn't mean I'm going to jump on Potter's sodding bandwagon-

"This War is bigger than your pathetic issues with Harry, Draco!" she shouted with frustration. "We're not children anymore! You need to start thinking for yourself and stop tying to be your father-

"Don't mention my father!" he warned loudly. "This is what my family do, Granger! There's nothing I can do about that-

"You could stand up for yourself!" Hermione argued tenaciously, bunching the fabric of his top in her fists and meeting his eyes. "You might have Death Eaters in your family, but you also have good in your family-

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Look at Sirius and Regulus!" she supplied quickly. "They both betrayed your family to try and defeat Voldemort-

"And look what happened to them!" he spat coldly, tearing out of her grip on his shirt. "They're fucking dead!"

"There's Andromeda too-

"What the hell do you want me to do, Granger?" he barked, tossing his arms in the air with agitation. "You would have me fight against my own family?"

"I would have you fight for what you believe in!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS ANYMORE!" Draco roared, his breathing elevated as he eyed his lover coldly. "You screwed everything up!

Hermione shook her head. "I know you don't think the way you used to anymore," she argued adamantly. "I know that you don't-

"Don't tell me how I think-

"But it's true!" she retorted. "And you can stand there and claim I've brainwashed you all you like, but you know that you came to your own conclusions-

"Don't start with your psychoanalytical crap, Granger," he scolded in a dark voice. "I will admit that I have moved past my hatred for you, but that doesn't mean my views on other Muggle-borns have altered-

"Yes it does," she told him smoothly. "You might be in denial, but I can tell you are different."

He snorted. "You see what you want to see-

"You are not who you were!" she contested, catching his face between her hands and forcing him to match her eyes. "I know you now, Draco. I do-

"You are too quick to seek the positive in people, Granger," he muttered quietly, watching his reflection in her hazels. Lifting his hand to her cheek, he thumbed the smudge of blood there and then dragged his finger across her bottom lip. "Why do we have to fight at all, Granger? Why don't we just…leave?"

Hermione blinked. "You mean run away?" she clarified, wincing when he dipped his head. "You know I can't do that. If Voldemort wins this War, then the other Muggle-borns and I will be killed. I have to fight-

"No, you don't-

"Yes, I do, Draco!" she yelled, backing away from him. "I will die trying! I will not run away like some coward! If you want to, then that's up to you-

"Don't call me a coward," he hissed. "Don't ever call me a coward!"

"Then stand up for yourself!" she snapped back, taking a deep breath to prepare for her next question. The question that had been eating at her brain since she'd begun to fall for him. "If Voldemort agreed to take you back as a Death Eater, would you?"

He hesitated, and Hermione felt her heart drop. She averted her eyes and stalked towards her room, unable to look at him and reminding herself that she'd returned to her dorm with a purpose.

"Don't walk away from me, Granger!" Draco called, his footsteps following behind her. "And don't give me that fucking look!"

She refused to acknowledge him as she retrieved three vials from her trunk, spinning around and crashing into his sturdy body in the doorframe. "Get out of my way, Draco-

"We are not finished here-

"Yes, we are," she interrupted breathlessly, keeping her eyes on his chest. "I can't…I can't believe you would even consider supporting Voldemort after what has happened between us-

"I never said I would-

"You couldn't give me a straight answer," she reminded him sadly. "You couldn't-

"It's not that simple, Granger. It's complicated-

"No, it's not-

"Granger," he murmured quietly, attempting to grasp her shoulders, but she shrugged away his hands. "Hermione, come on-

"I don't want you near me right now," she whispered with a wavering tone. "I can't even look at you."

Draco's defiant stance faltered at her words, and he clenched his fists as she bushed past him. "Where the hell are you going?" he asked as he swivelled around. "Hey! Don't bloody ignore me!"

"I'm going to help those people-

"How long will you be?"

"I don't know, Draco!" she shouted over her shoulder. "As long as it takes!"

He opened his mouth to retort, but the shrill slam of the door cut him off, and a husky growl vibrated behind his teeth. Agitated pants steamed past his lips as he cradled his head in his hands, and his fingernails stabbed his scalp. Merlin knew why, but his feet carried him to the bathroom, and he hunched over the basin; spitting out the bile that had gathered in his mouth.

You are going to have to make some decisions…

His chest heaved as his lover's words rattled around in his skull, pulsing against his temple and making him feel light-headed. The angry heat paced through his veins and throbbed underneath his skin, and he ripped his top over his head, ignoring the sense of déjà vu as his hands clutched the sink. His knuckles paled as sweat broke out on his forehead, sliding down his face and raining against the porcelain.

Maybe there were tears mixed with them. Maybe not.

You need to start thinking for yourself…

He lidded his eyes and clenched them tight, biting his tongue and eyeing the pinkish ribbon of salvia slithering towards the plughole. Flicking on the cold tap, he splashed his face with water and warily raised his tumultuous glare to his reflection. The person staring back made his anger rise.

I would have you fight for what you believe in!

Draco flinched. Why couldn't she understand that he didn't know what to believe in? Why couldn't she grasp that everything in his world had been flipped around and left in a mess that he couldn't decipher? Why the fuck couldn't she realise that he just wanted to disappear in her kiss and abandon the world beyond these walls?

You can stand there and claim I've brainwashed you all you like, but you know that you came to your own conclusions…

"Shut up," he grunted under his breath.

He studied his pseudo-self in the mirror and found Hermione everywhere. The whispers of her kisses staining his lips, her midnight murmurs still tickling his ears, the remains of her fingerprints against his chest; it was all there. She had melted into him. Inside and outside. Physically and mentally.

I know you don't think the way you used to anymore…

"Shut up," he bit out, louder this time.

He hunted his reflection for a shred of evidence that he wasn't the cold bastard he'd been, but he looked the same. The same, but so different that it haunted him. A stranger with his face. His thoughts shifted back to Hermione, and how affected he'd been when he'd seen her covered in blood. It had shaken his soul. He didn't want to see her hurt…Didn't want anything to do with her being hurt. Maybe that was the answer? Maybe that was his decision?

You are not who you were!

Then who was he?

"SHUT UP!" he screamed, hurling his fist into the mirror and instantly feeling the tension leave his muscles as his reflection shattered. That was better. It was distorted now; fractured and broken, and he absently flicked away the glass in his hand as the warm blood trickled down his fingers.

If Voldemort agreed to take you back as a Death Eater, would you?

"No," he confessed to the tiles. No hesitation this time. "No."

And there was his answer.

Dropping his head with surrender, he collapsed to the floor in a heavy heap and stayed completely still as the minutes drifted by without meaning or reason. So lost was he in his trance, that he didn't hear the sound of his lover returning when the time had slowly seeped into the early hours of tomorrow, nor did he notice her entering the bathroom and gently purring his name.

Only when she crouched in front him and slipped her hand into his did he recognise her presence, and he desperately reached for her and pulled her as close as he could. She was coated in dry blood and smelled of hard work and death, but he didn't care. He pressed his face into hers and relished the taste of her breath ghosting across his chapped lips. Her thumbs stroked away the damp tracks on his cheeks, and she freckled his jaw with demi-kisses as his fingers dug into her sides, refusing to her go.

"I'm sorry," he heard her mumble. "I know this isn't easy for you, but you need to decide what you're going to do, Draco. We can't…we can't do this if we are going to fight each other."

He watched her beneath his lashes and felt the comforting warmth in his chest swell.

"I don't want to fight you," she continued, gulping back a sob. "I just want us to be…okay. I want us to be more than distant memory trapped in these walls. I want you."

His grip on her tightened, and he licked his rough lips and swallowed away the dry scratch in his throat.

"I will not fight for your side, Granger," he mumbled carefully, feeling her stiffen in his hold. "But I will not fight against it either."

She shifted in his arms to gaze at him with wide and curious eyes, and he leaned in to plant a fate-sealing kiss against her mouth.

"I will not fight in a War when I don't know what to believe," he explained in an exhausted tone. "But I won't support Voldemort. I swear to you that."

Chewing her lower lip and nodding with understanding, she rested her head against his collarbone and sighed with relief.

"I think that's good enough for me."

Hermione nestled into his strong frame as a foreboding rumble of thunder echoed outside, closely followed by the hard thuds of heavy rain. Knowing the storm would wash away the beautiful snow, she searched for Draco's hand again, and tangled their fingers.

If the storm was here, she wanted to hold his hand.

Isolation Chapter 21: Scars

Chapter 21: Scars

As Draco was slowly stirred awake by the hum of feline purrs, his brow creased with confusion when he realised that the space next to him was empty, save the snoozing cat that was near his feet.

Quickly ignoring the pet, he flattened his palm against the spot where Granger should have been and felt the traces of her warmth tingle his skin. Hesitating as his sleep-blurred brain caught up, he slowly twisted his body to find her sitting at the window; her silhouette set against the garish and gold light of the morning. Squinting as his eyes adjusted, and rising into a sitting position, he concentrated on her weary and strained expression, and frowned at her distracted gaze.

Still clad in yesterday's clothes and her cheeks glossed with yesterday's tears, she was clutching her legs tightly to her chest and resting her chin against her knees. Her lips were dented from relentless chewing, her mouth bent in a mourning frown, and her eyes were bag-crested and bloodshot. All she did was stare through the window pane.

So still.

Barely breathing.

He absorbed every detail of her with calculating eyes, churning the information around in his head and trying to determine what he was supposed to do. Merlin knew he didn't have the slightest idea how to ease her distress, but the need to scratched under his skin anyway, and he didn't even try to resist it.

He cocked an eyebrow when she parted her lips and breathed heavily against the glass, lifting a finger to draw a mindless pattern in the condensation. With a sigh of defeat, he called her name.

Hermione absently dragged her finger across the misty window and narrowed her eyes when she realised what she was doing. She and her mother had left little messages on the bathroom mirror when she'd been little; just little things like I love you or Goodnight.

Her hand fell limp at her side as she read what she'd absently scribbled.

See you soon.

She shook her head when Draco's blurred voice seeped into her ears and snatched her back to reality. "What?"

"Have you even had any sleep?" he repeated in a blank tone.

"Oh," she exhaled. "A little…I mean enough-

"Doesn't look like it," he said stiffly, tossing her blankets off him and sitting at the edge of her bed. "You should get some more."

"No, it's fine," she mumbled, and Draco hated how distant she sounded. "I wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep now anyway-

"Don't say you're fine when you're clearly not," he scolded, perhaps too bluntly. "It's bloody irritating-

"But, I am-

"Save it," he grumbled. "Why you Gryffindors insist on covering everything up with fucking fairies and sunshine is beyond me-

"I'm not-

"You feel disorientated, right?" he questioned sharply. "Like your mind is doing cartwheels, and you have no idea what to do with yourself."

Hermione felt her mouth move with silent words. "I…how…

"In case you haven't noticed, we're in a similar boat here, Granger, so I know it's fucked up."

"A similar boat? What do you-

"I've been missing since June," he reminded her in a deadpan voice. "I'm sure my parents think I'm dead; decomposing somewhere in a shallow grave dug by one of your lot."

She cringed. "Draco-

"It's true," he interrupted, regarding her with a detached expression. "What other believable story could Snape have invented to account for my absence?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured sincerely. "I didn't realise it had been so long for you, but perhaps Snape-

"Even if he said I was missing, I would be presumed dead after this long," he reiterated, cocking his head when she grimaced. "Don't give me that sympathetic look, Granger. It's not like I'm actually dead-

"But maybe-

"I have accepted that, Granger," he silenced her. "And you will accept your circumstances too, but you need to get over all that 'I'm fine' crap-

"Draco-

"So we're going to have a shower," he stated sternly, rising to stand and scowling at the uncertain look she gave him. "Come on. Get up."

"Draco," she sighed wearily, bowing her head. "I don't think I'm in the right frame of mind for-

"I never mentioned shagging you," he interjected with a scowl as he neared her. "Now come on-

"Draco, I just want to stay here-

"Tough shit," he snapped, snatching her arm and yanking her to her feet. "Don't make me drag you-

"Draco, let go," she groaned, struggling against him. "You're hurting me."

The determined blond flinched but kept his grip firm at her elbow as he pulled her with him, adamantly refusing to acknowledge her protests no matter how much her pleading tone harassed his ears. He knew he was being rough but he forced himself to be indifferent, because it was necessary. Granger might not see it, but she needed this. Needed him.

His scowl hardened as she dug her heels into the floor and clawed at his hand.

"Stop fighting me," he warned over his shoulder, slinging his other arm around her abdomen to get a secure hold. Her flailing limbs were making it difficult. "Fucking hell, Granger-

"Just leave me be," Hermione tried, frustrated tears threatening to slip past her lashes. "What difference will a sodding shower make anyway? It won't-

"Stop it," he growled as he finally managed to get her out of the bedroom. "Trust me when I say the inactivity will only do more damage-

"I said I was fine!" she shouted. "Put me down!"

"No!" he yelled back, shoving her into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. He gulped down the uneasy feeling wedged in his throat when he realised she was crying again, but he remained firm with his intent. "Don't you fucking dare try the door, because I'll just drag you back in here until you get the message."

He tried not to be affected when she put distance between them and studied him with wary eyes. Did she really believe that he would hurt her? Scoffing and shaking his head to cover his offence, he stalked over to the shower and flicked it on, testing the heat against his fingers and keeping his eye on his dejected lover in the mirror.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione muttered behind her breath. "You are being ridiculous-

"Take your clothes off," he instructed steadily, tugging his own top over his head. "Or are you going to be an awkward bitch again?"

She stared at him with the sparks of defiance flickering in her eyes, before she released a haggard breath and began to slowly tear her away her clothes. Draco kept his unflinching glare on her as he pulled down his trousers and boxers in one swift motion and then stalking up to her with heavy strides. He ripped her jumper out of her grip and chucked it to the side with growing impatience, batting aside her hands before he reached for her jeans and knickers and yanked them down her legs.

Hermione sucked in a hefty gulp of air and attempted to back away, but his hand was already fixed around her wrist. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I haven't got all fucking day," he hissed coldly, spinning her around to remove her bra before she could protest.

He battled the temptation to admire her nudity and give into the instinctive twinge in his groin as she stood before him; infinitely alluring to him since the first night he had bedded her. Every inch of her honey skin belonged to him, whether she liked it or not, but he needed to carry this out and finish what he'd started. Feigning indifference, which was testing when his body yearned to react to her, he tugged on her wrist and guided them to the shower.

"Get in," he told her, rolling his eyes when she predictably hesitated. "Fucking fine. We'll do this the hard way then."

She yelped in surprise when he picked her up, and he gritted his teeth in an effort to ignore her bare and squirming body as he stepped into the shower and positioned them under the scolding rain of whispering waterdrops. The sweet steam wrapped around them like a veil, and Draco silently willed her to forget the outside world in this misty cocoon.

Reality was an obstacle.

Always getting their fucking way and screwing with their secret sanctuary away from it all.

Away from the War.

From his past.

From everything.

And he came to acknowledge that he had settled into their sanctuary, despite every attempt at resistance. Reality was simply a muffled memory in here. With her.

What the hell would he do when…

He felt her hands pushing against his chest.

"What are you playing at?" Hermione questioned hotly. "Let me out of here-

"No," he refused, keeping her in place under the water. "This is what you need-

"Don't tell me what I need to do," Hermione argued in a low voice. "Don't you dare tell me how I should be dealing with this-

"So, what?" he goaded. "You're just going to sit in your room and mope all day?"

"I was not moping!" she protested loudly. "Shut your mouth, Draco!"

"Well, stop being so fucking pathetic!" he carried on relentlessly, invading her space and looming over her. She really had no idea how idea how beautiful she was to him then; her cocoa curls streaked across her face and shoulders like rivulets of coffee, but he baited her regardless. "Crying about it like some shitty little Hufflepuff is hardly going to make things all rosy again!"

"I know that!" she spat, giving him a futile shove back. "Don't you think I know that?"

"Then stop whining about it!"

"You were a sulky prick when you first came here, so don't be such a sodding hypocrite!" she fired back. "I have every right to be upset! I am human!"

"Then why the fuck bother lying and say you're fine?" he retorted sharply, bringing his face close to hers. "Come on, Granger! Let it out! Why say you're fine when you're clearly not?"

"BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!" she screamed, her features creasing into a look of weary acceptance as her chest heaved between them. "WHAT THE HELL CAN I DO, DRACO? I CAN'T DO A BLOODY THING!"

There you go. Scream it out, Granger.

"AND IT FUCKING HURTS, DOESN'T IT?" he roared back, hating himself when she clenched her eyes shut, but she needed this. He knew she did. He knew her. "YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT-

"Stop it!"

"YOU ARE HELPLESS-

"STOP IT!"

"BUT THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO!" he shouted, so loud it scorched his windpipe. "ACCEPT IT, HERMIONE! THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN-

She slapped him. Hard.

And in the next second she was grabbing his face and smashing her lips into his.

Do what you need to do…

She sucked, licked, tasted, gorged.

Draco felt her claw her fingernails against his scalp and grab desperate fistfuls of his ice-blond hair to pull him even closer. As close as possible. He could taste her need behind her teeth and at the back of her mouth, and he knew he'd accomplished what he'd intended. He matched her; tongue for tongue and bite for bite, as his hands went wild over back, sides and waist.

All his.

But he willed himself to remain poised. This was about her. What she needed. And for a moment, that terrified him.

Her throaty moan glided over his tongue and brought him straight back to the now. Her. Twisting them together, he slammed her up against the tiles with a wet slap and dipped his hand between them to cup the heat between her thighs. Entering her with two fingers, as deep as he could, and thumbing her sex-bud with a practiced pressure that he knew made her tremble, he swallowed her sigh and kissed her hard. Hard enough split lips and coax blood. Her blood, his blood. It all tasted the same.

"Take what you need from me," he murmured, his husky tone rumbling between the heavy breaths and thrumming lips.

Keening and stabbing her nails into his shoulders, Hermione rocked her hips into his touch, encouraged by his words and too consumed to resist. Godric, she loved his hands and fingers - in her hair, on her skin, inside of her - and right now they were pushing perfectly against the enigmatic spot beneath her stomach, and coaxing smouldering sensations to flutter in her system.

But it wasn't enough.

"More," she whispered between clashing lips, hoping he would understand her meaning.

Draco immediately withdrew his hand and grabbed her thighs, hitching them up and snaking them around his torso. He didn't trust himself to slip between her folds. Not yet. He needed to keep his head. He was so hard that the muscle under his strained skin throbbed with pain. She'd never been like this; uninhibited and her nerves completely discarded as she let the passion and her need to forget overtake her, and it was so fucking arousing. But he needed to keep his head. It was about her.

Her. Her. Her.

She was breaking the kiss again.

"Draco," she hummed, like his pulse. "Please…

Catching her bottom lip between his teeth to stifle his groan, he hoisted her a little higher so he could grab his length, and the moment he'd pressed himself at her slit, she clamped her legs tighter and engulfed him. Draco sucked in a shallow breath at her unexpected and brazen movement, but this was what she needed; to let the instincts ride her and abandon thought.

Abandon reason.

Abandon everything but the flesh and the ache.

She was tugging at his arms, neck, face; anything she could reach to pull him into her. To melt them together. Her legs were like a possessive vice around him; locking him in her slick warmth, so tight that Draco shuddered. Blind lust. Raw. The most honest kind. He bucked into her, guided by the own desperate sways of her body to invent a rhythm of obliging thrusts to the sounds of smacking skin and the drumming shower. And is was fast.

Frantic.

Frenzied.

Feral.

Fucking friction. Everywhere. From their scraping teeth, to the thuds of hips, and the clawing hands; all wrapped up in humid steam and echoing whimpers. And Hermione was alive, almost knocking him of his feet as she writhed and tried to find her release. Find the fire. Hunt for it. A strangled sound tumbled out of her mouth when he pushed against the spot that burned her core and made her soul quake.

"There," she sighed, parting their lips and lifting her chin. "Kiss my neck."

Draco instantly buried his face into the sensitive curve by her shoulder and sucked her skin. He knew where his tongue teased her best; right under the line of her jaw and beneath her earlobes, and her fingernails grazed up his spine to confirm what he already knew. Her moans were louder now, no longer lost between lips, and they spilled into his ears and pushed him just that little bit closer to the edge.

But that was okay.

That was okay because he could feel the muscles in her legs beginning to tense and clench with spasmodic jolts, and her lusty mewls were climbing to a higher pitch.

There it is…

Nothing felt closer to bliss than those twitching ripples that marked the beginning of the end. The climax. The everything and anything. Like bold feathers gliding over steel. He couldn't help but tip his head back to witness her raptured features; eyes sealed, slack-jawed and her whole body rigid as she let it course through her veins, blood, bones. Anywhere it could reach.

Tucking his hand between them, his fingers sought to massage her swollen flesh again, just to make her sex-static last for those few extra moments. He let her absorb every millisecond of the madness, waiting until her internal flexes ceased before he stole two more thrusts and found his own release.

He smothered his choked groan into another kiss as he let go; his vision blurring at the edges, and the tension behind his navel bursting. Let her have him. His climax was short-lived; he'd worked solely around her needs and wants, and subsequently rushed his own desire, but he really didn't care. It had been for her.

Her. Her. Her.

But the exhaustion swept over Draco anyway, and he surged all his strength into his arms to keep his lover steady as his knees crumbled and caved. They slid down the tiles and landed in a graceless mess of weak limbs at the base of the shower; foreheads touching and panting so hard their lungs ached and threatened to rupture.

Hermione was completely limp against him as he used the remainder of his strength to gather her close and lace his fingers into her tangled curls. Trembling. Shivering. Relishing. The shower droplets sprinkled their flushed bodies, slowly bringing back normal sensations and urging their senses to function again.

Let it subside.

Let them linger.

"I…," Hermione struggled to speak through her heavy breaths. "I think I got a bit…carried away," she finished, and Draco could picture the blush crawling into her cheeks. "I'm sor-

"Don't you dare fucking apologise, Granger," he grunted.

.

.

Merlin knew how he managed it, but he'd carried them back into her bedroom and settled them at her window-seat, covered in a clumsy collage of damp blankets and towels as she rested her back against his chest and sat between his legs. He couldn't help but indulge in a private smirk as a sated sigh left her and shattered the lazy silence.

"Feel better now?" he asked with a cocky tone.

He could practically hear her brain working as it dawned on her. "You were winding me up on purpose before," she accused slowly. "Weren't you?"

"Very shrewd of you, Granger," he replied, his lips twitching with amusement. "Yes, I was."

"Dare I ask why?"

"Because you needed to vent," he provided with a blasé shrug. "Despite what you Gryffindors preach, sometimes anger is the answer."

Hermione tossed his statement around in her head and dampened her lips. "And you thought riling me up when you don't have a wand was a good idea?"

Draco snorted. "I'm pretty confident you won't be firing anymore hexes my way, Granger," he said. "I'm sure you like all of me in working order-

"You may have pushed me too far if you'd carried on," she warned, but it was half-hearted. "You were being a right tosser-

"But it worked," he reminded her smoothly. "So now we're past all the 'I'm fine' crap, we can move on-

"Godric, you are such a conniving git," she mumbled with an edge or irritation. "I suppose the sex was a nice little perk to your plan?"

"I didn't know you were going to pounce on me," Draco told her, his voice rich with mirth. "I assumed you would simply shout for a while and possibly give me a few slaps." His chuckle vibrated down her spine. "But it was certainly a decent surprise."

Her brow creased with thought. "You really didn't plan that?"

"I planned to piss you off," he explained with another shrug. "I didn't know exactly what you would do. But like I said; you needed to vent."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut before a word could escape. The temptation to point out that he had done something dangerously close to unselfish made her tongue tingle, so she clamped it between her teeth. With the shower-steam still ghosting across their skin and the atmosphere relaxed, she didn't dare risk a comment that would make him defensive and shatter the calm. And she felt…normal again; still inevitably upset about her parents, but better.

He had made her feel better.

He had thought about her.

The silence was stretching as her eyes fell to his leg, and she leaned forward to finger the scar she'd never noticed before. "How did you get this?"

"When I fell off my broom in the Quidditch match," he replied after a pause. "Second Year."

She hummed as the memory stained her brain. "And this one?" she asked, moving her inquisitive fingers to his other leg, just below his knee.

"Same as the other one."

Finding herself intrigued, she carefully shifted to face him and peeled away the blankets, leaving him bare and beautiful with only a towel to cover the tops of his legs and his crotch. Ignoring Draco's suspicious look, her eyes roamed him curiously and glinted when she found a thick mark on his arm. "I think I know this one," she couldn't help but smile, pointing to it. "Hippogriff?"

"Very fucking funny," he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

"No," she quipped, moving to his chest and finding another. "This one?"

Draco clenched his jaw and met her eyes. "That one's from the Curse Potter hit me with last year."

Cringing as the unavoidable tension drifted between them, she desperately searched for another scar to comment on, but the rest of him was apparently flawless. "Is that all of them?"

"You missed one," he told her, lips lifting into a smirk as he pointed to a barely-there mark by his nose. "Ring any bells?"

Her eyes widened as she peered at the tiny blemish. "From when I punched you?" she questioned, grinning when he nodded and eagerly abandoning the Sectumsempra scar. "You know, I'm not apologising for that."

Draco snorted. "I never asked you to."

"And I have one to match," she smiled, showing him the faint graze on her knuckles. "Should have known better than to punch your pointy face."

A sarcastic retort almost shot her down, but he let it fizzle in his mouth when he spotted the long, white mark on her shoulder. "Since we're on the topic," he said, gesturing to her flaw. "What's that from?"

"Last year," Hermione said, tilting her head to give it a glance. "Ron accidentally shoved me off the couch and I caught the table."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Weasley is such a clumsy twat," he muttered, but his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the rather nasty scar on her ribs, just peeking above her towel. "How the hell did you get that one?"

"Department of Mysteries," she frowned, adjusting the towel to hide it completely. "Dolohov got me with some Curse. Quite a bad one."

The uncomfortable silence returned.

Draco momentarily wondered how he'd missed the flaws to her sun-kissed skin, but maybe he'd just never really seen her before, or taken the time to look. That odd flicker in his gut was back with a vengeance; practically permanent now, and he still had no idea how to broach it, but he tried not give it any heed as Hermione slowly eased herself back into her previous position, leaning against him.

And he knew her; flaws and all, and it only seemed to encourage the inappropriate stirrings in his stomach.

She had scarred him.

And he didn't mean the mark on his face.

Hermione's mind was equally distracted, for she knew exactly how to identify the erratic sensations in her gut. She just didn't know what do about them.

And a scary thought had seeped into her skull.

Harry and Ron. Her parents. All gone.

And her separation from Draco was ultimately inevitable, no matter how much she'd been ignoring that fact.

What would she do when…

"Do you want to read another book?" she rushed out frantically, summoning her wand into her hand.

His sigh tickled her shoulder-blades. "Fine."

"Any preferences?"

"Not another depressing play," he remarked in a dry tone, secretly relieved for the distraction. "That Shakespeare bloke you're so bloody fond of must have been suicidal, or wanted his readers to be."

"He wrote comedies too," Hermione murmured, flicking her wand to Accio one of her favourites. "I love this one."

She felt his chin sink into her shoulder as she turned to the first page, adjusting the book against her knees so he would be able to read it comfortably. She'd selected A Midsummer Night's Dream; a book laced with magic, conflicts and forbidden romances.

And a happy ending.

Hermione closed her eyes.

Because that can happen in fiction.

Isolation Chapter 20: Tears

Chapter 20: Tears

Hermione read the damning paragraphs again, blinking away the tears that blurred the words and burned her eyes. She focussed on one of the photographs, recognising the Finch-Fletchleys, Justin's parents, from when she'd seen them at King's Cross a few years ago.

She lifted her chin and gave McGonagall a pleading look. "Is Justin-

"He's alive," the Headmistress explained quickly. "He was visiting his Grandparents when it happened."

"Poor Justin," she whispered sadly, swallowing back a sob. "He must b-be devastated."

Her misty eyes moved to the other three photographs; each featuring a married Muggle couple with beaming smiles to serve as a reminder of how they once were. The eight adults had been murdered in the week between Christmas and New Year's Day, all showing signs of torture before the Killing Curse had been used to silence their screams. She wasn't familiar with the names, but she knew their stories well.

"They're all parents of Muggle-borns, aren't they?" she questioned sadly, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," McGonagall nodded, and Hermione could never recall seeing the other witch so shaken. "The Creevey residence was also broken into, but they were fortunately out of the country."

Hermione's eyes fell to the final two pictures; two boys, no older than fifteen, who had attended the wizarding school, Bryn Glas, in Wales. A tear slipped down her cheek as she studied their youthful faces and felt the sorrow overpower her chest. Tortured and killed, just like their parents.

"They're so young," she mumbled. "Too young."

"I know," McGonagall sighed, placing a comforting hand on her student's back. "The Death Eaters are becoming more active-

"Then we should be more active," Hermione forced determination into her voice. "We should be making plans-

"There is only one plan I wish to discuss with you at the moment," she interrupted, somewhat uncomfortably. "The plan that you mentioned to me when you first came back to Hogwarts-

"You mean Obliviate-ing my parents and making them leave the country," she clarified with a deceptively even tone, brushing aside her tears with a trembling hand. "Yes, I remember."

McGonagall grimaced. "Hermione-

"They always wanted to go to Australia," she commented distantly. "I think they would be safe there."

"I know this isn't easy on you," the older witch frowned. "But I fear that things are getting worse-

"I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this," Hermione confessed dejectedly, surrendering to the batch of tears sliding past her lids. "I mean…I know that it is the most sensible and safest option for everyone, but…it…it's just hard-

"I know it is," the Headmistress said gently, giving Hermione's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as she pulled her into a hug. "Perhaps it would be best if I did it-

"No," she argued firmly. "No, I should be the one to do it. They're my parents." She hesitated and nibbled her lip. "My Mum and Dad."

"Then I will do everything I can to help," McGonagall promised, releasing the younger witch and giving her apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but it would be wise to do this as soon as possible."

Hermione gulped back the lump in her throat and forced some stability into her posture. "How soon?"

"Tomorrow," she said in a strained voice. "Early in the morning; before the sun rises. I thought about going tonight, but I think it's best you have a bit of time to prepare the Charm…and yourself. Are you certain are skilled enough with the Memory Charms?"

"Yes," she nodded absently. "I'll convince them to move to Australia, give them fake names and…and make them forget me. I can do that. I can."

"Hermione, you know you can't tell anyone where exactly you plan to send them, unless it is absolutely necessary."

"I know."

"Hermione," the Headmistress breathed wearily, meeting the younger witch's eyes. "If there was any other option to guarantee their safety and yours-

"But there isn't," she finished. "It's okay, professor. I knew what the risks were when I mentioned the idea to you. I know what I'm doing."

McGonagall bowed her head in acceptance. "Very well," she said. "If you come here just before six, it should still be dark enough to go unnoticed. I will Apparate us-

"That's fine," Hermione mumbled, unsure what else she could say. "I should go-

"Would you like to stay for a bit?" the aging witch offered, with concern dripping from her voice. "Perhaps some tea and biscuits would-

"Help?" she supplied doubtfully. "I don't think so, Professor."

"Well, then perhaps you'd like a bite to eat-

"No, it's fine," the young brunette declined as she hastily turned to leave, feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the Head's office. "I should get an early night and look over my books on Memory Charms-

"Hermione," McGonagall called before she could reach the door. "It will be alright."

She flinched at her professor's assuring words and wondered why people were always so quick to offer flimsy promises in times of war. She was too much of a logical person to remain optimistic in this case, and she knew the likelihood that the Memory Charms could be reversed was fifty-fifty, and that wasn't even considering whether they would win the war, or if she would be able to find them.

The fact was; if she died in this war, her parents would neither know nor care, because they wouldn't know who she was.

"I'll see you in the morning, Professor," she murmured. "Goodnight."

Hermione rushed out of the room before McGonagall could futilely attempt to console her again, and her shaky legs moved into a desperate sprint to get back to her dorm. She dashed down the empty and shadow-silent corridors; hot tears spilling from her eyes as she whipped around the corners and stuttered out her password. Shutting the door behind her, she gave the space a quick scan to ensure Draco was still in his bedroom, before she leaned back and willed herself to find some composure.

She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and dug her fingernails into her scalp as she forced herself not to cry. She was so angry at herself; this had been all her idea, and she should have been more emotionally prepared, but the dread was laced around every one of her tense muscles, and the sorrow was wrapped painfully around her heart.

Everyone she loved was slowly disappearing; Harry and Ron, and now her parents. Who was next?

"Granger?" his voice startled her. "What the hell are you doing?"

She quickly straightened her back and attempted to discreetly rub away the damp tracks on her cheeks before her blood-shot gaze sought him. He was just outside his bedroom, studying her with curious eyes that made her feel far too vulnerable and completely revealed for him to read.

"Nothing," she mumbled, clearing her throat when it sounded too scratchy. "Nothing-

"Doesn't look like nothing," Draco commented dryly, frowning when he noticed the glittering remains of tears locked between her lashes. "Have you been crying?"

"No," she said quickly. Too quickly. She lowered her head and made for her room. "I have some things I need to do-

"Hold on," he argued, moving into her path. "You're hiding something-

"Move out of my way-

"No," he refused sternly. "Don't lie to me-

"Draco, I swear," she warned, but her voice cracked. "If you don't move-

"Just tell me what's wrong," he persisted, grabbing her wrist and trying to see her face. "Has someone hurt you?"

"No, Draco," she shook her head fiercely, trying pull away. "Just get off me-

"Not until you tell me what's wrong-

"LET GO OF ME!" Hermione screamed, snatching back her hand with a surge of anger. "WHY DON'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?"

"What the FUCK is your problem?" he spat furiously. "I only asked-

"Well, don't!" she retorted, slipping around him and scrambling for her room. "I just want to be left alone-

"FINE!" Draco yelled at her back, his barks fuelled by his sense of rejection. "IF YOU WANT TO BE ALONE, YOU CAN FUCKING BE ALONE!"

Hermione slammed the bedroom door behind her to cut his shouts short, and muttered a quick Silencing Charm to ensure she couldn't hear him, and he couldn't hear her. If she was going to succumb to another round of sobs, she didn't want him to know about it. She couldn't deal with Draco right now; she needed all of her attention on her parents, and she refused to let him muddle her tempestuous thoughts when her Mum and Dad required every morsel of her racing mind.

Priorities. Priorities. Priorities.

She drew in a shuddering breath to ease her shaking limbs before she grabbed her book on Memory Spells and hunched over her desk. She'd read the text countless times and the sentences were so familiar, but for the next six hours she concentrated on engraving them into her skull and practicing the angles of her wand. Hermione did everything she could to remain composed and focussed, but every now and then, a tell-tale tear would kiss a page and betray her torment.

When her lids began to flutter around midnight, she decided that it was wise to at least try and steal a few hours' sleep if she wanted to be alert and capable for the heart-numbing task in the morning. Her movements were sluggish as she undressed and crawled under her covers, mentally reciting the passages from the book and trying to ignore the fact that her parents would forget her before breakfast.

Her mind slipped to the argument with Draco, almost accidentally, and she wished that she'd handled it differently.

She could have done with his arms around her tonight.

.

.

Draco drummed his agitated fingernails against the desk.

After Granger had left him in a frustrated state, he had stomped pointlessly around the dorm in an effort to blow off some steam, but he had found himself screaming at her locked door no less than five times without a response. He didn't know what annoyed him more; how she had behaved, or the fact that he had no idea why she'd screamed at him to leave her alone, before she'd isolated herself in her room.

He hated not having his wand.

Just a quick spell and he could have barged in there to demand what had affected her so much, and he would be lying to himself if he didn't realise there was a certain degree of protectiveness that needed to know the reason for her tears. The concept of someone hurting her, be it physically or emotionally, made his head throb and his blood curdle. He had no idea when this new and intense regard for her welfare had settled into his system, mingling with all the other notions that shouldn't have been there, but it was driving him insane.

He just wanted to know what, or who, had upset her; needed to know.

His storm-grey eyes studied his empty bed bitterly.

He'd spent less and less nights in his room, and when he did it was a voluntary decision on the days when he remembered that he shouldn't be interested in his Muggle-born lover. Those protests in his head and pride had been getting quieter recently, and the thought of sleeping alone in here made him feel cold and uneasy.

He rested his brow against his knuckles and released a heavy breath.

He had a feeling the nightmares would return to haunt him tonight.

.

.

The morning sky was that dark shade of winter-indigo when McGonagall Apparated them to her street. Hermione could hear the distant hum of the Milkman's van, but that was the only sign that life was beginning to stir, and the pavements were completely empty except for a light frosting of snow and a couple of wandering cats. She eyed her house and frowned at the dim light coming from the living room; she knew her parents were early risers, but she had hoped she could do it while they were sleeping.

"Are you certain you don't want me to do this for you?" the Headmistress questioned next to her.

"I'm sure," she nodded tiredly.

McGonagall sighed and gave Hermione's shoulder a reassuring pat. "Very well," she said. "I will be waiting here for you when you're finished. If you need any help or you change your mind-

"I'll be fine," Hermione replied stiffly, taking a few steps forward. "I won't be long."

She inhaled a lungful of the crisp air, before she Apparated into her bedroom with a loud snap. Everything was as she'd left it; her bed made and her shelves bare, save the few trinkets she hadn't taken to Hogwarts. She licked her lips and studied the fragile posters that had been stuck to her walls since she was thirteen, and the stubborn stain on her carpet from when she had dropped her orange juice after discovering she was a witch. The room was rich with memories and the murmurs of her past, but the painful swell of emotion in her chest was interrupted by something nuzzling up against her calves.

"Crooks," she whispered affectionately, kneeling down to gather her beloved pet in her arms. "I missed you, boy." Her rusty-coloured cat rubbed his face against her cheek and purred appreciatively as she held him close.

"You're going to live with me again," she told him quietly, frowning when she heard the movements of her parents downstairs. "But I need to do something first, so you have to be a good boy and stay quiet for me, okay? Can you wait by the front door for me, Crooks?"

Releasing Crookshanks, Hermione watched him skip away from her before she gave her room another thoughtful scan and resigned herself to the task at hand. She cast a quick charm to silence her footsteps and slowly made her way down the stairs; absently running her fingers across the family portraits that were hung in the hallways.

The familiar sound of the television floated towards her, and she turned into her sitting room to find her parents sat on the couch, their backs to her as they sipped their morning teas and watched the news. The smell of burned toast filled her nostrils, reminding her of how endearingly clumsy her Dad could be, and how her Mum would eat it anyway because she loved him too much to complain.

Hermione hesitated in the doorway as the agony threatened to overwhelm her, but she shoved it aside, knowing her mind needed to be clear in order to do this. She wanted to do it now, before they realised she was there and she had to deal with the heartbreak of meeting their confused eyes. Catching a whimper in her windpipe, she raised her wand with a trembling hand and mentally prepared herself for the magic she was about to perform.

"I love you both so much," she breathed, but her voice was drowned out by the television. A lone tear crawled down her cheek as she sealed her eyes and concentrated on the spell with everything she had. "Obliviate."

She reluctantly peeled back her lids to watch her faces disappear from the photographs, and she would swear to Godric she could feel herself being erased from her parents' minds. Knowing she barely had minutes before their brains caught up with all the new and false information, she took a step towards them and kept her arms rigid at her sides. The temptation to reach out and just give them a parting hug was devastating, and it took every sliver of her control to refrain.

Instead, she lifted her fingers to her lips and blew them a kiss. "I promise I will find you when this is over," she exhaled behind them, before she bowed her head and turned to leave.

That was it.

No family. No Harry and Ron. War.

She stole a second to mourn her childhood and the family who didn't know she existed.

Crookshanks was waiting loyally by the door, his head tilted to the side with something that resembled worry. Scooping him back into her hold, she clung to him for dear life as she gave her home a final grieving glance, before she left it behind. Her lungs ached with suppressed sobs as she spotted McGonagall, and she straightened her back in an effort to look strong.

"That didn't take long," the professor commented, extending her arm to give the cat a quick pat. "How did it go?"

"Fine," Hermione answered vaguely. "It went as expected."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she lied, lifting her chin to enhance her façade. "We should go back before someone sees us."

.

.

Hermione made her excuses and rushed to her room, desperately desiring solitude and an escape from the sympathetic gaze that McGonagall had fixed her with since she had altered her parents' memories. She'd intended to lock herself away in her room and scream until she felt normal, but her legs crumbled beneath her the moment she entered her dorm.

Crookshanks tumbled out of her hold as she sank to the floor, and she just didn't have it in her to even try and get up. She embraced her legs against her chest and dropped her forehead against her knees as she surrendered to the inevitable, and allowed the broken cries to tear through her throat. Her faithful pet nudged at her with mews of concern for his distressed owner, but she didn't notice; she simply wept into her jeans and pleaded for the crippling pain in her chest to ebb.

That was how Draco found her; a fractured and shuddering mess that made him freeze. His shrinking prejudices battled with his new-found feelings for her, but when she released another cracked cry, his feet lead him to her side too quickly to comprehend or dispute. He crouched next to her and warily studied his witch, hunting for any hint for her misery, but the only thing that seemed out of place was the distressed cat pawing at her feet.

"Are you hurt?" he mumbled doubtfully, but she didn't give any indication that she was aware of his presence. "Granger, what's wrong?"

Nothing. Not a flinch.

He gathered every shred of patience he had and stroked aside some of her chaotic curls so he could see her face. Something about the tortured expression marring her features made his gut spasm, and it affected him in a way that was completely foreign to him.

"Granger," Draco tried again. "What is it?"

Still nothing.

Exhaling with frustration, his fingers subconsciously rubbed the nape of her neck in soothing circles. "Hermione," he sighed. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Finally, he saw something; just a subtle flicker in her broken-hearted gaze that let him know she'd heard him. He found himself holding his breath as she turned her head a little to acknowledge him and struggled to calm her erratic whimpers.

"My…my room," she managed in a small voice.

"Alright," Draco muttered, gently taking her arm and tossing it across his shoulders before he rested one hand against her back, and the other under her knees. He got to his feet and lifted her with him, holding her tight as he headed for her door. Every one of her shivers and moans vibrated against his chest as he carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the bed, seating himself on the edge as she curled up on her side with her back to him.

"I…I want to b-be alone," she stuttered as Crookshanks hopped up on the bed and settled at the foot.

Draco pursed his lips. "Granger, I don't think-

"Please, Draco," she groaned.

The raw desperation in her voice made him cringe, and he released a haggard breath of assent before he eased himself off her bed and made to leave. He lingered in the doorframe for a moment, and glanced over his shoulder at the withering witch, realising with a sense of dread that he'd never been so…aware of another person. Salazar, strike him down, but he couldn't help it.

With a weary shake of his head, he shut her door behind him, and frowned as her sobs leaked from her room, and followed him around for the remainder of the day.

.

.

It was broaching three in the morning when Draco decided he'd had enough. After a day of dragging and testing hours, he had considered every possible explanation for her grief until his head had hurt and his tolerance had simmered.

He knew he needed to be tactical and delicate with his approach if he wanted to discover the reason for Granger's behaviour, and in an odd moment of consideration, he made her a cup of tea. It took a few attempts before he was satisfied, and with the steaming mug in his hand, he pushed open her door, and an unsettling sensation scratched down his spine when he saw her on the bed.

Hermione had pulled her body up into a sitting position and cocooned herself in one of her thick blankets. Her lips were trembling and bruised, no doubt from her incessant chewing habit when she was anxious, and her posture was slumped with defeat, but it was the look in her eyes that made Draco's questionable soul falter. Her cries had stopped but her cheeks were glossed with hours-old tears, and the look in her distant gaze was haunting; beautifully broken and reminiscent of a corpse's empty stare. Steeling himself, he neared her with purpose, placing her tea on the bedside table and sinking into the mattress opposite her, but she looked right through him.

"Come on, Granger," he started, his tone more clipped than he'd intended. "Snap out of it. You have more strength than this."

Hermione didn't blink.

"What's happened?" he tried a different approach. "Is it…Is it Potter and Weasley?"

Simply silence, and that same glassy gaze of nothing.

"Fucking hell, Hermione," he hissed, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him. "Stop this. Tell me what the hell has happened."

Her lids fell shut and Draco clenched his jaw with growing agitation. Touching their foreheads together, his thumbs soothed away the damp evidence of her mourning hours, and he allowed the pride-killing truth to stumble out of his mouth.

"Come back to me, Granger," he bade in a barely-there voice. "I…," Salazar, forgive me. "I need you."

A drugging rush of relief swept through him when she snapped open her eyes and looked at him; not through him. Her tear-heavy lashes fluttered as she licked her lips, and he didn't dare speak for fear that she would return to her catatonic state.

"My Mum and Dad don't know who I am," she murmured finally, and his brow creased with confusion. "Muggles were…were being murdered, and I had to make sure they'd be safe…

Draco didn't say a word, because he had no idea what he could possibly say. He had questions, but his instincts warned him to wait until she had crested some peace of mind before he had any hope of dragging the specifics out of her. He shifted awkwardly on the bed; comforting people was hardly his forte at the best of times, and he reasoned that perhaps his actions would do more to alleviate her pain than his uncertain words.

Pressing his face a little harder into hers so their noses touched, he tugged her into his lap, perhaps a little too roughly, and tangled his limbs around her. His witch clutched at his arms and chest, like she was trying to melt into him or share his warmth. Leaning forward, Draco plucked the cup of tea from the table and shoved it into her hand.

"Drink this," he told her. "You haven't had anything today." He watched her intently as she brought the drink to her lips to take tentative sip, and she hummed in thought before giving him a confused look. "What?" he questioned.

"You make nice tea," Hermione mumbled thoughtfully, and she felt his scoff of irony-laced amusement ruffle her hair.

"I'll take you're word for it," he said, loosening his arms around her. "Granger, I-

"Do you know what the worst thing is?" she interrupted him, her voice a mixture of distress and resentment now. "I never…I never thought it was in me to truly hate someone; I mean really hate someone…to the point that I wish they were dead."

Draco cringed at her cracked tone but decided it was best to let her speak and empty her burdened mind. His fingers toyed with the tips cocoa-tinted curls as he listened to her empty her soul for him with a sobering level of trust.

"V-Voldemort has ripped apart so many lives and childhoods," she continued, lifting her chin and meeting his eyes. "Harry's, Neville's," she listed, reaching for his hand and grasping it tight. "Even yours."

Draco exhaled and eyed their entwined fingers with an odd sensation tickling his stomach. "Granger-

"I hate him," she spat angrily, as fresh tears fell from her hazels. "I really hate him-

"Granger, breathe," he instructed steadily, a little relieved to hear the fire back in her voice. "Drink some more tea-

"Thank you," she blurted suddenly, and Draco's head jerked up in surprise. "For listening to me. I…I feel a little better."

He gave her an uncomfortable nod and frowned as he watched a betraying tear splash against his knuckles. Listening to the synchronised thuds of their hearts, he tilted his head to catch her lips with a brief but reassuring kiss. Evidently, her melancholy was far from over, but he knew she would chase it away in her own time, because she was too strong to be lost in a lamenting limbo.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked quietly.

"I'm tired," Hermione confessed, fidgeting in his arms and giving him that look when she was about to ask something she knew he wouldn't like. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

He hesitated but slowly bowed his head with compliance before carefully manoeuvring them under the covers, and allowing his lover to bury her face into his chest and sniff away some stubborn tears into his jumper. As he tossed a lazy arm across her waist, he realised they'd never done this before; simply slept together without the exhaustion of post-coital bliss lingering between them.

If anyone ever asked him in the future, he would say that this was the point when he acknowledged that his feelings for Granger had reached a potent, and ultimately dangerous, level. So strong had they become, that he could honestly say they had blinded him to her impure blood.

He really didn't care anymore.