Isolation Chapter 27: Truth

Chapter 27: Truth

Draco gawped at Luna Lovegood like she had just predicted the day he would die. The seemingly innocent blonde flicked her eyes from Blaise over to him, and she had a slight bend to her smile that suddenly seemed deliberate and intuitive, as though she had purged his mind and kept all his secrets for leverage. And then she blinked and turned her back to them, idly washing her hands in the sink and humming under her breath like the ditzy girl he'd always assumed she was.

He moved his baffled stare to Blaise, who was now wearing a subtle smirk and the telling look of a man who had answers. Draco frowned and risked a glance at Theo, expecting to see a similar expression of cocky recognition, but he looked just as confused as Draco felt.

"What are you on about, Lovegood?" Theo asked over his shoulder.

"Nothing," she replied breezily.

Theo arched a dark eyebrow. "Looks like she's having one of her funny turns again," he mumbled, and his head jolted forward when Blaise dealt him a firm smack to the base of his skull. "OW! What the hell-

"Mind your mouth," his friend warned quietly. "You're such a gobby prick-

"You need to gain a sense of humour, sunshine-

"I swear on Salazar's grave, Theo-

"I was going to start some of the washing," Luna announced, and again, Draco observed the clenched muscles in Blaise's face relax. "Would one of you mind helping me? I could do with an extra set of hands."

"Sorry, Lovegood," Theo shrugged, nodding his head at Draco. "We're in the middle of something-

"Theo, go and give Luna a hand," Blaise interrupted. "I want to talk to Malfoy alone."

"What? Why the hell should you-

"Because you're getting on my nerves and you might as well do something useful," he grumbled, tilting his head and catching Luna's eyes for a brief moment with an almost apologetic twitch of his lips. "I'm serious, Theo. Give me an hour and then you can hassle Malfoy all you like-

"But, Blaise-

"Theo, stop bitching like a first year Hufflepuff," he warned. "Either go and help Luna, or I'll have 'Dromeda confiscate your wand again."

Theo fired Blaise an irate glare and growled, smacking his palms down on the table and brusquely leaving his seat with a piercing screech of his chair and a muttered list of profanities under his breath. "One hour," he bit out, making his way towards the door. "And remind me to spit in your food later for being such a wanker. Come on, Lovegood."

"Why would you remind him to spit in your food?" Luna asked as she made to follow him. "Seems like a silly thing to say."

"He says a lot of shit," Blaise mumbled, reaching out to brush his fingers against her forearm before she slipped past. "If he behaves like a tosser; Petrify him, lock him in a cupboard or something, and I'll deal with it afterwards."

"Okay," she nodded with smiling eyes, and Draco almost choked on the air when she lifted a hand to gently touch Blaise's cheek. "You look a little stressed. Have some of that herbal tea I bought you."

"Maybe later," he agreed, his eyes lingering on Luna's back as she retreated out of the room. With the closing click of the door, his features quickly morphed back into a stern frown, and he met Draco with a cautionary stare. "Wipe that look off your face, Malfoy-

"You and Lovegood?" he blurted incredulously. "What the fuck was that?"

"It's none of your business unless I decide otherwise-

"But she's-

"Shut it," he snapped. "I'm not prepared to discuss the details of my relationship with Luna with you just yet-

"And if you knew I was in Hogwarts, then why ask me?"

"To see if you would tell the truth," Blaise said calmly, the words slow and deliberate. "Would you have told the truth?"

"Why should I?" he retorted. "You're not being honest with me-

"I have been nothing but honest with you, Malfoy. I told you we had defected-

"Yes, but you haven't explained why," he interrupted. "You haven't explained how you all got here. And what the hell is Lovegood doing here if this is a safe-house for people who have defected?"

Blaise rubbed his lips together with thought and released a long breath. "Luna's here because she and her father have been helping 'Dromeda to keep us hidden."

"Right, then what about you and the others?"

Another thoughtful pause. "Theo and I came here a few weeks after you went missing. Davis and Bulstrode had already been here a couple of weeks, and Bletchley came a few days after Theo and I-

"Yes, but how-

"Dumbledore approached me in sixth year when he saw me putting my fist through a window," he continued, smirking when Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Come on, Malfoy. Did you honestly think you were the only Slytherin Dumbledore was keeping an eye on? The world doesn't revolve around you, you know-

"What the fuck?" Draco scowled, clenching his fists until his knuckles clicked. "That doesn't make any sense. Last year you-

"Are you going to shut your gob and let me explain, or not?" Blaise snapped, waiting until Draco sat back in his seat before he resumed. "I didn't listen to Dumbledore straight away but…," he hesitated and cleared his throat. "But when I saw how fucked up you were after taking the Mark, I knew I didn't want to end up like you-

"Cheers, mate-

"So he asked me to keep an eye on you," he revealed in a measured tone. "He knew what you'd been told to do, and he'd hoped you would back out of your…mission, but he knew you were determined. That's why he left a couple of signs; hoping you would defect before it was too late-

"Signs?" Draco repeated. "What signs?"

"Who do you think asked Myrtle to talk to you in the toilets?" he remarked flippantly. "Did you think it was a coincidence that the Muggle-born ghost just always happened to be around? And why do you think Snape was always there to bail you out of trouble?"

"You're serious?" Draco breathed in shock, but he quickly veiled it with a snarl. "And I guess Theo was spying on me for Dumbledore too?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "After you took the Mark, all the Death Eaters started volunteering their kids too to boost numbers for You-Know-Who's army, and Theo's father jumped right on the bandwagon. When I found Theo having a breakdown in his room, I told him to see Dumbledore, but it took a lot of convincing-

"Hang on a minute," Draco mumbled absently. "You said you came here after I disappeared, but Dumbledore was dead-

"I was getting to that," Blaise cut him off. "A few days after you vanished, my village bike of a mother made Theo's dad husband number eight-

"What? You and Theo are step-brothers?"

"Technically, yes," Blaise nodded, rolling his heavy brown eyes. "But we reckon with my mother's track record as a seven-time widow, it won't last long. Anyway, Theo's father is a huge prick and elected both Theo and I to take the Mark. We did a runner and Dumbledore must have told McGonagall that he'd spoken to us because the Knight Bus took us to some house in Essex, and she was waiting for us. She brought us to 'Dromeda, and we've been here since."

"Bloody hell," he murmured. "But it's just you five? What about Crabbe and Goyle, or Pansy?"

"Crabbe and Goyle are doing the only thing they're good at; following orders," Blaise remarked with a hint of disgust. "They're probably bent over a desk right now and spreading their cheeks. As for Parkinson, the last I heard she had opted herself for the Mark and was helping her dear old Daddy with rounding up Muggle-borns."

Draco felt a surge of disappointment. His former classmates and lover had always been weak-willed - hell, that was what had initially made them such useful allies - but he was suddenly aware of how much the dynamics and circumstances had changed since he'd been in Hogwarts. "Bugger me," he whispered. "Pansy took the Mark?"

"Are you honestly that surprised?"

"No," he admitted after a moment, dropping his face into his hands and massaging his throbbing temple.. "This is all just…fucked up."

"You wanted the truth, so there it is," Blaise reminded him, leaning forward in his chair with intrigue. "So, now it's your turn to be honest."

"You already know I was at Hogwarts," Draco sighed, his voice muffled against his palms. "What else could you possibly want to know?"

"How about what you were doing with Hermione Granger on Christmas day by the Black Lake," he countered, his lips tilting into a very Slytherin smirk, and Draco's head snapped up so quick his neck cracked. "Oh yes. Luna mentioned that as well."

.

.

She'd needed to get of her room, and the kitchen felt less claustrophobic with its essential supply of coffee and biscuits, so she'd left Crookshanks snoozing on her bed and opted for the solitude that echoed off the tiles.

Hermione was hunched over the dining table, scanning the sentences with exhausted eyes and searching for something useful amongst the hectic mess of witness accounts and Auror statements from the First Wizarding War. Shacklebolt had managed to recover some old Ministry documents and restricted texts before Voldemort's infiltration, but endless hours of pouring over pages had proved futile thus far, and a volatile mixture of insomnia and heartache was making her fidgety and impatient. She was staring intently at the file between her elbows when a tear slipped past her lashes and kissed the parchment.

"Merlin, not again," she sighed to no one, lifting her fingers to rub her eyes until the friction started to agitate. "This is ridiculous."

The tears never really stopped; only subsided, and Hermione had learned three things in the last few days.

Firstly, it was better to tolerate the damaging effects of sleep-deprivation than to confront the nightmare she'd had on her first night alone; an exact replay of her final moments with Draco, except when she'd pulled away from their one-sided kiss, there'd been blood crawling down his chin, and she'd woken up screaming, retching and convinced she could taste iron against her tongue.

Secondly, the line between dedication and obsession is precariously thin. She had almost become dependent on her determination to help the Order, and a little voice in her head warned that if she put down the books, it would all become too real, and she might not handle it as well as everyone expected her to. She surrounded herself with her work, coating the walls in her borrowed room with notes she had scribbled, and only pausing to eat, nap or practice some defensive spells with Moody or Lupin. The world around her was blurred and muffled, and that was how she needed it right now. Distraction would keep her grounded; keep her sane.

And lastly, sometimes it was irrelevant how hard she focussed on her tasks. Random flashbacks - be them blissful memories or disturbing ones - penetrated her concentration without regard almost hourly, always leaving her dizzy and trembling ever so slightly. The moment would pass, she would berate herself for allowing her attention to waver, and then she would get on with life, dreading the next one. They seemed to harass her most in the shower, sometimes so vivid that the steam seemed to whisper with Draco's voice, but she had taken to having the water ice cold so her senses were on edge and she would be alert enough to snap out of it.

For the most part, she had managed to keep her composure, but every now and then, an inconvenient tear would splash against her books, like now, but she would hide it before anyone would notice.

Vulnerability was not her colour.

"Hermione," Tonks' warm voice made her start. "Please don't tell me you've been up all night."

"No," she lied automatically, stealing a glance at the clock. It was almost eight, and she wondered where the last four hours had gone. She hadn't even noticed the morning birds or the faint glow of the sun. "I just woke up early."

"If you say so," Tonks mumbled, obviously unconvinced as she slumped into the opposite chair with a little difficulty. "I think the baby has actually figured out a way to squeeze my bladder."

Hermione cracked a smile, but it was strained. "Do you want me to make you some breakfast or something?"

"No, I'll wait until Remus wakes up," she said. "Any luck with those files from the Ministry?"

"Nothing really, but I'm not really sure what I'm looking for. Just some clue about the Horcruxes, I guess."

"I'll give you a hand after we've had some food," she offered, and then she fixed the younger witch with a reassuring look. "He'll be okay, you know."

Hermione felt her heartbeats hesitate, and her stomach did a nervous flip. "What?" she asked in a croaky voice. "Who will be okay?"

"Whoever it is you're missing," Tonks said as though it was obvious. "I'm guessing it's the boy you mentioned when I visited you before Christmas?"

"I'm fine, Tonks," Hermione mumbled, dropping her eyes back to the book. "I just miss Harry and Ron-

"You've barely talked sine you've been here, and I recognise that look of girl missing her-

"I'm really fine," she interrupted quickly. Almost frantically. "I just…I need to concentrate on this right now, and I can't-

"If you want to talk about him, you can talk to me," Tonks pushed, frowning when Hermione shook her head. "You know, you need to have a break every now and then or you'll drive yourself mad-

"Tonks, please," she tried. "Don't."

"Just one question, and I'll drop the subject," Tonks insisted. "If you answer honestly, I promise I won't mention him again."

Huffing out a frustrated sigh and combing her hair away from her face, Hermione hesitantly tipped her head in agreement. "Fine. One question, but that's it."

"Okay," she said gently, taking her time. "Does he love you back?"

And Hermione closed her eyes so Tonks wouldn't see her torment. The tears were back and burning the backs of her lids, but she'd be damned if she let one slide down her cheek.

"I honestly have no idea."

.

.

"Granger," Draco echoed her name before he could help it, because it just didn't sound right coming from Blaise's mouth. A sudden headache pounded behind his eyes and he clenched them shut, forgetting to keep his expression trained with indifference.

"Then I guessed right," his companion remarked smugly. "You were fucking her."

The thud of Draco's fist against the table sent a glass tumbling to the floor, and Blaise warily shifted in his seat. "Don't talk about her like that," Draco hissed between his bared teeth. "I'm warning you, Zabini."

Blaise had the decency to look slight taken aback. "So, it was more than fucking," he mumbled, ignoring Draco's incensed glare. "You like her-

"Zabini, I swear to Merlin-

"Calm down, Malfoy," he said. "There's no reason to get so defensive. Luna had her suspicions. Hell, I owe her five Galleons now-

"Bollocks," he scoffed. "Since when is Loony Lovegood observant?"

"You'd be surprised," Blaise replied with a subtle grin. "So are you going to tell me what happened between you and Granger? Or would you prefer I jump to conclusions?"

"I'd prefer you minded your own sodding business," Draco spat, his body beginning to vibrate as he became more infuriated. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Malfoy," he breathed impatiently. "I am trying to do you a favour. If your views on Muggle-borns have changed because of Granger, like I reckon they have, then I might be able to trust you, and that would make your situation a lot easier."

Draco narrowed his eyes into suspicious slits. "And how exactly do you feel about Muggle-borns now, Blaise? You hated them just as much as I did-

"No I didn't," he argued quickly. "Did you ever hear me use the word, 'Mudblood?' And the only step-dad who didn't treat me like shit was a half-blood with a Muggle mother. I met her back and fifth year and she was nice as hell-

"But you called people blood traitors and-

"It's all semantics," he said flippantly. "I just repeated what you lot did. I didn't even know what Mudblood meant until you said it to Granger in second year." Blaise paused to watch Draco cringe at that comment. "Which brings us back to the very interesting present; you and Granger."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he snarled quietly, tapping his finger against the table with frustration.

"Maybe a little bit," Blaise smirked. "Irony tastes good in the morning-

"Fuck you, Zabini. It's not a joke-

"Well, if you would stop being so bloody secretive, perhaps I might take it more seriously-

"No, you wouldn't!" Draco barked loudly, sucking in a sharp breath. "You just…You wouldn't fucking get it, Blaise!"

"Oh really?" he challenged. "In case you missed it, I am romantically involved with Luna bloody Lovegood. You know, the girl we tortured in Hogwarts, and a loyal supporter of the Order. If there's anyone who's going to understand, it's me, Draco, so you might as well just-

"YES! FINE!" he yelled, springing up from his chair and pacing a few steps away so he wouldn't have to look at Blaise. "Whatever the hell is going on between you and Lovegood, Granger and I are in the same boat! Wait, fuck that! We WERE in the same boat! But now I'm here and I don't know where the hell she is, and I don't know WHAT THE FUCK TO DO!"

He froze where he stood, forcing tension into his limbs to stop them shaking, and trying to steady his heaving chest. The heat of his temper was simmering under his skin, and he shook his head, feeling that same destructive sense of helplessness from the night Hermione had left. He could feel Blaise's eyes studying him, but he refused to meet them, transfixed on a crack in the wall and not trusting himself to move.

"She was the only thing made sense," he murmured before he could think, doubting Blaise would even hear him. "And now she's gone, there is…nothing. Nothing that makes sense." He glanced at his silent companion and knew that he'd heard every word. "Go on then, Zabini. Say what whatever you're going to say."

Blaise stayed still for a moment, his expression impassive, before he slowly nodded his head with something between satisfaction and approval. "Welcome to 'The Enlightened,'" he said evenly. "Sit back down, Draco. We're going to have a coffee, and you look like you could do with something to eat."

"That's it?" he questioned sceptically.

"I've heard what I needed to hear," Blaise shrugged. "If you want to tell me more, you can, but I just wanted to be certain that your being here is justified and safe."

Draco cocked a brow and hesitantly retook his seat. "Will you tell the others?"

"That you're in love with Granger? No-

"I never said I was in love with her," he retorted hastily. "I never used that bloody word-

"So you don't love her?"

"I…" he started uncertainly, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I am not even going to dignify that with a response. What would you say if I asked if you loved Lovegood?"

"I would say I do," Blaise answered without a flinch, and Draco's jaw sagged with disbelief. "So what?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Malfoy, in case you haven't noticed we're in the middle of a war," he said with a slight flicker of dread. "We could all die tomorrow, and Luna deserves to know she isn't just some shag-buddy to pass the time. Aside from that, I don't give a flying fuck what anyone thinks, and that includes you. So, if you didn't tell Granger how you really felt, then more fool you, because I hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but you might never see her again."

And although it didn't show on his face, Blaise's words stabbed at Draco's chest like splinters, and he felt sick to his stomach as a crushing wave of regret stuck him. "I will see her again," he disputed, but the doubt was so obvious in his voice. "I will."

Blaise exhaled and regarded Draco with half-lidded eyes. "For your sake, I hope you're right."

.

.

Four days before Valentine's Day and her eighth day away from Draco, and Hermione was back in the bedroom with her pile of books and her shadow for company. A gruelling three-hour session on defensive spells with May-eye had left her sore and fatigued, but the day had just drifted into tomorrow, and midnight had become her favourite time to work. Everyone went to bed, and she was left undisturbed for at least eight hours, save the moments when Crookshanks would crawl into her lap for a little attention. She could also think about Draco and not feel too guilty about it, or worry that Lupin and Tonks might notice a stray tear or the quivering of her bottom lip.

She found herself daydreaming of ice-skating and window-seats, and she was just about to collect her things and head down to the kitchen for her caffeine fix when she heard a faint tapping against the window pane. When she saw the moonlight reflect off snowy white feathers, she shot out of her chair and scrambled over to the window, desperately fumbling with the latch. Hedwig dropped a letter into Hermione's hands and swiftly departed before the witch could even blink. She tore open the envelope with frantic fingers and read the ten roughly scribbled words in Harry's handwriting once, twice, and three times just to ensure she hadn't missed anything.

The Angel in the Circus. The time you were born.

And she knew exactly where she had to go.

Isolation Chapter 26: Ghost

Chapter 26: Ghost

There were voices somewhere; muffled by doors and distance, but definitely voices. Voices she knew.

Her lashes were locked together with dried tears, and she blinked a few times to dilute the salty sting and the blurriness of sleep. She focussed on the empty space next to her and stroked her hand across the cold, crisp, and undisturbed sheets. Perhaps the lingering scent of Draco's t-shirt had deluded her subconscious, because a hopeful corner of her heart had almost expected him to be at her side, but the reality of yester-time was impossible to ignore.

Draco wasn't here.

She didn't know where he was.

And she had no idea if she would see him again.

The hollow ache that those facts left in her chest felt worse today, and she doubted the painful pangs would fade anytime soon. This nauseating sense of loneliness felt destructively permanent, like a festering tumour wedged between the tip of her spine and the base of her skull.

But.

She balled her fists and buried it; locked it in the attic of her mind with her thoughts of her parents and Harry and Ron. Because she had to. Because she'd promised herself she would.

The country was swarming with the promise of War, so what right did she have to nurse a broken heart when people were dying and mourning lost loved-ones? At least Draco was alive. At least there was a possibility that fate would allow their breaths to mingle again.

Hope is motivation, if nothing else.

The voices were still vibrating downstairs, and with renewed tenacity, she left the bed and rummaged in her charmed bag for some fresh clothes. She slipped into her jeans and pulled a baggy woollen jumper over Draco's top, reluctant to part with the masculine warmth trapped in the fabric that tingled against her skin. Taming her wild hair with a few combs of her fingers, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror and frowned at the swollen, red smudges under her eyes, still glossed with tears. She dabbed her face with her bunched sleeve, sniffing and swallowing a few times so her voice wouldn't betray her, and then she lifted her chin with illusory poise.

The façade was almost perfect; perhaps a little cracked and fragile in the eyes, but her set jaw and the proud purse of her lips would be enough to deceive her friends in the Order.

She looked resilient and prepared. Battle-ready and thriving with purpose. Glowing with that unmistakable shine of Gryffindor optimism and courage. Just as she should be.

Giving her reflection a stiff nod, she grabbed her wand and headed out of the bedroom, following the low hum of the voices. She descended the stairs and meandered her way around the house, pausing outside the kitchen, and pressing her ear against the door to catch the muffled conversation.

"…Should have seen that coming. We could have sent people to King's Cross to help the students-

"We're not going to able to predict everything they do, Alastor-

"We should have been able to predict that!"

"There's nothing we could have done anyway. McGonagall and the other professors will look after them."

"Remus is right. At least if they're contained in Hogwarts, they are still safe to a certain extent-

"And you think being kept there with Snape and those psychotic Carrow twins is safe, Tonks?"

"It's better than getting caught in the crossfire at Diagon Alley or running into some Snatchers."

"What about the Muggle-borns, Kingsley?"

"Most of them are in hiding, but we have word that You-Know-Who is putting his Muggle-born Registration Commission into effect as soon as Umbridge is ready. I have been trying to get a hold of Cresswell and Alderton, but it's difficult."

Hermione frowned on the other side of the door. Muggle-born Registration Commission?

"We need to get word around about the Taboo on You-Know-Who's name."

"I am trying, but our communication methods are becoming more limited by the hour. Tonks, did you Owl your mother in time?"

"Yes, she knows."

"What about our safe-houses, Alastor?"

"Some of the Wards will hold, but not all of them. Your home should be safe, Remus. Grimmauld Place too, and a couple of others, but we shall have to start finding other places to meet. It will only be a matter of time before the Wards on these safe-houses are broken too."

"Did you manage to make enough Portkeys, Kingsley?"

"I managed most of them."

"Will it be enough?"

"I have no idea."

There was a thick pause.

"You can come in, Granger!" Moody's booming voice called after a moment, and Hermione recoiled from the door when the harsh sound made her eardrums buzz. Her hand reached to hover tentatively over the doorknob. "Stop stalling, Granger. This concerns you as much as anyone."

Ignoring the odd bundle of nerves in her stomach, she pushed into the kitchen and greeted the four pairs of eyes with an awkward and apologetic nod. Shacklebolt, Mad-eye, Lupin and Tonks were all seated around the brittle dining table; their expressions severe, sleep-deprived and inevitably concerned.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't want to intrude."

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" Tonks asked, shifting in her seat to accommodate her bump. "You can go back to bed if you need more rest."

"I'm fine."

"You're a little old to be eavesdropping, Granger," Mad-eye remarked, although his tone was almost amused. "What exactly did you hear?"

"Not much," she shrugged. "Just about the Taboo… and what's the Muggle-born Registration Commission?"

"It's a bloody death trap, is what it is," Mad-eye spat heatedly. "It's a way for You-Know-Who to herd Muggle-borns like cattle until he slaughters them-

"Yes, thank you, Alastor," Remus shot a frown in his direction. "I think there are better ways to put it-

"Well, you can cover it with daisies and glitter all you like, Remus, but that is basically what it is." He fixed Hermione with a steady stare. "Don't worry; you won't be signing up. You will stay hidden and be safe here with Tonks."

Hermione narrowed her eyes with thought. "But what about all the other Muggle-borns?"

"We're doing what we can," Kingsley offered sullenly. "Most have gone into hiding, but there's not much we can do at the moment except try to warn people-

"Which is hard when everyone is Apparating in a panic and probably landing straight into the path of Snatchers," Mad-eye grumbled. "Potter and Weasley might fall into that category, so if you know where they are, Granger, you need to tell us."

"I have no idea where they are," she breathed, shaking her head. "All I know is they are looking for the Horcruxes and they destroyed the locket."

"Yes, they sent me a letter about that," Remus nodded. "But you haven't heard anything since?"

"Nothing relevant. Just a letter every now and then to assure me that they were…you know, alive." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "But, no. Never their whereabouts or anything like that. They know it would be too dangerous-

"And gallivanting around Merlin-knows-where with all this going on isn't dangerous?" Mad-eye scoffed.

Hermione's eyes shot back to the Auror. "They're not stupid, Moody-

"Well, their actions contradict that sentiment-

"They'll be fine," she interrupted, but the hitch in her voice was telling. "They will be fine."

"They've survived so far," Tonks said, absently stroking her swollen abdomen. "Have some faith, Mad-eye. I'm sure if they think they're out of their depth, they'll seek us out."

"We hardly have the time for commonsense to catch up with the pair," he groused, rolling his good eye. "So that will be your task for the time being, Granger; figuring out where they are."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Wouldn't it be more beneficial for me to try and figure out where the Horcruxes are?"

"Well, if Harry and Weasley are doing what you say they are, then it's the same thing," Mad-eye replied, rising from his seat. "I have confidence in your intelligence, Granger. If anyone can find them, it's you."

She didn't know if he meant the boys or the Horcruxes, but she bobbed her head anyway. "Thank you, Moody."

"And keep up your combative training," he advised slowly. "We are at War now."

.

.

"Draco."

He squirmed and buried his face deeper into the pillow. He was balancing on the blissful crest between sleep and reality, and he'd be damned if he be dragged away before he was ready.

"Draco."

"Bugger off, Granger," he murmured, as he often did when she tried to rouse him. "I'm trying to sleep."

A small silence followed, and Draco wondered if his persistent lover might actually allow him a peaceful morning for a change.

"Draco, it's Andromeda," the voice sighed, somewhat regretfully. "You need to wake up."

His eyes snapped open, and reality came bounding back into his brain like thunder clouds. He wasn't in Hogwarts. He was shacked up with the Aunt he'd never spoken to. Granger wasn't here. She wasn't anywhere, and the absence of her presence brought back the numb throb in his chest. He felt sick.

Granger…

He fired a scolding glance towards his Aunt as she leaned over him, her expression somewhere between concerned and cautious. Her resemblance to his mother struck him for a moment, but he kept his features trained and stern, ready to reprimand the witch for disturbing his lonely morning. He didn't want anyone to witness how this was affecting him.

"What do you want?" he asked in a quiet and defensive voice. "Don't people get any privacy in your house?"

"Draco," she started carefully. "You haven't left bed for three days."

His eyebrows rose high on his forehead. Three days? But it all felt so raw and fresh, like the rain was still peppered across his skin, and Hermione's parting words were still chiming in his ears. Wasn't time supposed to mend the ache of the initial shock? Three days, and he was fairly certain he had slept the entire time. Evidently, his subconscious had decided that sleep was preferable to waking without Granger pressed against his chest.

"So?" he scowled at Andromeda, sitting up in the bed and resting his elbows against his knees. "What difference does it make?"

"Firstly, I need to warn you that there is a Taboo on You-Know-Who's name," she listed. "And secondly, you need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry," he lied, ignoring the painful twinge in his stomach that contradicted his words. "Just leave me alone-

"It's not healthy," she insisted. "You'll make yourself ill."

"I don't give a shit," he grumbled coldly. "I will get up when I'm ready."

"Look," Andromeda sighed, impatience loud in her tone. "Isolating yourself in here isn't going to make you feel any better-

"What, and you think a piece of toast and a skip around the garden will make everything all dandy?" he quipped. "Don't be so bloody soft-

"A warm meal will do you some good," she told him, and his stomach twitched again at the notion. "And perhaps a talk with the others will help-

"And just who the hell are these 'others' you keep on mentioning?"

"People in similar positions to you," she said, and Draco felt his curiosity stir. "Come down for some breakfast and you'll see."

"I don't think so-

"Oh, grow up, Draco," Andromeda scowled, slicing the air with her hand. "I do not have the time to stand here and baby you-

"Well, no one's forcing you!" he shouted back. "I think I've made it pretty clear that I don't want you here-

"Tough luck," she sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. "There are clean clothes in the drawers. If you're not dressed and ready in fifteen minutes, I will kick you out of bed-

"I'm not ready!" he exclaimed, clenching his fists and slamming them against the mattress. He felt some of the fight leave him, and his shoulders slumped as the next mumbled confession left his lips. "I just…I just want to be left alone. I am not…ready to deal with this situation."

Andromeda's features softened slightly. "I am trying to help you-

"If you want to help me; leave-

"I'm not dropping this, Draco," she told him firmly. "But I will offer you a very generous compromise; if you come down for breakfast this once, then I won't hassle you again. I will leave food outside your door, and you can stay in here to mope all you like."

"And if I refuse?" he asked.

"Then I will drag you out of bed today and every other day until you get the message," she warned. "And you might think you'd be able to hold me off, but I have several people downstairs who would help me, and I doubt you want your wand confiscated when you've only just had it back."

"I am getting so fucking sick of people telling me what to do," he snarled, nostrils flaring as he dropped his face into his palms. "I bet you're loving this; watching the son of the sister who betrayed you in such a pathetic state."

Andromeda released a heavy breath. "That' not true but I really don't have time for this," she said, turning and heading for the door. "I will wait outside your room, and if you're not dressed and ready in ten minutes, we will do this the hard way."

Draco heard the click of the door and groaned into his palms, feeling hot anger burn behind his eyes as his thoughts dragged him back to Hermione. Never would he have imagined craving the shrill pitch of Granger's voice when she was agitated, but he did. He thought of those first few weeks in her dorm; insanity creeping up on him with every word she spoke and every clash of their paths, and the sour-tasting irony almost made him chuckle with dark mirth.

Funny how what had once made him question the state of his mind now seemed the only thing that felt rational and genuine.

Fate was a temperamental bitch with a fetish for mind-fucking.

Apparently, this was how it felt to miss a lover; like someone had fired a brutal Impedimenta right to his chest, and then crushed the reasonable part of his brain and the irrational section of his heart under their heel. He wanted to scream into his pillow loud enough to slit and scratch his windpipe, or slam his fists into the wall until his knuckles splintered his flesh, and he felt somewhere close to rational or balanced again.

He needed to regain control.

He could picture Hermione in his head, telling him to accept the offer of a decent meal and drop the abrasive front, probably with her hands on her hips and rolling her pretty hazels at him. He would wager his questionable inheritance that she would mention the day after she'd been forced to Obliviate her parents, echoing what he'd said to get the grief out of her system on that blissful day in the shower.

Trust me when I say the inactivity will only do more damage.

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

Snap out of it. You have more strength than this.

"Draco," Andromeda called from the other side of the door, interrupting his trance. "You have five minutes left."

Another painful spasm of hunger made him cringe, and he exhaled with defeat, realising too that his limbs felt weak and sluggish from days without nutrition. His bones cracked and protested as he left the bed, absently selecting a simple pair of black trousers and a turtleneck of the same colour from the chest of drawers.

Heading to meet his Aunt, he glimpsed his translucent reflection in the window pane and froze. Blurry, bloodshot eyes stared back at him as he studied his face; his expression gaunt and tormented, and his normally groomed hair dishevelled and knotted. He looked tenuous and flimsy, like a limbo-lingering ghost.

And he didn't give a flying fuck.

"If you think I am bluffing, you are mistaken," Andromeda warned, and Draco glowered at the door before he grabbed his wand. "You have one minute."

Muttering a chorus of profanities under his breath, he straightened his posture and joined his Aunt in the corridor, fixing her with an incensed glare. "Happy now?"

"This is hardly for my benefit," she said calmly, starting down the hall. "But yes, I am glad you decided to get out of bed and show a bit of backbone-

"I'm only doing this to shut you up," he quickly pointed out as they walked. "Remember, you said you'd leave me alone if I had breakfast this one time."

"I know what I said."

"Then let's get this over with," he mumbled, breezing past her and guessing the route to the kitchen.

"Draco," Andromeda said, coming up to his side. "I feel I should tell you that the others already know you are here, but I haven't told them where you've been until now or who with. I thought it was best for you to decide how much you wanted to reveal to them."

His brow creased with confusion. "These people know me?"

"Oh yes," she nodded. "And you know them."

"Then why not just tell me who they are?"

"Partly because it's easier just to show you," she shrugged, but he noticed the wrinkled corner of her mouth twitch. "And partly for my own amusement."

His bit down on his back teeth at that remark but didn't respond as they came to a stop in front of the door he presumed led to the kitchen. The seductive smell of porridge and coffee wafted into the corridor and instantly triggered more memories of slow Sundays in Granger's dorm, crunching burnt toast and smirking at her morning-mussed hair. He was suddenly very aware that his witch would not be on the other side of the door, drowning in one of his oversized t-shirts and nursing a cup of tea with a book perched in her lap. He didn't have a clue who was inside Andromeda's kitchen, but it wouldn't be Hermione with a lazy, forgiving smile, and an odd bout of anxiety flooded his gut.

"Wait," he said, before his Aunt could grip the doorknob. "The people in there; do they know the things I have done?"

Andromeda's wrinkles deepened with her puzzled frown. "Yes, they know about what happened with Dumbledore."

"Right," he mumbled, disgusted by the unease in his tone. "Then they hate me."

"No," she disputed quickly, as though she had predicted his comment. "They are like me, Draco; confused and wary, but willing to give you a chance to prove that you are not the evil brat everyone thinks you are."

She barely gave him a moment to ponder that statement before she was nudging him forward, opening the door and thrusting him into the kitchen. Draco was instantly struck speechless; his pupils dilating and his jaw going slack as he took in the occupants of the room and tried to comprehend the implausibility of this situation. Five sets of suspicious and guarded eyes gaped back at him, and he didn't even attempt to hide his bafflement as his erratic attention darted from one familiar face to the next.

Andromeda had been right; he knew them. He knew them well.

His brain was roaring with questions as he fixated first on Tracey Davis, balanced on the kitchen counter and nervously tapping her fingers against her knee. Stood beside her with a more pronounced scowl was Millicent Bulstrode, and on the other side of Tracey was Miles Bletchley, his back straight and his chin tilted, as if prepared for a confrontation.

Draco's bewildered eyes then drifted to the two figures sat at the table, focussing on Theodore Nott, who was leaning back almost nonchalantly in his chair, arms folded across his chest but his eyebrows high on his forehead with surprise. And finally, Draco landed on Blaise Zabini, and he bristled under his old classmate's dark, calculating stare. Blaise's chin was rested against the back of his hand, his lips twitching as he licked his teeth, and his features fixed in a trained and unflinching mask of indifference. Only from years of experience did Draco notice the mistrustful and pensive strain of the other wizard's features.

And it suddenly dawned on him.

These people, who he had once considered acquaintances and even friends, were not who he remembered, and it was so obvious as they each regarded him with doubt and intrigue suitable for a stranger who had stumbled across their den, instead of the respect and camaraderie they'd shared in Hogwarts. They were no longer who they had been, and he was no longer one of them.

They were different, and he was an outsider.

"Well, spank my arse and call me Morgana," Theo's droll voice filled the air. "We thought you were fucking with us, 'Dromeda."

"For Godric's sake, Theo," she muttered, moving further into the kitchen and leaving Draco stunned in the doorway. "How many times must I warn you about your language?"

"Excuse me for trying to break the awkward silence," he shrugged. "This is going to be an interesting morning."

Draco felt his voice-box click back into action. "What the hell is going on?" he blurted. "What the fuck are you lot doing here?"

"I think the more pressing question is what are you doing here?" Theo fired back, stretching his arms over his head. "Everyone thought you were dead."

He flinched, absently glancing at Blaise, who had yet to even blink. "Everyone?"

"Pretty much," Tracey spoke up, and Draco noted that Bletchley subtly adjusted into a protective stance beside her. "They said you got caught in the crossfire when you were trying to escape from Hogwarts."

"But then how-

"Hang on," Theo interrupted swiftly, leaning his elbows against the table. "I believe it was our turn to ask a question."

"This isn't a fucking game, Nott," Draco snapped, too flustered to keep his cool. "I want to know what the hell is going on-

"And so do we-

"Well, you're being an arsehole about it-

"Call me an arsehole again, and I'll break your face, Malfoy-

"Enough," Andromeda hushed their ricocheting jibes. "Look, you are going to have to figure out a way to talk this out properly. I need to head back to the other house, and I'd like to believe you're all old enough to handle this maturely."

"Don't hold your breath-

"Shut it, Theo," Blaise finally spoke, shooting his companion a warning glare. "How long will you be, 'Dromeda?"

"Just a few hours," she said, and Draco realised how peculiarly comfortable his Aunt was with his former classmates. "Millicent, I was going to ask if you would mind coming with me? I might need some help sorting through the supplies." The younger witch nodded, and his Aunt turned back to Blaise. "You're in charge while I'm gone."

"Shocker," Theo rolled his eyes. "Favouritism gets you everywhere-

"So does acting like an adult," she frowned at him, gesturing for Millicent to follow her as she headed for another door at the back of the room. "Don't kill each other while I'm gone."

With that, the two witches exited the kitchen, and the tense silence returned to take its place between the remaining inhabitants, and it clawed at Draco's eardrums. Blaise had barely moved during the exchange, his head still propped up by his knuckles and still studying Draco with an intense concentration that felt almost invasive.

"Bletchley, Davis," he addressed the pair on a sigh, slowly turning to acknowledge them. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a bit?"

Miles seemed hesitant. "How come?"

"I think it will be easier if Malfoy only talks with Theo and I for now," he explained, his bistre eyes back on Draco. "Don't worry, you will get your chance to ask questions too."

Miles opened his mouth to protest, but Tracey settled her hand on his and hopped off the counter, whispering something in his ear meant only for him. "Alright," she said, tugging on her companion's wrist. "Give us a shout if you need anything."

As the couple side-stepped Draco to leave the room, Blaise kicked out a chair and cocked his head. "Take a seat, Malfoy," he instructed calmly, waiting until Draco complied before he spoke again. "Tell us where you've been."

"No," he shook his head stubbornly. "Tell me what the hell you're doing here first-

"For fuck's sake," Theo cut in again. "You don't have any right to-

"Give your jaw a rest and calm the hell down," Blaise told him in a low tone. "Try to remember that you were in Malfoy's position not so long ago-

"Yes, but I wasn't the one who let the bloody Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

"No, but you could have been," he replied steadily. "It could have been any of us."

Theo's agitated demeanour faltered before he clicked his tongue and raised his hands in surrender. "Fine," he breathed reluctantly. "Carry on."

Blaise flicked his eyes back to Draco. "The Death Eaters call us 'The Defected,' and the Order calls us 'The Enlightened,'" he said. "I prefer to think of us as the ones who had a lucky escape."

"You defected?" Draco repeated. "Why would you-

But he was interrupted when the back door flew open, and in walked Luna Lovegood with her usual air of tranquil ignorance, and the surprise of her abrupt entrance knocked the wind out of Draco's lungs. She glimpsed at him out of the corner of her eye and, aside from the slight stretch of her smile, gave no indication that she was thrown or perturbed by his presence.

"Morning, Lovegood," Theo greeted casually.

"Good morning, Theo, Blaise," she returned, and Draco didn't miss the softening of Blaise's stoic exterior when she hummed his name, nor did he miss the way Lovegood glided an affectionate hand across his shoulders as she walked past. "And good morning to you, Draco."

"What the fuck-

"See," she murmured in that blank tone of hers, looking specifically at Blaise. "I told you I saw him in Hogwarts at Christmas."


 

Isolation Chapter 25: Miles

Chapter 25: Miles

Her glazed eyes lingered on where he had been.

There was nothing now; just a mocking gap sliced by spitting raindrops and a whining lash of wind that seemed far too eager to invade the void. The smell of the storm was beginning to drown away the remains of his scent, and the tingle of his warmth against her cheek was fading fast. Her body was frozen as if he was still there; the hand that had pressed the Portkey against his knuckles still outstretched and trembling, and her chin still tilted from her whispered words of goodbye.

I love you…

She couldn't move.

Couldn't rip her eyes away from the empty space.

Just stared at it…

But the hot singe of tears forced her to blink, and the world began to move again.

Dropping the thin sheet of material that had been wrapped around the Portkey, her arm fell limply to her side, and she choked on the lump in her throat. A scream was lodged somewhere in her chest, but her lungs were too strained to release it, and the suffocating sensation burned so hard, she could barely breathe.

And, oh Merlin, the ache in her heart was excruciating; like everything within her was collapsing in on itself.

Her knees caved, and she fell hard to the ground, ignoring the mud slithering up her jeans and pressing into her palms as she doubled over, barely managing to catch herself with her weary arms. Her eyes fell to the indentations of Draco's footprints; the only indication he'd been here mere moments ago, but the rain was pounding away the outline, and within seconds they had blended with the damp earth, and she was completely alone.

The wind turned crueller at that point, and she wrapped her arms around her trembling body in a futile effort to ease the bite of the cold and the loneliness. A howl of thunder drowned out a broken-hearted sob that made her stomach heave, and her eyes clenched tight as she tried to ride out her violent shudders.

"Oh Godric, it hurts," she sputtered to no one, holding herself tighter. "It hurts."

Annabelle Snowbloom's words whispered somewhere as the back of her brain.

It feels like dying, only worse.

She stayed there for some stolen seconds, simply trying to regain a sense of reason as she numbly rocked back and forth, but there was no time to seek some composure. The echoes of disorder from Hogwarts disrupted the rhythmic patter of rain, and Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes and glanced in the direction of the school. She remembered then; remembered that she couldn't stay here, and she scolded herself for letting the heartache consume her.

Sucking in a breath that felt so deep it stretched her ribs, she gritted her teeth and forced tension into her muscles to stop them shaking. She raised her hands and roughly palmed away the tell-tale tears, but every inch of her was speckled with raindrops, and she couldn't tell them apart as her sodden curls slapped against her cheeks. A frustrated whine scratched the backs of her teeth when she realised it was futile, and she dragged her hair out of her eyes, gagging on the lump in her windpipe that wouldn't shift.

Drenched to the soul and trying so hard to ignore the nausea that made her head swim, she swallowed several more hefty gulps of air and slowly hauled herself to her unstable feet. Smothering a moan when her limbs protested, she willed her legs to remain sturdy and keep her balanced, and with a final dejected look at the empty space, she clenched her fists with determination, and spun on her heels.

Her movements were clumsy as she jogged back the way she had came, barely noticing the clawing thorns and thistles of the Forest as she stumbled in what she hoped was the right direction. Her bearings were compromised and her vision was still hazy at the seams, but she trudged blindly through the thick, squelching dirt and searched desperately for the red rock.

"Crookshanks," she called with a croaky voice, minding to keep her tone hushed as the eerie sounds from Hogwarts grew louder. "Crooks."

A small meow responded somewhere to her left and she corrected her path, and she staggered through biting brambles and poison ivy as inhuman noises began to bustle around the Forbidden Forest. She had no idea if the magical creatures that dwelled here had sensed the attack and were panicking, or if there were Death Eaters whipping through the trees, almost breathing down her collar.

Summoning the final and flimsy remains of her energy, she drove herself onward with a pained growl, gripping her wand tighter. She burst through a stubborn wall of leaves and branches, coughing on a sigh of relief when Crookshanks bounded over to her, spitting low and agitated hisses, and his wide stare scrutinizing the space around them.

"It-it's okay, Crooks," she stammered, and she would swear her cat was looking past her to search for Draco. "He's gone," she mumbled, and the words sent a destructive bolt of angst to her chest. "C-come on, boy. We need to go."

Gathering her pet in her arms, she made her way to the rock beneath the ominous bow of the Oak tree and felt the air tingle with differing magic. She clutched Crookshanks tighter as she struggled to pacify her racing thoughts and frantic breaths, preparing herself to Apparate.

With a goodbye glance in the direction of Hogwarts, and a silent payer that Draco was safe, she left their broken haven behind.

.

.

Draco landed on buckling ankles.

Toppling forward onto his knees, he just managed to brace himself on his forearms before his face smacked into the dirt. Fisting his hands around crispy tufts of grass, the muscles of his back tensed as he tried to fight the churning spasms in his stomach. He gagged and retched as the brutal dry-heaves vibrated through him and bile scorched his tonsils.

Spitting against the soil and panting heavily, his watering eyes focused on the unfamiliar soil, and he watched drops of sweat, rain or possible tears splash against the backs of his hands. Fury and regret bubbled in his veins so hard it felt destructive, like venom eating away at his nerves and cells.

"Fucking hell, Granger!" he hissed to no one, punching the ground. "Fuck." Again. "Fuck." And then again. Until his knuckles were on fire and blood dribbled between the dents. "Fuck, Hermione."

His vocal chords knotted and his rant died in his throat. Too angry. Too troubled. Too lost. He lifted his chin and tried to scan the surroundings, but his sight was distorted and speckled with white dots, and he could barely see a few feet in front of him. All he could discern was a carpet of grass and the sickly shade of indigo that dawn had painted across the sky.

There was no storm here, just a cruel wind that clawed at his drenched skin, but he still smelled of Scottish rain and Hermione's soap.

He didn't belong here.

His mind cruelly began to replay what had happened mere minutes ago with unforgiving flashbacks that made his temple throb. He recalled the flick of her wand as she'd Petrified him, and the dangerous swell of dread that had twisted his gut. He remembered how she had nestled against his statue-stiff form, her features raw with emotion, and broken words feathering across his jaw.

She had kissed him, and he had fought the spell so hard that his bones had felt close to shattering beneath his flesh, just to twitch his mouth and give her a response. The spell had been immune to tenacity and desperation; he knew she had been kissing dead lips, and he hated that.

And then…

I love you…

He stiffened. He didn't know what to do with those three words; three words that clawed at his brain but warmed…everything else. So calming and yet chaotic. It changed everything and yet nothing, because she had still sent him here. Alone.

If he'd been concerned about the state of his mind when he had first been shoved into that room with her, this reality was so much worse, like a Crucio to his psyche.

A part of him wanted to track her down and tell her he didn't want her love, that he didn't fucking deserve it, and that she was insane for wanting him in her life. He'd be the red and putrid stain on her white dress. The shard of glass wedged into her vein. He was not worthy of her. He knew that now. Had probably known it all along.

Another part of him wanted to find her and lick their wounds, maybe kick his pride to the corner again to echo her need. Because he did need her, and not in the romantic, naïve sense that stirred vomit, but the painful and crippling way that battered brains and stabbed at the soul. He'd blurted it once and he'd blurt it again if he had to. Pride suddenly seemed so irrelevant compared to the fucking agony swarming in his ribcage.

Maybe he even loved…

He didn't know, and whatever was coursing through his veins was completely foreign to him. Labelling it with some over-used word that was so carelessly tossed between strangers these days seemed insufficient for the feelings that had brought him to his knees. It reminded him of that odd sensation when fire is so hot that it feels like ice, or when ice is so cold it feels like fire. Nature's paradox.

If this was love, then it felt like insanity. It felt like torture. Or bliss. All the same.

He just wanted to return and do…something. Something to prolong their intertwined heartbeats.

His wand. She'd put it in his pocket.

His hand raced to grab it, feeling the comforting crackle of long-missed magic tingle his fingertips. Clutching it in his lap, he tried to steady his thoughts before trying to Apparate, but then there was hand on his shoulder, and he froze.

"The Wards won't let you go back," a soft, feminine voice spoke. "And she will have left by now."

Draco whipped his body around and scrambled to stand, barely managing to maintain his footing as he blinked away the salty haze in his eyes. Suspicion and shock creased his brow when he realised who had disturbed him, her face only recognisable to him from an accidental encounter in Diagon Alley and a tattered photograph he'd found in his mother's handbag when he'd been rummaging for a spare Galleon for a Chocolate Frog. The features were familiar too; the aristocratic lines and grooves that were so similar to Bellatrix's, yet notably more delicate and lacking the menacing edge that had always made him uncomfortable.

"You?" he hissed, too drained to put any real force behind it. "They sent me to you?"

"Yes," Andromeda nodded uncomfortably, keeping her wary stare on his wand. "McGonagall-

"Has a sick sense of humour," he finished. "I don't need your help."

The Aunt he'd never known arched a slim eyebrow. "You are underestimating how bad things have gotten, Draco," she said slowly. "Believe me when I say that you do need my help-

"Why the hell would you offer to help me anyway?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"I was reluctant at first," she admitted on a sigh. "But in spite of the past, you are still family, Draco. And apparently you and I have something in common now-

"What are you talking about?"

Andromeda hesitated. "McGonagall told me about your…relationship with Hermione-

"YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP WITH GRANGER!" he barked, straightening his wand-arm. "FUCKING NOTHING!"

"Calm down!"

"DON'T TELL ME-

"Keep your voice down!" she scolded. "You will not wake the others! You might not like it, Draco, but I was in the exact same position as you many years ago, so I know what you're feeling-

"You don't have a bloody clue-

"And if McGonagall hadn't told me about your relationship with Hermione, then you wouldn't be here," Andromeda said in an even voice. "They both seem confident that you have changed your ways to some extent, and I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt-

"How big of you-

"But I made it clear that if you put a foot wrong," she continued. "Then you would be on your own. I want to help you, Draco, but I have other people to consider."

"This is bullshit," he scoffed.

Andromeda clicked her tongue. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

"Lucky?" he spat bitterly. "You think Voldemort wanting me dead is lucky?"

"I'm talking about the people who are trying to help you," she frowned. "Considering the things you have done, I would call that very lucky."

Draco's glare faltered and dropped back down to the grass. "You don't know everything that happened-

"I know enough," she cut him off, her expression softening slightly. "And I understand that you were put in an awful situation, but that doesn't excuse your actions."

The truth can be like bleach; it strips everything bare and removes the dirt. But swallow too much and it will devastate your insides. And maybe kill you. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't quite bring himself to despise the witch in front of him, perhaps because there was simply no space within him for any more damaging thoughts. Perhaps it was because he knew she was right.

"I know this isn't easy for you, but I promised McGonagall that I would keep you safe," she told him, releasing an exasperated breath. "And it would do you well to remember the risks Hermione took to get you here."

A scathing retort readied itself on the tip of his tongue, but somewhere at the back of his skull, he could hear Hermione willing him to accept the circumstances. Grinding his teeth as another wave of longing for his lover thumped his stomach, he lowered his wand, and his lids suddenly felt like lead. "What's the catch to your…hospitality?"

"No catch," Andromeda assured him. "All I ask is that you respect the others and my home."

"The others?"

"You'll see," she said. "I will explain everything properly in the morning when you've had a chance to settle in. I have a room ready for you."

It was only then Draco realised he was in a garden, and that behind his Aunt was a rather large yet modest cottage, drowned in darkness save one flickering glow on the ground floor. The temptation to continue the argument with Andromeda scalded his tongue, if only to grasp some flimsy dignity, but his need for a bed and some isolation to sift through his thrumming thoughts made him waver.

"Fine," he mumbled reluctantly, bowing his head. "Just…fine."

"Good," Andromeda nodded, although her tone implied that things were far from good. "Come on then, Draco. You look like you could do with some rest."

Too worn and weary to resist any longer, his feet moved of their own accord, and Draco absently realised that some of Hermione's scent lingered in the fabric of his coat. The coat she'd gifted him with at Christmas. The agonising and relentless craving for Granger's presence intensified and almost doubled him over, but he clenched his jaw and straightened his spine, sinking himself deeper into the lining of the coat.

He felt Andromeda's palm rest against his back as she guided him to her home, and while he knew he should shrug it away, he let it be.

.

.

Her arms went limp, and Crookshanks landed gracelessly on her toes.

Hermione gazed blindly at nothing, lips slightly parted, and every muscle rigid to keep her standing. Godric knew she was trying to collect herself, but her body was refusing to cooperate, and she didn't dare move.

"Hermione!" a familiar voice called, breaking her trance. Suddenly there were arms around her, a comforting shock of purple hair against her cheek and a baby bump curving into her abdomen. "Thank Merlin you're okay. Where have you been? McGonagall sent her Patronus ages ago."

The younger witch tried to find her voice. "I…I got a little lost," she murmured, falling into the hug. "I had trouble finding the Apparation point."

"But you're okay?" Tonks asked, pulling back to study her friend. "You're not hurt or anything? No offence, sweetheart, but you like hell."

"I'm fine," Hermione lied, because she didn't know what else she could say. "I'm fine. I just…I tripped, but I'm fine."

It's funny; how the repetition of a word can make it unreliable and contradictory.

"Are you sure?"

Even though Hermione knew Tonks was oblivious to her involvement with Draco, she feared it was written in between every worry-wrinkle of her expression. She felt transparent. Fixing her posture defiantly and setting her lips into a thin line, she adopted the pretence of a witch who was in control.

"I'm sure," she nodded.

"Alright," said Tonks, evidently unconvinced but quelling her questions. Hermione felt a reassuring arm drape across her shoulders, and she was gently guided to her friend's humble home. "Let's get out of the cold."

"Okay. Where's Lupin?"

"He went to the Burrow when we got the warning," she explained, her tone laden with concern. "He thought Arthur might need help setting up some more Wards. We're trying to contact everyone, but it's difficult."

Hermione prayed her next words didn't sound too hopeful. "Is there any news on Ron and Harry?"

"No," Tonks sighed, squeezing Hermione's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

She didn't blink. "I didn't think there would be."

"I'm sure they're fine." That word again. Crookshanks skimmed between their legs as they entered the house. "I have some tea, if you'd like some?"

"No, thank you," she declined, barely noticing the buzz of a freshly-cast Warming Charm as she stepped over the threshold. "I know we need to discuss what's going on, but I'm really tired-

"Of course," said Tonks sympathetically. "We can talk about it after you've had some sleep. Do you remember where the spare room is?"

She nodded and grasped the banister of the stairs. "First door on the left. I just…I need to use the bathroom first."

"Help yourself to whatever you need. This is your home now."

Hermione knew that Tonks had intended to be reassuring, but she had to stifle a deflated grimace as she climbed the groaning stairs. This was not her home. Everything seemed so surreal; as fragile as clouds, and simply a distorted reality that her brain couldn't quite catch up to.

Numbly wandering into the bathroom, she bent over the sink and stared at the pristine porcelain for a long moment. When she lifted her head to confront her reflection, her gasp misted the mirror. Her face was smeared with cracked mud and crumbling blood, her eyes swollen with grey rims, and her lips an icy shade of violet. The rain she'd left behind in Scotland had done little but speckle the mess staining her features, but her curls and clothes were slicked against her skin like tar. She couldn't decide if she looked like one of those warriors who marked their skin before a battle, or if she looked like a battered soul lingering in the aftermath.

Combing aside her rowdy hair and twisting the taps, she cupped her palms and smothered her face with the water. It was freezing, and the sucked the air between her teeth, but she ignored it and rinsed away the red-tinged dirt with desperate and trembling hands. Pausing between laboured breaths and checking the progress in the mirror, her agitated actions calmed when inch by inch of her fawny skin was cleansed, until there was simply a peppering of mud that mingled with her freckles.

She dabbed at them with her fingertips as her eyes fell to a small mark on her neck; the fading crest of a love-bite. A pang of longing smacked her, and she titled her chin to get a better look. She normally disguised them with a Glamour Charm, but she wouldn't cover this one. She hoped it would stay a while.

Godric, she missed him.

Only minutes had passed since they'd parted, not even an hour, but she felt the weight of the miles between them.

The Sun must have breached the horizon, because a loud blast of rays burst through the window and hit the mirror. The light was the colour of flames, and it illuminated her face like the fires of war.

Her eyes dropped back down to the porcelain, and it was the colour of rust.

.

.

With a final sweep of the damp cloth, Draco studied his ashen skin in the mirror and scowled. He'd been tempted to leave his and Hermione's mixed blood where it was, but he'd resented the mud that had blended with it, and the dark undertones to that thought had made him uneasy.

He hunted for hints of Granger in his reflection; a slight bump on his lower lip from a kiss, a small scratch beneath his ear from a pre-lust kiss, and the scar from third year. She was everywhere and yet nowhere.

Another flashback of their last seconds together made his eyes pulse behind his lids.

Petrificus Totalus!

I want you in my life.

I love you.

He groaned and rested his forehead against the mirror. He was so fucking angry. Angry at her for silencing anything he could and should have said. Angry at himself for leaving her no other option but to Petrify him. Angry at McGonagall for sending him here. Angry at his parents for dictating his prejudices. Angry at Potter and Weasley because his lover was probably with them now. Angry at circumstances for ripping them apart.

And beneath it all was this dangerous pining that pierced his everything.

Anger he could deal with, he knew it well, but the ache in his chest was a different story. He felt broken; barely human and clashing with the situation.

Don't belong here. Belong with her.

Giving his reflection another disgusted glance, he shook his head and headed back to the room Andromeda had showed him to earlier. He hesitated in the long hallway and absently wondered just who exactly was behind the other six or seven doors, but he was too distracted to give the question any heed.

His new room was small and simple, containing a three-quarter bed that took up most of the space, a chest of drawers, and a few slanting shelves that were in dire need of a Reparo. Hermione's absence mocked him from every corner; none of her little trinkets, no bookcases caving under the weight of an army of books, and no peppermint and cherry scent.

His heartbeat faltered again, and he slowly shrugged off his coat, carefully hanging it on the door and letting his fingers trail across the fabric when he realised this was all he had that linked him directly to her. Tucking his wand under the pillow, he then he slipped out of his clothes until he was left in his boxers, and eased himself into the mattress, gathering the itchy and abrasive blankets around him.

He kept his body on the left side of the bed, and absently stared at the empty space next to him before lids fell shut.

He'd always slept on the left side in Granger's bed.

.

.

Hermione stood in the spare room, gazing vacantly at the wall as her hands met to fidget in front of her. She was almost scared to settle into the bed, aware that days are broken up by sleep, and memories become less vivid as time crawls along. But her body was a whisper away from surrendering to the mental and physical exhaustion, and she needed to be well-rested tomorrow. There would be no place for her tears amongst the discussions of War and Order's plans. Tomorrow, she would be the prepared Gryffindor. Tomorrow, she would be fine.

Peeling her jumper away and discarding it at the foot of the bed, she went to the next layer of clothing, but stilled her movements when she realised it was his t-shirt. She drew in a sharp breath when she caught a trace of Draco's scent in the mornings; masculine musk with a hint of minty spice, and something that reminded her of new books.

She was so relieved to have this small symbol of their forbidden relationship, and she cast a quick Drying Spell that didn't erase the murmurs of his scent. Forgetting the pyjamas that were in her charmed bag and removing her jeans, she gave into fatigue and sank into the sheets, slightly comforted that she would be wrapped up in his shirt.

Nuzzling her face into the pillow, she felt the final few lonely tears glide down her cheeks. She fell asleep curled up into a tight ball with her palm across her bruised heart.

On the right side of the bed.


 

Isolation Chapter 24: Hours

Chapter 24: Hours

The bitter breeze thrashed around her, like it was trying to sneak into her pores and freeze her blood.

Merlin knew why, but her feet had carried her to Astronomy Tower, and she would swear the residual energy of Snape's Killing Curse was still clouding the air up here. The atmosphere felt thicker and close, and a niggling itch had scratched at her spine the moment she had arrived.

Leaning against the railing, her troubled stare searched the skies and tried to look past the shadows of storm clouds to find the stars, but only Vega and Arcturus were bright enough to wink back.

Forgotten voices ricocheted around her skull.

I have to do this…

She shuddered. Harry had told her exactly what Draco had said that night, and she would swear on Godric's grave that she could hear the whispers of his words crawling across the walls.

I have to kill you, or he's going to kill me…

She gripped the railing tighter and closed her eyes, and the ghosts of the past formed in her mind. She could see it all so clearly; the scene repeating itself in her head. Draco, Dumbledore, Snape, Bellatrix. So alive and fresh, like she could graze her fingertips over their forms and feel the beats of their hearts.

Hermione focussed on the image of Draco that her brain had conjured as he lowered his wand, just like Harry had described, and her heart felt like it was throbbing in her throat. He looked so vulnerable, and it made her fall a little harder for him, but the logical voice in her head reminded her that this was purely her interpretation of the events.

Just before Snape lifted his wand to murder the man she had admired so much, she felt a breathy murmur tingle her ear, and her eyes snapped open. Spinning around with a sharp gasp to inflate her lungs, she frantically hunted for the source, but she was alone.

Completely alone.

And it petrified her.

Her surroundings seemed to vibrate with sinister shadows, and eerie whispers were buried in the dark. The space became suffocating, and her chest was suddenly heaving as the icy chill coiled around her limbs.

Breaking into a sprint, she ran to her dorm, leaving the spirits of the past to fizzle behind her in the Tower. The slaps of her racing footsteps echoed down the empty corridors and she dived into her room, skidding to a stop and shutting the door behind her. Pivoting on her heels, her eyes softened when they landed on Draco; snoozing on the sofa with Crookshanks resting in his lap. A sad smile pulled at her lips as his husky breaths drifted over to her, and that painful pulse of affection drummed in her chest.

"Crooks," she whispered, tip-toeing towards the couch. "Come down, boy."

With a lazy stretch, her faithful pet obeyed and wandered into Draco's room to give them the privacy she wanted. Reaching out with uninhibited fingers, Hermione stroked his face. She had repeated these ministrations before, but had never taken the times to feel how he was between the caverns of her fingerprints, and he felt like liquid Autumn; pleasantly cold and like the firm flesh of plums. Closing her eyes, she engraved the sensation into her brain, noting his lips were the texture of melting wax and the fine stubble on his jaw tingled like static.

"What are you doing, Granger?"

Her eyes snapped open just as Draco's lids slowly peeled back to fix her with a suspicious glare. Her body went still for a moment, but with a single tug of her lip with her teeth, she simply sighed and lifted her chin.

"I met a woman who lost someone she…" Loved. It was what she wanted to say, but her tongue hesitated. "Someone she cared about."

Draco's brow furrowed, but he remained silent.

"I know our…relationship is complicated," Hermione continued, a little relieved when he didn't scowl at the 'r' word. "And I never meant for any of this to happen-

He snorted. "You think I planned-

"Please, Draco," she interrupted. "Just let me finish. I don't think either of us planned any of this." She swallowed and caught his eyes. "But I don't regret anything. I care about you. And I don't want us to be separated, but there's nothing I can do about it."

Draco tensed his jaw, but some of his resolve simmered as he watched her shoulders droop with fatigue and defeat. Her cheeks were shimmering with hour-old tears and her hair was wild from wind-play, but she was so raw and real like this, and it kicked him in the gut.

"But I can do something about the goodbye," Hermione said with a purposeful tone. "I will not fight with you anymore."

He arched an eyebrow. "What are you-

"I don't know when we will have to leave," she mumbled. "But I will not let our last days involve us at each other's throats-

"We fight, Granger," he stated with a stoic shrug. "It's what we do-

"I don't mean the harmless stuff," she said with frustration. "You know what I mean, Draco; all the fights we've had recently, and I won't do it any more. I refuse."

She paused, waiting for him to speak, but he simply regarded her with that familiar look of detachment that made her fists clench.

"I just…" she trailed off, her fingers finding their way back to his face. "I want to remember you like this. Calm and…and not looking like you hate me."

Draco frowned but absently leaned into her touch.

"So that's it," she spoke, dropping her hand back to her side. "I don't know what's going to happen to us. McGonagall said she might have found a place for you, but I don't know anything else. I have given you all the answers I can, so I will not argue about our circumstances anymore. I am tired of it-

"Granger-

"So if you can't do that-

"Granger-

"Then I don't want to speak to you-

"Granger," he growled with impatience, snatching her hand and yanking her into his lap. "Take a fucking breath-

"I'm serious," she told him, stiff and resilient in his arms. "I won't do it."

Draco's expression slowly morphed into an amused smirk, and Hermione studied him warily, subconsciously halting her breaths as he clicked his tongue. "Always so stubborn," he remarked with a low and quiet rumble of his vocal chords. He licked his lips. "Fine, Granger. No more questions."

She couldn't help the loud sigh of relief that left her lips and toyed with some of his blond hair. "Thank you," she said, relaxing in his lap and brushing a delicate kiss at the corner of his mouth.

Draco tucked his hands between the backs of her knees and gathered her closer, adjusting her legs into a comfortable straddle as he pressed harder into the kiss. Something about Granger's gentle but determined nips and licks always roused a hungry and inescapable urge in his veins. Knotting his fingers into her rebellious locks, he held her head in place and sucked at her lips with something devastatingly close to desperation.

Dropping his damp nibbles to the swoon of her throat, he resisted a shiver when one of her moan-come-gasps ticked the receptive skin of his shoulder and glided down the bumps of his spine. His fingers stabbed into the denim-clad pinch just beneath her buttocks when she roughly tugged at the hem of his top and broke the kiss to rip it over his head.

Broken kisses taste better when they're fixed.

She was doing that thing he secretly adored; softly scraping her nails across his chest and freckling barely-there pecks against the shell of his ear. Hastily tearing off her jumper, he grazed his teeth over the rise of her collarbone as he fiddled with the clasp of her bra.

Both bare-chested and starting to glisten with pre-bliss sweat, an unvoiced agreement was shared between them as they stole some sacred minutes, just to relish all the details that teased the senses.

To kiss…touch…bite…sigh…savour...

To memorise.

But the trapped heat beneath her stomach made Hermione squirm, and she tore herself away from him and got to her feet to step out of her jeans and underwear, while Draco swiftly eased out of his trousers and boxers. He could see the beginnings of her insecurities in her hazels as he openly stared at her, willing his brain to remember every inch of her body before her anxiety shattered the image.

Why couldn't she understand that she was fucking beautiful?

Perhaps because he'd never told her.

She made to settle next to him on the sofa, but his hand shot out and latched onto her wrist, slowly but firmly dragging her back to where she had been; thighs against thighs. He pushed away the brandy-tinted tresses hiding her face, and he could see the uncertainty reluctantly etched into her charming features. They'd never done it like this before, her on top and needing to set the pace, and he lifted her chin so she would meet his encouraging look.

"You will like this," he assured her, snatching her lower lip between his teeth. "Trust me."

Hermione's eyes widened and her shoulders relaxed as a slow smile graced her nibble-swollen lips. "I do trust you," she confessed quietly, gripping his shoulders as one of his palms settled on her back, his fingers rousing pleasant shivers to trickle down her spine.

His other hand traced an imaginary trail from the wave of her hip to the moist slit that he craved and dipped two fingers inside, catching her keening whine with his mouth. He only teased her for some stolen minutes, sprinkling tongue-heavy kisses against her chest and growing harder as her dulcet purrs tingled his ears. She tried to reach for his erection, but he pushed away her eager hands; he wanted this to last a while. He wanted to be consumed by the experience of the intimate link, instead of striving to reach the climax.

He didn't know why. He just did.

Just a couple of strokes against her most sensitive flesh to ensure she was ready, and he slowly slid her up his legs until her cherry-tipped breasts were against his chest. With a slight wriggle of her body, she swallowed his desire inside, arching her back and adjusting herself to the unfamiliar but delicious angle.

Draco sucked the air through his teeth as he melted into her warmth, and his grip on her waist tightened as a twist of her of her hips made his gut pound with lust. Moving her body to help build a rhythm, he rocked her slowly against him, his lips remaining securely fastened to any inch of skin he could taste.

Something between seconds and hours passed with the gradual build-up; gentle sways of bodies and languid brushes of lips. She was making those husky little moans that sounded too pure for his side of reality, but he inhaled them anyway. Her head lolled forward until their brows touched, spilling her coffee-curls around them like a veil to muffle the rest of the world.

Kisses match the flow of sex; slow but deep, and setting nerve-endings on fire. As the imminent bliss began to inflate beneath his stomach, Draco locked his arms around her torso so she was flush up him and took over the tempo, bucking into her a little faster and harder. He knew from her tell-tale twitches and her elevated breaths that she was reaching the peak of her pleasure, and he broke their kiss, grasping her face so he could witness the moment dance across her features.

The parting of her lips. Her blinks of bewilderment. The dilating of her pupils. Her choked whimper.

"I want to remember you like this," he mumbled, almost accidentally as the vibrations of her release brought on his.

Forehead kissing forehead and harsh breaths clashing between them, Draco absently stroked lazy patterns against her hairline as the orgasms simmered away to leave that playful tingle in their bones. Her hum of satisfaction ghosted across his shoulder and her lids fell shut, but he didn't let her head drop as some damning words tumbled out of his mouth.

"One final question," he rasped out, and her eyes reluctantly opened to meet his. "How long do we have left?"

Hermione's sated expression creased into a heartbroken frown, and she gulped down the clot of sorrow in her windpipe. "Not long."

.

.

Time is subjective to the happiness of hearts.

Time is bitter and selfish; won't slow down no matter how hard you beg.

Time breezes by when you stumble across something close to contentment.

They spent the next few days tangled in each other's limbs, amongst the bed-sheets or shower spray and tried to block out the world beyond the door, as young lovers do. In the fragile hours between, they perched on the window-seat, watching the wild displays of the January thunderstorms and absently reading Shakespeare, Byron or Donne between lazy kisses.

Draco resented the moments when Hermione had to leave for a couple of meetings with McGonagall and to help the St Mungo's victims in the Medical Wing, but he chewed his tongue to keep the peace, as he'd said he would. Although the shadow of the impending War never left the room, she'd been wearing a subtle smile since their talk, and he was adamant he wouldn't chase it away.

"Draco."

"Hm?"

"Do you want to go to bed?" she asked. "You look a little tired."

Sleep was a waste of time.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, gesturing for her to flip the page. "Might as well get to the end."

Hermione craned her neck to nip the corner of his mouth.

She had fought hard not to be seduced by a false sense of security, but Draco's relaxed demeanour had been like a drug to alleviate her dread. Hogwarts had felt more peaceful too; most of the survivors of the St. Mungo's attack had made quick recoveries and been sent home, and around forty students had returned to the school from the extended Christmas break. The rest of her classmates were due to return tomorrow on the Hogwarts Express, and she was looking forward to seeing Ginny and Neville, if only to say goodbye before the Ministry was overthrown and she would need to leave.

Among the forty who had returned were the Creevey brothers and a third-year named Joanne Preston; Hermione's fellow Muggle-borns, and her main priority when the inevitable happened.

McGonagall had outlined evacuation plans for the Muggle-borns meticulously, but remained decisively vague about Draco; simply nodding her head and assuring that 'something had been arranged.' The stressed wrinkles dissecting the Headmistress' face had been a little deeper recently, and Hermione had refrained from pushing the matter, trusting her mentor implicitly and shoving her concern to the side.

And she really was concerned about Draco; so much that it terrified her.

She had mentally prepared herself for the fall of the Ministry and Hogwarts, but the idea of Draco's looming departure made her breathing falter. These final days spent wrapped up in his scent, voice and warmth had been soul-soothing and possibly the most beautiful in her short life.

But everything has an expiry date.

"Granger."

"Hm?"

"You haven't turned the page in about ten minutes."

"Oh," she frowned. "Sorry. I was thinking about something."

"Shocker," he drawled with rich sarcasm, feathering a kiss behind her ear. "Come on, Granger. Turn the page."

Numbly doing as requested, Hermione tried to sink further into Draco's body heat and scolded herself for letting precious minutes slip through her fingers.

The clocks were mocking her.

.

.

She woke to a nervous knot in her stomach.

It was still dark, and Draco's arm was belted around her waist as his sleepy breaths ruffled her hair. Glancing at the clock and finding it was almost five in the morning, she cautiously eased herself out of the bed and tried to establish what had stirred her, hunting for something out of place.

Sparks of lightning illuminated her room between low roars of thunder, and she shuffled warily over to her window, eyeing the navy skies that played host to the flaunting storm. Another twinge of unease invaded her stomach, and pronounced goosebumps bubbled across her skin, but she had no idea why.

Something just felt…off.

Something in her gut told her to leave her dorm, and she quietly changed into her jeans and shrugged on one of Draco's tops and a jumper to confront the chill. Grabbing her wand, she hesitated on her way out to gently stroke her sleeping lover's hair before pushing open her door to find Crookshanks agitatedly pacing around the sitting room, making troubled growling sounds and clawing at the floorboards.

"Calm down, Crooks," she whispered, giving him a gentle pet. "I'll be back in a bit."

Allowing intuition to guide her, she tip-toed down the empty corridors with only the thuds of her heart to disturb the eerie silence. Absently wandering in a direction she didn't really want to go, she dragged her fingers across the stone walls, as if she was somehow trying to soothe the school itself for what was to come. Climbing a flight of stairs and realising where she was heading, her eyes widened when she found that someone had already sought answers in Astronomy Tower in the early hours of this peculiar morning.

"You feel it too?" she asked, coming to stand at her Professor's side.

"Yes," McGonagall nodded, her hands gripping the railing and her thought-laden eyes studying the battling clouds. "Something is not right."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure," said the Headmistress tightly. "The storm is different. It feels…unbalanced"

"Do you think…" but Hermione trailed off as she caught sight of a lustrous white sphere shooting towards them like a comet. "What is that?"

McGonagall bowed her head and clenched her eyes shut with dismay. "Our warning."

They both retreated a few paces back as the light bounded in the tower and burst into the stunning the Patronus of a doe, and Hermione thought of Harry's mother. "Professor, whose-

"Quiet, Hermione," the older witch hushed her. "This is important-

"One hour," a familiar male voice echoed around them. "They are coming, Minerva."

The glowing doe disappeared as fast as it had arrived, and Hermione released the breath aching her lungs as she looked to the Headmistress expectantly. "They're coming?" she asked. "The Death Eaters?"

"One hour," McGonagall repeated distantly. "I don't know if that will be enough time-

"Was that Snape's Patronus?"

"Yes," she nodded, turning to her student with a grave stare. "Listen, Hermione, I need to alert the other Professors. You must wake up the Creeveys and Miss Preston and take them to my office. I will be with you as soon as I can-

"I thought we were going to evacuate them with the Thestrals-

"There's not enough time," she shook her head. "Just get them to my office and I will be with you shortly. Do you understand?"

Her Gryffindor instincts took over, and she straightened her spine before she gave her Professor a firm nod. "Okay. I'm going-

"Be as fast as you can!" McGonagall called after her as she sprinted away.

By the time Hermione reached the Gryffindor dorms, her muscles were sore and her head was pounding with adrenaline. Waking up Dennis, Colin and Joanne, she fidgeted fretfully as they hurried to gather some of their belongings, throwing worried glances at the clock and willing them to hurry.

Sweet Merlin, it's happening….

Nineteen minutes later and they were all gathered in the Head's office; Colin trying to comfort his frightened brother, and Hermione trying to reassure thirteen-year-old Joanne that she would get home safe. But as the minutes drifted by, Hermione became increasingly restless, trembling with nerves and impatience as the time dissolved and the threat of the Death Eaters became louder in her head. Each flick of the clock's hand meant one less minute to get Draco out of the Castle, and she fought hard to keep her mind on her duty to McGonagall and the Muggle-borns.

"Where is McGonagall?" Colin questioned with panic shaking his voice. "You said she wouldn't be long."

"She's on her way," Hermione replied, unsure if she was lying or not. "It will be fine."

What if it's not fine?

Waiting can drive a mind to ruin.

With only twenty-two minutes to spare, the Headmistress finally burst into her office, and Hermione had never seen her mentor look so flustered; her brow covered in a thin sheen of sweat and creased with stressful lines. Rushing over to the fireplace, the aging witch recited a quick spell before she turned to the four teenagers and gestured for them to come closer.

"You're going to Floo to Kingsley Shacklebolt's home," she explained in a edgy voice. "He will make sure you all get home safely, okay?" The three youngest heads bobbed with understanding. "His address is Twenty-three Wordsworth Way," she told them, reaching for her bowl of Floo Powder. "Miss Preston, you go first, and remember to say it clearly. We have to be quick."

Hermione watched as Joanne disappeared amongst the garish spurt of emerald flames, closely followed by Dennis, and finally Colin. A small dose of relief dulled the heavy beats in her chest, but she frowned with confusion when she realised McGonagall was holding out the pot Floor Powder in her direction.

"Come on, Hermione," the Headmistress prompted. "You have to leave-

"I'm not leaving," she disputed, backing away from the other witch. "I have to get Draco out of here-

"There's not enough time-

"But I need to-

"Hermione, the Death Eaters are on their way!" McGonagall snapped strictly. "You have to leave-

"NO!" she screamed, balling her fists. "I am NOT leaving! I need to get him out of here! You swore to me-

"Hermione, please be reasonable-

"You're just wasting more time arguing with me!" she insisted angrily, frustrated tears spilling down her cheeks. "If I have to do this without your help, then I will! But I am not leaving until I know he is away from here!"

McGonagall went stiff before she exhaled in defeat, eyeing her student with weary eyes as she reluctantly made her way over to her desk. Waving her wand to open a drawer, she removed a small round-shaped object wrapped in fabric, and a wand Hermione recognised to be Draco's.

"So be it," McGonagall mumbled on a sigh. "Listen to me carefully, because I only have time to say this once. Use the back entrance and run down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest by Hagrid's hut. Don't go too far in; just enough to remain unseen."

"But what if someone sees him in the school?"

"All of the Professors are gathering in the Great Hall and most of the students are still asleep," she supplied. "You will get there fine-

"And what do I do when I get-

"This coin is a Portkey to a safe-house," she interjected, holding up the cloth-covered item. "When you leave here, I will let them know you are on your way."

Hermione swallowed as the Headmistress pushed the Portkey and Draco's wand into her hands. "You're not going to tell me where he's going, are you?"

McGonagall shook her head. "You know it is safer if less people know-

"But he will be safe?" the younger witch implored, pocketing the two items and ensuring they were secure. "You promise he will be safe?"

"I promise," she nodded. "Now listen, Hermione. After Draco is gone, you need to head back the way you came. On the fringe of the Forest by Hagrid's hut, there is a red rock underneath an Oak tree. You will be able to Apparate from there. Go to Tonks' home, and I will Fire-call her to let her know you're coming so she can alter her Wards."

"Red rock under the Oak tree," she repeated numbly, before she practically pounced on the greying witch and clutched her in a rib-cracking hug. "Thank you so much. For everything. I'm sorry for being so selfish."

McGonagall accepted the gesture with a sad frown and patted her companion's back. "You need to go," she advised, pulling away and manoeuvring them towards the door. "Go now. You don't have time for this." The Headmistress paused and exhaled a haggard breath. "I wish you both luck."

Offering Minerva a parting look of gratitude, Hermione's body jolted into action. Stumbling on haste-clumsy feet, she fled the office; her devastated heart lodged in her throat, and the world crumbling around her.

.

.

Draco sat up in bed and eyed the cold dent of Hermione's outline in the mattress with lowered eyebrows.

Where the fuck…?

It was quarter to six and the sky was barely beginning to soften into a lighter shade of blue, so just why was he alone in bed? And furthermore, why couldn't he hear the sounds of a shower, or her shuffling around in the kitchenette?

Scowling with irritation, he tossed aside the covers and tugged on the clothes he'd been wearing the day before in an effort to beat the winter air that had snuck into Granger's room. Padding his bare feet across the floorboards and heading into the living area, he almost stumbled when his lover's pet blocked his path.

"Clever cat, my arse," he mumbled, giving the half-kneazle a scolding look. "If you're so smart where's-

He was cut off as Hermione surged into the room, panting wildly, cheeks shimmering with tears and tripping over own her feet. "Oh thank Merlin you're awake!" she wheezed, clambering towards him and grasping his jumper in her shaking fists. "We-we need to go-

"What the hell?" he blurted, gripping her wrists and steadying her. He'd never seen her this way, and his insides twisted with dread as he absorbed her frantic behaviour. "Where have you been-

"We have to leave!" she shouted. "The Death Eaters. They-they're coming! We need to go! Now!"

"Granger, just bloody breathe-

"You're not listening to me! We have minutes!" she yelled, ripping herself out of his hold and flicking her wand to Summon his shoes and coat. "Put these on, Draco! Quickly! I need to get you away from here! Just hurry!"

The gravity of her words and the desperation in her voice smacked him in the chest like an Impedimenta, and he did as she bade as she ran into her room and returned with her charmed bag and a jacket. He'd barely fastened the first button of his coat when she snatched his hand and began dragging him out of the room, her fingers clamped around his so tight it cut off circulation.

"Crooks!" she called over her shoulder as she flung open the door. "Follow, Crooks! Come on!"

Her intuitive pet cantered ahead as she yanked Draco into motion, both of them breaking into a clumsy sprint and charging down the Castle's barren passageways, fuelled by fear and refusing to unlink their hands. Reaching the back doors, the wind and rain hammered against them with relentless force as they skidded and staggered across the mud-slicked grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. Passing Hagrid's hut, they dived into the trees, shoving aside the clawing talons of branches and twigs that tried to hinder their escape. In the corner of her eye, Hermione registered a flash of burgundy, and she halted her burning legs to bring them to a too-sudden stop.

She kept Draco's hand clamped in hers.

"Fuck," he cursed, narrowly avoiding slamming into her back. "Granger, what the-

"Red rock," she murmured to herself, eyeing the towering Oak tree McGonagall had mentioned. "Come here, Crooks," she beckoned her pet, who had raced a few yards ahead but quickly came scampering back to her side. "Stay here, boy. I'll be back soon."

Satisfied that her magical familiar understood, she was pulling Draco and running again, blood seeping between their palms as their fingernails hooked into each other's skin. Another spasmodic crash of lightening and thunder exploded above their heads, and Hermione blinked away the sodden strands of hair trapped between her lashes and itching her eyes. Her bones felt like fracturing glass and her lungs were straining against her ribs, but she couldn't stop running.

Keep going…

Have to get him away…

Need to get him to safety…

"Granger, stop!" Draco shouted behind her, digging his heels into the ground and tearing his hand out of her vice-firm grip. "Just fucking stop!"

Hermione whipped around and tried to unsuccessfully reconnect their fingers. "Draco, we need-

"This is far enough!" he snapped. "What the hell are we doing here?"

She felt her weather-battered face scrunch up with anguish as she tried to find the words. Oh Godric…her heart was aching. Gazing at him now; hair ruffled by the wind and his ashen features raw from the punch of the cold, he looked so human and perfect, and the emotion strangled her.

"We…we're here to say goodbye," she mumbled through quivering lips and chattering teeth, watching his brow furrow with uncertainty. "Our time is up."

Draco shook his head stubbornly and his lip curled with defiance. "What are you-

A shrill and prolonged crack severed his words, booming throughout the Forest and vibrating the ground with its volume. He instinctively reached out for Hermione, grasping her elbows and drawing her close as the tremors subsided. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the swarming hisses of approaching brooms and what sounded like panicked shrieks from Hogwarts. Even the trees seemed to groan and flinch, and Draco scrutinized his surroundings with a suspicious stare, keeping Hermione locked in place against his chest.

"What the fuck was that?" he growled as the eerie echoes died.

"The Wards breaking," she answered dazedly, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the Castle. "They're here." She gulped back the grief. "Draco, you need to go-

"No," he spat harshly, loosening his grip so he could bring his face close to hers. "No! We need more time-

"There is no more time," she whimpered, her breath leaving her ghostly gasps. "You have to get away from here, or they'll find you-

"I'm not ready!" he interrupted, lifting his hands to brush away the drenched curls spattered across her face. Their blended blood smeared across her cheek, and he absently remembered the day in the bathroom, when she had sliced their palms and initiated their fated bond. Blood had been so different then. Now it was irrelevant. "Come with me," he blurted heedlessly. "Come with me and we can hide-

"I can't!" she yelled, breaking free of his arms. "We talked about this, Draco! We agreed-

"Well I changed my fucking mind!" he retorted fiercely. "What do you want me to do, Granger? Do you want me to get on my fucking knees and beg?"

"No!" she choked on a whine. "I want you to be safe! That's all I want!"

"And I want you to be safe!" he screamed back. "Don't fight in this War, Hermione! Don't-

"You know I have to-

"BULLSHIT!"

"Draco, please," she whispered, reaching into her pocket and fingering her wand. "You have to go-

"I need you, Hermione!" he barked his confession. Fuck you, Salazar. "Is that what you want to hear? Is that what it will take?"

"I didn't want to say goodbye like this," she murmured, more to herself as she withdrew her wand with quaking fingers. "I didn't want it to be this hard-

"What the hell are you doing?" he questioned, eyeing her with a wary and cautious glare. "Lower your wand, Granger!"

"I'm sorry," she moaned, straightening her wrist. "I'm so sorry, Draco, but I need you to be safe-

"Don't you DARE, Hermione-

"Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, and Draco's body went taut and still as the spell took effect. He reminded her of one of those toy soldiers; firm and proud, but completely lifeless in the eyes, and she knew this would haunt her.

Her hand fell limp at her side, and she clenched her eyes tight as scalding tears blurred her vision and smudged the bloodstain he'd branded her with. Abandoning her plan to feign composure, she slowly neared him and nuzzled her face into the junction of his neck and sobbed against his throat.

This wasn't how she'd intended them to part ways.

The wind swallowed them, the rain was slashing at their skin and the cold was rousing violent shivers to harass every inch of her body. Draco was inevitably silent and motionless under the spell, and she would have sacrificed almost anything just to feel his arm snake around her waist. It was unromantic and bitter, but she locked the precious seconds into her memory, cringing when more sinister sounds from Hogwarts interrupted her tender touches, and she was forced to realise that their clock had stopped.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled again, raising her chin and stroking her trembling fingers across the line of his law and his lower lip. "But this is the only way."

She could physically feel her heart splintering as she studied his frozen expression one final time and silently pleaded with her brain to remember every aspect of the face she'd woken up to for the last several weeks and come to…

"If-if we both come out of this War alive," she breathed, despising the word if. "I…I want you in my life."

Reaching into her bag, she removed his wand and slipped it into the pocket of his trousers and then returned to she rummage for the Portkey. Carefully peeling away the cloth and staring down at the innocent-looking Galleon with resentment, she pinched it between the flimsy material, and hovered it hesitantly over his knuckles.

Sucking in a shaky breath to soothe her withering soul, she spread her free palm across the side of his face and brushed her thumb up the ridge of his cheekbone. Tilting forward on the tips of her toes, she pressed her quivering lips against his unresponsive ones to cherish the last kiss; barely a connection, but it warmed her for that sliver of a moment.

Pulling back, she cheated herself into believing that the raindrops freckling his milky skin might be tears, and the final weak strings of her heart snapped.

Her heart had broken, and the pain was crippling.

Time's up…

"I love you," she sighed sadly, before she slapped the coin against his skin, flinching as the air shifted to accommodate the Portkey's pull.

And then he was gone.