Hermione's Source
Rating: R/NC-17
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Harry Potter.
Author's Notes: I wrote this for a request for the Draco and Hermione Fic Exchange. It's a great community with a lot of different authors.
Summary: Hermione must meet with Draco in order to secure information for the Order blah blah I hate summaries.
“I need you to continue my meetings with our source while Ron and I are away.” The relaxed tone of Harry’s voice suggested a request, but Hermione read the demand in the tight clench of his jaw and his rigid posture. Ron felt the tension as well, as Harry’s arm was snaked around his back underneath his winter coat. He glanced sympathetically but helplessly at Hermione, who sighed deeply. Harry reached across the table with his other hand and pried Hermione’s fingers from her mug. He squeezed her hand tightly and frowned.
“He won’t agree to meet anyone else from the Order,” he whispered, glancing nervously around the Muggle cafe. Hermione winced internally at Harry’s paranoid behavior. “He said that if you can sympathize with a house elf, you probably won’t betray him.”
“I’ll do it, Harry,” Hermione said resignedly. Harry exhaled in relief and leaned back in the booth, settling into the familiar silence that had lately accompanied the trio. Hermione watched him and Ron, noticing the awkwardness of their touch. Harry had self-consciously hidden his embracing arm under Ron’s coat, and Ron was leaning very slightly into Harry’s side. Harry had become increasingly anxious since the war had unfolded, his high-strung behavior affecting even his personal relationships. Harry was absolutely terrified that the common knowledge of his relationship with Ron would put the latter in danger, and as a result, very few people beyond Hermione knew anything about it.
Ron suddenly looked at his watch and started to move to leave. “I have to meet Ginny soon, so I’ll see you both at the flat later.” He disentangled Harry’s arm from his waist and the two looked at each other hesitantly. Harry hugged Ron briefly, quickly ending the embrace and pulling away.
“Later, then,” said Harry stiffly. Ron nodded, his eyes downcast, and hurried out into the cold. Hermione silently watched Harry drink his tea for a few moments before she spoke.
“Harry,” she said softly, “you know it hurts him when you brush him off like that.”
Harry glowered defensively at her. “It’s dangerous,” he murmured softly, “If anyone found out. . .” Harry trailed off, and Hermione knew he was silently blaming himself for Sirius’ death. She decided to drop the matter even as she weighed Harry’s anxiety against Ron’s sensitivity. The pair continued to drink silently until they headed back to Hermione’s flat.
**********
Hermione woke in the middle of the night, craving a smoke. On bad nights, nights when she wondered if her parents were still secure in hiding, nights when the Order had something unsettling planned, nights when she cried herself to sleep, Hermione woke four or five times with the desperate need for something to calm her nerves. Tonight, she would probably wake only once, as Harry and Ron were safe in her living room, and Lupin had assured her early this week of her parents’ (relative) safety, and the Order had no significant plans about which she knew.
Hermione scooted off the edge of her bed and padded toward the bathroom, the only place she allowed smoking in her small flat. She stopped in the hallway and peeked into the living room, suddenly clapping her hand over her mouth to suppress what may have been a gasp or an immature giggle.
Harry lay on top of Ron on the couch, his body curled up as he delicately kissed Ron’s belly. Ron’s head was lolled to one side, his long hair covering his eyes, and one arm was dangling lazily off the couch as his other hand tangled in Harry’s hair. The moonlight illuminated the couple, and Hermione could tell that Ron was naked under Harry, who was still wearing pajama bottoms. Hermione could see the freckles stand out on Ron’s skin in stark contrast to the pure paleness of Harry. She smiled at her memory of the freckles that covered the redhead’s entire body, happy that they had broken off their relationship amiably when both had realized they were not meant to be together.
Ron pushed himself up on his elbows and whispered something to Harry, who grinned and bowed his head down shyly. He reached a hand up to Harry’s face and stroked his cheekbone gently, pulling him into a kiss. Hermione leaned against the wall and smiled sadly. They showed none of the tension and hesitation that defined their togetherness at the cafe; unfortunately, with the dawning of the next day, that would return. Until the war ended, no relationship would be safe or warm or perfect because it would always feel as though it could be taken away. Personal ties could be exploited, leaving a person with nothing but a dead lover and a guilty conscience.
Hermione turned away from the pair and tiptoed to her bathroom, where she lay balanced precariously along the edge of the tub, smoking and lazily stroking Crookshanks.
**********
Hermione traipsed over the top of the steep hill to see a breathtakingly gorgeous sunrise and an impressively dirty Draco Malfoy. He leaned lazily against a tree, facing away from her with a cigarette dangling haphazardly from his fingertips.
“Malfoy,” intoned Hermione, more sharply than she had intended. Draco startled and dropped his smoke, his head swiveling around to see Hermione. He met her gaze and scowled, his body language shifting quickly to hide the fact that he was unnerved only a moment before.
“Granger,” he drawled, producing a cigarette from somewhere in his Muggle trousers. He used a cheap, plastic lighter - the kind one buys at a petrol station when the nice lighter goes missing.
“Can I have one?” Hermione asked self-consciously, certain that she sounded like a twelve year old. Draco smirked, and Hermione knew she was right.
“Granger smokes?” he sneered. “Does Potter know? Won’t he fire you from your position as better than everyone else?” Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Draco. He looked amused and produced another smoke from his trousers. Hermione took the cigarette from Draco’s chapped fingers and leaned toward him, lighting her cigarette from his. Draco smelled like leaves and tobacco smoke, and his hair had bits of green stuck among the blonde. Hermione wondered if he often slept outside.
“Where do you stay?” she asked.
“Different places,” he answered. “But revealing them to you could hardly help either of us." Hermione shrugged indifferently.
“Do you have anything for us this week?” Draco nodded slowly.
“Death Eater celebration on Tuesday,” he seemed to choose his words carefully. “Think of it as a wedding, but with only his followers, and without the bride’s best interest.” Draco shuddered very slightly. Hermione expected that he was hiding his disgust from her intentionally; Harry commented that he rarely showed much emotion during these meetings.
“I never contribute advice,” continued Draco, “but if I wanted a lot of occupied, piss drunk Death Eaters, that would be the night.” He waited for her to respond.
“Um, thanks,” said Hermione. “Next week, then?” Draco nodded wordlessly and turned back to the horizon, where the sun had almost appeared.
**********
Hermione watched him without speaking. Draco stood against the same tree, wearing the same clothes, but probably not smoking the same cigarette. Hermione stared at his thin shoulders and tangled hair. He looked toward the gray sky and spoke to Hermione without turning around.
“They’ve found your mum and dad, but they’ve done nothing about it yet.” Hermione gasped and stood frozen in place. Draco turned quickly, his eyes flashing.
“Granger, are you dumb?” he hissed. “Go.” Hermione apparated without having said a word.
**********
“You live in a flat on your own?” asked Draco incredulously. He slouched against the tree where he always stood. Hermione wondered if he picked the same tree every time to fill some psychological need for security. “Doesn’t the Order care for your safety?” Hermione looked away from his questioning eyes.
“I prefer the solitude,” she answered quietly. Draco snorted.
“Do you also prefer the risk?” Hermione glared at him.
“You sleep in the dirt!” She picked a leaf from his hair to emphasize her point. Draco smacked her hand away from his head.
“I have no choice,” he spat.
“The Order would protect you!” cried Hermione. “Don’t lecture me about risk!”
“If I was with the Order, you would be an orphan.” He glared at her, daring her to contradict him. Hermione sighed and slowly took a drag from her cigarette.
“Harry and Ron stay with me when they’re in town,” she said quietly. “I’m not always alone.” Hermione paused; Draco watched her expectantly, and she continued. “Arthur and Molly want me to stay with them, but people are in and out all hours of the day, and it’s just too much. Besides, I like having Harry and Ron to myself sometimes, and they can sleep on the couch-” she breathed in sharply, “er, floor. And couch.” Hermione imagined that the look on Draco’s face resembled when Harry had to tell him he was taking remedial potions with Snape.
“What was that last bit, Granger?” he jeered. Hermione cursed her inability to lie well as she blushed a deep shade of red. Draco smirked at her reaction and draped a hand dramatically across his forehead.
“Oh Potter,” he squeaked in a high falsetto, “I do love scars.” Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. This could not get worse.
“Oh Weasel,” Draco squealed in the same pitch, “you’re lucky I fancy mediocre Quidditch players.”
“Can I ride on the back of your broom, Scarhead?”
“That’s not the only thing you can ride on the ba-”
“Enough!” exclaimed Hermione. She glared at Draco, but a smile played on her lips. “You have no sense of decency, Malfoy.” Her tone grew serious. “But you really must keep quiet. If the wrong person knew . . .” Hermione trailed off.
“Potter is a nancy-boy. Information to change the world.” Draco rolled his eyes. “But I’ll keep it to myself, even if I don’t really have anyone else to tell.” His tone was sincere, a rare occurrence, and Hermione felt relieved and strangely comforted.
“I know this is out of nowhere, but I never thanked you. About my parents, you know,” Hermione stated hesitantly. Draco shook his head.
“I just pass on the information, Granger,” he declared. “Whatever I hear is just chance.”
“But you’re taking a risk, putting yourself in danger, and that’s something,” Hermione protested. “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Draco inhaled deeply from his cigarette.
“Yes, I do,” he affirmed quietly.
“Is it because of your mum?” Hermione asked gently. Draco ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the tree with his eyes closed.
“Not all of it,” he seemed to consider the rest of his answer. “I want blood and vengeance and all that for her, but that isn’t everything.” Draco opened his eyes and met Hermione’s gaze. “He made us both suffer. For a year. She knew that I would fail, and even though I wanted desperately to prove . . . something . . . I knew as well. And we lived that way for months, just waiting until my time ran out and he would kill us both.” Draco drew in another deep breath from his cigarette. “It was very slow torture, and for that, I want him ruined. And that is why I do this.” Draco’s eyes wandered away from Hermione’s to eventually focus on the sun appearing over the horizon. Hermione took his hand in hers, and he sighed peacefully at her touch. They stood together, watching the sun rise, without pretense or animosity.
**********
Draco stared at her from his perch with his back against his tree (it seemed to belong to him now), fingers idly picking at the bark. The circles under his eyes seemed darker with every meeting, his skin more pale, his face more tense. Hermione wondered if she matched him in that regard; it could be difficult to notice changes in your own appearance. Hermione also wondered, briefly, if Harry and Ron looked the same, but mostly she wondered if Draco had any damn information for her.
Hermione grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him back roughly, his head striking the tree. “Tell me something.” She meant to sound harsh, but her voice came out as a plea. “Tell me you have something, anything. Please.” Hermione let go of him and sunk down to the ground, her head buried in her hands. She heard Draco rifle around in his trousers, followed by the sound of a lighter clicking. He crouched down and took her hand, placing a lit cigarette between her fingers. Hermione inhaled and looked at Draco desperately.
“I have very little. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice flat.
“You haven’t had anything useful for weeks,” Hermione moaned. “And now, when it’s so important, you still have nothing. Nothing.” She spat the last word, and Draco glared at her angrily. He stood up, still glaring down at her.
“Get up, Granger,” he growled. “I said little, not nothing. And you know I get my information second hand. I can’t just stride up to a Death Eater and invite them to tea. My access is very limited.” He offered a hand to Hermione, and she stood up. Irritation still lurked in his eyes, but Hermione could tell his anger would be short-lived.
“The Death Eaters have no one who can brew a Wolfsbane Potion,” Draco began, “and with Greyback deserting them and taking off with most of the werewolf support, they really have no way to deal with a werewolf. The full moon happens in a week and a half, and having an uncontrollable werewolf around adds some instability to their plans.”
“But what if they just kill him before then?” Hermione interjected, panic in her voice. Draco shook his head.
“Lupin is far too important murder immediately. He’s rumored to have taken over the Order’s leadership after Dumbledore-” Draco’s voice hitched, but he continued, “and so he’s worth more alive than dead. For now, at least. I imagine they’ll keep him around for at least a month before he’s outlived his usefulness.” Hermione remained quiet, deeply considering the situation.
“We could break him out during the full moon,” she murmured finally. Draco shrugged.
“I never give advice,” he said cryptically. “And you should be careful about accidentally revealing plans to me.” Hermione eyed him strangely.
“That idea would add too much instability, even for us,” she lied, trusting that Draco would accept her words at face value; having too much information about the Order would not benefit Draco were he captured. Draco nodded, and Hermione knew that he had deceived himself into believing her. Hermione marveled at the strangeness of their exchange and nodded back at Draco before apparating away.
**********
Hermione stood outside of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, observing Diagon Alley. A few people wandered about, mostly clustered in groups, but the street was nearly empty due to the late hour of the night. Technically, the joke shop was closed, but Hermione knew that Fred and George remained on the premise until nearly midnight, organizing merchandise and waiting in case someone from the Order showed up with news. She knocked softly on the window, careful to avoid drawing attention to herself in spite of no one on the street paying her any obvious notice. The door opened slightly and Hermione was motioned inside by a small hand. She followed the figure through the darkened store to the back room, where the figure immediately turned and embraced Hermione enthusiastically.
“What do you need, Hermione?” Ginny asked, pulling back from the hug. “It’s lovely to see you, but I doubt a visit this late is for catching up.” Hermione smiled.
“I have some information. Are Fred and George here?” Ginny nodded.
“They’ll make their way up here eventually. I’m sure they can hear us talking. They’re just messing with some inventory in the back.” Just then, the twins appeared, with Fred carrying a small box.
“Hello, Hermione,” they said in unison. “You have got to try this candy.” Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes.
“We’ll see about that,” she said. “But first, I have something to tell you.” She relayed the small piece of information that Draco had given her, and the three Weasleys glanced around at each other.
“I’ll tell Mum and Dad,” volunteered Ginny. “I have to go back home tonight anyway, and it’ll save you both the trip.” She turned to Hermione and hugged her again. “Thanks, love. I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something. I can tell you’re worried.” Hermione smiled at Ginny.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, beginning to tear up. Over Ginny’s shoulder, Hermione saw Fred and George wink at each other.
“Enough of serious business!” exclaimed Fred, pulling a chocolate out of the box he had set down. He read the label and handed it to Hermione. “Eat this.” Hermione eyed him suspiciously but ate the sweet anyway. She immediately felt very surprised and laughed.
“Did that chocolate just bewilder me?” she asked incredulously. George laughed and nodded.
“We haven’t named them yet. This is just the experimental batch. Aren’t they great?” George beamed at Hermione and handed a chocolate to Ginny, who put it in her mouth and promptly frowned.
“I feel so inadequate,” she whined. “This one makes you depressed. George, you git, give me something better.” Fred handed her another chocolate, which Ginny ate quickly. She suddenly dissolved in a fit of giggles. George poked Hermione in the side.
“That’s a giggly one,” he chuckled, handing a chocolate to Hermione. “You should try this one. Ginny’s not allowed.” He shared an amused glance with Fred, whose eyes immediately locked on Hermione.
“Well, go on,” he said. The twins watched her expectantly, and Hermione sighed and ate the chocolate. After a few seconds, she blushed furiously and crossed her arms sternly. Fred and George laughed and gave each other a high five.
“Looks like that one works!” Fred grinned. Ginny, recovered from her laughing fit, looked at them in confusion.
“What?” she asked. Hermione grinned in spite of herself and punched George in the shoulder.
“That one makes you randy,” she blushed. Ginny stared at Hermione for a moment before dissolving into giggles again. The four of them continued experimenting with the chocolates, Hermione reflecting silently that it had been a very long time since she had laughed at all.
**********
Hermione remained in good spirits for the next week. The Order had decided to act on Draco’s information, planning to rescue Lupin during the next full moon. Although the plan was risky, Hermione was very hopeful. A very cautious sort of hopeful, but optimistic nonetheless. Her cheerful mood apparently showed, as Draco commented on it immediately during their next meeting.
“You seem uncharacteristically chipper,” he drawled.
“Maybe a bit,” answered Hermione, smiling. “I think we can rescue Lupin.” Her face darkened. “But I’m still worried. I’m just trying not to dwell. That can’t help anything, can it?” Draco shook his head, his only acknowledgment of her question.
“Full moon in a few days,” Draco said, tilting his head to look at the moon, which still showed in the faint morning light. “The Death Eaters still can’t brew a Wolfsbane potion.” He looked at Hermione and shrugged. “But I that’s all I have for you, again.”
“It’s alright,” Hermione told him. “You can’t have something every week.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a chocolate. “Eat this,” Hermione said mischievously. Draco wordlessly took the chocolate and and narrowed his eyes at her, but ate it anyway. His eyes widened in surprise, and he gave a small smile. Hermione giggled.
“Weasleys?” Draco questioned, and Hermione nodded. She handed him another sweet. Draco rolled his eyes and put it in his mouth. After a few seconds, he looked away from Hermione and flushed. Hermione stared at Draco, trying not to laugh, until he finally returned his gaze to her. He grinned, still blushing, and ran a hand through his hair. Hermione smiled triumphantly.
“Did I surprise you?” she teased.
“No, that was the first one.” Draco produced a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “You really need a smoke after that second one.” Hermione blushed as Draco smirked.
**********
“We failed,” whispered Hermione, her voice cracking. Her red-rimmed eyes locked on Draco and waited for a response. He stared at her for a few moments as though waiting for her to continue. When Hermione remained silent, Draco only shrugged. He obviously expected her to talk.
“He didn’t . . . from being injured in the escape.” Hermione’s voice wavered and she quickly rushed into an explanation. “He killed himself. He couldn’t accept that he had murdered someone like that, especially when she seemed so young. We thought he should know what he did, even if he didn’t remember it, and so we left Arthur to keep an eye on him, and we took his wand, but Arthur doesn’t know Muggle medicine very well, so he didn’t know to watch for that. Arthur thought he was sleeping, and when he went to check on him, he found him.” Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You can take a lot of Muggle pills to kill yourself. You just fall asleep and never wake up.”
“It was Pansy,” Draco stated suddenly, his voice emotionless. Hermione gaped at him, her mouth parted in shock.
“Oh, Malfoy,” she groaned, “I’m so sorry. No one who went inside would’ve recognized her. We didn’t know.” Hermione put a hand to Draco’s cheek. “I really am sorry.” Draco looked away and sighed sadly. Hermione buried her hands in her lap and suddenly became aware that the ground was very cold, although she was too distraught to care very much.
“I hadn’t seen her in a long time,” Draco spoke in a wooden tone. “We had a falling out during sixth year and never really talked again.” They sat together in silence on the grass for a long time until Draco spoke again.
“But were you surprised? Really?” he asked, his voice curious. Hermione looked confused for a moment and then shocked.
“Well, yes,” she stuttered, “why wouldn’t we be?” Draco cocked his head to the side and gave her an odd look.
“Don’t you think he was looking for a reason, maybe?” he asked carefully. Hermione blinked at him incredulously. Draco continued. “He had Muggle drugs, Granger. Why would he keep them around?”
“But why?” asked Hermione, looking genuinely confused. Draco sighed.
“Because of Sirius,” he stated cautiously. Realization suddenly dawned on Hermione.
“That certainly explains some things,” she murmured. Draco looked at her with mild surprise.
“You didn’t know?” he asked. Hermione shook her head.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“Death Eaters talk. A lot,” answered Draco. “Bella mentioned it to me. Apparently, Wormtail told her.” Draco hesitated. “They were certain Lupin wouldn’t last long after Bella killed Sirius. Wormtail was convinced that losing Sirius twice would be enough to drive him over the edge.” Hermione remembered Lupin’s excursions into werewolf territory becoming increasingly lengthy and risky after Sirius died, but she hadn’t thought to connect that together.
“Oh,” Hermione breathed softly. She wiped her eyes again. “He was so unhappy, and none of us knew. He never said anything, and we could’ve helped him. We should’ve known.” She broke down into sobs, her face buried in her hands. When her crying subsided, Hermione felt cold fingers pull her hands away from her face. Draco slid his hands up to her shoulders and pulled Hermione to him. Hermione’s heart raced as his lips met hers, and he gently pushed his tongue into her mouth. Hermione sighed and slowly ran a hand through Draco’s hair as she explored his mouth with her tongue. He tasted like cigarettes, familiar and comforting, and she desperately kissed harder. Draco ran his hand down her back and Hermione shivered as Draco breathed a sigh. He pulled back from her, his face flushed and his breathing ragged.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for anything,” he said quietly, his voice laced with concern. Hermione nodded. “The Death Eaters are going to attack The Daily Prophet office within the next week.” Draco’s voice had returned to its normal tone, and his face contained only a trace of red. Hermione marveled at his ability to regain his composure, as she was still staring at him in shock with pink cheeks and a bewildered look on her face. She merely nodded before apparating away.
**********
Hermione watched Draco, who was hunched over with his head between his legs next to his same tree. He had always, to Hermione’s memory, been standing and staring at the horizon before she arrived. As she approached, she noticed his back rise and fall rapidly with shallow breaths. Hermione knelt next to him and gasped as a wand jutted into her stomach.
“Malfoy!” she exclaimed, “It’s Hermione.” The wand relaxed, and Draco looked up from his knees. Hermione inhaled sharply. A deep gash ran diagonally from the top of his forehead to the opposite eyebrow, and Hermione wondered how she had missed noticing the blood in his blond hair. His eyes were red and watery as though he hadn’t slept, and his face was pale and drawn.
“My source was set up,” he murmured. “They only told a few people of each location, and so when the Order ended up at the Prophet, they narrowed it down pretty quickly. When I showed up where we usually meet, I saw Macnair immediately, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid his curse.” Draco’s gaze moved upward in a gesture toward his forehead. “I didn’t see Bella behind me until it was too late, but when I turned to her, she hesitated. She hesitated . . .” he trailed off. “That gave me enough time to apparate.”
“When did you last sleep? Or eat?” Hermione wondered.
“A couple of days ago,” Draco mumbled. Hermione noticed that even the effort required to talk seemed to weaken him.
“We need to go somewhere else,” Hermione declared. “You’ll catch your death of cold.” Draco shook his head feebly, a protest that Hermione ignored. She wrapped her arms around him and apparated.
**********
Draco lay on the rug in Hermione’s bathroom, his hands covering his face. “Where am I?” he asked.
“In my flat. I thought you might throw up from apparating, so I decided on the bathroom,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. “Would you like a glass of water?” Draco shook his head.
“I think I just need to stay here, not moving,” he moaned. Hermione watched him sympathetically.
“Does apparating with someone else always do this to you?” she asked.
“Mostly,” he said. “I threw up on my mum’s shoes once. She never apparated with me again.” Hermione stifled a giggle at that thought and fetched a glass of water from the kitchen. She placed it on the sink and knelt next to Draco.
“You have to sit up,” she said. “You’re probably dehydrated, so you won’t feel any better till you get something in you.” Draco groaned in protest but still took his hands from his face and pushed himself up on his elbows. He immediately grimaced and closed his eyes. Eventually, Hermione managed to help him sit against the bathtub. As she handed him the glass of water, she noticed that his hands were shaking. Hermione went to her bedroom and found a blanket that she draped around Draco’s shoulders. He said nothing as he sat drinking the water.
“I have to do something about that wound, you know,” Hermione said finally. Draco glared at her, but sighed resignedly. Hermione expected more protest and was surprised when Draco remained silent. She examined the gash closely and frowned. “You’re probably going to have a scar,” she sighed. “I can’t heal it properly here, although I can keep it from becoming infected and rotting your brain.” Draco sneered at her, and Hermione eyed him with scrutiny. “You’re still terribly nauseated, aren’t you?” Draco continued to glare at her, and Hermione smiled in sympathy and a bit of amusement. “It’ll pass.”
“I know,” he spoke through gritted teeth. Just then, an orange blur flew out of the sink and landed on the floor. Draco jumped and looked even more annoyed.
“Crookshanks,” cooed Hermione as the cat rubbed affectionately against her leg. Draco glared at Hermione and her cat, refusing to change his expression as Hermione patched up his head.
**********
Hermione woke in the middle of the night, as usual, badly desiring a smoke. She shuffled sleepily to the bathroom and found Draco sitting with his back against the sink, Crookshanks in his lap. He smoked as he petted the cat, and Hermione pursed her lips possessively as Crookshanks purred. Draco smirked and handed Hermione a smoke from the floor. She lit the cigarette from his and laid along the edge of the bathtub.
“Crookshanks,” Hermione called, making kissing noises with her lips. Draco rolled his eyes as the cat hopped from his lap to lie next to the bathtub, purring under Hermione’s touch for a few moments before jumping up onto the sink.
“Does he sleep in the basin?” questioned Draco. Hermione nodded. “Why?”
“I suppose he just prefers the sink to anywhere else,” she answered, shrugging.
“Is that similar to lying on the edge of the bathtub?” he pestered. “Honestly, Granger, that can’t be good for your back.” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“It’s just a matter of balance. And anyway, I don’t sleep like this, you know. I only smoke here.” Draco nodded, and they remained silent as they smoked. Hermione watched Draco, who stared into space and seemed to be thinking. He wore a pair of pajama bottoms that belonged to either Harry or Ron; Hermione had dug them out of a chest in her room. Hermione noticed a faint scar running down Draco’s chest, and she wondered if the mark on his forehead would fade. She fixed it up to the best of her ability, but Hermione never claimed to be a healer. Draco noticed her watching him and fixed his eyes on hers.
“Vincent Crabbe,” he said softly, “was my source.” Hermione’s eyes widened in shock.
“Why?” she asked incredulously.
“His younger sister was-” Draco paused as though searching for the right word. “-chosen. The Dark Lord is no longer satisfied with acquiring more followers. He wants,” Draco hesitated, “- to make his own.” Hermione’s face contorted with disgust.
“That’s sick,” she whispered. Draco nodded.
“She’s only fourteen, but that doesn’t matter. She’s pureblood. And pretty.”
“So Crabbe betrayed him because of his sister?” questioned Hermione. Draco nodded slowly. “Well, that’s kind of admirable, isn’t it?” Draco’s eyes hardened.
“No.” he said coldly. “If it was anyone else’s sister, he would’ve watched without caring. Crabbe only betrayed the Death Eaters because they hurt him. He never questioned anything.” Hermione stared quizzically at Draco.
“Where does that leave you?” she asked softly. “What makes you so different from him?” Draco’s eyes flashed in anger, and Hermione could see his shoulders tense. “I’m not accusing,” she soothed, “just asking.” Draco sighed sadly.
“I cannot follow anyone who causes so much anguish,” he answered. “I know, you think I’m only saying that because I failed him and he -” Draco stopped and buried his head in his hands. Hermione heard him take a deep breath. “But it’s not about me. Maybe it was at first, but not anymore.” He looked up, his tired eyes meeting Hermione’s. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She beckoned him toward her with a hand, and he moved to kneel next to her by the bathtub. Hermione ran a hand through Draco’s hair and pulled him down to her, pressing her lips against his. He aggressively pushed his tongue into her mouth and she gently bit his lip, eliciting a sigh from Draco. Hermione moaned as his hand traveled to her stomach and underneath her t-shirt, lightly caressing her breasts. She grabbed Draco’s other hand and sucked on his fingers as he kissed her neck.
Hermione gasped as Draco quickly shoved his hand into her knickers and ran a finger over her clit. He moaned when he felt her wetness, and Hermione kissed him harder, digging her fingers into the back of his head and shoving her tongue into his mouth. She shoved her heels into the ground and bucked her hips as Draco slipped a finger inside of her. He thumbed her clit as his fingers thrust into her, and Hermione fleetingly wondered about the absurdity of Draco Malfoy fingering her to orgasm.
Hermione ran her fingers down Draco’s back, and he shuddered against her as she scratched her nails into his skin. She grasped Draco tightly as she came, tightening around his fingers.
“Fuck me,” she gasped, tearing at Draco’s trousers. He pulled off Hermione’s pajama bottoms and straddled her, moaning desperately as he thrust inside her. Hermione gripped the edge of the bathtub above her head, using it as leverage to push her hips harder into Draco. He drove into her urgently and collapsed on top of her when he reached his peak, breathing heavily with his head buried in her chest. Hermione stroked his hair and caressed his cheek, feeling his eyelashes brush against her hand.
Draco reluctantly sat up and offered his hand to Hermione, pulling her into a sitting position. They sat on opposite sides of the tub, leaning back against the wall and straddling the edge. Hermione watched Draco, observing that did not seem flustered even though he was completely starkers. Draco cocked his head curiously at her, and she blushed at being noticed. He smiled self-consciously and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
Hermione stood up and approached Draco, her fingers gently brushing the hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, and Hermione offered him her hand.
“To my bed?” she questioned. Draco nodded and took her hand in his as she led them through her dark flat.
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Harry Potter.
Author's Notes: I wrote this for a request for the Draco and Hermione Fic Exchange. It's a great community with a lot of different authors.
Summary: Hermione must meet with Draco in order to secure information for the Order blah blah I hate summaries.
“I need you to continue my meetings with our source while Ron and I are away.” The relaxed tone of Harry’s voice suggested a request, but Hermione read the demand in the tight clench of his jaw and his rigid posture. Ron felt the tension as well, as Harry’s arm was snaked around his back underneath his winter coat. He glanced sympathetically but helplessly at Hermione, who sighed deeply. Harry reached across the table with his other hand and pried Hermione’s fingers from her mug. He squeezed her hand tightly and frowned.
“He won’t agree to meet anyone else from the Order,” he whispered, glancing nervously around the Muggle cafe. Hermione winced internally at Harry’s paranoid behavior. “He said that if you can sympathize with a house elf, you probably won’t betray him.”
“I’ll do it, Harry,” Hermione said resignedly. Harry exhaled in relief and leaned back in the booth, settling into the familiar silence that had lately accompanied the trio. Hermione watched him and Ron, noticing the awkwardness of their touch. Harry had self-consciously hidden his embracing arm under Ron’s coat, and Ron was leaning very slightly into Harry’s side. Harry had become increasingly anxious since the war had unfolded, his high-strung behavior affecting even his personal relationships. Harry was absolutely terrified that the common knowledge of his relationship with Ron would put the latter in danger, and as a result, very few people beyond Hermione knew anything about it.
Ron suddenly looked at his watch and started to move to leave. “I have to meet Ginny soon, so I’ll see you both at the flat later.” He disentangled Harry’s arm from his waist and the two looked at each other hesitantly. Harry hugged Ron briefly, quickly ending the embrace and pulling away.
“Later, then,” said Harry stiffly. Ron nodded, his eyes downcast, and hurried out into the cold. Hermione silently watched Harry drink his tea for a few moments before she spoke.
“Harry,” she said softly, “you know it hurts him when you brush him off like that.”
Harry glowered defensively at her. “It’s dangerous,” he murmured softly, “If anyone found out. . .” Harry trailed off, and Hermione knew he was silently blaming himself for Sirius’ death. She decided to drop the matter even as she weighed Harry’s anxiety against Ron’s sensitivity. The pair continued to drink silently until they headed back to Hermione’s flat.
**********
Hermione woke in the middle of the night, craving a smoke. On bad nights, nights when she wondered if her parents were still secure in hiding, nights when the Order had something unsettling planned, nights when she cried herself to sleep, Hermione woke four or five times with the desperate need for something to calm her nerves. Tonight, she would probably wake only once, as Harry and Ron were safe in her living room, and Lupin had assured her early this week of her parents’ (relative) safety, and the Order had no significant plans about which she knew.
Hermione scooted off the edge of her bed and padded toward the bathroom, the only place she allowed smoking in her small flat. She stopped in the hallway and peeked into the living room, suddenly clapping her hand over her mouth to suppress what may have been a gasp or an immature giggle.
Harry lay on top of Ron on the couch, his body curled up as he delicately kissed Ron’s belly. Ron’s head was lolled to one side, his long hair covering his eyes, and one arm was dangling lazily off the couch as his other hand tangled in Harry’s hair. The moonlight illuminated the couple, and Hermione could tell that Ron was naked under Harry, who was still wearing pajama bottoms. Hermione could see the freckles stand out on Ron’s skin in stark contrast to the pure paleness of Harry. She smiled at her memory of the freckles that covered the redhead’s entire body, happy that they had broken off their relationship amiably when both had realized they were not meant to be together.
Ron pushed himself up on his elbows and whispered something to Harry, who grinned and bowed his head down shyly. He reached a hand up to Harry’s face and stroked his cheekbone gently, pulling him into a kiss. Hermione leaned against the wall and smiled sadly. They showed none of the tension and hesitation that defined their togetherness at the cafe; unfortunately, with the dawning of the next day, that would return. Until the war ended, no relationship would be safe or warm or perfect because it would always feel as though it could be taken away. Personal ties could be exploited, leaving a person with nothing but a dead lover and a guilty conscience.
Hermione turned away from the pair and tiptoed to her bathroom, where she lay balanced precariously along the edge of the tub, smoking and lazily stroking Crookshanks.
**********
Hermione traipsed over the top of the steep hill to see a breathtakingly gorgeous sunrise and an impressively dirty Draco Malfoy. He leaned lazily against a tree, facing away from her with a cigarette dangling haphazardly from his fingertips.
“Malfoy,” intoned Hermione, more sharply than she had intended. Draco startled and dropped his smoke, his head swiveling around to see Hermione. He met her gaze and scowled, his body language shifting quickly to hide the fact that he was unnerved only a moment before.
“Granger,” he drawled, producing a cigarette from somewhere in his Muggle trousers. He used a cheap, plastic lighter - the kind one buys at a petrol station when the nice lighter goes missing.
“Can I have one?” Hermione asked self-consciously, certain that she sounded like a twelve year old. Draco smirked, and Hermione knew she was right.
“Granger smokes?” he sneered. “Does Potter know? Won’t he fire you from your position as better than everyone else?” Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Draco. He looked amused and produced another smoke from his trousers. Hermione took the cigarette from Draco’s chapped fingers and leaned toward him, lighting her cigarette from his. Draco smelled like leaves and tobacco smoke, and his hair had bits of green stuck among the blonde. Hermione wondered if he often slept outside.
“Where do you stay?” she asked.
“Different places,” he answered. “But revealing them to you could hardly help either of us." Hermione shrugged indifferently.
“Do you have anything for us this week?” Draco nodded slowly.
“Death Eater celebration on Tuesday,” he seemed to choose his words carefully. “Think of it as a wedding, but with only his followers, and without the bride’s best interest.” Draco shuddered very slightly. Hermione expected that he was hiding his disgust from her intentionally; Harry commented that he rarely showed much emotion during these meetings.
“I never contribute advice,” continued Draco, “but if I wanted a lot of occupied, piss drunk Death Eaters, that would be the night.” He waited for her to respond.
“Um, thanks,” said Hermione. “Next week, then?” Draco nodded wordlessly and turned back to the horizon, where the sun had almost appeared.
**********
Hermione watched him without speaking. Draco stood against the same tree, wearing the same clothes, but probably not smoking the same cigarette. Hermione stared at his thin shoulders and tangled hair. He looked toward the gray sky and spoke to Hermione without turning around.
“They’ve found your mum and dad, but they’ve done nothing about it yet.” Hermione gasped and stood frozen in place. Draco turned quickly, his eyes flashing.
“Granger, are you dumb?” he hissed. “Go.” Hermione apparated without having said a word.
**********
“You live in a flat on your own?” asked Draco incredulously. He slouched against the tree where he always stood. Hermione wondered if he picked the same tree every time to fill some psychological need for security. “Doesn’t the Order care for your safety?” Hermione looked away from his questioning eyes.
“I prefer the solitude,” she answered quietly. Draco snorted.
“Do you also prefer the risk?” Hermione glared at him.
“You sleep in the dirt!” She picked a leaf from his hair to emphasize her point. Draco smacked her hand away from his head.
“I have no choice,” he spat.
“The Order would protect you!” cried Hermione. “Don’t lecture me about risk!”
“If I was with the Order, you would be an orphan.” He glared at her, daring her to contradict him. Hermione sighed and slowly took a drag from her cigarette.
“Harry and Ron stay with me when they’re in town,” she said quietly. “I’m not always alone.” Hermione paused; Draco watched her expectantly, and she continued. “Arthur and Molly want me to stay with them, but people are in and out all hours of the day, and it’s just too much. Besides, I like having Harry and Ron to myself sometimes, and they can sleep on the couch-” she breathed in sharply, “er, floor. And couch.” Hermione imagined that the look on Draco’s face resembled when Harry had to tell him he was taking remedial potions with Snape.
“What was that last bit, Granger?” he jeered. Hermione cursed her inability to lie well as she blushed a deep shade of red. Draco smirked at her reaction and draped a hand dramatically across his forehead.
“Oh Potter,” he squeaked in a high falsetto, “I do love scars.” Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. This could not get worse.
“Oh Weasel,” Draco squealed in the same pitch, “you’re lucky I fancy mediocre Quidditch players.”
“Can I ride on the back of your broom, Scarhead?”
“That’s not the only thing you can ride on the ba-”
“Enough!” exclaimed Hermione. She glared at Draco, but a smile played on her lips. “You have no sense of decency, Malfoy.” Her tone grew serious. “But you really must keep quiet. If the wrong person knew . . .” Hermione trailed off.
“Potter is a nancy-boy. Information to change the world.” Draco rolled his eyes. “But I’ll keep it to myself, even if I don’t really have anyone else to tell.” His tone was sincere, a rare occurrence, and Hermione felt relieved and strangely comforted.
“I know this is out of nowhere, but I never thanked you. About my parents, you know,” Hermione stated hesitantly. Draco shook his head.
“I just pass on the information, Granger,” he declared. “Whatever I hear is just chance.”
“But you’re taking a risk, putting yourself in danger, and that’s something,” Hermione protested. “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Draco inhaled deeply from his cigarette.
“Yes, I do,” he affirmed quietly.
“Is it because of your mum?” Hermione asked gently. Draco ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the tree with his eyes closed.
“Not all of it,” he seemed to consider the rest of his answer. “I want blood and vengeance and all that for her, but that isn’t everything.” Draco opened his eyes and met Hermione’s gaze. “He made us both suffer. For a year. She knew that I would fail, and even though I wanted desperately to prove . . . something . . . I knew as well. And we lived that way for months, just waiting until my time ran out and he would kill us both.” Draco drew in another deep breath from his cigarette. “It was very slow torture, and for that, I want him ruined. And that is why I do this.” Draco’s eyes wandered away from Hermione’s to eventually focus on the sun appearing over the horizon. Hermione took his hand in hers, and he sighed peacefully at her touch. They stood together, watching the sun rise, without pretense or animosity.
**********
Draco stared at her from his perch with his back against his tree (it seemed to belong to him now), fingers idly picking at the bark. The circles under his eyes seemed darker with every meeting, his skin more pale, his face more tense. Hermione wondered if she matched him in that regard; it could be difficult to notice changes in your own appearance. Hermione also wondered, briefly, if Harry and Ron looked the same, but mostly she wondered if Draco had any damn information for her.
Hermione grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him back roughly, his head striking the tree. “Tell me something.” She meant to sound harsh, but her voice came out as a plea. “Tell me you have something, anything. Please.” Hermione let go of him and sunk down to the ground, her head buried in her hands. She heard Draco rifle around in his trousers, followed by the sound of a lighter clicking. He crouched down and took her hand, placing a lit cigarette between her fingers. Hermione inhaled and looked at Draco desperately.
“I have very little. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice flat.
“You haven’t had anything useful for weeks,” Hermione moaned. “And now, when it’s so important, you still have nothing. Nothing.” She spat the last word, and Draco glared at her angrily. He stood up, still glaring down at her.
“Get up, Granger,” he growled. “I said little, not nothing. And you know I get my information second hand. I can’t just stride up to a Death Eater and invite them to tea. My access is very limited.” He offered a hand to Hermione, and she stood up. Irritation still lurked in his eyes, but Hermione could tell his anger would be short-lived.
“The Death Eaters have no one who can brew a Wolfsbane Potion,” Draco began, “and with Greyback deserting them and taking off with most of the werewolf support, they really have no way to deal with a werewolf. The full moon happens in a week and a half, and having an uncontrollable werewolf around adds some instability to their plans.”
“But what if they just kill him before then?” Hermione interjected, panic in her voice. Draco shook his head.
“Lupin is far too important murder immediately. He’s rumored to have taken over the Order’s leadership after Dumbledore-” Draco’s voice hitched, but he continued, “and so he’s worth more alive than dead. For now, at least. I imagine they’ll keep him around for at least a month before he’s outlived his usefulness.” Hermione remained quiet, deeply considering the situation.
“We could break him out during the full moon,” she murmured finally. Draco shrugged.
“I never give advice,” he said cryptically. “And you should be careful about accidentally revealing plans to me.” Hermione eyed him strangely.
“That idea would add too much instability, even for us,” she lied, trusting that Draco would accept her words at face value; having too much information about the Order would not benefit Draco were he captured. Draco nodded, and Hermione knew that he had deceived himself into believing her. Hermione marveled at the strangeness of their exchange and nodded back at Draco before apparating away.
**********
Hermione stood outside of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, observing Diagon Alley. A few people wandered about, mostly clustered in groups, but the street was nearly empty due to the late hour of the night. Technically, the joke shop was closed, but Hermione knew that Fred and George remained on the premise until nearly midnight, organizing merchandise and waiting in case someone from the Order showed up with news. She knocked softly on the window, careful to avoid drawing attention to herself in spite of no one on the street paying her any obvious notice. The door opened slightly and Hermione was motioned inside by a small hand. She followed the figure through the darkened store to the back room, where the figure immediately turned and embraced Hermione enthusiastically.
“What do you need, Hermione?” Ginny asked, pulling back from the hug. “It’s lovely to see you, but I doubt a visit this late is for catching up.” Hermione smiled.
“I have some information. Are Fred and George here?” Ginny nodded.
“They’ll make their way up here eventually. I’m sure they can hear us talking. They’re just messing with some inventory in the back.” Just then, the twins appeared, with Fred carrying a small box.
“Hello, Hermione,” they said in unison. “You have got to try this candy.” Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes.
“We’ll see about that,” she said. “But first, I have something to tell you.” She relayed the small piece of information that Draco had given her, and the three Weasleys glanced around at each other.
“I’ll tell Mum and Dad,” volunteered Ginny. “I have to go back home tonight anyway, and it’ll save you both the trip.” She turned to Hermione and hugged her again. “Thanks, love. I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something. I can tell you’re worried.” Hermione smiled at Ginny.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, beginning to tear up. Over Ginny’s shoulder, Hermione saw Fred and George wink at each other.
“Enough of serious business!” exclaimed Fred, pulling a chocolate out of the box he had set down. He read the label and handed it to Hermione. “Eat this.” Hermione eyed him suspiciously but ate the sweet anyway. She immediately felt very surprised and laughed.
“Did that chocolate just bewilder me?” she asked incredulously. George laughed and nodded.
“We haven’t named them yet. This is just the experimental batch. Aren’t they great?” George beamed at Hermione and handed a chocolate to Ginny, who put it in her mouth and promptly frowned.
“I feel so inadequate,” she whined. “This one makes you depressed. George, you git, give me something better.” Fred handed her another chocolate, which Ginny ate quickly. She suddenly dissolved in a fit of giggles. George poked Hermione in the side.
“That’s a giggly one,” he chuckled, handing a chocolate to Hermione. “You should try this one. Ginny’s not allowed.” He shared an amused glance with Fred, whose eyes immediately locked on Hermione.
“Well, go on,” he said. The twins watched her expectantly, and Hermione sighed and ate the chocolate. After a few seconds, she blushed furiously and crossed her arms sternly. Fred and George laughed and gave each other a high five.
“Looks like that one works!” Fred grinned. Ginny, recovered from her laughing fit, looked at them in confusion.
“What?” she asked. Hermione grinned in spite of herself and punched George in the shoulder.
“That one makes you randy,” she blushed. Ginny stared at Hermione for a moment before dissolving into giggles again. The four of them continued experimenting with the chocolates, Hermione reflecting silently that it had been a very long time since she had laughed at all.
**********
Hermione remained in good spirits for the next week. The Order had decided to act on Draco’s information, planning to rescue Lupin during the next full moon. Although the plan was risky, Hermione was very hopeful. A very cautious sort of hopeful, but optimistic nonetheless. Her cheerful mood apparently showed, as Draco commented on it immediately during their next meeting.
“You seem uncharacteristically chipper,” he drawled.
“Maybe a bit,” answered Hermione, smiling. “I think we can rescue Lupin.” Her face darkened. “But I’m still worried. I’m just trying not to dwell. That can’t help anything, can it?” Draco shook his head, his only acknowledgment of her question.
“Full moon in a few days,” Draco said, tilting his head to look at the moon, which still showed in the faint morning light. “The Death Eaters still can’t brew a Wolfsbane potion.” He looked at Hermione and shrugged. “But I that’s all I have for you, again.”
“It’s alright,” Hermione told him. “You can’t have something every week.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a chocolate. “Eat this,” Hermione said mischievously. Draco wordlessly took the chocolate and and narrowed his eyes at her, but ate it anyway. His eyes widened in surprise, and he gave a small smile. Hermione giggled.
“Weasleys?” Draco questioned, and Hermione nodded. She handed him another sweet. Draco rolled his eyes and put it in his mouth. After a few seconds, he looked away from Hermione and flushed. Hermione stared at Draco, trying not to laugh, until he finally returned his gaze to her. He grinned, still blushing, and ran a hand through his hair. Hermione smiled triumphantly.
“Did I surprise you?” she teased.
“No, that was the first one.” Draco produced a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “You really need a smoke after that second one.” Hermione blushed as Draco smirked.
**********
“We failed,” whispered Hermione, her voice cracking. Her red-rimmed eyes locked on Draco and waited for a response. He stared at her for a few moments as though waiting for her to continue. When Hermione remained silent, Draco only shrugged. He obviously expected her to talk.
“He didn’t . . . from being injured in the escape.” Hermione’s voice wavered and she quickly rushed into an explanation. “He killed himself. He couldn’t accept that he had murdered someone like that, especially when she seemed so young. We thought he should know what he did, even if he didn’t remember it, and so we left Arthur to keep an eye on him, and we took his wand, but Arthur doesn’t know Muggle medicine very well, so he didn’t know to watch for that. Arthur thought he was sleeping, and when he went to check on him, he found him.” Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You can take a lot of Muggle pills to kill yourself. You just fall asleep and never wake up.”
“It was Pansy,” Draco stated suddenly, his voice emotionless. Hermione gaped at him, her mouth parted in shock.
“Oh, Malfoy,” she groaned, “I’m so sorry. No one who went inside would’ve recognized her. We didn’t know.” Hermione put a hand to Draco’s cheek. “I really am sorry.” Draco looked away and sighed sadly. Hermione buried her hands in her lap and suddenly became aware that the ground was very cold, although she was too distraught to care very much.
“I hadn’t seen her in a long time,” Draco spoke in a wooden tone. “We had a falling out during sixth year and never really talked again.” They sat together in silence on the grass for a long time until Draco spoke again.
“But were you surprised? Really?” he asked, his voice curious. Hermione looked confused for a moment and then shocked.
“Well, yes,” she stuttered, “why wouldn’t we be?” Draco cocked his head to the side and gave her an odd look.
“Don’t you think he was looking for a reason, maybe?” he asked carefully. Hermione blinked at him incredulously. Draco continued. “He had Muggle drugs, Granger. Why would he keep them around?”
“But why?” asked Hermione, looking genuinely confused. Draco sighed.
“Because of Sirius,” he stated cautiously. Realization suddenly dawned on Hermione.
“That certainly explains some things,” she murmured. Draco looked at her with mild surprise.
“You didn’t know?” he asked. Hermione shook her head.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“Death Eaters talk. A lot,” answered Draco. “Bella mentioned it to me. Apparently, Wormtail told her.” Draco hesitated. “They were certain Lupin wouldn’t last long after Bella killed Sirius. Wormtail was convinced that losing Sirius twice would be enough to drive him over the edge.” Hermione remembered Lupin’s excursions into werewolf territory becoming increasingly lengthy and risky after Sirius died, but she hadn’t thought to connect that together.
“Oh,” Hermione breathed softly. She wiped her eyes again. “He was so unhappy, and none of us knew. He never said anything, and we could’ve helped him. We should’ve known.” She broke down into sobs, her face buried in her hands. When her crying subsided, Hermione felt cold fingers pull her hands away from her face. Draco slid his hands up to her shoulders and pulled Hermione to him. Hermione’s heart raced as his lips met hers, and he gently pushed his tongue into her mouth. Hermione sighed and slowly ran a hand through Draco’s hair as she explored his mouth with her tongue. He tasted like cigarettes, familiar and comforting, and she desperately kissed harder. Draco ran his hand down her back and Hermione shivered as Draco breathed a sigh. He pulled back from her, his face flushed and his breathing ragged.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for anything,” he said quietly, his voice laced with concern. Hermione nodded. “The Death Eaters are going to attack The Daily Prophet office within the next week.” Draco’s voice had returned to its normal tone, and his face contained only a trace of red. Hermione marveled at his ability to regain his composure, as she was still staring at him in shock with pink cheeks and a bewildered look on her face. She merely nodded before apparating away.
**********
Hermione watched Draco, who was hunched over with his head between his legs next to his same tree. He had always, to Hermione’s memory, been standing and staring at the horizon before she arrived. As she approached, she noticed his back rise and fall rapidly with shallow breaths. Hermione knelt next to him and gasped as a wand jutted into her stomach.
“Malfoy!” she exclaimed, “It’s Hermione.” The wand relaxed, and Draco looked up from his knees. Hermione inhaled sharply. A deep gash ran diagonally from the top of his forehead to the opposite eyebrow, and Hermione wondered how she had missed noticing the blood in his blond hair. His eyes were red and watery as though he hadn’t slept, and his face was pale and drawn.
“My source was set up,” he murmured. “They only told a few people of each location, and so when the Order ended up at the Prophet, they narrowed it down pretty quickly. When I showed up where we usually meet, I saw Macnair immediately, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid his curse.” Draco’s gaze moved upward in a gesture toward his forehead. “I didn’t see Bella behind me until it was too late, but when I turned to her, she hesitated. She hesitated . . .” he trailed off. “That gave me enough time to apparate.”
“When did you last sleep? Or eat?” Hermione wondered.
“A couple of days ago,” Draco mumbled. Hermione noticed that even the effort required to talk seemed to weaken him.
“We need to go somewhere else,” Hermione declared. “You’ll catch your death of cold.” Draco shook his head feebly, a protest that Hermione ignored. She wrapped her arms around him and apparated.
**********
Draco lay on the rug in Hermione’s bathroom, his hands covering his face. “Where am I?” he asked.
“In my flat. I thought you might throw up from apparating, so I decided on the bathroom,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. “Would you like a glass of water?” Draco shook his head.
“I think I just need to stay here, not moving,” he moaned. Hermione watched him sympathetically.
“Does apparating with someone else always do this to you?” she asked.
“Mostly,” he said. “I threw up on my mum’s shoes once. She never apparated with me again.” Hermione stifled a giggle at that thought and fetched a glass of water from the kitchen. She placed it on the sink and knelt next to Draco.
“You have to sit up,” she said. “You’re probably dehydrated, so you won’t feel any better till you get something in you.” Draco groaned in protest but still took his hands from his face and pushed himself up on his elbows. He immediately grimaced and closed his eyes. Eventually, Hermione managed to help him sit against the bathtub. As she handed him the glass of water, she noticed that his hands were shaking. Hermione went to her bedroom and found a blanket that she draped around Draco’s shoulders. He said nothing as he sat drinking the water.
“I have to do something about that wound, you know,” Hermione said finally. Draco glared at her, but sighed resignedly. Hermione expected more protest and was surprised when Draco remained silent. She examined the gash closely and frowned. “You’re probably going to have a scar,” she sighed. “I can’t heal it properly here, although I can keep it from becoming infected and rotting your brain.” Draco sneered at her, and Hermione eyed him with scrutiny. “You’re still terribly nauseated, aren’t you?” Draco continued to glare at her, and Hermione smiled in sympathy and a bit of amusement. “It’ll pass.”
“I know,” he spoke through gritted teeth. Just then, an orange blur flew out of the sink and landed on the floor. Draco jumped and looked even more annoyed.
“Crookshanks,” cooed Hermione as the cat rubbed affectionately against her leg. Draco glared at Hermione and her cat, refusing to change his expression as Hermione patched up his head.
**********
Hermione woke in the middle of the night, as usual, badly desiring a smoke. She shuffled sleepily to the bathroom and found Draco sitting with his back against the sink, Crookshanks in his lap. He smoked as he petted the cat, and Hermione pursed her lips possessively as Crookshanks purred. Draco smirked and handed Hermione a smoke from the floor. She lit the cigarette from his and laid along the edge of the bathtub.
“Crookshanks,” Hermione called, making kissing noises with her lips. Draco rolled his eyes as the cat hopped from his lap to lie next to the bathtub, purring under Hermione’s touch for a few moments before jumping up onto the sink.
“Does he sleep in the basin?” questioned Draco. Hermione nodded. “Why?”
“I suppose he just prefers the sink to anywhere else,” she answered, shrugging.
“Is that similar to lying on the edge of the bathtub?” he pestered. “Honestly, Granger, that can’t be good for your back.” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“It’s just a matter of balance. And anyway, I don’t sleep like this, you know. I only smoke here.” Draco nodded, and they remained silent as they smoked. Hermione watched Draco, who stared into space and seemed to be thinking. He wore a pair of pajama bottoms that belonged to either Harry or Ron; Hermione had dug them out of a chest in her room. Hermione noticed a faint scar running down Draco’s chest, and she wondered if the mark on his forehead would fade. She fixed it up to the best of her ability, but Hermione never claimed to be a healer. Draco noticed her watching him and fixed his eyes on hers.
“Vincent Crabbe,” he said softly, “was my source.” Hermione’s eyes widened in shock.
“Why?” she asked incredulously.
“His younger sister was-” Draco paused as though searching for the right word. “-chosen. The Dark Lord is no longer satisfied with acquiring more followers. He wants,” Draco hesitated, “- to make his own.” Hermione’s face contorted with disgust.
“That’s sick,” she whispered. Draco nodded.
“She’s only fourteen, but that doesn’t matter. She’s pureblood. And pretty.”
“So Crabbe betrayed him because of his sister?” questioned Hermione. Draco nodded slowly. “Well, that’s kind of admirable, isn’t it?” Draco’s eyes hardened.
“No.” he said coldly. “If it was anyone else’s sister, he would’ve watched without caring. Crabbe only betrayed the Death Eaters because they hurt him. He never questioned anything.” Hermione stared quizzically at Draco.
“Where does that leave you?” she asked softly. “What makes you so different from him?” Draco’s eyes flashed in anger, and Hermione could see his shoulders tense. “I’m not accusing,” she soothed, “just asking.” Draco sighed sadly.
“I cannot follow anyone who causes so much anguish,” he answered. “I know, you think I’m only saying that because I failed him and he -” Draco stopped and buried his head in his hands. Hermione heard him take a deep breath. “But it’s not about me. Maybe it was at first, but not anymore.” He looked up, his tired eyes meeting Hermione’s. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She beckoned him toward her with a hand, and he moved to kneel next to her by the bathtub. Hermione ran a hand through Draco’s hair and pulled him down to her, pressing her lips against his. He aggressively pushed his tongue into her mouth and she gently bit his lip, eliciting a sigh from Draco. Hermione moaned as his hand traveled to her stomach and underneath her t-shirt, lightly caressing her breasts. She grabbed Draco’s other hand and sucked on his fingers as he kissed her neck.
Hermione gasped as Draco quickly shoved his hand into her knickers and ran a finger over her clit. He moaned when he felt her wetness, and Hermione kissed him harder, digging her fingers into the back of his head and shoving her tongue into his mouth. She shoved her heels into the ground and bucked her hips as Draco slipped a finger inside of her. He thumbed her clit as his fingers thrust into her, and Hermione fleetingly wondered about the absurdity of Draco Malfoy fingering her to orgasm.
Hermione ran her fingers down Draco’s back, and he shuddered against her as she scratched her nails into his skin. She grasped Draco tightly as she came, tightening around his fingers.
“Fuck me,” she gasped, tearing at Draco’s trousers. He pulled off Hermione’s pajama bottoms and straddled her, moaning desperately as he thrust inside her. Hermione gripped the edge of the bathtub above her head, using it as leverage to push her hips harder into Draco. He drove into her urgently and collapsed on top of her when he reached his peak, breathing heavily with his head buried in her chest. Hermione stroked his hair and caressed his cheek, feeling his eyelashes brush against her hand.
Draco reluctantly sat up and offered his hand to Hermione, pulling her into a sitting position. They sat on opposite sides of the tub, leaning back against the wall and straddling the edge. Hermione watched Draco, observing that did not seem flustered even though he was completely starkers. Draco cocked his head curiously at her, and she blushed at being noticed. He smiled self-consciously and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
Hermione stood up and approached Draco, her fingers gently brushing the hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, and Hermione offered him her hand.
“To my bed?” she questioned. Draco nodded and took her hand in his as she led them through her dark flat.