Bloom

    It was one minute to midnight when Hermione Granger slid open the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room. She stepped out cautiously and looked around. The Fat Lady was asleep in her portrait, snoring loudly, and no one else was present. Hermione pushed her bushy auburn hair off of her face and stepped out into the hall. She paused for a moment, listening, and then let out her breath.

    She took a few careful steps, tiptoeing and wishing that she had borrowed Harry’s Invisibility cloak from him. It was better that she had not however. Harry would have demanded to know what she wanted with it, and she could never tell him the truth. Praying that no one would catch her, Hermione silently descended the stairs.

    Hogwarts school was quiet. Everyone was asleep except Hermione and, presumably, Draco Malfoy, who had agreed to meet her in the Room of Requirement. Hermione blushed at the thought of Draco. It was crazy, her, sneaking out of her comfortable bed and safe dormitory to help him. Draco was her worst enemy and had been ever since her arrival at Hogwarts. Just thinking of the taunts and insults he had directed her way made her clench her fists.

    Taking a deep breath Hermione forced herself to calm down. Draco had changed, almost overnight.

    “The git,” Hermione whispered to herself, affectionately. Draco had definitely changed. Practically at the moment of Voldemort’s return Draco had informed his father that he was finished with Dark magic. No one knew why the sudden change of heart on his part. Hermione was mystified. Draco had every reason to be a dark wizard. He had been bred for it.

    Half of the school suspected him of lying, although Hermione believed that Draco had been serious in rejecting life as Death Eater. He had been subjected to cruel taunts and abuses at the hands of his fellow Slytherin students, most of whom were loyal to Voldemort and had Death Eater parents. It had gotten so bad that Dumbledore had consented to giving Draco his own bedroom, as well as information on how to reach the Room of Requirement. Dumbledore knew nothing of Draco’s plans, however.    

    Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy, and a band of Death Eaters, had sworn revenge on Draco. Lucius had promised Draco, via owl post, that he would kill Draco. Lucius was furious that Draco had walked away from a lifetime of privilege and power. He was also humiliated. Word had it that Voldemort blamed Lucius for the loss of yet another dark wizard.

    The war was raging full force all around them but most of the students inside the safety of Hogwarts were oblivious to it. Those who had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, like Ron Weasley, knew exactly what the odds were and what the dangers were, but many were uninformed. They did not realize the extent to which Draco had gone to switch sides; this was a war, not a game.

    Hermione had begged him to be honest with Dumbledore, but in his stubborn way Draco had refused. Hermione guessed it had a lot to do with pride. Draco, a pure blood wizard from an ancient and respected wizarding family, had never been taught to rely on others. Besides, he disliked Dumbledore, even though he no longer claimed allegiance to Voldemort. So the responsibility had fallen to Hermione to help Draco.

    Immediately upon returning to school Hermione had begun the Polyjuice potion. Draco was protected within the walls of Hogwarts school, but Hermione wanted to take no chance. She knew from Harry’s experience at the Triwizard Tournament how easy it was to set up a Portkey. If Voldemort or Lucius got Draco out of the Dumbledore’s reach there would be no saving him.

    Draco needed a disguise, something to get him past the band of Death Eaters that surrounded the castle, waiting for him to emerge. Once he was out of Britain he could easily disappear until everything blew over, or until Voldemort was finally defeated. Hermione had debated using other charms, or even Transfiguration, but such things were incredibly complicated, even for the most gifted student in school. And Draco, stubborn, irritating Draco, refused to request help from any teacher.

    If only Snape were here, Hermione thought as she crept down the marble hall, warily watching the statues. It was an odd thought, given Hermione’s incredible dislike for the arrogant teacher, but Snape was someone Draco would trust. He was also brilliant, Hermione admitted grudgingly. He could probably whip up a potion to disguise Draco forever. Hermione refused to experiment with anything stronger then Polyjuice. If she messed up on some of the stronger potions she was bound to kill Draco herself.

    Hermione paused. She was standing before the door to the Room of Requirement. Nervously, she opened the door.

    Draco was pacing back and forth, his hand clenched into fists. “You’re late!”

    “I’m sorry,” Hermione said, sarcastically. She took a deep, calming breath. “I had to wait for Lavender Brown to fall asleep.”

    Draco nodded and looked at the bubbling cauldron that contained the nearly completed Polyjuice potion. “That’s the stuff?”

    “That’s it.” Hermione looked around the room. True to form, it provided everything they needed. Potion ingredients, even more rare and expensive then those in Snape’s private stores, filled every cabinet. There were rows of pewter cauldrons and shelves of potions manuals. Hermione walked over to the row of clear glass vials. Inside one was a single hair that Hermione had taken off of Professor McGonagall’s cloak. It was the prime ingredient of the potion. Draco would have a single hour as Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts staff, to get out of the area.

    “It looks disgusting,” Draco complained, staring at the cauldron.

    “It tastes worse,” Hermione assured him with a grimace. “I’m glad I’m not the one drinking it this time.”

    “This time?” Draco asked quizzically.

    Hermione blushed and looked away. Draco had never known that Harry and Ron had used Polyjuice to spy on him. “Have you got your things packed?”

    Draco nodded, indicating the trunk in the corner. “I had to leave some of it behind. Some Quidditch stuff. Go ahead and let Weasley have it. He’ll need it.”

    Hermione widened her eyes in surprise, but nodded. Draco had come to surprise her a great deal ever since the end of fifth year.

    “I’m going to miss you, Granger,” Draco said suddenly.

    Hermione glanced up at him, her hand frozen in midair, her mouth open with shock. It was the kindest words Draco Malfoy had ever spoke to her; even calling her “Granger” was an improvement over “Mudblood”.

    “Well, don’t gape at me,” Draco snapped. “Get on with it.”    

    That was much more familiar territory. Hermione uncapped the glass vial and reached inside it, pulling out the single hair. “You’re ready to be McGonagall?”    

    “Not really,” Draco answered. “Truthfully, I would rather be here with you. You’re not so bad, for a Mudblood.”

    Hermione glared at him and forced herself to conceal a smile. She watched Draco for a moment, drinking in the silvery hair, the pale face, the flickering eyes. Then she blushed, feeling foolish, and turned back to the potion.

    She ladled some of the thick, lumpy potion into a glass and dropped McGonagall’s hair in. Instantly the potion foamed and bubbled, turning from it’s pale grey to a bright blue.

    “It’s a lot prettier then last time,” Hermione said brightly, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Draco appeared not to notice, however. He was staring at the glass of potion.

    “There is more in the cauldron. Do I need all that too?” Draco asked, not accepting the glass.

    Hermione shook her head. “No, there is a whole batch in there. I was afraid to reduce the recipe.” She reached out, offering the glass, which Draco reluctantly took from her.

    He sniffed it. “Smells like that damn perfume she always wears, disgusting.”

    Hermione frowned. “You don’t need to insult it, Malfoy. It’s not my fault. Polyjuice is always horrible.”

    “How do I know it will work?”

    Hermione rolled her eyes. “You take it, then you know. If you don’t turn into McGonagall in a minute, then I made it wrong. I’m sure I didn’t though. It’s not so difficult, Polyjuice.”

    “It seemed complicated. Then again, you were always pretty smart.” Draco looked directly into Hermione’s eyes. “You are.”

    “Drink the potion,” Hermione said, to cover her nervousness. Draco’s compliments always made her feel uncomfortable. She kept expecting them to be a joke.

    Draco met her gaze for a moment, then raised the glass to his lips. He made a terrible face as he drank, but consumed the entire glass.

    “Oh, ouch,” Draco moaned. He dropped the glass, which shattered on the floor, spilling a bit of the potion on the floor. Draco clutched at his stomach. “Damn, that hurts.”

    “It does, for a moment,” Hermione replied. She patted his shoulder gently.

    Draco winced and sank down onto the floor. Hermione sat with him and held him for a moment as he groaned in pain.

    “I’m going to be sick,” Draco muttered.

    “Just relax. It’s over in a minute,” Hermione promised.

    Draco’s painful, constricted breathing finally became more normal. His hand found its way over to hers and Hermione absently grasped it, trying to comfort him. She glanced over at the Polyjuice cauldron, wondering of the Room of Requirement would clean itself or if she ought to.

    She felt Draco’s head lean on her shoulder. His hair was longer, and soft against her skin. Hermione patted him hand. Then she paused, and stared.

    The hand she was patting was identical to her own.

    She jerked away from Draco, and stifled a scream.

    “Do I look like McGonagall?” Draco asked nervously.

    Hermione shook her head, mute.

    Draco got to his feet and walked unsteadily over to the mirror that hung in one corner. He paused, feet from it. He touched the long, somewhat unruly auburn curls that hung from his head. He blinked.

    “Hermione?”

    “Yes?” Hermione whispered back.

    “Something went wrong with the Polyjuice potion,” Draco replied, his voice flat as he stared at himself in the mirror.

    “Yes,” Hermione agreed, her hand over her mouth.

    Draco turned. “I look like you.”

    Hermione nodded silently.

    “I was supposed to turn out as Professor McGonagall,” Draco explained in a slow, enunciated voice, as if talking to a child.

    “Yes.”

    Draco turned back to the mirror, slowly touching his newly transformed face.

    “Something must have gone wrong! One of my hairs must have gotten in somehow,” Hermione fretted. “I’m always messing this up!”

    “I thought you said this was easy,” Draco remarked in his old sarcastic drawl.

    “Well, I meant, I’ve made it before. Brewing it isn’t hard. I’m always getting the hairs mixed up though.”

    Draco nodded. “I guess.”

    Hermione sighed. “Well, it’s still a disguise. I mean, you can still slip past the Death Eaters looking like me.”

    “Possibly. You’re a Mud, er, Muggleborn. Oh, if father saw me now, in the skin of a Mudblood,” Draco exclaimed. “Death Eaters would be happy to torture you as much as me, being that you aren’t a pureblood.”

    “Here, I can just add the right hair this time,” Hermione said. “I must have dropped it.”

    “And one of yours fell in? You need a haircut,” Draco remarked.

    Hermione gave him an icy glare. “Find the McGonagall hair for me. It must be on the floor someplace. I’ll make up another glass.”

    “No way, I’m not taking another worthless potion. You try it first, and see if it works,” Draco demanded.

    “Okay, fine,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Luckily I have a few other sample hairs.” She scooped out some more potion into a clean glass. “Find that hair yet?”

    “Yes,” Draco answered, holding up his hand. He dropped it into the glass, and they both watched the glass swirl into a deep emerald green.

    “Doesn’t smell so bad, in any case,” Hermione announced. She bit her lip and braced herself for the awful taste.

    Instantly the pain hit. She felt incredibly nauseous and sat down heavily, holding her stomach and covering her mouth. “Ugh.”

    Draco grinned. “Now you know what I felt like.” He ignored her sharp look and ran his hands through her hair sympathetically.

    Hermione gulped for air as the pain begin to subside. She struggled to stand, and met Draco’s disbelieving eyes.

    “What? Oh, Merlin’s sake, don’t tell me...” She stomped over to the mirror and swore.

    “I put the right hair in it,” Draco said defensively. “It was blond, McGonagall is blond.”

    “McGonagall is a brunette,” Hermione practically screamed. “How can you not notice that? Don’t you sit in her class every day?”

    “It’s not like I pay attention,” Draco remarked.

    Hermione found it maddening to be smirked at by her own face. Her eyes shot daggers at Draco.

    “Obviously, for some reason, I’m not supposed to do this. The potion has failed, twice,” Draco said. “I think we need to come up with a new plan.”

    “It’s not my fault that it didn’t work,” Hermione exclaimed. She noticed the mischievous flicker in Draco’s eyes. “You put the wrong hair in on purpose.”

    Draco shrugged. “No I didn’t, it was an accident. I can’t say I’m not pleased about it. I didn’t want to leave now, not like this.”

    “Not now? What do you mean?” Hermione said, furious. She glanced down at the floor and noticed something about herself. There was a mysterious bulge in the front of the black skirt she was wearing.

    “Oh, marvelous Draco, now I have a penis!” Hermione shrieked, pointing.

    Draco burst out into hysterical laughter, practically screaming with it. Hermione continued to give him murderous looks until he got himself under control, although he continued to snort.

    “Look, this stuff, it only lasts what, an hour? We can just sit in here until it wears off and then get on with life.”

    Hermione crossed her arms over her now flat chest. “You’re right. It’s not forever.”

    Draco stepped back in front of the mirror, his expression suddenly thoughtful.

    “You know,” he said. “You would be very pretty, if you just made an effort. Since I have your body I’ll prove it to you.”

    “Whatever,” Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes.

    “I see you understand Malfoy sarcasm,” Draco said appreciatively. “Here now, all I need is a little makeup.”

    An assortment of makeup appeared on the table. It was the room of requirement, after all. Draco beamed and selected a bright red tube of lipstick.     

    “This will brighten you face so wonderfully,” he remarked, twisting the tube open and raising the product to his lips.

    Hermione watched him, seething, as he applied lipstick, eyeshadow and an assortment of Muggle cosmetics. Grudgingly, she had to admit, her face looked a lot better, even if it was on Draco Malfoy.

    “There,” said Draco proudly when he was finished. He beamed at Hermione, obviously impressed with his own skill.

    “All I need now, is something of yours, and I’ll be perfect,” Draco exclaimed. “Here, hand me your cloak.”

    Hermione removed her Gryffindor cloak and tossed it over. She was not having near as much fun as Draco. On the contrary she felt mortified. Being around Draco was one thing, being Draco was completely different. She hated the way his limbs moved, and wondered if he would notice that her stomach was not quite as flat as she wanted it to be.

    Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. Finally, Hermione felt herself growing a bit lighter.

    “Draco, we’re changing back!”

    Draco glanced over. “Well, I’ll never get to do this any other way.” He reached under his shirt and touched the chest that had emerged, thanks to Polyjuice.

    “Draco!” Hermione shrieked, flinging a potions text at his head. She had returned to her normal self, although her skirt was a bit stretched out.

    Draco was back to usual as well, although there was still lipstick on his lips. Hermione giggled in spite of herself.

    “That was weird,” she remarked.

    “But not all bad,” Draco interjected.

    “In any case, we should get out of here. It’s probably two in the morning already,” Hermione speculated.

    Draco nodded. “I suppose.”

    They left the Room of Requirement together after peeking out to check for anyone. The halls were empty.

    “Here, you left this,” Hermione said, holding out a wand.

    “Thanks.”

    “You left your trunk in there too,” she reminded him.

    “I know. I was planning on sleeping there tonight, but I’ll walk you back to your dorm first.”

    “You don’t have to.”

    “Yes, I do. You’ve risked a lot to help me,” Draco reminded her, suddenly serious. “I wish that, when I do leave, you could come with me.”

    “You hate me. I’m not pure blood, remember?” Hermione chided him.

    “I never hated you. I liked you. I just never had the guts to tell you. I was a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake, and you’re a Mudblood and Potter’s friend to boot. I would have been crucified,” Draco explained.

    “Lumos,” Hermione whispered to cover her embarrassment. The wand failed to light. “Lumos, I say!”

    Draco looked at her as if she was mad. “What? Oh, Hermione, that’s my wand. The cherrywood. This is yours,” he said, handing it to her.

    “Lumos,” Hermione said, flicking her own wand. The tip glowed with sudden light, illuminating the way.”Thanks Draco.”    

    They reached Gryffindor tower in a matter of moments. Hermione found herself dreading saying goodbye to Draco. She had never felt so at ease around another person.

    Suddenly, Draco stepped forward. He touched Hermione’s face, caressing the soft skin. Then he leaned in closer and brushed his lips against hers.

    Hermione kissed him back for a second, but then pulled away. He was a Malfoy, and she was standing in front of the Fat Lady. Admittedly, the subject of the painting was asleep, but Hermione was not a girl who took chances.

    “Goodnight,” she whispered. Then she turned and whispered the Gryffindor password under her breath. The Fat Lady opened one sleepy eye, made a face and swung open, revealing the entrance.

    Draco watched her disappear behind the painting and then walked slowly back to the Room of Requirement, certain of what he would dream of that night.

    Hermione awakened the next morning with a start. She sat bolt upright, looking frantically around the darkened dormitory. The sun was not up yet and judging from the quality of the light Hermione guessed it was an hour until sunrise. In the bed beside hers, Lavender Brown breathed heavily, and on the other side Parvati Patil snored.

    Hermione kicked off the bed clothes. She was far too keyed up to sleep. The dream had been so intense, so vivid that she was certain it had really happened. Her and Draco, kissing deeply, making a suicide pact that should they ever be separated there was no reason to live.

    Blushing, Hermione tried to push the thoughts from her mind. What had she been thinking? Helping Draco was one thing, swearing eternal allegiance and actually planning to kill herself in his absence was entirely another. True, she had always loved the sight of him, the mischievous expression, the toned physique, but she was not to the point of declaring her undying love. The mere though made her snort, much like Professor Snape in Potions class when he looked at Neville’s potion.

    Still, Hermione thought as she dressed quickly in her school clothes, Draco was acting strange as well. Gone was his cruelty, his idiotic attempts at humour. He had confided in her, something that struck a chord within her. However, she was not about to kill herself, even if she never laid eyes on Draco Malfoy again.

    She felt energetic, much more awake then she ought to be. Perhaps a walk would calm her jangled nerves. She slipped on her boots and laced them tight, then descended the stairs, eager to breath fresh air.

    Outside, the sky was still dark, but a faint purple tinge was rising from the east. The sun would be coming up in an hour or so from the looks of it. Overhead the night sky was filled with stars. The moon was bright too, full, heavy and golden. A harvest moon. Hermione smiled and set off, wandering aimlessly, her eyes on the heavens.

    After a while Hermione shivered. She wished she had brought her cloak, the early autumn mornings were quite chilly.

    “Cold?” came a voice from behind her.

    Hermione choked back a scream as she spun around. Behind her, looking every bit as delicious as the dream, was Draco. His pale blonde hair was ruffed by the wind, but he looked gorgeous in his black wool cape. He was not dressed in his school robes, instead he wore dragon skin pants of shimmery green, big black boots and a white poets shirt. His cloak fastened at the neck with a silver clasp carved in the shape of a serpent.

    “You..” Hermione started to say, but her voice trailed off as Draco stepped closer. His bright eyes burned into hers.

    “You shouldn’t be out here. The Death Eaters are looking for you, remember? You should be in the castle,” Hermione stammered.

    Draco’s expression was serious but light played across his eyes and the corner of his mouth betrayed a hint of a smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”

    “Of course I care,” Hermione snapped. “I worked too hard to help you to have to die now.”

    “Oh,” Draco replied, looking a bit disappointed. He touched the side of Hermione’s face. “That’s all?”

    Hermione said nothing but took a step back. Draco smiled. He reached for her hand, pulling her along. “Come on, let’s walk.”

    Hermione followed Draco as they walked along the lake. Gentle ripples floated across the surface, the giant squid was feeding. The lapping sound of the water was peaceful, but Draco continued to move.

    They walked to the Quidditch pitch, their feet crunching on the frosty grass. It was still too early for the leaves to fall. Hermione watched the moon, which shone back at her, silent and content, so far away.         

    Draco unfastened his cape and spread it across the ground. “Come on, sit with me.” He grinned at Hermione as he sat down on the cape.

    Hermione joined him, leaning back to watch the sky. She was overcome with nerves and did not know what to say. It was easier to just ignore him.

    Draco leaned over her suddenly, his eyes bright like jewels. “Hermione,” he whispered, and then bent down, kissing her. The kiss was so soft, softer then Hermione ever imagined Draco could be. She felt the feather light touch of his warm lips and kissed back, ignoring every warning light that went off in her mind.

    When they broke apart Draco looked somewhat shy. “I didn’t mean to rush you.”

    “You didn’t,” Hermione replied, leaning forward and craving the gentle touch of his lips again. The second kiss was a bit more aggressive, more what she would have expected from Draco. He pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue flicking over her lips.

    Hermione had no idea how long they lay on the cape kissing, their hands caressing one another. The sky had turned to red and gold when they finally moved away from each other.

    “We should go back,” Draco said, looking up at the rising sun. “Everyone will wake up, and Ravenclaw has the Quidditch pitch booked.

    Hermione nodded and rose. “I have Arithmancy anyway, I can’t miss it,” she said. It was a lame excuse, but she hated to have Draco risking his life outside of the castle without even the cover of night.

    Draco reached out and caught her hand. “If I have to leave, will you come with me?”

    Hermione stood still for a moment, then nodded. Would she give up school, her friends, all of her plans for the Slytherin who had made her life hell? “Yes.” Draco’s smile warmed her as she hurried away towards the castle.

    Draco swept his cape off of the ground and gave it a good shake before putting it on. He wondered if he needed a good shake. Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Mudblood? But love overcame reason, and he grinned at the mere thought of her. If he had to be in exile the one person he could not live without was her.

    “You what? With whom?” demanded Harry. He did not look good. His hair, always unkept, was standing up. His face was bright red and he was waving his fist around in the air.

    “Calm down, Harry,” Hermione pleaded, trying to make him lower his voice. He was bound to wake up everyone in Gryffindor tower with his shouts.

    If Harry was furious, Ron was worse. He looked like he had been hit hard in the face with a brick. His skin was pale, his eyes wide open and cloudy, his mouth hung open. His arms hung uselessly at his sides, reminding Hermione of Harry’s arm when it was deboned by Lockhart.

    “Calm down? You want to sneak away with that arrogant git and you expect that we aren’t going to care?” Harry raged. “Are you out of your mind, Hermione?”

    “Maybe I am,” Hermione answered softly.

    Dumbledore had received word about a Death Eater plot to capture Draco. He had insisted that Draco leave that night, disguised, to 12 Grimmauld Place. There was no time to lose. Hermione had insisted on going along, sure that Dumbledore would forbid it, but surprisingly the Headmaster had nodded in agreement. “Young Master Malfoy could use the company, and you expertise as well, Ms. Granger.” They were to leave that evening.

    Hermione cast a sad look at her trunk, which sat forlorn in a corner by the door. She had not planned on this coming so soon. Draco was still a stranger to her, someone she was just beginning to understand.

    “Tell Dumbledore that Draco can have someone else go with him, have him take that damned Pansy Parkinson,” Harry insisted. His tone changed when he looked over at Ron, who sat, immobile. “Hermione, don’t do this now. Look at Ron, he can’t tolerate this. He loves you. I love you, you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. You’re going to leave us behind and go with Draco?”

    “I have to,” Hermione explained. “I promised him I would. Draco has lost his parents, Harry, he’s all alone.”

    “I’m familiar with the feeling,” Harry answered through clenched teeth.

    Hermione blushed. “I didn’t mean...”

    “You never mean,” Harry scowled.

    “Look, you can visit us. We aren’t too far away. You know how to get to Sirius’s house, the headquarters,” Hermione said.

    Harry blanched at the mention of his dead godfather. Tears welled up in his eyes that he wiped away angrily. “That arrogant bastard, in Sirius’s house.”

    “He is one of us now, Harry. He has left his family,” Hermione explained. “He swears his allegiance to Dumbledore.”

    “He will never be one of us,” Harry replied through gritted teeth.

    He turned and helped Ron to his feet. Ron blinked, opened his mouth and closed it again. His eyes met Hermione’s for a minute.

    “Ron, I’m sorry,” Hermione explained, feeling helpless. “Please, don’t hate me for what I have to do.”

    “I don’t,” Ron whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes looked glazed and he allowed himself to be led towards the stairs by Harry.

    Hermione reached inside her bag and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. It was a two way mirror; normal on one side, but the other side would allow the viewer to see Hermione, no matter where she was. It was something that she had made when she was teaching herself Charms, and she knew it worked.

    She carried the package up the stairs to the boys dormitory, walking as quietly as possible. She heard the rustling of Harry and Ron changing into their pyjamas, their muffled conversation. Harry was speaking in soothing tones and Ron was mumbling back, sounding broken. Hermione set the brown paper package on the staircase, where she knew Ron and Harry would notice it. She hated to leave them and wanted to leave them some way to contact her.

    She found a scrap of parchment in her pocket and pulled out her favorite quill. She wrote Ron and Harry’s names on the package, then stole away silently. If she lingered it would be impossible to leave.

    “You will both ride to Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore explained gravely. “From there you will Floo to London. There are guides you will meet, should anything happen to them continue on your way. Hermione knows where to go. I will contact you both when I can. Under no condition may you leave the house, even to travel here. Send one owl a week with news, I will do the same. If you wish to enclose letters for other parties, send them along with my letter. It will not pay to have many mysterious owls circling London.”

    “I understand,” Draco said. He smirked, but the expression no longer looked natural on his face. His eyes were serious. “I have no one to write to anyway.”

    Dumbledore gazed down at Hermione. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will come to understand, Hermione. Send them notes in the letter to me. I will make it clear to them.”

    “Yes,” Hermione answered, trying to sound more hopeful then she felt. Ron’s stunned, hurt face drifted before her eyes and she blinked back tears.

    “You will be met by Arthur Weasley,” Dumbledore explained. “He will bring you to the headquarters of the Order. I expect you both to follow the rules of the house and to respect the Weasley’s.”

    Draco bit back whatever comments came to mind and nodded. Dumbledore fixed him with a sharp look. “The Weasley’s are the only people that stand between you and death. Your father and his friends would kill you out of spite. I know that the Weasley’s have been enemies of your family, but you are no longer their enemy. Treat them with respect.”

    “The war is just beginning. We will all suffer,” Dumbledore said, looking past them as if seeing the future. “Yes, but at least you have one another. Love, it is a rare gift. Guard it and be thankful for it.”

    The clock chimed just then, causing Dumbledore to look over. “Five minutes to midnight. The two of you should be on your way now. Remus Lupin and Tonks will meet you in Hogsmeade. Go now, take care. If anyone gets in your way do not hesitate.”

    Hermione knew what he was talking about. Avada Kedavra, the killing curse. They had permission to use it from the Ministry itself. After a long period of intense denial the Ministry had finally woken up to the threat at it’s gates. Hermione reached in her pocket and touched her wand. She would not hesitate.

    “Goodbye,” Dumbledore said, and Hermione could tell he was hoping it would not be for the last time.

    She started to nod, then rushed forward and hugged Dumbledore. Draco hung back nervously.

    “Hermione, it’s time to go,” Draco said after a moment. Hermione waved goodbye to Dumbledore and took Draco’s hand as they stepped out of the office. It was surprising how natural it felt suddenly.

    The school was silent, nearly everyone was sleeping. Draco and Hermione opened the front door, casting farewell glances at the school. The night air was cool, the wind gusting across the yard, shaking the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

    “Ready?” Draco asked Hermione, his eyes alight with anticipation.

    “Ready,” Hermione answered, giving his hand a squeeze.

    They stepped out of the castle into the velvet darkness, the wind howling wildly around them. The doors closed slowly, blocking out the warm golden glow of the school. They disappeared into the night as the clock in Dumbledore’s office struck midnight.