We Both Go Down Together

And my parents will never consent to this love
But I hold your hand

Meet me on my vast veranda
My sweet untouched Miranda
and while the seagulls are crying
we fall but our souls are flying

-The Decemberists

For the briefest of moments, Draco wondered how he was going to manage. It was true, some cosmic chemical explosion inside of some part of his brain had caused him to fall in love with Hermione. It was both of their first times being with the other; how could he possibly feel that way about someone, about Hermione? His dad would never approve, ever. And he said that.

"My father won't approve of this," Draco whispered to Hermione, as they walked, fully clothed, back in the direction of the camp. After they had been together, as one couldn't go as far as to call it made love, or say it as crude as fucking, Hermione and Draco had talked. He told her that he wouldn't let them murder her, because that was uncivil and he wouldn't be able to live with himself. When she looked at him, surprised that he hadn't said he loved her, he stared bravely back at her, refusing to let those three words pass through his lips.

"Yes, well it isn't love, now is it?" Hermione glared at Draco, practically scorching his uniform. She yanked her hand out of his, from where they had been walking back to camp with there fingers entwined. He was such a stubborn asshole that he wouldn't just say he loved her.

"Don't pull me into this, Hermione." Hermione made a move to protest, but Draco raised a finger to her lips.

"Just don't make me say it. I can't. Not yet, at least." Draco sighed and held back a smile when Hermione once again took his hand.

"You aren't going to let them harm me in any way, are you," Hermione questioned timidly. Even though Draco had promised that he wouldn't let the other guards lay so much as a hand on her, she had a tough time believing her old school rival.

"No. I've formed a plan. We'll stick to the perimeter of the camp, and go back to the Manor. My father isn't going to be happy, the press is going to have a field day and the whole world will hate me, but I think you're worth the risk." Draco looked at Hermione and saw that her amber eyes were carefully studying him. She loved the way his platinum blonde hair fell in his eyes; it made her itch to run her fingers through his silky locks.

"You don't care what your father will say," Hermione asked, disbelieving.

"Not anymore."

"Why the hell is she here? What kind of son do you think you are, dragging a filthy mudblood up here? In our manor? What use do we have for her?" Lucius wasn't mad. He wasn't angry or upset. He was fucking infuriated. That son, that boy that called himself a Malfoy had shown up ten minutes ago, on the front porch, soaked to the bone, cheeks flushed from left over arousal, the mudblood Granger a decoration on his arm. To say the least, Lucius was ready to kill Draco. And he hoped that there would be blood, lots of it.

Draco decided that red wasn't a good color on his father, and hoped that his father's bloodshot face would return to its normal pale hue again. Hermione was trying her hardest not to cower under Lucius' gaze by standing up as straight as possible. But that was difficult when standing in the entry hall of the Malfoy Manor, the chance of being killed nearing one hundred percent.

"Father, if you so much as say 'mudblood' one more time, I will Avada you so bloody fast, that you won't have time to regret anything." Draco's pale eyes flashed angrily.

"You are a traitor, Draco. A disgrace to the Malfoy name. Does that hold no value to you whatsoever," Lucius spat out.

"I love her. I love Hermione Jane Granger, and there is nothing in this entire world you can do to stop it. You can kill me, true, but I won't ever leave you alone. The guilt of offing your own son will haunt you for the rest of your life," Draco replied in a coldly calm voice.

"And are you going to deal with the press? The angry world out there that will want you dead? How do you expect to fox this? How?" Lucius turned away from his son; yes, he couldn't bring himself to kill him, but he would definitely disown him.

"Father, I'll do what I must. I don't expect your help. I can't ask you for that. I can't ask you for anything. But I love her, and I don't care if the entire world disapproves."

As Hermione lay silently beneath the blue silk sheets on Draco's bed, she wondered what would happen tomorrow. Would the entire world know? What would happen? She looked over at Draco's bare back, which was slowly rising and falling with his breath. He had fallen asleep such a long time ago, yet she couldn't possibly fall asleep. Draco had seemed so stoic after his father had decided not to kill him. Didn't he care what the new day would bring?

"Hermione, go to sleep love. If you turn one more time, I might have to tie you down," Draco murmured from where he lay. He turned his head to look at her, his gray eyes amused and sleepy. Hermione smiled at him, and pulled the sheet closer to her warm body.

"Aren't you scared," Hermione asked after a few moments of quiet.

"Of what? The press? The people? The world? No. They don't know me, they don't know you, and they don't know us. I find it easy to not worry about what they have to say, since the lot of them write only for gossip mongers. Just get some sleep, because tomorrow will be a big day." A few moments later and Draco's breathing became steady and shallow. What on earth would the next day bring?

A/N: This is not the end! Goodness me. One more chapter, that I will write awfully soon, and that will be it.