But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

Hermione took a sharp breath when she saw Ron stepping towards her. She had just enough time to make up her mind and pull out her wand from the pocket of her skirt before Ron was on her. He seized her right arm and brutally pulled her up from the floor.

She pointed her wand at him and pressed it to his chest. "Ron, I swear..." she murmured, her eyes filling with tears.

Ron glanced down at the wand that was sinking into his chest. He smirked a little and tightened his grip on Hermione's wand arm, causing her hand to shake. "You swear what, Hermione?" he asked in a hiss. "I don't think you would use it on me."

Hermione raised her eyes to him. The fear that her body radiated was so thick that it seemed Ron could have seized it at any moment. "And I don't think you would hurt me," she whispered frantically.

Ron smirked. "You're wrong, and I'm dying to know if I'm wrong too," he answered. "Hit me, if you dare." He let her arm go and watched as Hermione steadied her hand.

She looked up at him with her eyes wide, her wand still pointed at his chest. She tried to understand what game he was playing, but his face was unreadable and his eyes were cold. She attempted a scared smile. "Ron..." she murmured, lowering her wand a little.

Ron caught her hand in his and sneered. "You're still wrong, Hermione," he whispered.

Hermione's eyes widened even more while Ron's fingers closed on her hand with such force that it almost took her breath away. The wand escaped her hand and fell noiselessly to the floor.

"Ron, you don't want to..." she started, her voice trembling for the fear.

"Oh yes, Hermione, I want it. It's six years that I've wanted it," he hissed. He slid his free hand to her back, moving her closer to him, and when he put his fingers in the hem of her skirt, Hermione knew that he was serious about everything he said.

Her breath came out in short, stiff puffs, as if the fear was making the simple act of respiration difficult for her. She felt Ron's fingers grab her shirt and pull it out of the skirt, and then his cold hand was under her clothes, on her bare skin, wandering up and down on her back, exploring her from her waist to her shoulder blades. She whimpered from the coldness and her skin rippled with gooseflesh.

Ron half-closed his eyes and his hand trembled a little from the excitement of being so close to her. Her smooth skin under his fingers was such a good sensation; it was hot and soft. And the scent that her body emanated, soap and fear, was almost intoxicating him. He wanted her. He wanted her and he couldn't wait. He felt like he had already waited too long.

Hermione should have been feeling flattered that she was arousing Ron with just her proximity, but that was the very last thing that she could think of at that moment. She felt her fingers go numb because of Ron's grip; they were turning blue and cold. She arched her back, trying to escape Ron's freezing hand on her spine, and involuntarily pressed her chest against Ron's body.

Hermione wasn't sure why she wasn't doing anything to stop him with the hand that he wasn't blocking. She simply seemed unable to move; the fear had frozen her body like it had been hit by a Body-Bind Curse. She felt Ron's hand stopping on her back, and that had the power to shake her out of her thoughts and horror. She raised her eyes to Ron's. Their faces were only inches apart.

Ron smirked, a smirk that would have surely caused him an instantaneous adoption from Lucius Malfoy if he had seen him at that moment. He let go of her hand and brought it to her head, entangling his fingers in her hair.

"Now, Hermione, you'll tell me who is a better kisser," he hissed, with a strange rage in his voice.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Was he really going to kiss her? And then? She wasn't ready for what he had planned to do with her later. She didn't want to do. She didn't want to make love with him, and if she didn't want it, it was rape. Did Ron know it? Did he know that she didn't want it? Or maybe he'd assumed that it was what Hermione wanted as well? Maybe if I just tell him clearly...

"Ron, no, wait," she cried. Her head jerking away from his hand, his body struggling to go away from his. "I don't want to. I'm not ready..."

Ron smirked. He caught hold of her arm with his own and circled her back with the other. Hermione struggled; there wasn't much she could do except keep on fighting back, and she was determined to continue resisting Ron.

"Don't struggle," he barked, his grip tightening on her. "It'll make everything easier."

Hermione arched her back and twisted her arm. Her left hand started hitting Ron's chest, fighting and scratching with her nails everything she found. Then she felt his body pressing against hers, the hand on her back forcing her towards him, leaving her very little space for moving her hand. She was clever, but he was smarter.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Hermione heard only the frenetic beat of her heart and her sharp breaths. She felt a shiver run up her spine as Ron's hand slid down towards the bottom of her back. For the first time since she had come home, she wondered where Harry was. Now she was sorry that she had run away.

When Ron's lips crashed against hers, her breath was stolen completely away. She couldn't believe it, and for a moment, she didn't dare to move. Ron was kissing her. Ron was really kissing her. She had waited for that for so long, and now... Now she didn't want it. I don't want it this way, she thought frantically.

Ron's mouth was pressed on hers as if he were trying to devour her. He parted his lips and Hermione felt his tongue on her mouth. Harry had done the same exact thing just a few hours before, but now Hermione was unwilling to let one of her best friends' tongue into her mouth.

Ron's tongue went past her lips but stopped when he found the barrier of her teeth. She shut her eyes and tried to resist him as much as she could. She felt relieved when Ron let out a frustrated cry against her lips, but then he dug his nails into her back, forming little half-moons that filled with blood and Hermione screamed against his lips.

She screamed and struggled in Ron's arms. But Ron didn't need anything else; as soon as her mouth was open, he made his tongue go past her teeth, and now he was exploring and tasting her as if he were some sort of wild animal.

She tried to move away from him; her arms tried to escape the brutal hold in which she was kept. She took a step back and shook her shoulders, but as soon as she did so, Ron bit her bottom lip, filling their kiss with the taste of blood.

Her vision blurred with tears. Her heartbeat increased even more than before, and now her temples were pulsing and aching because of all the emotions her body was submitted to. She felt her bottom lip trembling while the first tears fell down her cheeks and reached their joined lips.

She tried to remember how Harry felt when he told them that Cho was crying while he kissed her; he was embarrassed, a bit ashamed maybe, certainly confused. But Hermione didn't want Ron to feel all those things. She wanted him to be revolted by the bitter taste of her tears, and she wanted him to feel guilty for what he was doing to her.

But when Ron let go of her arm to take a fist of her hair in his hand, she knew that her tears had caused an unwanted development in the situation. Ron pulled on her hair, dragging her head back so that her tears wouldn't find their way to their lips anymore. For a moment, she was blinded with them, then they started to slide down from the corners of her eyes into her locks of hair and Ron's fingers. Hot like drops of rain on a summer day, salty like seawater.

Hermione could feel Ron's fingers entangling to her locks with violence as if his own life depended on his grip on her hair. His other hand let go of her arm and he circled her back, brutally searching his way under her clothes.

Hermione twisted in pain as he pulled forcefully at her hair for the second time. She heard her neck cracking, and for a moment, she hoped that Ron had heard that too, that he would stop for the fear that he would break her. But he didn't hear it, and if he did, he didn't mind.

Ron bucked his hips against hers and, Hermione wished she were wrong, but it felt like Ron was excited by her pain. The more she twisted and whimpered under him, the tighter his grip on her became and the deeper his kiss grew.

Ron lifted his eyelids and looked at Hermione. He locked eyes with her, and for a moment he didn't understand what he was doing; he couldn't understand why he was holding her, why he had to hurt her by kissing her. He was sure that Harry hadn't had to cause her any pain for kissing her. He felt his anger rise inside his brain. He was the one that should have kissed her first, and since he couldn't, he would have her first. He saw how Harry and Draco looked at her. Lustfully. Longingly. He had to be quick. He wouldn't let one of them have her first. Hermione was his. His. His. She's mine... Yes, mine...

And then it all happened in a second. One minute he was still kissing her, and the next an invisible force was pushing him away from her, and he landed on the floor in front of the stairs. He heard Hermione let out a cry, an unarticulated sound, heartbreaking and desperate, as if she was trying to call for help, but she could find no words to say.

Ron blinked. His vision was blurred, and his back ached, but he laughed, because this time he hadn't fainted. This time he was ready to get up and go on with what he had started. Not like what had happened in the bathroom or...

He raised his head. Hermione was on her knees, one hand on the floor, her palm pressed against the wand that was lying there, and the other in her hair, brushing the spot where he had pulled at her. She was crying. Ron knew it even though her face was half hidden by a web of untidy hair.

Ron turned on his side, and Hermione stood up. With one hand she was holding her wand, pointing it towards Ron, while the other was working frantically on her eyes, brushing away the tears that didn't let her have clear vision. She widened her eyes and took a step towards Ron.

"Don't ever touch me again," she murmured with hatred.

"What will you do?" asked Ron. He turned on his stomach and pushed with his hands to get to his feet, but he failed: his hand involuntary found his wand, which hadn't fallen far from his body, and he slid back with his stomach on the floor while the wand rolled under him.

Hermione took another step towards him; she opened her mouth to answer him, but Ron's laughter prevented her from doing so. He laughed and coughed as though he hadn't been totally unaffected from the fall.

Hermione took a step back. She stared at his back as though she feared he would get up at any time. "What's so funny?" she snarled.

Ron shook his head, and without getting up, he kept on talking. "You," he mocked. "You are funny, my dear Mudblood."

Hermione gasped as she heard Ron call her that for the second time.

"You think you're strong, don't you?" he demanded. "You think you have that little power that you've never noticed before right there in your hands, right? And you're sure that you can push me away with that invisible force every time you want, aren't you?"

Hermione gulped. What was he talking about? She didn't follow him.

"I have some news for you," he barked. "I've become stronger these past few days. And as you can see, your little tricks don't affect me anymore." He turned his head to look at her. "Don't you understand, Hermione? You only made the chase more interesting."

Hermione opened her mouth with surprise. "W-what are you talking about?" she stammered. "I'm not using any force. I wouldn't know how..."

"No, you wouldn't," mocked Ron. "Of course."

Hermione closed her eyes. What was Ron talking about? She couldn't perform magic without even noticing, could she? Yes, I can. Harry can speak Parseltongue without noticing, I can cast a spell without knowing I'm doing it.

Hermione, I...

"No!" screamed Hermione.

Hermione, let me...

"Not now!" she cried out, bringing her hand to her head. "Go away!"

She opened her eyes and noticed that Ron was looking at her from the floor with a sneaky smile on his lips as if he knew something that she didn't. "Are we going crazy?" he asked her mockingly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What were you talking about?" she questioned. "About the force."

Ron's turned his head down and sniggered. "Yes, the force. As you can see, this time I didn't pass out. This time you didn't hurt me as badly as you did before. I'm becoming stronger, and you're becoming weaker."

"Why would I become weaker?" she asked, confused.

Ron took a deep breath. "Because you're not -" He didn't finish his sentence. He had Hermione exactly where he wanted her to be: so captured by his explanation that she wouldn't even notice him as he stood up and pointed his wand to her.

The first and only spell that shot through the air was Expelliarmus, which successfully hit his aim. Hermione's wand flew past Ron and landed on the stairs, falling and bouncing more than once. Then she had just enough time to understand what was coming next before Ron was on her, and this time he really jumped on her, so brutally that they both fell on the floor. Hermione landed on her back and Ron on the top of her, and his head banged her ribs, knocking the air out of her lungs.

He let his wand fall at their feet as if he were confident that he wouldn't need it.

She let out a moan of pain before starting to scream. She felt Ron's hands on her hipbones; he was trying to pull out the remaining of her shirt from her skirt, his fingers working frantically around her waist as if he couldn't wait to undress her.

Hermione cried out and she didn't even know what she was doing when she kicked him the first time. She was just trying to move her legs out from under his body, and she heard his shocked moan of pain as she kicked him in the chest. His fingers stopped for a moment, and she tried to jerk her waist away from his hands.

But she couldn't even imagine how determined Ron was not to let her go. Feeling her body crawl away from his made him recover from her kick sooner than either of them expected. He grabbed the hem of her skirt and tried to drag himself up. He didn't care if he moved his body towards her, or dragged her towards him, or maybe her skirt would rip. He was fine with all those options.

Hermione stopped her unsuccessful escape attempt, too terrified that the skirt might have really split in two right at that moment, right in front of Ron. She kicked him another time, and her right knee hit Ron's nose. The blood that dirtied her tights was the last of her concerns; all she wanted was to shake Ron off her.

But Ron seemed a lot stronger than a few days before, and she really did feel weaker. She wondered why her skin wasn't covering with pulsating blisters where it had come in contact with him, and she didn't know if that was a good sign or not.

All her thoughts were interrupted when Ron seized her right wrist. He pulled her towards him, arching her back on the floor, so that now she was describing a half circle with her back. She screamed from the pain and the fear, a piercing cry that, she was sure, would have raised a lot of questions in Draco's head upstairs.

Ron's fingers closed around her wrist with force, his nails digging into her arm like little knives, and she felt the pain as little wounds opened there, just like the ones he had caused on her back. That had the force to bring her back to reality. Ron was now blocking her legs with the weight of his body, but her left arm was still free from his iron fingers, and even though she was sure that some slaps wouldn't stop him at all, that was all that came to mind while his cold hand managed to untuck her shirt from her skirt.

She screamed another time, and her arm lowered on his face, hitting his cheek and his lips. She hit him again and again, trying to stop him, trying to weaken his grip on her other arm, trying to make his hand stop its way towards her breasts.

"Stop!" screamed Ron, pulling out his hand from under her clothes and protecting his face with it. "Stop it!"

Hermione cried out another time with all the force that she had in her lungs as though it were a war cry, but she didn't stop hitting him. It was only when Ron grabbed her wrist that she lost her strength for a moment, but she recovered when she understood that her fingers could still damage him before he pulled them away. She gripped his hair and pulled forcefully.

Ron cried out from the pain. He pulled Hermione's hand away from his head, and he felt some hair being torn out as he did so. As he looked up at her shaking figure, he felt a strange mixture of rage and arousal rising inside of him.

She screamed again; it seemed like the best thing to do now that she had no chance of escaping him in any way. She screamed and cried, her face twisted in pain. Her only hope now was that Harry would walk through the door of the cottage.

Ron narrowed his eyes. He pushed his feet to the floor and slid above of her, sitting on her stomach as he did so. Her legs were free to move now, but she couldn't cause him any damage in that position. He bent his face to hers, pinning her hands over her head and holding them with his left hand while the other one slid to her mouth and cut off her cries.

"I said stop!" he roared. "You'll give me a headache!"

Hermione tried to jerk her face away from his hand, but there was nothing she could actually do in that position. She tried to bite the palm of his hand, but unsuccessfully.

Ron lowered his head on hers; Hermione could feel his hot breath tickling her ear. "Should I break your little neck to make you stay still, Mudblood?" he asked silkily. "I've no problems with that, but then it would interfere with my plans to take you."

Hermione's eyes widened. Was Ron really threatening to kill her? Would he ever do something like that to her? No, he wouldn't! Then why is he going to rape me?

He raised his eyes and locked them with hers, a soft smirk playing on his lips. He made his hand slowly slide away from her lips. Hermione didn't speak; she didn't let out a single noise except for sharp little breaths.

"Yes," murmured Ron satisfied. "Death threats always work and always will."

He placed his hand on the corner of her pullover's neckline, and he played a little with it, feeling the buttons of the shirt and the hem of her bra under it. His smirk faded away and his eyes lowered to her chest, and then he started ripping the material apart.

The sharp rip typical of fabric tearing in pieces reached Hermione's ears, and a moment later Ron was working on the buttons of her shirt. She could feel the coldness of his fingers as he brushed her skin through the spaces between the buttons, and every time he made one of them slide out of its thin hole her hips jerked, trying to making the task difficult for him.

She wondered why he didn't rip her shirt just like he had done with her pullover; she wondered why he was so busy working on her upper clothes instead of tearing her knickers down; she wondered if he would ever stop before doing something that, once he came back to his senses, he would regret for all his life.

And as though her silent questions had been heard, Ron stopped opening her shirt. Now there was just one button left: the one that closed on her navel. She gulped and looked at Ron hopefully, but he didn't even cast a glance at her face, and a second later, his hand was on her thigh, slowly making its way up to her knickers.

She gasped. From where she was, she couldn't see what was going on, but she could feel it perfectly well and she didn't like it. His fingers entangled in each of the tights' holes they met on the way up. She jerked her legs, but the only effect that her gesture had was to make him grab her thigh forcefully.

"Do not move," he barked. "Unless you want to be hurt."

She stopped, trying to figure out if she preferred to fight him and be hurt or let him have his way with her and suffer as little as possible. His nails in her leg didn't help her choose objectively, though, and she kept still when his cold fingers lifted her skirt.

She inhaled sharply when she felt his icy digits brush the hem of her knickers, and a desperate moan escaped her lips when she felt the elastic band being pulled down. She arched her back and tried to move, but his fingers didn't stop to -

"Stupefy!"

***

Harry had the strangest feeling he had ever felt: excitement mixed with fear mixed with happiness.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. He was sitting there, in front of the church's windows, trying to get a glimpse of his father in his own reflection, but the two of them were so similar that it was difficult for him to understand where his features stopped and his father's began.

And then, all of a sudden, an uncomfortable feeling grabbed his insides, as though he were afraid, as though he were hurt. He sucked in a breath and blinked, clueless as to what it could have been.

"Dad?" he called aloud.

No answer.

"Dad, what was that?" he asked stiffly.

Harry, go home... Was the answer.

What?

Go home...

But I don't -

Harry, go home...

***

From her position, Hermione didn't have enough room to see much, but she definitely spotted the red light that hit Ron's back, making him twitch in pain for a second before sending him crashing against the coffee table, throwing chess pieces all over the living room.

Hermione turned to her side and tried to stand up, but her legs were still numb from Ron's weight on her stomach, so she couldn't do much more than lean against the armrest of the armchair and bringing her knees to her chest. She kept still for what seemed to be ages. No sound reached her ears, and she could catch no movement from Ron or anyone else. Then a groan captured her attention and made her raise her eyes.

And she stared.

She stared for an eternity at the face of the boy that had her wand stretched in front of him, his grey eyes wide and his breath laboured as he took a step down the stairs. He had his hand pointed to the still figure of Ron, but he was looking at Hermione with something that she could have almost considered concern, if it weren't for the fact that she was gaping at Draco Malfoy. He looked away from her, feeling examined.

And he had all the rights to feel examined. Hermione's eyes travelled down from his face to his chest, he wasn't wearing the upper part of his pyjamas, and she could see his muscles and some of his ribs sticking out from his pale skin. She followed the frame of his muscles on his stomach down to his waist and gasped.

She looked frantically for Ron's wand around her; she was sure that it was somewhere close. Her eyes wandered the floor as though she were searching for her own life. Eventually she spotted it, the handle sticking out of the couch, and she seized it without thinking twice.

Hermione grabbed the armrest and pulled herself up, the wand stretched in front of her towards the advancing figure of Draco. Her arm was shaking, and her voice too. "Don't move," she ordered.

Draco turned to look at her and stopped. He frowned slightly and a surprised expression appeared on his face. "What -"

"Don't talk," she commanded. Her eyes betrayed the fear that she hoped she was hiding in her voice.

"Granger, what -"

"How can you be out of bed?" she cut him off forcefully, her breath quickened from panic. "How can you walk? And how can it be that your wound disappeared like that?" She nodded towards his smooth stomach.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You know, Granger, I didn't expect you to thank me, but - no, what the hell am I talking about? I expected you to thank me. I've just saved you!"

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. "What happened to your wound?" she repeated.

Draco bit his bottom lip and his expression finally became the one of a boy whose lie had been uncovered. He looked at Hermione and then he lowered his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Granger, listen, I'll explain everything to you, later, now we have to -"

"No, you explain now," she snapped.

"No," Draco snapped back, causing her to start in surprise. "No, we have to tie up Weasley first."

Hermione's eyes darted to Ron, who was still lying senseless on the pieces of the coffee table. There was blood behind his ear from landing so violently on the table, and blood on his nose, from where she had kicked him. She gulped, and for a moment Hermione felt as if she had imagined everything. She just wanted to run towards Ron and hug him tightly, telling him that everything was all right, but she couldn't. Her legs seemed glued to the floor, and she wasn't able to move close to him.

Ron's wand fell from her hand, and she slowly slid down to the floor, her back against the armchair, her knees to her chest. She observed Draco walk towards Ron and rummage through his pockets, looking for something that Hermione had no clue what it could be.

Finally, he pulled out his own wand. It was in the rear pocket of Ron's jeans, but to Hermione's great surprise, he didn't stop searching. He turned Ron's body upside down, and only when he shoved his hand in the shirt pocket did he smirk a little, meaning that he had found what he was looking for.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, pulling out the small cup that Ron had found the second night they were there. "Finally, I find you."

Hermione looked at the cup. Her eyebrows linked together as she unsuccessfully tried to understand why that thing was so important to him, and what was it doing in Ron's pocket. "What -" she murmured.

"Not now, Granger," Draco silenced her, but he wasn't harsh or rude. He threw the cup on the couch and pointed his wand at Ron. "Incarcerous," he muttered. Thick ropes flew out of nowhere and fastened around Ron's wrists and ankles. Draco looked down at Ron's still unconscious body and touched him with his bare foot. "Weasley," he called him. "Can you hear me?"

Ron didn't move, and he didn't answer, nor did he give any sign that he was able to understand what was going on around him. Draco smirked and turned, walking towards the closest window and opening it. He stretched out his wand towards what should have been east, and pronounced, "Expecto Patronum!" A silver owl took form at the end of his wand and flew away with a soft flapping of wings.

Draco closed the window, satisfied, and turned to look at Hermione. She was sitting on the floor, her eyes fixed on him, her arms around her legs, as though she were trying to cover herself as best as possible. He took an awkward step towards her and bit his bottom lip. "Are you..." He lowered his eyes, looking everywhere but at her. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Hermione nodded; she opened her mouth to answer him, but only an unarticulated sound that escaped her lips. She seemed unable to speak, unable to answer Draco. Now that the gravity of Ron's act had slowly sunk into her brain, she couldn't find any words to express her feelings. She buried her face in her hands.

Draco walked to where she was. He knelt down in front of her and offered Hermione her wand. "This one's yours, isn't it?" he asked, trying to sound neutral: not too sympathetic, not too cold.

She didn't take her hands away from her face, and she didn't grab her wand from his hands, but she started to shake. Her shoulders shuddered with the upcoming cry, and a soft sob escaped her lips.

Draco chewed his lips nervously. What was he supposed to do? Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's sidekick, was crying right in front of him, and for the first time, he was not the cause of it. On the contrary. He was the one that had saved her. He had saved her from Ronald Weasley. Draco's head started to buzz. It was as though Ron and he had switched roles. He was nauseated, and at the same time, he was fascinated, and still he couldn't find anything to say to Hermione.

She sobbed louder and snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked at her and without even understanding why he did so, he stretched a hand towards her and placed it on her shoulder where the remaining of her pullover and her shirt half covered her pink carnation.

"Hey," he muttered uneasily. "Y-you're all right, aren't you?"

Hermione lowered her hands and looked at him through her tears. What was he doing? Asking her if she was all right? Of course she wasn't all right! She'd almost been raped by Ron! Merlin's beard, Malfoy, do I look like I'm fine? she screamed in her head. Then she felt a wave of guilt invading her like the tide. He was just trying to be less of a git than usual, and she was thinking horrible things about him. Sure, she had every right to be horrible after all she had just gone through, and plus he was Draco Malfoy. She didn't want to think anything but horrible things about him. Then why do I just want to get closer to him?

And Hermione did get closer to Draco. She literally threw herself towards him, wetting his chest with her tears and clasping his shoulder for support. She hid her face in his neck and sniffled loudly.

Draco was so surprised by her behaviour that he didn't dare move. He sat back on his heels, his arms stretched in front of him, inches away from Hermione's back. The wands that he had been holding were now on the floor; he had dropped them from the shock. He gulped, his eyes fixed in front of him, his breath stiff. He couldn't think clearly with Hermione so close to him. He didn't know what to do.

"T-thank you," she stammered softly against his skin.

He blinked. Did he hear that right? Was she thanking him? Was she really thanking him? He never thought he would live to witness a scene like that, but there he was. He placed his arms on her back and hugged her tightly, leaning his head on hers. Her body joggled from the unexpected contact with his arms, and she moved her head, leaning her forehead on his neck.

Draco's breath quickened. Her hot breath was tickling a sensitive spot under his ear, and he hoped that she didn't notice his skin flushing or his heartbeat increasing. He wondered how it was possible that he was affected at all by Hermione's proximity. For the past six years, he had felt nothing but deep hatred towards her and the other two members of the Golden Trio, and now all his certainties came shattered down as Hermione's petite body was searching comfort in his arms.

Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and inhaled Draco's scent. She felt safe there, in her enemy's arms. But was he really her enemy now? She was confused. Her friend had become the big bad wolf and her enemy had turned out to be her saviour.

The door burst open with a loud bang. Draco hastily let go of Hermione and turned towards the boy who was standing at the door, his hand searching for his wand on the floor, until he understood that he was looking at Harry.

"Potter," he said slowly, standing up without bothering to pick up his wand.

Harry's eyes travelled from Draco, with his magically regained health, to Hermione, who was trying to cover herself as best she could, her fingers clenching nervously at the buttons of her shirt, her eyes looking everywhere but at Harry. Finally, he spotted Ron's unconscious figure on the floor. Harry's eyes widened and he stretched his wand towards Draco, taking a step in his direction. His jaw was set and his arm firm as he glared at the blond boy in front of him.

Draco took a step back and crashed against the couch. "Potter, what the hell are you doing?" he asked coldly, even though it was pretty clear what Harry was doing.

"What did you do, Malfoy?" growled Harry.

Hermione raised her eyes on him, her face surprised and anguished. What was Harry thinking? What was he going to do?

"Look, it's not what it looks like," answered Draco, stretching his hand towards Harry as if to calm him down.

"And what does it look like, Malfoy?" hissed Harry.

Draco glanced at Ron and then at Hermione, as if to say that he could have definitely done with some help from her. He turned back to look at Harry and took a deep breath. "I know what you're thinking, but I swear that I've not touched her," he tried to explain.

"No, sure," answered Harry, taking another step towards him. "You were just hugging her with all your renovated strength, weren't you? And then what else weren't you going to do to her? Trying to get into her -"

"He saved me."

Both Harry and Draco turned towards Hermione. She was standing next to the armchair. Her voice was shaking slightly, and she was bracing herself, the pieces of her pullover hanging from her shoulders as if it was some kind of scarf.

"What?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow. Was it possible that he didn't believe her?

"He saved me," she repeated, and this time her voice was steadier.

Harry turned to look at Draco. "Saved her from what?" he asked Draco, cutting Hermione out of the conversation unceremoniously and gaining a glower from her.

"From Weasley," answered Draco seriously, nodding towards Ron.

Harry looked at him without understanding. "What are you talking about?" he hissed, waving his wand threateningly.

Draco glared at him. "Put down your wand, Potter, and we'll explain everything," he said, trying to sound calm, and he cursed Hermione for making him drop his wand.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Malfoy?" hissed Harry.

Draco smirked. "Is that a trick question, Potter?"

Harry ignored him. "What happened to your wound?" he asked, nodding towards his stomach.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Lower your wand and I'll tell you everything," he answered.

"Tell me everything and then I'll decide if I can lower my wand," snapped Harry.

"It's a long story," hissed Draco.

"Bore me," retorted Harry.

"Harry, that's enough," snapped Hermione, stepping in front of him and standing between Harry's wand and Draco.

"Step back, Hermione," growled Harry.

"No," she replied stubbornly, looking into his eyes. "Don't you understand? He saved me; you're pointing your wand at the wrong person."

Harry lowered his wand a little; he looked past Hermione's shoulder to Draco and glared at him. Draco returned it with a cold stare.

Hermione took a step towards Harry and cupped his cheek. "Thanks," she murmured, leaning her forehead against his.

Harry nodded curtly in answer without taking his eyes away from Draco. But now Draco the one that looked away, as if he couldn't stand watching the two of them so close together.

"Now Malfoy, you are going to tell -"

Harry's sentence was interrupted by a neat and curt knock on the door. He looked at Hermione, who stared back at him, shaking her head as if to say that she didn't have a clue to who it could be.

"Right on time," murmured Draco.

Harry and Hermione looked at him. "What?" Harry asked, diffidence in his voice.

Draco cocked an eyebrow and walked past them to get the door. Hermione recalled him sending his Patronus out the window, a message for someone.

Harry raised his wand again, and this time Hermione didn't stop him. "Malfoy," he barked nervously. "Open that door and I'll curse you."

Draco stopped, but he didn't turn. "You wouldn't dare, Potter," he said calmly. "And if you curse me, it'll be the worst mistake of your life."

Harry bit his bottom lip. Draco was right. After the incident in the bathroom, Harry wouldn't have dared to hit him with a curse. "Who is it?"

Draco stretched his hand towards the handle. "Trust me, Potter."

"Why should I trust someone that has lied to us these past few days, Malfoy?" hissed Harry.

Draco laughed. "You know Potter, you have a point," he admitted. Then all of a sudden, he pushed the handle down and opened the door.

A hooded figure was standing on the threshold, and as soon as the door opened in front of him, he stepped inside and closed the door at his back. His hood covered his face, and only some locks of black hair were visible on his shoulders. He turned towards Draco and nodded curtly.

Draco nodded back, a serious expression on his face.

For a moment, Hermione felt sick at the very thought that she had been in Draco's arms just a moment before; she couldn't believe that he had just opened the door to the Death Eater he had sold them to. She had believed in his kindness and thanked him; she had found comfort in his arms and leaned against him, and now he was giving away their lives as if they meant nothing to him. She felt rage boiling inside of her.

"Who are you?" asked Harry, and he cursed his voice for shaking so much. He thought of the pleasure Draco should have felt at that moment.

The figure turned towards Harry; he brought his sallow hands to his face and let the hood fall down on his shoulders. He smirked as he watched Harry and Hermione's faces wearing the same frightened expression.

"Potter. Granger," he greeted them. "Glad that you are still alive."