Abyss

Abyss

Languid Valley was silent and desolate that night. After the convention had ended, the wizards and witches retreated to their sleeping quarters in order to muster the strength they needed for the attack. Potter guided Draco and Granger towards a small hut a few houses away from the hall. As they were walking, Potter relayed how he was able to acquire this hut just for the three of them and true enough inside the small house were three separate bedrooms. Potter claimed the middle room instantly and stood in front of its door, which left Draco to opt for the room nearest to the exit, and Granger the farthest room from it. She seemed tired and weary, and didn't even respond to her friend's "Good night." After she closed the door behind her, Draco followed her action and went inside his room as well.

He had never been so grateful to see a bed in his entire life, but odd as it were, some part of him didn't feel quite as joyous as he would have wanted. As he sat on the edge of the bed exhaustion, fatigue, and lethargy filled his senses, making him drunk with the sudden desire to sleep. But soon he found out that sleep was very elusive that night. He twisted, turned, even fluffed the pillow beneath his head, but to no avail. He was sleepy, be he couldn't sleep a wink. He was comfortable, but he couldn't find for himself a comfortable position to sleep in.

Ah, hell.

He needed a walk. Draco pushed himself out of bed and opened his door, only to find Granger about to knock on it. She seemed as surprised to see him as he was to see her, and she blinked a few times before lowering her fist to her side.

He tried to smile at her, felt the tips of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly. "Couldn't sleep?"

Slowly, she shook her head.

"Let's step outside," he told her, and closed the door behind him. Together they made it out of the hut and into the dark, eerie night.

Silent and desolate, Languid Valley would have been a refuge for peace and quiet hadn't it been used solely for the purpose of a hideout. The trees were quiet as the wind tousled their leaves; the sky still as the moon shone ever so brightly. The evening would have been an interesting piece for conversation between them if she wasn't so bloody speech deprived. Draco studied her, and the knowledge struck him: he knew, in an instant, that something was wrong. He knew it just by looking at her: at her drooping shoulders, at her faltering steps, at her twitching mouth. Draco stopped walking and turned to her. "Granger?"

She paused, but aside from that he got no reply. He tried again. "Hermione?" This time, he clasped her hand, and found her palm cold and clammy. Understanding dawned on him. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and he knew why: Granger was scared, and because of this she was ashamed.

"Hey," he said low, pulling her to him and kissing her on the forehead. "You don't have to be scared."

She hugged him tight in response, winding her hands at the base of his spine and resting her forehead on his chest. "Whoever said I am?"

He grinned. "I do," he said. "And don't make me point out all the details to you. You know you are."

Granger drew a deep, shaky breath and expelled it in a warm whoosh that he felt even through his clothes. "I am," she muttered. "Oh God, I am."

Draco took her hands off his waist and held them to his chest. She still wouldn't meet his eyes, keeping her gaze locked at their hands instead. "Look at me."

She kept her head bowed low.

"Look. At. Me."

Slowly, hesitantly, she did. He found that her eyes were drowning in tears that flooded them, and her lower lip was bitten between her teeth. This was a side to Hermione Granger he never knew existed, and all the more endeared her to him: he was familiar with her pride, but not with her frailty.

And he was looking at it now.

"You don't have to be scared," he said. "More importantly, you don't have to be ashamed of being scared. Not with me."

"Oh," she scoffed, smiling a little. "Not with you?"

"Okay," he admitted, giving her back a smile. "Maybe if all these things never happened I would have had a field day knowing that you, the unflappable Gryffindor, was scared of something, but now... don't you realize that you can be honest with me? No more pretenses, Hermione."

Tears slid down her cheeks, one slow drop at a time, leaving wet trails on their wake. "I can't believe this," she whispered, her voice tiny and tortured. "Do you realize what we're going to do?"

"Don't you think I do?"

"We're going to war," she said, as though he hadn't spoken. "We're going to attack and we might kill someone. I... I don't think... I don't think I can do that. I don't think I'm ready for that--"

Draco cupped her chin. "You could never be," he soothed. "No one could ever prepare themselves at the prospect of killing someone.... unless you're a soulless, evil bastard, that is. But then... do we have any other choice? As Dumbledore said--"

"--I know what Dumbledore said," she cut in, pulling his hands away from her face and winding them with hers. Granger looked at him in the eye. "You could be facing your parents at war," she pointed out. "Aren't you scared of that?"

He looked away.

"No more pretenses, Draco," she spoke, mocking him.

"I'm not pretending," he answered, glancing at her with his lips pressed tight. "I'm not scared. It's enough that you be scared for both of us."

She was wise enough to not pursue the topic, and he was grateful for that. She squeezed his hands, and he turned his attention back at her. "Promise me," she said, her eyes looking straight at his. "Promise me we'll stick together."

He smiled. Now this he could answer directly. "You really can't do anything to pry me off your side, even if you tried." Still reading the worry and anxiety in her eyes, Draco raised her two hands and brushed a kiss over each of her fingers. "I won't leave you," he spoke softly. "I never would. I promise."

After this pronouncement, silence reigned between them. He watched her as mutely and intently as she watched him. Granger blinked, then very slowly, a smile returned to her lips, wider, fuller, lovelier. "You've changed."

Draco chuckled. "So I've noticed." He rested his forehead over hers, pushing her head back a little as he did. "It's hard not to, when I'm spending most of my time with you." He released her hands and stroked his thumbs across the pads of her cheeks. "You and your stupid Gryffindor traits are rubbing off on me, you know. Bad influence you turned out to be."

She did not speak for a minute, and appraised him with her eyes. Then, in a very small, very frightened voice she said, "I...I know this isn't the most appropriate time or place, but if I don't say it then I might just spend the rest of my life wondering what if I did--"

"You're rambling."

Granger stepped away from him, and he wondered briefly if he'd offended her. She created a hefty amount of distance between them, and she fidgeted. Then, as if wholly decided, she faced him. "Malfoy, I..."

"You...?" he coaxed.

She stiffened a bit, standing ramrod straight for a moment before blurting out, "I... I care for you, all right? There. I've said it."

Draco had difficulty in keeping his face neutral. He looked at her, not moving, speaking, or even breathing at all.

"Say something," she pleaded, her eyes filling once again.

His throat had become dry as dust, but he managed to speak. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, and watched as her face fell. "You told me you care for me. I think it's a wee bit unfair, when all this time... I don't just care for you, Granger." Draco closed the distance between them in two strides, cupped her face, and rested his lips over hers. "I love you, Hermione," he mumbled.

He felt her lips widen in response, before he formally claimed her mouth in a kiss.

When she pressed closer to him, when she laid her hands behind his head, he could feel his nervousness slowly ebbing from him. For a moment, just for a moment, before he kissed her he thought she would run away again, leave him burning. Now, though, she wasn't leaving. In fact, Hermione was giving him as much as he was giving her: a kiss for a kiss, a touch for a touch, a feathery breath for another. Draco moved his hands from her jaw down to her hands as he slanted his mouth over hers. He heard a moan, a soft, guttural sound that made him tremble. One last kiss, one last stroke of her lips on his, before he moved away.

She opened her eyes, and even in the darkness he saw how vivid her orbs had become. Hermione reached for him, and placed a tender kiss over his forehead, his nose, and finally, on his lips. "I love you too," she said. She rested her head on his chest. "But this is so unfair. We might die tomorrow, and--"

"Au contraire, Granger," he said, encircling her in his arms. "This is just what we need to keep ourselves from dying tomorrow. A motivation, if you will. You do realize that, don't you?"

"You're right," she said, after a moment's thought.

"I always am," he said with a hint of smugness, and full of happiness. "Took you long enough to tell me you love me."

She hit him on the chest. "Git."

"And yet... you love me."

She chuckled. "Unfortunately."

He guided her back to their sleeping quarters, thinking that; maybe this time sleep would come easier for both of them.

It did.

*

Harry awoke just after the sun dawned that day. He leapt to his feet and went out of his room, intent on getting something to eat. He contemplated on knocking at Hermione's door to ask her to come join him, but thought better of it - she might still be asleep.

He passed by Malfoy's door with no intention of asking him for breakfast whatsoever. But Harry found out he didn't need to - in the hall, where breakfast was served, he saw Hermione and Malfoy on a corner together, talking and laughing like they had not a care in the world. Their proximity bugged Harry to no end, but he deemed it best to not meddle in something that wasn't his business in its entirety - he cared for Hermione; hell, he loved her. But if Malfoy was making her happy, then he shouldn't get in the way of her happiness.

At least, that was what he kept saying to himself.

"'Morning," Neville greeted Harry after he joined him, Seamus, and Dean in their table to eat his breakfast.

"'Morning," he greeted back, and nodded at the silent duo.

"So," Neville said, "we were just talking about who our leaders were. Who did you get, Harry?"

Harry scowled. "Snape."

"Lucky you," Dean said, then chuckled at the dark look Harry sent him. "I got Tonks."

"Sprout," volunteered Seamus.

"Klein, though I have absolutely no idea who he is," Neville added.

"You will." Dean pointed at him with his bread. "I heard later this afternoon we'll have a briefing with our respective leaders."

"I wonder what we're going to do, though," Seamus said over a bite of his apple. "I mean, of course I know a lot of spells, but--"

"I think it's pretty obvious what we're going to do once we get inside Hogwarts," Harry interrupted. "We're going to purge the school of all Death Eaters, and--"

"No, I mean, of course I know that," Seamus continued, looking annoyed. "I meant are we allowed to use the..." He looked around, leaned forward, and said in a considerably lower voice, "...the Unforgivable Curses."

Dean and Neville were shocked at this, obviously not anticipating Seamus' train of thought. Harry munched on his bread thoughtfully.

"Are you insane?" Neville sputtered. "Do you want to end up in Azkaban?"

"But those are the most powerful spells there are!" Seamus argued. "I mean, come on, if you want to live, won't you use the cruciatus curse or even the killing curse to get rid of your opponents?"

Dean shook his head. "There has to be other more potent - and safer - alternatives."

"This is a bloody war!" Seamus said empathically, pounding his fist on the table for good measure. "It's kill or be killed! Do you think the Death Eaters are going to think twice on using those same spells on you?"

"Seamus--"

"I think he's right," Harry finally said. Three heads whipped to look at him. "The difference about us and Death Eaters is that they won't hesitate to do everything to eliminate their enemies. We, on the other hand, are afraid of being sent to prison. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"So... you're... going to use those spells?" Neville asked.

"I already did, once," Harry said, thinking of the event that happened in his fifth year. "And I didn't end up in Azkaban did I? If it's for self-defense then I've no problem with it."

"Besides," Seamus said with a flourish, "I distinctly remember Dumbledore saying that we must 'employ everything in our power to defeat the Death Eaters'. I say that's permission enough to use the Unforgivable Curses."

"Do you even know how to use them?" Dean challenged him.

"Err..." At this, Seamus turned scarlet. "I was thinking maybe I could get Hermione to teach me."

Harry regarded him with a frown. "And what made you think that Hermione knows how to use them?"

"Well," he said, a tad defensive. "She's the most intelligent witch in our year, right? She's bound to know about those curses. And..."

"...and?" Harry prodded, already thinking he wouldn't like what the other boy was going to say.

He was right. "And she's been hanging with Malfoy, right? I'd bet anything that, if she didn't learn if from books then he must've taught it to her."

"Or probably used one on her as we speak," Dean added.

Anger at their insinuations filled Harry's senses, making him purse his lips together a bit too tight. He glared at Seamus and Dean, who were both wearing uncertain looks on their faces.

"Harry?" Neville spoke.

"Not that I'm implying anything, Harry--"

"Of course you're not."

Dean inched his chin upwards. "It's just that I think it's a bit alarming and, dare I say, suspicious, that Malfoy switched sides just like that. I mean, he is the son of two Death Eaters so chances are, he already is one."

"Don't blame it all on us, mate," Seamus said. "We're not the only ones confused about him being here. He was practically the topic of the every conversation last night! I mean, come on, Harry! His being the only Slytherin around here should tell you something!"

"Snape's a Slytherin," Harry returned calmly. "How come you're not suspecting him?"

"He's a spy for us!" Seamus answered. "He's good!"

"And Malfoy's not?" Harry asked, then bit his tongue. Of course Malfoy wasn't, but that's not the point. "Malfoy saved Hermione more times than I could count," he said instead, changing tactics. "That's good enough for me."

Dean threw his hands up in exasperation. "What could've the smarmy git fed you and Hermione to take his side? Look, all we're saying is that we should be careful around Malfoy. For all we know, he might be relaying our every move to his parents, and it always pays well to be prepared."

Neville cradled his head on his hands. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

Harry looked at Dean, and saw the unmovable resoluteness on his face. "I see your point," he admitted. "But I hope you'd also see mine."

"And what was your point?" Seamus asked him, a tinge of mockery in his voice.

"That not every Slytherin is evil," Harry answered, turning to him. "That some people could change, and some people did." He stood up and left the table.

Now here was irony if Harry ever saw one! He never thought that he'd be one to defend a Slytherin to his fellow Gryffindors. But no, in its entirety he wasn't defending Malfoy. Not really. In truth, he was doing this for Hermione. He knew that comments from those arrogant prats against Malfoy would hurt her deeply, and so, by squashing those two he was merely protecting his friend's sake. He was protecting Malfoy because of Hermione.

At least, that was what he kept saying to himself.

*

"Remember, in third year, when you slapped me?"

"Oh how could I not? It was one of my greatest accomplishments ever. You have to admit, though, you deserved it for being such an arrogant pig."

"Hmm? My cheek being intimately acquainted with your palm? I most certainly do, though in the future I do plan to be intimately acquainted with your other parts as well."

She blushed at that.

Hermione felt that she was having the best hours of her life, freely talking with Malfoy like this, without reservations, without shame or hypocrisy. She could even forget that, in a few hours time another war was to be waged, and that this time she was involved in it... the smile dropws from her face, and she was only too aware of it.

"You're thinking about the war again," he told her, with a smirk that told her he knew he was right.

"Oh, how could I not?" she repeated, turning somber. "It's not like I've been to war before, so I don't really know how or what I should feel right before one."

"We still have a few hours," Malfoy said, smiling at her. He took her hand. "Can't you forget it for a little while longer?"

"Can you?"

He was quiet. "We could at least pretend we can."

"I thought no more pretenses?" Hermione said. She pushed her plate away, and then took out her wand. She frowned. "I was expecting a name should have emerged on this sooner or later. I guess I was wrong."

"Maybe your wand doesn't want you to go to war, and I don't blame it."

She rolled her eyes. "Malfoy--"

"Oh, all right," he said. "Do you want to go to Dumbledore? Maybe you could ask him what's wrong with your wand."

Hermione nodded. "I was thinking of that," she admitted. She turned around, her eyes looking for the familiar face of their Headmaster - when a more familiar color attracted her attention. "I'll be right back." She stood up and made her way to the two redheads in the middle of the room. "Bill, Charlie," she called. The Weasleys looked up.

They looked far older and more haggard than Hermione ever remembered them to be. Bill's hair was savagely rumpled and short, and Charlie's was severely cut just about a millimeter away from his scalp. But what more could've been more striking than the look of pain on their faces? She immediately felt sympathy for them. Losing a sibling must be horrible enough... but two?

"Hello, Hermione," Bill said, flashing her a quick, wan smile.

"How are you?" Charlie asked politely. "Have a seat."

She did. "I'm fine," she answered. Then she looked at her hands, which were trembling. They reminded her so much of Ron and Ginny... "How about you? How are you both?"

"We're as right as rain," Charlie replied, but he lacked sincerity.

"Holding up," Bill said. "Giving this war everything we've got."

"And Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"

"They're in Romania," Charlie told her. "Dad brought the others there because he said the farther they were the safer they'd be. Mum actually hated our being back in this place, and told us she'd never speak to us again... but we can never resist, can we, Bill?"

"Never," Bill affirmed, clenching his fists. "We have a score to settle."

Hermione wanted to ask how Ron died, how Ginny perished... how awful of you! she scolded herself. Be sensitive to their pain! "I... um..." Instead, she handed Bill her wand. "I don't have a leader yet," she spoke, looking at the two. "Do you think I could be of help to any of you?"

The oldest Weasley took her wand and inspected it. "Well," he said. "I was just telling Charlie how unfair it was that he got more charges than I do, but your being part of my group will probably balance the scale a bit."

"Balance the scale!" Charlie exclaimed. "This is Hermione Granger we're talking about here. I'd say your group outweighs mine now!"

"So what do you say, kiddo?" Bill asked, returning her wand. "You think you could handle me being your leader?"

"I certainly could," she answered, relieved. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Bill said, with a wave of his hand. "A friend of Ron's..." He smiled a bit, his expression a mixture of pain and bitterness. Charlie looked away.

Impulsively, Hermione hugged Bill. He wrapped his arms around her for a brief moment, then let her go. She extended the same comfort to Charlie.

"Be careful, Hermione," Charlie cautioned her, stroking her hair a bit before releasing her. "Bill's a very demanding leader. Don't do anything rash, all right?"

"I won't," she assured them.

"Don't worry, kiddo," Bill said. "I'll protect you." For Ron's sake, she thought.

And Hermione didn't doubt that that he was telling the truth.