Sincerely, Draco

Spending Christmas day at home with Draco was everything that I ever could have asked for. And knowing that he didn’t need to leave immediately afterwards was even better.

It's strange to be with you now and realize that I don't have to disappear within a few hours. I like it, though; a lot, actually.

#convo

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

With everything she had, Hermione hoped that a walk in the forest and the company of Dean and Harry would be enough to calm Seamus down. The fight that had taken place between him and Draco had almost escalated into something much worse than a mere clash of words, and Hermione didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if she hadn’t chosen to intervene when she had. Both the former Slytherin and the former Gryfindor were extremely volatile and prone to letting their tempers get the best of them, and while Hermione might have been confident in Seamus’s abilities as a Wizard…there was still no doubt that Draco would have been the one to come out on top if things had gotten even more out of hand than they had already been. He was trained as a Death Eater, and even if his heart wasn’t truly in it, he was still more than capable of performing the sort of charms and spells and hexes that Hermione didn’t even like thinking about, let alone doing herself.

Her Draco was a force to be reckoned with—she knew that very well.

Once Hermione had finally managed to go about setting up their tent, she beckoned for Draco to join her inside of it, hoping that a bit of peace and quiet would calm him down and soothe the rage and fury that still simmered in his veins. He had so valiantly come to her defense against Seamus, and Hermione just knew that she couldn’t have been the only magical being in the clearing that hadn’t realized just how fiercely he loved her. Draco had been willing to fight Seamus to the death if that was what it took to best the infuriated Irishman, and while Hermione didn’t approve of what he had said or done in the slightest…she still understood his motives, and she didn’t blame him for them one bit. Thankfully, Draco wasn’t too angry to deny joining her in the tent, and Hermione breathe out a soft sigh of relief when he crossed the clearing to join her. Good, then—maybe he had managed to calm down a bit.

The moment he made his way towards her, Hermione suddenly grew acutely aware of just how alone they were. They had nothing but the forest and the snow to keep them company, which meant that..finally, after more than three months of being kept apart, they were together, and together they would be until the end of time. She refused to allow anyone to ever take him away from her again, not when he belonged with her and her alone. For years he had been a double agent, suffering and starving and receiving very little in return, and now…now it was time for Draco to come home. It was what he deserved. And so when he crossed the clearing and stood in front of her, Hermione felt as if she could have done absolutely anything, if only because he was here with her. “Draco,” she breathed his name, and her heart seemed to beat a thousand times per minute as tucked his wand away and raised both of his strong and capable hands to cradle her face between his palms.

With eyes that were wide and startled, she gazed up at him and watched the slow descent of his lips as he lowered his head, captivated by the long and dark eyelashes that cast shadows atop the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He was so achingly beautiful, and…he was hers. Finally, he was claiming her lips in a deeply passionate kiss—one that she felt with every nerve and vessel in her body. A breathy little sound of pleasure spilled from Hermione’s lips and vibrated against his, and immediately her small hands rose and curled around the slopes of his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer until there was no telling where she ended and he began. It was a kiss that would leave the rest of their team scandalized and affronted if they had been there to witness it, and it was a kiss that Hermione would spend the rest of the night thinking about. It was a kiss that left her wanting more—more, more more, until she ached with longing and everything that her body needed and craved from him.

She let out a soft and needy little whine of a sound when he drew away far too soon for her liking; her lips were red and swollen and tingling in the absence of his, and it took everything she had not to tug him down for a kiss that would be twice as fervent and heated as their last one had been. Merlin, they hadn’t even made it inside of their tent, and already Hermione wanted to tear his clothes from his frame and claim every inch of him! Instead, she listened as he spoke, and fought back a shiver when she felt his hot breath spill across her still-tingling lips. His voice was deliciously raspy, and he seemed to be panting just as desperately as she was. “I think I might have to ask you to do that again before the night’s over and done with,” she confessed in response to his words, breathless and flushed and bright-eyed. And then, because no one else was around, she stood on the tips of her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, one that was affectionate and fleeting and swift.

Just then, a particularly fierce and chilly gust of wind swept across the campsite, and Hermione shivered, instinctively tucking herself against Draco and soaking up as much of his warmth as she possibly could. “I think we’d best head inside for the night—before the two of us turn into icicles!” she managed through teeth that were quickly beginning to chatter, rubbing her nippy nose against Draco’s chest in an attempt to stay warm. Unable to bear staying out in the cold any longer, Hermione gingerly unwrapped herself from Draco and took one of his strong hands in one of her smaller and more dainty ones, holding open the tent and gingerly tugging him inside of it. Their shelter for the night was nothing special—while it might have been of Wizarding origin, it lacked any and all of the luxuries that even the most basic magical tents contained. Instead, it was rather like a Muggle tent—one that contained a heap of blankets and two pillows that they could use to rest their heads upon.

"It was all that we were able to find," Hermione explained sheepishly, though she highly doubted that Draco would mind spending one night roughing it in the wilderness—not when it was just one last stop on the road that would guide him home. Giving his hand one last squeeze, she stepped further inside of their rather cramped tent, finding the lamp that she had brought along and managing to light it after a few tries. She gingerly set it down between the two pillows, and then she followed suit, finding a spot to nest in and finally taking the time to rest her weary feet. She slowly tugged her mittens off of her hands, noting that they were red with cold and nippy to the touch, and then she gingerly undid her jacket, taking it off along with her jumper. It was much warmer in the tent, thankfully, and already Hermione could feel heat rushing back into her bones. Rubbing her small hands together in an attempt to warm them up once more, she turned her gaze towards Draco, her eyes soft and affectionate with the love and devotion she felt for him.

"Come sit," she urged gently, scooting over in the cramped space to make as much room as she possibly could. "I’m worried about you, Draco. What happened between you and Seamus, it…to say that it came dangerously close to getting out of hand would be the understatement of the year. Are—are you okay?”

It was entirely possible that he was getting ahead of himself. While he knew the kiss was both reciprocated and appreciated by the young woman pressed against him (the way she responded to his touch and taste was enough alone to convince him of that much), but still...they'd barely been alone with each other for five sodding minutes and already Draco was attempting to snog her face off. In his defense, though, they hadn't shared a proper kiss--a proper anything, really--since September. Her birthday, to be exact. In his own opinion, a kiss was long overdue (as was everything else they did together physically and intimately...but that would all come later on, in due time). And when he finally managed to pry his lips from hers, tingling with the delicious onslaught of emotions that came from being in Hermione Granger's presence, he swore he saw a look of disappointment and yearning flicker in her bright brown eyes. Draco couldn't help but wonder if she was as disgruntled by the fact that they couldn't strip bare and shag one another senseless, as well. Though he would have liked to, the fact that they were isolated in the woods with other campers (Potter, Finnigan, and Thomas) nearby...complicated things a bit.

That didn't stop him from wanting her, though. Not in the slightest. On the contrary, the young man ached for his lover with everything in him. His desire was at an all-time high, and Draco Malfoy made an oath to himself then and there that he would dedicate an entire day to fucking Granger raw (and vice versa).

After all, he had quite a bit of time to make up for.

"Trust me when I say I wouldn't mind, Granger--not in the slightest," He murmured in response to her words, allowing his lips to twitch themselves into a half-smirk. Shuddering against the harsh chill of the winter air, Draco allowed Granger to lead him inside their tent, exhaling immediately and adjusting his robes when he felt a blast of warm air heat him up from head to toe. Thank Merlin for heating charms--otherwise he would have ended up catching pneumonia for sure in this God forsaken forest. It might have been freezing cold to the outside world, but inside the cramped tent with his beloved...everything was warm. Content, really--much like him. It had been so long since Draco had been allowed a mere glimpse at freedom, much less the chance to experience it, so he couldn't have given a rat's arse if the tent was smaller than normal and ill-equipped in comparison to larger and more regally magicked tents available. All that mattered was that he was here with Granger...and soon, his parents would be able to join him. Soon, all of the Malfoys would be together.

That he was absolutely certain of.

"It's enough," was his reply to her statement, giving a slight shrug before moving to take a seat on the ground. In truth, he didn't care much about luxuries for one night--it had been so long since he'd felt safe falling asleep at night. Maybe five years ago he would have thrown a tantrum and a fit about the entire thing, but now? When he'd known starvation and agony and true fear that chilled him to the bone? Even the most basic luxuries--such as being fed a proper meal and receiving an appropriate amount of nourishment--was exquisite and difficult to obtain.

How strange that his entire world seemed to shift and turn upside down within the course of a few short years. He had once been the sole Heir of the regal and sophisticated Malfoy family. Now? He was nothing more than a pawn in Lord Voldemort's game. Nothing more than a toy for them all to use and abuse.

And he was sick and tired of it.

"I'm fine," He stated quickly--too quickly, perhaps. Shifting uncomfortably from where he was perched next to her and clearing his throat, Draco tugged uncertainly on the sleeves of his robes, glancing down at the ground and chewing on the inside of his cheek as he struggled to think of an adequate response to her inquiry. No matter what he said, she'd know straight away whether or not he was telling the truth. It was a gift, truly.

"I'll...be fine," He managed finally, his voice hoarse. "Though I won't refrain from hexing him again--as I promised earlier. I have my parents and you to worry about; I don't have time to deal with people in the Order throwing childish tantrums over the fact that I'm coming home." His voice was bitter and cold, though he hoped Hermione knew that none of his anger was directed towards her.

#para #hermione

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

Hermione had known Seamus for more than a decade at this point, and throughout the time that they had been housemates and eventually members of the Order, he had never so much as said one unkind word to her. They weren’t particularly close friends, but they had always gotten along with one another, and this was the first time she had ever been on the receiving end of his infamous temper. He was…Merlin, he was livid, and while Hermione understood why it was that he was upset, that didn’t give him the right to say any one of the things that he had said to both her and Draco. His comments about the former Slytherin’s parents had been extremely uncalled for, as had the vulgar and obscene insult he had spat in her direction. Hermione was wide eyed and startled, caught completely off guard and more than a little stunned in the wake of what had been an entirely undeserved and vicious attack.

Seamus was her friend—so why was he acting like this?

Before she could so much as reply to the vulgar comment that Seamus had made about her sex life (and Merlin, did she have a lot to reply with), Draco was storming towards the former Gryffindor and…pulling out his wand. No sooner had Hermione let out a startled squeak of surprise was Draco jabbing the tip of his wand into the Irishman’s throat and threatening his life—something that the young Malfoy rarely ever did unless he was pushed past the careful limits he set for himself. Draco wasn’t a man of violence or aggression; he greatly preferred battles of verbal assault over physical, and so for him to resort to something as brutal and threatening as this…he had to be extremely angry. Draco had always been protective of her, and Hermione knew that he would sooner die than allow anyone to cause her any sort of harm, be it emotional or physical, and now he was stepping up to the plate and speaking in her defense. If there was anyone left in the clearing who wasn’t aware of just how much Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger, they would be proved wrong in a heartbeat.

Because this was a man who would do absolutely anything for her.

Despite the heat and fury that was still extremely evident in his eyes, Hermione could tell that Seamus was growing fearful, and both Dean and Harry seemed ready to jump into the fray and come to his defense. Draco was armed, and he was much taller and stronger than Seamus was, despite having been half starved for months. He could easily take down the Irish Wizard, and they both knew it. Hermione hoped and prayed that Seamus would admit defeat and pull away from Draco in hopes of quelling the dispute between them, but then…but then Draco was leaning close to him and murmuring something that Hermione couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, though…it wasn’t good, for Seamus immediately flared with rage once more, and despite not being armed or able to take on Draco by himself, the former Gryffindor drew his lips back in a fierce snarl and began to lunge at his assailant.

Oh…oh hell.

"I’m going to fucking kill you, Malfoy!” he growled, practically frothing at the mouth as he began to struggle against the wand that was being held to his throat. “I’m going to tear you apart, and there won’t be a single thing you can do about it, you disgusting piece of—”

"THAT IS ENOUGH!”

Hermione refused to stand by and watch any longer. Acting as fast as she possibly could, she rushed into the fray and pulled Draco back by his arm, tugging him away from the Irishman that was trembling with enough rage and fury to kill. She wrapped her small hands around Draco’s taut and shaky arm, feeling the muscles beneath his skin that were coiled and ready to attack. She murmured a soft sound that was meant to soothe, rubbing her tiny hands up and down the length of his arm and hoping to calm him down as best as she knew how. Dean seemed to have the same idea, for he pulled Seamus aside, slipping an arm around the furious Wizard’s shoulders and keeping him away from both Draco and Hermione. “Come on, Seamus, let’s take a walk,” he urged in a quiet voice, giving Hermione a cautious look and nodding his head towards the forest. She gave him a nod of her head in return, squeezing Draco’s arm once more before rushing towards Harry and handing him Seamus’s wand.

"Go with them, Harry, please," she pleaded in a fretful and tremulous little voice. "Take his wand and make sure that he doesn’t do anything foolish—I don’t want him harming himself. And…when he’s calmed down a bit, tell him that I’m sorry, but he shouldn’t have behaved the way that he did. I’ll speak with Draco, as well. Everything will be okay."

Harry nodded, but before he turned around to follow Dean and Seamus into the forest, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his green eyes anxiously searching her warm brown ones. “Are you sure that you’re going to be okay, ‘Mione?” he asked quietly, rubbing his thumb into the delicate curve of her shoulder.

She gave him yet another nod in return, one that was slightly shaky, but a confirmation nevertheless. “I’ll be fine, Harry, I promise. Now go—Dean’s going to need all the help he can get with Seamus.” She gave him a small smile that trembled just a bit around the edges, and Harry hesitated briefly before giving her his consent and leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. With that, he was off, leaving Hermione and Draco alone once more.

"Just give me a minute to set up camp, alright? It won’t be long, so in the meantime, just try and relax," Hermione breathed out in a rush the moment Harry had disappeared into the woods, immediately reaching for the supplies she needed to put together their tent and thanking Merlin that it was a magical one all the while—it wouldn’t take her nearly as much time as it would have otherwise. She was quiet as she went about assembling the tent, and by the time she had finally managed to put it together, she was more than ready to spend the rest of the evening inside of it with Draco. If she was tired and weary from the stressful day they had just endured, then he was undoubtedly exhausted. He had gone through so much, and she wanted nothing more than to comfort him as best as she possibly could. "That should just about do it," she stated once she had gotten the tent up and off the ground; it had taken quite a bit of work, especially given that she was rubbish with this sort of thing, but at least they would have a semi-warm place to rest their heads for the evening. Wiping the back of her small hand across her brow, she used the other to hold up one of the tent flaps, inviting Draco inside.

"Come inside where it’s warm, love," she urged in a soft voice that was meant only for him. "I know you’ve got to be absolutely exhausted."

It was entirely possible (he supposed) that Draco had gone a bit...overboard in his threats and taunts to the short Wizard standing before him. But if he thought as much, he sure as hell wasn't going to admit anything out loud; not when he had Seamus exactly where he wanted him. True, Draco knew--deep down--that his comments (most particularly his final statement) would be more than enough to send Finnigan over the edge. He was already seething and visibly trembling with rage...the question was, how much more could he take? How much more could the notorious hothead handle? Draco was willing to bet nearly anything would send him flying over the edge at this point...and if Finnigan's reactions to Draco's words were anything to go by, then he was dead on point. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor were staring at each other vehemently...it was really only a matter of time before one of them lunged at the other.

Draco, in full possession of his wand, had the advantage between the two. Finnigan, more than likely, didn't stand a chance.

And sure enough, Draco's words seemed to do the trick. Perhaps it was the comment about him fucking Granger within Finnigan's earshot that set the young man over the edge; maybe it was a combination of everything the white-haired young man had said in retaliation to the former Gryffindor's harsh words. Either way, Seamus was soon enough boiling over with rage and struggling to lunge right after Draco...quite predictably, as a matter of fact. But again, Draco had the upper hand between the two of them--realistically, there was no way he could be bested. Draco had his weapon; Seamus didn't. Draco was more practiced in the art of dueling and defensive techniques and spell. Finnigan had only barely grazed the surface of each (or so he was assuming...quite rightfully). It was no contest, really, and Draco thought as much smugly to himself as he continued to dig the tip of his wand into the scruffy flesh of the underside of Seamus Finnigan's jaw. He was daring the shorter Wizard to test him, truly; to give him a reason to slip up; to hex and curse him into the next bloody century.

Waiting, waiting, and yet...nothing. Something was holding them back.

Or someone, more than like it. Two someones, to be exact: Thomas and Granger. Of course. The peace makers.

Draco scowled, visibly put out that he'd lost the opportunity to kick Finnigan's arse. He was, quite understandably, extremely pent-up, and he needed to let his frustration out on someone. On anything willing. Finnigan had seemed a likely candidate...until Dean was pulling him away and Hermione was stepping in the middle of them.

And Draco could do little more than grunt and huff and puff--rather like a spoiled child who hadn't gotten his way.

Nevertheless, Draco knew his place--he'd said enough for one evening; to try and probe and provoke anyone else any further tonight would be foolish. They'd come so far, and what Draco wanted most--aside from a bit of privacy--was some sleep. He knew he wouldn't be permitted to rest for more than a few hours, of course, but...hell, it was better than nothing. So he clamped his mouth shut and dug the toe of his loagfer into the frozen ground beneath him, fixing his gaze on anything and everything that wasn't the clump of Wizards (and Witch) standing nearby. He hated them; he hated them for thinking of him as nothing more than a Death Eater. He hated them for taking advantage of all the risks he'd resorted to in order to protect the Order from total destruction and demolition. He hated how ungrateful they were; how ignorant and naive and self-important they all felt. He hated most every member of the Order of the Phoenix--with every fiber of his being--so why did he defend them? Why had he sacrificed himself day in and day out for a bunch of shriveling Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who wouldn't know gratitude if it bit them on the bloody nose? Why did he continually put his life on the line for a cause that rejected him so wholeheartedly?

The answer came to him immediately--in the form of a young, bushy-haired woman standing off in a corner and communicating with the flock of Wizards congregated around her: Hermione. It had always been Hermione--she'd been his reason for so much. He'd go to hell and back if it meant protecting her, and it was for her and her alone that he strove to defend and preserve the Order.

He always had, and he always would.

It was strange, really, the evolution of his character. And as Hermione bid adieu to her friends, Draco wondered just what it was about her that caused him to change so dynamically. Was it her compassion? Her ability to evoke a sense of human empathy? Or was it something else? A combination of all of her greatest traits, perhaps? Whatever it was, she'd changed Draco...and he realized he didn't ever want to go back. Not to the way he'd once been; not to who he once was.

Never.

So completely consumed by his thoughts and the tension surrounding them, Draco had to allow himself a few moments to process that...that he and Granger were finally alone. Perhaps, then, this would allow him some time to cool down after what had nearly been a rather brutal and aggressive encounter with one of Gryffindor's "finest." He could still feel his nostrils flaring with anger, and so he stiffly nodded his head in acknowledgement of Hermione's statement when she claimed she was going to go about setting camp up. He tried to offer to lend her a hand--a wand, really--but found that his tongue felt too thick and heavy in his mouth. He swallowed heavily, but even that ached. It seemed that no matter what he did, the words just...wouldn't come out. He was speechless; utterly speechless. He'd come so close to knocking Finnigan's lights out; desperate for an outlet to his pent-up aggression and rage, Draco had come so close to letting out all of the fury he'd tucked away so carefully inside of him for months and months.

So, so close; and yet still so far away.

It was Granger asking him to join her inside the tent that pulled Draco out of his reverie. Slowly but surely he felt himself unwinding, and it was after a few moments of initial hesitation--in which he carefully observed the campsite she'd constructed for everyone--that Draco crossed the clearing and made to join her. It had been so painstakingly long since he'd spent quality time alone with his lover--months. September, to be exact. He hadn't had the chance to be alone with her since September, and so the first thing Draco did was tuck his wand away, lift his hands to cradle her face, and bend down to press his lips against hers in a passionate, slow kiss that spoke of everything he'd missed over the course of the past three or so months.

"And that," He panted by the time he finally pulled away, licking his lips. "Is something I've wanted to do since the first moment I laid eyes on you while I was standing on that hill."

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

Seamus was clearly more than a little put out and irritated, and Hermione couldn’t help but grow wary and cautious in response to the Irishman’s volatile and turbulent emotions. She knew that he didn’t exactly approve of bringing Draco into the Order, and that he didn’t understand that the youngest Malfoy had been risking his life on a daily basis ever since the beginning of the war, and she also knew that there was only so much she could say to convince him that Draco was on their side. Hermione and Seamus had always been relatively close, first as housemates and then as members of the Order, but that didn’t mean that she had any sort of influence over his feelings and opinions—not in the slightest. He was fiery and opinionated, and once he his mind was made up…well, there wasn’t really all that much of a chance of changing it.

But that didn’t mean that Hermione couldn’t at least try.

The moment Seamus turned to face her with eyes that were narrowed into vicious slits and lips curled back into an angry snarl, Hermione tensed. Whatever it was that he was going to say, it most certainly wouldn’t be good. Cautiously, she held her small hands up in front of her in what was supposed to be a calming and placating gesture, but then Seamus was finally speaking, and it was clear that he was done holding back. Hermione gasped, her eyes widening and her lips parting to form a startled little ‘o’ of surprise as Seamus directed his heated gaze towards Draco and spat out one of the worst things that he could have said to the former Death Eater. His words dripped with malice and anger, and Hermione was dismayed to note that Seamus meant every single thing that he was saying—he truly still thought of Draco as one of Voldemort’s army, and he would more than likely continue to think that forevermore.

Oh, this was…this was bad. This was very, very bad.

Hermione didn’t have to look at Draco to know that he would be absolutely livid, but she did, if only because she feared his reaction to Seamus’s hateful and uncalled for words. As expected, her beloved was practically foaming at the mouth with rage; he was digging his nails into his palms so hard that Hermione worried he would draw blood, and when he spoke, his voice was every bit as malicious and fierce as Seamus’s had been when he had dealt the first blow. Draco’s temper was uncontested, and truth be told…Hermione didn’t blame him for lashing out, not in the slightest. Seamus had had no right to say such a thing about him, not after Draco had spent the last two years of his life fighting for the same side, and even Hermione wanted nothing more than to inform the Irishman that he had never been quite so wrong. Instead, she stepped towards Draco and gently wrapped her small hands around one of his arms, as if to keep him from lunging forward and attacking Seamus

The moment Hermione touched Draco, however, Seamus seemed to tense and flare with fury all over again, and she knew that it wasn’t out of jealousy or anything of the sort. No, Seamus was angry because in his eyes, she was taking the side of a Death Eater and betraying everyone else, when in reality, that wasn’t the case at all. Before she could say as much, however, the Irish Wizard was taking a step forward and pointing at Hermione and Draco with a finger that trembled and shook with rage. “If you think that you could ever best me in a duel, Malfoy, you’re wrong as hell. In fact, why don’t we have it out right now, yeah? I’ll kick your scrawny arse all the way back to your manor, and then your mummy can tend to what’s left of you. Unless…” Seamus took another step forward, his lip curled back into a vicious snarl to bare his teeth as he reached for his wand, drawing it out of his pocket and brandishing it threateningly.

"…Unless your precious lord has already disposed of her, that is.”

That was it for Hermione. Quick as lightning, she was letting go of Draco’s arm and rushing towards Seamus, trembling from head to toe with a mixture of anger and fear. She understood that her fellow Gryffindor had plenty of reasons to despise the former Slytherin, but that didn’t give him the right to threaten him and insult his family—not when Draco had already gone through so much as it was. And so Hermione, who would do absolutely anything to protect Draco and keep him safe, stood her ground in front of Seamus, her eyes wide and imploring him to understand that he was not allowed to behave like this. “That is enough, Seamus Finnigan!” she insisted in a breathless rush, her voice tremulous as she commanded his attention. “You have absolutely no right to speak to Draco like that—not when he’s fought just as hard as everyone else has to win this war! And if you even think about threatening him again—” Using her small size to her advantage, Hermione lunged forward and tugged Seamus’s wand out of his hand, ignoring his shout of protest as she tucked it into the pocket of her coat. “—I will not hesitate to hand your wand over to Kingsley and inform him about your behavior tonight—surely he’ll agree with me when I explain to him that you’re not fit to be armed when you’re acting like this. Draco is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to be treated otherwise.”

Hermione fell silent, giving Seamus the chance to mull over her words. The former Gryffindor was clearly livid, his broad shoulders rising and falling with every angry huff that spilled past his lips, and his face and the tips of his ears were bright red due to how furious he was. Hermione was still trembling, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright with determination, and she hoped and prayed that her words would be enough to halt what had almost been a full-blown duel between two Wizards who were never truly meant to get along. Finally, Seamus was parting his lips to speak, and Hermione braced herself for whatever it was that he planned on saying in response to her rather heated speech.

With his eyes narrowed and his upper lip still drawn back into a snarl, Seamus ran his gaze up and down her dainty figure once, twice, three times, as if…as if he was disgusted.

"Forgive me if I can’t bring myself to agree with you, Granger,” he spat, his tone filled to the brim with malice and heat. “But then again, I’m not the one lowering myself by bending over for a Death Eater and letting him shag my brains out, now am I?”

It was one thing to travel with a band of Gryffindors (save for Granger; he was more than fine with her tagging along), but it was another entirely to deal with how fucking irritating they chose to be. Finnigan could have kept his mouth shut and his inane comments to himself--they all knew this. He knew it, Granger knew it, Potter knew it...Draco was even willing to bet that Finnigan's right hand man, Dean Thomas, knew it as well. So with so many people set against him, why the hell was the fiery little shit going out of his way to get so worked up? It was clear he was only making a fool of himself...and making things more difficult for him in the end. It had been a long day; they were all clearly exhausted, and what Draco knew that he in particular needed more than anything else was a.) a bit of alone time with Hermione and b.) a good night's rest. And here he was, forced to listen to Seamus Finnigan bitch and moan about the fact that he'd been requested to tag along in a mission to liberate Draco from Malfoy Manor. He didn't have time for this--none of them had time for this, as a matter of fact.

Perhaps the worst bit of it all was the fact that Draco knew, just by looking at him in fact, that Finnigan had fared between between the two of them during the span of the Second Wizarding War. War was not kind on anyone, most understandably, but Draco couldn't help but allow his calculating gaze to sweep over Seamus' form, inwardly resentful and bitter of the fact that someone so willing to judge and berate him for simply existing hadn't been forced to deal with half of the obstacles Draco had. It was clear that--as far as war went--Finnigan had lived closer to the lap of luxury than most. He certainly didn't look as though he'd gone without many meals; Draco didn't notice a particularly weary look to his frame. On the contrary, he seemed to be in high health (or, really, as high as he could come given the severity of everyone's living situations). And Draco...he couldn't help but glare at Seamus with a mixture of anger and resentment. He, who had gone with such small rations. He, who had time and time again slipped his parents more food without letting them know. He, who had spent many nights lying awake in terror that the Dark Lord would take him, too.

He, who had lost so much...and Finnigan, who had lost next to nothing. All things considered, of course.

However, it wasn't until Seamus had the audacity to bring up his mother--his mother of all fucking people--that Draco swore he lost hold of himself. Ha! As if Draco hadn't already been fearing exactly that; as if he hadn't already kicked himself again and again for leaving his parents at the will of a monster. Narcissa had insured her only son that both she and her husband would be more than safe...but all three of them knew that wasn't true. The most Draco could hope for was that they'd manage to survive until he could return for them. They'd all failed tremendously in the eyes of the Dark Lord, truly--Lucius first, by dropping the prophecy back during Draco's fifth year at Hogwarts. And then Draco had failed by killing to complete his task in murdering Albus Dumbledore (though really, how many sixteen year olds could manage such a feat?). It was his mother, quiet and obedient, who betrayed the Dark Lord last...this time by openly lying about the fate of Potter. She claimed that the Battle of Hogwarts had been a fluke--that she'd truly believe Scarhead was dead. Unfortunately, next to no one believed her. And Draco...he thought about this constantly; thought about his family constantly.

And here was Finnigan, bringing up again.

Ready to surge forward and knock his bloody brains out for daring to put such morbid thoughts in Draco's mind, the young Wizard surged forward, only to be blocked by...by Hermione. If he was furious, Hermione was coming in at a close second--the way she snapped and screeched at the shorter man glowering at the pair of them was enough to have Draco blinking and reeling in shock. Though her temper was not, by any means, well-controlled, it had been so very long since Draco had seen her in such a fit of rage. And truly, it was a compelling thing to watch--the way she practically trembled and quivered with fury as she screamed at Finnigan, who looked shocked (and immediately still rather pissed) all the while. And Draco--though he'd never be able to admit it out loud--was more than a little grateful for the fact that Granger had come to his aid. If she'd managed to leave Draco and Seamus to working out their differences on their own...well, Draco sorely doubted that either one of them would make it through the night.

And the way she was defending him, Merlin...Draco couldn't think of a single other person in the entire world who would go to such lengths to protect and defend him.

It meant more to Draco than he would ever be able to express...he hoped Granger knew that.

Quite positive that Finnigan knew his place for the evening, Draco nearly turned to Hermione and asked if they could set up camp when...when Finnigan opened up his big, stupid mouth and chose to blurt out the one thing that Draco found most unforgivable: insulting Hermione. No one was allowed to insult Granger--absolutely no one. And Draco was going to be damned if he stood by and allowed such a vulgar piece of Wizard trash to say such obscene things about his lover. It was then--when he felt his rage and fury toppling over--that Draco yanked his wand out of his pockets and surged forward, jabbing the end of his weapon under the shorter man's jaw and allowing himself to quiver with anger so intense he was sure it would blind him. Draco's nostrils flared and his steely grey eyes fixed themselves on Seamus. And then--through gritted teeth--he spat out his threat.

"If you ever speak to her like that again, I will personally--" He jabbed the wand harsher against Finnigan's flesh. "--deliver your remains to your precious mum and dad with a letter detailing how you died pathetically at the hands of a Death Eater. After all, that's what you want, isn't it? To label me as nothing more than a Death Eater ravenous for murder?"

And then, wishing to make his point known, he leaned closer and--where he knew only Seamus could hear him--whispered...

"And for your little comment, I'll be sure to fuck her where you can hear it. Are we clear, Finnigan?"

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

If Hermione had remembered correctly, then chocolate truffles were indeed one of Draco’s all time favorite treats, and so she hoped that he would enjoy the little indulgence she had gifted him with. She didn’t have to ask to know that it had undoubtedly been ages since he had been given any sort of basic luxury, let alone chocolate, and it broke her heart to know that he had spent the last two years of his life suffering and going without when he should have been with her. The rest of the Order might have seen Draco as little more than a pawn that they could use to win the war, but Hermione knew better, and she wished that they did, too, because then they never would have asked him to work as a double agent. They never would have asked him to risk his life like that. Merlin, they…they had never even asked anyone else to put themselves in such an immense amount of danger, and it was only because of Draco’s past as a Death Eater that they had deemed it okay and acceptable.

But it wasn’t, and Draco’s war-torn and weary figure was proof enough.

She gave her love a soft smile and a kiss on the cheek when he thanked her for the truffles, hoping to reassure him that it wasn’t a big deal at all, and that as long as she was able to, she would gladly bring him home all sorts of treats and bonbons for him to enjoy, simply because she could. As soon as they made it back to the safe house, she planned on giving him the best and biggest home-cooked meal she could manage to prepare. Food wasn’t quite as scarce as it could have been, and so Hermione didn’t think that she would be taking away from anyone by providing Draco with the nourishment he so desperately needed. She felt him tug her towards his lithe frame, and she eagerly accepted their proximity, resting her head on his shoulder once more and keeping her small hand tucked securely within his as they continued onward with their trek to the forest where they would set up camp for the evening.

It wasn’t long before they reached the clearing in which they would be staying, and Hermione was just about to turn around and announce to the rest of the group that they had arrived when Draco was…urging her towards her once more, lowering his head, and dropping a chaste kiss onto her brow as he murmured his appreciation once more. It was so unexpectedly sweet and tender that Hermione felt the apples of her cheeks flush with pleasure, and she found herself melting against him, unable to do little more than gaze up at her beloved with every ounce of affection and devotion she harbored for him. She nodded softly in response to his words, and before she could stop and think about the three Wizards who were probably quite fed up with the amount of affectionate gestures being exchanged between the two of them, Hermione rose up on the tips of her toes and kissed Draco on the lips.

Just once, and only briefly, before she finally drew herself away.

"Alright!" she breathed, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright as she untangled herself from Draco and turned to face the group once more. Keeping her hand tucked within his, she beamed and smiled towards Harry, Dean, and Seamus, hoping that they were just as relieved as she was that they had finally made it to their campsite. The sun was quickly setting on the horizon, and it was taking every last ounce of warmth that it had to offer along with it. Soon, the temperature would drop even lower than it already was, and due to their fear of being tracked, it wasn’t possible for them to perform any sort of spells until they reached the portkey. But they had tents and blankets, and they were more than capable of making a fire, so…hopefully they would be able to make do.

"This isn’t too bad of a spot to set up camp, is it?" Hermione questioned, reluctantly letting go of Draco’s hand so that she could rifle through her backpack in search of the tent she had brought along with her. "I mean…we have everything that we could possibly need, which is good, and if anyone forgot their blankets or needs a spare one, I brought along a few extras! And I’ve got matches for the fire, of course, and a lamp that’ll run off of oil, and…hmm…let’s see what else is in here…" she trailed off as she continued to search through her over-sized backpack, her delicate brows furrowing together in thought as she went about locating everything that they might or might not need throughout the evening. She prided herself on being prepared, and she would sooner donate money to Pansy Parkinson before allowing any one of the members of her group to go without something they might have needed.

Merlin, she loved being in charge!

So caught up in taking inventory of her supplies, Hermione failed to notice that one member of her group in particular wasn’t exactly pleased with anything going on at present time. Seamus was…Seamus was seething, and Dean and Harry seemed wary of the shorter Wizard, as if they suspected that he was going to explode any minute now. Dean, with a knowing expression etched into his features, took a cautious step towards his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder in hopes of calming him down. “You alright, mate?” he questioned, his tone deceptively light, and it was his voice that alerted Hermione to what was going on, and she immediately glanced up from her supplies and turned to face Seamus and Dean, her brows drawing together in confusion.

"Seamus," she began gently, her voice soft. "Do you have everything that you need? Or is there something that I can—"

Before she could finish her sentence, the aggravated Irishman seemed to flare with heat and anger, and then he was glowering at both her and Draco and spitting out a sentence that he had obviously been holding in for quite some time now—

"No, I’m not bloody alright. What I need, Hermione, is for you to stop acting like any of this is alright. I’m about to spend the night freezing my bleeding arse off in the blistering cold, and for what? For WHAT?”

His eyes narrowed into vicious slits, and…his gaze turned towards Draco.

"For a filthy fucking Death Eater?”

Gratitude: it was something Draco just barely knew how to feel (really, the sensations were only extended as far as his parents and Granger) and was unable to adequately express. He supposed he could blame it on years and years of repressing his emotions in order to protect the secrets that had kept his family bound for so very long, but even he himself knew there was quite a great deal more to the story. An emotionally stunted character, Draco had struggled with words and his emotions for as long as he could remember; it seemed to be a characteristic stitched into his veins. It was ingrained into his very soul, and a terrifying thought occupied Draco: that he would never be able to outgrow it. That he could never escape his distressing state of emotional attachment...that he would be forced to repeatedly stutter and choke over words for as long as he lived. It was a rather dismal and frustrating existence, truth be told. It was one that both frustrated and perplexed the young man. He was intelligent, to be sure, and could charm near anyone if need be...and yet, when it came to the complexities of the human heart, he was challenged. Silent.

In short, he was the opposite of Hermione Granger in that respect--and to a certain extent, he was envious of her for it.

It was no secret, truly, that Hermione wore her heart on her sleeves; some might even argue that she was known for it. She cried freely (to an extent), and felt with everything in her. It was one of the things that attracted Draco to her so strongly; something he was both bemused and intrigued by. It fascinated him, truly, to see someone submit so willingly to their emotions. To be so free and tuned into their feelings and the interpretation of such. He...he could never explain it--not properly, at least--but he could sure as hell admire it. And admire it he did.

As stated, her ability to convey herself without flaw or restraint was both an envy and point of fascination for the young and pale Slytherin.

If anything, though, Draco was grateful for the young woman pressed so very close to him (and he supposed that was a gross understatement in itself). Her wit and rationality had brought them to an ideal place to set up camp, and if it had just been the two of them, Draco would have wound his arms around her small waist and clutched her close, mumbling his gratitude in her ear all the while. As it was, they were accompanied by three figures he didn't particularly care for (again, another understatement), and so he merely clenched and unclenched his fists at his side to serve as a distraction. Time would soon enough come where they would be permitted some peace and alone time--and then, and only then, could Draco express (in his own strange way) just how grateful he was that she'd come to rescue him straight from the pits of hell.

Again, though, it was a speech not made for more than an audience of one.

Attentive and willing to oblige to Granger's wants and needs for the day, Draco grew silent as she began to prattle off everything she'd brought alone. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet just slightly as she rummaged through the undoubtedly charmed knapsack she'd brought alone with her, entertaining himself by rolling his tongue around on the inside of his mouth and allowing the wet muscle to glide over the defined structure of his teeth. It wasn't until he heard Thomas speak in a rather cautious tone that Draco even bothered to acknowledge the three travelers tagging along with him and his bushy-haired accomplice. His eyes glazed over Seamus Finnigan with little to no regard; as though he was nothing more than a mere speck on the ground. An insect beneath his feet,so to speak. Draco's nose wrinkled just so as he sized the small Irishman up, sniffing pointedly and jutting his chin forward in a state of arrogance and defiance. He might have been exhausted and more emaciated than was healthy, but he was still a Malfoy and could still afford to look pompous and haughty from time to time.

Especially when someone like Finnigan was glaring at him with such utter loathing and contempt.

It was only when all eyes had turned on the feisty Gryffindor that Draco managed to roll his eyes. Why were they feeding into his incessant need for attention? Draco huffed and stuffed his hands deep within the pockets of his robes, unwilling to participate in Finnigan's ridiculous little charade. He could hiss and throw fits and tantrums all he pleased, but at the end of the day, Draco Malfoy was a member of the Order. And that was something he'd simply have to deal with.

On his own time, of course; Draco didn't quite have the patience to hear him whine and grumble about it constantly. Stupid fire-loving git.

It was when Finnigan finally mustered up the audacity to speak, however, that Draco felt his temper flaring. Gritting his teeth together and digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands, Draco trained his eyes on the pint-sized menace standing directly across from him. How dare he make such a bold statement! How fucking dare he!

"Watch your mouth, Finnigan," Draco spat through clenched teeth, yanking his hands out of his pockets. "Another sentence like that and I'll hex your balls off. After all, do you really want to test a Death Eater, as you so eloquently phrased it?"

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

Hermione hoped that the warmth of the hot cocoa and the nutrients in the granola bars would be enough to keep her team going until they managed to make it to the wooded area they would be staying in for the night. She prided herself on her role as the leader of this particular mission, and the last thing she wanted was for any of her comrades to grow weak or dizzy due to malnutrition—especially Draco, who was already far too thin and under-nourished as he was. Even with the numerous care packages she had been sending along with her letters, it was clear that he still hadn’t been getting nearly as much as a Wizard of his size and age required, which meant that…more than likely, he had undoubtedly given much more of his rations to his parents instead of keeping them to herself. That was her Draco—selfless to a fault when it came to those he cared about, even if he could be the world’s biggest prick otherwise. It broke her heart to know that he had chosen his parent’s well-being over his own, and she made a mental reminder to ask him about them as soon as they were alone in their tent.

For now, though, they just needed to focus on making it to the woods.

She and Draco held up the front of the group, with Dean, Seamus, and Harry bringing up the rear. It was important for them to cover all sides and stay extremely aware of their surroundings; the Death Eaters had undoubtedly noticed the absence of Voldemort’s third-in-command at this point, and Hermione would bet every galleon in her possession that they were already searching for him. The thought of Draco being forcibly taken back to what had been his own personal hellhole caused Hermione’s heart to ache and swell, and so she instinctively shifted closer to him as they walked alongside one another, as if she was doing everything in her power to keep him safe and protected. She found herself watching as he drank from their thermos of hot cocoa and nibbled at his granola bar, unable to help but wonder when he had last been afforded such basic luxuries. Voldemort had almost starved him to death, and it was yet another reason that Hermione refused to rest until she had destroyed the world’s darkest Wizard and all that he stood for.

Once Draco had finished with his share, he handed her the thermos and the last of the granola bars, and Hermione gave him a soft and affectionate smile, gently nudging her shoulder against his in thanks. She took a dainty sip from the thermos, a pleased and content little hum of a sound slipping past her lips as sweet richness enveloped her tongue and soothing warmth spread throughout the rest of her body. After a long day and night of traveling, the nourishment was much needed, and so Hermione didn’t hesitate to finish the last granola bar, her growling stomach thanking her profusely. By the time she had finished, Draco was reaching down and brushing his thumb across the back of her knuckles, and an entirely new sort of warmth spread through the entirety of her dainty frame and set her alight with heat. It was such a tender and affectionate touch, and knowing that it was all for her and no one else was enough to have Hermione flushing with pleasure. There wasn’t another soul alive who knew just how loving Draco Malfoy could be, and as he gingerly wrapped his large hand around her much daintier one and tugged her close to his body, Hermione was in love.

Let the rest of the group think whatever they wanted, then—none of them knew what her and Draco’s relationship entailed, and she highly doubted that they ever would.

It was as if she was sixteen all over again, blushing and growing flustered over the smallest of Draco’s touches, and so Hermione walked as closely to him as she possibly could, to the point where her hip was brushing against his with every step that she took. And when Draco spoke, his voice was a hushed murmur, meaning that whatever it was that he was about to say, it was for her ears and her ears only. She leaned in closer in order to hear him better, and his words were enough to bring a soft smile to her rosy lips. So she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe that he was actually here and on his way to the Order’s headquarters; she wasn’t the only one who felt as if she needed to pinch herself in hopes of deciphering the situation for what it was. “A part of me stills feel like I’m dreaming, truth be told,” Hermione admitted softly, shaking her head in response to Draco’s question before briefly resting it on his shoulder and gazing up at him to meet his eyes. “And an even bigger part of me is worried that you’re going to disappear without so much as a moment’s notice,” she continued with a quiet laugh, though there was a certain sort of honest vulnerability in her confession.

Because it was true. She was worried that someone was going to snatch him up right before her eyes and take him away from her again.

Craving his touch and his warmth, Hermione rested her head on his shoulder once more as they walked another few paces; she could see the forest in the distance at this point, and she was relieved that they were on track. She stayed quiet for a handful of moments, keeping her dainty hand tucked securely within his, and it was only when she remembered what else it was that she had brought along in her pockets that she raised her head once more, her eyes widening. “Oh! Also! I completely forgot!” she whispered in a breathless rush, trying to keep her voice quiet so that only Draco would hear her. She began to rifle through her pockets, finally retrieving what it was she had been looking for—a package of expensive chocolate truffles that she had managed to purchase from Honeydukes the last time she had been in Hogsmeade. They were one of Draco’s absolute favorite things in the entire world, and she wanted to give them to him now, because Merlin only knew that Voldemort hadn’t provided him with even the most basic of luxuries.

Oh, she hated him. She hated him.

"We were able to visit Hogsmeade a little while ago, and so I managed to pick these up for you," Hermione began with a smile, handing Draco the small package of truffles and hoping that the rest of the group wouldn’t notice that she had brought along something just for him. Harry, Seamus, and Dean had yet to go without food or treats; they didn’t know what it was like to lay awake starving at night and not now when their next meal would be. Draco, however…Draco knew all too well. So she peeped up at him hopefully from beneath her lashes, urging him to take the truffles from her dainty grip and enjoy them, and when she spoke, her words were sincere and filled to the brim with warmth and affection.

"I thought you deserved a little something sweet, all things considered. Truffles are still one of your favorites, yes?"

It almost didn't matter that Draco was more exhausted and weary than he could manage; he almost didn't care that his knees buckled as he walked and breathing was a hell of a lot more of a challenge than it should have been. He was with Hermione, and that was the most important thing to Draco; he had managed to free himself from the deathly grip of Lord Voldemort and his army of Dark Wizards and Witches. He was safe--for the most part--and he was alive. That was all he could really ask for in a time of war, and so he reminded himself of this fact over and over as they trudged to the bitter cold towards the forest that would be their home for the night. With a stomach full of warm, sweet cocoa (which he was still trying to adjust to, thank you very much) and some granola bars for nourishment, Draco would swear on his life that he hadn't felt quite so content in well over a year. They were small luxuries, to be sure, but they were still luxuries he hadn't known for quite some time now.

And here everyone thought that the Death Eaters received the best of the best. How foolish and naive everyone was.

The only person afforded luxuries was Lord Voldemort himself. Everyone else simply suffered.

Though if there was anything at all strange about the way that he and Granger interacted with one another, it was the fact that they were able to do so freely. He'd spent so many years forcing himself to pretend he was barely even acquainted with his bushy-haired lover, and yet here they were--holding hands and leaning against one another quite shamelessly. It felt...right, though Draco wouldn't have been able to explain why to anyone who might have been curious enough to inquire. Her hand felt warm and secure tucked within his own, and Draco found himself idly wondering if they would be permitted this sort of peace and happiness for a while; if the elation of his return would ever rub off and ebb away. He was terrified that their happiness would soon enough turn into despair; that the times would grow harder and harder until neither one of them were able to afford basic luxuries and necessities--such as food and bathing. He dreaded a day when Hermione was emaciated and shivering; when she was as close to breaking from decay as he was right now.

Draco was determined to keep such a fate from happening; more so than he was about most anything. Just the thought of what this war could do to his beloved had his stomach churning; it fueled his hatred for the one creature who had destroyed so much in so little time.

Lord Voldemort would die--Draco was going to make sure of it. Perhaps not by his own hand, but someone would do it; they had to. No one could live in hell like this for much longer--it would soon enough kill all of them. It had already taken so much.

So wrapped up in his rather...morbid and determined thoughts, Draco blinked in surprise when Granger began to speak once more. They'd walked in silence for several minutes, and the hushed tone to her voice suggested that she only wished for Draco to hear what she was saying. When she mentioned that she had managed to pick him something up from Hogsmeade, Draco found his lips twisting themselves into an expression akin to a smile. He glanced down at her, rather curious as she withdrew a small box from her hands. When she informed her flaxen-haired lover that they were truffles she'd collected for him, the smile on Draco's face grew wider. It was more than the fact that she'd gone out of her way to supply him with something so luxurious; something he'd once considered a rather basic want. It was the fact that she knew enough about him to pick such a gift out; that she thought about him enough to search for something he would like.

It was a hell of a lot more touching than Draco could fathom, and yet...it was just a box of chocolates. How was he able to feel such gratitude over a box of high end chocolates?

Perhaps he'd never know. Maybe war had done this to him--it was entirely possible, after all.

"Thank you," He murmured, gently taking the box from her hands and dropping it in the pocket of his robes. And he meant it; he sincerely, genuinely meant it. Tugging Hermione closer against his frame, he brushed his thumb across the ridges of her knuckles as they trekked towards camp, and when they finally reached the clearing Granger had pointed out for them, the overwhelming sense of gratitude and elation had yet to ebb away. He wanted it to last forever--even though he knew it wouldn't.

And then, just because he could, Draco bent down and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"And when I say thank you," He continued, mumbling against her skin. "I mean for everything--not just the chocolates."

#para #hermione

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

Hermione truly hoped that both Seamus and Draco would agree to form a temporary truce, if only because they needed to make camp before it grew any darker than it already was. Night was falling fast, and if they didn’t leave soon, they would be stuck travelling while it was pitch-black and freezing with only the tips of their wands to guide them. She knew that both the former Gryffindor and Slytherin were extremely hotheaded and had the sort of tempers that lit up like a fuse within a moment’s notice, but she was certain that they could keep themselves in check long enough to settle down for the night. After all, they were both fully-grown and mature adults, which meant that they were more than capable of setting aside their emotions for the time being and focusing on the task at hand. Or at least…that was what Hermione was hoping for, anyway. Fully grown adults or not, they were still Draco Malfoy and Seamus Finnigan, and that meant that there tempers knew no bounds.

But still. If they didn’t behave themselves long enough to make it through the night, Hermione wouldn’t hesitate to chastise them all over again.

She held tightly to Draco’s hands as she asked for his cooperation, her gaze soft and imploring him to understand that now wasn’t the time for him to argue with Seamus, no matter how frustrated he might have been with the Irishman. She was brushing her thumbs across his knuckles as she waited for him to speak, and hoping with everything she had in her that he would see reason and agree to listen to her. Finally, the words she wanted to hear so badly fled Draco’s lips, and Hermione’s delicate features practically lit up and glowed when he promised to behave for her. Unable to help herself, she beamed, and then she was standing on the tips of her toes and stretching up along the length of his body to press a sweet little kiss to his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes fluttering shut and her hands tangling in his hair as she sought to express every ounce of relief and gratitude she felt towards him, and by the time she pulled away, she was flushed and breathless.

"Alright then," she breathed, settling back down on her feet and slowly sliding her hands out of Draco’s hair; her touch lingered, fingers skimming down his chest and the length of his torso, and it was only when Hermione realized that the three Wizards who weren’t Draco were staring at them with a mixture of annoyance and disgust that she decided it was time for them to go. Still blushing, she took Draco’s hand in her own and gently tugged him alongside her so that they were facing the rest of the group once more. “Erm—with that, I think it would be best if we made our way to the campsite! It’s getting dark, after all, and I think I’m speaking for everyone when I say that I could use a good night’s sleep at this point!” Hermione chirped brightly, pointedly avoiding Harry’s gaze as he arched one of his brows at her. Letting go of Draco’s hand for a brief moment, she tugged her backpack around to her front and rifled through it until she found the map she had brought along with her.

"Okay…let’s see…" she murmured to herself, tracing the trail they were supposed to be following with one of her slim fingers. Her brows furrowed in concentration, and she glanced around at their surroundings several times before giving a firm nod and raising her head once more to speak to the rest of the group. "We’re fairly close to a nearby forest, and we should be able to find a clearing within it to make camp for the night—after that, it’ll be less than a day’s walk to the portkey that’ll take us back to the safe house. Does that sound alright to everyone?" After receiving consent from the group in a chorus of nods and muttered agreements, Hermione nodded determinedly and turned to face the direction they would be travelling in, signalling that it was time for them to leave. She liked being in charge, she decided—it was so much fun!

"Oh, and—before I forget!" Hermione spoke once more, pausing to rifle through her over-sized bag yet again in search of the supplies she had brought along with her. She retrieved four thermoses, each of which was filled to the brim with hot cocoa that had been charmed to stay warm and toasty, as well as a handful of granola bars for everyone to share. Almost immediately, Dean, Seamus, and Harry crowded around her, and Hermione made quick work of handing a thermos and two granola bars to each Wizard. "I figured we’d all be a bit hungry at this point," Hermione explained sheepishly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and nodding when each of the three Wizards thanked her for their rations. "You’re an angel, Hermione," Dean chimed in, and Hermione gave him a warm smile before making her way to the front of the group once more, where Draco was waiting for her to lead the way. "I didn’t forget about you, love, don’t worry," she reassured him, reaching for another thermos and a handful of granola bars. She urged him to take them from her, and not long after he had did they begin to travel to the forest they would be camping in.

"I thought that we could share," Hermione explained, gesturing towards the hot cocoa and granola bars with her dainty hands as she fell into step alongside Draco. She gazed up at him as they walked, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed from the cold, and she found herself instinctively leaning towards him, as if she was trying to absorb as much of his warmth as she possibly could. She could hear Seamus muttering behind them to Harry and Dean, and while she was certain that he was complaining about her and Draco, Hermione told herself that she wouldn’t focus on that right now. Instead, she devoted every bit of her attention to the Wizard at her side. It had been months since they had seen one another, and…Merlin, this entire thing was still so surreal!

Granger had said her piece, both Seamus and Draco had agreed to be quiet, and it was settled that they were moving on to the spat that had occurred less than five minutes ago. Though they had both begrudgingly agreed to attempt and be civil with one another, Draco couldn't see such a feat happening; they hated each other, Seamus and Draco did, and the thought of tolerating the pint-sized Irishman was as laughable as the blond Slytherin heading out for a few drinks with Weaselbee. He held a very unique and special sort of animosity towards all of Gryffindor House (with the exception of Granger), and he sorely doubted that his hatred and anger towards the scarlet-loving lions would dissipate within the matter of a few days. No, no, he was born to despise them, and despise them he would. Besides, it wasn't as though it was an unrequited affair by any means; on the contrary, Draco was fully aware of just how little blokes like Finnigan and Thomas thought of someone like Draco. It both repulsed and angered him in ways he couldn't even fathom to explain.

But...he would keep his trap shut. It was only a handful of hours, really--perhaps a day or two--of putting up with his existence nonstop. Then he would be permitted a break; some alone time with Granger, perhaps, or some time to recuperate from his journey back from Malfoy Manor. Whatever the case might be, Draco took a sort of refuge in the fact that being in close quarters with Seamus Finnigan was a temporary situation and not a permanent one.

If it had been, Draco might as well have stayed at the bloody Manor and taken his consequences.

So wrapped up in his antagonistic thoughts geared towards the short piece of shit standing relatively close by, he nearly missed the way Granger had puckered her lips and leaned in closer towards him. It wasn't until her body was hovering against his own that Draco became aware of what she was doing; his lips collided against hers in a rather clumsy, sweet kiss that caused a fearsome ache to blossom in the pit of Draco's stomach. He was hungry for her; he yearned for the woman whose warm mouth was resting against his own in ways he couldn't possibly explain. He needed her in every way a man might have needed his lover...and as she finally withdrew her mouth from where it had been fastened onto his, he felt his heart deflate and sink to his stomach. The kiss had been fleeting and tender...but not enough. A fire had ignited itself in the pit of Draco's abdomen, and he knew he wouldn't be able to douse the flames until he was given a proper greeting from his beloved--one that, more than likely, would involve them kissing until neither one of them could manage to breathe.

It was a thought that caused a sensation of tingles to erupt up and down the base of his spine, and with each vision of her sprawled naked and wanton beneath him on a cot or a bed, Draco felt his body pumping with need.

Tonight, perhaps; tonight, they could reconnect. Even if it was only for a short snogging session.

Consumed by his thoughts, Draco only pulled himself out of his reverie when Granger rifled through her bag, extracting a map, which she closely inspected, followed by some thermoses and granola bars. Leave it to Granger to go all out in order to insure that no members of her party collapsed due to being malnourished or weary. Draco watched as Thomas, Potter, and Finnigan greedily took their portions, waiting patiently for Hermione to hand him his own. And when she did, she stated that she thought the two of them could share rations, and Draco--only when he was absolutely certain that no one could see his face--allowed his lips to quirk up into a rather crooked grin. He nodded, walking as close to his lover as was physically possible, before taking a sip of the warm cocoa and humming in content. The warmth had been well preserved, and he licked his lips greedily before handing her the metal container. It wasn't often Draco was permitted to taste something so rich and sweet these days--the cocoa was nearly enough to make him ill. Nearly.

But it tasted so bloody good.

As did the granola bar. He took a bite of that next, handing it over to Hermione so that she could have some as well. It was only when he'd nibbled and sipped from their beverage and snack rations that Draco slipped a hand down and brushed his fingers across her knuckles; the gesture was meant to be soft and tender, and it wasn't all that long before he was lacing their fingers together, tugging Granger close to his body and ignoring the eyes that were boring holes into his back as he walked.

"When I woke up today," He mumbled, making sure Granger was the only one who could hear him. "I could hardly believe that we'd be together...that my torture was finally ending. And yet...here I am. Can you believe it, Granger? Can you?"

He was having a hard time coming to grips with it himself.

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

Despite the fact that he was far too thin and peaky for her liking (undoubtedly due to the meager supply of rations he and his family had been receiving), as well as how weary and exhausted he was, Draco was still warm and still alive, and that was all that mattered to Hermione. His arms were as strong as they’d always been as he wrapped them around her tiny waist and held her close against his lithe frame, and he smelled of snow and the cologne she had bought him for his birthday last year; he smelled like home. Knowing that they were finally going to be reunited for more than a few days meant the absolute world to Hermione, and it was almost as if she still couldn’t believe that he was hers to bring back to the Order safe house, that she didn’t have to say goodbye to him after little more than forty-eight hours of frantic reuniting. No, this time Draco was here to stay, and Hermione wouldn’t hesitate to physically harm anyone who tried to take him away from where he belonged.

Draco was hers, and she would protect him until the end of time.

She breathed out a heavy sigh of relief when Draco reassured her that he had made it out of his manor unseen, extremely grateful that he hadn’t been caught and captured on his way to the meeting place. “Good,” she whispered as she continued to cling to his shoulders, unwilling to let go of him anytime soon, “I’m glad.” She was completely unaware of anyone and anything else that wasn’t Draco; her attention was wholly and completely his, and as she gazed up into his eyes and allowed her gaze to take in every inch of his pale and pointed features, she realized that it didn’t matter that they were in the middle of a secluded clearing with snow falling into their hair and the wind at their backs—because so long as she was with Draco, Hermione was home. She wanted so badly to kiss him, to toss her arms around his neck and claim his mouth with her own, and she was just about to do just that, but the sound of Seamus’s rather…irritated comment distracted her first.

Oh Merlin—he wasn’t too pleased, was he?

With her small hands still curved around the slopes of Draco’s shoulders, Hermione craned her neck and turned her head so that she could meet Seamus’s gaze. The Irish Wizard was clearly put out by Draco’s presence, and immediately Hermione grew concerned. Whether or not they were willing to admit it out loud, Draco and Seamus had a few things in common—one of which was the fact that the two of them were extremely hotheaded, and their tempers weren’t to be trifled with. A few snarky comments could easily escalate into a fight, and when Draco replied to Seamus with just as much heat and tension as the Irishman had injected into his words, Hermione knew that she needed to step in. She gave her beloved a stern glare when he dipped his head to speak to her once more, hoping to let him know that his comments were not appreciated, especially not by Seamus, who seemed to be seething with rage all over again. “Just—let me handle this, okay?” Hermione whispered to Draco in a rush, looking away from Seamus and turning back to face her boyfriend. She gave the side of his face a quick and gentle pat, her gaze pleading with him to stay quiet just for now.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped out of Draco’s embrace and turned to face both him and Seamus, placing her mitton-clad hands on her hips and eyeing both of them sternly. She was glad that she didn’t have to worry about Harry and Dean, who were now standing alongside one another and eyeing the three of them with something like…wary apprehension, and Hermione gave them what was hopefully her most reassuring smile before turning back to face the two troublemakers. “You two listen to me,” she began, her voice clear and crisp in the winter air. “I understand that the both of you aren’t exactly…fond of one another, and that’s completely fine. You don’t have to be best mates, or what have you, but you do need to treat the other with respect.” Now, Hermione turned to face Seamus fully; the look on her face was one that dared the Irishman to disagree with her, and it was one that every single one of the Wizards in the clearing knew just as well.

"Whether you like it or not, Seamus, Draco is one of us, and he’s fought just as hard as you have for the Order and everything that he stands for—so I will not tolerate you treating him as if he’s some sort of criminal. You have absolutely no clue what it is that he’s spent the past two years of his life doing, and how much he’s assisted every single one of us, and so I won’t allow you to act as if you do,” Hermione continued, and while Seamus didn’t seem to like what he was hearing, he was still listening, and that was enough for Hermione to be satisfied with. Before he could reply, however, Harry and Dean were stepping forward; the former stood alongside Hermione, and the latter tossed an arm around Seamus’s shoulders, clearly trying to set the other Wizard at ease. “Hermione’s right,” Harry began, his voice carrying even over the snowfall. “We’re not going to be make any sort of progress if the two of you are at each other’s throats, and we still need to make camp before nightfall. So if you want to have it out with each other, do it on your own time—not now.”

Hermione beamed towards Harry, pleased for his input, and reached for his hand to squeeze it once, twice, before letting go and turning back to face Draco and Seamus. “Do we have an understanding?” she questioned, looking back and forth between the two hotheaded Wizards. Seamus, though his jaw was still clenched, gave her a stiff nod after Dean prodded him, and Hermione smiled breathlessly in return, glad that he was willing to set aside his feelings for the time being. Then, she turned towards Draco, walking towards him and taking both of his large hands in her much smaller ones. She rubbed her mitten-clad thumbs across his knuckles, gazing up at him and meeting his eyes. “And what about you, love?” she continued softly, in a voice that was meant just for him and him only. “Will you do it just for me?”

If anyone--much less Seamus Finnigan--thought that Draco Malfoy (of all sodding people) would stand idly by and allow some short, squash-faced piece of shit to talk to him in such a vile and despicable manner, then he had another thing coming. He might have been indebted to the current party for seeking him out to rescue him, but the only person Draco felt he owed anything at all to was Granger; without her, there wouldn't have been an escape at all. Without her, he'd still be in Malfoy Manor...rotting away like a long deceased corpse. And Finnigan--whether or not he was willing to admit it--owed his life to Draco. Perhaps not directly, but rather a result of a series of chain events. Draco had given the Order a hell of a lot of direct information, so Finnigan and Thomas would have to suck it the fuck up and deal with the fact that he'd be at Order headquarters a lot more frequently from now on. He was safe (mostly), alive (again, mostly), and with Granger...nothing else mattered. They were together, and that was the one positive thought Draco was adamant about clinging to.

He'd waited so long for this very meeting; years and years. And now that it was finally here...well, Draco didn't want anyone to take the importance of it away from him.

And no one ever would.

As was expected, Granger reacted almost immediately; making sure to stay calm and sane, it soon enough became clear to Draco that she planned on chiding the both of them. Draco knew, deep down, that their situation was dire and he therefore had no time to argue with anyone about anything (especially not something quite as petty and ridiculous as this), but that didn't stop him from snapping at Seamus. They were both hotheads from differing Houses, so there was really no telling how long it would be before one of them snapped and completely hexed the other's bloody face off. Draco's anger was short and lit like a fuse, so he was willing to bet his wand would be pressed against Finnigan's temple before the end of their journey together. It was as he was glaring at the former Gryffindor with all the heat of a Slytherin who had been prodded and provoked that Hermione stole his attention away. He blinked, glancing down at his lover as she pleaded with him to allow her to handle things. It was for her sake and hers only that he therefore snapped his mouth shut, visibly tensing as he waited for his partner to take the lead.

As usual. She was, after all, a bossy know-it-all. His bossy know-it-all.

And then, Draco waited for the scolding. It was sure to come. They didn't fight much these days, given how intense the world was around him, but he was well enough acquainted with the composition of Hermione's character to note that she was preparing to lecture the both of them. So he waited; it was best to wait these things out. Not argue with her. He managed a decent eye roll and heavy sigh in honor of her words, though. It was when she was directing herself towards Finnigan that Draco managed to quirk one eyebrow and smirk at the smaller man. He might have been weary and broken from months of undernourishment, but the young Malfoy still had it in him to mock and berate a Gryffindor or two.

After Granger had finished speaking with him, Draco noticed that Finnigan seemed more...reserved about his emotions. It was clear that he wasn't at all pleased with what Granger was saying to him, but he didn't seem to find it fit to argue. Which worked out well for all of them, really; Draco and Seamus could have easily gone at each others' throats all night...and he sorely doubted that would help their cause in the slightest. It was after Granger had finished speaking and addressing the pair of them that Potter stepped forward and delivered his obligatory, irritating "holier than thou" speech. It was enough to leave a sour taste in Draco's mouth, and he smacked his lips together in a blatant display of irritation. And then Potter was stepping back and staying quiet--as was quite right--and Granger made to inquire as to whether or not the pair of them had an understanding.

Begrudging nods came from both parties.

And then, quick as lightning, Hermione was turning her entire focus back on Draco. Comforted by her presence, the young man allowed himself a moment of weakness and sagged inwards, practically resting against her as he collected himself. The road was wary and long, but at least the worst was behind him for now. Or so he hoped--there really was no way of knowing with war. He might have escaped Malfoy Manor, but he hadn't the faintest clue of what awaited him in the future. Death, destruction, despair--whatever the cause, he was quite certain all three would make appearances in his life. They already had. And so, numb with the grief and terror that came with war, Draco was only just barely able to respond to Hermione's question aimed directly at him.

"I'll do it," He managed, his voice hoarse. His hands squeezed her own; his were cold and clammy, and her skin felt warm against her touch. He added, as an afterthought--

"For you."

Because it was the truth, and because he always would.

Dramione || December 9th: Breaking Out

The day had finally come for Draco to escape Malfoy Manor and shed his role as a double agent for the Order, and for Hermione, it hadn’t come a moment too soon. This was everything that she had wanted for so long now, Draco’s freedom and the knowledge that she wouldn’t spend every single one of her nights worrying about whether or hot he was safe, healthy, or even just…alive. Now, she would finally be able to take him home, and while he would still be in danger (they were in the middle of a war, of course, and there wasn’t a single follower of Voldemort that wouldn’t be out for his blood), he would still be with her, and to Hermione, that was all that mattered. She and Draco could be absolutely anywhere in the world, and as long as they were together, they would still be home. This was what tonight was all about—bringing Draco home and saving him from everything that being a spy for the Order of the Phoenix entailed. He had worked so hard and for so long, and…darn it, he deserved this! He deserved to come home, and Hermione would hex anyone and everyone who claimed otherwise.

Dean and Seamus hadn’t exactly been happy about it, but they had still begrudgingly agreed to escort both her and Harry on the trek to find Draco, despite the fact that Hermione had insisted that she would have been just fine on her own. She didn’t want to risk anyone else’s life—not when she was more than capable of meeting up with Draco and bringing him back to the safe house—but she was extraordinarily grateful that so many people had been willing to help her. Still, though, Dean and Seamus weren’t at all pleased with the fact that they were going to find Draco Malfoy and allow him into the Order, despite the fact that he had been helping them and saving their lives over and over again throughout the time he had spent working as a double agent for the Order, and Hermione couldn’t help but worry and fret over how the next few days would go. It would be just the five of them, and Hermione was the only one who…well, who was actually fond of Draco.

And that was putting things extremely lightly.

Determined as ever, Hermione tugged her travelling cloak more tightly around her dainty frame as she trudged through the winter snow that had frosted the ground, exhaling little puffs of air that she could clearly see in front of her and pointedly ignoring the whispered conversation that Dean and Seamus were sharing a little way’s behind her. She already knew what they were saying, which meant that she already knew that it was about Draco, and she didn’t feel like arguing with them again—not when they were so, so close to finding her flaxen-haired prince. Harry was walking at her side, sticking close and eyeing the forest they were approaching as if someone was going to jump out and attack them. He had been under so much stress as of late, and the anxiety and pressure of being the Chosen One had mounted at an all-time high, making the sole survivor of the Killing Curse paranoid and tense. Hermione’s delicate brows furrowed together in concern, and she tentatively reached out and gave her friend’s arm a gentle squeeze, hoping to convey to him that everything was just fine, that they were safe, and that nothing bad was going to happen to them.

…Not yet, anyway. This was wartime, of course.

Nearly a month ago, she and Draco had arranged to meet upon the top of a slope that was far away enough from Malfoy Manor to be deemed safe, and now she and her team were finally reaching the top of said slope, climbing further and further which each step that they took. It was pure determination that kept Hermione going; the knowledge that she was about to find Draco and bring him home pumped through her veins as if it was her own blood and reminded her over and over again just how close she was to the Wizard she was so desperately, hopelessly in love with, She held up the front of the group, determined to reach the top of the rather steep slope as quickly as they possibly could, and it was only when the muscles in Hermione’s calves were beginning to ache and strain and pull with even the slightest of movements that she realized they were finally nearing the top. If luck was on their side today, Draco would already be there, which meant…which meant that she couldn’t be more than fifty steps away from him. He was…he was close.

Merlin, she hadn’t seen him since her birthday, and that had been in September. So needless to say…Hermione had been missing him ever since.

It seemed to take ages for them to finally reach the top of the slope, and by the time they had almost arrived, Hermione was practically running. Breathless and flushed and eager to reunite with her love, she glanced around wildly the moment they had made it to the peak of the hill, desperate for any sight of Draco and the knowledge that he had arrived safely. He was risking his life by running away from the manor and abandoning Lord Voldemort, and so there were so many things that could have possibly gone wrong. What if…what if he had been captured? What if someone had intercepted his escape? Thousands of thoughts, each one more horrible than the last, swirled in Hermione’s mind, and it was only the sight of a tall, pale figure cloaked entirely in black in the distance that jolted out of her fretful reverie. Because…because there was Draco waiting for her in the snow, clearly more than a little bone-weary and exhausted, but there nevertheless.

Hermione’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat, and immediately she was rushing towards him, completely uncaring of anything that wasn’t Draco and the realization that he was here, and that he was free. “D—Draco!” his name fled her rosy lips in a breathless rush as she ran towards him, her eyes beginning to well and fill with tears of relief so achingly tangible that it almost hurt to feel such an overwhelming plethora of emotions. She tossed her slim arms around his neck, practically throwing herself at him and forcing him to catch her, and then she was burying her face in his chest, finally allowing the choked sob that had been dying to slip past her lips escape from the back of her throat. She trembled and cried in his arms, tears of joy and relief and happiness and everything else in between streaming down her face as she clung to him so tightly it was a wonder he didn’t complain or protest. Right now, absolutely nothing else mattered to Hermione—not even the fact that Seamus was muttering angrily under his breath and rolling his eyes in a clear display of annoyance, not even the fact that Harry was pointedly looking at anything that wasn’t her and Draco.

Right now, the only thing that mattered to Hermione was that she was finally bringing Draco back where he belonged—with her.

"I’m so glad you made it," she whispered fretfully, finally drawing her head away from where it had been buried in her chest and gazing up at him with red-rimmed and dewy eyes. She was still clinging to his shoulders, as if she was terrified that he would slip out from beneath her fingers, and she refused to move so much as a single inch until she was good and ready to let go and move on to the where they would be camping for the night. "Everything—everything went okay on your way out, right? No one saw you leave?" Her words were breathless and rushed as she spoke, her eyes wide and pleading as they begged with Draco to reassure her that everything had gone off without a hitch, and she would have gone on asking him questions for hours if it wasn’t for the sudden sound of Seamus interrupting them in a voice that dripped with sarcasm.

"Right, we’re all very happy for the both of you, but I’d rather not be found by one of the numerous Death Eaters who are probably searching for him as we speak,” the aggravated Wizard began in a bitter voice, pointing towards Draco with no small amount of disdain. “So why don’t we leave before your boyfriend gets us all killed, eh, Granger?”

The trek up the slope had been long, cold, and more tedious than Draco cared to admit...but in the long run, he supposed it was well worth it. It meant so much more than freedom, though that alone was motivation enough to keep his freezing limbs going. Freedom was just over the slope; freedom and Granger. Really, they were the only two things he needed in life (and his parents, though he didn't particularly wish to think of them at the moment...given everything that had transpired between them directly before his departure, it was too painful). He just had to remind himself that he was close to salvation--one foot after the other; moving slowly but surely. And once he'd finally managed to reach the top of the slope, Draco allowed himself a moment to grow overwhelmed with elation. He gulped in large pockets of cool, crisp air; his lungs ached and quivered with the onslaught of freezing Oxygen, and Draco found that he couldn't help the instinctive way in which his body reacted to the chilly temperature; he trembled within his heavy coat, wrapping his clothes more tightly around his lithe frame and resisting the impulse to shiver that came with the cold.

She would be here soon, he knew it; he had enough faith in his partner to know that she wouldn't let him down...not for absolutely anything. Even if she and her band of Order members had run into some trouble along the way, there was no way in hell she'd let that stop her. There were few things about war and life that Draco Malfoy found himself confident in believing him, but Hermione Granger was at the very top of that list.

She was his reason for everything, and she would come for him. One way or another.

It wasn't too terribly long until Draco noticed the peaks of four or five heads bobbing up just down the hill. The creatures came into view, and at once Draco's eyes drank in the sight before him: Potter was there, of course, as were Thomas and Finnigan...but most importantly, Granger was there. With her wild chestnut hair that flounced whenever she took a step forward...she was there. Undoubtedly cold and exhausted after what could only be described as a long overdue journey, but there nevertheless. And well, aside from the cold that nipped at her skin and his at well. Their eyes met at the same moment, and all at once it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. Draco could hear nothing but the sound of his heart thundering against his rib cage, and for a brief moment the young Wizard was certain that the organ would beat its way right out of his body. As strange and unusual as it might have sounded, for Draco...it felt like everything in his life had been leading up to this exact moment. To this first glimpse and taste of freedom; to being welcomed into arms that were small and chilled with frost; to arms that fit his embrace perfectly. To a set of eyes that locked onto his and conveyed everything that couldn't be put into words. Draco's entire world stood still, and he allowed himself a moment to revel in the awe of this--of what his freedom and escape all boiled down to--before stumbling over his feet and gracefully accepting his lover into his arms.

And despite the fact that they were both cold and more than likely more weary than either could express, she felt warm and strong in his hands. She felt tired and comforted and at peace with herself...Draco felt the same emotions flickering within his own being.

The way she said his name--broken and gasping--was both familiar and more welcome than he could even manage to express. It broke the dull ringing that had started in his ears, and soon he was completely consumed by the being of Hermione Granger. He buried his face in her hair and wound his thin arms around her body. He was deteriorating by the day--due to the famine and exhaustion that came with war--and his fingers desperately clutched onto her clothes. He might have been wary and war-torn, but he still had enough strength left in him to clutch onto Granger as if his bloody life depended on it. In a way...it did. She had been his savior; his salvation. And no amount of thanking or repaying her was ever going to be able to make up for such a feat--that Draco was absolutely certain of. He greedily inhaled her scent, noting that her hair smelled of snow and the strawberry shampoo she used as a trademark. And by the time she finally managed to state that she was glad he'd made it, Draco was (reluctantly) pulling his face away from her hair, exhaling in a rush and glancing down at his beloved.

"...No one saw me," He croaked, licking his lips and swallowing heavily. He would wait to tell her about his parents until they were alone; it was a private conversation meant for her ears and hers only. It was then that his attention--if not briefly--glanced over at the rest of the party. Potter seemed determined to ignore Draco's presence, which was completely fine with the former Slytherin. The other two, however, seemed a little more...noticeably put out, to say the least. When Finnigan opened his trap to snap at the pair of them Draco narrowed his eyes into vicious, accusatory slits.

Who the hell had invited this clown along, anyway?

"My apologies, Finnigan," Draco clipped, the blood draining from his faith. "It's not as though I haven't saved your sorry arse on more than one occasion." He paused, glancing back down at Hermione.

"So you decided to bring him after all, did you? Don't you think he'll set the woods on fire and give us away?"