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Attack on the Hogwarts Express
As she was standing on the seat, she knew she had only seconds, but it was a long way down into the darkness; with the train still moving, she knew her odds of injury were pretty high. She heard them getting closer, and people were screaming now.
Lost and Found
She hit the water with considerable force; disoriented, she had no way of knowing which direction to swim in to reach the surface. The black water was freezing, chilling to the bone. She kicked, hard - she had no air left after her fall, but she had to fight.
To the Leaky Cauldron
"How is he?"
"The album," she yelled after him. "He told me you saved the photo album Hagrid gave him!" Draco froze, but didn't turn. "Those are the only pictures he has of them - his parents and Sirius. And you saved it." Her heart was beating fast, and she wasn't even sure why she was defending him. It suddenly seemed so important, to thank him, and she couldn't explain to herself why.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Tears had started to fall down her face. Draco looked at her for a moment, then walked back to her, dropping down beside her. She reached over, pulled up his left sleeve, and ran her fingers lightly over the unbranded skin. Her tears were like saltwater rain running down his arm.
"That doesn't matter.” He let out a low laugh, and the sound chilled her. “I really don’t care.” Draco's voice was soft, quiet, but she could hear the edge, watched him as he gritted his teeth. And Hermione knew that whatever he might say, he did care. It was written in every line of his body that he cared. She had never seen anyone in so much pain, never seen anyone care so much.
She knew she shouldn’t, knew that it would cost her later, but Hermione leaned her head against his chest, and felt the tears rise. His warmth surrounded her, and she was certain he would feel the coolness of her tears on his skin, but that he would know why she was crying, and that he cared. She never wanted him to let her go, would never be able to pry herself away from him. He was her world.
"Do you have any idea how few people would be standing where you are now?" There wasn't the slightest trace of humor in his voice now, and Hermione tried to think of something to say.
Draco had sunk to his knees, shaking violently, his face turned towards the floor. His fists were clenched, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he shuddered. It took all his effort to speak, and even then, he had to speak each word distinctly, then attempt to regain control. "What- the - hell – is- a - Horcrux?"
Horcruxes and Holidays
The sheer impossibility of the moment nearly overwhelmed him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her; as she lay still, he reached out his hand, and intertwined his fingers with hers. He had no idea what made him say it, what drove the words so freely from his lips. All he knew was that as she slept, and he sat beside her, he moved his lips to her ear.
A New Home
“Draco. Malfoy.” Hermione launched herself at him, but he dodged out of the room in a second. He shut the door swiftly behind him, and when she reached for the handle, she found that he was holding it from the other side.
A small part of her marveled over the fact that, for once, she was calm when he was agitated. But she couldn't make sense of his response: he had tensed.
The Beautiful Ones
It was worse than he could have imagined. Her face was flushed, her lips bruised, her hair disheveled. She tried to avoid his gaze, to turn away, but Draco pulled her back to him. He ran his hands over her arms and she shivered as his body wrapped around hers once more. He pleaded silently that she would not run from him.
No Safe Place
Hermione felt her mind shutting down. Everything in the tent seemed distant, as if she were miles away. Draco turned to face her, but she didn’t answer.
For some strange reason, she knew what he was going to say before he said it. His blue eyes looked almost black in the fading afternoon light.
She slipped the note into her bag before climbing back in bed. She curled next to Draco, then moved her fingers across his cheekbones, his forehead. His eyes were wet. She laid her head against his chest and counted his breaths.
“How dare you–” she snarled.
Mr. Weasley lay on the floor in a sprawled heap, his robes twisted under his body, his red hair matted with blood. Ginny ran to him but as Draco followed her inside, his eyes were drawn to the wizard by the fireplace.
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