Ron would grow to hate the moon.
She wrapped her hands around her mug and felt the heat seep into her hands.
She felt cold. On the outside. On the inside. She felt cold.
She would always feel cold now. There would always be a trace of it in her.
She laid her head on the table and traced grain of the wood under her fingertips. She missed Draco. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to bury herself in his arms and forget her whole life.
The war had eaten her until she felt as though there were only the meagrest shreds left. As though its claws had sunk into her chest, and she could no more tear herself free than she could rip out her lungs and expect to survive. With Draco, she felt alive. Like she was breathing again after years of forgetting how to do anything but survive.
She held the mug tighter until the heat began to fade.
She didn't even know how to contact him. Not unless it was on behalf of the Order. She'd given him her word that she wouldn't summon him otherwise.
She spun the ring around her finger.
She wondered if he'd been at the Tonks cottage. If he'd been injured or injured anyone.
She started slightly and made a mental note. He'd used his analgesic potion on her wrist. Even if he could replace everything else, it was unlikely that Severus had shared that potion with the Death Eater army. She'd have to take him a replacement vial when she saw him again.
She also needed more fluxweed. She began cataloguing places she'd be able to find it growing. Then she paused, her heart sinking.
No more foraging.
Hermione bit her lip and looked down at her hands. Foraging had been hers. It had been terrifying and dangerous, but it had been hers. A chance to escape Grimmauld Place for a few hours; to feel the wind on her face and the cold of the early morning dew on her hands; to notice the seasons slowly emerging.
She looked wistfully out the window of Grimmauld Place.
She felt like bird whose wings had been slowly clipped shorter and shorter until they were nearly shorn away.
She sighed and turned away from the window. She stared at the scroll again, marking notes about potential resources to look up.
The next Tuesday she went to the shack without foraging beforehand for the first time. She felt nervous as she stared up at the door. She wasn't sure—
It was always impossible to predict what Draco would do next.
Her jaw trembled and her fingers wavered a breath away from door knob. She withdrew her hand, curling it into a fist and forcing herself to take a deep breath.
This was her job, she reminded herself. It didn't matter what happened from one week to the next. It never mattered. It was still her job.
She swallowed and pressed her lips tightly together as she reached out and opened the door.
Draco appeared as she stepped inside.
He apparated in, nearly on top of her, grabbed her firmly, and backed her into the wall as his lips crashed into hers. She could feel his hunger; in his hands as he dragged them along her body; in his breath as he drew a ragged gasp against her mouth.
Hermione's eyes widened with surprise as she was crushed against him. Her fingers caught his robes. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she kissed him back.
His hand came up and captured her jaw, just below her ear. His fingers curled around to the base of her neck, arching her head back as he kissed her more deeply.
She clung to him, and he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. The whole world dropped away. Hermione kissed him ravenously. She wanted to pour herself into him.
He pulled her up, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she felt his teeth against her lips and tongue.
It was like falling. He had her pinned against the wall. She hardly knew where she ended and he began. Her lungs were catching fire but she wouldn't tear her mouth from his.
Then she really was falling. The wall behind her vanished, and she was on a mattress somewhere canopied. She'd barely felt the apparition.
She only pulled her mouth from Draco's for a moment to glance around before crashing their lips together once more. He wrenched her shirt off, and she jerked his trousers open.
Quick. Hard. She was ready for him. She raked her nails across his back as he sank into her.
There wasn't space in her mind for anything else. Touching him. Moving against him. Feeling him. The world had reduced itself to a single point: Draco, his hands and eyes, the beating of his heart. She wrapped her arms around him as she kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.
Afterwards they lay entwined for several minutes, their foreheads pressed together as they panted.
He kissed between her eyes, and his palm brushed against her face. Then he drew back and ran his hands along her body, looking over her arms and torso carefully. She lifted her head to see what he was doing.
“You weren't at the battle at the cottage, were you? I didn't think any of the Potters there dueled the way you do, but it was impossible to be sure.” He brushed his fingers along the shell of her ear and then down along her shoulder.
Hermione dropped back and shook her head, looking him over as well, trailing her hand along his torso. He had no visible injuries.
“I wasn't there. It was a proper raid; Kingsley wouldn't bring me out.” Her jaw trembled, and she looked away. “You won't need to worry. I'm not—,” the words twisted in her mouth, “I'm not permitted to leave the safe houses anymore, aside from liaising. So you won't need to worry.”
Draco gave an audible sigh of relief and sank down against her, brushing another kiss on her forehead.
Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her lips together.
“What's wrong?”
She looked up and found Draco staring intently down at her, his expression closed.
The corner of her mouth quirked. “I liked foraging. It was — the only bearable thing I got to do sometimes.” Her eyes dropped down, and she entwined her fingers with his. She stared at his hand in hers. “My life just keeps getting smaller and darker.”
There was a pause.
“I'm sorry.”
She shrugged under him. “It's not like you ordered it. You said stay alive; Kingsley is the one who decided that meant I wasn't allowed to forage or leave the safe houses. I understand. He's responsible for an entire war effort. I'm not going to ask him to structure it around my personal feelings. I just—” she paused, inhaling. “I'm still coming to terms with it.”
“I didn't realise it was important to you.”
She was silent for a moment, hesitating. “Some days — it was the closest thing to freedom I still had.”
She felt his whole body freeze.
“Just — just until the end of the war,” he said in a tone that was half plea and half vow.
Hermione snorted. “Just till then? When will that be?” She gave him a bitter smile. “What end of the war do you think will somehow go well for either of us? If the Order somehow wins, I'm sure the International Confederation will suddenly be eager to be involved. They'll preside over all the trials. I already told you, a lot of my activity has been largely unsanctioned, and the Order is supposed to be democratic. When it all comes out—” she looked away, unable to meet his eyes, “—it won't paint a very pretty picture.” She raised her eyebrows and gave a small sigh. “If I'm lucky they'll just take my wand away for a few years. There are certain things—”
Her chest tightened as she thought about the small room within the cave at the beach. The blood. Flayed hands and feet. Over the course of a year, Gabrielle had gotten crueler and more creative. Injuries were rarely reversible now, and Kingsley did not rein her in because the Order needed the information.