The cabin had grown cold, the heat of the fire burning out. The transfigured mattress on the floor, once plush and soft now felt like nails against Hermione’s naked back. She turns around, resting her head on her arms, watching him.
As Hermione gazed at Draco, she couldn't help but marvel at the chiselled perfection of his physique. His torso, honed from years of athletic pursuits, seemed carved from alabaster, its curves and contours evoking the elegant lines of a Renaissance sculpture. The subtle play of light on his skin accentuated the sharp definition of his muscles, rendering him a living, breathing masterpiece.
His shoulders, broad and powerful, seemed to shoulder the weight of the world, while his chest, adorned with an array of scars, gleamed with a soft, ethereal light. The gentle slope of his waist, the trimness of his hips, and the muscular lines of his legs all combined to create a visual symphony, as if the very gods had sculpted him from marble.
And yet, despite this heavenly appearance, Draco's eyes, like two gleaming slabs of weathered granite, held a depth and complexity that defied his angelic visage. Their grey hue seemed to shift and shimmer, like the gentle lapping of a still pond, inviting Hermione to gaze deeper into their mysteries. He was a masterpiece, crafted by the divine hands of fate, yet tempered by the fires of his own tumultuous soul.
He turned slowly, aware of Hermione's intense gaze upon him. Gathering his uniform from the ground, he stood, and he hastily dressed, covering himself.
"You should get dressed now, Granger," he said, his deep voice devoid of sentiment, a stark contrast to the tender whispers that had filled the air mere minutes before. The sudden shift was like whiplash, leaving Hermione reeling.
She sighed, her body heavy with longing. Despite fighting on opposite sides of the war, they had found each other in secret, their fleeting encounters a siren's call. Three months had passed since their last meeting, but the pull remained irresistible. When Draco decided to spy for the Order, and Hermione agreed to be his handler, she vowed to maintain control. She told herself it was merely physical, a mutual attraction she could manage. But the flesh is weak, and every encounter ended with them tangled in each other's arms.
As she gazed at Draco, Hermione's resolve crumbled. Had it always been like this? When did physical desire become something more? She couldn't pinpoint the moment, but the truth lingered, unspoken. Her heart had surrendered, despite her best intentions. The intensity she once thought she could handle had become an all-consuming force, threatening to upend her carefully constructed defences.
Draco's eyes locked onto hers, and Hermione's breath caught. The air was charged with tension, a spark waiting to ignite. She knew then that she was lost, trapped in the undertow of her own desires. The war outside seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a world of their own making.
"Granger..." Draco warned, his tone familiar, a reminder of their previous conversations. Hermione forestalled him, bracing herself for the hurt he might inflict. "When can I see you again?" she whispered, her eyes locked on his, her voice barely audible.
Draco's smirk revealed his understanding. "You want the Manchester hideout layout?" he asked, his voice low and husky.
Hermione nodded, her cheeks flushing. "Yes, of course. I need to ensure our people's safety."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Very well. I'll send it to you. But we both know that's not the only reason you're seeking me out."
Their gazes tangled, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Hermione's heart raced, anticipating the inevitable. She knew better than to believe these meetings were anything more than a physical escape. And yet, she couldn't help but crave the next encounter, the next spark of desire.
Draco's expression turned grim. "Things are becoming increasingly complicated on my end. The Dark Lord's followers are growing restless, sensing inconsistencies in the attacks. They're beginning to question my loyalty."
He paused, his eyes clouding over. "And Theo...he's tied up in Scotland, handling a delicate situation. He can't cover for me anymore."
Hermione's grip on her cup tightened. "What do you mean?"
Draco's voice dropped to a whisper. "If the Order wants to continue receiving intel, we need to rethink our strategy. We must share information more efficiently and use it wisely. I've been pushing the limits, Hermione, and it's only a matter of time before I'm discovered."
He leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Weasley's plan was laughably obvious. The Dark Lord was moving to McNair state that day, and the manor was a sitting duck. I was questioned why the Order knew the security would be lax, but I kept my mouth shut."
Hermione's eyes widened as she processed the information. "What happened?"
Draco's expression turned bitter. "I was punished for the leaked information. They didn't suspect me, but I knew I had to lay low. That's why I've been absent for so long."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, her mind racing. She knew Draco was hiding something. "Where were you badly injured?" she asked, her voice firm.
Draco's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes clouding over. He didn't respond, his silence speaking volumes.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat as understanding dawned. She took a step forward, but Draco abruptly moved back, his hands grasping her arms.
"Don't, Granger," he warned. "Get dressed. I still need to explain these spells they're creating. I don't have much time."
Hermione swallowed her tears, her mind reeling. She quickly dressed, her hands shaking.
As she finished, Draco's eyes remained intense. "Listen carefully, Granger. The Dark Lord's followers are developing new spells, ones that could tip the balance of power. I've managed to gather intel, but I need you to understand the risks."
Hermione listened intently, her eyes locked on Draco's face. She took notes, her hand shaking slightly as she transcribed the dark spells. Her mind reeled at the atrocities the Death Eaters were committing in the experimentation camps.
"What...what kind of spells?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco's expression turned grim. "They're developing curses that can manipulate the mind, control the emotions. The Dark Lord wants to break the Order's spirits, make them submit to his will."
Hermione's eyes widened as she scribbled furiously. "And the camps?"
Draco's voice dropped to a whisper. "Unimaginable horrors, Granger. I've seen Order members, friends, traitors...they're subjected to unspeakable tortures. It's better if they kill themselves rather than be taken prisoner."
Hermione's heart shattered at the thought. She couldn't comprehend the depths of cruelty the Death Eaters were capable of.
"What about the prisoners already in the camps?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Draco's eyes clouded over. "The ones who remain...they're broken. Their minds shattered. It's a fate worse than death. Theres nothing to do for them, other than ending their suffering."
Hermione's notes were a blur as tears streamed down her face. She felt a deep sense of despair wash over her. The war had become a never-ending nightmare, with no end in sight.
Hermione quickly gathered her belongings, stuffing her bags with notes and her trusty wand. She slung her jacket over her shoulder, her eyes locked on Draco's face. As she prepared to leave, a tumult of emotions surged within her. Gratitude, admiration, and a deep sense of responsibility wrestled for dominance.
She thought about the risks Draco took every day, the secrets he kept hidden, and the sacrifices he made for their cause. His mask lay on the floor, a poignant reminder of the vulnerabilities he concealed. Hermione's heart swelled with appreciation as she cupped his face, her fingers tracing the sharp angles of his jaw.
Draco was putting his life in danger every second, fighting for a world where she could live at peace, where she could proudly wield her magic and celebrate her heritage. In this moment, Hermione saw beyond the mask, glimpsing the bravery, loyalty, and unwavering dedication that drove him. Her touch conveyed her gratitude, her admiration, and her deep connection to this complex, troubled soul.
"You can't do this now, Granger," Draco said, his voice firm but trembling. Hermione's tears fell like rain, and she grasped his arms, her voice desperate.
"I need you to know, Draco. I need you to know that I love you," she whispered, her words piercing the darkness.
Draco's eyes closed, and he shook his head, his body trembling. "You can't do this to me now, Granger. I can't... I can't deal with this now."
Hermione's sobs shattered the air, and Draco continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're in the middle of a war, Granger. There's no place for love here. It's a luxury we can't afford."
Hermione's words cut through the chaos, her voice a beacon of hope. "Maybe this is the exact place for it. Inside all this darkness, this is real. This is light. This is us, Draco. Love is..."
Hermione's sobs shook her body as Draco's hand shot up, silencing her. "Nothing," he whispered, his eyes burning with intensity. "Love means nothing now. Now, when we don't know if we'll ever be around to savor it... Don't do this now, Granger. Don't do this to me."
But Hermione couldn't help herself. She sobbed again, and in a moment of weakness, Draco's mask cracked. He pulled her into his arms, running his hands along her back, his body tense.
As he held her, Hermione felt his own pain radiating from his body. She could sense him breaking, just like her. Draco planted a small kiss on her forehead, and Hermione looked up at him.
His eyes, once impossible grey, now seemed like a sea of turmoil, a stormy ocean she couldn't navigate. She tried to speak again, but before any sound left her mouth, Draco's lips claimed hers.
The kiss was tender, loving, like he was pouring his heart into it. Like he was trying to tell her the words he couldn't say out loud. Hermione's tears slowed, and she melted into the kiss, her heart beating in sync with Draco's.
When they broke apart, Draco pressed his forehead to hers, and they stayed there, in silence. Minutes passed, the only sound was their ragged breathing.
Draco's arm tensed, the Dark Mark burning with an otherworldly intensity. He sighed, separating himself from Hermione. He picked up his mask and walked towards the cabin door, the darkness outside seeming to press in.
Before leaving, he turned to Hermione, their eyes locking in a final, piercing gaze. This goodbye felt different; it felt like the last one. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, as if holding onto her own heart.
Draco's voice was low, barely audible. "I love you too, Hermione."
His words hung in the air like a promise, a declaration of devotion. Hermione's heart shattered, her soul crying out in despair.
With that, Draco disappeared into the night, leaving Hermione alone, lost in the darkness. She stood there, frozen, wondering if this really was the last time she would see Draco Malfoy. The silence was oppressive, a heavy blanket suffocating her.
Hermione's eyes remained fixed on the spot where Draco vanished, her heart whispering a desperate plea: "Come back to me... Come back..."