Star-Crossed

Night has fallen. The streetlights glow a dim crimson color, flickering consistently. The moon is dim in its glow, an additional conspirator, shielding the thieves with its shadows. 

Hermione and Draco are crouched on the rooftop nearest to the Colosseum, eyes narrowed and piercing through the darkness at the security—or lack thereof, given that there are only two guards patrolling. 

Draco removes the three small nail polish bottles from the brown paper bag, bringing each one up to his eye to examine: gray, green, and black. "Interesting color choices." 

Hermione's brow furrows. She was sure she picked the perfect colors for him: Slytherin green and gray, along with black, of course. "Do you not like them?" 

"No," Draco says quickly, shaking his head. "I like them." He's rolling the bottles in his palm, back and forth, back and forth. 

Thank God. "Good." 

Silence settles between them, soundless save for the soft inhale and exhale of their breathing. They're sitting side by side, gold and silver eyes barely peeking up above the rooftop tiles. Minutes pass like this, but Hermione doesn't think it's awkward. It's comfortable. It's nice. 

It's almost showtime. She peers into her bag at the bundle of black gear. 

She needs to change. 

Shit. 

Hermione clears her throat. "Um, I need to... change into my clothes." 

Draco stares at her, a faint red rising to his sharp cheekbones. He blinks. "Oh, right. Yeah. Of course." He unzips his own black backpack, pulling out similar looking black fabric. "I need to as well." 

Hermione swallows, shifting awkwardly on the heels of her feet. "Okay." 

He's still staring at her. "Okay," he repeats. 

What seems like eternity passes as they look at each other, still and unmoving. It takes a lot of effort for Hermione to break away, turning her back toward him. She peeks over her shoulder to make sure he's done the same, and he has: he's shrugging off his shirt and his pale back is on display, tight and wiry with muscle. 

She turns back around quickly, her face burning. She shouldn't violate his privacy. Yet she can't help but marvel at how he's so... sculpted. Surreal. 

She shakes her head in a vain attempt to drain these thoughts from her head. She brings the straps down and lets her dress pool to the floor, standing bare in only her underthings. 

She stands in place for a moment, unable to move, wondering if he's watching her. Wondering if he's looking at her. Wondering if he thinks she's beautiful. 

But she can't bring herself to turn and see for herself. God, she can't. 

When she's done dressing and strapping her weapons into place, she turns slowly. He's sitting by the ledge, facing the Colosseum and not looking at her. She rejoins him, skimming her eyes over the ensemble she has grown used to seeing on him: black pants with a black tee and black jacket. He's pulling at the fingers of his leather gloves.  

Draco speaks in a whisper in the space between them. "Do you think this is gonna work?" 

She's not worried about whether they'll succeed. Rivals or not, they're the greats. The dream team. "We're quite good at what we do, Malfoy," she says in reassurance. 

"No, I know, I mean this entire thing." He waves his hand in the air in a circular motion, silver rings flashing. "The spell, the wish, all of it. Do you think it's gonna work?" 

Hermione hasn't let herself think of how the world would be demolished if Voldemort succeeded. There would be no going back; there would be no fixing it. Their failure would be the downfall of life. Of the world. "It has to," she breathes, wrapping her arms tight around herself. 

She watches him shut his eyes. Take a deep breath. "It has to." 

She turns back to the Colosseum, committing the beautiful structure to memory. She trails her eyes over the arches, the curves, the cracks, the carvings. She'll see all the wonders of the world in the upcoming months, and she hopes to any gods above that she'll never forget what she sees, what she feels. If Hermione fears anything, she fears forgetting. The richness of what she experiences is her treasure. To lose her memory would be the most unfathomable loss she could imagine. 

There are only two security guards stationed, each at one of the two main entrances. At the west entrance stands a moderately built man who looks to be in his early forties; Hermione can see just clearly enough through the night to see a head of blonde hair. He looks as if he would be decently stealthy, and he's sitting on the steps tossing a flashlight from one hand to the other. 

On the opposite side at the east entrance stood a large, burly man resemblant of a lumberjack. He stood tall, with broad shoulders and thick muscles, paired with a red beard and curls.  

The moon is in position. It's time. Draco cracks his knuckles with one curled flex of his fingers. "Which one would you prefer, love?" he asks her. 

She grins in a mischievous manner. "The big one." 

He nods, slipping his black gloves on. "I had a feeling you'd say that." 

Hermione feels the anticipation bubbling inside of her, eager to do what she's good at, eager to succeed. She removes the grapple and line from her bag, and in one swift movement hurls the hook through the air. It connects with the Colosseum, attaching itself to the ledge of a window on the top level. The thick black wire is pulled taut. She attaches the two separate harnesses, quickly buckling herself in and swinging her feet over the ledge, Draco following suit. A sharp nod at her, and Hermione lets herself fall forward and off the building.  

She propels forward with a graceful speed in harmony with the midnight winds. She stiffens her legs in front of her, bracing herself against the wall upon impact. Easy as pie. She pulls herself up and into the waiting window, nodding across the way, signaling Draco to go ahead. He's silent in his descent, and in a blink he's hopping over the side and landing beside her. He grins at her, pressing the red button that reels the steel line into a tight cord. She bundles the equipment, placing it back in her bag. She admires Draco's stealth, likes the way they work together seamlessly. 

They fall into step with one another, making their way east towards Hermione's target. Draco does that stupid thing where he bumps her shoulder with his as they walk. She bumps his in return, harder, and he smiles down at his feet. 

They descend the stairs, two pairs of soundless feet in sync. Left, right, left, right. They reach the second level, one story above where the guard is. Hermione rolls her neck, cracks sounding. "How long will you give me to take him down?" she asks, raising her brow at him. 

He ponders this for a moment. "Twenty seconds?" 

Hermione scoffs, frowning at him. "You're supposed to make it a challenge." 

Draco shrugs, bringing his hand up between them and counting on his fingers. Three, two, one. Go. He points to her, and she's off. 

Hermione leaps through the window, soaring through the air like an angel. She twists her body, flipping and landing on her feet in a crouch directly in front of the security guard. The man's eyes bulge, fist raising, but she's already upon him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands around his neck. His mouth opens to scream, but she's already pressing firm on the pressure point on his neck beneath his ear. The scream never leaves his lips; his eyes roll back and he collapses under her. She catches his body easily. Draco is beside her in an instant, and together they drag him inside and prop him up against the wall. 

They start toward the west entrance, steps in sync once more. Hermione smirks at him and murmurs, "And how long was that, if you don't mind me asking?" 

Draco tilts his head, his lip curling. "Eleven seconds." 

She beams, crossing her arms over her chest in triumph. "Beat that." 

"Oh, I will." 

They're now only a few paces away from the second and last security guard, he's just around the corner. He looks at her, waiting for her signal. "Now," she mouths, tapping her watch. 

Draco rounds the corner, and Hermione pokes her head out to watch him. He plants a hard kick on the guard's back, who grunts and falls forward. He grips the guard's arm and flips him up and over his shoulder, slamming him onto the ground on his back. 

Show off. 

The guard's yell is muffled by Draco's gloved hand, and his other hand finds the pressure point at the guard's collarbone and sinks in. He's limp within milliseconds. 

Hermione swears under her breath, resisting the urge to shatter her watch into a thousand pieces. Damn him. 

Draco has no trouble dragging the body on his own before striding up to her with that infuriating little smirk. "And how long was that, if you don't mind me asking?" 

She groans. "Ten seconds." 

His grin was a flame. "I win." 

He turns on his heel and walks past her towards the nearest set of stairs, since it will be easiest to remove a portion of the ancient structure on the roof so as to avoid the Colosseum collapsing. She jogs to catch up with him. "You didn't have to jump through a window, though," she argues, tone insistent. "And he's not nearly as big as my guy. So technically speaking given the circumstances of each situation, I win." 

Draco clicks his tongue. "Excuses, excuses. It's okay to lose sometimes, Granger." 

"I did not lose," Hermione snaps. 

"You might be the most stubborn person I know, you know that?" 

"Likewise." 

They reach the roof. Hermione closes her eyes and tilts her face towards the blanket of stars, relishing in the feelings surrounding her and this heist. This is what she's sensational at. This is what makes her incredible. 

She exhales, rummaging through her bag and extracting one of Fred and George's newest devices they packed for her: an inconspicious black glove that shoots lasers out of the pointer fingertips. She slips them on, and they fit around her skin perfectly. Made for her. 

"What did you bring?" He asks.

"This." She points her finger at the ledge and clicks the small button at her wrist. A red laser shoots out, burning a clear miniscule hole through the concrete.

Draco whistles, pulling out his own handheld laser. "Excellent."

The extraction of the piece of the Colosseum is executed flawlessly. Both lasers are utilized, then Draco pours a mysterious liquid substance over the gaping hole. The liquid hardens almost instantly, filling the hole in its entirety. It looks as if nothing has occurred, although close examination would reveal the difference between the Colosseum and the glittery, pale substance. 

He places the heavy block into his pack with no complaint of the extra weight. She almost high fives him. Almost. But it might be too much, she thinks. Too much too soon. 

Becoming his friend is perhaps the most perplexing experience she has had. 

In minutes they're leaving the Colosseum, slipping through the dark alleys and making their way back to port. They can't board until ten to sunrise, so they have about an hour to spare. 

They whisk into their designated rest stop– a little hole in the wall two blocks from port. They crawl in, and it's just big enough for the both of them to sit with their knees up, toes to toes, each of their backs resting on curved, jagged stone. Draco sighs, pulling his gloves off and discarding them against the stone. "And now we wait." 

"This is almost too easy." 

"A walk in the park compared to what we've done before." 

Hermione hums, narrowing her eyes at him in remembrance of their last overlapping missions. "I'm still not quite over that stunt you pulled with the diamond."

He just shakes his head at her, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. "It's just business, love," he says around the tube. 

"How'd you escape, anyways?" 

A puff of smoke. "The ceiling vents." 

She laughs, the image of a young, much shorter Draco vanishing through the vents flashing through her mind. "I should have guessed." 

"How so?" 

"That's how you escaped the drug store on the night we met."

A beat of silence. Another cloud of smoke. "You remember that." 

Of course she does. She could never forget it. "I do." 

Draco takes the cigarette out of his mouth and lets it hang between his fingers, studying her. "In a good way or a bad way?" 

Hermione thinks for a moment, then another. "I don't know," she answers honestly. And she truly doesn't know why that memory, and every other memory of him, has a permanent home in her mind. 

He nods as if he was expecting that answer, restoring the cigarette between his teeth. 

"Do you remember that night well?" She asks him the same question. 

"Yeah," he says. "I do." 

"In a good way or a bad way?" 

"I'm not sure yet." 

They essentially just repeated the same conversation. Hermione drums her fingers against her knees, restless and anxious and so many things. "What's there to not be sure about?" 

"You," Draco responds simply, sincerity shining in his quicksilver eyes. "I'm not sure about you."

That makes two of them. 

She manages a weak, teasing smile. "Make up your mind, Malfoy." 

"I'm working on it, Granger." 

She’s working on it, too. She's working so damn hard and she still feels overwhelmed with confusion. Hermione's eyes feel heavy as she thinks this, her attention wavering and slowing. Draco rubs the butt of his cigarette against the cobblestone, extinguishing the flame. "It's late," he says. 

"No shit." 

"Don't give me attitude." 

"You give me attitude every waking moment." 

The corner of his lip twitches in what she hopes would have been a smile. "Get some rest," Draco tells her. "I'll keep watch." 

Hermione folds her arms into herself, feeling slumber begging for her surrender. "You will?" Her voice is quiet, her words slurred. 

His elbow props on his knee; his hand props under his chin."I will." Soft. Reassuring. 

She smiles now, big and wide, displaying all of her white teeth. "Thank you," she says happily, eyes fluttering shut and head falling back. 

He might have said something else, but she was already in deep sleep. 

___ 

Warmth encompasses Hermione's shoulder through the fabric. She feels a cool breeze on her cheeks. No, not a breeze, a breath. Mint and smoke. 

Draco. 

She opens her eyes and sees him hovering right over her, his hand shaking her shoulder gently. "Sorry to wake you," he mumbles, jerking his head at the exit of the alley. "It's time to go." 

Draco stands straight, offering his hand to her, now covered in gloves again. Hermione looks up at his hand for a moment, then up at him. His eyes are clearer than usual. As the approaching sun begins to color the sky, his eyes look almost blue, light blue. Like the constellations. Like the stars. 

She places her open palm onto his fingertips, sliding her hand up his slowly, feeling the rough leather beneath her skin. She can no longer hear him breathing. She slides her hand so agonizingly slowly until her palm is in his. 

He pulls her to her feet, shoving his hands in his pockets immediately and looking away from her. 

Look at me, she wants to say. I want to look at you. Look at me. 

Ever the picture of calm and collected once more, he cocks his head at her as a way of asking if she's ready to go. She dips her chin, and they're off. 

When they climb aboard The Serpent, everyone else is already on deck. Pansy is shouting orders to the crew, all who are scrambling around doing as instructed. Theo and Blaise are already slumped against the water barrels, communicating with exchanged snores. Luna is laying on her back amidst the chaos, eyes closed. She stretches her arms towards the skies, fingers plucking at invisible strings, and the ship launches forward. 

Hermione stays on the starboard side and watches Rome grow smaller and smaller. The wind whips at her curls, blowing them across her face. "I'll be back one day," she says to no one in particular. 

She didn't realize Draco was beside her until he responds, "You will be."