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Forbidden	By : RynStar15 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 3012 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter and do not make any money by placing this story here

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A/N: This was written for D/Hr Remix a couple years ago. I never had time to finish it so I’m wrapping it up now. This story is based on the movie Tristan and Isolde to which I do not own the rights of and make no money by the re-enactment of the story here.

Enjoy!

~

Hermione looked out over the angry waves thrashing against the cliffs and breathed in the salty sea air. Rolling her shoulders she tried to push back the images of the last battle but all she could see when she closed her eyes was blood. She could see it oozing between blades of dying grass, trickling between the pale lips of the fallen.

It had been a long, grueling battle with no victor for either side. Just like always. Voldemort wouldn’t die. Harry always survived. And ever, they struggled on, fighting. Always fighting.

These cliffs became her sanctuary. It was the one place in her small world that seemed untouched by war. Nothing had changed here. The sea tumbled beneath her, untroubled by the plights of humans. And when they were gone, when the war had ceased, for good or for bad, the sea would live on, ebbing and flowing. Never stopping. It was a comfort.

Rocking slightly in the cold breeze she gazed toward the horizon, squinting when something dark caught her eye. Brow furrowed, she watched the dark object creep closer…closer…slowly, battered around by the rough waters. Was it a piece of wood? Part of a ship from a wreck, possibly? She sucked in her breath when that dark image appeared to be a human on some sort of raft.

"Homonum Relevio," she whispered, her heart skipping when a ball of light soared straight from the tip of her wand across the water to the unmoving figure. Scrambling down the path which had brought her to this secret spot, Hermione raced for the beach, tearing across it and straight into the freezing water. Gasping at the shock of cold, she waded through the waves, always keeping an eye on the person floating ever closer to the treacherous cliffs. As a wave nearly knocked her over, she coughed and pointed to the scant piece of wood which was keeping the lone figure afloat.

"A-accio raft!" She squealed as it lurched dangerously, nearly knocking off its occupant. But both zoomed towards her and were several feet away when Hermione gasped, sucking in a lot of icy sea water at her surprise. Even from a distance she could tell who it was.

Draco Malfoy lay still and soaking, blood staining the white shirt visible beneath his open robes. Shaking, Hermione grabbed the plank of wood which held him aloft and used it to steady herself, pushing it toward the shore. When it scraped upon the sand she knelt in the shallow water and simply looked at him. He was paler than normal (which was saying something), his white-blonde hair clinging to his face. There was so much blood seeping from the jagged slice across his chest that her heart ached. Enemy or not, he was injured. He wasn't going to hurt her with the state he was in. She could still see him strutting the halls of Hogwarts, pompous, arrogant and controlling. But even asleep he looked dangerous, much older than his twenty-three years. She hadn't seen him in so long she'd almost forgotten his aristocratic beauty.

Conjuring a stretcher beneath him, she chanced a look around, just to be sure they were alone. No one knew she came here, to the cliffs she'd once gaily climbed with her mother and father, back before she knew why strange things kept happening to her, before the war and the death and the blood. But she couldn't chance anyone seeing her with a Death Eater, much less helping him. She didn't care who he was. He was in need of her help and she was not going to hold a silly school grudge against him, nor was she going to judge him for following in his mother and father's footsteps, as both Harry and Ron had done. She'd wondered a thousand times what her life might be like if she had followed her own, become a dentist. Would they still be alive? Would they all be happy, not knowing there was another world, not knowing there was something so much bigger than the life they knew?

Scanning the cliffs before her she saw an opening, knew there were several caves lining this beach. Hurrying forward, Draco's prone figure floating before her, she set him gently upon the sand and bent into the low opening, lighting her wand and gazing around.

The cave was sizable, high enough for even Draco to stand, large enough for her to build a fire at a safe distance from a bed she could place in the corner. Instead of chancing hitting Draco against the narrow opening, Hermione dragged his stretcher into the cave, grunting in exertion. He was much larger than she was and even with all the physical training Moody put them through daily, she was not exactly a body builder. By the time she had him situated she was sweating, her soaking clothes clinging to her freezing body. And if she was cold, Draco must be frozen.

In moments she had a fire roaring and conjured blankets thrown over and under Draco. Gnawing on her lip she contemplated her next step. She knew the fastest way to warm a human body was to put another next to it. Besides, she couldn't leave him soaking wet and frozen...not with the grievous injury he'd received from goodness-knew-who. Tamping down the prudeness which had prevented her from doing more than simply kissing Ron until he finally left her seek out someone who would, she stripped off her clothes and closed her eyes after pointing her wand at Draco and stripping him as well. Gazing at the ceiling she lay next to him, pressing her body against his frozen one, shivering when he felt like ice.

Attempting to ignore that which made him very different from her, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close, counting his breaths as a way to ignore the fact that she was laying naked next to Draco Malfoy, a man who hated her under the best of circumstances and wanted her dead under the worst.

Her heart hammered in her chest. What would the others say if they knew what their innocent bookworm was doing right this moment? It would break Harry's heart, it would enrage Ron. But after all these years, after everything that had happened, Hermione still simply could not find it in her to hate the man who had refused to kill Dumbledore, who had wanted to join their side, who was prevented from his aunt's untimely arrival on that tower that fateful night...

Slowly, Draco's body warmed against hers, his breath slowed, his body relaxed. Hermione found herself pressing closer, taking the comfort of another human's touch, something she rarely received from anyone. He sighed against her and she stiffened when his arm rose around her, cupping her back, pulling her hard against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. Hermione couldn't move, frozen between horror and pleasure. She'd never been held like this before, and certainly never without clothes! Oh gods, what should she do? If she moved she chanced waking him, having him catch her lying there naked as the day she was born next to him. But she couldn't just stay here, cuddling with a Death Eater, injured or not, guilty or not. It was growing dark, the others would worry. She had chores to do, spells to practice. Besides, she hadn't even looked at his gash yet. It needed tended to.

Resolved, she took a breath and eased slowly back from his hold only for him to tighten his grip and tug her closer. She could feel his fingers digging in, could hear the heartbeat in his chest, could smell his cologne beneath the musk of sweat and sea.

"Not yet," he mumbled and something inside her stirred. She doubted he was at all aware of who was holding him so intimately and her mind went instantly to the idea that he probably had another woman who normally kept him warm at night. An imagine of him holding Pansy Parkinson the way he was holding her now made her feel ill. She had to get out of his grip somehow, had to fix him up quickly and leave, pretend that this whole thing had never happened. He would wake in the morning, healed, with no idea of what had occurred. It was how it should be.

She waited until he relaxed once more, told herself it was only so she wouldn't wake him, and eased out of the warm bed she'd made, the chill seeping into her bones. Quickly drying her robe she conjured jars and filled them with blue-bell flames for light and floated them over Draco's form. Pulling the blankets away she swallowed several times to settle her stomach at the grisly sight. It only took one look to realize that there was not much she could do for him without her healing bag which was tucked in her trunk in her room at the newest headquarters. Worriedly she looked into his sweaty face-wait, sweaty? It wasn't that warm in here. Brushing his damp hair aside she groaned. He was feverish. Her ideas of quickly patching him up and being on her way were decimated. Infection brewed and if she didn't get her potions and fix him up soon he could very well....no, she wouldn't think like that. She was a strong healer now; she'd been practicing long and hard. He would be fine.

Decision made, she backed out of the cave and Apparated to the tiny shack she, Ron and Harry shared. Harry had decided it was for the best that they never stayed in the same place as the rest of the Order for their safety. He had tried to include her and Ron in this agreement but she had shot that down real fast. They were in this together, for good or for bad.

She expected the boys to be sitting at the scrubbed dining room table waiting for the excuses which kept running around in her mind (she'd never been a good liar) but she was pleasantly shocked and slightly uneasy to find that neither were in the small flat at all. Grabbing her healing bag she hurried back to Draco who hadn't moved an inch. He looked so broken, so innocent this way. She tried not to think about who had cast this horrid spell on him, seeing the scar that ran from his left pectoral down to his right hip, a reminder of Harry's mistake. This one was smaller, running horizontally a few inches above his belly button, jagged and ugly.

Trying not to think at all, she set to work, mixing the necessary herbs and dabbing the poultice on the wound before using her wand to sew him up the best she could. She had been training hard with Madam Pomfrey and was pleased with the result of her work, figuring there would be little scarring. The Draco she had known at school had been incredibly vain, he wouldn't be happy waking up to a hideous scar. Hermione had a few new scars of her own but she didn't mind. They all served as reminders of her role in this war.

Realizing she had simply been staring at Draco for the last minute she shook herself of her reverie and held his head up to pour several potions into him. He coughed once but then drank them in silence and slept on, never opening his eyes.

She watched as his breathing slowed and his fiery pink cheeks returned to normal, the fever broken. She didn't want him to wake alone but couldn't stay there all night. Harry and Ron would send out a search party for sure and she didn't want to answer any questions about why she had been absent all day. Making sure he was snugly tucked in, Hermione backed out of the cave.

She returned before the boys and hurriedly got into bed, ignoring Ron and Harry when they finally stumbled in and checked on her. She could tell by their actions that they were drunk. They rarely drank but after this last skirmish she couldn't really blame them.

Tossing and turning, Hermione slept fitfully, rising before the sun and sneaking into the kitchen where she grabbed food and a flask of pumpkin juice for Draco and ran into the front garden to Aparate away. She knew the boys would never miss her as they would probably sleep until noon.

Slipping into the cave she stopped short, gazing at the man resting peacefully, his lips slightly parted, the blankets slipped down to reveal his muscular chest. He was so beautiful it hurt and her stomach leaped at her silly thoughts. The faded Mark upon his left forearm should be enough to make her cringe away, to leave him to die. But it simply was not in her. A prat he may be, but he didn't deserve the life he was given and couldn't really blame him for his actions. Setting the provisions down quietly she knelt at his side and lifted the bandages lightly as possible, jumping a foot when his strong hand closed around her wrist, his glassy eyes wide.

"Draco!" she squealed. "You scared me! It's alright, you're safe, no one knows you're here. Well, except for me, obviously. I brought you here, you're in Ireland. Do you know how you got here? Do you remember what happened?"

He stared at her for so long Hermione started to feel uneasy. Finally he moved to sit up and Hermione pressed him back down.

"You're injured, Draco. Just relax for a minute, you're safe."

He laid back down reluctantly, his eyes never leaving her face. Sitting back, Hermione twisted her fingers in her lap. "Do-do you remember what happened?"

He shook his head and then hissed, pressing his palms against his temples.

"Here, I've got a pain potion, right here. Do you need help sitting up?" Hermione asked, digging for the potion in her bag. By the time she turned he was already up and leaning against the cave wall, white as a sheet. "This should help."

He took the potion without opening his eyes and simply sat there for a moment, his eyebrows scrunched in obvious pain. Slowly, she watched him relax and knew the potion had taken effect.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He opened his eyes and stared at her again. She was just starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable when he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember...anything," he croaked. Hermione started.

"A-anything?" she repeated. "As in...anything?"

He closed his eyes again and shook his head. "It's like a wall. I feel like I can almost reach out and touch it but every time I get close it sneaks further away. How do you know my name?"

Hermione's heart stopped. If he didn't even know who he was...if he didn't know who she was...maybe she could turn him onto their side! Maybe he didn't have to go back…

He looked at her expectantly and Hermione realized he was waiting for an answer. Panicking, she scrambled for an excuse. "Your-your shirt. Your name was in it. But I, er, had to throw it away, there was so much blood. I hope you're not angry-"

"I owe you my life," he said intensely. Hermione blushed.

"You don't owe me anything," she muttered.

"But I do," he said. "From the sounds of things you're the reason I'm sitting here this very moment. What's your name?"

"Er...Luna," she said, not really knowing why she gave him her friend's name. He didn't know who she was, what was the point in lying? But there was still a fear in her at the thought of him hearing her name and the hatred behind it reminding him…

"Luna," he smiled. "Name as pretty as your face."

Hermione held back a snort of mirth, but it was a close thing. Not only could she not remember anyone ever calling her pretty but the fact that this sentiment had come from Draco Malfoy himself was priceless.

"You don't believe me," he stated. Hermione looked into his steely grey eyes.

"You're very sweet but I know I'm not pretty," she said, digging around in her bag for something to do, finally dragging out clean bandages.

"You're right," he murmured, still scrutinizing her. "You're not pretty. You're beautiful."

Hermione actually felt her heart stutter. Mortified, she couldn't even meet his eyes.

"You don't hear compliments very often, do you?" he observed. She shook her head, not looking at him.

"It's a shame. A beautiful woman who runs around saving strange men deserves to be treated like a princess.”

"You hardly know me," she mumbled.

"Then tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Everything." He raised her chin so that she had no choice but to look directly into his eyes. "Tell me everything about you."

Completely nonplussed, Hermione dropped the bandages in her hand and jumped to retrieve them.

"We should, erm, ch-change your-" she pointed at his wound and wanted to smack the smirk off his face. It was unbelievable that he had no idea who he was and yet he could still irritate her with that stupid grin of his. Not looking at him she set forth in her work, quickly cleaning the healing wound and re-applying the poultice and clean bandages.

"How did you learn to do this?" he asked, watching her work.

"I've been taking lessons from Madam Pomfrey," Hermione explained. "She's a very gifted Healer."

"You've learned well it seems," he replied. "Did you happen to see a last name on that shirt as well?"

Hermione kept her face down as she answered, knowing how terrible she was at lying. "Malfoy. Your name is Draco Malfoy."

Glancing up to gauge his reactions she could tell these words meant nothing. With a frustrated sound he made to get up.

"Look, I really don't think you should be-"

But before the words were out of her mouth he careened towards the wall, his legs buckling. Leaping forward, Hermione tried to catch him but his momentum carried them both to the ground where he grunted with pain and the air was knocked out of her lungs.

"Are you alright?" they both chimed at the same time, laughing softly at the coincidence.

"Nothing bruised but my pride," he said, making to sit up, pulling her with him. She could see how wan his features were, feel the intensity with which he gazed at her.

"My heroine," he murmured, cupping her cheek. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The situation she currently found herself in with Draco Malfoy was unfathomable. But as he swooped down, catching her lips with his, she knew this to be all too true, too real. Draco's raw sensuality was without the usual barriers between them, without the war or bloodlines or hatred. And for reasons beyond her imagination, he wanted her. It wouldn't have been nearly so unnerving if she hadn't wanted him back just as intensely.

So with the pain of the last few years urging her on, all those years of terror and loneliness and need, she dove in for just a moment into a kiss carved from a dream, more beautiful and monumental than any she had ever felt before. His expertise was obvious as he worked her mouth slowly, deeply, learning and feeling her just as she wished to learn and feel him. She didn't care if this was wrong, if she should stop, slap him, send him home to the Malfoy Manor where he could continue serving his master and she could continue helping Harry and forget this ever happened.

It was what she should do. But right at that moment, she just didn't care. What did it matter, really? He would never remember, never know who it was he was really kissing. When he healed enough she would send him on his way. No one ever had to know.

Except for Hermione. She would know, for the rest of her life, her betrayal to her best friend. Could she live with it?

Pulling away, she smiled meekly at him. He stroked her cheek.

"I don't know what it is about you," he said softly. "But I feel like I've known you for years, Luna. Have we met before?"

Hermione shook her head, her voice stuck in her throat. "I should go. The others will be missing me. There's food in the sack, I'll be back later to check your bandages. The ocean is outside if you wish a bath but don't wander too far as you don't know where you're going."

"Wait-"

But she had already left the cave, running for the ocean, turning on the spot in the weak beginnings of daylight and appearing before the small shambled cottage she and the boys had put together, built from the ground, like everything they had done in this war. At times it felt like it was them against the world.

So what did she think she was doing turning her back on them now?

~

XOXO

RynStar15
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