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Forbidden	By : flamingmoth Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 3726 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings in Harry Potter. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Forbidden
- 1
And when the worrying starts to hurt

And the world feels like graves of dirt

Just close your eyes until

You can imagine this place

Our secret space at will…

-- Snow Patrol, “Shut Your Eyes”
He has just left the common room, aware of the unfriendly eyes on him. His plan is to return to the library and wait until everyone else in his dorm is asleep before slipping back in to find his own bed. It’s less trouble that way. He can fight one or two of them, but not all of them at once.
“Traitor.” The word is breathed in Draco’s ear just before he’s struck from behind, and he falls heavily onto the stone floor of the dungeon corridor. He raises his arms instinctively just before the heavy dragonhide boot (Crabbe, he realizes through his blind panic) smashes towards his face. It misses his nose but crashes into his jaw and, for a moment, the pain is so intense that he can’t think.
Other blows immediately follow, and he writhes into a tightly curled ball. They snatched his wand right before jumping him, but Draco rallies and focuses his mind enough to project a single word out of his head and into the rain of kicks, punches, harsh breathing, coarse jeering and swearing that surrounds him. There is a flash of silvery light, more cursing, some stumbling about. The attack stops. He doesn’t look up.
“He’s conjured an Argentium Corpus.” Nott, he thinks.
“I’ll take care of it,” mutters a female voice. Draco smiles bitterly to himself when he hears the familiar silken rustle of Pansy’s designer robes as she reaches for her wand. Who’s the traitor now, Pans? It doesn’t matter. He knew long ago that she would turn on him once she discovered the truth. He braces himself to withstand her attempt to shut down his shielding spell, but Pansy doesn’t even get the chance to speak before someone cuts her off with a sharp hiss.
“It’s Snape. Go!” Theo warns, and the Slytherins rapidly disperse. He listens to their rapid footfalls receding down the corridor, away from their dormitory, but keeps the spell in place until a dry voice utters a firm Finite Incantateum. Instantly, the silvery light disappears, like a Muggle light bulb going out.
“Mister Malfoy?” Snape’s voice sounds weary, with only a trace of its usual sardonic tone. Draco tries to stand, but falls back with a stifled groan, and Snape is at his side in an instant. He helps Draco sit up, surveying him critically. “Are you in need of the infirmary?”
The former Prince of Slytherin shakes his head. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, if one of his peers should blab about it at home. “No. I’ll be all right. Who told?”
“The Woman in Black.” Snape smiles thinly. “I suspect that having a portrait of one of your ancestors here in the Slytherin dungeons has proven to be beneficial in ways I doubt you anticipated when you arrived here, Draco.”
He tries not to wince as the head of his House eyes him speculatively for a moment before leaning in closer, as if merely to inspect the ugly bruise forming on his jaw. Finally, the Potions Master speaks in a low tone.
“You must be more careful.” Snape’s voice is neutral but his dark eyes hold a warning. “Your father’s defection means that you are marked, and neither I nor Dumbledore can protect you at all times, even at Hogwarts. They will seek to curry the Dark Lord’s favor by harming you, and your House mates know this.”
“I know.” He tosses his fringe back, winces again, and ignores Snape’s lifted eyebrow. “Don’t worry, Severus. I can look after myself.”
“Indeed.” Snape doesn’t sound convinced. Without further ado, he briskly heals Draco’s bruises and the bleeding gashes on his hands and forearms. “Anything else?”
“No, I’m just a bit sore.” Slowly, he gets to his feet. Snape hovers, but Draco does not seem in need of a steadying hand. The older man’s face is without expression as the blond wizard draws in a shaky breath, then gingerly bends down to pick up his wand from where the other Slytherins dropped it before retreating.
“Don’t do anything stupid after this,” Snape tells him, a tiny frown creasing his face.
Draco narrows his eyes but does not reply. He nods curtly and turns to go in the opposite direction, away from the Slytherin common room, where he most definitely is no longer welcome.
* * * * *

An hour later, the beating is the furthest thing from Draco’s mind.
His arms and his senses are full of her. He’s pressing her body up against the wooden door in the shadowy darkness of the corridor. A handful of her hair is clutched in one of his fists. His other hand cradles her bum, and it’s all lips and tongues and fast, excited panting, and he can’t get enough.
“Oh gods,” he breathes, reluctantly coming up for air at last. He’s hard as a rock, his erection straining against his trousers as her soft breasts press against his chest. Her lips are swollen and dark, dark pink, and her eyes are bright. She’s got her arms around his neck, but as she lowers them to caress his torso and brushes against a particular place on his side, Draco involuntarily winces, hissing like the serpent that is his House’s mascot.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asks, and in her quest to find out, she accidentally touches the sore place again. He tries not to wince this time, but she sees it anyway.
Cracked rib, probably, he thinks, wondering why it hasn’t bothered him before now. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops when he sees that her eyes have gone stormy. Draco sighs, lowers his head and looks down at her shoes, his hands planted on either side of her against the wooden door.
“Malfoy, what happened this time?” Her tone has lost its breathiness, sharpening to an edge. “Did they get to you again?”
He levels his gaze with hers without responding, but Draco sees her dark eyes narrow and her lips tighten. She is about to start an argument, one that will end exactly as every other one they’ve had about this has ended – with her practically hysterical with fear and worry, and his fruitless attempts to reassure her, ending with the same impasse as always. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He’s so tired of thinking and scheming and constantly being on his guard and having everything hanging over his head night and day. Sweet Circe, he just wants to forget.
Perhaps she sees all this in his face. “Malfoy,” Hermione says again, less sharply, but her questioning is at an end because he’s slammed his mouth down over hers with such ferocity that her head whips back and almost hits the door behind her.
Draco drags her to him with one arm while fumbling for the door latch with the other, his lips pulling at hers, kissing her so feverishly that after a few seconds, her knees start to buckle and she sags against him. Finally, the door swings open and he gently pushes her inside, his mouth never leaving hers.
If they knew what he was doing with Hermione, he would have even more to answer for, and she would suffer as well. He’s going to make damned sure they don’t find out. For now, he only wants to enjoy what he’s been trying so hard to protect.
The door clicks shut behind them. It disappears into the stonework shortly thereafter, as if it has never been.
* * * * *

Hermione is doing some research in the library, a look of intense concentration on her face, and a feeling of growing excitement makes her want to do a little dance. But she keeps reading.
She and Draco discovered “their” room by accident while snogging in an abandoned hallway that once held laboratories for outdated classes, and which now is mostly used for storing old cauldrons and worn-out chalkboards. The little door didn’t look like a classroom door, however, and when they stumbled in, they thought at first that they’d walked into a teacher’s lounge of some kind. Draco had even suspected that it was a trap. But as nothing happened and the room seemed to…encourage them, they had taken full advantage. Or rather, as much advantage as Hermione was willing to take at the time.
Since then they have met there many times, and the room always stays the same. No one else seems to know about it; her careful, leading questions have led only to puzzled looks from other students, who want to know why Hermione cares where they snog with their own boyfriends or girlfriends. It isn’t the Room of Requirement, which Harry has told her about and which is on a different floor. And the room they use isn’t mentioned in Hogwarts: A History, she is certain. Hermione practically knows that book by heart.
Draco has been less interested in finding out about the room’s origins and more interested in making sure that they are never caught together. She doesn’t blame him for that, but her own curiosity refuses to let her rest, so at last she has undertaken a search of every text she can find that might possibly hold a reference to the mysterious little room. Finally, she has managed to discover the truth in a little-used book she’s snuck out of the Restricted Section:
Located somewhere along the fifth-level Alchemy corridor which was abandoned in 1693, this is often confused with the Room of Requirement, since its existence has not been definitively confirmed.
The Room of Forbidden Attachment is said to be the creation of none other than Apollonia de Malfois, who was a member of Slytherin House. Apollonia was an unusually bright witch and, according to all reports, a very beautiful one as well. She was destined by arrangement to marry Guildford Notte, the sole heir to a vast fortune. However, it was Apollonia’s fate while at Hogwarts to fall in love with another wizard named Randall Hedgerider, who was the seventh son of a Muggle farmer, and a Gryffindor during his time at Hogwarts.
Worried that her family would find out about her secret love, Apollonia created the room and enchanted it so that only she and Randall could find and enter it. This is an as-yet-unparalleled act of advanced student magic, since most of the current enchantments upon Hogwarts Castle had been set in place long before that time. It was no doubt a mark of Apollonia’s considerable talent and indomitable will, which was later evidenced in her achieving the rank of Lady of the Wizarding Realm, due to her deeds during the Second Goblin War.
Sadly, Apollonia’s love story did not end happily. According to the Ministry’s records from that era, Notte, aware of his bride-to-be’s indiscretion, challenged Hedgerider to a duel and was successful, killing him with an Avada Kedavra before Apollonia’s eyes. Notte was ordered by the High Sheriff to pay one hundred Galleons to the family of Randall Hedgerider, but further punitive actions were not taken, according to the laws of the time. Apollonia and Guildford were wed soon after, on June 22, 1781.
Naturally, the early involvement of Lady Malfois-Notte with a Muggle-born wizard has not been viewed as a point of pride among either the Malfoys or the Notts of the present day. Members of both families have denied the veracity of this tale for many years, and Abraxas Malfoy, a direct descendant of Apollonia, even threatened to sue the authors of this book for including the tale. Nonetheless, we argue that it represents an important part of the “unofficial” lore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Today, legend has it that Apollonia left the Room intact as a memorial to her lost love, Randall. It is said that if a couple should have need of it while at Hogwarts, the Room of Forbidden Attachment will make its presence known and available to them, but will not permit any others to find it or enter. Searches for the Room by those not involved in a similar quandary have all been fruitless, but rumors among Hogwarts’ more romantically-minded students have kept its legend alive during the intervening years.
Hermione slowly closes Long Lost Legends of Hogwarts and rests her chin on her hand, a thoughtful, faraway look on her face. She wonders if Malfoy knows the truth about their secret trysting place. She doesn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her, and it isn’t until she feels the hand on her shoulder that she blinks and looks up, startled.
“Tonight,” Draco whispers, his hand brushing her hair in a swift caress before he swiftly turns and walks away. His tone of voice changes in an instant from intimate to scornful. “Ugh. I didn’t know the elves hadn’t cleaned this part of the library yet. There’s still garbage in the aisle.”
She’d heard the approaching footsteps just as soon as he had, so she doesn’t miss a beat. Hermione suppresses her sigh and instead looks annoyed. “Good riddance, Ferret,” she says in irritation, turning back to her books.
Inside, her heart is pounding.
* * * * *

At Christmas, the Malfoys retreat to the house at Grimmauld Place. Although he was carefully invited by Ron, Draco refuses to go to the Burrow, since there is no question of his parents being there too. Defectors or not, there is no love lost between the elder Malfoys and the Weasleys. Since they cannot go home to the Manor, as they are all being sought by Voldemort’s forces, Harry offers them the use of the old Black mansion.
Draco walks the halls feeling strangely uncomfortable despite the fact that his mother’s family hails from this ancient place. He’s well aware that technically, the house ought to belong to Aunt Bella, but Sirius left it to Potter and the will was found to be genuine, after all. He isn’t sure that his aunt won’t try to take it back, but on the other hand, he’s not sure he wants it either, as the sole heir of both Bellatrix and his parents. It reminds him too much of all that his family has left behind.
His mother spends a lot of time talking to Kreacher and reading what is left of the family collection of magical books and grimoires, ostensibly searching for useful information. Really, Draco knows, she’s just sunk in nostalgia for what was and can now never be. She used to play in that library as a child, she’d told him, with her sisters and cousins, but now there is only silence, dust, and an old house-elf to keep her company.
His father broods, waiting for missives and the occasional visit from other Order members, and listening to the Wizarding wireless in the kitchen. He’s been drinking too much Firewhisky and not eating nearly enough. Both Draco and his mother have noticed and commented on this, but Lucius waves away their concern with a shrug. Still, the shadows under his eyes are growing more pronounced.
Draco mostly stays in his room, which was once Regulus’s. Slytherin banners still hang from the walls and there are now-vintage posters of Quidditch players long since retired. He’s had daily owls from Hermione and the Christmas gift of an antique book on dragons. It has an inscription written on the flyleaf which made his mother smile and his father lift one knowing eyebrow when Draco, somewhat embarrassed, allowed them to look at her gift. (He didn’t tell them that he’d sent her a gold bracelet, newly engraved with her initials.) All of this makes him happy, even though he misses Hermione more than he cares to think about.
He also feels stifled in the close, depressing darkness of the house, so unlike the well-lit and tastefully appointed family home in Wiltshire. His mad great-aunt Walburga’s portrait croons at him approvingly each time he passes; the blind eyes of dead house-elves stare from the walls where their little heads are mounted. Shadows move a lot, visible only in the corners of his eyes. For the first time, Draco understands some of what drove cousin Sirius to leave this place for good when he was about the same age.
Great-aunt Walburga would surely scream in disapproval to see Hermione suddenly appear at the door to his bedroom on New Year’s Eve. “Surprise, Malfoy.” She can’t suppress her wide smile, her face rosy from the winter air outside.
Draco stares at her for a moment in shock before dropping his book and jumping off the bed, throwing his arms around her. She smells of winter and warm skin, and for a while he just hides his face in her hair and drinks it in. Her arms come up around him, too, and he can feel her trembling a little.
Someone clears their throat, and Draco looks up to see Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Neville standing there, looking disgusted, wary, slightly amused, or all three. Downstairs there are voices conversing in earnest – his parents, and what sounds like Lupin and possibly Longbottom’s grandmother. He hears the further tramp of boots as more Order members enter the house through the front door. Obviously, someone has managed to charm Mrs. Black’s portrait’s curtains shut, as there was no screaming and wailing to alert him to the arrival of the others.
“We’ve all come for New Year’s -- everyone. There’s going to be a meeting, and Harry and I thought you and your parents might be – “ Hermione begins, but stops short at the look on Draco’s face. She looks both uncertain and pleased by it.
He’s gazing over her shoulder at Potter, who’s smiling -- just a little, but it’s enough. “Smashing,” Draco says, and smirks at the Boy Who Lived.
* * * * *

They don’t set off any fireworks, and they mostly stay in the large, warm kitchen, eating the feast that Kreacher has prepared, and drinking the Wizarding liquor that Shacklebolt somehow managed to bring despite everything. It is a homey, noisy gathering full of good cheer and hope for the future, far removed from the formal, elegant ones that used to take place in the ballroom at Malfoy Manor. Draco thinks his parents seem to be enjoying this party far more, although they’d never admit it.
Just before midnight, he and Hermione are tucked in a corner of the room. No one is paying any attention to them. Her face is pink, either from the champagne or from the location of Draco’s hand, which is buried under her skirt. He holds her on his lap, his body reacting to each wriggle and movement with sharp hunger. Her lips taste of the sweets she’d last eaten and the sharp tingle of magical champagne.
The Order meeting isn’t until tomorrow. Tonight they only celebrate together, this band of desperate rebels, children and parents and friends, against the darkness that nearly swallowed Draco and his family. It may be the last such frivolity they will enjoy for a long while, and everyone wants to make the most of it.
The clock in the hall has started ticking away the seconds until midnight, and people pour out of the kitchen, waving their glasses, arms around each other. Harry and the rest of their friends follow. Only Luna casts a glance over her shoulder at the oblivious pair of them. She smiles dreamily, adjusts her glittering party hat, and goes out into the hall.
“Ten!”
“Upstairs,” Draco murmurs into Hermione’s mouth. “Now.”
“Nine!” chants the crowd in the front hall.
“Yes,” Hermione breathes as his fingers again slide torturously over her dampened knickers.
“Eight!”
He stands and pulls her to him, then Apparates out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. The shouted countdown is suddenly much fainter as they tumble onto his neatly made bed, rumpling the coverlet and sending the pillows cascading to the floor. Their mouths lock on each other as soon as they hit the mattress.
This will be their first time together. All those stolen moments in the strange little room at Hogwarts – the snogging and breathless explorations with mouths and hands – have led up to this, actually having sex. It has driven him nearly mad, wanting her so badly, but he knew it would only be a matter of time. She’s still a virgin, but she wants him to change that. She made that clear in her last letter to him.
I can’t stop thinking of the future and what might happen. I don’t want any regrets about things left undone or unsaid.
Draco doesn’t even hear the laughter and cries of “Happy New Year!” downstairs. He’s too busy kissing her, taking her clothes off piece by maddening piece, gasping as her hands undress him and find his bare skin, too. They roll over so that she is on top, and the heat of her core pressing through the thin layer of cotton against his hardness makes him swear.
“Oh, Draco,” Hermione moans, as his hands come up to caress her naked breasts.
Inwardly he’s a little nervous; he’s only ever had sex with Pansy, and that was different in almost every way. But the heat of Hermione’s kisses and the sounds she makes are driving him crazy with need, and soon, Draco forgets his anxiety in his desire to please her and himself.
He touches her all over and she touches him, and they kiss and kiss, and finally, when he can’t stand it anymore and is sure that she’s ready, he rolls over and nudges between her thighs. She parts them willingly, arching her body, and as he slowly enters her, she wraps her legs around his waist.
Her silken, tight slickness is better than anything he’s ever felt and her nails rake his back, which arouses him nearly as much as the feel of her around him. She learns that lifting her hips to meet his thrusts feels even better. He cries out when she does it the first time, and cries out again when, a few minutes later, she bites that particular place on his neck she’s found that drives him wild. He’s delirious and almostthere.
“Draco!” His name rises from her lips as a near-shriek. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalls that they didn’t cast any silencing charms before they started, but he doesn’t give a damn because she’s convulsing around him. She is his at last, and he’s going to lose control any second now…
“Oh gods…” One deep thrust and his body is shuddering as he releases, another thrust and he’s moaning uncontrollably. “Gods, Granger...I love you.”
He doesn’t realize he’s admitted it out loud until, in the darkness of his room, he hears her rapidly indrawn breath. He feels his body start to relax, but his pulse refuses to slow down.
“I love you too, Draco,” Hermione murmurs back, her voice very soft.
Someone passes the room, giggling drunkenly in the hall outside. There’s the sound of a double pair of footsteps, then the slam of a swiftly closed door. Draco can still hear the muffled sound of cheery voices and merriment downstairs. He buries his face in Hermione's neck, holding her tightly, his heart beating against hers until finally, sleep consumes them.
* * * * *

She’s read him the passage she's found about the Room of Forbidden Attachment, and he’s finally figured out what some of those missing pages under the “Malfoy” entry in his family’s copy of Great Wizarding Families of Britain must have said. The knowledge brings an ironic smirk to his face. So, he thinks, it isn’t as if what I’m doing with Granger has no precedent, contrary to what I’ve been taught.
Even now, even though they have left behind the old ways forever, he takes a perverse delight in showing the passage to his father, who reads it and nods gravely, trying not to show his discomfort.
“Granger and I discovered it on our own,” he tells Lucius.
There is a long pause.
“We…there is much that has gone unrecognized, Draco,” his father says at last. “Things will change from now on.”
“This is only the start,” Draco replies. “I want…someday I’m going to marry her, Father.” The challenge is plain on his face.
Another, older copy of that aristocratic face gazes thoughtfully back at Draco. Lucius is remembering how his son had looked at the Granger girl, how he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes – or his hands – off her during the New Year’s Eve party at Grimmaud Place. She’d seemed equally taken with Draco. The Malfoys had had no idea of the depth and strength of their son’s attachment until reading Hermione’s inscription to Draco in the book, and seeing the way the two of them acted together.
The elder Malfoy isn’t sure what he thinks of this, after all is said and done. Narcissa is less wary than he, and is inclined to be happy that her son may one day have such a powerful and intelligent witch as a wife, Muggle-born or no. He has still his reservations. But in times such as these, even Lucius knows when to accept the inevitable. A last, wistful thought – if only she'd been a pureblood – echoes through his mind before he sighs and answers Draco.
“As you will have it, my son,” Lucius says, and lets the ghost of a smile light his weary but still handsome face.
* * * * *

In a way, going back to school is worse. They have more occasions to slip away, and more reason to want to. But now, Hermione knows, there is also more at stake. They have crossed a line that they cannot step back over, having actually fallen in love rather than just giving in to a mutual attraction. They have everything to lose if the wrong people discover their secret.
Now this all makes sense, Hermione thinks, looking around at the room’s carvings. The twined “A” and “R” carved inside an oval above the door. The serpent and the lion, which she and Draco had imagined might be for them. The elegant roses coupled with rustic cornflowers that edge the tops of the walls, and overhead on the ceiling, the Malfoy star-topped wand emblem crossed with a scythe and pitchfork. All of these speak of the long-dead de Malfois heiress and her commoner lover.
She wonders if Draco knows what her own surname means. It makes for a lovely sort of symmetry, to be sure. Maybe one day she’ll point it out to him.
The door opens and shuts. Hermione turns and sees Draco watching her, those perfect lips curved in his habitual smirk, his grey eyes smoldering with a fire that makes her chest ache just to see it. After all, she is Hermione Granger, Gryffindor brainiac, Muggle-born witch, and daughter of two dentists, as unlike the high-born, pureblood, wealthy Malfoy heir as ordinary beer is from the finest wine. Superficially it’s a case of opposites attracting, but inside, she knows that the two of them fit as perfectly as a hand in glove.
But now Hermione sees that the fire in his eyes has turned to something else – concern. Draco swiftly crosses the room and takes her shoulders in his hands, looking down at her, a fine line appearing between his brows. “Please, by Merlin, please stop fighting with Pansy, love. It’s too dangerous.”
“Oh Malfoy,” Hermione rests her head on his shoulder for an instant. “I know. I know! I don’t know what came over me – “
“I can’t do anything to help you. If I show any interest at all, she’ll tell them, and they’ll try to kill you,” he whispers.
“They’re already trying to kill me because they know I’m Harry’s friend,” she reminds him tartly, but he seems not to hear her.
“Pansy’s a vengeful bitch who doesn’t quit until she gets what she’s after. I know from experience.”
“That’s why I hexed her!” Hermione steps back, her fingers curling into fists at her side. “She’s hurt you so much already, claiming that she’d be loyal to you no matter what – “
“I don’t even care about that anymore! I just care about you, Hermione,” he pleads, and the unusual sound of her given name from his lips (which he never utters except when they’re making love) halts her protest. “Don’t give her or anyone else any further excuse to harm you.”
“You wouldn’t listen, if our roles were reversed,” Hermione points out. “You act as if it’s nothing when the other Slytherins have a go at you, and you tell me not to worry about it, but you’d find and hex every last one of them if they were to do half as much to me.”
“Of course I would! That’s – “ At her arch look, Draco stops, uncomfortably aware of his own hypocrisy.
Hermione steps closer, puts her arms around his neck. “Not different at all. I love you, Malfoy,” she murmurs, drawing him closer. “That’s what love is about -- not wanting to see the other person hurt.”
“Not to mention wanting to kill whoever’s done it.” He rests his forehead against hers and sighs in frustration. “Every day I feel as if I want to burst, knowing that one stupid slip on my part could make everything that much worse and put all of us in danger – not just you and me.” He pauses, and seems to fill with a quiet resolve. “But I swear to you, Hermione, anybody who tries to hurt you is dead.”
“I know.” She kisses him sweetly on the mouth. “I promise to protect you, too.”
His eyes are on fire again with that look he reserves only for her. Hermione’s blood begins to surge wildly through her veins, and she lets herself be taken by the heady undertow of desire as he kisses her.
* * * * *

They don’t have long to worry until the fight comes to them.
Death Eaters and Order members battle among students, teachers, Wizarding citizens, and the residents of Hogsmeade, with centaurs, giants, goblins, and house-elves fighting and running about shrieking and bellowing. Half the castle is aflame. In the chaos and falling rubble, the fifth-level corridor leading to Apollonia’s room collapses entirely. But neither Hermione nor Draco knows this yet, as they are busy fighting for their lives in other parts of the castle.
Harry has already left for the forest. An injured Ron is cradling an even more injured Luna in his arms, defending her with hex after hex. Neville and Ginny have vanished into the confusion of the fighting. Hermione stands in front of Ron and their fallen friend and fights Dolohov, who is attempting to strike her down before finishing off the other two. The vicious Death Eater sends a sizzling curse at Hermione and she screams, falling among the debris.
“BASTARD!” Ron yells, and sends a curse at Dolohov. He sidesteps it and bears down on them, grinning maliciously. Luna stirs and tries to lift her wand as Ron prepares to throw himself bodily over both her and Hermione, who lies perfectly still.
But Dolohov’s mouth never forms the words of the curse he aims at Ron Weasley. His eyes widen, and he falls face-down in a puddle of the blood that erupts from his mouth instead in a gush of scarlet. Behind him stands Draco, who hasn’t even used his wand. A jeweled dagger bearing the Malfoy crest protrudes from the Death Eater’s back. Draco grabs it and shoves it back into his belt without wiping it off, before rushing to Hermione’s side.
“Love?” He touches her pale face. Ron edges closer, Luna in his arms, terrified that Hermione is dead, but the brunette witch stirs. There’s blood on her shoulder, a great quantity of it, but her eyes are clear, if overly bright with pain.
“Oww…Draco?” She blinks and smiles when he exhales sharply, and he and Ron exchange a look of relief. “Help me up. Ron is…and Luna…”
He starts to protest, but then there’s an exultant shriek from behind him. Ron yells a warning. Before Draco can turn around or stand up, though, Hermione has shoved him aside with surprising strength and twisted up to her knees. “Protego!” she shouts, and her shield bounces the green flash of light harmlessly away.
Bellatrix Lestrange’s mad eyes grow wide with petulant surprise. “You can’t keep me away, Mudblood!” she sings out, circling the glimmering shield like a cat hunting a mouse. “The Dark Lord will make you Nagini’s next meal, the way he’s already done with so many of your filthy kind!”
“No, he won’t.” Draco stands up behind Hermione, who is shaking visibly with the strain of maintaining the spell. Bellatrix’s eyes narrow and a dark smile curves her vermillion lips in a parody of amusement.
“Oh, little nephew,” she chuckles, chiding him as if she’s just caught him with his hand in a candy jar. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you, naughty boy, for playing in the mud.”
“Just try it,” snaps Hermione. Behind her, Ron lifts his wand, and even Luna manages to raise hers despite the awful pallor of her face and the trembling of her hand. But Bellatrix only laughs at the four wands pointed at her. She comes as close as she can and levels her twisted blackthorn wand at Hermione’s face.
“Avadra Kedav – “
The deafening roar of thunder and a flash of lightning so bright it makes them all wince interrupts her curse. Outside the window, the Dark Mark hanging in the sky is rent asunder, as if torn apart by a glowing, white hand. Bellatrix screams in fury at the sight, but she’s lost all thought of killing them now. She Disapparates, shredded black velvet whipping around her in the wind that now howls from the lower levels of the castle, before she is gone.
Hermione sways and Draco just catches her before she hits the floor again. His hand becomes red with the blood seeping from her shoulder. She looks into his face – dirty and scratched, the familiar grey eyes haunted with remembered pain and terror – and smiles at him. He takes a deep breath at the sight.
She speaks first. “You kept your promise.”
It takes him a moment to recall what she’s talking about. “So did you.” He’s so thankful she’s alive that it makes him want to believe in the old gods again. Draco bends over and kisses her. There is exhaustion, triumph, and possessiveness in it, and despite everything, Hermione feels as if she never wants it to end.
“Luna!” Ron cries. They break apart, startled, and wheel around. The blonde witch is convulsing, her blue eyes sightless as her limbs thrash wildly. Ron desperately attempts to simultaneously hold her down and keep her head from hitting the stone floor.
They scramble over and try to halt the seizure. Just as Hermione is really starting to panic, Madame Hooch and Flitwick come out of the stairwell, looking for survivors. They manage to bring Luna back to consciousness before telling them all that Voldemort is dead.
* * * * *

A year later, everyone returns to honor the dead and to remember, in a ceremony that leaves few dry eyes, why they fought so hard in the first place. Afterward, people stroll the lawns of Hogwarts, newly repaired like the venerable old castle they surround.
Harry is unable to walk two feet without being accosted. He and Ginny stand arm in arm, speaking with the new Minister. Ron, Luna, and Neville have managed to elude the crowds and slip off to the pavilion where refreshments are being served, taking with them a quiet, somber George. Draco’s parents leave early, and Hermione’s parents are not in attendance, but there was no question of either Hermione or Draco not showing up today. They are, after all, both war heroes.
“I wonder what people like us will do now?” Hermione asks, half to herself, as they walk along the path leading to the castle.
“Get married, have kids, live happily ever after, that sort of thing,” Draco answers smoothly, holding his fiancee’s hand.
She shakes her head. “No. I meant the Room of Forbidden Attachment. It’s gone now.”
Draco looks up at the battlements of Hogwarts, trying to see the place where that particular fifth-level corridor used to be. Now there is only an empty space with a bridge leading from one wall to another, linking the Divination and Astronomy towers. “It’s a shame. I’m sure we weren’t the only ones to have made use of it,” he observes.
“I wish I could know for certain.” Hermione has that look on her face that he knows means she’s about to suggest something he may not want to hear. He sighs.
“Know what?”
“Whether it’s still there or not.” Now she’s walking with more determination, ignoring the crowds around them and heading for the front doors of the castle, which have been thrown open for the visiting parents and guests. He follows her, resigned to the fact that Hermione is still as swotty as ever. The difference between now and the majority of their school days is that he’s madly in love with her, and doesn’t mind her insatiable curiosity and drive to know things.
They enter the castle and start up the closest flight of stairs, looking carefully at the walls, peering behind tapestries, and questioning the residents of various paintings, none of whom seem to know what they’re asking about. They climb more stairs, continue down one hall after another. After an hour of searching, Draco grasps Hermione’s arm, bringing her to a halt, and they sit down on a bench along one wall.
“It’s no use, Granger. The castle is enormous; we’d have to search for weeks. And there’s one other thing.”
“What’s that, Malfoy?” Hermione asks, still convinced they can find what she seeks.
“We’re not forbidden lovers anymore.” Indeed, The Daily Prophet carried their engagement announcement only the week before. Since the capture of most of the remaining Death Eaters, as well as a pointed effort by Draco’s mother to let all of Wizarding society know of her and Lucius’s approval of this turn of affairs, there is no one left to protest their marriage.
“Oh.” Hermione seems to deflate. “Yes, I suppose you’re right – even if the room still exists somewhere else in the castle, we’d probably not be able to find it again.”
They are walking back down the second-level hall that leads to McGonagall’s old Transfiguration classroom when Draco sees it. It takes him a moment to recognize the small wooden door, but as soon as he does, he comes to a halt.
“Draco?” Hermione turns to question him, but he only points. She gasps when she sees it too.
“The question is, can we still open it?” he murmurs, walking over to the door and placing a hand on the latch. Hermione nods at his raised eyebrow, and he tugs hard, expecting it to remain closed. It swings silently open. Inside, the room seems unusually bright.
“Remember the last time we were in here?” Draco whispers, and is pleased to see her blush.
“I remember.” She throws him a sidelong glance. He smirks.
They step inside the room, looking around. Everything is as they recall, except for one thing. On a low table near the long settee (scene of many of their early snogging sessions) lies an object neither of them has ever seen, a crystal globe that glows a soft pink. They come to stand before it, looking down curiously. Hermione reaches out and the glow intensifies at her touch, spreading across the table and pooling on the floor. She steps back as the light rises up to form a column and slowly takes on the shape of a person.
The woman has pale eyes and a vaguely pointed look to her features, but she is very lovely, nonetheless. Her rippling, light hair hangs to her waist and, although the cut of her robes is very old, even antiquated, they can make out the Slytherin crest on the upper part of her sleeve. She smiles at them and opens her mouth to speak.
You who have found this room in desperation, now leave it in happiness. Know that, but for the sake of my true love, this place would not exist. I created it as a mere schoolgirl, and in his memory have I preserved it, until the day comes when love may feel free to show itself among our kind, no matter what face it wears. You hear my voice now because you have found that freedom, regardless of what the world may believe. Go with my blessing.
In barely a blink, Hermione and Draco find themselves standing in the hall again, with only smooth, blank stone where the small door was before. She runs her fingertips over the wall before she turns to him, her dark eyes wide and solemn. “That’s the end, I suppose.”
He nods. “We won’t see that place again.” Draco is surprised to feel a pang of regret about it. Never mind that they have finished their studies at Hogwarts and are going to be wed within a year's time. "But I disagree about it being the end -- for us, anyway.”
“You’re right. It’s not the end,” Hermione sighs happily. Her fingers intertwine with his, and her smile lights up the cool, dim corridor around them. “It’s only the beginning.”
In another part of Hogwarts, inside the dungeon dormitory of Slytherin House, the portrait of the witch the students call the Woman in Black smiles to herself, her grey eyes looking off into the distance, as if searching for a future she herself cannot see.
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