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A Safe Place	By : littleminx Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 1764 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter world, it all belongs to the wonderful JK Rowling. I do not make money off of these stories.

Chapter List
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Near Bristol

Draco Apparated onto the front porch of the safe house with an audible pop and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. He could feel the weariness like a heavy cloak, weighing him down until his shoulders stooped and his normally proud demeanor disappeared entirely. He was just too bloody tired to keep up appearances. With a sigh, he heaved his pack over his shoulder and let himself through the front door.

The sound of voices wafted out from the parlor area to his right as he made his way through the entry hall. As he entered the room, he was hailed by some he knew and blatantly stared at by the rest. Their awe at seeing him in person was palpable and Malfoy experienced a pang of self-consciousness. Despite his bravado, he was never entirely comfortable with his celebrity status as one of the toughest warriors the Order employed.

Except now, as he had heard over and over again at the recent safe-houses and even in the field, his position as the Death Eater's Public Enemy Number One was being unceremoniously usurped. And by Hermione Granger, no less. He had listened, slightly disbelieving at first, to tales told over glasses of firewhisky of her ruthlessness in battle. The years of constant warfare, it seemed, had molded the Gryffindor Princess into a regular Boadicea of the Wizarding World.

He had seen her, from time to time, at the safe-houses. Something had changed, he had to admit. There was a coldness to her that hadn't been there before. She still smiled and laughed with her friends, but from a slight distance. The warmth in her brown eyes had vanished and Draco was terribly afraid of the numbness that seemed to have taken its place.

As the night wore on, Draco drank the firewhisky offered to him and laughed at the jokes being bandied about. Card games and impromptu sing-alongs broke out sporadically and there was a general feeling of hectic gaiety permeating the room. It was the same at every safe-house. The younger members of this war snatched laughter and held it to their breasts, refusing to let it go. Even though the world was slowly prying away their fingers, one by one.

--

The sound of the front door slamming shut roused a few of the remaining revelers from their slightly drunken stupor. Draco levered his head around to glance through the door and saw a small group setting down their packs in the entryway.

"Finnegan! Weasley! Granger!" a florid faced young man to Draco's left called out. "Get in here and help us finish this bottle!"

Draco grimaced a sour greeting to the Gryffindor men as they made their way into the room, shaking hands and nodding heads at the bleary eyed occupants.

"Bloody hell, Jones! There's not much left," Seamus said. "Good thing we brought our own!"

With a flourish, both men brought out bottles from beneath their cloaks to a ragged cry of approval from Draco's drinking partners. Draco himself ignored them, his eyes trained intently on the figure still standing at the entrance to the room. Hermione leaned against the doorjamb, her face blank and her arms crossed tightly against her chest. She smiled slightly at her friends obvious pleasure at being somewhere warm and friendly and devoid of curses shooting from the shadows.

"Hermione! Come join us," Weasley said, holding his arm out in invitation.

"No, no, Ron. I think I'll just go find my room and pass out, if you don't mind. I'm exhausted."

Ron frowned slightly as she turned away, his forehead wrinkling in worry. His mouth opened as if he meant to argue, but it snapped shut almost immediately.

"Here now, Ron, stop hogging the bottle," Seamus said, snatching the bottle of firewhisky from Weasley's hand. Ron shook himself slightly and turned back towards the others. As he did, his eyes fell upon Draco.

"Hullo Malfoy, haven't seen you in a bit. Still dazzling everyone with your charm and wit?"

"Greetings, oh impoverished one. I see you are still blessed with that fine head of hair," Draco said, grinning slightly at the familiar banter. He still detested the little weasel, but they had learned long ago that they could work together surprisingly well when a Death Eater was pointing his wand their way. The fact that Draco had saved Potter's life a time or two also didn't hurt. They would never be friends, but at least they weren't trying to hex each other's backsides off.

"Speaking of fine heads of hair, what's all this I've been hearing about Granger lately? If the stories are to be believed, she's turned into a regular Angel of Death these days," Draco said, his eyebrows arching. Weasley grimaced and took a large drink from his glass. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he sighed.

"Nah, not of Death. Hermione's still too noble to kill unless she absolutely has to. But she's...different. Tougher."

"She's bloody brilliant," Seamus said. "She uses spells in ways I've never seen. Like Ron said, she doesn't kill unless she has to, but the way she beats them down and then trusses them up like a Christmas present to the Ministry without a 'by your leave' is stunning."

Ron nodded, his eyes trained on the door where Hermione had been moments earlier. For a moment he looked incredibly grieved, a fleeting look of loss passing imperceptibly over his face. But then it was gone and he brought his glass back to his lips, tossed it back as he drained it. His eyes met Draco's and he grimaced.

"Yeah, bloody brilliant. But she's changed. Hell, we've all changed. But Hermione - sometimes I don't recognize her anymore."

Ron turned back towards Seamus and the others, and Draco sat silently as their conversation turned to Quidditch. He mulled over what Weasley had said, turning the words over and over in his mind. He wondered why the thought of Weasley not recognizing Granger was one of the most terrifying things he'd heard in a long time.

--

Draco was coming out of the bathroom when he heard the screaming. At first, his instincts kicked in and his wand was in his hand as he scanned the darkened hallway. He prowled towards the stairwell, every nerve quivering with anticipation. But as he neared the door he knew to be Granger's, it became apparent that the screams were coming from behind it.

Of course. He sighed, pocketing his wand. Granger's nightmares. They were almost as infamous as her deeds on the battlefield. Everyone who had ever been billeted with her in the past few years knew she suffered from them nightly, and nothing short of insomnia remedied them. Well, so everyone thought. Draco might know better, but he pushed that thought down before it could engulf him.

He stood there, staring at the door. When had he moved towards it? He was standing right outside it, so close that he could see the grain of the wood. On the other side, he could hear Granger whimpering. The sound hit him in the gut, taking him back to that night. Her writhing form on the couch, the way she clung to him, the feel of her stretched out beside him - no! Merlin, no, he couldn't think about that.

She shrieked again, a sound so full of terror that Draco's breath hitched. Every physical part of him was screaming to go to her, but his brain was screaming right back that it was quite possibly the worst idea he'd ever had. She hated him! She wouldn't welcome him again; she would hex him into next week if he so much as thought about opening that door. And, he had to admit, he was terrified of her. Of what she did to him.

Draco Malfoy stood outside Hermione Granger's room and listened to every scream and sob she made. He stood outside her room and let each noise grate over him until he was shaking with the effort to keep his hand from reaching towards the doorknob. He leaned forwards, resting his forehead against the rough wood of the door. As he heard Hermione groan with fear, as he heard another round of sobbing tear from her throat, he pressed his palm flat against the door. He stood there all the rest of the night, until the sun began to slant in through the windows and until he heard Hermione jolt awake with a gasp. As the silence washed over him like a cooling balm, he pushed himself away from the door and walked away.

--

Windlesham, Surrey

Draco sat at the kitchen table and stared into space. The silence of the safe-house was oppressive. It was a rarity to be billeted somewhere alone - it had only happened to him a handful of times over the course of the war, and each one had been a horrible experience. Safe-houses were supposed to ring with laughter and the smell of food and alcohol. Even if he wasn't partaking in the forced gaiety the fact that it was there helped ease him. The fact that he couldescape, even if it was for a tiny moment.

But here he was, alone, in this rambling pile. He glared morosely at the bottle of firewhisky that sat in front of him. He really should eat something before he started drinking in earnest, but he couldn't be bothered. The best way to deal with this situation was to get blindingly, mindlessly drunk. And then pass out. Maybe someone would arrive in the morning or while he was asleep. Merlin, he would even take Potter and Weasley's company over this.

He was pouring himself another drink when a sound from the front of the house made him freeze. The front door opening, shutting. Thank the Founders! Draco jumped from his seat, smiling, as he rounded the table and made for the door that led into the main part of the house. Stopping for a moment to school his features (it wouldn't do to let whoever had arrived to see him so excited for company) he made his way towards the front. But as he moved through the rooms, the darkness and the silence made him slow until he paused in the shadow of the parlor door. He hadn't heard anything after the sound of the door shutting. No footsteps on the tiles of the entryway, no pack hitting the ground. No voices. Nothing.

With a growing sense of unease, Draco slipped his wand from his pocket and crept forwards. None of the lights had been flipped on and the parlor was in darkness. The entryway was all shadows - he could see parts of it through the parlor door. Light from the streetlamp outside made dim patches on the tiles. He moved forwards silently.

A small noise made him halt against the parlor wall. There it was again - a slight movement, fabric whispering against fabric. He waited, his heart hammering in his chest and his wand clenched in his fist. A low moan of pain broke through the overwhelming silence and made Draco stiffen. Someone was hurt. He moved towards the doorway, his wand out and trained ahead of him.

The entryway was a patchwork of light and dark. The looming front door was covered in darkness, but he could make out a figure hunched against it on the tiles. He pointed his wand towards it.

"Who are you?"

When the figure didn't respond, Draco moved closer.

"Identify yourself!"

When there was still no response, Draco sighed, sending up a quick wish that he wasn't being foolhardy before dropping to the ground beside the figure. He could smell the faint, metallic scent of blood. He reached out - and touched a mass of hair. His heart flipped. At the contact, the figure shifted and let out a shrill whimper of pain before falling sideways onto the tile.

Draco felt the panic rising in his throat, felt it clawing at his insides, as he looked down at the face which had landed in one of the dim patches of light. Dirty and bruised, Hermione Granger lay unconscious before him. Draco reached for her, his hand trembling, and froze as he noticed the crimson stain as it slowly spread out across the tiles.
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A Safe Place