7. Rock and a Hard Place

You could not tell, and yet it looked as ifThe shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,The cliff in being backed by continent;

~ Robert Frost

ooo

Chapter 7 – A Rock and a Hard Place

The next morning, Hermione woke up to hear the waves crashing below her. She'd fallen asleep on the porch and found herself on the large porch swing. She distinctly remembered sitting in one of the chairs. Someone had moved her, given her a pillow, and wrapped her in a warm cloak. She examined the edge of the material covering her and she remembered the night before. It was Malfoy's cloak, and he had put it on her shoulders at some point during their conversation. Harry must have noticed she wasn't in her room, found her, and tucked her in. She snuggled under the cloak and watched the world grow brighter.

Just as she was about to get up, she heard voices. Instinctively, she reached for her wand, but she couldn't tell where the sound was coming from. She stood up just as two people flew up on brooms from beyond the cliff's edge, doing twists and turns, trying to knock the other off. When she looked closely, she saw bright blond hair reflecting the sun and breathed a sigh of relief; it was just Harry and Malfoy. She sent up sparks so they would notice her, which they did. With a final spell, Malfoy hit Harry in the arm, which caused him to sway; he overcorrected and fell off.

"Involito!" Malfoy said, waving his wand and causing Harry to stop falling and float in the air. Then Malfoy directed him to the porch where he soon landed. Harry then Summoned his broom and looked at Hermione sheepishly, embarrassed that Malfoy had managed to best him.

"Hermione, what are you doing out here?" asked Harry, sitting next to her.

"I, um, fell asleep out here last night," she said, trying to hide her surprise and looking at Draco, who refused to meet her gaze. Huh, she thought; Malfoy had taken care of her last night. It was a simple thing, moving her from one place to another, providing the basic requirements of rest. But it was also a very kind thing, ensuring that she had something soft under her head and something covering her to keep her warm. Everything she knew about Draco Malfoy had always been a solid wall, formed from years of antipathy and petty bickering. Nothing had ever threatened it before, yet that simple act caused a single brick to break off from the top of the towering wall and crash in slow-motion to the earth.

"What are you two doing? So early, I might add," She pulled the cloak tight around her.

"Training," said Draco. "Up with the sun. And we're hungry."

"I'll make breakfast," she offered. Draco only shrugged, and they went inside. While Hermione cooked eggs, sausage and flat cakes, Draco spoke.

"Harry is teaching me everything he learned in Auror training, and I am teaching him some of my, uh, special talents."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Like what?"

"Don't panic, Hermione," said Harry, "Nothing too dark. Just Legilimency, Occlumency, Incursus, and random useful spells."

"Harry Potter, what do you need Dark Magic for?"

"Well, for one, to fight the Dark Lord," said Draco with a slight scoff. "He needs to at least know what he's up against, don't you agree? After all, the Dark Lord knows all the tricks Potter can pull. Except that one you used on me," he said, as though he'd just remembered it. "What was that, anyway?"

"Sectumsempra."

"A permanent wound. I still have a bit of a scar, you should know."

"Good. You deserved it! You were going to hit me with the Cruciatus!"

"You beat me that time. You never will again, I assure you." Draco looked at Harry and before taking a gulp of juice said, "Incidentally, where did you learn it?"

"Snape."

Draco nearly choked on his drink. "What?"

Hermione set the plate of sausages on the table and joined the men.

"Well, not directly from him, but it was in his Potions book, which I used in sixth year. It was written with the words, 'for enemies' next to it."

Draco appeared to be rapidly processing something in his mind. "So is that how you were always so adept? Cheating from an old textbook?"

"Yes," said Hermione huffily. "I told him that book was going to get him into trouble. But he refused to be dissuaded."

"Anyway," said Harry, taking a bite of eggs. "That's unimportant now, isn't it Miss I-of-course-never-do-anything-wrong."

She set her jaw and glared at Harry. "You remember what Arthur told us after Ginny was possessed by that journal—never trust anything that can think for itself—"

"Unless you can see where it keeps its brain," Harry finished. "I know. I've told you a million times that you were right about the book!"

"So, are we set to move on then?" asked Draco, slightly entertained but not at all interested in hearing more about this book.

"Yes," grumbled Harry, taking a drink from his juice.

"As I said, we are training," continued Draco, "And we need to talk about your part in all of this. We will continue to train until Harry has learned a few important spells and has mastered the study of the mind, including improving his forays into Occlumency. That is of utmost importance. We need you to work on information."

Hermione looked at the bite she'd put on her fork, but before she ate it, she looked at Harry. "What if I want to train too?"

Draco spat out his orange juice. "What!?" he said, looking at Hermione as though she'd asked if she could fly to the moon and bring back some cheese.

"Repurgo," said Hermione absently, aiming at the mess. "You heard me."

Draco shook his head. This was not something he had planned for. He had expected Hermione to accept her role as he had written it, with perhaps a disagreement here and there, but overall to comply nicely. It must have been the fact that he hadn't really been around her in years that caused him to forget her absolutely stubborn and unyielding traits, not to mention the one that seemed to get her into all kinds of trouble with Potter and Weasley—determination.

"Potter, talk to her," said Draco, deciding that he was out of his league when it came to dealing with her. Harry had years of experience and would be able to smooth this away far more efficiently than he could. He would probably only antagonize her more, unable to resist prodding her and picking at her to get a reaction.

"Hermione," started Harry.

She turned to him and raised an eye, as if to say, this better be good.

"Hermione, we need you on the other end."

"Doing what?"

"Research. Formulating a plan."

"Research?" she said, a bit of disgust lacing the word. "Code for boring."

Draco gaped at her. "I thought you enjoyed research, Granger; thought you liked the library so much you would almost prefer to live in it!"

She regarded him coolly. "Well, I do like research, and I do like the library, and books, and I'm all for helping out, but it's boring compared to what you two get to do. Harry can tell you, I practiced spells just as readily as I studied from books. I don't want to be left out of learning useful spells and tactics, I want to be able to fight too. I do research all day at my job; I didn't leave it to come here with you so I could sit on the sidelines!"

"The what?" asked Draco.

"Nevermind—Muggle phrase."

"Hermione, it can be temporary," said Harry, reassuringly. He didn't want to incur her anger any more than necessary. "Two, three weeks, to get everything you can, then you can quit. We need someone who can freely walk around London and the Ministry. As of Monday, I will officially be labeled 'missing,' and Malfoy can't exactly walk into the Ministry and ask for a file. We need you to keep a presence in London. After you quit the Ministry, you could get a job you like, maybe work at Flourish and Blotts, or Fred and George's shop." Harry hoped he would be able to distract Hermione's anger and turn it onto something she liked—books and the Weasley twins.

She huffed. "I will not work for them."

"Why not?" asked Harry.

"Can you imagine? They would probably torture me endlessly. Besides, they only hire impossibly beautiful witches to work with them, haven't you noticed?"

Draco choked again and decided he'd had enough orange juice for the day. He set the glass on the table roughly, and both Harry and Hermione looked at him; Harry had an amused expression on his face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," snapped Draco.

Harry turned back to Hermione. "Yes, actually, I have. Ron rather enjoys stopping in whenever we're in Diagon Alley." He chuckled at his memory of their last visit. "Okay, you don't have to work for them. The idea is to find an easy job with flexible hours. Then you could spend time here, and, well, maybe learn a few things…" he trailed off, looking to Draco for some kind of confirmation.

Draco had been studying Hermione since her comment about the sort of witch the Weasleys hired. Did she really not know? He wondered that apparently her friends had never told her that she wasn't at all… unpleasant to look at. His thoughts snapped back to the present when he heard Harry offer Hermione a chance to participate in their training.

"That wasn't part of the agreement," said Draco, warningly.

"Why can't I learn too?" she asked, nearing a pout.

"We don't have time," he said brusquely.

"Harry can teach me what you teach him; it doesn't have to inconvenience you at all."

"No!" said Draco, banging his fist on the table in impatience. He looked at her with anger swirling in his stormy grey eyes.

Hermione refused to back down, however. "And why not?" she asked defiantly.

Draco spoke very clearly and slowly so she would understand every inflection perfectly. "Harry has chosen this course of action to achieve an end," he said, trying to control his voice to restrain the anger that was threatening to spill into his tone. "He and I will work together to accomplish that end."

"Well, it sounds like you don't really want my help then," she said, rising; then she stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs to her room. Harry jumped when he heard a door slam.

Draco slowly let out his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Is she always so stubborn and impossible?"

Harry only smiled. "Yes. It's part of what makes her special."

"You mean infuriating."

"Sometimes," he said pleasantly. "But it's also what makes her Hermione, who happens to be the best and most loyal friend anyone could ever ask for. And besides, everyone needs a little spice in their lives, even you. I can only imagine how dull your life was before she entered it, and now it's sure to be much more lively—and loud—than it was."

Draco scoffed. "I don't need a lively life, and I certainly don't want a loud one. I was quite fine before, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, that's why you came to me with your offer, because you were so happy with your life." He knew he'd crossed a line just a moment too late. Draco's eyes flashed before becoming dark and solid, impenetrable and unreadable. "I'll go talk to her, try to get her to understand our position." Harry started to stand, but Draco stopped him.

"No, I can't have you running to fix things whenever she and I butt heads. Which is probably going to be a common occurrence. I will handle this."

Draco walked upstairs, mentally steeling himself for the row he was about to go through. When he reached the second floor, Hermione came out of her room, nearly running into him.

"Watch it, Granger," he said, stepping away from her to avoid colliding. "Where are you going?"

She glared at him. "I'm not leaving, if that's what you're thinking."

Draco regarded her with curiosity. He was surprised to see she hadn't been crying at all. He assumed girls always cried when they were upset. He was also surprised she wasn't at least threatening to leave in order to get what she wanted. His experience with girls taught him that they were born with the gift of manipulation which they used whenever necessary.

"Why not?" he asked, as though he didn't really care. Inside, however, he was really quite curious.

She looked away from him, down the stairs. "Because. You were right," she said, barely audibly.

Draco blinked and had to resist the urge to perform a cleaning charm on his ears. Instead he merely raised an eyebrow, in a subtle sign of incredulity.

She scowled. "Oh, shut your mouth, you'll catch bugs. And don't look at me like I'm from outer space. I can admit when I'm wrong, you know." She crossed her arms over her chest as if to challenge him to argue.

He tried not to focus on the overwhelming desire he had to find out what 'outer space' was. Instead he focused on the impossibility that had just occurred. Or was it an improbability?

"But—you can?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, ferret face. I can. Just because it doesn't happen often doesn't make it impossible."

Ah, so it had been an improbability after all.

"Anyway, as I said, you were right. You and Harry need to concentrate on your work. I will do my part as I'm asked. But Malfoy, I can fight, if it comes to it, and you would not be sorry to have me by your side."

"I don't doubt it, Granger," he said, grateful they weren't going to argue and fight and scream, as he'd been preparing himself to do. "I highly esteem your abilities, and know that you are a very capable Auror. It is my hope that your abilities, great as they are, will not be needed. May we return to Harry and discuss your part in this plan?"

She nodded, then started to turn down the hallway, when she stopped and turned around to him. "Oh, here," she said, handing him the cloak he'd used to cover her the night before. He avoided looking her in the eye and held out a hand to take it. When he did, their fingers brushed, sending an energy surge up Hermione's arm emanating from the point of their contact. She pulled back as though shocked, looking at him in surprise. However, he appeared to have felt nothing as he simply nodded and turned toward his room. Hermione stood for a moment watching him walk down the hallway, then shook her head dazedly and descended the stairs.

Draco had indeed felt the surge of energy pass between them, but he didn't want her to see the shock he felt. He didn't understand what had happened; he'd never felt anything like it and wondered what it meant. He deposited the cloak on the bed and paused to relive the moment. Their fingers merely brushed, but the jolt was overpowering and strong. He frowned, digging through his mind for some possible explanation of what had happened. When nothing logical surfaced, he shook his head to clear his thoughts and left his room.

Harry and Hermione were talking pleasantly when he re-entered the kitchen. He collected the dishes from the table and put them in the sink.

Harry took it as a cue that it was okay to continue their conversation. "So, where were we? Oh yes. We will train here. There is a ledge about a third of the way down the cliff large enough for a proper duel. When you don't find us here, in the house, that is the most likely place we would be, should you need us."

"As I'm sure you already know," said Draco, "This house is protected under the Fidelius Charm. Should anyone chance to venture this far from civilization, they would see nothing but an empty field. It would not do to be seen while dueling."

"The Fidelius Charm? How?"

"I am the Secret-Keeper."

"For your own house?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?"

He sighed as though she were a two-year old asking questions about why the sky was blue. "That is not important right now, Granger."

She looked at him for a moment, then turned to Harry and said, "Okay, what about me?"

Harry took a deep breath before continuing. "You have a very important task."

Hermione looked at him, anxious to know what part she would play. "Well?" she said after a moment of silence from her friend.

"Your task is a clean-up plan." She frowned, not understanding. "Once Voldemort is dead, the Ministry is going to have the huge job of rounding up all of Malfoy's mates."

Draco looked up at Harry from the dishes, mildly amused at his choice of words.

"The Death Eaters," said Hermione.

"Yes. We want you to come up with a plan for the Ministry to handle that task."

She nodded, thinking of the list of names Malfoy had given them; it would be an enormous job.

As if he'd read her mind, Draco spoke. "And that list I gave you is not comprehensive. That was all I could discover." He sat down with them after finishing the dishes.

"Hermione, you can do whatever you like about the job," said Harry, trying again to remind her that there were good things involved with this plan.

"Oh, Granger. There is one part of this task that I think you might enjoy, which is also highly important—trying to predict what each Death Eater will do once the Dark Lord is dead. Some will run, some will fight, and some will turn themselves in claiming the Imperius Curse. Like my father, for example."

"As if anyone would believe that," said Hermione before she could think. When she realized what she'd said, her eyes widened and she braced herself for Draco's outburst, but it never came.

He just gave her an odd look and continued. "Or my mother, who never actually took the Mark. She could claim that my father controlled her, which isn't actually all that much of a lie."

"Your mother isn't a Death Eater?" said Hermione.

"For all intents and purposes, she is, through association. She never took the Mark of a follower because she married Lucius and he took it. The wife of a Death Eater has no rights or say in anything; she must follow her husband as he follows the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella was something of an exception, but she had shown a proclivity for the Dark Arts, pain, torture, and the like from a young age. The Dark Lord does not accept many female followers. However, my mother would certainly deserve Azkaban, though I don't think she's actually taken a life."

Hermione flinched at his casual comment about murder. She was suddenly and forcefully reminded that this man had killed her parents. She'd been so caught up in the whirlwind of what was happening that she let herself forget—about her parents, about that night when she'd found them, about what a monster the man sitting opposite her really was. How could she have been so thoughtless, so irrational, so blind? She looked at Harry, suddenly very afraid, and not just of Malfoy—of herself.

Harry frowned. "What, Hermione? Are you alright?"

She nodded, but Draco noticed her hands were shaking.

"Hey," said Harry, taking her hand and trying to soothe her fears, whatever they were. "You're okay, all right? I'm here; no one will harm you. I will protect you."

She nodded again, trying to calm herself. Get a grip, she told herself. She couldn't let him see her weak; he couldn't know how easy it was to hurt her because he would only rub salt in the wound, pushing it in further with the tip of his wand until the pain became unbearable.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a brave voice.

During this exchange, Draco thought about what could have happened to cause Hermione to turn pale as a ghost and appear to have possibly seen one. He had just finished talking about his mother—that she hadn't killed anyone. But he hadn't said killed, he'd used fluffy words instead. Was that it? The day before, on the plain outside the house, he'd claimed forty-seven deaths; she'd corrected him to say murders. Maybe that was it? No, it couldn't be; surely that wasn't enough to elicit such a dramatic response from her. He closed his eyes tightly as he realized what it must be—her parents. She'd suddenly remembered them and his part in it, and he wished he could go back and erase what he'd said. He had not meant to cause her pain and regretted that his words had done just that.

"I'm fine," repeated Hermione, sounding more sure of herself than before. "It sounds like I would be better off keeping my job at the Ministry. I can keep tabs on the Death Eaters more effectively, since it is my job, after all, to hunt them down. In addition, it will help me get to know my fellow Aurors more, so I can see who would be best to go after them once it comes to it."

Draco smiled at her. "I knew I picked you for a reason, Granger. It's that brain of yours."

Hermione tried not to reach across the table and wring his throat. Working with Malfoy was going to be much more difficult than she imagined, now that she could say once again that she wished he were dead. Or dying. Or rotting from the inside out. She grinned a little at the thought.

Then she sighed a little wistfully. "I did like the idea of working at Flourish and Blotts. Okay, what now?"

Harry spoke. "Next is where you live. It's up to you; you can stay here, or live in London, or anywhere you want, really."

Hermione hadn't thought about where she would live; she had assumed she would stay there, on the edge of the cliff. The fact that she had an option made her frown. "Oh."

"It's up to you," said Harry, not wanting to pressure her to make a specific decision.

"Can I think about it?" she asked.

"Of course," said Harry.

"I'll have a decision for you tonight," she said, looking at Harry. She refused to look at Malfoy any more than she had to. He and Harry stood.

"We'll be training today then. Thanks for breakfast, Hermione," said Harry. The men left.

Hermione spent most of the day thinking about two things: Draco Malfoy and where she should live.

She sat on her bed for the entire morning while thinking about him. Malfoy had killed her parents, and yet here she was, sitting in his house, eating his food, breathing his precious pureblood air. How could she possibly live in the same house with him? She felt certain she would be sorely tempted to hex him nearly every moment they interacted, not just for her parents but for every time he had ever called her a Mudblood.

She frowned as she realized something. He hadn't called her that once since he resurfaced in their lives. Why not? He'd had plenty of chances; maybe it was part of the agreement he made with Harry. Only something very serious could be the explanation for his lack of using his favorite word for her. That must be it, she decided.

That strange observation aside, wouldn't it be dishonoring her parents' memory to live in Malfoy's house? She tried to think about what they might want, but whenever she did, it only made her feel like crying. She didn't know what they would do because they weren't there for her to ask—because he'd killed them. How could she possibly think about this clearly?

"No, Hermione," she scolded herself, "think; what would your parents want you to do?"

She Summoned a piece of parchment, a quill and an ink bottle and started a list of things she thought might help her in this decision. The most important thing, she decided, was that she would be helping Harry and incidentally him defeat Voldemort, which would help the entire world, not just the magical world. And if Harry believed that Malfoy had something that would help him defeat Voldemort, and she trusted Harry with her life, then she had to trust that Malfoy did indeed have something that would help. She wanted to be there for Harry, and with Harry, as much as he would allow; they were friends after all. Since Malfoy seemed to be the key, or to at least have the key, that meant putting up with him.

The weight of what it would mean for Voldemort to be defeated hit her. Freedom for all wizards, witches, and Muggles, from him and from fear and from everything that had reigned since his return six years prior.

Her parents would have stood behind her decision to make the world a better place, even if it meant she had to work with their killer. She just knew this about her parents, because they were good people who had taught her to do the right thing and to think about the big picture. Many lives were at stake in the war, and many lives could be saved through what Harry and Malfoy were doing. Those lives were more important, in the end, than her own. She had already accepted that she might die for the war, and this opportunity merely meant being in an unpleasant situation—for an indefinite amount of time. Still, much good could come from it. She would have to sacrifice her happiness and peace temporarily for the good of all the people who would be saved by an end to the war.

Hermione smiled as she felt a peace settle on her heart at this decision. With that dilemma solved, she found she was hungry and made her way to the kitchen to make a sandwich for lunch. She didn't want to see Harry and Draco, so she took it to her room to eat. After she had finished, she heard the sounds of them coming inside and finding lunch.

She read for a little while before turning to that other task—deciding where to live. Hermione Summoned two more pieces of parchment. On one, she wrote "London: pros and cons", and on the other, she wrote "Malfoy: pros and cons." For the next two hours, she filled in the lists with all of the good and bad things she could think of for both places.

When she had finished, she settled back to look over her lists. In London, she would be in her own flat, with all her own things, near to her friends and her job, and to the Wizarding world in general. She would be free to come and go as she pleased, to do whatever she wanted. But she would be away from Harry, and it would be more difficult to be in touch with everything that went on here.

On the other hand, living in Malfoy's house would be a sore trial. She had strong feelings where he was concerned. She had hated him for many months after the murder of her parents. And she was pretty sure he still hated her. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to live with someone you hated. She imagined untold numbers of arguments, smirks, looks of disgust, and references to her blood (just because he hadn't mentioned it, didn't mean he never would). And it was his house, meaning she would be expected to follow his rules, if the subject ever came up. What if he treated her like a slave, or worse, a house elf, since she was of such 'inferior' position? What if he wanted her there for the added bonus of housekeeper? She would outright refuse such a position.

Her list of cons for living with Malfoy was longer than for London, while the list of pros was shorter. She would be close to Harry and therefore would know what was happening with him. But that also meant she would be close to Malfoy, another con.

By dinner, she still had not come to a conclusion. She picked through the cabinets to collect a makeshift meal, then returned to her room to eat alone. Again she heard them rummaging for food, and this time they did not leave once they'd eaten. She could hear the muffled sound of conversation, and it only distracted her. She cast a Silencing charm around her room and smiled at the quiet that followed.

After another hour of poring over the lists, adding to them and changing them, she sighed heavily. There was a battle going on inside her of logic versus emotion. Usually, logic won easily, but this time she was pulled strongly in the other direction. But logic was quite useful and had never steered her wrong before, whereas following her heart, her emotions, had. She thought of fifth year, when she let Harry convince her that they needed to go to the Ministry to save Sirius.

Her heart was pulling strongly this time, much more strongly than it ever had. It was telling her that this was important, that what they were doing was important, that it needed tending. With another heavy sigh, Hermione put away her lists and went to find Harry. He and Malfoy were in the sitting room, talking seriously in low tones. When they saw her, they hushed.

"Harry, can I talk to you?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," he said, standing. They walked out onto the porch where Hermione sat in the chair she'd fallen asleep in the night before. Harry sat in the other chair. There was a storm brewing over the sea. The wind was colder than it had been the previous night, and she could see lightning flashing in the distance.

"Well," she started, "Everything I've thought about, all the angles, all logical thoughts point to London," she said, not taking her eyes off the storm. It seemed to be calling to her, pleading with her. Whenever the lightning flashed, she could see the waves leaping toward the clouds and the water rolling like a boiling potion.

"Okay, I understand," said Harry. She could tell he was trying to hide his disappointment.

Then she turned to look at him. "But Harry, the truth is, I just don't want to live there. I want to stay here, with you, where the action is." She turned back to the raging storm. "Despite the fact that this is his house… I love it here."

"Hermione, I just want what's best for you."

"I know." She was quiet for a minute. "I could sit here all day and all night and never get tired of looking at it. The water out there. It took a little piece of me last night. I haven't felt this calm since before—" she paused and swallowed the lump in her throat. " – in a long time. And even though it's here, where he is, I think that's okay. The sea is so alive. It's like the world is breathing with every ebb and flow of the water. Its depths are unending, its voice unrelenting. You could drown in its deeps or be saved by its call. Yet it can kill you without pause, with a single glance."

Harry said nothing for a while. "So you love it here? Already?"

"Oh, yes. I've never spent much time by the water, but this sea has enchanted me, Harry."

"It's incredible." Then Harry groaned. "Oh, Hermione, I promised Ginny I would owl her when I left to let her know I was okay. Do you mind if I go write to her now?"

"No, of course not, go."

"So you've made your decision, then? You'll stay here?"

She nodded and looked up to smile at him. "Now, go write to your wife." He took off without further encouragement. Hermione smiled at the storm and at the thought that Harry and Ginny were married. Then she shivered in the cold wind.

After a few minutes, the door opened again. She was about to ask Harry more about his life with Ginny, but she felt the warmth of something soft being placed around her shoulders, and she sat forward to allow Draco to put his cloak around her again, letting it fall between her back and the chair. Hermione then took hold of it and pulled it around her completely.

He sat down where Harry had been. "So how's the weather today?" he asked, looking at the storm.

She chuckled. "Is this an attempt at a conversation?" He didn't speak for a few minutes. "Clear blue skies, and ten percent chance of precipitation," she finally responded, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Good mood, then?" he asked.

She nodded. "I absolutely love it here."

Again Draco was silent for a few minutes. She didn't seem to take much note of him, but inside his nerves were churning. He'd come outside to say something to her, to tell her something he'd been wanting to say for a long time. He knew she wouldn't understand, would probably be angry, and there was a slight possibility she would curse him for it. But he had to say it anyway, no matter how she would react. When he'd finally calmed his nerves enough to speak, he spoke, barely audible over the pproaching storm.

"Would it matter if I told you I was sorry?"

Hermione froze. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Unbidden, tears came to her eyes and she let them fall, unashamed. She couldn't answer him—there was nothing to say. They were gone, and he couldn't bring them back, not with an apology, not with all the magic in the world. What did it matter that he was sorry, what possible good would that do? She felt numb. She had decided just a few hours before to put aside her feelings of anger and hate for this man in order to help Harry accomplish an important task, but here he had to go and say that. How dare he speak of her parents, to her?

Draco watched her cry. She didn't even bother to wipe her tears. He wished he could say he felt nothing at seeing her cry, but it wasn't true, not even close. He watched as she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on them, never taking her eyes off the sea and the storm. After what felt like an eternity, he realized she wasn't going to say anything to him.

He sighed and stood. "Don't sleep out here again. It's going to rain." Then he went inside. She made no move to indicate she'd heard him, and it wasn't until a full twenty minutes had passed that she responded.

"What do you care?"

Just before going to bed, Draco checked the porch. Hermione was still there, in the same position he had left her. He went to Harry's door and knocked.

"Potter. Hermione's outside and it's going to rain."

"Okay, thanks; I'll go get her."

Draco returned to his room and waited until he heard Harry leave his room, go down the stairs, open and close the back porch door, then open and close it again. Only when he heard two sets of footsteps ascend the stairs, followed by two doors closing, did he put out his light and go to sleep.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Here's the full poem referenced at the beginning that inspired me during this chapter.

Once By The OceanRobert Frost

The shattered water made a misty din.Great waves looked over others coming in,And thought of doing something to the shoreThat water never did to land before.The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.You could not tell, and yet it looked as ifThe shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,The cliff in being backed by continent;It looked as if a night of dark intentWas coming, and not only a night, an age.Someone had better be prepared for rage.There would be more than ocean-water brokenBefore God's last Put out the light was spoken.