Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything to do with Harry Potter. Not even a house elf. Life is hard.

Hey guys,
Long time no write, I know, but I had this in my head so I figured, I might as well. It's really REALLY different from 'Eye to Eye' (which I've no updated in like, years, I know, I have some ideas though). I'm not really sure how it turned out. Hopefully you guys will like it, be warned though it does deal with some depressing stuff.
Please Review!
Thanks (:

She first hears the rumours whilst eating breakfast. Bland oatmeal, an apple on the side. Two cups of shitty coffee.

Draco Malfoy has been captured.

Surely not?

Said rumours are confirmed an hour later when Lupin calls her to his office. He's become the head of the Order ever since Moody died and Kingsley had to bow out. Or rather was forced out by the extensive use of the Cruciatus curse, courtesy of Yaxley. He was currently residing merrily at St. Mungo's with the Longbottoms.

"As you may have heard, Hermione, Draco Malfoy was captured by Potter and your husband during last night's raid."

Considering Malfoy is Voldemort's favourite death eater, she should probably be happy about this.

"Right now, he has somewhat… extensive injuries. We need you to keep him alive so that we can question him properly. Normally, we'd ask Molly to do this but you see how that may pose a problem in this case."

Hermione could see how that would be a problem. After the humiliating failure on top of the Astronomy Tower, followed quickly by the death of his father, Draco Malfoy had set out to prove himself in such a way which could only really be interpreted as over compensating for his 'cowardly' behaviour that night. In the first year after Dumbledore had died, Malfoy had killed Parvati, Padma, Justin, Colin, Cho, Seamus and Percy Weasley… undoubtedly there were dozens more that she had not known. In the three years that followed, Draco had risen quickly and confidently through the death eater ranks, propped up by the bodies of his old school mates and their families. Sometime Hermione found a sick sense of amusement in the fact that they were barely twenty one.

So that was that. It wasn't as if she was going to refuse an offer to do something. Ever since her marriage to Ron she had been confined to different Grimmauld Place. It was commonly agreed that if anything happened to Hermione, he would go crazy with the grief and be useless to their side. Really, it was for the best if she just stayed at home, did the research, healed those who needed it and patiently wait for her husband in case he could make it home that night.

Not that she is bitter about any of this, of course.

Malfoy is in a coma-like sleep when she first enters his bare room in the cellars of the old house. Much less dangerous than when she had last seen him on the battlefield two years ago, where he had the honour of administering her with her first taste of Sectumsempra, which happily coincided with it being her first mission as a married woman and the last mission she had been allowed to participate in. That was two years ago. Her hand rises almost automatically to the scar running from just above her right eyebrow to just underneath that ear. She treasures it. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for disfiguring my face. There is no sarcastic edge to her thoughts.

His injuries, she could see, were indeed extensive. A broken arm, his face marred with countless bruises, nose wrecked, his chest in tatters, a fairly impressive gash running from one of his thighs solidly down to his shins. Maybe some crushed fingers.

Good.

But she heals him anyway. Well, mostly. His face is fixed, as are his chest and fingers. His leg will probably take longer.

Ron comes home that night, for the first night in a week.

She's thrilled to see him, of course. Thrilled that he and Harry have survived another outing, and feels warm and fuzzy and numb as he puts his arm protectively around her whilst they report back on what's happened. Who they've killed.

Hermione reports that her research has not revealed anything new, in the most optimistic way possible.

Later, Ron takes her up their own room, a privilege considering the scarce number of safe houses. But being best friends of the Chosen One does have it perks.

Hand in hand, they lie on the bed fully dressed. He brings her fingers to his mouth. Kisses them one by one and quietly whispers 'Hermione Weasley', a ritual started at her sickbed two years ago and repeated every time the reunite.

Which she hates most of all. He had insisted that she change her name, that it was 'proper'. She had agreed, but only to make him happy. She liked 'Granger'. It was her name. She had lost so many things in the war. Friends, family, happiness, freedom, it seemed almost silly to think of the loss of her name as another sacrifice. Her identity.

Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age.

She loved Ron, she still does, and that is why it is only resentment she feels when she thinks about how he has rendered her useless to a cause which is essentially more hers than his, and not hatred. He adores her.

So she reaches over and lifts the shirt from his head, followed by her own. The rest of their clothes are quickly disposed in a similar fashion, somewhere in between kisses and 'I love you's. Ron quickly thrusts into her. Dear, sweet Ron who she has loved since she was fifteen. They make love almost urgently at first, slowing down to a loving rhythm before picking it up again. He comes, she doesn't.

But she sleeps contently in his arms anyway, because you take whatever pleasure you're given.

Malfoy wakes up two days later, just as she is about to leave any way.

Groggy at first, he sees her and nearly jumps out of the bed. Obviously, this causes his leg to start bleeding again, dying the new bandages a pure, bright crimson. Pure.

What this stupid war is about. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Never the less, the shock on his face is almost comical.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?"

"Honestly Malfoy, if you think this is your room, Malfoy Manor must have gone a bit downhill since my last visit. You've been captured. Congratulations."

She watches him turn pale with fear, and then with fury.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS ROOM!"

Which is pretty much the only request he's ever made to which she'll happily oblige.

She has to return a couple of hours later. That bandage definitely needs changing again and hopefully he'll have calmed down by then. He may be injured, but he's also 6'1 in comparison to her 5'4.

Predictably, he's sat on the bed sulking. He watches her come in. She hates how nervous he is making her feel.

"I need to change your bandages again."

"Will I die if you don't?"

"No, sadly, but your leg may have to be amputated if it becomes infected."

This is obviously not the answer he was looking for. He glowers at her but doesn't object when she starts unfurling the white cloth from his leg, not even flinching as he coolly observes his mauled leg.

They don't say a word for another ten minutes as she quickly and efficiently works her way around his body, making sure things are healing properly.

She doesn't expect the hot touch of his hand on her own scar, and flinches away from it.

"Is that the one I gave to you?" Almost a whisper.

She looks him straight in the eye.

"Yes." Because there's really not much else to say.

And leaves.

The next day, his leg is worse. The lotion she has been applying to stave off infection isn't working in the slightest.

Exasperated, she asks him how he got this injury. If it was by magical means, that's going to cause another host of problems.

"I don't remember."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you thick? It means I don't remember you mudblood bint."

"How can you not remember? Was it magical or purely physical?"

"I don't know. All I recall is getting ambushed by your fuck-buddies and someone stunning me. Next thing I know, I wake up in this shit hole with your filthy self in my presence and feeling like I've just been mowed down by a bunch of centaurs. Obviously, whatever they did happened whilst I was out, the fucking cowards."

"They are not cowards! And Ron and Harry would never injure anyone the way that you were done without them being able to protect themselves. They are honourable."

"Honourable my fucking arse Granger, if I say it was after I got stunned it was after I got stunned."

"It's Weasley now, actually. So I suggest you shut up about my husband." She can't really look at him when she says this because she knows she's hiding behind the statement.
He snorts. "No fucking wonder you look like death warmed over twice, marrying that pathetic excuse for a pureblood."

She asks Ron about it that night. He is peculiarly evasive. The next night, he is away again.

"Why are you looking after me?" After almost four days of blissfully silent check-ups.

"You were pretty badly hurt. Aside from Molly Weasley, I was the only one qualified to take care of you."

He raises an eyebrow, but remains silent. Hermione really, really wants to hurt him.

The next day, he is pacing up and down the length of his room as well as he can with his injured leg. It hadn't been a magical injury, after all.

"You're not supposed to be out of bed."

"Why haven't they tortured me for information yet?"

She looks at him like he is crazy. In her defence, he probably slightly is.

"We're not the dark side, Malfoy, we don't torture people for information. We use Veritaserum."

He laughs. "Bullshit."

She's starting to get flustered. "Just because you Death Eaters do it, doesn't mean we have to sink to your depths."

"Is that what they are telling you now?" He is saying this almost gleefully. "Are you honestly that naïve? There is no more 'Dark' and 'Light' sides. There are only people who are going to live and people who are going to die. All is fair in love and war, if I remember correctly. Your mangy wolf is just as savage when it comes to captives as we are."

" That's a LIE. You have no proof!"

"Perhaps not, but let's just say Dolohov's crap wand arm aim was still superior to his current state of having no wand arm at all, as we found out when his corpse was dumped in the streets last month."

"Well now I know you're lying. We send our prisoners to Azkaban. We don't kill them."

"Time for pretend war is over, Granger, prison leaves the possibility of escape. Like I said, some people will live, others will die."

She ignores him, ignores what he's saying because she knows it isn't true. Lupin isn't like that. Harry definitely wouldn't allow that to happen.

But she still feels a sickening thrill at being called 'Granger'.

It's bugging her, so she goes to Lupin and asks him straight. Do you torture your prisoners? Do you kill them?

Diplomatically, he replies "Only if we have to."

But he's not looking at her as he says it.

Ron is back, again. He knows something is wrong, but he doesn't push. Harry is too happy to see Ginny, finally, to notice anything.

Instead of having sex, they just lie there. Ron eventually falls asleep, but Hermione listens to the squeaking of bed springs and banging of walls and moaning in other rooms. The house is always full after a mission with people trying to find solace with each other and in each other.

Hermione is jealous. Ron has been the only man she has ever slept with, and whilst she loves him, she can't help feeling she has missed out on something. Perhaps they rushed into the marriage. Perhaps it was only because they thought it was 'now or never'.

"Fucking hell, people in this house are horny. I could hardly sleep last night." Is what greets her the next morning.

"They've just come back from a mission. They need to unwind." Because she's not sixteen anymore and she is not going to be embarrassed by mentions of sex.

"Really?" He says, trying not to act interested, "A successful mission?"

She gives him a look which he shrugs off.

"Why don't you ever go on these ventures? You've not left this place since I came here."

She's too tired to think of an excuse an inexplicably gives him the truth. He snickers, saying that their side is really fucking stupid if they waste her intelligence and skill like this.

Hermione points out that in his opinion, she should already be dead right now for her filthy muggle background in which case all mention of wasting intelligence and skill is fairly hypocritical.

"I don't think you should die because you're a mudblood." Which pretty much defies every word she has word from his mouth over the last ten years.

At which point she knows he's gone crazy. "You do realise what this war is about, right? Or did Moody bounce you one too many times in fourth year?"

"I don't really care anymore, Granger. I don't care whether there are mudbloods in the magical world or not. I'm just fighting to live. If your lot wins, myself and every single person I have ever respected or befriended will die. No, no, don't shake your head like that, we will not be pardoned, as you would not be pardoned if Voldemort finally kills Potter. I don't particularly love my life, but I'm not exactly hot for a dementor's kiss, either. So no, I don't think you should die because you are a mudblood. I think you should die so that I can live."

He is looking her in the eye, frightfully honest.

There's a knock on the door, which is odd. Hermione opens the door to Lupin, Harry, and Ron's grim faces. She is told almost immediately to leave the room and go upstairs.

She barely has time to register what has happened before she is staring at the closed door, a soft click the door looks and a quiet 'Silencio'.

She is not to go to Malfoy's room for the next couple of days. Even she can figure out what has happened.

Absurdly, she cannot get that last look on his face out of her mind.

Finally, she is allowed to go back to his room with water and bread. He is looking paler than usual but the defiant look on his face is still there.

She asks him if he's alright. She can't stop herself from asking. She's just that kind of person.

He looks at her strangely, and tells her "Sure, I'm great, by the way, I never knew your boyfriend likes it so rough."
"Husband." She corrects quietly after a moment. They both look away.

"I forget."

Which isn't really the problem. The problem is that Hermione forgets, too. Because Malfoy is from the past, and he makes her feel like she is still the same know-it-all bookworm, opposed to some war hero's wife.

It's equally worrying that she can't remember which Hermione she prefers.

She pegs the desire to go to Malfoy's room to loneliness and boredom. Ron has been gone for a while now and people don't talk to her, too afraid to offend or to get too close to the wife of a man so infamous for his temper.

Also, Malfoy likes to talk about potions and spells and history. And when she starts sneaking him tea from the kitchens, he stops calling her 'mudblood' completely.

For instance:

"What is your patronus?"

"It used to be an otter, but now it's changed to a fox." It's a testament to how much time she wastes in his room that she so willingly answers this rather personal question.

Her books had said that one's patronus was the representation of their true self, which could only very occasionally change as hers had done a couple of years ago. Otters are symbolic for joy and faithfulness. The fox represents cunning and cleverness. Hermione doesn't like to dwell on the implications too much.

"How about you?"

"A wolf."

Which, she has to admit, is far more impressive than Ron's terrier. Not that there is any competition between her husband and this foul excuse for a man, obviously.

Then she wonders when she started thinking about Draco Malfoy as man.

Again, she is told someone else will feed Malfoy for the next couple of days. It's disturbing how anxious she is. She and Ron have not slept with each other since the night after which he brought Malfoy in.

In this time, she realises how pathetic she has become. Her marriage is a sham. She doesn't leave the house. The only person she enjoys interacting with anymore would gladly kill her given half the chance, apparently.

"Merlin, Granger, why don't you eat something? You're starting to resemble one of your beloved house elves."

Ah, the famous Malfoy charm. Which she is kind of secretly grateful for, because everyone else seems so concerned with her not getting killed that they don't care what happens to her as long as she does not leave the house.

Sure, drink that full bottle of firewhiskey to yourself.

Sure, skip every other mealtime.

Sure, spend all your time in some murderer's cell.

But don't you dare leave the house.

It's kind of funny, when you think about it.

Apparently, Ron has been sleeping with Lavender Brown again.

She's devastated. She does love Ron. She genuinely does. But maybe not in the way that she's really supposed to, anymore. So she pretends she doesn't know, and kisses Ron passionately goodbye as he leaves for his next mission.

That night, she crawls into Draco's bed and cries. He doesn't put his arm around her. He doesn't even touch her.

But it's different anyway, because he feels right.

"They're going to kill me soon, I suspect. I haven't given them any information. Soon anything I know will be too old to be relevant and I will be useless. "
Hermione has gotten used to the idea that her side is not what she thought it would be. But he's not really what she thought he would be, either.

"I bet the Weasley's have been out to get me killed since they caught me." He continues, quite casually.

She looks away, because it's true. And also because of why it's true. They never really discuss anything he has done over the last four years, because she doesn't want that to be him anymore. Denial is bliss.
Thank god Ron has not yet found out where she spends her nights and days. Thank god not anyone has properly guessed.

Hermione and Draco have yet to touch for more than a second.

Dean Thomas has been killed.

She finds out just before she is due to bring food to Malfoy, which means that seeing him is unavoidable. He asks for news, like every day. And so she tells him.

In the awkward silence that follows, they both remember that it was Dean who petrified Malfoy and saved Hermione on the battlefield all those years ago.

He kisses her scar, and whispers with his lips at her temple, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" until she falls asleep in his arms.

In the morning, she gets out of his room just early enough to avoid any early risers. It's miraculous, really, that no one has caught on yet.

Ron comes home a couple of nights later. He slips into their bedroom sometime after one in the morning, reeking of someone else's sex.

The strongest emotion this instills in her is disgust. He didn't even shower, how incredibly unhygienic.

When she goes to Draco next, he is agitated. Worried that she has run away from him, that she hates him again.

She kind of does still hate him, but the other emotion is stronger.

She tells him frankly that Ron is sleeping with someone else.

Malfoy gets angry and tells her to get the fuck out. Again.

Which is kind of confusing.

Hermione demands to know why he is angry.

He looks away. "I don't enjoy being someone else's revenge. I hate being used. I hate that you are so fucking annoying and yet I want you here all the time, anyway. Mostly, I hate you. Go find someone else to get over how pathetic you are, that even your husband turns to someone else."

Which should probably make her furious.

Instead, she kisses him. On the mouth. He's so angry with her that he pushes her way before she snaps.

"You are not my revenge. I am not using you. I'm annoyed with myself, too, for wanting to be here constantly. I hate you, sometimes, but more often than not I am here because you make me feel like I'm not stuck in this stupid house like a stupid porcelain doll. You make me feel alive again."

She kisses him again. "Make me feel alive, please."

And he does. He brings her body up to his so that she straddles his waist, and then leans forward so that he is on top of her. Before she knows it, her clothes are off and he's kissing her everywhere. From her neck down to her toes and then back up again, biting softly along the way. Urgently, she tries to undress him but she's so nervous her hands shake too much. He chuckles into her ear and takes it off himself. They are both naked. He looks her right in the eye as he pushes into her, slowly, slowly, slowly, she's not used to this but by god he feels good. They start to move together, never breaking eye contact.

She comes once, twice, three times until he himself has finished. She has not felt this real in four years and it is glorious and painful at the same time.

He turns to her, grins, and puts it to her that perhaps he's developing somewhat of a Stockholm syndrome.

He is gone.

Hermione storms into Lupin's office. Complete panic.

"Is he dead?"

He looks up at her with somewhat of a surprised expression.

"No, he is far too valuable of a bargaining chip to kill just yet. We are just moving him to a more suitable location now that is completely healed. Grimmauld Place accommodation is far too pleasant for the likes of him. Don't you agree?" The last sentence is a challenge, Hermione can tell. In a moment she has no problem believing everything Draco has said about Lupin completely.

"Completely. I was just making sure that you hadn't forced me to spend so much time with that wanker only to get rid of him a couple of months later."

In His absence, Hermione throws herself into life. She volunteers to cook, to clean, to knit, to do just about anything but think.

It's kind of a nice change.

She spends more time with Ron. She offers him herself constantly and he gladly accepts every time. She fantasises about Draco the whole time, but she still never finishes properly.

Ron stops sleeping with Lavender.

She researches more and more, trying to find better defensive and offensive skills. Trying to be the side that lives.

There has been a mass breakout at one of the prison keeps. She hears the first whispers over breakfast.

Draco Malfoy has escaped.

The hope which warms in her chest makes her feel dirtier than she has ever felt before.

She gets an owl, the first post she has received in a long, long time.

A golden chain with a beautiful fox pendant attached.

A mass meeting is called. Tomorrow night, we go to war.

And so they do. Even Hermione goes, because not one single person can be spared. The air is thick with spells, shooting like perverse rainbows around her. And she's fighting.

She's fighting to be alive.

Hermione sees Ron get hit by a stunner, which is a miracle because the only rule tonight is shoot to kill. Someone apparates him out of there, and quickly.

The battle keeps raging and raging and people around her keep dying, some by her own hand. The death eaters are all wearing masks and she hopes beyond hope that she won't see Draco tonight. If something doesn't happen soon, both sides are going to be so badly depleted that there will no longer be a point to this war.

And so something happens. Harry and Voldemort, as it was always meant to be. Alone, in the centre, an epic duel.

Harry wins.

She comes back to Grimmauld Place with a victorious Harry and joins in the celebrations, happy that this is over. Happy that her world won't be grey any more. Thankful for those who have lived and thankful to those who have died. Ron seems happy, but Hermione can tell that he is bitter that he could not have fought longer beside Harry, that he is worried that he won't be remembered.

She has never felt such a strong dislike for him before.

When he tries to pull her up to his room, Hermione informs him that she knows about Lavender, that she doesn't love like that him anymore, and the she is leaving him. Ridiculously happy, she apparates without waiting for a response.

Draco is already waiting for her at the top of the tower. She goes to him, and kisses him, and cries with happiness.

When they make love, it is not because it is now or never. It is because it feels right.

Hope you enjoyed! I'd love to know what you guys thought, so please review.
Mucho cupcakes for you all!