Six long years after the Battle of Hogwarts, war and bloodshed rages on and widowed Hermione Granger is practically the Order's personal martyr. The head soldier and spy, her days consist of nonstop trials of taking down Voldemort's army and going o...
Her husband that she watch be killed and dragged away five years ago.
Her dead husband was Reaper.
Her dead husband that practically bought her from the Order.
Her dead husband that didn't have a clue who she was and now worked with Voldemort, their arch enemy.
"D-Draco," she cried, placing a hand over her mouth to hide her harsh sobs, her other hand gripped the bottom of his black robes. He made a noise deep in his throat— almost a growl.
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"Dear God, Granger. I know the scar is hideous, but control yourself."
He was uncomfortable— that was obvious. She felt his legs fight the urge to shuffle back away from her touch, but she struggled to contain herself.
She looked up at his face again and let out another heartbreaking cry.
It was four.
He had four small beauty marks, delicately placed on his chin and cheek.
She could now remember every detail of his face now that he was in front of her again. Her chest heaved at the revelation and she tried to catch her breath, a panic attack on the rise.
"Granger," His voice rose, the icy tone now conflicted with worry. "Get up, get up now. What is wrong with you?"
He lifted her by her underarms and when her legs trembled, he wrapped an arm around her waist. His other hand grabbed her face to make her look him in the eyes, which were wide in surprise and panic at her reaction. Her eyes closed tight, trying not to get lost in his gaze again. She didn't think her brain could handle it right now.
"I don't want to have to give you a calming draught, but I will if you don't calm the hell down— Fucking hell— Granger, look at me— Look at me!"
His grip on her face tightened and his voice was stern, raised to shake her out of her panicked stupor. She opened her eyes to see him frowning deeply, his eyes focused on hers. "Relax." He demanded as her cries slowly became quiet sobs.
She pulled herself together as well as she could, wiping her tears with a hiccup.
He couldn't know. He couldn't be aware of their situation. His position in this war was far too delicate for something as small as her feelings.
