Dramione One Shots

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Hermione was panting by the time she reached the top of the Astronomy tower stairs. She'd run all the way there to survey Voldemort's army. They waited just beyond the great, luminous dome of protective enchantments. They were close. So close.

He was the last person she expected to find. He was standing back from the railing, standing still as stone. His black robes blended with the shadows of the tower. The dome set a glowing haze about him. He looked like a ghost.

He stiffened at the sound of her footsteps. She stilled. He turned.

His eyes were hollow. Sharp angles and their shadows marred his face.

She wanted to scream at him, curse him, accuse him, but no words came. The silence stretched between them, swallowing her sense.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" The calmness of her voice surprised her.

He stared at the floor, looking lost. "He was standing right here. This very spot."

Hermione blinked at him, puzzled.

"I disarmed him, but he could've stopped me. I don't understand why he didn't stop me." He was shaking his head now. "He knew. He knew what I had come to do. Even so he offered me his hand. He offered to help."

Dumbledore. He was talking about the night he let the Deatheaters in. The night Snape killed Dumbledore.

Draco turned to look out upon the great dome. "What if I had taken his hand? What if I had stopped Snape? Would any of this have happened? Would the Dark Lord still be preparing to kill us all?"

"Us?" Hermione's voice was barely audible. "Malfoy, he won't be after you. You're one of them. You can go home."

He flinched. "No."

When he turned to face her, there was a hard look in his eyes. "This is my home, Granger. Hogwarts is my home."

Hermione did her best not to take a step back as Draco approached her.

"Show me your arm."

She looked at him bewildered.

"Your arm, Granger."

When she didn't respond he reached for her, moving slowly, cautiously. He held her forearm in one hand, the other carefully rolled back her sleeve. She wondered vaguely why she was letting him this close to her.

He drew a sharp breath. She looked down to see angry red lines carved into her arm. The scars from Bellatrix's knife. Mudblood.

Draco traced the scar with one long, pale finger. She closed her eyes, wondering faintly if Draco had ever played the piano. He had pianist fingers.

She felt something wet on her arm. When she opened her eyes she saw a collection of teardrops washing over the red lines. It looked as though the wound was bleeding tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so so sorry."

He sank to his knees, pulling her with him, still clutching her arm. He cried hard, shoulders shaking, quietly gasping, spilling more tears onto her arm. His fingers still moved lightly over her scar.

Hermione placed her free hand on the one still tracing the scar, stilling his fingers. She took a deep breath.

"I forgive you."

Draco's eyes were watery and disbelieving.

She pulled her arm away from him and rolled back his sleeve, exposing the ugly, twisting Mark. He flinched when she touched it.

"War leaves scars on all of us, Draco. You, me, everyone." She held their forearms side by side.

It was an odd thing to be sitting knee to knee with your enemy on the floor in the calm before a battle. War rips us apart. It is our job to put one another back together.

When they stood he didn't let go of her hand. She didn't mind.

Home finds us all in the end and when we find it, we fight for it.

This was Draco Malfoy's home. He would fight for it.

For Hogwarts.

For Her.

by: smirkingpan.tumblr.com