Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling, etc etc.

The students of Hogwarts poured from the Great Hall, into the Entrance Hall, as a giant mass of bodies. Hermione was amongst them, being jostled about by rushing shoulders and nearly tripped several times by impatient first years. It seemed the drive to get to bed and put this horrible day behind was overriding everyone's sense of courtesy.

Hermione felt her hand seized by unknown fingers and turned to find Ginny pulling her towards a gap in the throng. Hermione shook her head, wordlessly telling Ginny to go on ahead, that she was staying here. Ginny looked confused.

'Come on,' she mouthed.

'I'm staying,' Hermione mouthed back, then elaborated, 'waiting for Harry.'

Ginny leant in closer, evidently not comprehending her mouthed words. Hermione spoke into the girls offered ear. 'I'm waiting for Harry,' she repeated.

Ginny pulled back, realisation dawning. 'Okay,' she said, then gave a little wave and pushed her way through the closing gap, reaching a waiting Neville on the other side. Then the crowd closed in and they disappeared.

Hermione made her way to the closest wall, just right of the double doors that led to the Great Hall. Here she was free of the jostling students, who continued to pile out of the large hall in groups of four. She craned her neck to try and spot Harry amidst the crowd, but it was fruitless. Instead, she decided to wait it out, hoping that Harry hadn't forgotten about his whispered message to meet here after the welcoming feast. She didn't think he would have.

Finally, the crowd thinned enough for her to venture forth and look around for any sign of her boyfriend. So far, no luck. She spotted Luna Lovegood trailing away absently. Pansy Parkinson and her friend Heather Pritchard gossiped by the entrance to the dungeons. But Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Surely, he hadn't forgot?

He hadn't.

A tap on her shoulder startled her, and she turned to glare at thin air. She narrowed her eyes. 'Harry!' she hissed. 'Don't do that! At least make a little noise, so I know you're coming! Honestly!'

She heard him chuckle some. 'You sound like Draco,' his disembodied voice came from behind her, and she whirled around, finding thin air again. Her eyes narrowed further. 'Did I ever tell you how cute you are when you're angry?'

'I can't believe you're playing around at a time like this,' she said, glaring at where she thought he was standing.

'Is she talking to herself?' she heard Pansy Parkinson scoff with disgust. 'Freak.'

'Come on, let's go,' Heather said, 'she might be contagious.'

The giggling Slytherin's disappeared down the stairs to the dungeons.

Hermione turned her back on the two Slytherin girls, feeling her face burn with embarrassment, then hissed out of the side of her mouth. 'Take off that cloak, I look like a crazy person, talking to myself.'

'Come on, then,' Harry said, his voice coming from in front of her, and the she felt the cloak fall over her head, and Harry's face appeared before her, so close she could feel his breath on her face. It was far from unpleasant. He grabbed her hand and began leading her out of the Entrance Hall, into the Slytherin dungeons.

Silence fell between them as they walked. The sound of their shoes clapping on the stone of the dungeon floor was the only sound, and it seemed to echo in her ears like an accusing devil, a testament to the uncomfortable moment. Just why was Harry acting so cavalier, when only a few hours previous, the Hogwarts Express was attacked, and a small portion of their fellow students had died, courtesy of the unforgivable Killing Curse.

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, finally breaking the growing silence, 'I didn't mean to upset you. That was the last thing I was after. It's just… seeing your face, when you saw those boys, and how silent you became… I didn't like it. I just wanted to make you feel better. Acting like nothing was wrong was probably a pretty stupid way to do it, but I've never been very good at the emotional stuff, have I?'

Hermione couldn't help herself; she smiled, but only a little. Harry was right. He'd never been very good at the emotion stuff, but the intent was there, and that counted. 'It's okay,' she replied. 'Thanks for trying.'

'You can always count on me to try,' Harry said, turning to face her under the cloak, the little light casting most of his face in shadow, but she could just about discern the little quirk to his lips. 'Just don't expect me to succeed that much, right?'

'Right Harry,' Hermione agreed.

'I will make him pay,' Harry said, 'that I guarantee - for everyone who has lost someone to him and his prejudiced quest for Pureblood dominion.'

'But that won't bring them back, will it?' Hermione said. 'It won't erase what he did.'

'We're wizards, Hermione,' Harry said, 'not Gods.'

'Someone should tell Voldemort that,' Hermione argued, a little lightly, but with an undercurrent of real hatred.

'I'll do better,' Harry said, letting his own anger colour his voice, 'I'll show him.'

The Head Boy of Hogwarts found himself standing outside the portrait that led to the private quarters of the Head Boy and Girl, not far from the prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor of the castle. The portrait was of a witch with long, sinister raven coloured hair and a face covered with dark black veins. The witch was cleverly named Willow the Veined.

'Password?'

'Portkey.' Draco answered half-heartedly.

'Aren't you a cheerful fellow,' Willow the Veined shot back sarcastically, as the portrait opened, revealing the entrance to the joint common room. Draco entered, his eyes surveying the space for the first time.

It wasn't as large as the Slytherin common room, but the ceiling was definitely higher, giving the room an open atmosphere of comfort. Two wing-backed chairs surrounded the fireplace, which burned softly, emitting a small ring of light. A small table was placed strategically between the two chairs, a large enough space for one person to work at. At the back of the room, flanked by two oak doors, was a large table, with two smaller wooden chairs at either side. The room was decorated with neutral colours.

Draco walked further into the room, flicking his wand idly at the number of lamps along the walls. They lit with a burst of flame. He approached the back of the room, where the two doors stood flanking the table. A plaque was nailed to each door, one reading "Head Boy", the other "Head Girl". Draco attempted to enter the one on the right; the door marked "Head Boy". The handle wouldn't turn.

'Huh?' Draco frowned, pulling on the knob, futilely.

'Draco Malfoy,' the door said, speaking from some unknown orifice, 'hand recognition complete - please choose a password.'

'Right,' Draco muttered, then, clearly, 'redemption.'

'Password chosen,' the door replied, 'please confirm.'

'Redemption,' Draco repeated.

'Password set. If you wish to change your password, simply place your hand upon the door handle and verbalize your request.'

'Right, just open, will you?'

'Password?'

Draco sighed. 'Redemption!'

The door finally gave in, and Draco turned the handle and entered. He closed the door behind him and surveyed his private bedchambers. The room was roughly rectangular shaped. The far wall held a stained glass window, through which light leaked into the room in multi-coloured bursts. His four-poster bed was positioned to the left of the window, locked against the wall. Another table was right beside the door, square shaped. A single, comfy looking chair was propped against the wall and his trunk had been placed at the bottom of his bed by those eager little house elves. Another door, right across from his bed, led into a small white tiled bathroom, which contained a toilet, sink, a small cabinet and a shower.

But, most importantly, the chamber was decorated in his favourite colours - the Slytherin colours of green and silver.

Draco sat down heavily on his bed, tired and somewhat angry, though with what, specifically, he could not tell you. Maybe it was at having the first day back at Hogwarts ruined by his father and his father's cohorts? Or maybe it was because he felt like a trapped snake, stuck in the cross hairs of a dangerous predator and it's cubs, unable to truly escape, only cower like a weakling in his little den? Then again, it could be that he was just lonely, isolated from all he'd ever known - his family, his friends, his housemates, who, no doubt, regarded him as a betrayer and an idiot. Not that he really cared what they thought anymore. It's just, he was no longer Draco Malfoy, now he was just Draco. Draco, disowned by his parents, abandoned by everyone he had regarded as, if not friends, then as colleagues, for the last six years. Then add the fact that he was probably near the top of a very dangerous list entitled "people Voldemort wants dead". He'd given up everything in his life to be this person, this Draco. Not Draco Malfoy, he was no longer a Malfoy, he was just simply Draco.

Of course, that wasn't exactly accurate. He still had one thing. Harry, his best friend, the reason Draco had given up everything else. But that was it. He couldn't call Hermione a true friend, though they did get along well enough. And his relationship with Ginny, another large factor in Draco's estrangement from all he once knew, was not exactly on stable ground. In fact, he was pretty sure the relationship had no ground. They where floating in some weird air like limbo, not friends, not lovers, not really anything - at least not anything solid, just a whole lot of confusing emotions and regrets.

And that was it, wasn't it? The real reason Draco was angry. Ginny Wesley, a girl he wouldn't have even looked at this time last year, and who now refused to leave his tortured mind alone. Visions of her golden hair, shinning eyes, gleaming teeth, her entire visage, floating teasingly in his mind - reminding him of what he had so stupidly thrown away. Then the real sledgehammer arrived, the image of Ginny holding the hand of that incompetent loser, Neville Longbottom.

Draco kicked his shoes from his feet, violently throwing them across the room. He led back on the bed, clenching fistfuls of bed sheet, gnashing his teeth in anger and, most importantly, hurt. He knew he didn't deserve to have Ginny's love. He had thrown that away last year, and pissed all over it in the process, but that didn't stop him from wanting it. He still loved her, more than he'd ever loved anything… anyone. He didn't just want her. He needed her. And Neville Longbottom wanted to steal her from him before he could even make his case, could even begin to beg for her forgiveness. He wouldn't let it happen.

He was going to put up a fight.

And if he couldn't have her, then he'd damn sure make certain that Neville Longbottom didn't get her.

Draco eventually fell asleep, curling into himself, his knees drawn up to his chest like a small child, dreaming dreams of pain, of Ginny breaking his heart like he'd broken hers - Ginny being swept into the arms of Neville and sharing a passionate kiss - Ginny trashing his name to Hermione - Ginny convincing Harry that Draco was never going to amount to anything.

'Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.'

A lone, silent tear left a track down Draco's cheek, wetting his pillow with unspoken grief.

Deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts, in the long lost Chamber of Salazar Slytherin, Harry and Hermione sat, huddled together on the musty green sofa. Harry idled stroked Hermione's hair as she dozed at his side, her head resting on his chest.

The Chamber was Harry's place of solitude, a part of Hogwarts that existed only for him, and of course, those he choose to reveal it too. Hermione was one. Draco was the other. His two most trusted confidants. The Chamber was Salazar Slytherin's personal quarters, and was only accessible by Parsletongue, the gift of snake language that ran only in Slytherin's line. The only reason Harry could speak it was because of his unnatural, mysterious connection with the Dark Lord Voldemort, the last known descendant of Salazar Slytherin.

Harry had never had reason to think well of Voldemort, but he was at least somewhat thankful for the Chamber, and for his ability to speak Parsletongue, which he was sure would prove invaluable during his final year at Hogwarts. After all, he was most definitely not going to sleep in his Slytherin dorm room, where any number of wands could blow him to bits while he slept. So yeah, he was grateful for his place of solitude, and the gift Voldemort had given him that allowed him to access it. Of course, his gratitude was damped considerably by the fact that he wouldn't even need the Chamber if Voldemort and his followers didn't want him and his friend's dead.

'Harry?' Hermione murmured.

'Yeah Hermione,' Harry said, 'what is it?'

'I… this is… I mean, I don't know if this is appropriate… after what happened, and everything, but…'

'Hermione,' Harry said, 'spit it out.'

'Iwantyoutomakelovetome.' Hermione said, really quickly, so that it all ran together.

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, unable to suppress a smile of amusement, 'could you say that again, a little slower.'

'Harry,' Hermione repeated, turning her head and looking up at him with tearful eyes, 'make love to me.'

'Uh…' Harry sounded, suddenly completely serious.

'You think I'm awful now, don't you?' Hermione said, before he could form a coherent reply. 'I know, Harry. It's terrible to want to… after what happened, but I just… I need it. Oh God, it sounds so horrible, like it matters what I want, after what…'

'Hermione,' Harry interrupted her rambling, silencing her effectively, 'it's totally understandable. You saw something horrible today, something that's ingrained itself into your mind. Death. It's logical to want to have sex, something that is solely about life, something that will make you feel alive.'

'But it's…'

'It's not.'

'Really?'

'Really,' Harry said, 'come on.'

Harry stood up and offered her his hand. Hermione grasped it after only a moment's pause; Harry pulled her to her feet, and then led her over to the door to the bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him, continued forward, leading Hermione towards the large, king-sized bed of green and silver. Hermione sat down tentatively, and Harry eased her backwards, laying her down on the cool sheets. He kissed her softly, feeling the wet tears on her cheeks. He kissed them away, moving one hand down her side, the other cupping her face softly. He stared into her chocolate brown eyes lovingly.

'Harry,' Hermione whispered breathlessly.

Harry sat up on his knees, and Hermione followed him, their eyes never leaving the others. Hermione pulled her robe up and over her head, tossing it to the side - Harry copied her with his own. They resumed kissing, and Harry eased his hand down to her jeans, deftly working the buttons loose. During a break in the action, Hermione removed Harry's shirt, leaving him bare-chested. She proceeded to kiss him everywhere, his neck, his chest, and his nipples. Harry closed his eyes with delight, grasping Hermione's waist with one hand, whilst simultaneously slipping the other up her blouse.

After some more kissing, Harry relieved Hermione of her blouse, popping the buttons and pulling it free of her shoulders, baring her bra covered breasts. He kissed them as lovingly as he could, easing Hermione back down onto the sheets, moving slowly towards her belly button. At the same time, he pulled at her jeans and knickers, and with Hermione's help, glided her legs free. Harry stood and removed his own jeans and boxers as Hermione shuffled up the bed, resting her head on the pillows. He joined her, holding her close as they resumed.

'I love you,' Hermione sighed as he entered her, closing her eyes as more tears slipped out. Harry kissed her eyelids, moving into her slowly.

'Hermione.'

She opened her eyes, staring up at him. Harry kissed her with everything he had. She smiled up at him.

'I know, Harry,' Hermione murmured, reached up to kiss him back.