Trading Secrets
Title: Trading Secrets
Author: Thea Witchiepooh
Pairing/Characters: Draco/Hermione
Rating: NC-17/R (Oy!)
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.
Summary: Draco and Hermione meet in secret during the war.
Warning: Character death.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has given me such positive feedback on this. And a special thanks to chanteur_dombre for beta reading and improving this. This story has been nominated for three Dangerous Liaisons Awards
The lost souls had returned. It had been at least six months since their last visit. Nick had thought for certain the demons that drove them together had finally been exorcised. In a strange way, he'd missed the pair, like an ache that hurts more from emptiness once it's gone.
"We need a room," said the young man, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Name?" asked Nick, though he already knew the fictitious answer.
"Mr. and Mrs. Devlin. And we'll be paying in cash," he said, anticipating Nick's next question.
"Fine, that's $35 for the night."
He stepped away as the girl - she couldn't have been more than 20 - moved up to the counter. She took out the bills and robotically paid the balance. They both seemed older and, if possible, more melancholy than before. There had never been any playful flirtation between them like with other clandestine couples. But in the past they at least acknowledged each other - even if the appraisals were filled with a wary tension. This time not a word or hidden glance passed between them. They were two ghosts drifting alone through the same purgatory.
"You're in room number six," Nick said, handing her the key. She took it and gave a muffled thanks, not sparing Mr. Devlin even a glimpse as she walked out of the office. The blond-haired spectre looked pensive, though Nick could only guess what haunted thoughts passed through his mind. For a moment the veil had lifted and something beyond an abyss appeared in his grey eyes. But it passed quickly. He nodded toward Nick then followed the girl without a word.
****
Hermione had left the door slightly ajar. She was already lying on the full-sized bed as Draco entered the room. She didn't look up and he sighed as he gazed her way. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, taking off his trainers. As they dropped to the floor with a hollow thud, he scooted back next to the brown-haired witch. Her eyes were closed and he took the opportunity to observe her without reservation. She wore jeans that accentuated her long slim legs and toned calves. Her top, a loose blue jumper, was less revealing. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, but its unsteady rhythm made him apprehensive. Despite his impassive eyes, a torrent of feeling had taken hold. After all this time with Hermione so close to him, the dam was ready to break.
But no, that wouldn't do. He had to stay in control. Otherwise he'd drown them both.
"I didn't think I'd hear from you again," she finally said, shattering the silence.
"If it had been up to me, you wouldn't have," he said.
Her brown eyes flashed open. They accused, tried and convicted him. Draco was unsure of the crime, since there were too many to keep track.
"It was your father, right?"
Ah yes, that sin. It was always good in the clutch. "He thinks Potter is ready to strike. He was hoping I could," he paused and took a shallow breath, "feel you out for information."
"That's one way to put it," she snorted, uneasily.
"I swear Granger, I didn't want to. I told him I wouldn't defile myself with a Mudblood again."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be. I was protecting you." His words were spoken harshly, but there was an underlying affection he couldn’t hide.
She sat up and truly looked at him for the first time. The war had tainted his purity far more than mixing with half-blood or Muggle-borns ever could. The smooth alabaster skin was marred with shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes. His once shiny hair was dull and limp. She reached out and brushed the strands from his face and her gentleness betrayed her constricting heart.
Hermione's fingertips against his skin acted like a current that brought Draco temporarily back to life. Yet it wasn't a euphoric rebirth. It burned, as if he was a vampire forced into daylight. He grasped her wrist to stop the soft caress, but the jolt from the contact only enhanced his need. He started to pull her toward him urgently, but she pushed away. "No," she protested. "It's been too long and I won't," she hesitated then said more firmly, "I can't rush this."
He agreed silently and waited for her to make the next move. She held onto his hand, playing with his long fingers, massaging them one at a time. She was on her knees next to him as he stretched out on his side facing her. He closed his eyes, lost in her nearly forgotten touch. It scorched him still, but after feeling nothing for months it was a sweet pain. Draco shuddered as she started to kiss one finger at a time. The blood rushed through him with such intensity he was thankful she'd stopped him from consuming her whole. He would have burst into flames.
Without warning, her tongue darted out, as she continued to lightly tease. When she took his index finger between her lips and slowly sucked it into her mouth the sensation shot straight through him, causing him to ache painfully in his trousers. He groaned as she methodically dipped one digit at a time into her warm, wet mouth.
“Hermione,” he gasped.
He went to move his free hand down to the bulge that strained violently, but Hermione cut off her ministrations.
"Don't."
"You're killing me," he said roughly.
"I know."
Draco took a calming breath as she returned her attentions to his sensitive fingers. After a moment she mercifully reached over and lightly unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers-not giving him the contact he craved, but allowing him to burst from his constraints. While she continued to torment him with her tongue, her hand moved under his shirt, against his tense abdominal muscles. He was all hard lines and sinewy perfection and despite her admonishment to go slow, Hermione felt the desire to touch him fully wash over her.
“Take this off,” she demanded.
Already so close to the edge - like an elastic band that had been stretched taut - Draco removed the offending garment so fast it was like he’d magicked it away. Hermione climbed onto him, straddling his waist, her firm, jean-clad bottom temptingly pressing his erection. He involuntarily moved it against her and went to pull off her jumper, but she slapped his hands away.
“Not so fast. First, I need information,” she ran her hands up and down his strong chest as she spoke. Her voice a contradictory mix of business and breathless. “One of our agents said Voldemort was planning to initiate a new round of Death Eaters soon. Can you confirm?”
She pinched his nipples just as she asked the question, and he cried out, “Yes!”
Hermione laughed mirthlessly, “Yes to my question? Or are you just reacting to this?” Before he could respond, she reached down and ran her tongue along his toned abs, circling up around the muscular planes of his pectorals until she reached his hardened right nipple, drawing it into her mouth as she tweaked its twin.
“Oh Merlin, yes…to both,” he tried rather unsuccessfully to curb the rising tide. “It’s going to be on the first...ahhh.” He lost his ability to talk as her teeth bit into him.
She laved the sore bud, then backed off, giving him a chance to finish.
He counted to ten in his head, trying to focus on a crack in the ceiling instead of the feel of her body above him and her intoxicating jasmine-laced scent. He took a deep breath then said, “It’s on the first Sunday of next month.” Since she’d relented in her heavenly torture, he took the respite to ask, “Is that when Potter plans to strike?”
Her eyes locked with his and she didn’t have to answer. “We were told it would take place at the Dolohov Estate," she said.
Once again she cut off any kind of coherent reaction from Draco, leaning in to taunt his collarbone and neck with airy kisses. Between the warmth of her thighs against him and the friction that roused his throbbing rod, he was nearly helpless. With his last bit of composure he reached around and grabbed a handful of her hair, jerking it hard to escape from her salacious domination.
“Your information is wrong,” he spoke impatiently, not wanting to waste more of their borrowed time. “It’s a set-up.”
Then Draco abruptly killed any possibility to continue the verbal component of their erotic dance, pulling her mouth down to his. Despite the overriding yearning mixed with anger - not at Hermione, but toward the bloody mess that swirled around them, tainting them - he managed to kiss her with all his heart and soul. He reverently parted her lips, slipping his tongue inside, stroking it tenderly against hers.
She collapsed on him, surrendering to their overwhelming need to escape into each other. When Draco went to pull her jumper off again, she didn’t protest - though the momentary absence of his full lips gave her a twinge of cold fear. He undid her bra, and she helped him banish it swiftly to a growing pile on the floor, eager to feel his creamy skin next to hers.
He continued to delve into the hot, inviting cavern of her mouth, his body now fully ablaze. Somehow he managed to sit up and they quickly shred their remaining clothes, save her desire-soaked knickers. The material that stood between them now moved against his pulsating, naked cock.
“I can’t hold back anymore, I have to be inside you,” he moaned. Then he flipped them over, careless with the aching urgency to plunge within. “I’m sorry,” he panted out, as he literally ripped the barrier from her body and thrust inside her, both of them crying out in desperate satisfaction.
“Oh…oh…oh god, Draco. So long, so long…” She moved against him, wrapping her legs tightly around him. It all disappeared - the war, her family, and her obligations - in the incredible feel of his swollen thick flesh stretching her open.
He was overcome with a similar kind of momentary amnesia, everything else vanishing in a fog except the sensation of her burning wet channel as he feverishly filled her with long, hard strokes.
“Baby, you feel so fucking good, sooo good,” he choked out. One hand grabbed her arse, aiding their heated rhythm, while the other pulled at her hair so he could savage her neck with bruising kisses.
The passion and sweat of their frenetic coupling blinded him so thoroughly, that it took some time before he heard a different kind of sound coming from Hermione and realized she was crying. No, not crying, sobbing.
He slowed down immediately. “What’s wrong?”
She just shook her head, “Please don’t stop.”
“Am I hurting you?”
It was such a loaded question. The tears continued to stream from her eyes and she tried unsuccessfully to steady her voice, “Not…not in a physical way,” she said honestly. “Please, Draco, I want you to cum for me, baby.” She kissed him shakily and moved her hips against him. “Please.” A prayer.
He looked in her eyes, still swimming with tears, and answered by pinning her wrists above her head and changing the angle of his thrusts so he could penetrate her more deeply.
When he didn’t seem to pick up the pace right away, she coaxed him, “Faster, Draco. Help me, baby. Help me forget.”
That was all it took and his self-control evaporated. He pumped into her deep and hard, relentlessly trying to fuck away the persistent world. She encouraged him, no longer with words but with a crescendo of screams that rasped from her throat. He couldn’t tell if they were cries of passion or heartache, but it didn’t matter. She was calling him home and he answered with a final cry of his own as he exploded inside her, continuing to move as he tried to expel all the hate and fear.
When it was over he laid on top of her, too weak from his uncaged emotions and the loss of his angry energy to move. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. You gave me what I wanted.”
He was speaking against her neck; he could tell from her voice that she was still crying. “But you didn’t…”
"I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't."
He lifted himself up on his elbows and studied her. “What’s wrong? What did I do wrong?”
Her _expression cut him to the quick. "Nothing, Draco. You were perfect. I just. I can’t…I can't let go, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just tell me why," he urged.
She seemed unsure about answering, but then whispered, "Everything would come back - our history; the way you made me feel then...and now. And it will shatter me and I won't be able to walk out of this room."
"You're afraid we'll never see each other again?" he asked, voicing his own fear.
"No, that I could live with. I'm afraid I will see you again," she said, soberly.
He swallowed. “Oh.”
She pulled him down so that the full weight of his body was pressed against her again. “Let’s not talk about it. I've got to give my heart a rest, at least for a moment, and just be with you.”
He held her in silence for some time, his mind raging. There's nothing I can do, he thought bitterly. I can't change a thing. "They're just using us," he finally said.
She didn't respond verbally, just clutched him tighter.
"Your side, my side, what bloody difference does it make? We're just pieces in their fucked-up puzzle."
"What can we do?" she asked hopelessly.
He pulled back so that he could see her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the now-dry tears that still streaked her cheeks. She looked as tired as he felt.
"They're going to kill us. It doesn't matter who’s right or wrong."
"I can't..."
He cut her off, "You can't what? Desert Potter? Weasley couldn't either and what did it get him?"
She trembled as she thought of the last time she'd seen Ron, his face cold and pale with death. She shook her head. "No, I can't abandon Harry."
"But you can abandon me?" he asked, caustically.
"It's not the same. You have your own pressures to live up to," she said.
"Just ask me, Hermione, and I'll run from them and take you with me."
She looked surprised. "You'd..."
He read the question before she could ask it. "No," he clarified. "I can't go with you, not to Potter. They won't accept me - I'll end up in Azkaban. You know this."
She studied him. She didn't need to use Legilimency to see what was written in his slate eyes. "So, just leave all of it behind? Everything?"
Draco entwined his fingers with hers. "Just ask me Hermione, please. Just ask."
****
When they returned to the motel office hours later, everything seemed the same. The grey-eyed boy gave Nick the room key, his countenance as blank as before.
She waited by the exit, her eyes finding great interest in her feet and not much else.
"Thanks," the blond offered politely.
"No problem, take care," said Nick, and he meant it.
The young man remained silent as he joined his winsome partner. No change, thought Nick. But then, as she opened the door, the boy took her hand in his and they glanced at each other. Something unspoken but fathomless passed between them.
Nick's eyes widened as he watched them leave. For a split second a feeling of unbridled hope flooded him, but he brutally shoved it away. He waited a few minutes before picking up the phone and dialling a number he remembered in his nightmares.
A bone-chillingly cold voice answered and he cursed inwardly. He wasn't sure if he was angrier with himself or those stupid kids.
"Yes?" said the voice expectantly. The wizard on the other end of the line knew there was only one person who could be calling his rarely used Muggle device.
"They've flown," Nick said, tonelessly.
"You're certain?"
He sighed. "You can bet on it."
"Very well," said the smooth-as-ice voice. "You'll be handsomely rewarded for your assistance."
Nick hung up the phone. He didn't give a shit about the money. His compensation was the safety of his sorry ass. He wished he was the type of man that could sacrifice himself for a pair of young lovers. But he wasn't that guy. Instead, he traded their lives for his own. "Stupid, stupid kids," he muttered out loud to the dark night.
Their souls were connected, if only for a little while. Now he was the lost one.
The End
Endnotes: So there you have it. Just a few quick references:
The name Devlin comes from the character played by Cary Grant in the Alfred Hitchcock film "Notorious." Grant co-starred with Ingrid Bergman in the film. He plays a government agent who asks her to spy on a group of her father's Nazi friends in Rio. A love affair develops between the two, even though she's forced to pursue one of her father's friends, played by the brilliant Claude Rains. I'll say no more, it's a great film.
The room number six is a very vague reference to "The Unbearable Lightness of Being." It's been a while since I read it (or watched the film), but I wanted the number to have some significance. I believe it comes up a number of times in the work, including the number of the room Tomas and Tereza share on their last night.
It's not made explicitly clear, but by using dollars, I'm indicating that the meeting place is somewhere in America, away from their world.
Author: Thea Witchiepooh
Pairing/Characters: Draco/Hermione
Rating: NC-17/R (Oy!)
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters.
Summary: Draco and Hermione meet in secret during the war.
Warning: Character death.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has given me such positive feedback on this. And a special thanks to chanteur_dombre for beta reading and improving this. This story has been nominated for three Dangerous Liaisons Awards
The lost souls had returned. It had been at least six months since their last visit. Nick had thought for certain the demons that drove them together had finally been exorcised. In a strange way, he'd missed the pair, like an ache that hurts more from emptiness once it's gone.
"We need a room," said the young man, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Name?" asked Nick, though he already knew the fictitious answer.
"Mr. and Mrs. Devlin. And we'll be paying in cash," he said, anticipating Nick's next question.
"Fine, that's $35 for the night."
He stepped away as the girl - she couldn't have been more than 20 - moved up to the counter. She took out the bills and robotically paid the balance. They both seemed older and, if possible, more melancholy than before. There had never been any playful flirtation between them like with other clandestine couples. But in the past they at least acknowledged each other - even if the appraisals were filled with a wary tension. This time not a word or hidden glance passed between them. They were two ghosts drifting alone through the same purgatory.
"You're in room number six," Nick said, handing her the key. She took it and gave a muffled thanks, not sparing Mr. Devlin even a glimpse as she walked out of the office. The blond-haired spectre looked pensive, though Nick could only guess what haunted thoughts passed through his mind. For a moment the veil had lifted and something beyond an abyss appeared in his grey eyes. But it passed quickly. He nodded toward Nick then followed the girl without a word.
****
Hermione had left the door slightly ajar. She was already lying on the full-sized bed as Draco entered the room. She didn't look up and he sighed as he gazed her way. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, taking off his trainers. As they dropped to the floor with a hollow thud, he scooted back next to the brown-haired witch. Her eyes were closed and he took the opportunity to observe her without reservation. She wore jeans that accentuated her long slim legs and toned calves. Her top, a loose blue jumper, was less revealing. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, but its unsteady rhythm made him apprehensive. Despite his impassive eyes, a torrent of feeling had taken hold. After all this time with Hermione so close to him, the dam was ready to break.
But no, that wouldn't do. He had to stay in control. Otherwise he'd drown them both.
"I didn't think I'd hear from you again," she finally said, shattering the silence.
"If it had been up to me, you wouldn't have," he said.
Her brown eyes flashed open. They accused, tried and convicted him. Draco was unsure of the crime, since there were too many to keep track.
"It was your father, right?"
Ah yes, that sin. It was always good in the clutch. "He thinks Potter is ready to strike. He was hoping I could," he paused and took a shallow breath, "feel you out for information."
"That's one way to put it," she snorted, uneasily.
"I swear Granger, I didn't want to. I told him I wouldn't defile myself with a Mudblood again."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be. I was protecting you." His words were spoken harshly, but there was an underlying affection he couldn’t hide.
She sat up and truly looked at him for the first time. The war had tainted his purity far more than mixing with half-blood or Muggle-borns ever could. The smooth alabaster skin was marred with shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes. His once shiny hair was dull and limp. She reached out and brushed the strands from his face and her gentleness betrayed her constricting heart.
Hermione's fingertips against his skin acted like a current that brought Draco temporarily back to life. Yet it wasn't a euphoric rebirth. It burned, as if he was a vampire forced into daylight. He grasped her wrist to stop the soft caress, but the jolt from the contact only enhanced his need. He started to pull her toward him urgently, but she pushed away. "No," she protested. "It's been too long and I won't," she hesitated then said more firmly, "I can't rush this."
He agreed silently and waited for her to make the next move. She held onto his hand, playing with his long fingers, massaging them one at a time. She was on her knees next to him as he stretched out on his side facing her. He closed his eyes, lost in her nearly forgotten touch. It scorched him still, but after feeling nothing for months it was a sweet pain. Draco shuddered as she started to kiss one finger at a time. The blood rushed through him with such intensity he was thankful she'd stopped him from consuming her whole. He would have burst into flames.
Without warning, her tongue darted out, as she continued to lightly tease. When she took his index finger between her lips and slowly sucked it into her mouth the sensation shot straight through him, causing him to ache painfully in his trousers. He groaned as she methodically dipped one digit at a time into her warm, wet mouth.
“Hermione,” he gasped.
He went to move his free hand down to the bulge that strained violently, but Hermione cut off her ministrations.
"Don't."
"You're killing me," he said roughly.
"I know."
Draco took a calming breath as she returned her attentions to his sensitive fingers. After a moment she mercifully reached over and lightly unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers-not giving him the contact he craved, but allowing him to burst from his constraints. While she continued to torment him with her tongue, her hand moved under his shirt, against his tense abdominal muscles. He was all hard lines and sinewy perfection and despite her admonishment to go slow, Hermione felt the desire to touch him fully wash over her.
“Take this off,” she demanded.
Already so close to the edge - like an elastic band that had been stretched taut - Draco removed the offending garment so fast it was like he’d magicked it away. Hermione climbed onto him, straddling his waist, her firm, jean-clad bottom temptingly pressing his erection. He involuntarily moved it against her and went to pull off her jumper, but she slapped his hands away.
“Not so fast. First, I need information,” she ran her hands up and down his strong chest as she spoke. Her voice a contradictory mix of business and breathless. “One of our agents said Voldemort was planning to initiate a new round of Death Eaters soon. Can you confirm?”
She pinched his nipples just as she asked the question, and he cried out, “Yes!”
Hermione laughed mirthlessly, “Yes to my question? Or are you just reacting to this?” Before he could respond, she reached down and ran her tongue along his toned abs, circling up around the muscular planes of his pectorals until she reached his hardened right nipple, drawing it into her mouth as she tweaked its twin.
“Oh Merlin, yes…to both,” he tried rather unsuccessfully to curb the rising tide. “It’s going to be on the first...ahhh.” He lost his ability to talk as her teeth bit into him.
She laved the sore bud, then backed off, giving him a chance to finish.
He counted to ten in his head, trying to focus on a crack in the ceiling instead of the feel of her body above him and her intoxicating jasmine-laced scent. He took a deep breath then said, “It’s on the first Sunday of next month.” Since she’d relented in her heavenly torture, he took the respite to ask, “Is that when Potter plans to strike?”
Her eyes locked with his and she didn’t have to answer. “We were told it would take place at the Dolohov Estate," she said.
Once again she cut off any kind of coherent reaction from Draco, leaning in to taunt his collarbone and neck with airy kisses. Between the warmth of her thighs against him and the friction that roused his throbbing rod, he was nearly helpless. With his last bit of composure he reached around and grabbed a handful of her hair, jerking it hard to escape from her salacious domination.
“Your information is wrong,” he spoke impatiently, not wanting to waste more of their borrowed time. “It’s a set-up.”
Then Draco abruptly killed any possibility to continue the verbal component of their erotic dance, pulling her mouth down to his. Despite the overriding yearning mixed with anger - not at Hermione, but toward the bloody mess that swirled around them, tainting them - he managed to kiss her with all his heart and soul. He reverently parted her lips, slipping his tongue inside, stroking it tenderly against hers.
She collapsed on him, surrendering to their overwhelming need to escape into each other. When Draco went to pull her jumper off again, she didn’t protest - though the momentary absence of his full lips gave her a twinge of cold fear. He undid her bra, and she helped him banish it swiftly to a growing pile on the floor, eager to feel his creamy skin next to hers.
He continued to delve into the hot, inviting cavern of her mouth, his body now fully ablaze. Somehow he managed to sit up and they quickly shred their remaining clothes, save her desire-soaked knickers. The material that stood between them now moved against his pulsating, naked cock.
“I can’t hold back anymore, I have to be inside you,” he moaned. Then he flipped them over, careless with the aching urgency to plunge within. “I’m sorry,” he panted out, as he literally ripped the barrier from her body and thrust inside her, both of them crying out in desperate satisfaction.
“Oh…oh…oh god, Draco. So long, so long…” She moved against him, wrapping her legs tightly around him. It all disappeared - the war, her family, and her obligations - in the incredible feel of his swollen thick flesh stretching her open.
He was overcome with a similar kind of momentary amnesia, everything else vanishing in a fog except the sensation of her burning wet channel as he feverishly filled her with long, hard strokes.
“Baby, you feel so fucking good, sooo good,” he choked out. One hand grabbed her arse, aiding their heated rhythm, while the other pulled at her hair so he could savage her neck with bruising kisses.
The passion and sweat of their frenetic coupling blinded him so thoroughly, that it took some time before he heard a different kind of sound coming from Hermione and realized she was crying. No, not crying, sobbing.
He slowed down immediately. “What’s wrong?”
She just shook her head, “Please don’t stop.”
“Am I hurting you?”
It was such a loaded question. The tears continued to stream from her eyes and she tried unsuccessfully to steady her voice, “Not…not in a physical way,” she said honestly. “Please, Draco, I want you to cum for me, baby.” She kissed him shakily and moved her hips against him. “Please.” A prayer.
He looked in her eyes, still swimming with tears, and answered by pinning her wrists above her head and changing the angle of his thrusts so he could penetrate her more deeply.
When he didn’t seem to pick up the pace right away, she coaxed him, “Faster, Draco. Help me, baby. Help me forget.”
That was all it took and his self-control evaporated. He pumped into her deep and hard, relentlessly trying to fuck away the persistent world. She encouraged him, no longer with words but with a crescendo of screams that rasped from her throat. He couldn’t tell if they were cries of passion or heartache, but it didn’t matter. She was calling him home and he answered with a final cry of his own as he exploded inside her, continuing to move as he tried to expel all the hate and fear.
When it was over he laid on top of her, too weak from his uncaged emotions and the loss of his angry energy to move. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. You gave me what I wanted.”
He was speaking against her neck; he could tell from her voice that she was still crying. “But you didn’t…”
"I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't."
He lifted himself up on his elbows and studied her. “What’s wrong? What did I do wrong?”
Her _expression cut him to the quick. "Nothing, Draco. You were perfect. I just. I can’t…I can't let go, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just tell me why," he urged.
She seemed unsure about answering, but then whispered, "Everything would come back - our history; the way you made me feel then...and now. And it will shatter me and I won't be able to walk out of this room."
"You're afraid we'll never see each other again?" he asked, voicing his own fear.
"No, that I could live with. I'm afraid I will see you again," she said, soberly.
He swallowed. “Oh.”
She pulled him down so that the full weight of his body was pressed against her again. “Let’s not talk about it. I've got to give my heart a rest, at least for a moment, and just be with you.”
He held her in silence for some time, his mind raging. There's nothing I can do, he thought bitterly. I can't change a thing. "They're just using us," he finally said.
She didn't respond verbally, just clutched him tighter.
"Your side, my side, what bloody difference does it make? We're just pieces in their fucked-up puzzle."
"What can we do?" she asked hopelessly.
He pulled back so that he could see her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the now-dry tears that still streaked her cheeks. She looked as tired as he felt.
"They're going to kill us. It doesn't matter who’s right or wrong."
"I can't..."
He cut her off, "You can't what? Desert Potter? Weasley couldn't either and what did it get him?"
She trembled as she thought of the last time she'd seen Ron, his face cold and pale with death. She shook her head. "No, I can't abandon Harry."
"But you can abandon me?" he asked, caustically.
"It's not the same. You have your own pressures to live up to," she said.
"Just ask me, Hermione, and I'll run from them and take you with me."
She looked surprised. "You'd..."
He read the question before she could ask it. "No," he clarified. "I can't go with you, not to Potter. They won't accept me - I'll end up in Azkaban. You know this."
She studied him. She didn't need to use Legilimency to see what was written in his slate eyes. "So, just leave all of it behind? Everything?"
Draco entwined his fingers with hers. "Just ask me Hermione, please. Just ask."
****
When they returned to the motel office hours later, everything seemed the same. The grey-eyed boy gave Nick the room key, his countenance as blank as before.
She waited by the exit, her eyes finding great interest in her feet and not much else.
"Thanks," the blond offered politely.
"No problem, take care," said Nick, and he meant it.
The young man remained silent as he joined his winsome partner. No change, thought Nick. But then, as she opened the door, the boy took her hand in his and they glanced at each other. Something unspoken but fathomless passed between them.
Nick's eyes widened as he watched them leave. For a split second a feeling of unbridled hope flooded him, but he brutally shoved it away. He waited a few minutes before picking up the phone and dialling a number he remembered in his nightmares.
A bone-chillingly cold voice answered and he cursed inwardly. He wasn't sure if he was angrier with himself or those stupid kids.
"Yes?" said the voice expectantly. The wizard on the other end of the line knew there was only one person who could be calling his rarely used Muggle device.
"They've flown," Nick said, tonelessly.
"You're certain?"
He sighed. "You can bet on it."
"Very well," said the smooth-as-ice voice. "You'll be handsomely rewarded for your assistance."
Nick hung up the phone. He didn't give a shit about the money. His compensation was the safety of his sorry ass. He wished he was the type of man that could sacrifice himself for a pair of young lovers. But he wasn't that guy. Instead, he traded their lives for his own. "Stupid, stupid kids," he muttered out loud to the dark night.
Their souls were connected, if only for a little while. Now he was the lost one.
The End
Endnotes: So there you have it. Just a few quick references:
The name Devlin comes from the character played by Cary Grant in the Alfred Hitchcock film "Notorious." Grant co-starred with Ingrid Bergman in the film. He plays a government agent who asks her to spy on a group of her father's Nazi friends in Rio. A love affair develops between the two, even though she's forced to pursue one of her father's friends, played by the brilliant Claude Rains. I'll say no more, it's a great film.
The room number six is a very vague reference to "The Unbearable Lightness of Being." It's been a while since I read it (or watched the film), but I wanted the number to have some significance. I believe it comes up a number of times in the work, including the number of the room Tomas and Tereza share on their last night.
It's not made explicitly clear, but by using dollars, I'm indicating that the meeting place is somewhere in America, away from their world.