The air in the Room of Requirement was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of magic gone wrong. The Battle of Hogwarts raged beyond the walls, spells cracking like thunder, screams echoing through the castle’s ancient stones.

You crouched behind a pile of splintered furniture, your wand gripped tightly, your heart hammering so hard it felt like it might shatter your ribs. As a Slytherin, you’d walked a razor’s edge for months, feeding information to the Order while wearing the mask of a loyal pure-blood. But now, in the chaos of war, that mask was slipping, and the Death Eaters had you cornered.

“You thought you could play both sides, didn’t you?” snarled a voice, low and venomous. Crabbe, his wand raised, loomed over you, his face twisted with glee. Behind him, Goyle and a wiry Death Eater you didn’t recognize closed in, their spells lighting up the cluttered room in flashes of green and red. “The Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate traitors.”

You didn’t flinch, though fear coiled in your gut. “I’m not the one hiding behind a master who’s too scared to show his face,” you shot back, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. You flicked your wand, sending a burst of Stupefy that caught Goyle off-guard, but Crabbe was faster, his curse grazing your shoulder, searing pain blooming across your skin.

You stumbled, your back hitting a teetering stack of crates, and for a moment, you thought this was it. This was the end, caught in the crossfire of a war you’d tried to navigate without losing yourself. But then a figure burst through the smoke, his silver-blond hair catching the light of a stray spell.

Draco Malfoy.

“Crabbe, enough!” His voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. He stood between you and the Death Eaters, his wand raised but not aimed, his posture rigid with something you couldn’t place.

Crabbe sneered, his wand still trained on you. “She’s a traitor, Malfoy. You gonna defend her? Thought you were one of us.”

Draco’s jaw clenched, his pale eyes flickering to you for a split second before hardening again. “I said back off,” he snapped, his voice low but laced with a dangerous edge. “You don’t get to decide who lives or dies.”

The wiry Death Eater laughed, a cold, grating sound. “Your father won’t like this, boy. Step aside, or you’re next.”

You saw the hesitation in Draco’s stance, the way his grip on his wand tightened, the way his shoulders tensed like he was carrying the weight of a thousand bad choices.

You’d known him for years. You’d shared classes, traded barbs, caught glimpses of the boy beneath the bravado, but you’d never seen him like this, teetering on the edge of defiance in a way that could cost him everything. And it was for you.

“Draco, don’t,” you hissed, struggling to your feet, ignoring the pain in your shoulder. “Get out of here. They’ll kill you.”

He didn’t look at you, but his voice was low, almost a growl. “Shut up, Y/N. I’m not leaving you to die.”

Before you could argue, Crabbe raised his wand, a curse forming on his lips, but Draco was faster. “Expelliarmus!” he shouted, disarming Crabbe with a force that sent his wand skittering across the floor. The Death Eater lunged, but you were ready, your own spell, impedimenta, freezing him mid-step. Goyle, recovering, charged, but Draco tackled him, the two crashing into a pile of debris with a sickening crunch.

“Run!” Draco yelled, scrambling to his feet, grabbing your arm. You didn’t hesitate, the two of you sprinting through the Room of Requirement as it began to shift, walls groaning and objects toppling. A jet of green light missed your head by inches, singeing the air, and you felt Draco’s hand tighten around yours, pulling you toward a hidden exit you’d used to slip messages to the Order.

The corridor beyond was crumbling, stones falling like rain, the castle itself seeming to rebel against the violence within. You stumbled, your injured shoulder screaming, but Draco’s arm was around your waist, half-carrying you as you navigated the maze of collapsing hallways. Spells exploded behind you, shouts fading as you put distance between yourselves and the Death Eaters, but the danger wasn’t gone.

You reached a narrow alcove, a forgotten passageway barely lit by a flickering torch. Draco pushed you inside, his breath ragged, his face streaked with ash and sweat. He leaned against the wall, his wand still clutched tightly, his eyes scanning the corridor for pursuit. You slid to the ground, your back against the cold stone, pain and adrenaline making your head spin.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, your voice sharp despite the exhaustion. “You just painted a target on your back, Draco. For me. Are you insane?”

He turned to you, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. “You’re welcome,” he snapped, his voice biting but unsteady. “Or would you rather I’d let Crabbe curse you into oblivion?”

“You didn’t have to do that!” you shot back, wincing as you shifted, your shoulder throbbing. “You could’ve walked away, saved yourself. Why risk everything for me? You’ve made it clear where your loyalties lie.”

His face twisted, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, furious whisper. “You think I wanted this? To be stuck between my family and—” He stopped, his breath hitching, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find an answer he didn’t have. “You don’t get it, do you? I couldn’t let them hurt you. Not you.”

The words hit like a spell, stealing your breath. You stared at him, the torchlight casting sharp shadows across his face. For years, you’d danced around each other, allies in secret, bound by stolen moments in the Slytherin common room, late-night talks about a world neither of you could fully belong to. But this was different. This was real.

“Why?” you asked, your voice softer now, though it trembled with the weight of the question. “Why me, Draco? You’ve got everything to lose. Your family, your name, your life. Why throw it away for someone who’s already a traitor?”

He laughed, a harsh, broken sound that held no humor. “Because you’re the only thing that makes sense anymore,” he said, his voice raw, like he was tearing the words from somewhere deep. “This war, my family, the Mark—” He yanked up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark branded into his skin, its edges stark against his pale flesh. “It’s all poison. But you… you’re the one thing I can’t let them take.”

Your heart pounded, a mix of fear and something warmer, something dangerous. You pushed yourself up, ignoring the pain, and stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, the faint tremble in his frame. “You’re an idiot,” you said, but your voice cracked, betraying you. “You could’ve died back there. I could’ve lost you.”

His eyes widened, just a fraction, and then he was closer, his hand hovering near your face, hesitant, like he was afraid to touch you. “You think I’m not scared of losing you?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time you sneak off to play spy, every time you put yourself in their crosshairs, I—” He stopped, his throat working, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost pleading. “I can’t do this without you, Y/N. I don’t want to.”

The confession hung between you, fragile as the flickering torchlight. The castle shook, a distant explosion reminding you of the war raging just beyond the walls, but in this moment, it was just you and Draco, two broken pieces trying to fit together in a world that wanted to tear you apart.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and he flinched, like the touch burned. But then he grabbed your hand, his grip tight, desperate, and pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm, uneven, and you could feel the rapid thud of his pulse where your hands met.

“Don’t do that again,” you whispered, your voice fierce despite the tears prickling your eyes. “Don’t throw yourself in front of a wand for me. I can’t.. Draco, I can’t lose you either.”

He didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, careful of your injured shoulder but holding you like you were the only thing keeping him upright. You buried your face in his neck, the scent of him grounding you in a way nothing else could. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm against your cheek, a reminder that he was here, alive, with you.

“We’re not safe yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing your hair, the words more a promise than a warning. “But I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. The war was still out there, the danger still real, but in this crumbling corridor, with his arms around you and the torchlight fading, you felt something shift.

“Then we fight together,” you said, your voice steady now, a vow as much as his. “No more secrets. No more sacrifices.”

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips, and for the first time that night, you saw the boy you’d always known, not the heir or the Death Eater, but Draco. Flawed, fierce, and yours.

“Together,” he echoed, and as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft but desperate, you felt the world fall away, leaving only the two of you, holding on through the chaos, a light in the dark.

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The Great Hall that morning felt surreal. The usual clatter of dishes and cheerful chatter had been replaced by hushed whispers and uneasy glances. When Harry, Hermione, and Ron stepped through the oak doors, they immediately knew something was wrong.

Hermione clutched her cloak tighter, shivering from the tension. “It’s strange… it’s never this quiet at this hour” she muttered, scanning the room.

The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables were whispering amongst themselves with worried expressions, but it was the Slytherin table that caught their attention. Draco Malfoy sat at the center, hands tangled in his hair, his school shirt wrinkled and dusty, as if he’d slept (or not slept at all) in a corridor or right there on that table.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott flanked him, one with a hand on his shoulder, the other speaking in hushed tones, trying in vain to get him to eat something. Pansy Parkinson’s eyes were red and swollen, dabbing constantly at her cheeks with a crumpled handkerchief. Daphne Greengrass, usually pristine, looked about to faint, pale and clutching a trembling teacup.

Even Goyle looked worriedly toward Draco, while Crabbe paced awkwardly nearby, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do.

“What the hell happened?” Ron whispered, slowing his step.

Before they could reach their own table, Ginny stood abruptly and walked toward them, her face tense.

“Where the hell have you three been?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“We stopped by Hagrid’s. Thought we’d have breakfast with him, but he wasn’t home” Hermione explained, confused.

Ginny pressed her lips together and glanced at the Slytherin table. “That’s because Hagrid’s been with the professors all night. They’ve been searching the dungeons.”

“The dungeons?” Harry repeated. “Why? What happened?”

“Don’t tell me another troll got in.”

“Not a troll, Ronald…” Ginny lowered her voice further and glanced toward Pansy Parkinson, who was still silently crying. “I heard Pansy say she saw something… She’s convinced she spotted a vampire.”

“A vampire?” Hermione echoed, incredulous. “Here at Hogwarts?”

Ginny nodded slowly, her expression grim.

“And that’s not all...Ramona Grimsby is missing.”

The words hit the trio like a slap. Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. Ron stopped smiling altogether.

“Since when?” Harry asked, voice tight. “Since last night. Pansy said she left the common room to drop some books off in the library and never came back.”

Harry turned toward the Slytherin table, where Draco now had his face buried in his hands, his shoulders rigid. Blaise and Theodore whispered to him, but Draco showed no sign of hearing them.

“Have they found anything? Any clue?” Hermione asked, now watching Ginny closely.

“A torn bit of cloak… then nothing. The professors are still searching everywhere. They had Hufflepuff students sleep in the emergency dorms last night, just in case.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione, you’ve read about vampires, right? They shouldn’t even be able to get in!” Ron whispered.

“In theory, no” Hermione said, her face tense. “But we both know some barriers can be broken…”

“...Malfoy completely lost it this morning” Ginny said “Even Snape couldn’t get him to sleep. He’s still wearing the same clothes as last night.”

Harry stared at her, then turned back to Malfoy, wondering if this was really the same boy who, just yesterday, had mocked his entire Quidditch team.

✵❖✧✵❖✧

Classes were suspended for the entire day, and the castle seemed to hold its breath.

Most students had gathered in the Great Hall, closely watched by patrolling professors who gave the impression of knowing more than they were letting on. Every archway had been decorated with strings of garlic, swaying like ghostly wards over the students’ heads. Even at noon, without the usual classroom buzz, Hogwarts felt grim and heavy.

“Oh, I don’t think garlic actually works, you know?” Luna Lovegood offered cheerfully, sitting beside Ginny and Neville. “Some vampires find the smell soothing. They say it helps them meditate.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, uncertain whether to laugh or worry even more.

Harry couldn’t stop glancing toward the Slytherin table. The only thing anyone had heard Malfoy say that morning was: “I’ve just sent an owl to my father.” As if that would magically make Ramona reappear at their table.

Since then, Draco had sat completely still, fists clenched on the table, eyes locked on the doors.

“I never thought Malfoy could look so… human” Ron muttered, still a bit stunned by the sight of his long-time rival.

Even Hermione didn’t reply. Everyone seemed lost in thought, waiting.

Then, shortly after lunch, the Great Hall’s massive doors creaked open, silencing the entire room. Professor McGonagall entered briskly, her face tight with authority, but something like relief behind her stern eyes.

She scanned the Slytherin table and, spotting Draco, turned toward the entrance and gave a firm nod.

Draco Malfoy understood instantly.

He leapt to his feet so fast the bench behind him toppled over. The other students stared, stunned, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were locked on the door, where a moment later, Ramona appeared.

Her long dark hair fell in disarray over her shoulders, her pale face marked with faint scratches. Her uniform was wrinkled, her skirt stained with dirt. But more than anything, she trembled, like she couldn’t shake off whatever fear still clung to her skin.

Draco walked toward her and before she could say a word, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest.

Ramona’s arms curled around his back as silent sobs shook her body.

“Blaise, the cloak” Draco ordered without looking back.

Blaise acted fast. He handed Draco the dark green cloak, which Draco wrapped around Ramona’s shoulders, shielding her from every eye in the room.

“Are you alright?”

Ramona nodded against his chest, still breathless, trying, desperately, to reclaim her usual pure-blood composure. Draco leaned down, his jaw tense, whispering something no one else could hear.

But the look on his face was a mix of rage and relief. The look of someone who would never let this happen again.

Professor McGonagall gently approached them, quietly suggesting they head to the infirmary. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all lowered their gazes at once, struck by the intimacy of that moment, as if it didn’t belong to anyone else but Draco and Ramona.

“Well… all’s well that ends well” Hermione whispered, trying to break the suffocating silence, though something in her chest still felt cold and unsettled.

Harry looked up one last time at the pair walking away, Draco’s hand steady on Ramona’s back like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Then it hit him, and he knew others in that hall felt it too.

Until that day, everyone had assumed Draco Malfoy and Ramona Grimsby were just a game. A show of jealousy, power, and pure physical pleasure. Superficial, like all things Slytherin seemed to be.

A splinching incident lands Hermione Granger in the arms of someone wholly unexpected... and they might not let her go.

Sweet Sacrifice--the oneshot by TheWanderersWanderingDaughter

A werwolf terrorizes a small rural village. They're getting desperate. They've tried everything. It's too clever--they fear they have a demon on their hands. Hermione Granger (a muggle) wanders into its path, fights it, lives--and learns there's no escape.

There was more movement then, and this time beyond a doubt it was not the wind, because it moved in the opposite direction it blew, and from between two thick bunches of tall grass, in the darkness between a yellow eye appeared and stared at her. 

Her knees went weak. She almost dropped her dagger. 

“You should not be outside, maiden,” it repeated, its delivery horrifyingly playful though the voice had gone deeper. “For now I have seen and smelled you I will not forget you.” 

There was the sound of a deep inhale and a slow exhale following after. A ragged sigh. The eye did not blink. It did not break its stare, and stunned, the maiden could not look away.

The Dark Side of the Moon by Eldyra

While it certainly is a good thing that Draco doesn't have to go to Azkaban, he isn't too happy about the mandatory return to Hogwarts either. Still struggling with the memories of the War and the need to keep a secret that could ruin what is left of his family's reputation, he's quite sure that it will be a long year.

Instruments of Time by i_know_what_you_wrote_last_summer

A time travelling necklace from his father's study sends Draco's mind flying back to his thirteen-year-old body. Already the cause of so much pain in the original timeline, he refuses to let Buckbeak die because of his past immaturity. Despite this seemingly simple task, he finds himself embroiled in Professor Lupin's past whilst struggling to keep secrets about the future hidden.

Don't Turn Away by hobbitpenguin

The War has just ended but recovery is a long way away and all is not well. Draco and Hermione are returning to Hogwarts to complete their eighth year. The problems they face may bring them together, but may also tear them apart.

Cold Side of the Moon by RZZMG

Released from Azkaban and tossed into the Forbidden Forest for Voldemort's entertainment, Hermione Granger must escape the predators and survive for eight days to earn her freedom. She doesn't expect to make it, especially knowing Draco Malfoy, half-breed werewolf, is somewhere in the forest, too, just waiting for the next victim of The Games to arrive.

Werewolf of Wiltshire by DramioneConvert