Weekend update, just like I promised. Thanks for the reminders — whether it's on my board or inbox on twitter/instagram, you guys sure find interesting ways to remind me!

Just out of curiosity, how many of you are still here with me? I can't believe you have the patience to sit through fifty chapters of this, but thank you for bearing with me! I hope you're enjoying this.

x Noelle

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Allows the caster entry into victim's mind.

to Blaise to lead 17-65 on the next few missions. Shacklebolt had given them some manageable ones this time - siphoning information from people, patrolling other bases, recruiting people to fight on the Order's side, protecting Neville when he gave more public speeches.

Draco wasn't surprised when Hermione insisted on joining because she'd always been stubborn as hell and there was no changing her mind once she'd made her decision. So all he could do was to wait. Hear the cracks of disapparition as the rest of 17-65 left on their mission. Watch as his phials lit with arbitrary messages. Play with Teddy as the others risked their lives outside.

And Draco soon realised that there was something absolutely terrifying about waiting. There was none of what he felt out on the battlefield - the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the twisting and turning as he closely evaded Dark spells, the mantra kill or be killed looping itself over and over in his mind. Instead, there was just silence, time ticking as each second dragged to a slow crawl, and the war seemed infinite.

When it came to waiting, there was nothing else necessary but hope. And Draco, being the ever-realistic cynic of a Slytherin that he was, had never depended on hope to win the battles for him, but he now found himself needing it more than ever, especially on those nights when Hermione didn't return.

The sleeping draughts that Andromeda forced him to take made him unable to stay awake for long, of course. So there were nights when Hermione returned, her hair still damp after a quick but thorough bath, only to find Draco fast asleep, a perennial frown glossing his forehead every so often. She'd smooth the lines away and curl up right next to him, pressing her lips to his chest gently when his arms instinctively wrapped around her.

Other nights, the pain from his Sectumsempra wound became almost unbearable and she'd find him tossing and turning, writhing in both the physical agony of his injury and the nightmare that seemed recurring. She knew they were repeated ones because, in between the murmurs of her name - he always called her by her first name in his sleep - there were two other things he said -

The first was: "I have to kill you. Or he's going to kill me."

And the second: "You deserve to die. I regret nothing."

She woke him up on one of the nights when his nightmares seemed worse than ever. The moment she touched his cheek, his eyes flew open and he bolted upright. He had already summoned his wand to him without her even realising, pressing the tip of it against her throat with lethal purpose. His eyes were cold, the look on his face almost feral and he seemed to be acting based on pure killer instincts alone.

Unafraid, Hermione simply smoothed the pads of her thumbs across his face. "Draco?"

He blinked, twice. And then the storm in his eyes seemed to diffuse rapidly as they fixed on her face. "Hermione?"

"It was just a nightmare," she said calmly, "you're safe now."

Draco's face twisted into a horrified expression when he finally registered the wand against her throat. He quickly wrenched away from her, the wand falling to the ground with a clatter. "Fuck," he swallowed roughly, looking at her with searching eyes. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, but he kept firmly out of reach when she stretched out a hand to him.

"It's those numbing potions," he muttered, running a frantic, shaky hand through his tousled blond hair. It was the second time she'd seen him unravelled - the first being the time she had suffered that internal injury so long ago. "When they wear off, the pain comes back in full force and it must've been some sort of trigger. Shit - "

"Draco - "

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he reached out for her, then faltered, snatching his hand back again. "You shouldn't - you should sleep somewhere else in case I - "

"Draco." She firmly closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, careful not to brush against his chest lest she aggravate his wounds even further. He instinctively leaned towards her, even though his hands were limp beside him. "This is ridiculous. When I have my nightmares and wake up screaming and pummelling you to death, do I get you to sleep somewhere else?"

"Hermione, your hits couldn't hurt me, but I could kill - "

"You wouldn't." She said confidently, pulling back and tilting his head so that she was looking right into his eyes. "Despite what you may think of yourself, Draco I-don't-know-your-middle-name Malfoy, you're not a monster, and I won't have you thinking otherwise."

She pressed her lips to his before he could argue. His lips were chapped and hers had a brief cut from a hex she'd accidentally taken on an earlier mission, but she couldn't care less. She kept the kiss gentle, felt him still beneath her in surprise for a brief moment, before he dragged in a painful breath and slid his palms up to her hips, his fingers sliding onto the bare skin where her top rode up.

"Seriously," she mumbled against his lips, still keeping her eyes shut and stifling a whimper when his fingers traced languid circles on her skin, trailing a scorching heat in their wake. "What's your middle name? I just realised that I have no idea what yours is."

But perhaps it was the wrong question to ask, because his fingers abruptly stilled. He pulled himself away with visible effort, and glanced away. "Lucius," he mumbled, after a moment's pause. "That's my middle name."

"Like your father's name?"

"Unfortunately."

She stared at him for a moment. "Your nightmares have something to do with him, don't they?" She asked perceptively. His eyes flickered back to hers in surprise and she shrugged. "You've never told me about him. Plus this," she reached for the string of phials around her neck, holding one of them up to him, "you gave this one to me because you said that this holds memories belonging to your father, and that it's the only one you haven't viewed yet."

He stared at the phial for a long moment. Then, with a resigned sigh, he lay back down on the bed, closing his eyes briefly. Hermione didn't hesitate to curl up next to him, reaching for her wand and casting a quick soothing spell on his chest before putting it back on the bedside table. They were a hairsbreadth away from each other when he opened his eyes, and he reached across to drape an arm around her waist almost absentmindedly.

"I have two recurrent nightmares among many others," Draco said quietly. "You know how - when I first started out as a Death-Eater, I was tasked to kill Dumbledore?"

Hermione nodded. She remembered Narcissa's memories clearly, when she had made an Unbreakable Vow with Severus Snape, remembered Draco's explanation that had followed several days later.

"That's the first. I don't think I'll ever forget that night when I disarmed him. He offered me, actually offered me help, but I was too bloody terrified to take it. And so it repeats in my dreams, I can practically hear Bellatrix's laughter and Dolohov, Greyback and the others standing behind me, encouraging me to hurl my first killing curse. And I can hear his voice - Dumbledore's voice - in my head, telling me that I'm not a murderer."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "You hadn't killed anyone before that?"

"No. To be honest, I don't even remember who my first kill was. The Dark Lord had me tortured so much after the war until I couldn't think, and when he ordered me to kill some prisoner, I just did it in a heartbeat."

"Kill or be killed, right?"

"When you're a Death-Eater - that's the only fucking way. And," Draco paused, swallowing roughly before continuing, keeping his eyes averted from hers. "That's exactly what my bastard of a father did to my mother."

Hermione felt a jolt of shock, but her mind was rapidly whirring, trying to make sense of the puzzle pieces that were finally falling into place. "Why?"

"To save his own fucking skin," Draco's voice was a hard kind of impassive that made her shiver. He said it so matter-of-factly that, for a moment, he sounded like a complete stranger to her. "Several days after the Dark Lord won, the Death-Eaters found my mother hiding out in one of the rooms at Malfoy Manor. Her elves had sealed the bloody place up so tightly that no one could get through. Lucius was the one that tracked her down, helped Bellatrix break through the wards, and he was also the one who shot an Avada right through her heart the second he found her. Right in front of me and everyone else."

Hermione felt tears sting the back of her eyelids as she thought about Narcissa, and how much she had loved her husband. And for Draco to have to witness everything spiral out of control right in front of him seemed equally as heart-breaking.

"That's your nightmare?" She whispered now, wondering how he could bear even going to sleep with such a frightening memory in his head.

Draco faltered, his arm instinctively tightening around her waist. "No," Draco's voice was quiet now, so low it was almost inaudible. "My nightmare is something that happened months after. The Dark Lord sent a couple of us to fight an uprising that had started with some members of the Rebellion. At that point, I hated Lucius more than anything in the world. So when I saw him outnumbered by five other Rebellion members, I just stayed where I was. And watched him die."

Hermione felt her breath lodge in her throat. "What?"

He flinched now, a quick, almost fleeting movement but she caught it anyway. And then his face was impassive again as he pulled his arm away from her. "Lucius deserved to die," Draco's jaw was clenched, his eyes blank as he stared up at the ceiling. "I regret nothing."

His words were exactly what he'd mumbled in his nightmare moments ago. Hermione kept silent and tried to gather her thoughts. She wondered if in the past, before her time in captivity, she might've felt some sort of deep-seated judgement or loathing towards what Draco had done.

But now? Now she didn't see black or white, right or wrong. All she saw were the monsters in his head that Andromeda had once told her about and she wondered if there was perhaps a way for Draco to face them all. Or did he have to live in the shadows, haunted by the monsters of the past for the rest of his life?

The monster in this nightmare, the second nightmare, was not Lucius. Hermione's fingers unconsciously drifted to the phials hanging on her neck as she wondered if it was something else altogether. She could still remember Narcissa's voice from the memories she'd seen, clear as crystal -

We will never be safe and we can never run from him. I made my choice. Find Draco and keep him safe. Find Draco and protect him. Keep him safe, Lucius. No matter what the cost.

No matter what the cost.

Suddenly, the last puzzle piece fell into place, and she knew.

"Merlin," she breathed quietly, turning to look at Draco, only to realise that his gaze had already travelled to where she was gripping the phials tightly between her fingers. "Draco - "

His eyes flew up to hers, the greys in his irises almost desperate and volatile. "Don't," he choked out, a strangled sob that had never escaped him before. "Hermione, I know what you're going to say. I know you've figured it out on your own. But don't say it."

"I won't," she swore, reaching up to brush her lips against his in a promise. Using her wand, she magically unhooked Draco's phial from the silver-coloured chain around her neck and pressed it into his hands. "But I believe the decision lies in your hands now."

His eyes fell shut, his jaw clenched tight in some sort of unspeakable pain, and she brushed her thumbs gently against his cheeks as she watched him fall asleep, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady, heartbroken breaths.

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Fighting a war without Draco felt almost directionless. Hermione had quickly realised this when 17-65 joined the Order on its next mission. The Order functioned differently from 17-65, there was nothing surreptitious or stealth about it; it was just charging into the foray, diving straight into the thick of things, direct confrontations and wands held at point blank.

"Bloody dumb move," Theo had mused, when Shacklebolt was giving out the orders. Hermione couldn't agree more - not that there was anything wrong with straightforward confrontations, but she thought that a little more strategic thinking might help at times.

That afternoon's mission had been a particularly gruelling one - the Order had seized back another one of its bases, but not without a few casualties along the way. Hermione had felt her stomach churn at the sight of the few dead bodies, and was suddenly glad for her memory lapse. Forgetting people had dulled her emotional attachments to them. And in a war like this, it actually worked in her favour.

After handing several healing potions to Professor Trelawney and Madam Pomfrey, Hermione headed back to her group. Blaise had deliberately ignored Shacklebolt's command to group together earlier during the siege, and had directed 17-65 to stay along the sidelines, using Disillusionment charms to hide themselves. It had actually worked out pretty well - apart from a few minor injuries here and there, none of them were in a bad shape.

Hermione went over to Ron, who was seated some a good distance away from the group, cradling his arm possessively to his chest. Harry was with him, trying to get Ron to show him his arm, but the redhead was refusing profusely. She sat on the opposite side of Ron and nudged him. "Arm, please."

"It actually doesn't hurt that much - "

"He's terrified of healing charms," Harry explained, and rolled his eyes. "Says they hurt more than the injury itself."

"I'm not terrified. I just don't have an injury - "

"Sure you don't." Hermione said calmly and turned her wand on Ron. "Petrificus Totalus."

Harry snickered as Ron went completely rigid. "He's going to yell at you once you remove the spell on him."

"Ferula." Hermione quickly performed the necessary spell, before looking up at Ron. His eyes were flashing in annoyance and she grinned wickedly. "Maybe we shouldn't remove the spell."

"I agree." Harry hummed in approval and stood up, dusting the grime off his hands and motioning Hermione over. "Hey, is that Hagrid calling us over there?"

Hermione caught his surreptitious wink and smiled innocently, sidling up to him as he draped his arm comfortably around her shoulders. "Why, yes, it is. We have to go now. Bye, Ron!"

"Catch you later, mate! In a few hours!"

Stifling their laughter - which probably wasn't very appropriate behaviour considering the time and place - Harry and Hermione made their way off, sneaking glances over their shoulders every so often and trying to keep a straight face as they saw Ron's still figure.

Moments later, there came an angry yell and they froze. Thanks to a kind-hearted Luna, Ron was finally released from his body-binding curse and he was now charging towards them, his face red in pent-up annoyance. He caught up with them quickly, and as she watched Ron aim a playful punch to Harry's gut and Harry twist and turn to avoid him, she felt her lips twist up in a wide smile, feeling the two biggest missing pieces within her finally falling into place.

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Draco found himself standing in front of the Pensieve the next afternoon. His arms were braced on the rim and he just inhaling, exhaling, his usually alert mind blank and devoid of all thoughts. He didn't even hear the footsteps that echoed through the hallway or the door being pushed open slowly.

"Draco?" Andromeda's voice abruptly jolted him out of his reverie. "Is everything alright?"

Draco turned around, leaning back against the Pensieve as he looked at her. He suddenly noticed the weary lines around her eyes, the fading black strands in her hair. When she wasn't smiling, Andromeda Tonks looked exactly who she was - a widow who had lost most of her family during the war.

Andromeda's gaze fell to the phial in Draco's hand. "Decided to face your monsters?"

"More like let them engulf me whole," he mumbled, running a tired hand through his hair. "I told Hermione all of it yesterday."

A light of understanding that quickly dawned on Andromeda. "Everything?"

"Everything I know. She - guessed the rest." Draco studied the phial in his hand, scraping his fingernail against the smooth surface. "Dromeda - " he looked up at his Aunt. "When you came to visit me three years ago after learning that Lucius had died - and I told you everything, did you ever think less of me? Less than what you already thought of me?"

Andromeda seemed truly startled by his question, and she stepped closer to him. "Draco," she shook her head and smiled, "I never once thought less of you. If I did, I never would've asked you to find Hermione in the first place. Do you remember what you said when I first asked you to look for her?"

"I said yes."

"You said yes - immediately. You also said that you'd do it, if it meant redeeming yourself in some way or other. Draco, I'm not the one who thinks little of you, nor does Hermione, or anyone else. In case you didn't notice, your three friends from Slytherin would do absolutely anything for you. And I'm certain that Harry and the others think really highly of you."

"Unlikely," Draco scoffed, but he fell silent after that.

Andromeda smiled at the thoughtful countenance on his face. "It's all in your head, Draco. If you can't fight your fears, you live with them." She gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and turned to leave the room.

The door shut with a soft click behind her. And then Draco was alone, Lucius's phial digging into his palm as he fought to calm himself. Finding an infinitesimal ounce of courage somewhere within himself, he reached for his wand, tapping the phial three times.

"Aparecium."

A faint but neat scrawl slowly revealed itself around the phial, a complex incantation that Draco had long ago learnt by heart, because he'd tried to open the phial dozens of times before, only to back out at the very last second.

This time, he recited all of it, every single word, right to the very end, where the incantation ended in the familiar code that Lucius had come up with. "One-seven-six-five," he mumbled, tapping his wand once more to the phial, and the catch on the lid unlocked with a tiny click.

Emptying the memories into the Pensieve, he took a deep breath and went in.

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