A/N: A ficlet based upon a drabble I wrote a loooooooong time ago for the 'Late' Challenge on a Livejournal drabble community. After perusing through some old drabbles, I came across this and was inspired to flesh it out into a ficlet. It's a one-shot with a lot of 'implied' detail.

HUGE hugs and thanks to Elle_Blessing for her wonderful beta job.

Also, one of her beta comments has brought to my attention another instance of 'Cognitive Dissonance', where the term 'bedsit' may not be widely recognised. A Bedsit is a type of accomodation - its a UK slurring of bed-sitting-room - basically it's a poky little one-room apartment where the kitchen is little more than an alcove and there is room for a bed and nothing else. Sometimes there is a bathroom, sometimes not - in the cheaper end of the renting market one bathroom is shared by four bedsits. It's most commonly used as a REALLY cheap student accomodation (or in this case, temporary shelter for Order refugees).

So I thought I'd clear that up before you all read it! LOL

Enjoy! Do Please Read and Review.

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Pacing his five hundredth circuit in front of the fire, he tried to think about something, anything, but what might be happening. He'd made his choice and was living with the consequences, but this waiting was torture.

He'd wanted to fight. Campaigned tirelessly to anyone he thought might be able to influence the decision of the Order. But it had been to no avail. He'd been transported to this 'safe house' the evening before the assault that would determine the outcome of the war. Just in case, they said.

'Just in case' what? He got cold feet at the last minute and reversed his defection? No, he didn't want to think about that either.

The crack of her apparition sent a jolt through his body. It was over. One way or the other.

He turned towards her and stared wordlessly at what he saw. Her robes and skin were caked in blood and dirt, except where her tears had worn white tracks through the filth. She was shaking visibly and dropped her wand with a clatter. A heartbeat later she was on her knees, her head bowed to the floor, doubled over with the pain of her anguish.

He found himself on his knees beside her, her wand in his hand. A whispered spell cleansed her skin, and he could see bruises and the short-lived scars left by battlefield healing spells. Carefully he eased her up, looping her leaden arms around his neck and murmuring soothing platitudes softly in her ear. Her sobbed words were incoherent, and he knew she was in no condition to talk. He was content just to have her with him. Everything else could wait.

Lifting her to her feet, he could feel her trembling uncontrollably and kept his arm wrapped tightly around her waist lest she collapse again. She was so cold.

Taking small steps, he guided her backwards towards the little bathroom. His jumper was dirt-stained and soaked with her tears, but it wasn't important. All that mattered was getting her clean, warm and asleep.

He managed to half-drag, half-carry her across the tiny bedsit, and was reaching for the bathroom door handle when he felt her lips against his neck. At first he thought she was speaking, then her tongue was licking at his hammering pulse and her teeth were scraping oh-so-gently against his skin.

Searing heat poured through his veins and his knees trembled. He shouldn't be letting her do this. There would be time enough for a proper reunion when her grief was less raw. When all this was over, he planned to take her in his arms and make love to her all night. He would tell her the secrets of his heart and, together, they would have a proper chance to heal.

This was wrong. She couldn't want this. Not now, surely?

There was desperation in her actions as her hands fumbled mindlessly at his belt. It didn't matter how many times he tried to push them away, she persisted. When she tugged his shirt loose and laid her cold hands against the hot skin of his back, he thought he might die.

"Help me, Draco," she whimpered. "I need you."

Her words were his undoing. His willpower crumbled to dust whenever he was with her and a scorching torrent of love and lust took care of what little resistance remained.

She groaned as his lips found a sensitive spot on her neck, licking and caressing with infinite tenderness. The tears still ran unstoppably down her face, even as she dug her fingernails into his shoulders and clung to him with all her strength.

"I was too late..." She moaned, as he eased her bloodstained robes from her shoulders with gentle fingers.

"It was my fault. I should never have left him..." Her anguished whimpers sounded loud in the silence as he pulled her towards him, warming her with his body.

"I wanted to stay!" She looked up at him, her eyes begging him to understand. "But he told me... Said it would all be alright."

He removed the last vestiges of her ruined clothing and pulled her into the shower, wrapping his arms around her to offer what scant comfort and protection he could.

"You weren't to know," he murmured as she lifted a leg and wrapped it around him, welcoming him in the most intimate embrace.

They moved slowly together as the perpetually hot water thundered over them, until she threw her head back and wailed her completion.

All he could think, feel, and breathe was Her. Where they were pressed skin-to-skin, there was heat and a trembling tingle inside that made him want to never let her go. Pressed together each possessed, and in possession he couldn't discern where he stopped and she started. Her hair was plastered across his shoulders and her arms were around his neck. Where their bodies joined, there was only a molten pool of sensation and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

She was still weeping, even as she clenched and shuddered around him. She bit his shoulder and he was lost. Crushing her against him he slid down the wall, cradling her in his lap.

How long they sat there, he didn't know. Time was measured only by her heaving sobs and the splattering of the water against the glass of the shower cubicle. He was content to hold her as her tears mingled with the shower water pouring over their skin.

There wasn't anything he could do to change what she'd seen and done out there today, but he could be here for her now. She would tell him in her own time, and he would wait patiently.

Eventually her crying began to calm, and she lay still in his embrace. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, and she laid her head against his shoulder, burying her face in his neck, too weary to hold it up herself.

With slow, careful movements, he helped her to her feet and wrapped a magically-enlarged towel around them both.

When he asked, she refused dinner with a mute shake of her head. Her eyes were puffy and bore a slightly glazed look. Sleep was what she needed, but when he tried to put her to bed she clung to him, begging him not to leave her on her own.

Collapsing into bed in a damp tangle, he held her as she fell asleep. She was broken. Existing in pieces that each bled from the separation. She was quiet now, her hiccupping breaths tamed by the sleep of the exhausted.

As he pulled the duvet over them both, she mumbled incoherently and threw her arm around his waist. He wondered what had happened. Who was dead, who was hurt, and who survived? From both sides.

Tomorrow, he thought, as he looked down at her battle-ravaged face. It begins tomorrow.