Draco's instinct on Ron Weasley proved accurate. Not half an hour after sending off Hermione's letter, clamped in the beak of his eagle owl, there was a frantic pounding at his front door, and a muffled, "Should I break the door open?"
"Relax, Weasley," Draco called, opening the door with a flick of his wand to maintain his distance. "No need for property damage."
Ron was through the door in a moment, his hair disheveled, his eyes wide and wild. "What did you do to my wife, Malfoy?" he asked as Potter stuck his head around the door frame, bags underneath his eyes and a stooped slump to his shoulders.
"I didn't do anything to her," Malfoy replied sternly, lowering his wand to the countertop sip his tea, his left hand still tight around the handle, the picture of calculated calm. "She's in the guest room, resting, giving her statement to Detective Nott."
"Her statement?" Ron repeated, spluttering, stepping further into the flat.
"Someone tried to kill her, Weasley, she has to talk to the MLE," Malfoy said dryly. "Do come in, Potter, my residence won't harm you."
Harry stepped more completely into the flat, his eyes searching the corners in what Malfoy recognized as a trained defensive manner. He tried not to take it personally. It was the anniversary of several of his friends' deaths; he was bound to be a little on edge. They all were. Still, there was something annoyingly familiar about having Ron Weasley pointing his wand at him for no good reason. Draco felt his childhood hackles rising, and pushed them back. There were more important things.
"Hermione?" Ron called, finally lowering his wand and moving toward the hallway to the right.
"Last door on the left," Malfoy supplied without looking up from the counter. "Potter? A cup of tea?" At Harry's cautious look, Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It's not poison."
After another moment of pensive silence, Harry shrugged an affirmative. Draco turned away from him to pour another cup, listening to Ron's heavy footfalls as he went to find his wife. Wife. Hearing it in relation to Hermione Granger was still odd for him; she would always be that annoying girl from Hogwarts, the skilled dueler from the war, the softened but still intimidating scholar he'd known at university. Never a wife.
He dropped a sugar cube into Potter's coffee and resolved to put it out of his mind.
Hermione heard Ron approaching from down the hall, the cadence of his steps familiar. Theo, scribbling in his notebook, paused in his writing. "My husband," she said.
"Of course," Theo looked back down at his notes. "Now, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, Draco said –"
"Hermione?" Ron swung the door open like he expected a hostage situation, his wand raised. His eyes fell immediately to Theo, who surveyed his defensive stance and wand with raised eyebrows.
"Ronald, I'm fine, please –"
He was by her side immediately, his eyes darting back to Theo suspiciously. "Are you alright?" he asked. "What happened?"
"Mr. Weasley, if Hermione could just finish her statement –"
"Oh, sod off, Nott," Ron snapped. "Your statement can wait."
"It can't, actually," Nott said, standing and straightening his dark blue MLE robes. "Two other war heroes have been attacked so far today, and we have reason to believe that more attacks are imminent. Hermione's attack was not random."
"Who more?" Hermione repeated as Ron sank into the mattress beside her. "Who?"
"Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott were attacked in Diagon Alley this morning," Theo replied.
Hermione reached for Ron's clammy hand. He tensed for a moment before taking hers. "Are they alright?" she asked, trying to straighten up.
"I thought I told you not to agitate her," Draco's voice was quiet and cold. "Granger."
Ron immediately moved to stand up. "That's Granger-Weasley to –"
"She's always going to be Granger to me," Draco shrugged. "I brought you tea," he directed to Hermione. "And I expect you to drink it this time."
"If we could get back to the statement –" Theo said, raising his eyebrows at Draco when he turned away from the side table, where he had deposited Hermione's cup of tea.
"Of course," Draco replied "Weasley, please allow Detective Nott to do his job. Then I'm sure Granger would be happy to tell you the whole story."
He stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for Ron's confirmation. When he gave none, Draco let his eyes fall to Hermione, who nodded.
"As I was saying –" Theo continued as Draco closed the door.
Draco found Potter sitting at his dinner table when he returned to the main room of his flat, staring into the dregs of his tea. "Would you like me to top that off, Potter?" he asked. He jumped at the sound of Draco's voice, his eyes dazed and lost. "Or perhaps you'd like something a little stronger." He nodded his head toward a decanter of firewhiskey beside the two gray couches in the living room.
"Is this Hermione's blood?" Potter asked, pointing to the dark rust stain on the wood. Draco stared at it, trying not to remember the ordeal he'd had trying to remove the stain, his hands shaking and his jaw tight. He turned away from it and grabbed the decanter of firewhiskey and two glasses from the tray. "I'll take that as a yes."
They sat in silence for a while, Draco drinking from his glass, Potter barely sipping. Finally, Potter spoke again.
"Can I ask you a question and get a real answer?" he asked. "I mean, not a typical snide Malfoy answer, but a real one?"
Draco shrugged. "Ask me and find out."
"Was it like being in the war again?" he asked softly, his voice so quiet and so tentative Draco could have pretended not to hear him. But his hand tensed around the glass, and he was forced to sigh.
"It doesn't feel like it ever ended," Draco replied. "I've been waiting to snap out of it, to go back to normal, but I can't."
"Is that why you didn't take her to St. Mungo's?" Potter asked. At Draco's alarmed look, he continued, "A few years after the war, Hermione got sick. A reaction to the Cruciatus Curse, we think. Either way, she was having seizures and passing out. All of us just took her to Grimmauld Place and researched potions to help her." He took a long swig of the firewhiskey, wincing sharply at the taste.
"We didn't even think about going to St. Mungo's," he continued, his voice a little raw. "The moment we saw something from the war come back, we were acting on instinct. It was almost a week before Molly came by and told us we were being ridiculous, and that we needed to go to the hospital."
He chuckled, as if the memory was funny now, but it wasn't to Draco. To be spared responding, he took a larger drink of his firewhiskey and turned away to pour himself more.
He didn't need to be talking about this to anyone, much less to Potter. And he wouldn't.
"Draco said the assailant stabbed you twice –"
"That's correct," Hermione said.
"With a Muggle blade?" Theo asked.
"I can't say for sure," she admitted, "I didn't see the blade, but I know it wasn't a spell."
"And he pushed you…" Theo trailed off.
"Onto Remus Lupin's headstone," she finished.
Ron stiffened beside her. "Lupin's grave? Hermione –"
"In a moment, Ronald –"
"And after that, you were knocked unconscious," Theo continued as if Ron hadn't spoken.
"That's right," she agreed. "After that, you'd have to rely on Malfoy to tell you what happened."
"He said," Theo flipped through his notes. "You were unconscious for close to three hours, that he used a charm that Severus Snape taught him in school to close your internal wounds, and he gave you a Blood Replenishing Potion and a Wideye –"
"A spell taught to him by Snape?" Ron interrupted. Theo stood, raising his eyebrows at the redheaded man. Ron considered him for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Ronald, please –"
"All I need you to do is sign the statement," Theo said, passing the parchment over to her.
"Can – can you tell me – is Neville okay?" Hermione asked, scribbling her name and handing the paper back. "And Hannah?"
Theo reclaimed the parchment, tapping it with his wand to seal it and notarize it. "Longbottom is in St. Mungo's. It looks like he's going to be okay. His wife was, unfortunately, the first casualty."
"Someone's dead?" Malfoy's voice was sharper than Hermione had heard it in years. He was standing in the doorway, a glass of alcohol in his hand, almost empty. His eyes were on Hermione.
"Hannah Abbott," Theo answered. "Hufflepuff. From our year."
"I remember her," Malfoy said quietly. "I'm sorry," he directed to Hermione, who wiped away a tear. "I know she was your friend."
She opened her mouth to respond, but Ron cut her off. "We have to go. We have to contact the Order, make sure they know about this threat. We have to make sure they're okay."
"If I could make a suggestion –" Malfoy said.
"You can't," Ron snapped, standing up. "This is all very suspect. You expect me to believe that you were just – what – in the right place at the right time to save Hermione's life? And the only way you could save her was to bring her to your flat and not to a bloody hospital?"
"Ronald –"
"Don't try getting up, Granger," Malfoy said. "Let him get it out of his system."
"We're going to St. Mungo's," Ron insisted. "Come on, Hermione."
"Weasley, she can't even stand yet," Malfoy protested as Ron tried to help her up. "You're going to hurt her."
"He's right, Ron," Hermione said, wincing as Ron's arm snaked around her middle.
"Why don't you leave her here for tonight," Malfoy said, "And go check on your family and friends. She'll be safe her."
"Like bloody hell she'd be safe here," Ron exclaimed. "I'm not leaving my wife with you."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Nervous I'm going to steal your wife, Weasel?" he sneered. Theo, by the doorway, watching the exchange, snorted.
"Malfoy," Hermione admonished. He met her gaze for a moment before he sighed.
"Take your wife wherever you want," he said flatly. "Theo, if I could speak to you –"
There was no goodbye, no last look, no nothing. The door swung shut behind him quietly, and Ron turned to Hermione, residual rage flaring in his eyes. A moment later, there was a quiet knock at the door, and Harry stuck his head in.
"Malfoy said we're leaving – Hermione, what's wrong?"
Now that her audience was gone, her tears could flow freely. She told Harry, through sobs, what she'd learned about Neville and Hannah. But crying just made her abdomen hurt even more, and soon, her sobs were of sadness and pain, and she felt herself spiraling out of control.
"We have to contact the Order," Ron insisted as Harry took Hermione's hand.
"Send the Patronus and tell them to meet us at Grimmauld," Harry said. "I'll get Hermione there."
Ron glanced back at his wife, clutching tightly to Harry's hand as she cried, before he nodded and left the room. He never stayed with Hermione when she got like this; he didn't know how to help her through it, and she never held that against him. Harry was always there to help her ride it out, even if he didn't know how to help; his presence was enough. This time, he just held her hand while she cried, her sobs mangled and strained.
"Granger –" Malfoy was suddenly at the door again.
"Malfoy, now isn't the time –"
"Potter, just give me a moment, if you please," Malfoy said, tilting his head toward the door. Harry turned back to Hermione, who gently released his hand and gave him a single nod.
"I'll be right outside the door," he promised her from the doorway.
The moment he was out of sight, Malfoy was by her side, holding out his hand. "Take it," he said. She stared at him for a moment, eyes red and swollen, before she reached out and took it. "I get panic attacks all the time," he said quietly, his voice somehow soothing when it was this soft. "If you feel like you need to cry, I want you to let it out." He tapped the side table with his wand. "No one can hear you."
She wasn't sure how long she cried, but she felt the sobs shudder through her like waves crashing on the shore, and let Malfoy's steady pressure on her hand keep her above the current. All she could think about was the fear that she couldn't shake now that she had almost lost her life, and the pain of knowing another person was dead because of something they thought they'd all left behind.
"Breathe, Granger, nice and slowly, through your nose, and out through your mouth," his voice was still that same reverent tone that made her forget the Malfoy she used to know, and she inhaled shakily, pulling air into her desperate lungs, and it was only then that she realized she had been breathing shallowly. He squeezed her hand and they exhaled together, the air rushing out of her like a deflating balloon.
"There you go, Granger. Always maddeningly perfect, you are," he said, guiding her through more deep breaths. "Now, can you open your eyes? Does the room still feel too small?"
How did he know the room felt too small? Hermione didn't trust her voice enough to ask, but she pulled her eyes open all the same, realizing as she did, that while she was crying, she had ended up with her head resting on Malfoy's shoulder, halfway in his embrace. Immediately, she pulled away, but he didn't look offended.
"Careful, Granger, you'll hurt yourself," he admonished, his voice still soft. "I was afraid you were going to faint for a little while there."
Hermione stared at him, feeling the burn of too many shed tears in her eyes and the raw ache of her lungs in her chest. She didn't know what to say. Sometime in the haze of panic, fear, and grief, she had forgotten who was comforting her. It was bizarre to see it was Malfoy.
"I – I have to – I should go," she whispered, so softly that Malfoy had to cant toward her to hear it. "The – the Order –"
"Of course," he said, suddenly businesslike. He released her hand and stood. "I'll get Potter."
"Malfoy," she called as he reached the doorway. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Granger," he said. "Just don't die."