Thank you to RESimon for betaing. You're amazing and I adore you. A second thank you goes out to shestoolazytologin for being such a lovely alpha. You guys are an amazing team to work with.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Three days passed before he woke.

She spent the time changing his bandage, cleaning him, and casting cooling charms over him.

That, and watching him.

When she wasn't tending to his every minute change she would lay beside him, analyzing and memorizing his every feature. There was much she hadn't noticed before such as the way his brow never really unfurled, one of many small signs of the tension that never really left his body. She admired the angled sweep of his features, wondering why she'd ever thought them as too harsh and pointy. He had thick lashes that were long enough to sweep his cheekbones in his slumber. When she was curled beside him, she felt just how much larger his frame was than her own. How sharp the contrast of her dark skin against his own pale skin was when she ran her hands over him in the sunlight.

Above all of this, she learned of how much pain he was in.

His eyelids twitched constantly, and his face would often scrunch up in pain before going slack once again. She'd hoped he would have a dreamless rest, but she could easily see it was anything but. In his defenseless rest, she could feel the faint but constant pulse of his pain through their bond. Sometimes she would smooth a gentle hand over his forehead until the tension bled away. It never lasted long enough. On the second night, she took the chance of tilting his head up and spelling half a vial of Dreamless Sleep down his throat. It was the longest period he slept peacefully for.

Late the third evening, she hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she felt a shift beside her. She flew upright, wand at the ready, only to discover the cabin empty. Save for herself — and her husband whose silver-grey eyes were affixed upon her. Her wand fell forgotten onto the sheets as she met his look.

Neither one of them moved for a long moment. At that moment, she was transported back to the relief she'd felt when he'd woken up after she'd tended to his sectumsempra wounds. Then slowly, tentatively, Draco — because Draco was who he was to her now, no matter how much she tried to distance her feelings from him by referring to him as Malfoy — lifted his arm until he cupped her cheek in his large palm. He shifted toward her, both of his legs following fluidly with the movement. She let out a half-sob of relief at the action, and let her eyes flutter shut. She took in the feeling of his warm hand against her skin, taking solace in the fact that her desperate plea to Kreacher had worked.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw that he was still watching her. She started to lean forward, watching him carefully as she moved. His hand slid from her cheek and down her arm. She leaned closer still, and—

He met her halfway. Every kiss they'd ever shared had been raw and desperate, and this was no different. Their mouths moved together in a frantic frenzy, each of them pressing closer to one another until she straddled him and he held her firmly to his chest.

She pulled away first. "You need to eat. And you're weak, you need to rest more..."

The look in his eyes stopped her short, making the words die on her lips. The intensity of his gaze as his eyes bored into hers made her protests slip from her mind.

Later, she said to herself as she pulled him back down into a kiss. Later.

X

When she woke the next morning, he was still there.

She froze when she realized she wasn't lying on a pillow, but rather upon Draco's bare skin. She brushed her wild curls out of her face as she examined their position. The sheets were twisted around them haphazardly, doing nothing to conceal their nakedness. Her leg was hitched over his hip where she rested atop him, leaving her bare cunt in direct contact with his half-hard cock. She looked up at him tentatively only to find him awake and looking down at her.

They'd never crossed this line before.

The morning light illuminated both their faces as they watched each other intently. She moved forward slow and tentative as ever, watching him carefully as she did. She further hooked her leg over him until she straddled him fully, maintaining eye contact all the while. She then reached between them and grasped his hardened length. She pumped him carefully, drinking in the way his lips twitched open as her hand moved, and the way he let out a soft shudder when she murmured a lubrication charm to slicken him further. They weren't propelled by intense lust, nor were they rushing themselves to physical completion as they often did. This time, she allowed herself to observe his every movement in a way she'd never taken the time to before.

She guided him inside of her, letting her eyes flutter shut as she pressed herself down upon him. She let out small pants and gasps as he filled her completely. When he was fully seated within her, she felt his hands on her hips. She opened her eyes to meet his, finding his gaze as dark and intense as before. She rocked herself slowly, letting her hips grind against his pelvis just so until she couldn't keep her soft moans from tumbling out.

She let the pleasure she felt pour out from behind her walls and wrap around them. She saw the moment he felt it, watching his mouth fall open further even as his eyes never strayed from hers. The air between them was thick with the tension she let fall free, and she realized that he'd let his own pleasure flow free, too. The combination of the intensity they let flow freely between them coalesced in an inferno, propelling her thrusts faster as they chased their mutual release.

"Draco," she said his name in a shuddered cry as he started snapping his hips up beneath her.

She leaned forward until she was braced above him. Their mouths were so close that their breaths mingled as they each panted out their mutual release. Even when the final aftershocks of her orgasm had faded, she remained atop him. His cock was still firmly lodged within her, and he made no move to extricate himself, either.

Normally when they finished having sex one of them would leave immediately, ignoring what has just occurred. This time, neither appeared in a rush to move at all. Their eyes were still locked, and she could feel his fingers curling lazy circles on the skin of her hip. She leaned forward, watching to see if he would shy away from the movement. When he didn't move and continued to watch her carefully, she leaned forward again—

They heard it at the same time.

Hermione froze atop of Draco, wondering for a moment if she'd imagined it. The front door opening, and—

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?" A frighteningly familiar voice called.

Hermione's wide eyes flew to the door before coming back to land on her husband's. She could still feel his cock softening within her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?" McGonagall's voice called again. Hermione heard footsteps drawing closer.

Hermione turned wide eyes to the door before looking down at Draco beneath her. He had risen up and their chests were pressed together as he looked at the door, his eyes also minutely wider.

"Just— just a moment!" Hermione stumbled off of Draco and summoned her dressing gown and robe.

"I'll wait out here," McGonagall's voice sounded back through the door.

Hermione slipped on her clothing and stepped outside, pushing the door firmly closed behind her.

Professor McGonagall stood there, still clad in her traveling cloak. The hood was down, and Hermione couldn't help pausing at what she saw. It had been mere months, but the older woman looked as though she had aged years. Her dark bun was laced with silver hairs that shone in the light. There were a myriad of wrinkles and fine lines across her face Hermione knew hadn't been there the last time they had seen one another. Even her eyes looked tired as Hermione caught a glance at them.

It was then that Hermione noticed that McGonagall was looking at her, too. The woman's eyes were on Hermione's wrinkled dressing gown and the way her robe was still askew. Hermione didn't need a mirror to know that her hair still looked bedraggled, or that her skin was still flushed with the evidence of what she'd been doing a minute prior. Hermione could still feel Draco's come sliding stickily down her legs, and McGonagall's piercing gaze made Hermione feel as though McGonagall could see it too.

McGonagall's lips thinned into a hard line as her eyes rested on Hermione's face.

A wave of rage bubbled up unbidden within her, and before Hermione could stop it she found herself letting it rush free in a torrent through her lips that seemed to move on their own accord. "You do not get to come here and judge me," Hermione said through gritted teeth, "not when you've essentially abandoned us here. You knew— you knew what this war would do to us — what the bloody Order would do to us — and I haven't heard one word from you. Yet you think you have the right to come in here and judge what I do with my own husband?!"

Hermione was heaving by the time she finished, so chock full of anger that the rest of the words could not form over the rushing in her ears and the lump that had risen in her throat.

McGonagall was silent for another beat. "You look tired, child."

The words were simple, but their effect was not. Hermione felt herself crumpling from within under the weight of everything she'd been holding in for months. Her shoulders sagged and she stumbled back into the wall.

McGonagall twitched forward, but Hermione held up a hand. "Please— don't."

Hermione closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She carefully folded back the memories that had started to unravel as they threatened to burst forth. She focused on nothing but shifting things into place with her Occlumency until she finally opened her eyes once again. McGonagall was now sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea. Another steaming mug sat in front of the empty seat across from her.

McGonagall didn't say a word until Hermione was seated before her. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Malfoy."

Hermione's fingers curled around her mug, and she let the heat seep into her skin. "I'd forgotten."

McGonagall sighed. "So had I." She took a long sip of her tea, peering thoughtfully at Hermione over the mug. "You haven't been well."

Hermione let out a short, humorless laugh. "Neither have you."

"Dark times have fallen upon us," McGonagall said. Her fingers twitched on the tabletop as if she meant to reach out to Hermione before she folded them back around her mug instead. "But these times have been especially harsh upon you."

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the images of death and fear and pain, so much pain try to resurface—

"He almost lost a leg," she said. She'd meant to say I'm fine, and she blinked in confusion for a moment as she processed her own words. She'd let the damn burst, and she felt her eyes brimming with tears. "I'm— I'm—I'm scared. He almost lost his leg, and he was so strong. But I— I felt like I was falling apart because I didn't know how to fix him. I don't know how to fix this, any of this, and I always do, I always have a plan, I always know, I just know, and— it's Christmas and I didn't even realize."

It fell silent, save for Hermione's harsh breaths. McGonagall looked at her patiently, waiting, somehow knowing that Hermione wasn't finished.

"Where were you?" Hermione asked in a whisper. She swallowed thickly, knowing the lump in her throat would persist nonetheless. "I...I can't even ask you that, can I? In the midst of all that's transpiring, we're...nothing."

"There are many things that I feel sorry for," McGonagall started, "but this— this has become a burden that no one should bear. Not even a woman as strong as you." McGonagall paused and studied Hermione. "You've grown into a formidable woman, Mrs. Malfoy."

Hermione said nothing. She continued to stare down into her rapidly cooling tea, contemplating the woman's words. It was undeniable that she'd aged beyond her years. She'd made the transition from Ms. to Mrs., from ambitious student to Order-sanctioned assassin so quickly that her head spun thinking of it.

She looked up with a cloth-wrapped bundle slid into her vision. She looked up to see McGongonall's eyes trained on the bundle.

"I was instructed by Albus to give this to you on your birthday, should he have not been able to himself," McGonagall said. "Happy belated," she added.

Hermione blinked. Her birthday had passed without fanfare months ago. She could barely even remember what she'd done that day. It had passed like any other, the significance of the occasion having been swallowed by the stress and fear of her circumstances.

Hermione pulled open the twine that held it together and unfolded the cloth to find a book nestled inside.

Death and its Deviations, the cover read.

Hermione froze and looked up at where her former Professor was still watching her carefully. A long silence passed between them as the implication of the book that lay on the table hung thickly in the air between them.

"I do not know what Albus tasked you with," McGonagall said, her voice tinged with sadness, "and if I am being truthful, it took me quite some time to find the courage to bring this to you. These kinds of texts...they carry burdens that even I would struggle to bear."

"I…" Hermione screwed her mouth shut, not knowing what to say.

"How can you bear this, too?"

The solemn tone of McGonagall's voice made Hermione's jaw clench. "It was you who left the portkeys, was it not?"

McGonagall's lips twisted downward as she looked away and out the window. "Indeed."

"And what did you expect?" Hermione's teeth were gritted. "Did you think that maiming, oblivation, and sending them to St. Mungo's would lessen the burden of the task we were forced into? Did you think—" Hermione stopped and took a deep breath.

McGonagall said nothing.

"I have barely thought about the portkeys in a long time. I didn't even bring them with us on our last few...assignments. It's become easier, somehow, to simply mask ourselves and cut them down into severe disability instead." Hermione shivered as she thought of the night they'd burned down the beautiful cottage in the woods, of the curses she'd used on many Death Eaters that wouldn't kill them, but would forever have them wishing she had.

"It never becomes easy, child," McGonagall said after silence had fallen for a long minute. "If I could choose...if I had known what it would have come to, I would have sent you away. I would have done all in my power to keep you away from Albus' office, the entire castle, that night…"

McGonagall trailed off as Hermione shook her head.

Although Hermione's mouth remained shut, her silence spoke all the words she could not speak herself.

"Do you regret it?" McGonagall asked.

Hermione's answering laugh was flat and hollow. "Which part?"

Hermione watched McGonagall's eyes stray to the closed bedroom door. "Him."

"No." The word was near-silent but came out with steady confidence.

"Take care of him, Mrs. Malfoy," McGonagall said.

"I don't know how." Hermione's lips barely moved as she whispered the words.

"The way you always have. The way you still are."

Hermione's lip trembled. "He's broken, and I— I don't know if I can fix any of it. I want to, but I—"

She had been staring down at the table, and so hadn't noticed McGonagall move until the woman's hand landed upon her shoulder. "You both are broken, child. But together…"

Another silence fell between them.

"I must bid you farewell, Mrs. Malfoy," McGonagall squeezed her shoulder. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy," she called as she headed out the door. Silence radiated from the bedroom in response.

Hermione watched McGonagall until she passed the wards and disapparated. When she turned, she was startled to see Draco looming behind her. His tense stance spoke of a cold fury of an origin she couldn't place.

"Wh—"

He cut her off. "What am I to you?"

Hermione paused before speaking again, her voice small. "You...you're my hus—-"

He slammed his palms against the wall on either side of her, effectively caging her in. "What am I to you?"

"I— I don't know what you want me to say—"

His eyes flashed. "Am I some pawn to be moulded by your pathetic pity? I've already told you that I have no need for it."

"It has never been pity—"

He scoffed. "Lies. I can see it."

"But can you feel it?" Hermione challenged. "If you would pay attention to what I try to show you, then you would know so. You would know how helpless and sorry I feel at times like when your family cottage burned—"

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "It wasn't my family's home. It was mine."

Hermione paused. "Yours?"

"It was due to pass into my possession the moment I wed."

Hermione trembled. It was... theirs. The cottage with a beauty so stunning that she'd paused and let it take her breath away for a moment despite their perilous circumstances. It was theirs — had been theirs.

The weight of his words suddenly felt too heavy to bear, and she sank into him. She clutched his shirt and sobbed, her face dry of tears despite the weight of everything they'd borne over the months. She sobbed and pressed herself into him until the sounds were nearly completely stifled, and it took her a long while to realize that he'd closed his arms tentatively — awkwardly — around her. Her face was still dry and her sobs began to subside, but she held him tightly as the sounds dissolved into hiccups.

When she finally pulled back, it was to repeat the words she'd said to him months prior: "It wasn't pity — I just cared."

His eyes were intense as they searched hers for a long, nearly breathless moment. She caught the moment when he buckled. She quickly captured his lips with her own, wishing the gesture could take away the weight of the burdens she watched him carry daily. And as desperately as she tried to alleviate his own, she felt him trying to capture hers as well. His hands were gentle as he roamed her body before lifting her easily and carrying her to the bed. His eyes never left hers as she spelled away their clothing, and when their fingers intertwined he didn't let go first, either.

Late that night as they lay in the bed sweaty and sated, Hermione placed a gentle hand on his chest as he moved to sit up. He could have fought her easily, but he acquiesced. She slipped out of the bed, feeling his eyes on her as she slipped out of the room.

When she returned to the room with his trunk levitated in the air before her and settled it down next to hers, he didn't protest, either.

X

Hermione watched Draco as he pored over the book spread open on the desk before him, writing diligently on the parchment before him.

"If this book is correct, one of us should be able to recite the fiendfyre incantation while the other says the counter-spell nearly immediately after. It's all we'll need…"

Draco's voice faded into the background as Hermione continued to hover behind him, taking equal turns at gnawing at her bottom lip and worrying a hand through her hair. Even if she wanted to speak, it felt impossible over the lump in her throat.

She paused and watched the back of Draco's head as he worked. She opened her mouth to speak the words she'd wanted to say for days, knowing they could change everything, everything—

She couldn't.

She turned away yet again, still finding herself unable to face him. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't—

"Granger." His voice cut through the loud thrumming in her head. She turned to face him, keeping her eyes averted. "What is wr—"

"What will you do?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to cut him off nonetheless. "After?"

A silence fell.

She managed to force herself to look into his eyes. They were dark and guarded.

"If we survive this," Hermione started again, trying to talk over the dry feeling in her throat, "what will you do?"

"Disappear." His voice was flat. "Somewhere far. Wherever my mother wants to go."

The implication of his unsaid words spread like a frost in her chest. Yet she knew she couldn't expect more from him— their...entanglement was something borne of circumstance. She hesitated to dwell on why ice burrowed deeper in her heart as she contemplated his words, instead opting to fold it away with her Occlumency.

Draco's voice hardened. "What is wrong with you? You've been acting like this for days, and you need to be serious—"

And just like that, she found the words pouring out of her unbidden, past all of the intangible barriers she'd been erecting around them for days.

"I— I think I'm pregnant."

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