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XXXIX: Four of Wands

Her feet were the first things Hermione felt as she stirred. They felt heavy and unnaturally hot. Her whole body felt like it was burning, caked in a sticky layer of sweat that had risen on her skin and dried, and risen again, until she was buried under several layers of discomfort.

Her throat was the second as she swallowed a heavy knot that seemed to sit just at the entrance of her oesophagus and burned like a dagger when she tried to swallow it down. It never left. It sat there, heavy and burning with each instinctive gulp.

What happened?

The physical pain of her throat and the discomfort of her muscles seemed nothing compared to the anxiety that crept up like solar flares, burning and receding until she was left dazed and disoriented. They were shreds. Fragments of memories that burst in images as Hermione's eyes moved rapidly under her shut eyelids.

Cold whipping air. The putrid scent of brown smoke. Spells. Incantations. Grief and horror.

Joy and pain. Relief.

Death.

A shiver trailed down her spine, twisting into something clammy and cold. A fresh layer of sweat gathered at her brow, and Hermione jolted upright with a loud gasp as her lungs fought against the dark blur of confusion that muddled and marred her memories which struggled to find her.

Her eyes burned. Light flooded her vision, pouring into her space in long rays of the sun which beamed and pierced like arrows through tall dusty windows. She pressed a hand to her forehead and rubbed her eyes. There was an overwhelming need to cry, but she didn't know why. Had she been crying? Tears and sleep crusted at the corners of her eyes which burned and throbbed in their sockets. What happened?

Hermione squinted and blinked. She could see the grey stone. Curtains at her side. Something heavy lay on her feet, black and dishevelled and warm. She kicked at it, struggling to escape from under its oppressive weight.

"Huh?"

It moved - a combination of raven black and tattered grey, and a face - Oh, gods a face.

"Harry!" She crawled out from under the several layers of blanket and sprung for him, wrapping her arms around his scrawny torso. "Oh my God, you're okay!"

Fresh tears spilt out as she embraced her best friend. The boy who'd shared such trauma with her that they were forever bound as eternal friends. He lifted an arm, returning her hug. He was gentle in the way he handled her, one arm lightly patting her back as if afraid to crack her in half if he squeezed her too hard. She pulled away, her eyes seeking his bright emerald ones.

"Are you okay?" She reached for his hands and squeezed them. "Is everything okay? Where's Ron?"

"Here, Hermione lay back. You're probably a bit dizzy." Harry pressed his palms to her shoulders and ushered her back toward the bed frame.

She didn't fight him. She could hardly stop beaming at his presence, but as he drew back away and sat in the visitor's chair, she got a clearer view of her surroundings. Hermione took in the beige, drab room, with its thick privacy curtain that surrounded them, and an array of bottles placed haphazardly on the side-table. Her eyes darted to him when she realized where she was.

"What am I doing in the Hospital Wing? Where's Ron?"

The way Harry averted her gaze made her heart pound in her throat.

"Ron's okay. He's healing. The impact nearly crushed his skull, but there are some healers from St. Mungo's here helping Madame Pomfrey and - they're saying he can recover. Said he's really lucky, if he struck the wall any lower, he'd be paralyzed for the rest of his life."

Hermione's brows furrowed at the words.

"Ron hit his head?"

Harry frowned.

"Dumbledore's got you on some memory repression serums, but they don't last very long. Hermione - whatever you recall - it's all okay. You'll be okay, right?"

"Memory repression -?"

"Ah, Harry," the raspy voice of Albus Dumbledore pierced her ears before she could see him.

The sound was so comfortable to her, another familial force that tethered her to her childhood. Yet as the privacy curtains of Hermione's eight-by-ten foot room parted and Dumbledore peeked his head in, Hermione's blood stilled in her body at the sight. The man was gaunt, grey even, and his entire left side was withered and black as though rotten and tarred.

Her mind struggled to remember the sight of it, but she'd seen it before. Hermione watched, still and silent as Dumbledore whispered something to Harry. Harry nodded and, giving Hermione a sympathetic smile, rose and left the space.

No. Harry. Where was he going?

She didn't want him to leave. She wanted to protest, but the sight of Dumbledore for some reason rendered her lips and throat too tight and trembling to speak.

Hermione's eyes stung, tears welling and blurring her vision as Dumbledore stepped into her space. He cradled his withered arm, which looked as though it was ready to fall from his body if he squeezed too hard. His smile was constricted and didn't reach his eyes.

"You have been heavily sedated, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.

Hermione blinked. Sedated? Why on earth would she be sedated?

"Though I admire your fighting spirit, I resorted to giving you some medicine to prevent you from clawing your way out of the hospital wing in your sleep." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as if recalling a pleasant memory. "You, on more than one occasion, struck a healer trying to administer Calming Draughts to you. I was afraid I'd missed most of the conflict in the castle, but it seems, thanks to you, the Hospital Wing had the most action."

Despite Dumbledore's amused tone, dread started to seep into her mind as memories slowly inched their way out from where they'd been restrained. Conflict in the castle, she remembered that. It was vague, but she could recall something like that.

"I wanted to tell you myself first that Mister Malfoy - "

"Draco." Hermione cut him off, the name instinctive as it passed her lips.

Ice filled her blood. Chills coursed over her, and gripped her heart, squeezed until there was no more air or blood or life left in her.

"Oh my God. Oh God, D - Draco!"

Hermione sucked in a breath, but it barely reached her lungs. She squeezed at the dress-thick, scratchy fabric that now seemed to scratch at her throat like thorns. She couldn't breathe. She sucked in air, but the vision of Draco-

Draco glancing back at her for one last time before he pressed his weight forward.

Draco shoving his way toward the Dark Lord and flinging the both of them off the ledge.

Oh God, she'd watched him throw himself off the Astronomy Tower, and -

"I can't - I can't - breathe -" She sucked in air. Gulped in oxygen but it was like the whole of Hogwarts castle was sitting on her chest, preventing her from breathing.

Her eyes were burning, and her gown was growing wet as tears trailed down her cheeks, but she couldn't see. She could barely think. All she did was feel pain. It tore her heart to shreds like tissue, oh my God.

Even Dumbledore seemed to take a step back as Hermione clutched at her chest. The world was grey; her vision had grown dark. Draco - the love of her life - he was gone.

"Oh God, no. Please - "Hermione shook her head, tears spilling freely down her cheeks as she brought her knees to her chest.

Her throat burned as if corroded by acid. Her eyes ached, swollen against the hard bone of her sockets as she cried. This was not the first time. Had she been crying all night?

"I have something to show you."

"Oh God, Draco," she buried her face into her pillow, hugging it into her chest as she shook.

"Miss Granger -"

It was like a switch had flipped as pain gave way to rage at his voice. Dumbledore. Headmaster. Her head snapped up, and she hurled the pillow at him.

"You! You could have done something - you did this - you - drugged me - to keep my memories suppressed! You made me relive r-realizing h-his death and -"

She didn't know if she should cry or scream. She did both.

"And you didn't stop him!" Though her words were full of force, they came out in a pressured whisper.

Hermione kicked the covers of her feet and rose. The floor was cold, but she barely felt it.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore's tone was too calm for whatever he had to say. It was inappropriate. The man was out of bloody touch.

"I don't want to be here - in this awful castle - I don't want this. I need to go - I need to - bring him back. I have to -"

"I understand."

"He's - Draco's -"

It was impossible to feel what she was feeling, and yet it was real. The type of pain that gripped her like a hand was literally squeezing her heart, milking the blood from her body and leaving her to wither in her own tears. The kind of pain where it would have been better to remain asleep, numb, lost to the world, than to cry so hard her lungs would ache from nearly retching. It burned so bad she would have preferred a pyre to the torment.

It was impossible to live.

Heartache like this couldn't be real. It couldn't. She was dreaming - it was a dream. It had to be. Yet, what kind of awful, nightmarish dream would result in Draco's death? Why did it feel so real?

She had to move. Flee. Escape. This was hell. She would rather have been Crucio'd, had her skin feel like it was being flayed than to have her heart forcibly removed.

It was worse than anything.

Hermione shoved past the Headmaster who seemed to pay no mind to her. She ignored his asinine statement -

"Yes, a walk may be a splendid idea."

The Hospital Wing was empty. Several curtains were shredded, and she could feel the soft breeze from a cracked window. It caused a memory to flit in her mind. She recalled her blind rage as the glass broke, and she fought her way out of the Hospital. She didn't care. Let it all fall to pieces; she didn't give a damn.

A flash of red sparked in her periphery as she marched through the room, and her eyes instinctively veered toward it. Ron was laying down, his face a sickly yellow and his entire neck and upper body in a thick white mould that seemed to hold him together. Oh God, it really happened.

The image played in her head over and over again - the quiet calm between Draco and Lord Voldemort. The tension as Dumbledore stepped forward. The peaceful quiet on Draco's features as, with one look, showed his love for her.

And then...

Hermione jumped when the wooden doors of the Hospital Wing fell shut behind her. The sound seemed to penetrate her awful reverie and caused her body to quake with a cold tremble that seized her.

The room rose, her knees gave out, and she collided with the floor. It was cold, her knees, palms, everything felt cold except her face, which seemed to melt with the relentless stream of tears. Gods she couldn't stop the fucking tears as they streamed. Her lungs shook, chin trembled, and her whole being seemed to seize like someone was shaking her, but the vibrations shook from within.

Something tugged on her elbow, slipped into her arm and pulled her to her feet. She couldn't see through the tears and the heartwrenching sobs that came out like a cough.

He promised her - promised her he'd fight. He said...

The night was like a scene from a horror book - replaying in her head.

Was joining Voldemort a fate worse than death? Could Draco even conceivably do it? Hermione knew the answer - he'd do anything to ensure her safety.

Hermione's feet were dragging behind her as she was lifted and levitated slowly toward the Great Hall. She glanced to her right where she felt the warmth of an arm holding onto her. Behind the blur of tears, she could see the long white beard of Albus Dumbledore. She blinked, releasing several of the tears that gathered. She could see his own misty eyes as he lifted his wand with his only good hand - the one attached to the arm that clung to her, and the entrance doors of Hogwarts sprung open.

It was a surprisingly sunny day. So much so that the glare of the sun seared into her eyes and made the entire world appear white, streaming with a veracious kind of unearthly brightness that seemed to illuminate everything.

She didn't want it. Hermione couldn't stand the light and the colour and the sounds of birds chirping. Like everything was fucking normal.

Hermione threw her weight back.

Words did not come, but at least she could try to pull away and run to another corner of the castle where she could mourn in peace. She had little understanding of Dumbledore's presence or his insistence on a sudden walk as he dragged her to the grounds of Hogwarts Castle.

"Please," she croaked, words and voice so deep under emotion that it barely sounded like spoken language.

"Just a few more steps," Dumbledore murmured.

Hermione just needed a dark, isolated place to cry, and the fresh air was making her nauseous. The way life seemed to move on as if nothing had happened made her already fractured heart crack into even smaller pieces.

She could hear the flit of massive wings, the sound of laughter, life persisting as tears flooded down her face. It was even harder to walk now as Dumbledore dragged her outside, her heart was in a million pieces and with each step that she took, more and more memories flooded back.

The green grass reminded her of the forest - the trees - the silent solitude that they shared in the cave with not a soul around. Their quiet, peaceful nights of lovemaking, just the sounds of their resounding moans reverberating through the cave and into the peaceful night. She recalled the way her heart would race as she'd push past the door of the Girl's Lavatory on nights that she knew she'd see him. The smell of his hair, the feel of his skin. How the glint of silver-blond hair would make her heart thrust in her chest and pulse flood to her throat where a knot would form.

Gods, she loved him so much. She felt like she was dying. She wanted to die.

"Malfoy," the words were spoken by the Headmaster. His voice raspy and weak under the weight of the curse that was slowly disintegrating him into ash and bone. Malfoy. She didn't want to hear it - she heard it enough in her head. "Mister Malfoy."

"Why - why are you saying that? He's gone," she sobbed. "He's gone."

There was little more she could take. Hermione wrangled herself from Dumbledore's arms and, in a desperate attempt to tug herself free, she fell to the grassy floor. She hardly felt it; the whole world was spinning around her. The blades of grass were soft and wet under her hands, and she gripped them into her palm, her shoulders heaving with uncontrolled, ragged breaths.

"Hermione?" the voice laughed as it quickly approached. "Is she - alright?"

Hermione heard another sound. Another voice. The fluttering of massive wings. The sound of Dumbledore's reply.

"Indeed. She is - confused. We've tried to explain it to her, but she on several occasions lashed out and required sedation."

"Yes, I know. That's why I was locked out of the bloody Hospital Wing, wasn't it?" the words cut with a sharp edge, but all Hermione could focus on was the ringing in her ears. "Does she understand now?"

"I don't believe so. We... repressed some of last night as a means to calm her but - no, I do not think she does."

Hermione was shaking at the sounds above her. Her breathing and the pounding of her heart throbbed in her ears. The new voice seemed to permeate through the crumbling chaos that was her inner world.

"Repressed - are you serious? She doesn't know -?"

She could hear her name spoken, felt new tears stinging her eyes.

"Hermione," the voice repeated. "Hermione, it's me."

She felt heat against her shoulder and on her back as soothing circles were rubbed on her lightly clad skin.

"I'll give you two a moment," Dumbledore muttered before his robes swirled around his ankles and disappeared from Hermione's periphery.

"It's me, Hermione. It's - Draco."

"Draco - is dead."

"I'm here, love. My darling, I'm right here."

Hermione felt the warmth first. It squeezed around her, holding her tight like a vice. She struggled against it, unsure of who this person was that claimed to be Draco but she saw it first hand. She saw him fall to his death. White filled her vision, a shimmering white-silver that clouded her already filled eyes.

But it was the scent that made Hermione choke on her inhale.

The familiar scent of the man she'd fallen asleep next to night after night, whose scent was amplified in moments of lovemaking, who reminded her of home.

Hermione tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. The one that had been there all night, which seemed only to grow bigger as her eyes widened and she glanced down to see the hand gripping her shoulders. She recognized the long, familiar fingers that had caressed her flesh night after night, that had traced circles on her skin like he'd been painting her, studying her form with his fingertips.

Her eyes slowly trailed up, heat rising from her chest as she bit her lower lip to stop the trembling. Her gazed washed over the palms that cupped her cheeks, up the shoulder that cradled her as she'd sleep, up the neck that she'd adorn with heated kisses. Up his jaw. Chin. Lips.

They settled there for a moment before her eyes took in his entire face, with his sharp features, blue-grey eyes, blond hair.

"Draco," she breathed.

"Yes, love, it's me." He was beaming. Radiant and happy and here.

Hermione fell forward. Lips collided with lips. The force toppled the lovers over, but she didn't care as she tasted his lips once more. She could feel the heat of his skin against hers and his lips sought hers as though they needed nothing else from this world but her touch.

An awful thought tugged at the joy that had spread through her.

But he's dead.

Her blood chilled, lips grew soft, and she pulled away as her body curled into itself, helplessly small against the grassy floor.

"Hermione?"

Her eyes focused on the large grey-winged creatures, Hippogriffs, Hermione realized. There were two. One was a giant, stormy-grey beast, and the second was much smaller: a baby.

What an odd image to see two Hippogriffs happily prancing around Hogwarts grounds so freely.

It was just a dream. Hermione knew it was; she'd seen this dream before throughout the night. She remembered waking up to his face, worried creases framing tired eyes. It was just a dream.

"Just a dream," she repeated to herself, desperate to wake up - yet dreading it all the same.

"It's not a dream, love," Draco murmured, running long lines up and down her arm with his palm.

Hermione peeked up at him. For the first time, she could see the sling wrapped around his chest, cradling his arm against him. Why was he injured?

"Look at me." He drew her chin toward him, forcing her eyes up off of his injured arm to his clear gaze. His brows furrowed with concern, but his gaze sought hers. "I thought I was going to die. I was bloody ready to - but I…"

She saw his Adam's Apple jump as he glanced up at the large Hippogriff. Otium, she recognized. The creature had kept her company on several nights when Draco was so deep into his mind that he was practically comatose.

Hermione's head was pounding as memories twisted, raw and vivid and so unlike dreams.

"She -?"

"Yeah."

"The Hippogriff caught you mid-air."

Draco's serious expression was shattered by a sudden laugh. His eyes narrowed at her, lips pursing as if in disapproval, but she could see the twinkle in his eyes.

"Now, would you believe my luck?"

Hermione's eyes widened at the word - luck. She lifted herself onto her elbows.

"I wasn't particularly pleased to see you'd snuck the Felix Felices in my pocket, but I can't be too mad at you."

Hermione gasped. "Oh my God, it saved your life!"

It had been a whim - a last-minute realization that she'd had it in her bag and she stealthily shoved it in his pocket before he left with Ron. What luck indeed.

Draco was alive. It was like her heart was starting to beat for the first time, like life had been breathed back into her lungs with the knowledge that he was here, with her. And he was fine.

She tackled him again, tossing both of them on the floor as she showered his face with kisses. He hissed as she crushed his injured arm, shattered by the looks of it, and undergoing rapid re-growing. It was the perfect opportunity for him to flip her over and climb on top of her, where she could pose no threat to his well-being. His lips trailed over her face, on her lips, down her neck. There was nothing in the world but them, until a question in the form of a snake-like face popped up in her head.

Hermione managed to free her lips from his for a moment as she shoved on his good shoulder.

"So is he dead? Voldemort?"

Draco pulled away, much to Hermione's dismay. He sat back onto his knees and let out a long breath. Hermione sat up too, listening intently as Draco's eyes met hers.

"His body is dead," Draco said, his voice softer now as his brows knit together, "and er, we did take out a lot of Death Eaters surprisingly - most of them fled when he fell. But," Draco sucked in a breath, "Dumbledore said he'll be back. Said that Voldemort doesn't need a physical body to return, but it shouldn't be my concern right now. The Order will be having a meeting tonight to figure out the next steps. They're all very excited to see you again. Potter didn't leave your side all night, which I'm grateful for -" his eyes narrowed, and tone grew sharp, "though I would have rather been at your side and not sitting outside of the Hospital Wing."

His lips pulled into a smile that he tried to bite back.

"You nearly attacked me last night."

"What?"

"You said I was a ghost, and to leave you alone. Gods, Dumbledore had you on a lot of drugs. But you were in such shock -"

"Yes, well…"

Draco leaned forward and ran his thumb over the scowl lines that had formed at the edges of her lips. Her head was reeling, but his touch warmed her to the bone. She let out a deep breath, no longer interested in thinking about the night before. She leaned forward and buried her face into the crook of his neck.

"You're here now," Hermione murmured into his skin as she let her eyes fall shut. She allowed her mind to ease to the sound of his heartbeat and the feel of his warm body against hers.

Draco ran his palm up and down her arms, cradling her.

The sudden sound of hard snapping next to Hermione's ear made her tense and jump. She twisted to see the source of it and beamed when she saw the stormy grey collection of feathers and the enormous beak of her companion and friend, Otium.

"Oh hi!" She ran her hand over the side of the creature's body. The large bird-horse slipped gracefully onto the floor next to her, letting Hermione's hand run freely over its silken body.

"What -" Hermione gasped when she saw a second Hippogriff, the baby she'd seen peripherally as Dumbledore had escorted her to the grounds. "Wait. Is that -?"

"Yes, turns out while we were fighting for our lives in the Forest, Otium was having a bit of fun behind our backs." Draco chuckled. "Explains a lot, now that I think of it. Isn't that right, Ote?"

Otium snapped her beak in response as the baby Hippogriff, with its round eyes and beak that was too big for its body, pranced over to them and stood hesitantly next to its mother.

The baby tilted its head, watching the way its mother got affection from the witch and wizard before it seemed to decide that it, too, needed some love. It trodded toward Hermione who lifted a hesitant hand and ran her fingertips over the silken-soft feathers of the baby's head. Within a moment, the little creature fell into her lap and let out a satisfied huff. Hermione couldn't help but beam as Draco pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Gods, it's so cute. Can I keep it?" Hermione sighed, petting the sides of its head as the creature drifted into sleep in her lap. "D'you think Otium will tear my arms off if I keep her baby with me at all times? Hm?"

Hermione glanced up to find Draco gazing along the open, empty field. His eyes had glazed over, and he looked deep in thought.

"Draco?"

He turned toward her.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember that night that I dragged you to the Astronomy Tower? And we heard Snape and Trelawney talking?"

"Yes, I thought you were trying to get frisky with me in the alcove." Hermione's lips tensed in a sultry smile at the memory.

"Well, that was the second time I'd heard her spew some kind of prophetic what-not, and I just realized what she'd said. A new day'll come, and new life with it."

Hermione quirked a brow as her gaze wandered over Otium, the saver of Draco's life, and the little creature that had fallen fast asleep in her lap.

The initial prophecy lingered in Draco's thoughts, and he swallowed the thick knot that had started to form in his throat as the words - those haunting sodding words that had sent him reeling from blind hope to bitter scepticism - lingered in his mind.

In time, their love will vanquish.

He glanced up to find Hermione's eyes on him, a soft, knowing smile playing at her lips as she watched him amid his contemplation.

"Perhaps," Hermione nudged him, "the prophecy wasn't nonsense after all, hm?"

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