She was fast asleep on the sofa. He debated moving her, but thought it best not to put his arms around her without asking. She didn't come all this way to be molested, and she deserved to feel like she had control over her body. Holding her hand one was thing; holding her in his arms was a whole different game. So he left her there while he tidied up their mugs. When he returned to the living room, she was awake and watching him with bleary eyes.

Draco sat on the opposite end of the couch. Hermione put her feet up on his leg.

"What time is it?" she yawned.

"Nearly midnight," he said.

"Oh, I never stay up this late!"

"You old crone." Draco chuckled. She wrinkled her nose at him. He placed a hand on her shin.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Since the hospital and all that."

"Fine," she said. "Haven't felt this good in ages."

"Good, good." He looked down at her leg, where his hand rested. "You, um… you mentioned in the ambulance having had a fit before."

She blushed. "Only a few in the last ten years. They didn't really get bad, of course, until-" she stopped and closed her. eyes.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to press."

"No, no. I want to tell you. I just haven't ever… really talked about it." Hermione sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Her safety pose. Draco draped an arm over the back of the couch and turned so he sat cross-legged, facing her.

"Was it an isolated incident?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "I was seeing a man about five years ago, the first non-wizard I ever dated. The whole Ron thing still felt fresh, so I was trying to find someone who was his polar opposite. And he was that, in every possible way." Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in a shaky breath.

"Did he hit you?" Draco murmured.

"And more," she said, eyes welling. "Even though I could have hexed his bollocks off, I was just terrified. I hid my wand under the floorboards because I didn't want him to have one inkling of what I could do. I was lucky I already knew how to live like a muggle, so I could iron and cook for him."

Draco nodded politely. "It's hard to imagine you as the shy housewife type."

"For you and me both," she said, giggling slightly and wiping her eyes.

"So, he triggered your fits?"

"Not at first. At first, I just went catatonic and didn't remember anything he said or did to me. Until I burned a hole through a pair of his pants. And then he came after me with the hot iron. I locked myself in our bedroom, and clawed up the floorboards to get to my wand. By the time he broke down the door, I was ready for him." Tears ran down Hermione's cheeks. Draco dug his monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it over.

"I haven't used it," he assured her.

Hermione wiped her face and blew her nose. He took the handkerchief back from her and stuffed it in his pocket again before she could protest that she could wash it for him. It didn't seem to matter to him. He was giving all of his energy to her.

"What happened?" Draco asked, holding out his hand to her. She took it.

"I stupified him, but he fell forward onto me and the iron got trapped between his body and mine." Hermione slowly put her legs down. She grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it up so he could see her left side. Sure enough, she sported a massive burn scar. She put her shirt down again, once Draco had reacted appropriately (he winced). "And I blacked out right there, fit and all. I was lucky not to have swallowed my tongue, considering that I had a hulking man pinning me to the ground." Hermione squeezed his hand. "Once I came to, I confunded him so he would turn himself into the police, and then I checked myself into the hospital. The doctor and I deduced that it was a traumatic response triggered by a prior episode. And there was only one instance I could think of."

"My aunt," Draco said.

She nodded. Draco shook his head in silent anger. Anger that she was abused so horribly by that man, and by his aunt… by him.

"You're shaking," Hermione said, holding his hands between her own.

"I'm angry for you," he said. "For what has happened to you-for what I could have done. I should have stopped it."

"And gotten killed? You did what you could to survive, same as all of us."

He shook his head. "I was asked to identify you when they brought you in."

"I remember."

"But I didn't want to. I overheard what they had planned. I may have hated the 'Golden Trio' but-" he sighed.

"You aren't a killer. You didn't want us to die."

"But there is blood on my hands," he whispered, fiercely. "And some of it is yours. And I cannot reconcile it, Hermione." He felt his own tears threatening to break through.

Hermione swung her legs beneath her and put her hands on his shoulders. "You must forgive yourself."

"I can't." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't."

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. He rested his forehead against her shoulder and fought wave after wave of tears. "I forgive you," she said.

"Just like that?" he whispered into her shirt.

"No," she said. "It took me a while. But there is more poison in a single ounce of a grudge than in the teasing words of a little boy. It is not my desire to punish you for what happened. I find that I've grown rather tired of hating anyone."

Draco sat back and looked her square in the eye. "I hope they locked that man up for what he did to you."

Hermione's eyes flickered with pain. "He died in a prison fight."

"He deserved it," Draco said. He wiped an errant tear from Hermione's cheek, but ignored his own.

She shook her head and smiled. "No. Nobody deserves to have their life snuffed out. Nobody should get to decide when someone else dies."

"Well. He certainly didn't deserve you, Granger."

"Thank you," she said. They sort of… stared at each other, until it became uncomfortable for both of them, to sit so close and see so deeply. "We had better get some sleep."

"Yes, good idea," Draco said, wiping his face on his sleeve. "We could go into town for breakfast tomorrow."

"I'll be ready."