an: another two parter.
9
"The whole world can become the enemy when you lose what you love."
Kristina McMorris
Draco knew something was wrong. He had always been good at that sort of thing. His mother always claimed that there were Seers in his ancestry, that the Blacks had an affinity toward Divination. He never particularly enjoyed the art – most of it was vague enough to be applicable to anything, and most of the Seers had lost the plot – but he never questioned her belief in it. Draco instead attributed it to a keen sense of intuition; in fact, he took pride in his ability to read situations, read people. He was very rarely wrong when it came to his gut.
He was missing something here, though. There had been a wave of energy that rippled through the Ministry minutes ago, which clearly was the artifact being destroyed. The Order retreated, as was planned. The Ministry was left in smoldering ruin, as he expected.
But the Death Eaters were gone too. He watched many of them apparate away, retreating, leaving him the only one standing on the steps leading up to the Ministry. He hadn't expected that.
Draco squinted, his eyes adjusting against the night sky. Shacklebolt and Macmillan were waiting in the alley, with three brooms in tow. They were supposed to be gone by now, but he had been staring at them for a long time. They were supposed to ride with Daphne, Weasley, and Granger after the artifact was destroyed back to Grimmauld Place. But the three of them hadn't shown up yet.
It wasn't something to be inherently worried about. The Department of Mysteries was confusing; it was easy to lose one's way. And yet, Draco couldn't help but circle back to the most concerning thing he had noticed throughout the attack on the Ministry.
He hadn't seen Dolohov once.
Draco fisted his hands into his pockets and kicked at the lingering rubble resting in front of him. It skipped down the steps, landing closer than he intended with its path. Dolohov could have retreated with the others, of course. In fact, that was more than likely. Outside of Dolohov, Draco was the only one who could order a retreat, and since he hadn't, Dolohov must have.
Draco exhaled sharply, looking up at the alley again. He knew something was wrong. He was very rarely wrong. And perhaps most importantly, he loathed when his intuition proved too little to clarify exactly what was wrong.
There was a brush against his leg, and Draco looked away from the alley to see an ethereal, blueish specter at his feet. He frowned, unable to place its form until it looked up at him; that's when his stomach dropped.
It was a fox. Daphne's patronus.
"Fuck."
The fox bounded through the rubble ahead of him, never pausing to see if he was following. But Draco already knew where it was going. He broke out into a sprint once the stone fragments cleared, praying to whatever could hear him that he was fast enough. Even his intuition had a limit, and he had absolutely no idea what was waiting for him. But with every slap of his shoes against the marble, his mind raced twice as fast.
Not her. Please not her.
He flung himself down the stairs after the fox and slammed open the door to the Department of Mysteries. Slicing his wand through the air and lighting it, he stalked after the fox, his heart stuttering when it finally turned to face him, sitting with its tail curled around it, its expression blank. He wasn't prepared when it dissipated into wispy smoke, when he saw what it led to him.
Dolohov was sprawled on the floor, his eyes glassy and toward the ceiling. Weasley was pacing a couple meters ahead, his face brilliantly red as he stared at the ground, muttering to himself. Daphne was crouched on the floor ahead of Dolohov, her back to him, but he could hear her sobs echoing throughout the room. When she turned, tears streaming down her face, Draco didn't even register her.
Granger was white. No, she was worse than that. She was nearly translucent against the blackened floor, her hair splayed around her head haphazardly. Her entire body spasmed periodically, like her muscles were fighting to turn her inside out. Her eyes were closed. Her eyes were closed. Her eyes were closed.
The knife gleamed against the light from his wand. There was entirely too much blood, and he could see blackened veins spidering from the wound across her stomach.
"Draco," Daphne gasped out. "I…she won't talk to us anymore. She needs to stay awake, I've never healed anything like this before, but Ron said she has, she needs to tell me what to do to get the poison out. I don't have it memorized, fuck I should have it memorized but if I do it wrong it'll get worse and I need her to tell me—"
"Malfoy," Weasley called, and Draco blinked, tearing his eyes away from her stomach to see him approaching. "Argue with her, call her a Mudblood, I don't fucking care, get her to wake up." Weasley's eyes were brimming with tears, and he pressed his lips together as they began to tremble.
Draco nodded numbly. He felt like he was floating as he approached, and his knees stung as they dug into the floor. Slowly, he reached out and brushed her hair from her face, delicately grazing her cheek in a way he never allowed himself to do before. He tilted his head so they would be eye to eye, and willed himself to speak.
"Granger."
Her eyes fluttered, and she spasmed again, making him cup her cheek to stabilize her head. He felt frantic, but everything was moving so slowly around him. He didn't even know what he would say.
"Granger, you have to help me," he tried again.
Her forehead furrowed, and then her eyes opened; dark and inviting and kind. Draco tried to ignore the stuttering of her breath, focusing only on her face.
"Draco?"
He blinked, inhaling sharply. Her voice was heavy, her tongue slow to work. Draco felt his heart speed up, the fog in his mind suddenly clearing. She sounded exactly like his mother. For a moment, he saw her instead, her platinum hair matted and tangled, her blue eyes begging him for everything to end.
"It's me," Draco assured, shifting closer to her and thumbing at her cheek. "I need your help with something, okay?"
Granger squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I can't…I'm tired—"
"I know," he hushed. "But…"
He looked up hesitantly at Weasley, racking his mind for anything to keep her with him. "Daphne was poisoned," he lied, gazing at her again. "I don't know what to do, and I need your help."
Granger opened her eyes again, concern somehow drawing over her features. "D-Daphne?"
She cried out then, unable to fight her limbs as they shook. Draco's eyes widened, and his other hand shot forward, protecting her head from hitting the floor.
"Malfoy—" Weasley started.
"I know," he shot out, his tone darker than he intended. "Yes, Daphne," he said softly. "What's the first thing I have to do?"
"I-I…don't kn-now…"
"Yes, you do," Draco insisted, his chest constricting. "There isn't anything you don't know."
Granger gasped, closing her eyes again and hissing through her teeth. "You s-should draw the p…poison out." Her hand lifted, her forefinger outstretched and drawing something in the air. "S-spiral around the s-site," she instructed hoarsely.
Draco twisted, meeting Daphne's red-rimmed gaze. "What about the knife?" she asked frantically.
"Granger, something's blocking the site," he said, not taking his eyes off Daphne. "What do I do?"
He felt her gaze on him, and he slowly looked back at her. Her face was strangely calm, her eyes drifting over his face slowly. Draco swallowed; he knew that she knew. Daphne wasn't the one poisoned. It was her, and she knew it.
"Remove it," Granger instructed.
Daphne shifted immediately, picking up her wand and staring at the wound determinedly. "Ron, I need you to do it," she ordered. "I won't be able to start in time if I do."
Weasley stumbled forward, kneeling opposite of Daphne. He delicately placed one hand on the hilt of the knife, and the other on Granger's stomach, bracing her. Draco could see him whispering to himself, the word "sorry" repeated over and over in the silence around them.
"Now," Daphne said, tilting her wand downward.
Weasley ripped the knife straight up, and Granger screamed. Draco immediately brought her closer to him, his forehead nearly touching hers as he stopped her from squirming away. At first, he thought Weasley was still whispering to himself, but then he recognized it as his own voice, hushing her.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"I need gauze," Daphne called loudly.
"Her bag," Draco said immediately, lifting one hand to point at the discarded purse a few meters away. Weasley scrambled to grab it, procuring the gauze and handing it over to Daphne.
"Draco," Granger whispered, and his heart nearly stopped. He lifted his head to see the entirety of her face, how she stared at him like he was the only one there.
"I'm here, I'm not leaving," he repeated. He was in Malfoy Manor again, cradling his mother and telling her that he wasn't leaving, that he was staying with her, that everything would be okay.
"I…want to go home."
"We'll leave soon, I promise. Just stay with me, okay?"
"I want to see Harry."
Draco froze. His mouth filled with lead. "No, Granger, you can't—"
Another wave of spasms rolled through her, and she shrieked so loud it hurt his ears. Daphne threw herself over Granger's torso, stopping her from undoing the gauze entirely.
"Hermione," Draco begged, his voice hoarse. "You have to make it. Stay with me, please."
But her eyes closed, and everything was hazy. There was a loud buzzing surrounding him, alienating him. He felt a hand against his shoulder, and Daphne was saying something as she stood up, practically dragging him with her. Draco shifted, picking Hermione up and standing on shaking legs, and then he was racing with Daphne and Weasley out of the Department of Mysteries. He barely looked ahead, his eyes trained on Hermione's face as they stumbled through the rubble, out of the Ministry of Magic.
She couldn't go. The thought terrified him. He felt sick to his stomach as they sprinted toward Shacklebolt and Macmillan. He couldn't lose someone else.
Hermione awoke to a painful prodding at her stomach and a grating voice in her ear. She didn't dare open her eyes, grimacing at the pressure against her; it felt like someone was digging into her, and it made her want to gag.
"I'm just saying, the two of them have been on and off more times than I can count, and that isn't including all the times that I don't know about."
Theo. Hermione peeked open an eye, seeing his curly mop of hair in the corner of the room. He was lounging carelessly in the chair, his feet propped and crossed on the desk. At another nauseating press to her stomach, Hermione shut her eye again, biting her tongue hard.
"I'm sure you're aware of every time they've been together," Daphne responded. Her dainty fingers lifted from Hermione's stomach, and she let go of her tongue, relaxing slightly. "They aren't exactly quiet about it."
"That doesn't change the fact that Pansy and Blaise is worse than Pansy and Draco," Theo enunciated. "And that's saying something."
Daphne sighed deeply. Hermione heard her feet leave the bedside, and there was a clink at the other end of the room. "I'd rather you get to your point more quickly," Daphne said tiredly, her footsteps returning. Hermione couldn't help but flinch when a sudden cold substance was placed on her stomach.
"That is my point. Why is she going to Italy if they are terrible together?"
"I don't know. Pansy is Pansy. I can't read her mind."
"You must have some idea."
Daphne's hand was gone again. "I don't," she replied, the frustration clear in her tone. "Maybe she likes him."
"Doubtful."
"Maybe she just wants to get out."
The room fell heavily into silence for a moment. "It's dangerous to travel," Theo said quietly.
"Draco told her that."
"She's not thinking things through."
"I'm sure Draco told her that too," Daphne sniffed.
"And she's still going?"
Daphne huffed, leaving the bedside again and throwing something with a clank. "Draco's still talking to her, isn't he? I don't know why you're questioning me about this."
It was silent again, until there was a creak, another set of footsteps. "I'm worried about her," Theo said softly. "And she won't listen to me."
"She listens to Draco over me," Daphne said after a moment.
"He can't spend all his time trying to convince her. What if you—"
"I'm not thinking about this right now," Daphne said snappishly.
Theo didn't answer. There was a shuffling between them.
"Can you get a pain-relieving potion from downstairs?" Daphne said, her voice suddenly exhausted. "It's labelled, in the cabinets."
Theo's footsteps shifted for a moment, then crossed the room. The door creaked open, before shutting firmly behind him. Hermione hesitantly opened her eyes, squinting against the sun floating through the window at the side of the room. Daphne was standing at the desk, her back to her.
"Fuck," Daphne whispered, aggressively grabbing a rag. She crouched over, finally turning from the desk with a ceramic bowl. With her eyes trained on the water inside it, being careful not to spill any, Daphne didn't notice that Hermione was staring at her until she reached the bedside again.
"Fuck!"
Daphne dropped the bowl and it crashed to the floor. Hermione winced, flinching away out of instinct.
"Sorry, I—"
"You could have told me you were awake!" Daphne shouted. But her face was alight, a smile spreading across her face. "You scared me to death!"
Hermione allowed a weak smile in return. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
Daphne turned on her heel, ripping open the door and sticking her head out. "Theo!" she yelled. "Get another bowl of water!"
They waited a moment, until "I'm not your damn maid!" floated up the stairs. Daphne scoffed, leaving the door open and quickly returning to Hermione's side.
"How are you feeling? Don't sit up just yet, I have to wash the wound and wrap it again, but can you move everything else? How's your head—?"
"Daphne," Hermione interrupted, reaching for her hand. She stared at her seriously, and Daphne leaned forward, biting her lip. "I feel like shit."
Daphne closed her eyes, hiding a laugh behind her hand. Then she leaned forward, holding Hermione's face with clear relief in her dark, brown eyes.
"I'm so happy you're alright," she whispered earnestly.
Hermione's smile spread even further. "Thanks to you."
"Is there anything else I can get you, your majesty?" Theo kicked the door open further as he carried a new bowl and about a thousand different tubes in his arms, only to stop dead in his tracks.
"Well, well, cats do have nine lives," he teased, continuing forward and dropping everything on the desk with a clatter.
"What are you doing?" Daphne demanded, straightening and placing a hand on her hip.
"I couldn't find the pain-relieving potion—"
"It was labelled!"
"I'm not taking the time to read everything!" Theo argued.
Hermione stifled a laugh, her hand covering her stomach as her pain spiked. Daphne rolled her eyes. "Of course," she scoffed, crossing the room and grabbing the bowl of water.
"You can't blame me entirely. There are about a hundred of these things in there." Theo picked up one of the vials, squinting at it slightly.
Daphne looked as if she wanted to strangle him when she returned to the bed, and Hermione couldn't help but smile again. She gave a slight shrug, and Daphne rolled her eyes again, shaking her head as she delicately went over the wound with the rag. Hermione hissed at the chill, a shiver running through her when the water touched her skin.
"How long have I been out?" she asked cautiously.
"A couple days," Daphne answered. She turned to the bedside table, grabbing a roll of gauze.
"You missed literally everyone," Theo supplied, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the desk. "You'd think there was a party in here."
Daphne shot him a glare, and he held out a hand in defense. "A nice party. One of those 'thank Merlin you're alive' ones."
"Where is everyone now?"
"Ron and Ernie are recruiting," Daphne said shortly. "Luna's…" Her hand waved upward, gesturing dismissively. "Somewhere."
"Probably talking to a wall," Theo muttered, only to flinch at both of their glares.
Hermione bit her lip as Daphne finished wrapping her stomach, uncertainty making her feel much heavier than she was. She slowly pressed her hands into the mattress, wincing as she propped herself up. Their conversation ran through her mind, and a fire ran through her veins, whispering in her ears with licking flames to ask.
"And…Malfoy?"
Their reactions were subtle, but Hermine should have expected that. They were Slytherins, after all: masters of disguise and analysis. Daphne slowed as she placed all the healing supplies on the bedside table, her gaze becoming unfocused only slightly. Theo's shoulders rose a millimeter, his fingers tightening their grip around his forearm.
"The Manor," Daphne said tightly, her pace resuming as before. "Putting out fires." She studied Hermione then, a brow raising clinically. "What do you remember?"
Hermione tilted her head. If she was honest, she didn't remember much. She knew Malfoy had been there, in the Department of Mysteries. Everything was blurry when she tried to picture it, picture him. But the way Daphne asked that made her feel as if there was something she was missing.
"I just wanted to thank him," she said casually, not completely sure if it was a lie. "I remember him being there."
They stared at her a moment longer before Daphne nodded. She then grabbed a vial, holding it up in front of Hermione with a stern look. "Take this, and rest. I'll send Luna up as soon as I find her. She'll want to see you."
Hermione nodded, trying to ignore the exchanges they threw each other as they left the room, shutting the door firmly behind them.
"So you're not going to do anything."
Hermione rubbed at her temple, refusing to open her eyes. Her head felt like it was splitting. She didn't need to see Ron's furious gaze anyway.
"Don't put words in my mouth," Malfoy snapped. "I said that there is nothing I can do."
"Fine," Ron growled. "We'll just go and save them. Maybe we'll blow up your house in the process."
"Mate—" Ernie started desperately.
"No, this is bloody ridiculous!" Ron shouted, and Hermione heard a shove, a shuffle across the table. "A whole safehouse was ransacked! We've broken into the Manor before, and we'll do it again."
"I am not exaggerating when I say that is the stupidest thing you've ever said," Malfoy said plainly.
"It's better than your suggestion! You're saying we shouldn't do anything!"
"You aren't hearing me, Weasley." A chair scraped against the tile, and Hermione winced, pressing into her temple harder. "I'm saying that you can't do anything. Rabastan has increased security, and he doesn't trust anyone. I have to be fucking careful around him, and I'm technically his equal."
"I'll say," Ron jeered. "Some Death Eater scum—"
"Ron!" Ernie shouted.
"They are going to die in your house!"
"Yes, my house!" Malfoy yelled. "Clearly, you don't remember barely getting out by the skin of your teeth last time!"
Hermione peeked an eye open, grimacing against the light. Malfoy was at the end of the table farthest from her, glowering across it. She could feel Ron's blistering gaze behind her head; she found herself considering which glare would be worse to endure.
"That's it, then?" Ron finally scoffed. "You're okay with our people being tortured under your roof?"
"Hardly," Malfoy seethed. "Don't presume to know my feelings about the matter."
"Fine. I'll make sure I don't presume anything about your allegiances, either."
Malfoy's face twisted, sending a flit of shock through Hermione. She dropped her hand, fully sitting up in her chair. She hadn't seen him this angry in a long time; so long, in fact, that she forgot how intimidating, how dangerous he could be. Her eyes were locked on him, waiting for a wordless hex to be thrown across the room.
But his gaze shifted, and Malfoy's eyes were on her. The storm lightened ever so minutely. Then he twisted on his heel, opening the back door to the porch and slamming it behind him.
"You need to apologize," Ernie said quietly.
Ron shifted behind her. She could hear his arms fold across his chest.
"That was low," Ernie continued, "to throw his position in his face."
"You're on his side?" Ron asked gruffly.
"He's doing what he's always done. Just because it so happens to be the opposite of what you want to do this time doesn't mean he's Death Eater scum."
"He's—!"
"Draco is reporting intel," Ernie enunciated. "That intel implies that it's dangerous to break into the Manor."
"It's always dangerous."
"The risk is too great. We'd lose more than we'd gain."
It was hot against her back. Ron was always good at somehow increasing the temperature when he was angry; sometimes she'd leave the Gryffindor common room with sweat dripping down her forehead.
"'Mione?"
Hermione closed her eyes. She shouldn't have left the bedroom today. Her stomach felt fine; fantastic, actually. Daphne had a talent. But her head was pounding, and she fisted her hands to hide the shake of her fingers. She could feel Dolohov's curses running in waves through her body. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling; the prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse was entirely too familiar, in fact. Hermione swallowed, forcing her muscles to comply.
"I don't know," she said thickly. "I think you need to talk civilly about it with Kingsley when he gets back, instead of arguing about it in front of me."
The floor creaked slightly, and then Ron was next to her. He kneeled against the table, resting his arm against it heavily. His other hand came to her arm, soothing her gently.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes wide.
"I'm fine," she insisted. "I want to brew in peace."
She forgot how perceptive Ron was sometimes. He stared at her a moment longer, sad disbelief filling his features.
"Okay," he said softly. "We'll go."
Hermione nodded, patting his hand when he squeezed her shoulder as he stood. Ernie did the same, his lips barely lifting in apology as he followed Ron out of the kitchen. As soon as she heard their footsteps fade, Hermione collapsed into herself, her head resting against the table as her limbs convulsed. She let out a small cry, wrapping her arms around her stomach and trembling, her muscles rippling as if suddenly alive, like snakes crawling through her. She needed Tylenol, but it was in the bedroom; too far away to reach. Even her wand, simply resting on the table in front of her, was too far.
After what felt like ages of sitting immobile through fire, her body finally calmed. Hermione lifted her head, inhaling deeply through her nose. The fits were worse than she remembered them being. She wouldn't be surprised if Ron remembered them too, when she would suddenly become far away before curling onto the couch in Shell Cottage, shaking as the ghosts of Bellatrix's spells revisited. She would always tell him and Harry to leave her alone, ignoring the flashes of anxiety that came across their faces as they left the room. It was hell then, and it was hell now.
Hermione sighed, grabbing her wand and flicking it, waiting with an open palm until the Tylenol came whizzing into it. She quickly dropped a pill into her hand, popping it into her mouth and standing on shaking legs to get water. As she filled a glass and gulped it down, the back door opened again, shutting much more quietly than before.
She hadn't seen him since the day at the Ministry. While she felt assured that he was "putting out fires" as Daphne said, there was a small niggling in the back of her mind, whispering hatefully that he was avoiding her. Hermione set down the glass, biting her lip as she finally faced him.
"Alright, Malfoy?"
His mouth was pulled downwards. He didn't look up, instead focusing intently on buttoning his suit jacket. She knew he could do it blindfolded.
"Yes, Granger," he answered. Clipped.
Hermione tapped her finger against the counter, ignoring its spastic jumps in between her more controlled movements.
"Ron has tunnel vision sometimes," she decided, her voice soft. "He didn't mean what he said earlier."
Malfoy finally looked up, raising a brow. He appeared absolutely done with the conversation, and she was completely aware of how one sided, how static it was. His eyes travelled across her face slowly, and there was a dip, a dip she knew to be toward her stomach. Hermione stepped forward, hoping the counter covered where her wound would be, and lifted her chin, waiting.
She didn't know why it was so difficult to thank him all of a sudden. Why she couldn't find the words. He was captivating sometimes; under the light, like this, she could see a thin, white line under his left eye, a half-moon scar from the night of Daphne and Astoria's defection. Hermione found herself tracing the scar, following the curve to the line of his nose, down to his Cupid's bow. Her eyes stayed too long, entirely too long there, and she blinked, meeting his eyes again. His eyebrow was lifted even higher.
Merlin. Her mouth was dry.
Malfoy sniffed, throwing his gaze to the ground, and striding toward kitchen exit. Hermione balked.
"Wait, Malfoy—"
"I'm busy, Granger," Malfoy drawled, pausing to throw an irritated look over his shoulder. "Unless you actually have something important to say, I'll be going."
Hermione frowned. She took a step back, and her hands found each other, her fingers fiddling between tremors.
"I just wanted to thank you," she said quietly, becoming more unsure of herself by the second.
There was a creak in the hallway, and Malfoy twisted sharply. Daphne appeared in the entrance, holding multiple parcels under her arms. Her dark eyes shifted between them slowly, her face impassive.
Malfoy swallowed, only the side of his face visible to her now. "It was nothing," he said lowly. "Don't let it inflate your already oversized ego."
Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. Before she could even formulate a thought, he was gone, brushing past Daphne and disappearing into the hallway. Even when she could formulate a thought, it wasn't anything stellar.
What the fuck?
She hadn't done anything. In fact, she had been the one to get injured. She had been the one to thank him for helping her – unwarranted. She stood frozen next to the counter, unable to wrap her head around it. Why on earth would he have said that? She hadn't done a thing to him at all.
Daphne slowly walked toward the counter, gently placing the parcels there. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, and she didn't look at Hermione for a long time.
"You should be resting," she finally said primly.
Hermione's jaw clenched. She whirled to the cabinet, ripping it open and grabbing the mortar filled with floxweed and the matching pestle. Setting it on the counter with a clank, she began to grind. After a moment, she began to imagine that she was grinding Malfoy's face instead. Who was he to insult her for an attempt at gratitude?
"I was telling you nicely that you need to rest, you know." Daphne's voice cut through her, and Hermione gritted her teeth.
"I'm not a child, Daphne. I know when I'm being bossed around."
She felt Daphne's eyes narrow at her side. "I didn't say you were a child."
"An owl, then," Hermione shot out. "I don't appreciate being ordered around."
"Watch it, Hermione," Daphne snapped.
"Watch what?" Hermione twisted, fixing Daphne with a fiery glare. She could feel her hair beginning to stand, cracking at the ends. "I'd prefer not to rot in the bedroom, even with your nagging."
Daphne tilted her head slowly, her eyes flashing. "Don't take it out on me," she warned.
"I wouldn't dare," Hermione replied, focusing again on the mortar and pestle with greater ferocity. She bit into her cheek, ignoring the already shattered remains of the floxweed and continuing her attack. Were they back to square one, then? Did it all mean nothing? She wouldn't be surprised. It would be just like Malfoy to deceive her.
"You're just as bad as him."
"I'm just as bad as him?" Hermione hissed, rounding on Daphne. She slammed the pestle onto the counter. "No," she continued. "I'm not. I'm not an arse simply because I want to be. I don't insult people for no reason."
Daphne lifted her chin, pursing her lips. "You just got done doing that."
Hermione blinked. The fire in her cheeks faded slightly.
"Why is he avoiding me?" she blurted. "Why is he angry with me?"
"He's not angry with you."
"Then with what, if not me?"
Daphne stared at her, but her eyes were far away, seeing something else. "Draco is angry about a lot of things. He always has been." She sighed, turning back to the parcels and unwrapping the one nearest to her. "It's an unfortunate Malfoy trait."
"Why take it out on me, then?" Hermione asked, nearly desperate. She inhaled sharply, crossing her arms across her chest. Because it wasn't just the insult. It wasn't just the avoidance. He looked at her differently, now. There was nothing there; impassive, like stone, like he used to be. She didn't even realize something was there until it was gone, and now she felt empty without it. Her hand flew upward, rubbing at the bridge of her nose, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
"What did I do?"
Hermione didn't want to go back. She didn't want to throw walls around herself. She didn't want to hate him again.
She didn't realize that Daphne approached until there was a small hand at her shoulder. Hermione opened her eyes, only to see compassion set clearly on the girl's face.
"Do you know what a snake's first instinct is when they're approached?"
Dumbly, Hermione shook her head.
"They recoil, then attack." Daphne tilted her head then, a sad smile lifting. "Even when it's someone with good intentions."
Everything was still. "How…how do I—" Hermione exhaled sharply, cursing inwardly. "How does one approach, then?" she asked quietly.
"You gain their trust."
Hermione's heart sank. She backed away, letting Daphne's hand drop, and she faced the counter again, gripping the end tightly. She wasn't sure anymore if she was shaking because of the curse, or because she was thrown off an axis.
"I thought I already had it," she finally said.
Daphne clicked her tongue. "Draco's trust comes and goes," she muttered, going back to the parcel. "Waxes and wanes." She glanced at Hermione from the corner of her eye, considering her. "Talk to him."
Hermione bit her lip, ready to refuse.
"Don't let him recoil."
Hermione turned to her sharply. She could hear her watch ticking in the silence, and she counted each one. Finally, she nodded once, and Daphne smiled.
She couldn't sleep. It was late; the moon was high, bright against a black canvas. Hermione sat at the windowsill, her legs dangling, barely grazing the floor. Usually, she would be captivated by the sky, unable to take her eyes off the winking stars. But she was staring at the brilliant white below, standing at the ledge of the back porch.
It was rare to see him in white. Even from here, a story above, she could tell the shirt was pristine, wrinkle-free from lack of wear. Somehow, his hair didn't match at all. It shone against the moonlight; brighter than any light she knew of. He was impossible to miss, not that he didn't always catch her attention now.
Hermione took a deep breath, swallowing down a lump of lead from her throat.
Talk to him. Don't let him recoil.
She tiptoed down the stairs, her bare feet padding lightly against the dark, hardwood floors. She crept past the living room, looking in just enough to see Ron and Luna asleep on opposite couches, the dying fire bathing them in an orange glow. She didn't bother turning the light on in the kitchen, finding her way through the darkness by only the blue beams that passed through the bay window. Slowly, she pushed open the back door, closing it behind her with a creak.
If he noticed, there was no indication. His legs were crossed, barely noticeable in the dark, and he rested his forearms against the porch ledge, his shoulders high and tense. She noticed the smell first; foul smoke, surrounding and constricting her. Then she saw it: a wreath of grey blowing outward, encircling his head. His left hand dropped, the white stick between his fingers, burning at the end.
Hermione didn't bother with being quiet. She approached his side, matching his stance and folding her arms over the ledge. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she counted the small lights across the way, houses asleep in the quiet.
"Where did you find that?" she asked, barely mustering above a whisper. The night begged not to be disturbed around them. She turned her head, looking up at him and fighting against a catch in her breath.
"Have to get Tylenol from somewhere," he replied. His voice was raspy with smoke, low with exhaustion. He didn't return her gaze, staring straight ahead.
"They aren't good for you."
His eyebrows shot upwards, and he clicked his tongue. "I know. The large, bold writing is hard to ignore."
He turned his head then, and Hermione couldn't help the catch this time. It was back. The something when he looked at her.
"What is cancer?"
Hermione sighed and rested her chin in her palm. "It's a disease. Incurable."
He frowned, lifting the cigarette to his lips. He didn't inhale. "Is that it?"
"What else would it be?"
He shrugged, his chest rising. He twisted away slightly, the smoke wreathing out of his nose. Like a dragon, Hermione thought dully.
"I thought you'd know more," he finally said.
Hermione pursed her lips. "Not really. It's like…a mutation, I guess."
"Like lycanthropy?"
"No. It's inside." Hermione's brow furrowed as she tried to think of an explanation. "It grows inside of you, and stops things from functioning properly."
Malfoy hummed. He watched the cigarette burn between his fingers. "It kills you?"
"Yes."
"And this causes it?"
Hermione nodded once. "It can."
He was silent for a moment. They watched the cigarette slowly fade, until Malfoy flicked it toward the ground. Its orange tip whizzed through the air, before disappearing into black.
"Another in a series of bad decisions, then," he muttered.
Hermione bit her tongue, waiting. Counting ticks on her watch. He sighed, lowering himself so they were eye to eye.
"The others like them."
"The others?"
He raised a brow, and her mouth opened slightly in understanding.
"The Death Eaters," she clarified.
"Ironic, right?" he said, a bitter smile gracing his features.
"I never pegged you as a 'jump after others off the bridge' type."
Malfoy didn't say anything. Instead, his eyes traced over her. She wasn't sure if he was analyzing, weighing over why she was there, or if it was for his own amusement. He enjoyed getting under her skin, after all.
When he stiffened slightly at her arm, Hermione instantly knew. She inhaled sharply, shielding it. She forgot she wasn't wearing long sleeves. She couldn't remember if she ever hadn't around him.
"Sorry," she mumbled, if only to break the silence.
Malfoy considered her for a moment, before gently reaching out with his left hand. Hermione's eyes were drawn to his forearm, the black mark somehow darker than the rest of the night. She didn't even realize his sleeves had been up. She glanced up at him, before hesitantly placing her wrist in his hand.
It was easy to see, even with the moon blaring against her skin. The word Bellatrix left glared up at them, the ugly letters as prominent as if it had happened yesterday. Malfoy pressed his lips together, seeming unable to look away.
"I'm sorry I didn't help you," he said quietly.
Hermione swallowed, steeling herself as she turned her hand, lacing his fingers between her own. Her heart skipped a beat as electricity rocketed through her.
"You have helped me," she said. "Many times." She bit her lip, dragging her thumb over the back of his hand. "Your debts are paid."
Malfoy shook his head, his jaw clenching. "I'll be paying debts for the rest of my life, Granger."
"You were bound by fear," she insisted, leaning forward to catch his eyes. "Don't punish yourself for that."
"And what am I bound by now?" he asked harshly. "It still happens. Every day, in my house, it still happens."
Hermione gripped his hand tightly, willing him to listen. "You're doing what is right," she enunciated. "Right isn't always good, remember? You can't save everyone."
She hoped he would believer her. For a moment, she thought he did. But then his eyes hardened, silver solidifying to stone, and he let go of her hand, pushing himself away from the ledge and striding toward the back door.
"What?" Hermione called, desperate to bring him back.
Malfoy didn't answer. He was almost gone.
Don't let him recoil.
"Malfoy, do not walk away from me."
He hissed between his teeth, throwing his head up toward the sky before turning to face her again. "I'm not jumping through hoops for you," he seethed. "I have to get back."
"No." Hermione lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. "What did I say? Talk to me."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and ripped his wrist from her, but he didn't leave. He glowered at her like he could throw daggers just by standing there, and she believed that he could. But Hermione only lifted her chin, her jaw tensing. She could throw them too.
"What were you thinking?" he accused.
Hermione's resolve faltered, replaced by confusion. "What?"
"Splitting off," he spat. "Leading Dolohov on some wild chase."
Oh.
Hermione tilted her head slightly. "I did what I had to. He was going to find us, and it would all be for nothing."
"He could have killed you."
"He didn't."
"He almost killed you."
Hermione knew that. The days bedridden, the fits told her that. Daphne told her that. Ron never said it, but the way he carried himself around her told her that. But hearing him say it was different. Malfoy shook his head, sighing and throwing his eyes to the ground.
"You said that you wanted to see Harry."
Hermione's stomach dropped. Her knees nearly gave out, and she took a step backwards, her hands searching for purchase that they didn't find. Malfoy only lifted his chin, his eyes glinting, his chest rising and falling heavily.
"I…" Hermione's voice was caught in her throat. "I don't remember."
"No," Malfoy scoffed, a hard laugh. "I don't expect that you do."
He swallowed then, tearing his gaze away from her. "A little self-preservation goes a long way, Granger."
Hermione's bottom lip trembled. She wanted to see Harry. She said that to him. She couldn't imagine saying it at all. Her chest stuttered; there were shadows around her, shadows she couldn't see, but they tightened, encircled her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know. But…but I'm okay. Everything—"
"You're not understanding me," Malfoy interrupted. He licked his lips, and his hands shot to his face, his fingers splayed. Hiding.
"I was scared," he uttered. "I was bloody fucking terrified."
She had to go to him. She couldn't move, but she needed to be with him more. She willed herself to walk, nearly staggering until she stood toe to toe with him. Hermione held her breath, hesitantly reaching up to his wrists, pulling them away.
He looked terrified now.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Malfoy pressed his lips together, lowering his head until their foreheads were nearly touching. She was brimming already, the brush of his hair against her face lighting her on fire.
"Don't do it again."
Hermione nodded. She took a deep breath, letting him go and presenting her pinky for him. Malfoy's eyebrows drew together, glancing confusedly between it and her.
"It's a pinky promise," she explained. She grabbed his hand again, maneuvering it until their pinkies were locked. "It's binding. More powerful than the Unbreakable Vow, even."
Malfoy's head tilted, and he eyed her like she was suddenly insane. "I hardly think—"
"It is."
There was nothing but them. She was lost in him as he dragged his eyes over her face.
"I promise I will never do it again," Hermione said.
Her nerves spiked when he didn't say anything. They spiked even more when he slowly touched his forehead to hers. Even when he pulled away, he was still close, and she could feel it still, like he was permanently etched into her skin. Her stomach fluttered when he brushed her hair from her face, his fingers grazing cautiously over her cheek, before staying there, burning her.
"Draco," she whispered, the fire willing her to say it.
He stilled.
"Am I imagining things?"
He stared at her as if she was the only thing in the world, the only thing that mattered. She had always seen stone, silver, stars in his eyes. Never fire.
"No," he answered, and his hand angled her chin upwards, capturing her lips with his.
If there was fire before, she only knew fireworks now. God, he was alighting her. She let go of his hand, finding his collar and desperately pulling him closer. Somehow, he had done the same; a hand at the small of her back, pressing her against him. His mouth was sinful against hers, and she didn't care that he tasted like smoke. His tongue swiped against her bottom lip, and Hermione parted her mouth, her breath hitching as he deepened the kiss.
Even when the pace slowed, her body didn't stop thrumming. Even when their lips parted, they didn't move. The Malfoy ring was cold against her cheek. Draco pressed his forehead into hers once more, his eyes closed. Hermione tried to focus on breathing, keeping her own in sync with his, but her mind was racing so much it was almost overwhelming. Almost.
She didn't dare let go of his collar.
"You arguably could have done that a lot sooner," she gasped.
Draco's face split into a smile, and he let out a small tsk of a laugh. "Still bossing me around, I see."
Hermione laughed, doubling over slightly and hitting her head against his chest playfully. She stared there for a moment, listening to the low beats of his heart against his chest. Draco's hand snaked from her face, wrapping around her shoulders and holding her close. He rested his chin on her head, and Hermione sighed, closing her eyes, trying to forget where they were, who they were.
"This changes everything, doesn't it?" she murmured.
His chest rose and fell once, lulling her, and then his fingers were at her chin, lifting her head. For the first time, she could see everything written on his face; desire that she was unfamiliar with, masked by a quiet resignation. Draco pressed his lips together, his gaze unfocused as he traced her jaw. He shook his head minutely.
He didn't know.
an: ahhhhhh! long time coming! I hope you enjoyed. I wrote the last scene with "Love for Duty" from the Medici the Magnificent soundtrack playing on repeat in the background. highly recommend if you like scores, and highly recommend the show if you like history. thanks to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited :))