Oh God.

Oh fuck.

"Harry," Hermione breathed out, so low only Lucius could hear. Her eyes fell shut, and just for a second, she let herself bask in the warmth of her best friend's voice. Though they hadn't been separated for that long, Harry's unexpected presence brought a comfort she hadn't felt since before this mess began.

But as her eyelids slid back open, the reality of that presence came crashing back, like ice water had been injected into her veins. All at once, Hermione was too aware of the heaving chest behind her back, the blinding of the wand at the foot of the stairs, the wizard standing to her right, a look of anguish and joy melded into his handsome features. She wanted to run to Sirius, to Harry, to stay right where she was, pressed into Lucius's protective warmth.

Instead, Hermione whispered, "Stay here and out of sight," to her two wizards, then slowly sank into a crouch. She dropped her wand, wincing as it clattered against the hardwood.

"Come down with your hands up!" Harry shouted.

Hermione obeyed, fingers splayed, hands above her head. She didn't dare look back to make sure the wizards had obeyed her own command—if either one were to be seen by Harry before Hermione could try and explain, curses were likely to start flying.

With each creak of the next step, the lit wand dropped lower. Three steps to go, and she finally saw her friend's face. Harry's jaw dropped open. His eyebrows crinkled up. Something flickered in his green eyes, but Hermione was surprised to see it wasn't confusion, or shock.

Harry stared at her like she was a disappointment.

"'Hermione," he said hoarsely.

"Harry." Hermione swallowed, but her throat was still too dry. She flexed her arms; the position was beginning to grow uncomfortable. With her elbow, she gestured towards the left-hand wall. "There's a light switch, if you want to…"

He blinked, then glanced at the wall. "Right. Sorry." He flipped the switch without breaking eye contact, and warm light from the overhead fixture spilled into the stairwell. "Finite," Harry whispered, and the glowing tip of his wand died out. It remained aimed at her, even as Hermione lowered her arms to her sides. "Hermione," he said again, more strongly. "You…you're here. I was so sure she was wrong."

"Who?"

"A French co-worker. Both our Ministries put aurors into undercover positions. She told me she'd come across an English witch with curly hair who needed help." Harry's eyes swept her once more, like he was looking for something. "But she refused to tell me what. Only where to find you."

Anger laced through her as she realized just who Harry was talking about. Esme…damn me for trusting the witch! Part of her wanted to blame Sirius for finding her in the first place, but Esme had helped. She helped save Lucius. And she had waited an entire day before setting Harry on them, in addition to clearly leaving out the key fact that Hermione was very much not alone.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" Harry's tone was cut with a bitter edge. "First, I get word that you disappeared from London the same day I last saw you at Grimmauld Place—the same day dark magic was released in your department at the Ministry!" He strode towards her, knuckles white around his wand. Hermione gasped, backing into the steps, her ankles hitting the wood.

"Harry, please—"

"Ron said he knew exactly where you were. I didn't believe him, though. And then we get the Rita Skeeter article, and do you know what it said?"

"Yes, Harry—"

"It said that you were sleeping with him! Malfoy!" Footsteps creaked faintly from above, but Harry seemed too wrapped up in his interrogation that he had eyes only for her. And those eyes were absolutely livid. "That Malfoy lured you into his—his web, just like you promised you wouldn't let happen. I thought you were in danger, Hermione," he said, his voice dropping into an icy whisper. "We searched for you. Even with all the absolute shite going on in France, Ron and I searched for you. And when we couldn't…I thought Malfoy killed you. I thought that was the only reason you would leave me—leave your f amily like that. Because you were dead. And now where do I find you?" Harry's shaky breath blew hot across her skin. His wand trembled, hovering by her throat. "Alone in a random flat in Paris. No explanation. No letter home. No real goodbye, since you lied to me last time I saw you. And I bet you have Dad's cloak too," Harry muttered, finally seeming to regain some sense of composure. He stepped back. His wand remained poised. "Well?"

"Well what?" Hermione squeaked. This Harry was not the best friend she had left back home. This Harry frightened her—not for his anger, but for his blatant distrust in her. Even if it was justly earned.

Harry let out a mocking huff of laughter. "Well what does the clever Hermione Granger have to say for herself?"

Hermione's lips pressed together as she debated. For months, she had kept so many secrets—lied so many times. Harry knew it. And if she kept up a facade—and she was sure she could think of a good one—he would eventually find out the truth, and she might lose her friend forever. So Hermione nodded. She smoothed her palms over her jeans. And she said, softly, "Yes…and no."

"What?"

"Yes, I gave you no explanation or letter. Yes, I lied the last time I saw you. And yes, I—" Hermione forced herself to swallow for fear the words wouldn't come out strangled. "Yes, I stole your Dad's invisibility cloak." This time, it was her turn to step forward. Hesitantly, she laid her fingers on Harry's outstretched wrist, ignoring his flinch. Not trying to lower his wand, but just to remind him that it was still her. She was still his Hermione. His family. "But no, I was nor lured into anything by Malfoy. And no," she continued, her voice breaking with a sudden swell of emotion, "I am not alone."

Harry's eyes flew so quickly to the stairs, it was comical—and she would have laughed, if the tension wasn't so suffocating. "Malfoy," Harry hissed, snapping his wand up over her shoulder.

"Harry," Hermione warned, pressing on his wrist a little more insistently. "I can't let you go up there if you're going to be Auror-Harry. I need my best friend," she pleaded. "I need you to trust me, or things will get out of hand very fast."

She could tell from his grinding teeth that he was debating with himself. Hermione put her other hand on his shoulder, and it seemed to do the trick. With a sigh, Harry's muscles relaxed beneath her touch, and his wand-arm was lowered back down. "You're not in any danger?"

"Just from that quick wand of yours," Hermione said gently. She took her hand off his wrist and opened her fingers.

Harry grumbled, then placed the wand in her palm. "Only until I deem you're safe," he said begrudgingly.

"Only until then," she agreed, before he followed her up the stairs.

With every step, her worry and anticipation grew. Seeing Lucius would be nothing compared to reuniting with Sirius. Even Hermione herself, who had spent weeks trying to drag Sirius out of the Veil, had felt knocked off her feet when she first saw Sirius Black back in the land of the living.

Poor Harry had received no such orientation.

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, pausing halfway up the staircase to look back at him. "Do you remember the Order protocol when reuniting with members during the war?"

"Course. Mad-Eye's questioning method."

She nodded. "I want you to remember that," she said tightly, before resuming her climb.

Harry snorted. "Hermione, I hardly think seeing Malfoy warrants me asking what hairstyle the git wore when he and his merry gang of Death Eaters attacked us fifth year…" She had stopped at the top of the stairs. Harry was still a step behind, but with their height difference, Hermione knew he could see straight over her shoulder.

Straight at his living, breathing, grinning, godfather.

"Harry," Sirius breathed out.

He was standing in a pile of crushed newspapers, one arm held out, the other wrapped around his waist, like he couldn't decide if he ought to welcome Harry into a hug, or keep back until his godson made a move. His eyes glinted, and the sight had Hermione's welling up too. She allowed herself a quick look at Lucius, who was now on the couch, watching the scene with an appropriately subdued look. Hermione caught his gaze and nodded, as if to say thank you for letting them have this.

Lucius nodded back, and only then did Hermione turn towards Harry.

He was frozen on the stairs, one hand wrapped in a crushing grip around the wooden railing, the other floundering at his outer robe's pocket, as if searching for the wand she'd confiscated. Gently, Hermione took the hand and pulled, grateful that he clambered up beside her instead of resisting. "It's really him," she said, starting to lead Harry into the sitting room. Newspaper crinkled underfoot. "It's Sirius. I—we," she added, with another glance towards the blonde wizard, "brought him back."

They got halfway across the room before Harry abruptly pulled out of her grasp. "No," he whispered. His eyes were impossibly wide and bright as he drank in the sight of his godfather. "No, you're dead. You're dead."

"Oh, Harry," Sirius said hoarsely. Both arms opened up in a desperate offering. "Look at you. You're a man now, Harry. You look just like your father."

"No, you're dead." Harry shook his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, but apparently it did little to help—the next instant, Harry rounded on Hermione, grasping for her hand carrying his wand.

A growl erupted from across the room as Hermione gasped and tried to push Harry off. "Harry, stop!" she cried, as an arm tried to encircle her waist. She held the wand up higher, out of reach. "Use the questions, I swear it's—"

Suddenly, Harry was gone—replaced by a woosh of air and a snarl as Lucius drove Harry up against the wall, one hand wrapped around his throat. Behind them, Sirius was shouting, rushing forward as Lucius seethed, "I don't care if you're the fucking Chosen One, Potter," he spat. "You Don't. Touch. Her."

"Get off my godson!" Sirius had barely laid a finger on Lucius when the blonde recoiled, hands up.

"Gladly," Lucius spat. He stepped halfway in front of Hermione, blocking her from the other two wizards. She couldn't help it—her stomach clenched at his protectiveness.

Hermione's hand trembled when she touched Lucius's arm. "We should leave you two to discuss," she said, as Sirius and Harry held each other's gazes.

"Good idea, kitten."

Harry's stare flickered to her. "You'll be okay with him?" he asked, eyes narrowing on Lucius.

"Yes, Harry. We'll be in the bedroom, when you're ready."

Hermione's fingers slipped down, lacing with Lucius's. She tugged him behind her, breathing out a sigh of relief when he followed without complaint. Once inside the bedroom, she let go to shut the door to give Harry and Sirius some privacy, flicked on the lights, then sank down onto the edge of the mattress.

Her head felt like an overripe pumpkin from Hagrid's patch. She let her elbows dig into her thighs, let that weight fall into the cradle of her fingers. Hermione wanted to laugh and cry and sleep and smash something, all at once. Was there nothing she could do right? Was there anyone she couldn't save from being sucked into this catastrophe she now called her life? Even if Harry accepted that Sirius was back, he would surely hate her forever once he learned of her methods. Once he realized that Sirius would die again.

All because she had become obsessed with a problem. Because she had been too nosy—too needy—for her own good. The papers may call her the 'Brightest Witch of Her Age,' but Hermione knew the truth. She knew that cleverness was just a mask to hide her parasitic need to be wanted, to be loved, to be right. She had let the need consume her like a forest fire, and now there was no water left to quench it.

Time was running out.

The world was ready to burn.

And even if she saved the world, and if Sirius threw himself at Fate's feet for the sake of that fucking prophecy, she still would end up charred to the bone. Because she would lose Sirius. And she would watch Harry lose Sirius. And nothing would ever put it right again.

"Hush, now," a warm voice soothed as fingers trailed up her spine.

Hermione choked on a sob as she lifted her head to find Lucius beside her. She hadn't realized he'd joined her. Or that she'd started to cry.

Again. Stupid, selfish tears. When would her well of sorrow ever run dry?

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth and nose.

Lucius sighed and dug into his pocket, revealing his handkerchief. Hermione smiled, tasting salt. How ever did he manage to keep it, after all this time? "You have nothing to be sorry for," he chided gently as his comforting touch returned in a steady rhythm up and down her back. "Judging by the lack of curses being thrown, or shouting, I'd say the reunion is going quite well, considering the circumstances."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Hermione huffed, shaking her head.

"Well, other than the illegal ritual and necromancy, the breaking and entering into Ministry and Muggle property, and my near death by magical coma…" He tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. "No, you do not have anything to be sorry about."

She was surprised to see the amusement there, and even more surprised that his attempt to make her feel better was beginning to work. Though her eyes still stung, and her throat was so closed up that breathing hurt, a thread of tension escaped through a long sigh. "Oh, Lucius," she whispered, before tucking her face into the crook of his neck. He wrapped one arm around her back, fingers curling into the soft flesh of her waist as he held her. "Why are you so good to me?"

His chest shook with a bark of laughter. "Might I remind you that I am at fault for letting you use that illegal ritual?"

"Yes," she murmured into the shirt growing damp beneath her eyes. "And you may keep reminding me until we're old, and grey, and I've thoroughly forgiven you."

He tensed briefly before pressing a kiss into her hair. "I'll be grey long before you, my darling."

"Then I suppose I'll have to forgive you early." Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder, using the leverage to push back so she could look into his eyes. He watched her with nothing but warmth, and trust, and something she did not want to name, for fear that it would be gone too soon. "Lucius?"

"Yes?"

"I…" She wet her lips. "I am sorry, truly sorry about one thing, though. Back at the manor, you kept asking me to have a drink with you. And I…" Hermione curled her fingers into his shoulder as his pupils expanded just a sliver wider. "I know now, what you meant. I should have said yes to that drink. Said yes to—to you. But I didn't because I was afraid of the way you made me feel. I should have said yes long before it got too complicated with Sirius, or until you were nearly dead."

He was quiet as he contemplated her. Then his head tilted, and he said in a low voice, "I was still intent on betraying you during those times, but the…feelings I had for you then were true. I did not lie, when I took the Veritaserum, Hermione. Kissing you…" Lucius lifted his hand. Hermione's breathing hitched as he ran his knuckles down her cheekbone, under the line of her jaw. "Touching you…" Finally his hand stilled, thumb brushing up to press into her bottom lip. "Caring for you…it was always real."

God, she wanted him to kiss her. And God, how it didn't feel wrong to want it. Hermione leaned in to his touch, whimpering when his thumb popped between the pillows of her lips. "It was real for me too," she breathed out.

It was enough—a second later, his thumb pushed sideways, and his lips met hers. It was soft, and brief, and her body sang for more when he pulled away.

She understood why. Things were still too complicated. Both between her and Sirius, who she cared for just as much, and with the threat of the consequences once this prophecy was over. The Ministry would still have their way with them, when all was said and done.

"We'll find a way to save you," Hermione whispered, smiling faintly as it was now her turn to touch his face. She cupped his cheek, loving the rough scratch of his stubble. "They can't lock you in Azkaban again. Or the dementors...I won't allow it."

Lucius chuckled before turning his face, pressing an open-mouth kiss into her palm before taking that hand and pulling it into his lap. "I didn't know you have power over the Wizengamot, as well as the dead."

Hermione smiled as she scolded, trying to sound serious, "I have power only over the Edge, as you very well know from my apparently distracting presence in your library all those weeks."

"Distracting?" He feigned aloofness, even though the corners of his lips threatened to tug into a smirk. "You were a menace. All that endless coffee and biscuits—"

"Which I never asked for!"

"And the crumbs left on every surface—"

"I used banishing charms!"

"Don't remind me of the late-night visits to my study—"

Hermione burst out laughing. "You loved my visits."

"Yes." The amusement in his eyes faded into a sincerity that had her blushing. "Yes, I did love it."

She was tempted to kiss him again, despite knowing it was not her best idea, when a knock sounded from the door. Hermione pulled away and stood; the lack of touch left her feeling hollow. "Come in."

Harry appeared in the doorway, glancing dubiously at Lucius before saying, "You can come out now, if you like. We've, ah…guess we cleared things up."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Does that mean you accept the fact that your godfather's alive?"

He raked his fingers through his unruly hair. "Yeah."

"Good." Hermione picked his wand up from where she'd dropped it on the bed and held it out. "Don't make me regret giving this back."

She pretended not to notice Harry's smile as she and Lucius followed him from the bedroom.

In the sitting room, the furniture had been somewhat re-arranged to normal, though the carpet of newspapers remained. Harry took the middle couch cushion beside Sirius. After hesitating, Hermione decided to take the last remaining spot on the couch to Harry's left—her only other option was the loveseat, but she didn't reckon either Harry or Sirius would be too pleased if she and Lucius squeezed on it together.

Once they had all settled, a painful quiet sank over the room. To her surprise, it was Lucius who spoke first. "I apologize for my reaction, Potter. I should not have…shoved you."

Three mouths hung open. After a few seconds, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Yeah, erm…it's ok. I realize you two have been…close for a while now, and you wanted to protect her." His gaze slid to Hermione.

"Sirius filled you in, then?" she asked lightly. Her fingers tapped at her knees until she caught Lucius watching, and she quickly hid them under her thighs.

"He said that you and Malfoy worked on some ritual to bring him back from the Veil, then you found a prophecy?"

"More like the prophecy found me. Well, it found us," she added, with a shy glance around. "The prophecy speaks of a tunnel that formed between the Veil and a door, of sorts, that opened up some time this winter. Likely before the ritual, in fact. Once Sirius came back, we set out to find that door, and we tracked it to France."

Harry nodded slowly, like he was still processing. "Sirius said the door is connected to the disappearances here. And that the thing must have so much power, it's been able to ward itself. That's why none of us at the DMLE or the French Ministry have been able to investigate." With a frustrated snarl, Harry leaned back against the cushions and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "I can't believe we missed something so bloody massive. I mean, it's another Veil, right? And it's just been sitting here under our noses!"

"We can't be sure what it is, exactly," Hemione explained gently, growing uneasy at Harry's self-directed frustration. "Just that it is taking so many lives, and that…"

"And what?"

Hermione bit her lip. She glanced sideways at Sirius, who nodded encouragingly. Shite. He hadn't told Harry yet, as she'd suspected. "And the door demands one more life to close it."

Harry's eyes slowly slid from Sirius before settling on the blonde wizard. "That's you, then, Malfoy? You started this mess. Are you going to be the one to end it?"

A sneer curled at Lucius's mouth. "As I hope Black informed you, I did not start this by opening my library to the research. Neither did Miss Granger, for that matter. If you'd like to blame someone, Potter, blame your godfather. It was him whose memory nagged so incessantly at the little witch's mind, she felt no option but to resurrect him."

Harry twisted back towards Hermione. "What in Godric's name is he talking about? You hardly ever talked about Sirius before."

Hermione let out a breath that had been trapped in her chest, grateful that, at least for the time being, Harry's attention would be off the fact that his godfather would soon be gone again. "It's hard to explain," she said weakly.

"Try."

Hermione pressed her lips as she wracked her brain for something that made sense. In reality, it hardly made sense to her. "I was very lost after the war," she began slowly. She thought back to the numbness she had felt then—the sense of walking through the world as if underwater, limbs weighed down, body always cold. "I know that you and Ginny—and Ron, and the others—that you cared for me, but you had your own lives. And I had mine. And I thought I could get through, but there was something missing. A piece of me, maybe." Hermione leaned back into the pillows, knuckles pressed into her chin. It hurt, even thinking about that time. For even with all the horror this winter had brought, at least she felt alive. At least she didn't feel like drowning every single second of every dreadful day. "I don't know why I started, but I began spending nearly every lunch hour in the Death Room. With the Veil. And that continued until I sensed him," she said, her voice barely even a whisper as her gaze landed heavily on Sirius.

"What do you mean, sensed? You heard him? Saw him?"

"At first, I did think it was his voice." Hermione smiled at the memory. Sirius smiled back. "I heard a man who sounded awfully like Sirius Black. I think now, though, that it was in my head. Or somehow Sirius's magic was in my head. But I followed that voice until it led me to him."

The man in question held her gaze. There was so much caring there. So much love. And she knew in that moment that she felt it too. That she was falling for Sirius Black.

Without even thinking, her eyes drifted to the side, landing on Lucius. He watched her with the same intensity, like fire had been woven into the threads of space between them. Stretching, burning.

Loving.

Is that even possible?

"Back to this prophecy." Harry's voice cut through the silence. Hermione blinked and tore her gaze away, back to her friend's oblivious expression. "How does this thing end?"

"Earlier today," Lucius jumped in, and Hermione was grateful that he came so quickly to her rescue while she put herself back together, "Miss Granger narrowed in on the location of the door: Cap Blanc-Nez."

"We were trying to look there! We knew the disappearances were leading towards the coast, but whenever we got close, the answers just…evaded us." He glanced at Sirius. "That's the warding you mentioned?"

Sirius nodded. "Aye. But it seems that since Hermione, and likely myself, have a different relationship with the Veil's magic, we're immune to the warding's tricks. At least so far."

"We'll have to see what happens when we're physically there," Hermione supplied. "But I believe we ought to give it a try as soon as we can. I'd like to leave at first light, if possible. No one else needs to disappear."

"Sirius said you're out of money and can't apparate."

"Yes, Lucius's magic suppressor prevents him from apparating safely."

"Thoroughly tested," Lucius drawled sarcastically, sending a flush of regretful heat creeping up Hermione's cheeks.

"Can you remove it?" she asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "The only way those things come off are with the corresponding documents, which would be locked up in Proudfoot's office…" His eyes suddenly went wide. "Hermione, Malfoy shouldn't even be allowed out of London or the manor, without that file."

Hermione pressed her lips tightly together as Sirius chuckled, and Lucius smirked. She had relayed the story to both wizards, during their time in the cabin. "Let's just say that I solved one problem that day, and caused another. Lucius can't apparate, and we truly are out of money. Perhaps—I mean, if you could find a way to fund our Muggle travels until I can pay you back…" She trailed off, feeling even more embarrassed that she was asking a Ministry official to fund their activities, let alone her friend who she would never dare mooch off of.

"Hey," Harry said, patting her knee. "It's not wrong to ask for help, Hermione. That being said, you shouldn't take Muggle transport. It'll take at least…what, four, five hours, and from what I remember of the recent timetables, the trains don't run that way until late tomorrow afternoon."

"You have a portkey?" Sirius asked hopefully.

"I don't—the French are even stricter on control of portkeys than they are back home." A grin slowly took over Harry's face. "But I do have something better." He stood and looked at his godfather. "Want to come get it with me?"

"Harry, I don't think that's a good idea," Hermione said worriedly.

"Just to one of the Ministry's storage facilities," Harry reassured. "He can wear the cloak you so helpfully already have with you."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she knew he was just teasing. All the anger from before had seemed to vanish, now that he had Sirius back. And she knew that he only wanted to spend more time with his godfather, on their own.

She shoved down her guilt as she nodded her acceptance.

"Excellent," Harry said, as Sirius went to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak from the bedroom. "We'll be back later tonight, though you shouldn't leave anyway until morning."

After exchanging goodbyes, they left, leaving Hermione to ponder what exactly Harry had in mind. Perhaps they were setting up a floo network. She would worry, if it wasn't for all the other anxieties already clouding her mind.

Once they were alone again, Lucius offered to make up dinner. Hermione agreed enthusiastically—and not only because her stomach growled in response. After their conversation in the bedroom, she felt closer than ever to this wizard she had somehow, for some reason, grown to be fond of.

She tried not to dwell on the stronger ways to say fond of.

Though their dinner of more pasta was a quiet affair, there was a contentedness in the Parisian apartment. And when their plates had been washed, and the flat tidied to the best of her magic's abilities, Lucius settled on the couch, and she settled beside him.

How strange this is, Hermione mused as Lucius silently drew her into his side. To be happy with this man. She supposed they had been happy before the ritual too, but there was always tension between their banter, or their intellectual exchanges. Some of it was the sexual chemistry that she no longer denied. But more so, there was a lack of acceptance. Hermione had refused to accept her attraction, her feelings for a man who had always been labeled as malicious and cold. She refused that her heart might want anyone else but the object of her fixation.

Now, she realized as she melted into his embrace, and closed her eyes sleepily at the fingers settling over her thigh, Hermione accepted Lucius.

She accepted that someday, they would find this happiness again. It may take a very long time, and it would take a hell of a lot of hurt, but she saw something with this man. A future reconnection, at the very least.

A happy life, at the very most.

Arms gripped her tight, and Hermione startled slightly, before realizing foggily that she was being carried by Lucius. "What happened?" she murmured, vaguely aware that he was carrying her into the dark bedroom.

A chuckle rumbled against her, and Hermione pressed into the vibrations. "You fell asleep for an hour. Potter and Black haven't returned." The words made her stiffen. "No, do not worry, pet. I'm sure they're just having a much needed talk."

Normally, Hermione would do a little protesting, but she felt so drained, she only found the energy to huff indignantly. They entered the bedroom, Lucius using her dangling foot to press up the light switch. Hermione laughed as they spun away, and he strode towards the rumpled bed.

With an ease and gentleness that no longer surprised her, Lucius deposited Hermione on the mattress. "Sleep," he ordered, reaching over her to grab the duvet. "You can see whatever Potter has in the morning."

Hermione caught his hand. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please stay."

Lucius squeezed her fingers, but to her dismay, he grabbed the comforter's corner and dragged it back over, tucking her snugly inside. "Imagine if Black heard you say that," he scolded. Lucius glanced at the open doorway, then perched on the edge of the bed. "You care for him."

Hermione gazed up at him, fighting to keep her eyelids open. "I care for you too."

Lucius nodded. He seems sad. She wanted to touch him, but the duvet was too heavy. Her hands remained trapped. "I know," he said softly.

Hermione used his contemplative silence to look over him, smiling when a memory fluttered up. "Do you remember New Year's?" she said, before stifling a yawn with her fingers.

Lucius smirked. "You think it's easy to forget when a beautiful witch comes stumbling into your home?"

"You tried very hard to get me to leave that night."

"Only because I knew that if you stayed, it would be impossible to let you go."

Hermione blinked, but the weight of her eyelids was so great, she let them slip closed. "You don't have to let me go," she murmured. As the darkness seeped in, sleep threatened to tug her under.

The mattress shifted. Fingers brushed her forehead. Lips kissed her own. "I know," Lucius whispered, just as the hook of sleep dug deeper. "I'm sorry."