Ch. 8 And in Health

A/N:

The inspiration for the following chapters comes from a little trip I did to Italy this summer. If I had to chose one country I had to go for every holiday from now on for the rest of my life, I wouldn't think twice. Italy is so beautiful, the food is amazing and it has such a diverse landscape.

I've done some research for the architecture in this chapter. If anyone wants to get a visual of Blaise's place, here's the link: www . wsj articles / SB10001424052702304259304576373020703249648

Update on the Dramione-hater-situation: I'm apparently targeted by a group calling themselves 'The council of seventeen Malfoy haters'. My expert google skills revealed that they might or might not originate from a subreddit from 2017 and post copy&paste reviews under Drarry and Dramione stories. I'm not even mad, this is pure dedication :D Also one of my readers told me that my story was referenced on a Quora list critiquing the marriage law trope. I haven't found this list (sadly). I'm super intrigued! If anyone knows more, pls let me know. This is like being part of a conspiracy theory haha.

Previously: Draco is hurt leading a mass-outbreak from Azkaban. To withdraw from the public eye for a while, they are going on a trip to Europe.

Warning: Smut, gaslighting and cheating in the chapters ahead.

Hermione wasn't deterred.

When she attempted to heave her luggage onto the carriage, Draco signed and took her suitcase like a gentleman. She sent him a winning smile which earned her an eyeroll.

"This is going to be the shittiest holiday ever," he muttered under his breath as they waved Narcissa goodbye. Lucius wasn't there to see them off. He was busy with pacifying Dumbledore and putting up a facade to convince wizarding Britain of the Malfoys' innocence regarding the Azkaban outbreak.

The house-elves had prepared the smaller carriage for them. It was a faster ride than the one the Malfoys preferred for big outings. Hermione was glad that the journey to Blaise's home was short and that they wouldn't travel all the way to Italy. She wasn't sure she could suffer through that with Draco for company.

He settled into the seat across from her, his expression sullen. The Abraxans neighed before taking off with a jolt that sent her flying into Draco's lap. He steadied her with a glare. Hermione felt herself blush and looked out the window.

They would be meeting the others at Blaise's to take a portkey from there. She actually looked forward to the trip. Italy was already warm and sunny in May while spring still lingered in Northern Europe.

She wouldn't let the Slytherins drag her down. Her bags were packed with books eager for her to read in the shade of cypress trees. Draco surely couldn't fuck up more than he already had, so she could just as well enjoy a proper holiday away from the bleak reality of her home country.

"Why is she here?" Astoria asked, looking at Hermione like she was a stray dog. The girl had been a year below the rest of them, but Hermione remembered that she was equal parts stunning as she was cunning. Her blonde hair was loosely braided along the side of her head, complimenting the boheme summer dress she had donned for the trip to Italy. Her piercing eyes, now directed at Hermione, were the only thing betraying her strong personality under the lovely exterior.

"Shush, Tori. Be polite," Daphne chided her younger sister.

"That's a cheap replacement for Pansy, Draco," Flint commented.

Hermione held her head high. Their opinions didn't matter to her.

"Not my bloody fault Pansy let the Weasel knock her up. The portkey is already paid for eight people. I'm not wasting money just because she's too pregnant to join."

Nott snickered, lounging on one of the posh chaises in Blaise's parlour. Millicent was the only one of them that offered Hermione a shy smile in greeting as they joined the rest of the group of travellers.

For a moment, Hermione felt dread creeping in. Even Bella Italia couldn't brighten any moment spent among these people. She shook off the notion. She had endured worse and once they had arrived, she would be able to spend time away from the group on her own.

"I'm surprised Luna didn't want to come. She would love Italy," she said, turning to Blaise instead of acknowledging the snide comments.

"Ah, she's… on a trip. With her dad," Blaise mumbled.

Nott scoffed. "That's one way of saying that she ditched your sorry arse."

Blaise glared at him. "Shut up, Theo."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Apparently, Luna had taken her advice to heart and had distanced herself from Blaise.

"We had a fight, nothing major." Luna didn't have fights with people. She was the most agreeable and kind person Hermione knew. A pang of guilt echoed in her chest, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for Blaise.

"I really don't know how you and Draco manage to not tear each other's heads off," Nott drawled, throwing her husband a glance. Draco was chatting with Astoria, but looked over at the mention of his name.

"Yeah, you two get along well," Daphne said with a smile. "I'm quarreling with Harry all the time, and I feel so bad about it."

"It's mostly about setting some ground rules," Hermione mumbled. She didn't feel comfortable discussing her marriage, even though all of them were in a similar position.

Nobody would have ever expected her to settle into a marriage like this, least of all herself. But it had taken barely a year to grind down her defenses. A younger version of herself would be disappointed with her for being so agreeable with everything the Malfoys expected of her. But it was so… exhausting.

She fumbled with her wedding band.

"How will we transport our luggage?" Hermione asked, desperate to change the topic.

"One of my house-elves will Apparate with it," Blaise said.

Hermione furrowed her brow.

The poor creature would need to do several jumps to cover the distance. Few wizards and witches managed that with all their limbs attached. It was insanely dangerous for humans to attempt. Even house-elves preferred to avoid these distances.

"Can't we shrink it down and take it with us?"

Astoria snorted. "Only someone like you would suggest that."

Someone like her… it wasn't clear if Astoria was referring to her lack of family name and wealth or her Mudblood status. Her attitude made it clear that either interpretation was valid. Hermione raised an eyebrow. At school, she would have seethed at the audacity, but compared to dealing with Lucius and Narciassa on a daily basis, Astoria was like a fluffy rabbit.

"You see," Nott said, "you simply don't shrink tailored clothes. My designer shoes would never be the proper size afterwards."

Hermione still found it unnecessary to force a house-elf to do long-distance Apparition. But Blaise announced that it was time to get ready for the portkey, cutting the impending discussion that lay on her tongue short.

They gathered around a clay leprechaun garden gnome on the table, looking like those sold in Irish souvenir shops. "Remember the bubble head charms. I don't want to wipe your brains from my new robes," Nott said.

"Bubble head charm?" Hermione asked.

"You've probably never taken an international portkey," Blaise said. "It's quite unpleasant if you don't use any protection. Though your head won't explode, it's more that your lungs can collapse. It's like Apparition, but longer. It gets hard to breathe."

"Ah," Hermione said. "Makes sense."

Blaise proceeded to hand out small vials to everyone, Hermione included. "Bottoms up, guys."

"What's this?" she asked. Hermione felt stupid for being so unfamilir with the procedure.

"It will help with the nausea. It's basically salt water with mint leaves."

She pulled a face.

Blaise chuckled. "Believe me, it helps, even though it's really disgusting."

"Why didn't you bring one for me?" Draco grouched, being the only one who wasn't offered a vial.

"I didn't know you'd bring Hermione." Blaise shrugged. "She got yours."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Blaise shot him a look. "Remember your manners, my friend."

"You can have it," Hermione said, holding out the vial to Draco. She wasn't exactly eager to drink salt water.

"No, no. You really want to drink that, Hermione," Daphne said, softly. "Trust me."

Draco glared at the vial but refused to take it from her hands, so Hermione uncorked it and held it to her lips, waiting for the others to follow suit. She didn't trust them to not pull some sort of childish prank on her. Though when everyone downed the contents of their vial, she did the same, pulling a face at the taste. It was like swallowing sea water.

"Okay, bubble head charms now!" Draco declared with a glance at his watch. "We have thirty seconds."

The leprechaun had started vibrating and the green of its robes seemed to glow.

"Drakey, can you help me?" Astoria said, sweetly. "I'm not sure I can do the charm properly." She batted her lashes at him. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, knowing that Astoria was more than capable to do it on her own.

Draco, ever the gentleman, cast the charm for Astoria which earned him a candy cane smile from the younger witch.

"Hands on the portkey!" Blaise commanded. It was rattling on its stumpy legs, threatening to fall off the table.

Hermione held onto the figure's hat, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She felt Draco step up next to her, putting his hand above hers. His fingers were warm on the delicate skin at the back of her hand, and she could feel the metal of his wedding band on her knuckles.

Then, when everyone had taken a hold of the portkey, a pulling sensation set in. It started gently and then increased in force until it became unbearable. The leprechaun grew hot in her hand. The reflex to let go was only stopped by her fingers being magically glued to the portkey as the world around them started spinning.

While Apparition was an unpleasant sensation, being torn through thousands of miles of space by the portkey was true agony. Hermione gasped for air, glad for the bubble head charm. She felt like the day of her wedding when Narcissa had tightened the corset until breathing had become a chore and her ribs had ached. Worst of all, the feeling wouldn't let up, growing more intense every second.

The world around her whirled like they were a jojo rolling off a string and back up in rapid succession. The pressure pushed tears to her eyes that made the others' faces look blurry.

Hermione was growing anxious. Surely this shouldn't take more than a few seconds. Something must have gone wrong. Desperate to get her feet back on solid ground, she tried tearing her hand off the portkey. Before she could move though, Draco's hand on hers tightened, keeping her from pulling away and his other hand gripped her waist.

Not a moment too late, he pulled her into his side as the spinning abruptly stopped, her feet hitting the ground. She staggered, holding onto him to stay upright.

Around her, the others hit the ground just as hard. Nott took a few steps backwards before his whole body simply tilted and he fell on his face with an 'Ompf'.

"Merlin, these travels suck more than Filch's detentions," Flint groaned, sinking to his knees to avoid falling down himself.

Hermione willed herself to gain stable footing. When she was sure she could stand on her own, she mumbled a thanks and detangled herself from Draco. He seemed to have practice with portkey travel, standing like a pillar next to her.

When her head stopped spinning, queasiness settled into her stomach. She tried to center herself by breathing deeply and gazing at the marvellous countryside. The soft hills were covered in olive trees and the vineyards stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Draco, you look quite pale," Daphne voiced carefully. She and Astoria held each other upright.

"Poor Drakey should have taken the potion," Nott taunted, pushing himself up.

"A glass of water, sir?" an elf squeaked from behind them. Hermione turned to find a quaint late-renaissance villa with a vine-covered tower peeking up behind the main house. Its buttery yellow colour contrasted with the violet wisteria flowers draped over a wooden frame to cover a passageway winding around the house.

Hermione dragged her attention back to the people around her, trying not to make a fool of herself by gaping at the beautiful building. Draco indeed looked paler than usual, his lips pinched as he accepted the glass of water handed to him. Hermione wondered how much worse he must be feeling than she did, having forgone the salty potion.

"Do you think he's going to barf?" Flint whispered to Blaise.

"Only if you keep getting on my nerves," Draco replied with a glare.

"How do we share the bedrooms?" Millicent interjected, seemingly used to the boys' quarreling and lacking patience for it.

"I planned to share with Pansy," Astoria said, glaring at Hermione. "I definitely won't share with her."

"How many rooms are there?" Hermione asked.

Blaise shrugged. "It's a small house." She doubted he knew the true definition of a small house, but let it slide. "Beside my own room, there's four other bedrooms."

Hermione did the math and dread was creeping up her back when she saw Millicent and Daphne already huddling together.

"I don't mind sharing, 'Mione," Nott said with a leer.

"How very kind of you," she said drily. She'd rather share a bunk with Umbridge.

"Fuck off, Theo," Draco said to her surprise and marched past them towards the house. "We take the east side."

"That's settled then," Blaise said, throwing her a pitying glance.

Astoria looked like she had bitten into a lemon, which was strange seeing as she got a room all to herself now. Hermione doubted she'd share with Flint or Nott.

They all trotted inside to settle in. Hermione hung back, not very enthusiastic at the idea of sharing a room with her beloved husband.

The interior was surprisingly down-to-earth. The furniture was made from high quality, dark woods but it lacked the ostentatiousness of Zabini Mansion in Britain. The rooms were without unnecessary flourishes, holding the atmosphere of a home that was loved and taken care of. No nosy portraits adorned the wood-paneled walls. Instead, there were landscape paintings and exotic trinkets a traveller might collect from all over the world.

Following the rest of the group upstairs, she heard Millicent squeal and saw her drop onto a large double bed in the first room on the right. The upper floor split into two directions and Hermione stopped to consider where she would stay.

"Over here," Blaise called, peeking out from a room to her left. "There's only my room and yours on this side. The view is the nicest, that's why Draco is always seizing the other room."

Hermione nodded her thanks and made her way down the hall towards the bedroom she'd share with Draco.

He lay on the bed, feet dangling from the edge. His face still looked paler than usual when he turned his head to stare at her standing in the doorway.

"Are you happy now?" he asked.

"Why, I'm always happy when your presence lights up my life."

He rolled his eyes and pushed up. "You could've stayed home instead of ruining a perfectly good time."

"Maybe I want to get out of that dreadful manor from time to time," she hissed in reply.

He smiled, which was a little unnerving. "Well, at least we'll be miserable together, so nothing changes there."

Walking past the bed, Hermione opened the glass door leading to a small balcony. Below, the hill fell in a gentle slope, covered with pine trees shedding their reddish bark in the early summer heat. A winding path led down along masonry treads towards an artificial pond used as a pool. It all looked like taken right out of a fairy tale.

"Are there any plans for today?" she asked, not turning around just yet. This was a landscape she could imagine flying a broom across. Even if the thought of mounting a broomstick brought back the queasiness from their portkey travel.

"The plan's to take a nap until we feel like humans again."

Hermione indeed felt as if not all her parts had grown used to reassembling themselves in the Italian countryside. Her bones were heavy and the skin around her eyes taut.

"It takes a while to lose the aftereffects," Draco explained.

Turning around, she eyed the bed. it was large enough to fit two without becoming crowded, but she didn't feel comfortable yet to lie down next to Draco. Also, he made no move to make space for her.

"Blaise has some books downstairs if you get bored," was his way of kicking her out, before waving his wand at the curtains and casting the room in dim light.

Hermione didn't feel tired, just exhausted from the novel experience so she took his advice and looked for the living room downstairs. The rest of the house was quiet, so she assumed the others had followed Draco's lead and were taking a nap.

She found a room furnished with comfortable leather sofas. There were bookshelves next to a granite fireplace, the mantle made of stacked rocks that stretched upwards as a decorative wall. Soft light fell through the paladin windows on the far side of the room.

Picking a random book about healing spells, Hermione made herself comfortable in a grandfather armchair, tucking her feet up against the armrest. She didn't get far in her reading when her eyelids slid shut.

"You're drooling."

Hermione startled, her hand flying to her face before she caught herself and glared up at her husband leaning over the back of her armchair.

"I do not."

"You are surprisingly easy to wake," he commented.

Hermione squirmed, wiggling her toes to get feeling back into them. "I was just resting my eyes," she lied, not feeling comfortable with the idea of sleeping out in the open with so many Slytherins around.

"Our luggage arrived, and we're having dinner in a bit. Want to get changed?" he asked.

She noticed that he had put on a linen shirt and dark blue cotton pants to be more comfortable in the summer weather. Despite the sun already setting — had she really slept that long? Her stomach certainly was growling, angry at her for skipping lunch — the air was still warm and her own skirts were made for British spring weather.

Hermione felt that the tension in Draco had eased a bit which she attributed to not only taking some rest but also the quiet atmosphere of the house that held a sense of peace and calm. She replied, "good idea," holding onto the truce that lingered behind his suggestion.

After changing into a red wrap dress with a delicate pattern of white petals, she found the others gathered around a table on the terrace. Her eyes fell on Draco who shared a bench with Astoria at the opposite end. The younger girl was leaning into his side while his arm rested on the back of the two-seater.

Hermione found a seat next to Daphne and Millicent, far away from where Flint and Nott sat laughing over dirty jokes. Everyone was relaxed and joyful, drinking Campari and eating canapés.

"How did you like your first international portkey?" Daphne asked, pushing a glass of what they were drinking into her hand and clinking their glasses together.

Hermione pulled a face and the girls next to her laughed.

"I heard Muggles are very creative when it comes to alternative travelling methods. Are they more comfortable?" Millicent asked, genuine curiosity in her tone.

"I bet they traverse through the mud to get to places like animals," Astoria said with a smirk in her direction.

Hermione shrugged. "Some people make a sport out of hiking or mountain biking. That can get muddy." Brushing the insult off like that got her the attention from everyone. Flint snickered at Astoria's sour face.

Astoria's pettiness couldn't shake Hermione. Instead, she felt sorry for the girl. She knew Astoria was in an unhappy marriage with Seamus. He was a great guy, but from what Hermione had heard, they were sent off by Astoria's parents to live with his extended family in the countryside of Kenmare. The rural family lifestyle certainly was nothing like the life Astoria had led before. She was just as trapped as Hermione, only that her husband wasn't as unpleasant.

"So how do you travel?" Daphne asked.

"There are just as many options as you have. I usually prefer going by car as trains can be stressful. My family and I also travelled to Sicily by plane once. It's not as fast as a portkey, but I'd rather fly for three hours and enjoy the view from up there. I also heard portkeys can cost as much as a silver cauldron."

"They certainly aren't cheap," Theo chuckled.

"Not even a herd of Hippogriffs would get me into one of those metal cans you shoot at the sky," Draco interjected.

Hermione chuckled into her drink. "I think Buckbeak would suffice."

Nott and Flint hooted with laughter as the tips of Draco's ears turned red. "That rabid beast is better off dead," he said.

Hermione pressed her lips together. He didn't need to know that Buckbeak was alive and thriving, and she already regretted pushing their unspoken truce into the gutter.

"The pizza is ready, masters!" a house-elf squeaked and floated big plates of heavenly smelling Margheritas onto the table. Hermione was surprised at the simple dish. She had expected to be served lobster, monkfish or any other Italian delicacy. Yet, here they were, cheering over what some might consider junk food.

Hermione reached for her knife and fork, but Blaise laughed at her, raising the piece he had picked up with his hand. "Narcissa is not here to criticize our table manners, Hermione. It's just pizza."

So she put the cutlery aside and followed suit as they all helped themselves to a slice.

Hermione felt lightheaded, having indulged in too much alcohol and pizza. Flint had a hidden talent for mixing cocktails, which seemed to be the main reason he was invited on this trip.

It was a rare sight to see the Slytherins relaxed. They were laughing with their heart on their tongue and held philosophical debates only inebriated people could come up with. It was fascinating. She felt like an outsider who was granted a glimpse at a group dynamic originating in life-long friendships. She could laugh alongside them, but was comfortable staying at the fringes of their conversation, unnoticed and unbothered by Astoria's snide comments.

The moon stood high when she retreated, seeking the dark solitude of the house. She dug her night dress out of her bag which was more revealing than she would have liked, knowing that she would sleep next to Draco. Hermione regretted that she hadn't packed a two-piece pyjama. The dress reached to mid-thigh, so she didn't hesitate to lengthen it with a wave of her wand to stretch down to her knees. Unlike Astoria, Hermione wasn't concerned about tampering with her clothes.

Curling up under the thin bed linen serving as a blanket, Hermione waited for the drunken heaviness to turn into sleep.

Draco was right, she was easily pulled from sleep.

It was dark, and Hermione was alone in the bed. It took her a few seconds in which she stared at the vague outlines of the furniture to register what had woken her. Steps could be heard in the dark hall outside. She realized that she hadn't closed the bedroom door.

"Draco," Astoria's voice called down the corridor.

"Shh, you'll wake the others," his whispered reply came.

Hermione strained her ears.

"You can stay with me tonight if you want to." Astoria's voice was low and seductive. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes.

He laughed. "Daphne will have my head."

"Daph is not my mother."

"And you are not my wife," he said quietly. Hermione imagined how they stood in front of the door, their bodies close in a loose embrace. He would lean against the wall, looking casual like he always did. But his voice with Astoria was soft and there was an intimacy to their words that made her heart ache. In front of her inner eye, he held Astoria's face, cupping her cheek and tilting her head upwards just so.

She heard a breath hitch. Her brain completed the image of him leaning over the smaller girl, holding her against him by her waist and caressing her lips with a soft kiss.

"Good night, Astoria," he said. Her mental image crumbled, leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mouth that she didn't want to dwell on.

He entered the room, shutting the door with a click. He leaned against it for a few seconds. Hermione wasn't sure if he could see her in the dark or just the outline of her body against the moonlight shining in through the window behind her.

"You're awake," he said and waved his hand, turning on the lamp on the nightstand.

Light pierced her eyes like daggers. "Now I am," she groaned, covering them with one arm while pulling the blanket up a little higher.

A rustling noise told her that he was searching his suitcase for his toiletries before disappearing into the adjacent bathroom.

All sleep was lost, and she rolled onto her back, letting her eyes adjust to the light.

When Draco emerged again, he had put on pyjama shorts and a loose tank top that revealed muscular shoulders. Hermione blinked and embarrassment crept up her neck. He wasn't naked by any means, but seeing him dressed in his sleepwear was intimate compared to how well put together he was during the hours of the day.

Hermione made a mental note to not imagine Draco kissing anyone. It made her think too much of the way his torso moved under the thin cotton of his shirt.

Draco, who seemed unaware of her averted eyes and rosy cheeks, sat down on the bed, his back to her, rummaging in his suitcase.

Her eyes snapped to his left shoulder where the skin was discoloured in a deep shade of purple. The bruise stretched along his back and under the fabric of his shirt.

"What's with your shoulder?" she heard herself ask and sat up.

He didn't reply, finding what he had looked for. He pulled a vial from his bag that he uncorked and downed in one go. The earthy smell indicated pain medication.

"Bellatrix." Hermione made the connection. She remembered the state he had been in when Snape had carried him home. But seeing the bruises standing out against his pale skin made her neck feel cold and her hands damp.

"The glamour doesn't last the whole day," he said, his tone matter of fact but his fingers trembling as he deposited the vial on the nightstand.

"Why don't you use bruise paste?"

He shook his head. "I can only reach the ones in the front."

Hermione frowned, her gaze travelling along his arms where she spotted some faded bruises that were barely noticeable. "You can ask for help, you know?"

"Ha," he laughed, pushing back the blanket on his side of the bed and pulling up his knees to turn around to her. "I think I deserve to be uncomfortable."

There were lines around his set mouth and bleak hate in his eyes that only a person despising themselves could feel.

"Bullshit." The word escaped her, and before she could change her mind, she added, "Where's the paste?"

He sighed, rubbing his face. "Stop it, Hermione." But she was already out of bed, searching his bag of toiletries in the bathroom. "Hermione!" he called.

Finding a ceramic jar with the salve, she returned. "Turn around," she ordered.

"Woman," he protested, but she waved her hand to shut him up.

"I want to sleep at some point tonight, so don't keep me waiting."

He grunted something under his breath but turned his back towards her, hugging his legs and leaning his forehead against his knees. Hermione didn't expect him to be any more forthcoming, so she knelt behind him on the bed and tugged at the bottom of his top, bunching up the fabric.

Her breath caught when she gazed at the minefield his aunt had drawn onto his body. There were deep purple bruises as big as her hand and scars forming an X that crossed from the blades of his shoulders down to his hip. The newly healed flesh was untreated and still red and raw.

In her heart, she felt for this boy, barely a man who had been groomed since childhood to fill his place in the world. It was a place that offered wealth and a name. But there was no love or trust and it demanded of him to sacrifice so much of his soul to a violent cause. She understood a piece of him then. He was unable to open up and seek meaningful connections. Yet he craved love and admiration for the image of him everyone should see but not the broken soul inside. She was an intruder on this part of him, being closer to his secrets and having seen more of his scattered pieces than his mother had, more than his lover had.

Working her way downwards, Hermione dabbed the cream onto his bruised skin. She whispered wandless healing spells that danced along her fingertips, offering a fraction of relief.

A lover might have held him, kissed him and whispered sweet nothings of comfort into his ear. All she could offer was working methodically on each scar and bruise, letting her magic work its way into his skin to take away the pain.

Hermione had a strange dream that night.

She found herself in a vast, empty space that was bathed in ambient light.

A hollow echo sounded with each of her steps as if she were walking through a cathedral.

From the distance, she heard soft crying.

Following the sound, she found a young girl, her hair all over the place and frizzy and her face buried in her hands. Hermione stepped closer.

She registered a man next to the girl who seemed to appear out of nowhere. His features sharpened and, as if a hazy fog lifted from his face, she recognized Draco. He looked at her with hooded lids, his hands in his pockets as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Why is she crying?" Hermione heard herself asking. Her hand was pointing at the little girl crouched at his feet. Hermione felt distant from her own body, unsure where she fit into the scene while her limbs acted on their own volition.

"Because she killed me," Draco said.

The little girl looked up at her then. Hermione staggered a step back as she recognized her younger buck-toothed self. "You killed him," she heard her doppelgänger child say.

Her hands that she knew had been clean before were dripping with blood, staining the floor and her clothes. She looked up at Draco and saw blood gushing out from his neck, staining his crisp white shirt while he just looked at her.

"Draco?" She called his name. But the vision of him grew blurry, and she was moving away from them with rapid speed as if her body was being yanked back.

She woke up in cold sweat. Her books were floating beside the bed, startling her. With a dull thud, they fell to the ground. Hermione was shaking. She hadn't had a bout of accidental magic since she was twelve.

Next to her, Draco was shifting in his sleep. She couldn't fight off the urge to reach for him. Her fingers touched the vulnerable skin of his neck. It was warm against her cold fingertips and, for a second, she felt the flutter of his pulse.

His hand closed around hers. "What are you doing?" his rough voice tore through the silence. He was looking at her with the same, heavy-lidded expression as his dream self.

"Nothing," she said, pulling her hand back. Her voice came out hoarse. "Just a dream."

"About me?" His lips quirked upwards into a wolfish grin. The hint of guilt her dream had left like an imprint on sand was washed away by the wave of his gloating, and annoyance heated her cheeks.

"I was trying to figure out how to stab you, if you need to know."

He chuckled. "Ah, but you're more clever than that. You'd poison me and make it look like an accident."

Hermione sat up, leaning back onto her arms and shrugged. "Maybe I feel like a little bloodshed would be more satisfying."

"How often do you dream of killing me?" he mumbled, his eyes falling shut again.

"Mostly on Wednesdays."

"I always hated Wednesdays too." He was falling back into a slumber and Hermione had the sudden urge to poke him awake and continue their bantering. It was childish and petty and… fun.

She scrambled out of bed, opting to take a shower and seize the fresh morning to read a book in peace. She doubted any of the Slytherins were early risers.

Coco pops. That was the breakfast served by Blaise's elves. No freshly pressed orange juice, no omelett or Eggs Benedict. Coco pops and milk was the only thing adorning the table. One eager house-elf brought Hermione a Cappuccino, wiggling his ears in excitement to present the little swirl he had made in the foam.

She helped herself to a bowl of cereal and leaned back in the morning sun, a book in her lap and the sound of sparrows chirping alongside cicadas.

"Hermione!" Blaise was the first of the Slytherins to show up.

"Morning," she greeted him.

She had finished her bowl of Coco Pops, and as the sun was climbing higher, she wanted to drop off her cardigan upstairs, but Blaise stopped her.

"Can we… uhm, can we talk?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow and stopped, halfway through the terrace door. "Sure."

"I was wondering if maybe you could have a word with Luna."

"On your behalf?" She hovered at the threshold, wishing she had gone up earlier to avoid this conversation. "I'm not sure it's my place."

"Please," he begged, taking a step closer. "She won't even let me talk to her. I just want her to listen, and if she decides to never look at me afterwards, I'll accept it."

Hermione shook her head. "What makes you think I'm your best advocate in this?"

"Who else could I ask? Draco... he told me that you know." Blaise looked at the ground. Then suddenly, he shoved up the sleeve of his shirt, uncovering a Dark Mark standing out against his caramel skin.

Hermioen flinched back, but he shoved it in her face, desperation colouring his tone. "I didn't choose this, Hermione. Please, you have to understand that we can't say 'no thanks' and continue living our lives. I know you understand Draco's choice —"

Hermione laughed. "I understand?" She swatted his arm away, unwilling to look at the ugly thing for a second longer. "I don't understand a bloody thing about this, Blaise. And frankly, if I had any choice in this, I would have Draco cut off his arm and get rid of the thing. Don't ever think you know my opinion on things I can't control."

She was shaking when she took the stairs, two at a time. Hermione didn't know what she was running from or where she was going. A sudden terror had crawled into her bones, settled deep into the fabric of her skin and rushed through the veins in her body.

Hermione had always believed to be the master of her own destiny. She thought herself in control of the decisions she made in life, even if there sometimes were only a few options to choose from. She had always known what was right, had been able to live with the consequences of bad choices and deal with them with an analytical approach.

But now, she felt that a loose thread was running through the knitted fabric of her life. It was starting out as a small hole, a stitch she had lost on the way, tearing a hole into her life that grew with every second. Her life wasn't in her own hands anymore, but in the chaotic control of destiny, subjected to the unpredictable actions of those around her.

Next Chapter:

"We should get back before they notice anything," Draco whispered.

"Let them notice," she replied.

Massive teaser, I know :D

Let me know what you think of the trip so far. I hope it gives my friends in the northern hemisphere some summer vibes. Winter is far too cold and dark right now for my tastes...

Big thanks to my beta xHemlockx