Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just the plot bunny.

Intro: Six months post-war, Malfoy is in serious trouble. He's on the run from the Ministry, Death Eaters, and a deadly curse which is eating him alive. When he hits rock bottom, a change in fortune lands him in 12 Grimmauld Place under the Ministry's custody - and forces Hermione to remember the secrets they've both kept for years. Dramione, Sick!Draco, flashbacks to Hogwarts

Chapter Eleven

The sound of the door opening and the chatter of several voices woke her with a sharp jolt, and she found herself clutching her wand tightly as if expecting to be attacked. The book she had been reading the night before - a half-hearted attempt at researching whatever curse they were dealing with - was rudely dislodged from her lap and hit the floor. She felt like she had not even blinked all night, and her nerves were fried from the events of the day before. As soon as her eyes were open, she was on edge. She looked automatically towards Draco, who had not moved, before blinking owlishly at Slughorn, Harry, Ginny and Hestia, who were filing in through the door. As she clambered up from the windowsill, still struggling to collect herself, Ginny wove around the others and pushed a mug of coffee into her hands. She managed a stammered thanks and the other girl shot her a quick smile. There was a look glimmering in her face which was almost suspicious, but she said nothing, and the coffee suggested that Hermione had not yet been ostracised for her strange behaviour.

"Up all night, Hermione?" Slughorn asked, leaning over Draco's still form. "How is our patient?"

"Only until a couple of hours ago," she replied with a yawn. "I tried to read up on the curse, but apparently magic like this isn't a popular topic among academics. And I don't know, exactly. He's gone quiet again."

"Again?"

"He woke up for a bit," she explained. She hesitated. "He didn't say much. I don't think he knew where he was or what was happening."

"What did he say?" Hestia asked.

"Just... Nothing, really," she finished lamely.

Ginny's eyes narrowed knowingly, but the others seemed to accept her words. She lowered her head to her coffee, avoiding catching the other girl's eye. Slughorn, meanwhile, had peeled back the gauze to show Hestia. The Witch's face darkened considerably at the sight of it, and she bent forwards to better see it. The day before she had kept her distance - perhaps a conversation with Slughorn had provoked her to confirm some details for herself. Hermione craned her neck to see, and was instantly met with as grisly a sight as she had found upon first discovering the injury. If anything the black veins snaking out from it seemed to have grown larger and darker rather than disappeared, as she had expected.

"It doesn't look any different!" she said, looking from Slughorn to Harry. "I thought the potion would-"

"This kind of magic isn't quite so easy to remedy," Slughorn replied wryly. "If at all."

She fell silent, her lips pressing together. Ginny's hand came down on her shoulder and she felt a rush of gratitude for her friend's ability to read her so well. The long night and difficult morning had wrung her out, and she had to blink back tears even now at Slughorn's words. She swallowed hard before speaking again.

"So what do we do now?"

Slughorn took off his overcoat and held it out once more. This time Harry was the closest person to him, and after a slightly confused pause, he took the coat and slung it over the end of the bed, shooting a raised eyebrow at Ginny. Slughorn retrieved his wand from an inside pocket of his tweed jacket, glancing at Hestia for confirmation as he spoke.

"Now the effects of the potion should allow us to wake him up. We can try to ask him what happened, and hope he knows who cursed him."

"And then?"

Slughorn looked at her, and there was something sympathetic in his face. "And then... Well, that depends."

His meaning was obvious. She forced herself to move forward, abandoning the coffee on the chest of drawers. She felt like she should be ready for something - for what, she wasn't sure. Hestia had already drawn her own wand and remained close behind Slughorn, watching Draco with cool intent. Hermione glanced at Ginny and then Harry, who both hung back, observing silently. Ginny caught her eye and offered her a slow blink, her face unreadable. Hermione hesitated a moment longer - she knew that she had already displayed too much concern for him to pretend she didn't care, and she felt a little freer from judgement around Harry and Ginny. She knew she was simply biding time until she would have to tell them, that they both must suspect already, but neither looked unfriendly. She took a deep breath and turned to face Slughorn. When she spoke she tried to sound strong.

"What can I do?"

He glanced up briefly. "Try to keep him calm. It might be a while before he's completely lucid."

She nodded and moved over to the opposite side of the bed, glancing quickly at Hestia as she went. The Auror was not looking at her, but even so she felt as if she were on trial. She watched, her heart thumping hard, as Slughorn lifted his wand and began a simple reviving spell. Instantly Draco's face clenched with pain and a muffled groan reached their ears. His hand moved, as she had grown to expect, towards his injury. Slughorn had to clear his throat pointedly before his eyes would shiver open, squinting blearily up at the ceiling. Her heart lurched violently and she shifted uncertainly, tearing her eyes away briefly to look at Slughorn for reassurance. Her old potions master looked just as guarded and unsure as the others. Draco's breathing hitched. When he spoke his words were hoarse and ground out between his teeth.

"Fuck..."

"Can you hear me, Mr Malfoy?" Hestia tried, breaking the anxious silence and leaning over Slughorn's shoulder.

Draco's breath caught in his throat and his eyes flickered towards the voice without seeing. His hand scrabbled first at his side, then at his pillow. She recognised the reaction all too well - she had echoed it earlier when startled awake seconds earlier. They were all far too quick to reach of their wands these days. Slughorn shot her a meaningful glance and she shifted forwards, trying to move into his line of sight, doing her best not to look in the direction of Harry and Ginny.

"Draco?"

He froze at once, although he still did not look at her. "Hermione."

"Yeah."

His voice was gravelly and he was blinking hard, as if trying to bring her into focus. He didn't look particularly comforted. If anything, his breathing began to grow faster and shallower. Unable to keep her distance any longer, she sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for his hand. His fingers ran quickly across her knuckles, hesitated on the small scar on her thumb, and then closed tightly over her. He was still cold, still trembling, but the contact released some of the horrible pressure that she could feel in her chest. Finally, squinting hard, his eyes fixed on her and seemed to actually see. She managed to smile encouragingly. But then, just as quickly, an expression of utter despair rolled over his face.

"Fuck," he repeated. "Fucking hell, you shouldn't be here..."

"What?"

"You shouldn't be here…"

His head suddenly jerked to the side, his face draining of any remaining colour it had. She followed his gaze, but could only see blank floorboards. She looked back at him to find his hand closing tight over her arm, trying weakly to push her away.

"Fuck. Fuck…"

Without warning he flung out his hand and a burst of flames sparked up from the floor, leaving a small scorched patch behind. The others flinched in surprise, even Hestia. She had forgotten they didn't know how adept he was at non-verbal magic. He let out a groan of despair.

"Fuck, Hermione, get away from it… Get out, fucking get out-"

"No, no it's alright," she said quickly as his voice rose. "I'm fine, Draco, you're with us. You remember, right?"

His face showed nothing but utter confusion. She glanced up quickly at Slughorn, looking for guidance, but he only nodded. Draco was trying desperately to even out his shallow, ragged breathing, wincing sharply every time he moved too fast. He tried to twist his neck to see who she had looked at, and his gaze fell on Harry, who was leaning against the wall just across the room, keeping tactically quiet. She saw first surprise widen his eyes, and then a slow, dawning realisation. He glanced down at the scorched patch on the floor, blinked a couple of times, and then abruptly let go of her hand. She kept it on top of his, dragging his attention back to herself.

"Draco? Hey."

He looked at her at last. His lips were pressed together in sudden silence, his nostrils flaring as he desperately tried to regain control of his body. A couple of tiny pinpricks of sweat had appeared on his forehead. She smiled again, squeezed his hand.

"You know where you are?"

He nodded mutely. Slughorn cleared his throat and Draco jumped, becoming aware of first he and then Hestia.

"Can you tell us?" Slughorn said, his tone carefully polite and calm.

Draco looked at him for a long moment. She was about to nudge him when he finally spoke, barely moving his lips. His voice, although quiet, had regained some of its usual detachment and haughtiness.

"Grimmauld Place."

"Can you tell us your name?"

"Malfoy."

"And the date?"

"Wednesday 24th."

Hermione felt her stomach sink. In his mind, it was still the day before. Slughorn tutted softly, and Draco looked quickly at her for confirmation.

"Almost," she said with a smile. "It's the 25th."

He held her gaze for a moment, as if searching for a lie. Then, slowly, he turned away and fixed his gaze on the sheet instead. His hand moved away from hers and, after a moment of surprise, she quickly returned her hands to her own lap where they clenched together. He took a deep breath and, painfully slowly, levered himself into a more upright position against the pillows. She knew better than to try to help. Not in front of Harry. He managed to smother a whimper so that perhaps only her ears caught it, but his hands were trembling when he was done. He wrapped an arm around himself, covering the bandages. Slughorn approached him once more.

"Your friends informed me that you had a significant attack of some kind yesterday afternoon," he said, choosing diplomatically to ignore the way Draco sneered coldly at the word 'friends'. "This is not a new problem for you, is it?"

Draco lifted his head. His face was composed, proud, his familiar smirk playing on his lips. When he spoke it was even in his old drawling, mocking tone. Only the strain beneath his words let slip his unease.

"No. Obviously," he said, twitching a finger towards the state of his chest. "But there's nothing you can do about it, so I don't see any reason to discuss it any further."

"Not an option, I'm afraid," Slughorn said, as unfazed now as he had been in the classroom. "You've managed to find yourself in the hold of a rather serious curse."

"Yeah, no shit. What gave it away?"

"Draco..."

She couldn't finish, but her voice dented his facade slightly. He ran his tongue across his lower lip, and then reached for the glass of water on the bedside table she had brought up earlier. He barely got an inch towards it before he had to sink back, unable to hold back a rough moan, breathing heavily. She reached across him and had the glass ready when he managed to open his eyes. He took it from her silently, his arm still shaking, and took a short gulp.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about this curse, Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn said, clasping his hands behind his back.

Draco's gaze ran quickly across the room to Harry and Ginny, and then to Hestia, who had so far remained silent. It was as if he was trying to pick a moment to run for it. He felt hunted, and she could see it in him as clearly as if he had written it in paint on his face. Sighing, she got up and crossed the room to the chest of drawers. After searching for a few seconds through the top drawer she found the long, black, smooth wand inside – they had stowed it away there for safekeeping. She returned to the bed and placed it on the duvet beside his knee. When he looked up at her she quirked an eyebrow, as if to say 'There. Happy?' His eyes narrowed wordlessly, but she thought she could see his shoulders relax slightly.

"May I ask what exactly you propose to do, if it is not to let us help you?" Slughorn spoke up. "Your current treatment does not appear to be working."

"Treatment?"

"This." Slughorn pulled the small, empty bottle from his pocket and waved it in the air. "It's fake, you realise."

The surprise and fury showed only for a second before being neatly swept away, like words in the sand washed out by the tide. He let out a short, dry laugh.

"Is it? Well. Not like there's a cure anyway."

"So you've researched this curse?" Hestia pressed. "You know what it is? This was a rather large omission from our little chats."

Her questions were met with silence. Slughorn folded his arms, his gaze narrowing as he looked down at his former pupil.

"You do realise you're dying, don't you Mr Malfoy?"

Her heart dropped. Of course she had suspected it. But this was the first time someone had said it out loud, the first time she had found the grim truth staring her in the face. She realised that her eyes were growing blurry with tears and brushed them away furiously with her fists, trying to calm herself. The short, stunned silence that had overtaken the room left nowhere for her to hide her distress. She averted her gaze from the others' and turned away, striding over to the window instead. The cool morning light had spread over London in a haze, and she found herself staring blankly at a blackbird perched on a nearby chimney top. It was preening its feathers meticulously, black beak flashing as it turned its head. She fixed her gaze on it.

"There's nothing you can do," Draco finally repeated, his voice losing the sneer at last. "I would have found out by now if there was."

"You never asked for help," Ginny put in, speaking up for the first time. "We could have helped."

He let out a short laugh. "You? And that lot? Yeah, right."

She didn't reply. Hermione watched the bird pause, as if it knew it was being spied on, and then abruptly take off with a clatter of wings. She looked on as its dark shape faded away into the cloudy sky.

"Well, even so, I'm not ready to rule you out just yet, Mr. Malfoy," Hestia's voice sounded. "I was hoping you would still be of some use."

He snorted at that, but did not say anything. Hermione, wiping her eyes one last time, turned around to face them once more. Draco quickly looked away from her, picking at a loose thread on the blanket spread over his lap. She felt as exhausted as he looked. She leaned back against the wall, as Slughorn heaved a sigh and retrieved a small notebook from his pocket.

"So," he said, as if beginning a speech. "I'll tell you what I can gather so far, and you can butt in with any further information you might have."

Draco let his head fall back, pressing his fingers against his forehead, eyes closed. His mouth quirked slightly, the only indicator of how much pain he was still in. He wasn't good at admitting defeat, and she doubted he would ask them to give him a moment to regroup. She wanted to ask Slughorn to stop and get a numbing potion, but she had a bad feeling that their ordinary remedies would not work here. Slughorn cleared his throat.

"So," he repeated. "I can infer for obvious reasons that this is an extremely old and extremely powerful curse connected with dark magic. It also appears to be getting exponentially worse. It seems to me to be similar - if not, the same spell - as an old curse commonly used on Muggles in the early ages. They used to call it the Black Spot. Did you know that?"

Draco remained silent, but she could tell at once that he had. He always grew stiff and uncomfortable when he was caught out, when someone else's knowledge topped his own. And he had remained still, completely unaffected. His jaw was clenching hard and his thumb and forefinger were pressed into his eyelids, as if trying to force his hand through his head. His other hand lay limp on his lap, and once again she felt that urge to touch him, to hold him, to be with him. She hugged her arms about herself instead.

"It was deemed punishable by imprisonment after the formation of the Wizard's Council, although we have seen a couple of cases in the last year or so. Possibly due to Voldemort's rise to power. We've noticed it being used during the last war not only on Muggles, but also on Muggle-borns. Not often, mind you, as it's a difficult spell, not for your average run-of-the-mill thug. It's significantly slower acting when cast on magical bodies than Muggles. Did You-Know-Who cast this on you?"

"What does it matter?"

Draco's voice had grown small over the course of Slughorn's explanation and it was shaking again. He had only been awake for a few minutes but she could tell that their conversation was beginning to take its toll. She was about to speak when, suddenly, Harry pushed himself away from the wall where he had been quietly listening and spoke up.

"It wasn't him, was it?"

"What are you babbling about, Potter?"

Draco's hand finally dropped and he opened his eyes with a frown, clearly attempting to pull back his sneering mask. He failed spectacularly. Harry, however, had a strange gleam in his eye. He folded his arms resolutely.

"It was Bellatrix."

The air was suddenly electric. All Hermione could do was watch as the two stared at one another. Draco's face had suddenly become completely and utterly serious, and his eyes had narrowed. He seemed to be drawing all his remaining strength into his glare, as if trying to telepathically warn Harry off whatever he had implied.

"I saw," Harry said shortly, apparently unaffected by Draco's stare. He looked instead at Slughorn and Hestia. "At the Battle of Hogwarts."

Slughorn leaned forwards, one eyebrow raised.

"Well?" he prompted at the long pause that followed. "Would you care to share what happened with the rest of us?"

"I saw Bellatrix while we were running across the courtyard, heading for the Great Hall," Harry explained at last, speaking slowly and cautiously. "I thought she was going to attack us, but when I looked back you were duelling with her. But you must have lost, since Molly killed her eventually. I didn't even remember it until just now."

Draco's mouth twisted upwards slightly. He seemed to have relaxed – whatever he had been so wary of had apparently been resolved. "If you're telling me I lost to someone Weasley's mum could duel..."

"Well, then, at least we have a name now," Hestia interrupted smoothly. "Unfortunately, I believe Bellatrix died in the Battle, which means her wand would have been destroyed."

"So?" Ginny frowned.

"Any information I've found about possible cures – all of which is either from dodgy sources or mostly speculative," Slughorn said, "has involved the use of the caster's wand."

There was a short, uncomfortable silence as his words sank in. Draco squinted around at them all before taking as deep a breath as he could. He pressed both hands against his forehead once more, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Told you," he muttered. "Happy now?"

"There's no reason to give up yet," Hestia said. Her voice was decisive enough to pull the conversation back towards hope. "I'll have whoever is available at the Ministry look into it. I would send you to St. Mungo's, but the hospital is… well, you'll probably be just as comfortable here." She turned abruptly, nodding briefly at Hermione, Ginny, Harry and Slughorn in turn. "I'll have to go, but I'll keep in touch."

She disappeared out of the room. Hermione stared, unable to believe she had simply gone - she had been certain that the Auror would be pulling her aside to demand to know what was going on at the earliest opportunity. Slughorn tucked his notebook back into his pocket, clearing his throat with the air of someone who had something important to announce.

"I'm going to have some more Nightshade Scorita delivered here. Real Nightshade," he added. "It was tricky to get hold of, but a friend came through for me. I don't know if it'll help with the curse, but it might help the pain."

Draco just grunted. Hermione wasn't sure if he was listening anymore. His eyes were screwed shut and his breathing was becoming shallower again. She glanced at Slughorn worriedly but he only offered a short shake of his head and followed Hestia out onto the stairs. Ginny and Harry moved after him, and Hermione followed quickly, getting the distinct sense that a debrief of sorts was about to take place. She paused at the door, looking back at Draco. He hadn't moved, had barely seemed to notice them going.

"Wait there," she said softly. "I'll be right back."

He made a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. She ducked out into the tiny stairwell and hurried down after the others. They had stopped on the landing just below, and Hestia had her arms folded, looking intently at Slughorn. Hermione slowed her pace as she neared the bottom of the stairs, hovering just outside of the circle.

"... not faking it?" Hestia was saying. "You're positive?"

"My dear girl," Slughorn blustered. "It's quite impossible to fake a curse like that."

Hestia, to her credit, did not react to being addressed 'my dear girl'. She gave a short, curt nod. "And as to treatment?"

"I meant what I said - there is no cure. Not one which does not involve the maker's wand which, as we know, is out of the question. All one can do is offer the Nightshade Scorita and try to make him comfortable."

"How long does he have?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Well, it's hard to be exact," Slughorn said, frowning. "Anything from two to four weeks?"

Hermione had never understood what people meant when they claimed that the ground opened beneath them, but now she could feel it. As if the earth was a yawning chasm beneath her, and she was falling without end, every cell of blood in her veins caught in stasis. She reached for the wall, trying to steady herself, trying to continue to listen to the conversation through the dull roaring in her ears.

"What about St. Mungo's?" Harry was saying, looking quickly around at them all.

"St. Mungo's will not accept a suspected Death Eater on their wards," Hestia replied flatly, as if reading from a book. "They consider it too dangerous for their other patients. Such cases are usually handled by the Ministry which, as you know, is currently extremely busy. As the registered Headquarters of the Order, I would be grateful if he could continue to use the room he has here while Slughorn cares-"

Slughorn cleared his throat hastily, forcing her to break off. "My dear girl, I cannot remain indefinitely - I have duties, and responsibilities, and... And I'm not a Healer, there is really very little I can do. I've arranged for some real Nightshade Scorita to be delivered, but..."

He trailed off helplessly. Hestia looked at him for a long moment, allowing the pause to drag until he began to look around uncomfortably at the others. Hermione willed her to order him to remain and help, but when she eventually spoke her tone remained civil.

"Very well. Thank you for your assistance."

Slughorn looked relieved. He mumbled something about needing to be somewhere and, nodding to Ginny and Harry, hurried off towards the stairs. Hermione watched him go as if watching a life raft being snatched away from her after finding herself in the middle of the sea. Her brain wasn't working. She couldn't process any of it - it all felt like some kind of distorted nightmare. She tried to concentrate on what Harry was saying.

"But what are we supposed to do? We can't just... Just sit and wait for... I mean..."

He seemed to be having difficulty speaking, too. Ginny reached for his hand, and Hestia lifted her chin.

"As I say, if he could remain here for now, I would be grateful. I think some research is in order - I'll try to find out what I can, see if there are any specialists at the Ministry who could help. In the meantime..." Hermione suddenly found herself the subject of Hestia's piercing stare. "... perhaps you could keep an eye on Mr. Malfoy? Any emergencies, I'll be an owl away."

Ginny and Harry looked up at her, and Hermione fumbled dumbly under their gazes. She was still trying to get through the mist that had descended on her in the last couple of minutes, still trying to wrap her head around what was happening. She couldn't quite do it. It was as if she had been walking down the street, and seen a car crash happen just out of the corner of her eye. Too terrible to look at directly.

"Are you ok, Hermione?"

It was Ginny. She nodded quickly, ran her hand through her hair in an effort to compose herself. She knew she looked anything but composed. Her voice had shrunk into a wobbly squeak.

"Yeah. Of course, I'll watch him."

"Good," Hestia said. "Harry - I'll be in touch."

And then she turned and headed off down the stairs after Slughorn. For a moment, Hermione, Ginny and Harry stood in silence on the landing, none of them quite knowing how to break the stillness. She felt like she should be explaining herself, but her mind was a roaring blank. She couldn't have explained what had happened in the past five minutes, let alone what had happened over the past few years. And yet the uncomfortable pause seemed to demand answers, as did Harry's frown and averted gaze. She swallowed hard, wet her lips.

"I'll... I'll go check on..."

She gestured at the stairs. Harry offered a short, jerky nod. Ginny, at least, looked up at her and smiled. Despite the flickers of curiosity and suspicion, her voice was still warm.

"Shout if you need anything."

Hermione nodded and was about to retreat when Harry suddenly spoke up. His voice sounded strange - almost choked.

"Um, Hermione?"

She froze. "Yes?"

He finally looked her way. He seemed to struggle to get the words out. "I'm... I'm going to go to Hogwarts and see how the rebuilding is coming along this afternoon. Do you want to come?"

Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. She knew exactly what that meant. He wanted to speak to her, wanted her to explain what the hell was going on. He knew - perhaps not for sure, but he knew something was happening. She automatically began to search for an excuse, but then stopped herself. She couldn't keep running forever. Sooner or later, she was going to have to tell them.

"I'm going too, Hermione," Ginny added. "It'll be fun."

She felt a little better knowing that Ginny would be there. She hesitated a moment longer, and then finally agreed.

"Right. Sure."

"Meet downstairs at two?" Ginny continued cheerfully.

Two o'clock was agreed, and Hermione climbed back up the narrow staircase, only too happy to take a couple of seconds to herself. When she reached the door of Draco's room, she forced herself to stop and focus on remaining calm, on pushing the conversation they had just had to the back of her mind. No matter what, she couldn't let him see how much the news had shaken her. She had to try to remain practical and constructive - after all, they had no time to waste if Slughorn's predictions were right. She could hear Draco's loud, unsteady breathing even as she inched the door open and slipped back into the room, trying to school her features into an encouraging smile. She tried to find some words. He was still leaning back against the pillows, his eyes clenched shut, his forehead furrowed. Suddenly, finding herself alone with him, she was once again caught speechless. There was so much that needed to be said, and yet she could not begin any of it.

Before she could even try, Draco let out a muffled groan that had her quickly returning her attention to him. She crossed to the bed in three fast strides as he curled in on himself, whimpering softly in pain, one fist pressed against his head. She summoned enough courage to touch his arm, the fear beginning to dawn on her that he was about to start screaming again.

"Draco? I'll get help–"

"N-No," he stuttered without lifting his head. His hand had clenched tightly in the blanket. "S'fine… passes…"

She hesitated, still poised to run to the door and call Slughorn back, call for help from anyone. Hestia couldn't have gotten far. His whole body had turned rigid, just as it had before the attack had struck before. And yet, just as she resolved to make for the door, he shuddered and lifted his head. His eyes were open and alive, and he gingerly leaned back again, trembling slightly. She waited for a few moments, making sure he was alright, before returning slowly to the bed. His breathing was lighter now, although his face tensed with every inhale. She sat down beside him.

"How often does that happen?"

"Dunno," he breathed. "Few times... a day… not usually… that bad…"

Hermione watched him silently. He looked beyond exhausted. His face was grey and she could see small veins criss-crossing beneath his temples and over his eyelids. He looked up at her as he finally succeeded in making his breathing a little easier. He looked defeated somehow. He had almost the same expression as when he had mocked Neville in Potions, and she had been outraged, and he had come to meet her that night like a dog with its tail between its legs. Her fingers picked at the duvet sheets.

"You angry?"

"Angry?" she blinked in confusion. "No, no I'm not angry… I know why you didn't tell me."

He waited, but once again the enormity of everything there was to say just seemed too great. Her gaze strayed to his hands, and she considered reaching for them. But she decided against it. Somehow, it felt as if that same old gulf was opening up between them again. She thought of the night before, when he had called for her without hesitation, and a wrenching sense of grief lurched through her.

"How're you feeling?"

His lips twisted humourlessly. "Fucking… Ugh."

"Should've guessed." She stood up. The inactivity was torture. She had to feel like she was doing something, that she was helping. "Get some sleep. Hopefully the Nightshade Scortia will arrive soon. Do you want anything?"

He watched her through cracked eyes. "No. What're you… going to do?"

"Nothing," she said, managing a short smile.

She Apparated to the living room, which thankfully was empty. She already had a couple of books in mind - books she had noted weeks earlier as an interesting read into ancient magic. Luckily, the Blacks had kept an extensive collection. She grabbed as many as she could carry which were even vaguely related and was back in the attic again before Draco had even begun to look away. She conjured a small armchair out of the air and dropped into it, her legs curled beneath her, the books resting on her knees. Draco was looking at her, a weary smile playing around his lips. She set the pile of books down beside her, scanned the first few pages of the first one on the pile. But she could feel his gaze on her and eventually looked up, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm going to read," she said simply.

He huffed out a laugh. "What else?"

"There'll be a way," she said stubbornly, returning her attention to the book. "These curses just aren't researched in enough detail, that's all. There's always something to be done."

"Hermione..."

"What?"

She looked up, daring him to tell her to stop. He hesitated, taking her in quietly for a few moments. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

"Nothing. Read on."

So she redirected her gaze at the page, and he didn't challenge her again. The next time she looked up, he had turned onto his side to face away from her.

~O~

The hours crawled on by, and her research threw up nothing but vague myths and fantastical, ancient cures which were all probably hearsay. Slughorn was right - anything that even began to touch on curses such as this was extremely limited and without much basis for evidence. She could guess that the Ministry had hoped to stop future generations from learning about it at all, and had therefore tried to scrub it out of history. The Nightshade Scorita was delivered, offering her a brief break from the books, and she stood over Draco as he sipped warily at it. But it seemed to help - shortly after having a little he lay down and promptly fell asleep. When she glanced up from her books, she was relieved to see his chest rising and falling rhythmically. She was able to feel like they were making progress.

Two o'clock rolled by all too soon, and eventually she was forced to give up her vigil and climb out of her chair. But she couldn't leave without making sure he would be alright, that they would have some form of contact, and as she stood there by the bed a hesitant memory nudged at her mind. She turned the thought over for a long time before relenting and making her way down the stairs to the room she shared with Luna and Ginny. It was, to her relief, unoccupied. She delved into the bags stored under her bed, sifting through her possessions until she came across the worn purse she had used the year before, when they had been on the run. She had brought it with her to the house, although she made a point of not looking at it now. She listened for anyone coming up the stairs before unzipping it and unfolding the pouch section for coins. Out of the leather pocket tumbled two smooth, unremarkable pebbles. They lay waiting in her palm, slightly warm to the touch, and she was filled with the nostalgia of sneaking peeks at it in classes at Hogwarts to see what messages he had sent to her. And the despair of clawing through the snow outside their tent in the woods after that particular argument, just after Christmas... She tucked the purse back into her bag and hurried back upstairs, glancing at her watch. She was already late for meeting Harry and Ginny.

She slipped back into Draco's room as quietly as she could and stood there, the stones held tightly in her fist. She wasn't sure what he would do when he saw it, did not even know if he would want it back. But it was surely the best way for them to remain in contact, and for him to let her know if he needed help. As she looked down at him, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He still looked sick, but at least he wasn't in as bad a state as the night before. The Nightshade Scorita must be working. Perhaps he would not even use the stone... Steeling herself, she placed one of the pebbles down on the bedside cabinet, just beside the bottle of amber liquid. It was his pebble - she could identify them instantly by touch alone. She positioned it carefully, clearly in sight. Her mouth felt dry with anxiety. Part of her wanted to just snatch it back. But she forced herself away and, with a final look back over her shoulder, closed the door softly behind her. As she made her way down to the hall, she closed her fist around her own pebble stowed safely in her pocket. She wasn't sure what to say, so she kept it simple.

Just in case.

Harry and Ginny were waiting for her by the front door, wrapped up in coats, scarves and hats. The three of them Apparated just outside of Hogwarts grounds and began the long walk up to the castle. Autumn had made itself known to the world, and already her breath was beginning to pool in front of her in short puffs of cloud. A light mist had settled over the sprawling grounds and the high walls of the castle, muffling the early afternoon sunlight. Usually, they would stroll around the volunteers and architects and seek out Hagrid, chat for a while, perhaps lend a hand with what they could, and then head back. Today was different. Today, they hung back near the treeline of the Forbidden Forest, and Harry and Ginny walked slightly apart from her. Ginny had linked arms with Harry and was doing her best to maintain a light-hearted stream of conversation, but Harry's silence was difficult to ignore. Hermione waited for him to speak first, nodding along to Ginny's words, her hands balled into fists in the pockets of her jacket.

Eventually it came, as she'd known it would. They had paused near the lake, and Ginny's chatter had finally run out. Hermione stood near the point where the water lapped at the pebbled shore, and she closed her hand around the pebble in her pocket. It hadn't grown hot yet, so she had to assume that all was well back at the house. She heard Harry sigh, and felt the back of her neck prickle. Here it comes.

"Hermione... What's going on?"

She stared at the edge of the lake for a long time, watched the patterns of the sunlight through the water. She could feel Harry's burning eyes on her, and she had never felt more like a criminal. She pulled in a deep, steadying breath and turned to face him. He and Ginny wee both standing there, waiting. Harry's face was twisted with reluctance, with uncertainty. Ginny cocked her head, once again trying to help the situation.

"You've been pretty concerned about the ferret," she said, her voice light but firm. "I mean, don't get me wrong, none of us expected all this, but... but it just seems..."

She trailed off. In a giddy moment of insanity, Hermione considered leaping into the lake and taking her chances with the squid instead. She closed her eyes, tried to conquer the issue of how to approach the topic.

"I... There's a few things I've never told you," she said hesitantly. "None of you. Not because I don't trust you, but just because... because it was complicated."

Harry wet his lips. "Things to do with Malfoy? I mean, were you friends, or something, or..."

She winced. Even his wildest guess was still not quite the truth. She counted to five before replying, trying to keep her voice steady. She had to try to see this as a positive thing - no more hiding. She could finally tell them everything.

"We were together at Hogwarts," she said at last, fixing her gaze on her shoes. "It started in Fourth Year, during all that mess with the Triwizard Tournament."

She paused. Her words were met with stony silence. When she finally dared to look up, she found Harry shaking his head slowly, his face a hard mask. She could tell that he was trying very hard to keep his temper, but his twitching eyebrow gave him away.

"Do you mean," he said slowly, "that when Voldemort returned - when Cedric Diggory died - you and Malfoy were... I don't know, dating?"

His face twisted around the word as if it was poisonous, and her stomach sank. She should have known he would never understand, no matter how much she tried to sugar coat it.

"In a way. We were... close."

She looked quickly at Ginny, who had finally given up trying to lighten the atmosphere and whose face was now a picture of disbelief. She couldn't help but feel she was losing ground, and hurried to explain.

"Neither of us expected it. And I didn't mean for it to happen but... it just did."

"Since fourth year?" Ginny repeated. "But that was the year Voldemort came back. And Malfoy's a Death Eater."

"He's not! I mean, he is, but... but he wasn't then," she said. "He was just like us."

"Apart from the odd racist slur..."

Hermione felt like shrinking into the ground. Draco really hadn't given them many reasons to believe in him over the last few years. She cast her eyes skywards, unable to argue.

"I didn't say he wasn't a royal prat."

Harry raked both hands through his hair, clutched at his head with an odd kind of desperation. He seemed to be having trouble grasping what she was saying. She could see his anger building like water behind a dam.

"And... And when Dumbledore...?" He spat out.

She stiffened, shook her head. "No, no - he broke up with me. Well, he stopped answering my letters over the summer, and then at the start of term he..."

She found her throat closing up, felt heat in her eyes. Apparently, after all this time, it still hurt. She swallowed hard, tried to shake off the old sting.

"I didn't know what was happening. He said he couldn't risk us being found out," she muttered. "I asked him to go for help, but he said he didn't have a choice. I barely saw him for the rest of the year."

Harry was watching her, and even though that horrible look of betrayal was still lining his face, she felt like she might be getting through to him. He was listening, at least. She glanced appealingly at Ginny, whose eyes were flicking anxiously between them.

"I'm not going to try and make excuses," she said, doing her best to keep her voice level. "I know what you must think. But he's not the person you think he is. He felt like he had to do as he was told to protect his family. I... I know it."

Ginny's eyes suddenly grew large and round. "Wait, wait..."

Hermione did, her heart sinking, ready to be thrown under the bus.

"... did you two have sex?"

Whatever she had been steeling herself for, that particular question was not it. At once she felt her cheeks flooding with heat. She scrambled to speak, failed, closed her mouth tightly. Ginny's face dropped.

"Oh my god... is he good?"

"Ginny!"

She glanced at Harry, terrified, but he had been staring off at the lake, lost in thought. As she watched him he spoke suddenly, his voice slow and considerate.

"He helped us at the Manor. Was that because... Because you were in contact?"

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "Hermione - were you in contact with him while we were on the run?"

"No!" She repeated fiercely. "I wasn't - we stopped all contact after Dumbledore..."

She bit her lip. It felt almost ludicrous to try to explain how he had broken ranks during the flight of the seven potters and saved her life. But she couldn't hide everything, and Harry was looking at her with outright suspicion. She had hoped not to tell him about their one encounter during the war, but she could see now that if she lied again, she would lose all remaining trust. She had to tell him.

"I contacted him once," she said heavily, relenting. "When you got bitten by the snake."

Harry's eyebrows leapt upwards and his face paled even further. He stared at her, utterly aghast, and she rushed to elaborate.

"I had no one else to turn to, Harry, I didn't know what to do-"

"You contacted a Death Eater when we were at our most vulnerable-"

"I had to!"

"Voldemort could have been led straight to us, it would have all been over!"

"I thought you were dying!"

She didn't realise she was shouting until the words were already in the air. She snapped her mouth closed, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs which had begun to build as soon as he raised his voice, her face crumpled with desperation. He softened slightly, and Ginny suddenly moved forwards to close the gap between them. She shot Harry a pointed look.

"What happened, Hermione?" She urged gently.

Hermione sniffed, brushed the back of her hand across her cheeks. She felt like she was in a set up for a bad joke. Good cop, bad cop. She forced her sobs away.

"I couldn't fix you," she explained quietly. "Nothing I did worked. So I contacted him, and he met me in Ollivanders. I told him what happened and he dropped everything to help us. He had an antidote to the poison."

"How did you know it wasn't a trick?" Harry said at once. "He could've spiked it with anything-"

"I know," she ground out. "But no one even knew you'd be having it, because-"

She broke off. Harry's face darkened.

"Because?"

"Because it was his. He'd used the same one when he was in the same situation. Didn't you notice the scars on his neck this morning?"

She knew they were looking at each other, faces changing like seasons as her words sank in. But she didn't want to go into any more detail - Draco would hate for that particular story to get out. Instead she pressed on.

"So he showed me how to make it, and then we..." No. Not a good idea to tell that part. "We argued. He left. And then, barely a few days later, we ended up at Malfoy Manor."

"When he saved us," Harry said slowly, as if sliding a puzzle piece into a larger picture. "That's a hell of a lot clearer now. It didn't make sense that he would take that kind of risk. And during the battle I was sure I saw him duelling with Bellatrix..."

He stopped, and shot her a wary glance. She returned it, open, hoping for him to say more, but instead he looked down at the ground, fiddling with his glasses. After a long, tense pause, he glanced up at her briefly.

"When did you last see him? Before all this, I mean."

"The battle," she said honestly. "I saw him briefly, we didn't speak or anything, I don't know if we even had time to look at each other. I was so scared that... But we survived - And then, after the war, I don't know what happened. I was busy with... Everything... And he never made contact, so... And then suddenly he was in the kitchen, and I just didn't know what to do or say..."

She trailed off. Harry and Ginny exchanged a short look. He turned and walked a few paces away from them, his gaze fixed on the ground, treading slow, careful paces through the mud. Ginny wasn't looking at her either, her face an unreadable storm of emotions. No comfort there. She waited, desolate, her lip trembling, certain Harry was going to come back and tell her to get her things from Grimmauld Place and leave. But he only paced, his shoulders hunched against the cool air, his arms tightly folded. After what seemed like an age he came back over to them.

"I might go for a walk," he said at last, his voice muffled.

Tears welled up in her eyes like a flood and she covered her face with both hands. Her devastation was absolute. She should have known that as soon as she told them, they would all renounce the friendship she valued so highly. It would never be the same, and it was all her fault. But she couldn't take it back now - the damage had been done.

"Oh for god's sake... Hermione, don't."

A hand rested awkwardly on her shoulder. She looked up, sniffing fiercely, to see Harry's twisted face. She wished she could have kept it together, but after the lack of sleep and the news about Draco's curse, she had no fortitude left.

"You hate me."

Harry's face immediately drained of anger. "No! Jesus, Hermione, you're my best friend. Of course I don't hate you."

"But..."

"It's just a lot to take in," he said. "It's like you've had a whole second life we never knew about."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ginny spoke up, and for the first time, she looked hurt. "You didn't actually think we'd disown you or something, did you?"

"Because of the look you're both giving me right now," she said. "Because it was too impossible - how could I expect you to accept him? I was too scared of... of losing you."

She must have looked particularly unhappy, because Harry finally let out a small laugh and opened his arms. She hugged him back desperately, almost sick with relief. The contact let her believe that, on some level, they would always be able to move past things like this. Even though she knew their conversation would change everything, the fact that he was still willing to comfort her meant the world.

"Don't talk crazy, Hermione," he said. "We're back at Hogwarts next year for our finals - what the hell would I do without you?"

Ginny approached them, and Hermione let go of him to turn to her. The other girl finally smiled again, cocked her head to one side.

"Well, it looks like we have some catching up to do."

"You're not mad?"

Ginny frowned. "Like... yeah, a bit. I mean, you kept it to yourself for so long. And it's Malfoy. But... Oh, come on. No more arguing. Let's go and see Hagrid - I think some of the others are volunteering here today too. We'll go for a butterbeer. Let Harry have his walk."

She linked her arm through Hermione's and they headed off towards Hagrid's hut. Hermione glanced back over her shoulder as they went - Harry was still standing there beside the lake. He raised his hand to wave them off, and smiled - although it didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, it had gone as well as she could have hoped. She sighed, trying to feel relieved, although still extremely aware of how difficult things would be from now on. Ginny spoke up as they neared Hagrid's hut.

"Does Ron know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No."

Ginny stopped her, looking her seriously in the face. "You have to tell him Hermione."

"I know, I will. It's just..." she rubbed wearily at her eyes. "I just don't know how to begin."

Ginny seemed to accept that, although there was something hesitant about the smile she offered. Hermione glanced back at the lake once more. Harry's distant form could just be seen, making his slow way around the edge of it, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

"What now?" she muttered.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know, invite him to dinner or something? It's all just so weird, especially after this morning..."

She trailed off, fastening her teeth over her lip, and Hermione felt that heavy, overwhelming grief growing within her once more. She sniffed fiercely, fixing her eyes on Hagrid's hut, trying to think about anything else. Ginny took her arm again.

"We'll figure it out, ok? Baby steps. Come on."

She let the other girl lead her into Hagrid's hut, let his booming voice fill her head. She sat at the table while he fussed about them and Fang pawed at her leg, took the butterbeer he offered her with a muttered thanks. Once again, she was enormously grateful for Ginny's efforts to keep the conversation going. After a while the others arrived - Ron, George, Dean, Hannah, Pavarti, Neville and Seamus - apparently they had, as Ginny had said, been volunteering at the castle. With all of them squashed into the small room, she could blend into the background well enough and let herself be swallowed up in the hubbub of chatter. She caught Ron looking at her from across the room once or twice, and resolved to keep her eyes fixed on the table.

The worst, it seemed, was still to come.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.