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 Sixteen

Of course, it was inevitable that he would eventually run into Saint Potter.

He spent most of his time holed up in the attic room, alternating between sleeping and watching Hermione crouched over her piles of books, her eyes flitting seriously from side to side. She sometimes offered him something to read too – never anything about the curse, always something obscurely intellectual. Exceptional Potion Masters of Ancient Greece. Philosophy and Magic: A Dialogue. Astronomy through the Ages. He raised his eyebrows at the last one.

"You hate Astronomy."

She shot him a brief, exasperated glance. "It was the first thing I saw – I'm busy, in case you hadn't noticed."

He smirked. "Thanks."

He got through the first couple of pages and then gave up.

The attic room was stifling, with or without the reading. He could only watch Hermione making copius notes in her books for so long before he became agitated. And yet, despite his inactivity, he was constantly tired. Fog and exhaustion developed steadily in his skull and welled in his bones with every passing day – one second cabin fever would be driving him mad, and the next he would be struggling to stay awake. He knew full well it was the curse getting stronger. His stomach was constantly empty, but the thought of food made him feel instantly sick. All he had left was smoking, which he did often, wandering unsteadily around the room with the IV attached to his arm like a skeletal nurse, but he could see Hermione's nose wrinkle every now and again – he knew she hated the smell building up inside. He hated the room anyway – the walls sang of nightmares and flickered with shadows that weren't real, and it wasn't long before he ventured downstairs again. He had hoped that he might run into George, offering him someone else to talk to, but when he paused at the top of the stairs to the kitchen he could hear multiple voices floating up the stairwell, and thought better of it. He didn't want to see what happened if he tried acting friendly with George in front of the others. Just in case.

He headed for the front door instead and stepped out into the open air, shivering as the cool wind hit him. He took a seat on the top step and retrieved the cigarettes from his pocket, the familiarity of the roll of paper between his fingers making him feel more secure. He kept his wand on his lap, his eyes scanning the other side of the street. He knew Muggles and uninvited Wizards wouldn't be able to see the house, but it still made him anxious to be sitting outside during daylight hours. It felt too much like tempting fate. But the streets were quiet, and his cigarette had burned halfway down before he found himself interrupted.

Across the street was a sharp crack, followed by the sudden appearance of two figures that made a beeline for the house with the easy stride of people who knew where they were going. They were deep in conversation, heads together, but he recognised Potter's scruffy mass of black hair and Ginny Weasley's bright orange curtains immediately. His heart sank and he considered trying to Apparate for a moment – he'd just had a large swig of Nightshade, perhaps he could make it – but before he could even rise Potter had looked up and caught sight of him. He saw the other boy's face tighten at once and felt a familiar grimace on his own. But it was too late to run, and that meant fight was the only other option.

"Malfoy," Ginny Weasley said as they climbed the steps. Her greeting was only a little forced. "Haven't you got enough to worry about without adding those into the equation?"

She nodded at the cigarette in his hand, and he made an effort to smile pleasantly. It always seemed to come out twisted.

"Well, I like to play the death lottery," he said sarcastically. "Which will it be, curses or lungs? Very exciting."

Ginny cast her eyes upwards. "Where's Hermione? In your room?"

He said nothing, and she continued on past him and into the house without waiting for him to answer. Potter stayed, still a few steps below him, one hand on the iron railing. Draco felt uncharacteristically uncertain about looking him in the eye, and instead watched the glowing end of his cigarette. But it felt too cowardly, and eventually he made himself glance up. Potter was staring at his own fingers, picking at the iron railing, his face lined with something close to anger.

"Help you with something, Potter?" Draco said at last, unable to sit in silence any longer.

Potter's eyes narrowed, frustration flickering across his round glasses. "Hermione told me."

"I know."

"Right."

Potter's tongue darted briefly across his lips. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then directed his gaze at the wall. Draco groaned and dropped his head into his hand. He had been waiting for this moment – the moment Hermione's friends came to him one by one to warn him to stay away from her, or watch how he treated her, or whatever else they felt it their right to say. Of course, they would now know all about what was best for her, despite having no knowledge of their relationship previously. He barely knew what their relationship even was.

"What are you going to do, Potter?" he said flatly. "If you've got some kind of speech about staying away from your girls, do me a favour and get it over with."

"Hermione doesn't need me to talk for her," Potter replied quietly. "It's up to her whether she wants you or not."

Unexpected. From Potter's tone it was clear what he would prefer, but he didn't press the topic. Potter was standing there with the anxious, tense stance of someone who had something to say, and if it was not a warning about Hermione, Draco was mildly intrigued to know what it was. The feeling of forced friendliness Potter had shown towards him since arriving in the house was absent now, replaced with a kind of weary resignation. Draco waited, tonguing the end of his cigarette, his brow furrowed. Potter looked down at him.

"I always wanted to believe you didn't want to be involved," he said, his voice slow and precise. "I always hoped you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it can't always have been that. Sometimes it must've just… been easier to go along with things."

Draco felt his lip curl, unable to stop it. He sneered, tried to stop himself from reaching for his wand. It was an automatic reaction when getting into arguments with Potter and Weasley. Although he doubted it would do much good now.

"We're not all quite as blessed as you, Potter. Sometimes things don't fall into place like you want them to."

"And you think being constantly hunted by Voldemort was 'things falling to place', do you?" Potter demanded coldly. "You think growing up with Muggles who hate everything about you is 'blessed'?"

Draco hated the fact that he flinched at the name. He couldn't be sure if Potter noticed or not. He chewed on his lip, trying to pull himself together. Potter wasn't usually so direct with him, and he wasn't quite sure how to respond. He shrugged, tapped ash from the end of his cigarette.

"Blessed in different ways then, granted," he said, unable to match Potter's severe tone. "Or cursed in different ways, maybe."

"I wanted to tell you that I believed her," Potter said. "Hermione. When she said you'd been helping us. The antidote for Nagini's venom. The Manor."

Draco almost swore aloud. She really had told them everything. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. He shifted uncomfortably, tried to smoke, realised he'd finished his cigarette. He stubbed it out on the step and reached for another. He could feel Potter's rigid gaze on him, could feel his skin prickling uncomfortably with the heat of it. He focused on lighting his cigarette.

"Why did you do it? Why did you help us?"

He sniggered slightly at that, still unable to look up. "What do you mean, why? Because she asked me to." He cleared his throat slightly. "Because not doing it would be worse."

"And now?"

Draco blinked up at him at last, frowning. Potter still looked deadly serious, although Draco couldn't quite understand the question.

"What do you mean, now?"

"There's still Death Eaters out there," Potter said pointedly.

"The Death Eaters are over," Draco scoffed. "Whoever is still out there, they're just stragglers. They won't last."

"And if they do?"

"What, Potter?" Draco muttered, scowling. "What do you want? I'm not a Death Eater – there, is that what you wanted me to say? What difference does it make if I say it out loud or not?"

"See, that's always been the point, Malfoy," Potter replied. "It only makes a difference if you say it out loud."

Draco took a few long drags on his cigarette. After a moment, Potter looked away again, as if slightly embarrassed, and Draco took the opportunity to shake off the serious, sombre atmosphere the other boy had just thrown over the conversation.

"Difference being it gets you killed. What's your point?"

"Point is – I trust Hermione. So, by extension, I trust you." Potter leaned forward a little, waiting for Draco to look up before continuing. "But you're going to have to try too. What's Hestia been asking you?"

"What everyone asks me. What does that have to do with anything?"

"From now on, answer her. She thinks you're holding back. Tell her what she needs to know."

"Since when did I take orders from you, Potter?" Draco demanded, arching an eyebrow at him. "I don't have anything to prove to you."

"Don't you?" Potter straightened up and headed past him, climbing the steps to the front door. "Goes both ways, Malfoy."

He disappeared into the house, leaving Draco behind to wonder what the hell had just happened. He wasn't sure if he'd just been handed an olive branch or an ultimatum, but it was somewhat comforting to finally have Potter speaking normally again – direct, unapologetic – rather than dithering with those strange, kind smiles he had been trying before. He felt more comfortable when they were arguing. He would have liked to try to find out exactly when Hestia Jones planned on returning to resume their frigid interrogations, but apparently that information was not to be forthcoming. He would just have to assume that she would turn up on one day or another, most likely with more questions.

He finished his cigarette and sat for a while longer in the cool air before hauling himself to his feet and shuffling back inside, his chest throbbing with that angry, persistent ache.

~O~

Two days passed fairly uneventfully. Hestia – and Ron – did not return from whatever mission they had been on, and Hermione heard no news of their activities from Harry. She spent most of her time hunkered down in the chair beside Draco's bed, sifting through book after book, making many notes and little progress. Draco read and smoked and stared out of the window, un-communicated thoughts flickering behind his clouded eyes. He didn't bring up kissing her, and she didn't risk asking him if he remembered. She told herself it was wholly unimportant. That it made no difference to what they were doing at all.

Hermione didn't see much of the others. She still felt like she was hovering in some kind of limbo, still waiting for something to happen – either for rejection, or acceptance. She was failing to progress there, and she was failing to progress with the curse. She owled Professor Slughorn, but received no response. As far as she could see, there was no possible cure. She chewed on the end of her pencil and watched Draco until he noticed her gaze, and then stared at her paper until he stopped looking. More than anything else, she felt abandoned. Hestia hadn't made any effort to make contact with her, and she didn't like the way the Ministry had just shrugged Draco off like a bothersome fly. She couldn't understand why they weren't making more of an effort to help, especially when he was one of the few links with the Death Eaters they had. He didn't bring it up, barely mentioned anything about the curse. But she knew he wasn't getting better, and that he needed more and more Nightshade to pull himself through.

She was downstairs in the kitchen, turning the pages of a levitating book with her wand as she poured a cup of tea, frowning through the steam, when Ginny cornered her. She had been concentrating so hard on the book that she hadn't heard the other girl come in, and almost let the book fall out of the air in alarm. She had been trying to slip away and back upstairs but Ginny blocked her path.

"Stop avoiding us, Hermione!" she said, rolling her eyes. "Just because of the whole Draco thing… Look, you're holed up in that room all day every day. Take a break and watch something with us tonight. It's movie night."

She tried to make her excuses, but Ginny refused her at every corner. And, truth be told, she missed seeing the others. She missed fitting in. Her familiarity with Draco had isolated her somewhat from the group, and the longer she stayed distant the worse it would become. So, eventually, she agreed to meet them in the living room and watch a film, telling herself that she would only stay for half before excusing herself. When she mentioned it to Draco he seemed indifferent. He never asked how the research was coming along, although she suspected he knew that she had found nothing of use. And she was running out of books.

None of which boded well.

That evening she reluctantly put a torn piece of paper in her book to mark her place and got up from the armchair in the attic room. She had retrieved a book from the living room for Draco earlier, having noticed how bored he was getting – the cigarette trips were becoming more and more frequent. He sat upright in the bed with it open on his lap, duvet heaped around him in miniscule mountains, his gaze focussed on somewhere distant. She stretched, looking around the room.

"Well, you've got…" she retrieved her stone from her pocket, held it up as he glanced up. "Just in case."

He nodded at his own, which lay on the bedside table. "Yes. In case."

She felt wrong about leaving him there. It seemed like the headaches were almost constant now, and she felt convinced that as soon as she left the curse would grow worse again. But still, she forced herself out of the room and down the stairs. She paused to steady herself before stepping into the living room, aware that it was the first time she had faced the others properly as a group since telling Harry and Ginny the truth. She wasn't sure who exactly had heard about her and Draco, but she knew that rumours travelled fast and that, if George had known, that meant others would know too. As she stood outside the door, she heard the murmur of hushed voices and her uncertainty doubled. Whispering did not indicate comfort. But she couldn't back down now, so instead she steeled herself for questions and stepped into the living room.

The muttering broke off at once, confirming her fears that they had been talking about her. The others were already there – she was late. Minus Ron and Seamus, that is. Grouped on one of the sofas were Luna and Neville; sharing the armchair were Harry and Ginny. George, as usual, sat at the small table by the window, pouring over reams of parchment, trying to get his shop in order. Dean was kneeling by the television, flicking through the selection of DVDs that had been suggested for the night. The other sofa was, for now, vacant, and Hermione curled herself into the far corner of it. She offered the others a tentative smile, and was relieved when she received one back from Luna – only Neville and Dean glanced away.

"Hello, Hermione," Luna said distantly. "We haven't seen you for a long time."

"No, sorry," she said. "I've been… busy."

"That's alright," Luna replied pleasantly. "How's the research?"

Hermione offered a shrug in response, unable to confess that she hadn't found anything. Luckily, Pavarti chose that moment to enter the room, laden down with popcorn and a handful of mugs. Dean rose to help her deposit her armload of snacks on the coffee table, and she glanced up at Hermione as she leaned down.

"Hey – how's… everything?"

"Ok," Hermione said, trying to smile. "Same, really."

Pavarti's face was empathetic, but the contrast between that and Neville's clear discomfort – alongside Dean's outright wariness – did little to put Hermione at rest. She looked away, her gaze drawn by Harry and Ginny, who had begun talking quietly, Harry frowned and looked up at her. Hermione tried to concentrate on something else, reverting back to her usual response to rumours – pretending she had become conveniently deaf. She had to take the fact that they had accepted her back into their movie nights as a positive, and learn to cope with the rest. She reached for the popcorn, more for something to do with her hands rather than anything else.

"Hey, Hermione? You think…" Harry cleared his throat. He glanced at Ginny, who offered a nod. "You think Malfoy would want to join us?"

She froze, halfway to the popcorn. But he didn't look as if he was joking – even though Dean and Neville were staring at him as if he had just announced that he would like to make the television into a horcrux for himself. Harry glanced at them, clearly a little uncomfortable. Luna, as usual, looked mildly interested – it was she Hermione had been most concerned about, considering her history with the Death Eaters, but she only smiled airily as Harry straightened a little in the armchair.

"I mean… obviously if no one has a problem with it."

On the sofa beside Neville, Pavarti had become very interested in a loose thread on her jumper. Dean looked stony-faced, but said nothing. The silence stretched on, and Hermione wet her lips uncertainly.

"Yeah, I mean… If you guys would rather…"

"No, it's fine," George spoke up, throwing her a smile. "Why not, right?"

"I mean it's, what, seven against one?" Ginny put in. "Reckon we'll be ok."

Neville still looked rather unhappy, but didn't argue. Hermione rose to her feet, pausing, still waiting to see if any of them would speak up against the idea, but no one did. And Harry was looking at her encouragingly. He was clearly making an effort to understand, and she had to take advantage of it. She nodded and slipped into the hallway and up the stairs. She knocked on the door to the attic room once before entering, and found Draco sitting where she had left him, the book resting against his knee, flicking through the pages dully. He glanced up at the sound of the door, blinking wearily. He had been looking more tired today.

"Finished already?"

"No, hasn't started," she said, slightly breathless from the stairs. "Do you want to come and join us?"

He looked at her quizzically. "You can't be serious."

"Harry asked," she insisted. "It might be… nice."

He smirked. "Nice?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, stay here by yourself."

"Wait!"

She stopped, one hand on the doorknob. He sat there, the book half-closed, his lips parted, his brow furrowed. He looked as if he was trying to solve a particularly difficult potions formula. He glanced up at her, and then sighed and shut the book, pushing it onto the bedside table.

"Well, better than sitting up here on my own. Nothing to do anyway. Fuck's sake…"

He was pulling himself upright, wincing. His mouth was a firm line, and for a moment he looked almost nervous. He reached for his wand and jerked it at the chest of drawers, accio'ing a jumper. He pulled it on and stood up, reaching for the wall, his face tightening. Proud of her bluff – and, secretly, of him for calling her back – she headed over to help him, wrapping her arm around his waist. He only hesitated for a moment before resting his arm around her shoulders, a position they had become used to over the last couple of days.

"Ready?"

"No," he muttered.

She grinned and pulled him gently towards the door. They shuffled out into the corridor and inched down the stairs. He pulled free of her before they reached the living room, determined to take his own weight, and she reached for his hand instead. For a moment she thought he would pull away, but instead he returned the encouraging squeeze she offered. His skin was slightly clammy, but he seemed more or less steady. She knew what he was thinking – the same thing was going through her head. After all, they had never been together in front of the others before. Not that they were together now. Although they certainly weren't apart… She shook the thoughts off. Either way, whether they were friends or more, she refused to be ashamed of him. She'd had enough of hiding. The exchange with George a couple of nights ago had showed her that her friends were less uncompromising than she had thought. She pushed the door open, and they stepped inside.

The quiet chatter fell away at once, and she felt Draco stiffen automatically behind her. She knew that his face was settling into the old, sneering mask he took on in front of them, and decided to interrupt it before it could escalate.

"He said he'd love to," she said, smiling.

"I never said that," he muttered.

"Sure you did," she replied, shooting him a glare. "And I for one can't wait to see Draco Malfoy watch TV – this is going to be like watching a dog walk on its hind legs."

She knew she was talking too much, but her nerves were making the words bubble out. Luckily, while the others glanced uncertainly at one another, George came to her rescue. He looked up from his parchment in the corner his face brightening.

"Alright, arsehole? Still milking it?"

"Still not thought of something new to say, Weasley?" Draco replied, letting Hermione lead him over to the empty sofa. "Honestly, don't bother unless you're bringing new material."

George looked him up and down with mock curiosity. "Honestly, you look fine. What is actually wrong with you?"

"I was fine, until I saw your ugly mug."

Hermione saw several of the others look rather surprised at this exchange, and couldn't help but feel somewhat panicked. She felt as if their friendliness was something the rest of her friends were not quite ready for – particularly Neville, who was now staring at George with a mixture of fright and alarm, as if he expected him to suddenly morph into Crabbe or Goyle and begin taunting him. To her relief, Ginny smiled at her and came to her rescue.

"I vote we put on one of the old movies, like the one we watched last time. What was it – Dawn of the Dead?"

Hermione nodded, sitting down on the empty sofa. Draco sat beside her, oddly straight-backed, looking intently at the flickering TV screen. He was still frowning, with more severity than was necessary for observing glitch Muggle technology. He was nervous too. She kept hold of his hand and ran her thumb over his knuckles, trying to be supportive. He glanced down, cleared his throat slightly, and looked back at the crackling interference on the screen.

"So," he said. "Is this it, or is there more?"

"Of course not!" she said indignantly. "I've told you about these before. You watch stories on them – like the moving pictures in the prophet."

His eyebrow arched, moving incredibly slowly and purposefully. "Thrilling."

She would normally drive her elbow into his ribs at such a comment to dislodge his lofty air of disinterest, but thanks to the curse she had to settle on a gentle nudge instead and try to pour the rest of her annoyance into the stare she pointed in his direction. The corners of his mouth quirked in what could almost have been a smile. Dean held up one of the DVDs he had been rifling through, showing it to the others.

"How about this – Jaws?"

"What is it?" Luna asked, gazing with interest at the shark on the front cover. "Is it about triple-jawed Carpophods?"

"No," Harry said, shooting Ginny an amused glance. "It's about a giant shark that tries to attack people."

"Sound's great," George put in from across the room.

Jaws was decided on, and Dean retreated to a cushion on the floor in front of the other sofa once it was on, pointedly ignoring the space beside Draco. Hermione pretended not to notice, but couldn't help but feel the atmosphere was soured. She tried to glance at the others out of the corner of her eye as the movie began. Most seemed happily engaged in the flickering lights and pictures on the screen – it was only really Neville who glanced across every now and again, clearly a little unsettled. She tucked her knees up on the sofa and tried to focus on the movie. Her gaze stray to Draco every now and then. He looked tired – he always looked tired. He watched the moving images on the screen through narrowed eyes, kept one hand slung across his lap near the pocket she knew his wand was stored in. She wished he didn't have to feel so on edge all the time. She sat beside him, feeling his skin under her thumb, hoping fiercely that he wasn't as anxious as she was. She kept one eye on him. As the film went on he began to close his eyes in long, frequent blinks. She wondered how the noise of the movie was treating his headache.

Eventually, when his jaw clenched for the sixth time, she leaned forwards and spoke in a low whisper.

"Do you want to lie down?"

His eyes flicked sideways, an unspoken admission that he did. But he wasn't used to being vulnerable in front of the people he had formerly mocked on a daily basis, and it was going to be a strange leap. She was going to suggest going back upstairs, but as she squeezed his hand he nodded. She shifted up against the end of the sofa and reached out a hand. After only a brief hesitation he let her hands guide him down until his head was resting on her lap and his legs were tucked up on the sofa. She felt rather than heard him sigh, felt some of the tension trickle free of his limbs. As she rubbed his arm he reached up to let his fingers weave between hers. She shot a quick glance around at the room, but everyone was focused on the movie. For now, they were rescued by the cover of the dim lights.

In fact, she couldn't remember the last time they sat together and relaxed like this. Reading and researching frantically upstairs was a different kind of quiet. Sitting there among the others in Grimmauld Place offered a sense of security and safety she hadn't been able to enjoy with him for a long time. This wasn't a brief second snatched between the acrid horror of the war – this was the kind of calm that came with certainty. Only then he flinched – only the smallest movement – and she was remained sharply of the curse, of the reason that his arm was still curled against his chest. She took advantage of the bubble of tenderness they had strayed into and let her other hand slip gently into his hair.

His weight on her lap had been growing heavier since he lay down, and after a few more minutes of the shark roving to and fro across the screen, his head lolled to one side on her lap. Her initial feeling was fear – after all tension of the last few days, it was difficult for her to not feel him go limp and expect an attack on the horizon. But when she glanced down at him, his face lit with the glare of the television screen, she could tell at once that he had simply fallen asleep. His face was relaxed, his lips parted slightly, his eyes closed. And, unlike the fitful sleep she usually saw him struggling with, he actually looked peaceful. She let her fingers weave a path through his hair, watched his eyelids flicker blindly in sleep.

When she looked up, she found Ginny's eyes on her. The other girl was watching them silently, her head cocked, her brown eyes flickering with questions. Hermione felt her stomach lurch – she felt as if she had been caught in the act. Her hand stilled abruptly. Ginny indicated Draco with her eyes and mouthed silently across the room.

Is he ok?

Relief spread through her like physical warmth. She nodded, smiling. Ginny smiled back before returning to the movie, leaning against Harry once more. Hermione shifted on the sofa, enjoyed the closeness of Draco against her. It had been a while since they had been this like this. And it felt like coming home.

She waited for the movie to finish and for the others to shut off the TV before straightening, ready to head upstairs as soon as possible. Taking advantage of their chatter as they began to discuss the movie, she stroked Draco's cheek gently. Thankfully, his eyes opened fairly soon, even if his gaze was unfocussed and glazed.

"Hey," she murmured softly. "Want to go to bed?"

He smiled widely, his eyes still half-shut, and reached up to tangle his hand in her hair. "Mmm. Definitely."

She felt her cheeks flood with heat. Apparently he had not quite woken up yet, and she was all too aware of the others growing quiet, noticing their conversation. She hurried to explain to him where he was, even as he pulled at her.

"No, Draco – I actually mean bed."

"Me too," he slurred. "C'mon, my tongue's not nearly as busy as it should be…"

She had never been more mortified in her life – until, at least, George burst out laughing across the room.

"I did not need to hear that," he chortled.

Draco seemed to blink awake at that, beginning to figure out where he was. She cast her eyes skywards, trying to shrug off the stares of the others, still pulsing with embarrassment. Draco seemed to stiffen too, trying to sit upright, weaving unsteadily from side to side. As she steadied him, she noticed the heat emanating from beneath her hand where it rested on his neck. She felt his forehead and felt the same steady heat.

"You're warm. Do you feel warm?"

He shook his head, moving slowly as if underwater. Like he had moved when he was drunk the other night – only now, he definitely wasn't drunk. She reached for his hand, trying to catch his gaze, but it wasn't working. He was looking straight through her. She tried again.

"Draco?"

His gaze flitted towards her at last, still slightly confused, but a little more awake now. She studied him – pupils dilated, glazed, skin slightly shiny with heat. She frowned.

"I think you might have a fever."

He shook his head again, but she could tell something wasn't right. She couldn't shake the fear that there was another attack coming on – it had been a few days since the last. She stood up, offering the others an apologetic smile.

"Might head upstairs – you know."

"No, no, don't let us stop you," George said merrily. "You enjoy yourselves."

She glared at him, but he only grinned. She nodded at Harry and Ginny, who were both watching with some concern, and turned to Draco. He was sitting upright but slightly hunched over, and she could still read the unfocussed blankness in his face that said that he wasn't all there. She held out her hand, and he blinked at it for a few moments before taking it. She pulled him upright and quickly put her arm around his waist as he swayed. This close to him, she could feel his breath on her cheek and hear the quiet moan he let out as he straightened.

"Okay?" she said.

He nodded, rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. And just as she was about to Apparate upstairs, the door to the living room opened.

Ron.

She knew before she even looked up, flinching as if she had accidentally thrust her hand into the fire. She couldn't risk letting go of Draco – he was too unsteady. She had no choice but to hold onto him and look Ron in the face.

He stood just inside of the door, holding it for someone to follow. His ears were instantly luminous red and his lip was twitching furiously, but he only looked away and fixed his gaze resolutely on the wall. His hand closed around the doorknob tightly. She opened her mouth, but almost at once Hestia Jones appeared behind him and she was struck by a different kind of concern. Hestia smiled her usual smile – the one which did not reach her eyes.

"Evening, all."

"Hi – Hi," Harry said, scrambling up from the sofa. "I – didn't know you were back tonight."

"Just arrived," Ron said stiffly, his lips barely moving.

"Successful mission?" Ginny piped up.

Ron just looked at Harry, his face thunderous. Hestia cleared her throat.

"Somewhat. I won't keep you – just wanted to have a quick chat with Mr. Malfoy before I return to the Ministry for the night. Harry, Hermione, Ron – I thought you could join us."

Hermione felt her own face fall. The last thing Draco needed was an interrogation – and why she and the boys had to join them was even more disconcerting. She looked at Harry for support, but he seemed to be fighting his own silent battle with Ron. She could sense Draco raising his head, trying to stand upright on his own, and spoke up quickly.

"No, Hesita – this really isn't a good time–"

"Now's fine," Hestia replied coolly. "Kitchen?"

"Be right down," Draco said, his voice lapsing into its usual disinterested tone, only a hint of strain beneath the words.

Hestia nodded, turned, and headed downstairs. Hermione caught at Draco, trying to silently beg him not to go, but he offered the tiniest shake of his head and moved towards the door. His legs were trembling and she was forced to move with him, pulling his arms across her shoulders, feeling her cheeks growing hot as they passed Ron. Once out in the corridor she could feel the weight on her shoulder grow heavier, and she decided against walking and Apparated them downstairs instead. Draco took the first opportunity he had to drop into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, and she climbed onto the bench beside him.

"Draco, you don't have to talk to her," she hissed, keeping her voice low. "I don't think it's a good idea, you're not well-"

"Not getting any better, am I?" he muttered.

She stopped short, and he lifted his head, looking at her with some difficulty through hazy eyes. He reached for her hand on the tabletop and squeezed it.

"It's ok," he said, smirking slightly. "Got my bodyguard."

Before she could reply, the door was opening and Hestia, Harry and Ron were filing through. Hermione let go of his hand, and instantly hated herself for it. Ron's eyes were looking anywhere but at them – he dropped into the seat furthest away and glared at the fire, arms folded tightly. Harry sat down slowly in the seat beside Draco, glancing around at them all, no doubt trying to figure out what was happening. Hestia was taking a seat at the other end of the table, in front of the burning fire, removing her notebook and pen from her robes. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She felt as if the other woman had taken on a different air to when she talked normally with the rest of them. She had become spikier, sharper, her face harder. There would be no pleasantries extended here. She was here for another purpose.

"Not much progress made, Harry, but I'll tell you all about it at the next meeting," she said with a brief smile. "Everything alright here?"

Harry just nodded. Hestia's x-ray stare turned onto Draco, and Hermione saw him lift his chin slightly out of the corner of her eye. Ready for battle.

"This going to take long?" he said, his voice a little quieter than usual.

"I don't think so," she replied. Her eyes narrowed. "Why don't you tell me about the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.