Draco gave a small groan and adjusted himself in the bed.
"Where are we?" He asked, blinking at the bright overhead light. His voice sounded far away.
"Back at the resistance. We're in the medical tent," Amelia explained. Suddenly shy, she let go of his hand before he seemed to realise it was there in the first place.
She watched as he slowly tried to pull himself into a sitting position, sucking air through his teeth and grimacing painfully as he did so.
They sat in silence as he seemed to slowly come to and register the pain he was in. Amelia felt she might burst with the thousands of unsaid words she had on her tongue. None escaped though.
"Are you okay?" He eventually asked, resting his head against the simple wooden frame of the bed and turning his attention towards her.
Amelia nodded with a small smile. "I'm fine." She saw his frowning eyes hover on the bandage on her head, and she added dismissively, "barely a scratch."
To her relief, Draco gave a small chuckle and fixed his soft, bemused gaze on her. The tightness she felt in her chest eased slightly. She felt the familiar rush which would pulse through her like an electric current whenever he looked at her; something she hadn't felt for years.
"What happened? I can't remember..." He rubbed his eyes as he spoke. His voice sounded groggy.
"We were ambushed – we were so close to making it out unnoticed. Bellatrix, your aunt, she stabbed you," Amelia said as a lump swelled in her throat as the memory of this flashed before her eyes. Draco frowned. She could see movement beginning behind his eyes as he seemed to piece together his own memories of the night.
"That does sound like her style," He mumbled dryly.
Silence again.
"Draco," she started, unable to keep it in any longer. "I –
The door swung open to reveal Michael Corner, looking frazzled but still alert.
"Thought I heard voices in here – good to see you up Mal – uh, Draco," he said cheerily.
Amelia leaned back in the chair, her lips pursed. She held Draco's gaze as Michael fussed about the dressing. He told them that there were thankfully no more serious injuries amongst the group; everyone was back in their tents and resting.
"I'm glad," Draco said. Amelia could tell that his voice, always so dry and even, threw Michael and she saw her friend's eyes hover momentarily over the exposed Dark Mark on his arm. Draco seemed to notice this and shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms across his chest.
The morning went by in a blur: Luna checked Amelia over in the other hospital room and said with her usual melodic tone "I always thought he would end up on our side," about Draco, to which Amelia could only bring herself to offer a small nod and faint smile. When she returned to Draco's room he was sitting up and grimacing as Michael checked the bandage on the wound. Amelia stood at the door, unsure of whether she was intruding. She wished she could just speak to him.
"Hmm, the Dittany root seems to be helping a fair bit," Michael mumbled to no one in particular. "I think we have a few more in a jar somewhere – wouldn't hurt to reapply when we change the bandage," he said, looking at Draco now who seemed in agony with the effort of just sitting up.
"Doesn't bloody feel like it's helping," Draco said through gritted teeth.
"It's a deep wound – but you're out of the woods. Not going to heal overnight though mate," Michael offered. "A few more nights with the Dreamless Sleep potion and you should be out of here at least."
Draco looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed; "A few more nights?"
"You lost a lot of blood last night, Draco," Michael said in a more serious tone. "Frankly, you're lucky to still be here."
"What more is going to be achieved lying in this bed than in my own?" Draco challenged.
Michael sighed and looked to Amelia, who shrugged. "I can keep an eye on things," she offered. Like many of them, she had done a few shifts in the medical tent during her time in the resistance and knew her way around treating a wound or illness.
A young Healer from St Mungo's, Herbert Norman, had been one of the first to join the resistance shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts and for a while, was the only trained medical professional in the shanty town. It had been a priority for him to train up as many members as possible to join him as Healers, even though he himself had barely finished his own training when the war had begun. It was just as well he had passed his knowledge on though, as poor Herbert had perished in a battle when the resistance had ambushed a legion of Voldemort supporters as they pillaged a small muggle village, about six months ago. Michael Corner had been like a protégé of Herbert's and now ran the medical tent. A small photo of Herbert hung above the bookshelf in the main room.
Michael sighed and looked from Draco – who stared expectantly back at him – to Amelia who still stood in the doorway. "Fine, fine," he said, clearly not unhappy to be rid of his stubborn patient. "The dressing will need to be changed later, with more Dittany root applied directly to the wound."
Amelia nodded. She saw Draco's shoulders relax slightly.
"You need to rest as well," Michael pointed at Amelia with raised eyebrows.
"I'm fine - really!"
"Right, well in this case…" Michael darted swiftly to a small cupboard in the corner of the room, and extracted what looked like a slightly crooked tree branch, with a curved makeshift handle on top. He presented it to Draco. "While the wound heals, I would advise alleviating any pressure from that area. Walking might prove difficult. It's bedrest, for a few more days at least."
Draco looked at the walking stick like he was being offered a pile of dragon dung.
"I'm fine without that," Draco said and adjusted himself. Michael took a step back as Draco tried to ease himself to his feet, gripping onto the bedframe with a shaking arm. As soon as he wobbled to his feet he grunted and winced in agony and fell back towards the bed, panting with the effort.
Michael tentatively reintroduced the walking stick. Admitting defeat, Draco snatched it from him with a quick glare. He eased himself to his feet again, this time leaning the weight of his good side onto the walking stick which wobbled dangerously under the pressure. Amelia's heart ached for him as he straightened himself up, acclimatising to the new posture.
Michael gave Draco a T shirt from the cupboard, as his was covered in blood, and gave Amelia a handful of new dressings and a small jar of Dittany root swimming in a murky liquid.
"Bed rest," he reiterated as Draco and Amelia left. Amelia gave Michael a reassuring smile and mock salute.
"Thanks," Draco said with effort. "Sounds like I wouldn't still be around if it weren't for you. I do appreciate it," he said with more sincerity, at which Michael beamed.
"It's no problem, mate."
Outside it was a bright day; the storm had finally passed. The sun was perched high in the sky, accompanied by only a couple of wispy clouds stretching across the endless blue.
"My tent is this way," Draco mumbled as he limped from the medical tent, Amelia beside him. It was quiet: there was no one wandering around the tents.
Amelia felt herself blush as she opened her mouth to reply: "If you wanted… my tent is not far from here. It's not exactly luxury, but it might be more comfortable than yours. And I could keep an eye on you… only if you wanted, obviously." She felt his gaze on her as she stumbled through the offer, an all too familiar elusive gaze from years ago.
"I don't want to trouble you; you need to rest as well," Draco said in a low voice.
Amelia stopped and turned towards him. "Please?"
To her surprise, Draco grinned. "Lead the way."
They had walked in silence to Amelia's tent and Draco could almost hear the thousands of thoughts whizzing through her mind. He wondered what had made her suddenly so certain of him after her capture, but there was time now to ask all of this. Finally, they had time.
His body ached horribly, and every step he took felt like wading through thick mud. He hated to admit that the walking stick was very much a necessary aide; the entire side of his body throbbed where Bellatrix had stabbed him and stung with every slight movement. A veil of fog hung in front of his eyes where the Dreamless Sleep potion had yet to wear off.
They walked on in silence; a silence which felt like a cloud hanging above, laden with all the unsaid words bursting between them. He wanted to say something to her, but it took all his energy to stay upright and walk on.
As if sensing this, she slipped her hand into his as they walked. Perhaps she also didn't quite have the words right now.
"Just here," Amelia eventually said in a meek voice. It was a tent much like the rest which sat in this row and looked compact from the outside.
Inside though, as with all magical tents, it was much bigger inside.
At the opening was a quaint lounge area with a plump olive green sofa with mismatched cushions and a knitted throw, and in front sat a small oak coffee table. To the right was a small kitchenette: a bench lined with a few cupboards and a small oven. A closed door attached itself to the far wall – the bathroom, Draco presumed – and in the corner a veiled curtain concealed a bedroom.
"Like I said – it's not much," Amelia said, beckoning Draco to sit at the sofa. "Obviously didn't have very much when I joined…"
With great effort Draco lowered himself to the sofa and allowed himself to sink into the soft cushioning. "It's perfect. It reminds me of the tent we shared."
This seemed to relax Amelia and she came to sit next to him, perched on the other end of the sofa which now felt three times longer as they sat, untouching.
"How does it feel?" Amelia asked, nodding to Draco's wound.
Draco rubbed his side absently. "I'll survive – apparently."
A breathy laugh, then back into silence. Draco offered his hand across the sofa and slowly, Amelia put hers into his. He watched as her eyes filled with tears.
"I don't quite know what to say, Draco," she said in a quiet voice.
"You don't need to say anything," He said in what he hoped was a soothing voice.
"I've been awful – if I had just given you a chance… I'm so sorry."
He squeezed her hand. "It's okay. Really."
"Your mum… she showed me everything," Amelia continued, her head bowed now as fat tears fell onto her lap. Draco frowned and his heart lurched at the mention of his mother.
"Is she okay?" He asked.
Amelia looked up and nodded, hastily wiping her wet cheeks. "She came to me when I was in the dungeons. Showed me her memories – memories of you… the day they took you away… and before your wedding… she made it so that I understood everything."
Draco felt emotion swell in his chest. His mother, still trying her very best to do what she could for him. And now, the reason he was sitting in Amelia's home.
"I can't believe everything you've done for me – for us," she said, her voice so small as she gazed back at Draco.
"I would do it again," Draco said plainly.
"I never stopped. Not really. I just tried to… push it away," Amelia continued.
Draco smiled sadly and squeezed her hand. "I know. I know."
With a gasp of realisation, she suddenly sprang to her feet, indicating with a finger for Draco to wait, and hurried into her bedroom, coming back out carrying a small wooden box.
Draco watched on with a curious frown as she carefully pulled out a piece of clothing. It took him a moment to recognise it as his own jumper, perfectly preserved, from four years ago.
He chuckled softly: "you kept this, all these years?"
Amelia nodded. "I dreamed that this day would happen. Every night for the last four years."
"Me too. I think it was the only thing that's kept me alive," Draco said as fresh tears spilled from Amelia's eyes at this.
All her shyness forgotten, she sprang forward on the sofa, catching his lips with hers, her hands firmly capturing his face. He felt her tears on his own face as he brought his hand behind her head to tangle through her hair – still knotted from her time in the Malfoy Manor. Deepening the kiss, she hastily discarded her own shirt, before carefully peeling Draco's from him with small exclamations of "sorry – sorry!" as he winced at the movement.
With great caution, She came to sit atop him on the sofa, still caressing his face.
"I love you," she said, sweeping his hair from his eyes and smiling down at him.
He pulled her down towards him and kissed her deeply, hungrily running his hands over the body he had missed so completely. They kissed and touched as if it could hope to make up for the years apart.
"Is this okay?" Amelia asked as her hand hovered over his belt buckle.
"Just be gentle with me," Draco mumbled with a smirk.
They made love; the first time since their first time. He felt so close to her, her perfect body moving slowly atop his, her hair hanging down and creating a curtain around their faces as she kept her forehead pressed firmly against his. Her warm breath against his hooded eyelids. All the pain in his body melted away.
As per Michael's request, they did eventually move to the bedroom, Amelia leading Draco as he limped along with his walking stick. It meant everything just to lie next to each other, drinking in each other's presence and stealing soft touches and kisses. He wouldn't require the Dreamless Sleep Potion – he finally had everything he had needed. They lay, occasionally letting their eyes flutter into a light and relaxed sleep, their hands never unclasping as the sunlight began to bleed into a light pink across the sky as it set from the small bedroom window.
In the early evening there was a knock on the door. Draco was startled from his half-sleep as Amelia pulled a jumper on and tossed Draco's T shirt to him with a small giggle.
It was Ginny. Amelia greeted her with a warm embrace and invited her in as Draco struggled to his feet with the help of his walking stick.
"I went to the medical tent but Michael said that you had come back here," Ginny said, her eyes lingering on the hand that Draco placed on Amelia's back as he came to stand next to her. "I wasn't sure if you'd eaten anything yet…" At this, she held out a large cooking pot.
Draco didn't realise how hungry he was until the smell of Ginny's cooking filled the room.
"Don't get too excited, it's just soup," she said as she took the pot over to the stove with the ease of someone who knew the space intimately.
"I can't even remember the last time I ate, so soup is incredibly exciting," Amelia exclaimed.
Ginny asked how they were and told them that Henry and Harry were desperate to interview Amelia, but she had convinced them to wait until morning. She didn't stay long, perhaps sensing that they were both exhausted or that they craved only the company of each other.
They ate dinner – pumpkin soup with crusty bread – and chatted mindlessly. He knew that there were serious conversations to be had between them, but not today. He drank in her appearance as she sat cross-legged at the small wooden dining table in the kitchen wearing a baggy knitted jumper, her hair still tangled and her face still dirty. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
