Chapter warning: sexual content.
"Oh my god," she said, trying to get up and immediately falling over again; her whole body was shaking. "Oh my god."
It was Ron. He was gasping next to her, his blood soaking ominously into the sparse weeds. He had let go of her hand.
"Ron!" she screamed, struggling to take his shirt off. "Harry – Harry, help, he's Splinched –"
Her hands and breath paused; entire chunks out of his left arm were missing, her terrible Disapparition cutting clean through his muscle, fat and bone. Only one spell came to mind.
"Imperius," she cast; and Ron's face moved from exponentially growing pain to blissful nothingness.
She looked over at Harry, who was looking at her, frozen as well.
"What are we gonna do," she said, head spinning. "What –"
Harry pushed himself up, pulling off his robe as he did so. "We need to apply pressure," he said, tucking it under what was left of Ron's arm and tying a tourniquet above the wound. "Hermione, is there any spell – any potion –"
"There's – hold on," she said, struggling to open her beaded bag. "Accio dittany!"
The small bottle rose to the top of her bag. Her hands were shaking too much to open it; Harry snatched the bottle from her and unscrewed it quickly. She took it back from him and leant over Ron, sprinkling the liquid over his open wounds that were closer to amputation than cuts. There was a horrible burning smell, but in his Imperius state Ron made no murmur; the bleeding started to cauterise.
Harry looked at her, horror in his eyes as the adrenaline started to wane again. "How – how do we fix it, Hermione?"
She shook her head violently. "I don't know. I don't know, Harry," she said. The hysteria started to enter her voice again. "Oh god, it's my fault, I –"
"It's not your fault," Harry said firmly, gripping her shoulders and shaking her. "Hermione, pull yourself together!"
She shrunk back from the growing fear, like she always shrunk back when Harry got angry. His shouting cut through the panic.
"O – ok," she said, forcing herself to take the deepest breath she could.
Harry looked around. "Can we move him back to Grimmauld Place?" he asked. "Or will –"
"No," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Harry, I panicked. He – the Death Eater was grabbing onto me as I left, it was too late to change destination. And I couldn't kill him, I wasn't holding my wand - I was holding onto you and Ron." She stared at Ron's seared flesh and blank face. "I just kicked him off and left – I Disapparated again before I'd thought about it clearly."
Hermione put her head in her hands. "So, now…" she trailed off. A Death Eater that was not Severus Snape had been brought over the threshold. They were probably storming the house as they spoke. Harry gave her an awkward clap on the back.
"Never mind," he said, far more kindly than she deserved. "You got us out alive, Hermione. I wasn't sure it was going to happen, when they started sealing the fireplaces."
"Did you see Mr Weasley?" she asked, lifting her head from her wringing hands. "He took out at least one Death Eater. There's no way we would have made it without his help – we would have been overrun."
"No!" Harry said, surprised. "Why was he there? The alarm went up so fast."
Hermione ignored the prickling in her hands to smooth the hair on Ron's forehead. "Ron got him. We knew we needed Order help." She looked up at Harry. "That's why he was keen to leave by himself when Yaxley showed up."
Harry merely stared at her for a second.
"If there's time for 'I told you so's', there's time to start warding this place," Harry said sullenly after a moment. "Do you have anything further that could help Ron?" he asked, looking at her beaded bag.
Not in her bag. But maybe on her wrist. "I might," Hermione said.
"Then I'll get the tent set up," Harry said, taking her bag and Summoning the magical tent Mr Weasley had given them, along with his wand and maybe his life in the Atrium moments ago. "Do you know any protective wards?"
"Yes," she said.
"Do those first," Harry said, looking around them. "Where are we, anyway?"
"A forest in Dartmoor," she said. "Where the Quidditch World Cup was held."
Harry nodded. "Looks pretty deserted."
Something important suddenly occurred to Hermione. "Harry – we – now that we're out of Grimmauld Place, we need to be careful about Taboos," she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
"Ah," Harry said. "So…his name, and what we picked up today?" he asked vaguely. Hermione nodded.
"I think anything specific and tied to him," she said. "But we've said 'Death Eater' like ten times since arriving, so I think that's fine."
"Alright," Harry said, starting to fight with some tent pegs. "Warding, please, Hermione. Then we can move Ron and we can see if anything else we've packed can help him."
She turned from Harry to start casting the spells, pulling the bangle off her wrist when her back was to him.
"Protego Totalum," she started, peering into the metal. Draco's message was mere logistics:
Leaving in one hour. Send anything to stop me.
Alive, she wrote back quickly, hoping she had answered fast enough and holding it in her left hand for a moment longer in case he replied quickly. "Repello Muggletum…Muffliato…"
Are you hurt? the bangle pinged. Do you need me to find you?
She cast a look behind her suspiciously; Harry and Ron were occupied with camping gear and horrific injuries.
Fine, she hastily scribbled. Find spell for splinch. She shoved the bangle back on and completed all the protective charms she could recall might help ward an open camp, ignoring the further warming against her wrist for now.
Hermione walked back to Harry, who was still struggling with the tent. He looked at her, a thousand yard stare.
"Remember how long it took to set this up at the Quidditch World Cup?" he asked her. She did. Memories of her and Harry gently taking Mr Weasley aside, and connecting the poles and pegs themselves.
Mr Weasley. At the very best, he was now on the run; but he was on the other side of the Atrium, and the fireplaces were closing so quickly. It was more likely he had been arrested or killed.
She knelt beside Harry, to keep the blood in her head.
"I do remember. But there's a charm we can use," she said, pulling on his arm. "Back up a little bit."
He let the tent go and she did the complicated wand movement; it pulled itself together sufficiently.
Harry looked at her, accusation in his pouting expression. "Did you know that the whole time?" he asked. She gave him a wavering smile.
"I'll teach you," she said. Harry looked over to Ron.
"Let's move him in, then," Harry said. Still Imperiused, Ron was easy to coax into the tent and onto one of the beds.
"Is there anything more we can do for his injuries?" Harry asked, looking at his exposed, damaged arm worryingly.
"I need to look some things up," she half-lied. "Give me some time. I'll see what I can find."
"What spells did you do for George?" Harry asked. "After Snape cut off his ear?"
"The equivalent of some laughing gas and a leather strap to bite down on," she said frankly. "Do you want me to lift the Imperius now? He'll be in so much pain."
Harry did not look pleased at her inference. "We're not relying on it, Hermione," he said crossly. He nodded towards Ron.
It wasn't her call, apparently. She cast what relaxation and sleep spells she could, and lifted the Imperius, crouching beside Ron. Harry stood over him, arms crossed as he watched Ron's face intently.
The pain brought him back to a foggy reality quickly, reaching over with his right arm to grab his left. She grabbed his hand, ignoring the shudder that happened as a result.
"Ron?" she said gently. "Please don't touch it. You've been hurt."
"You got Splinched," Harry said, voice unusually terse.
But Ron was mostly incoherent through the charms and pain. She looked at Harry nervously.
"I could knock him out –"
"Do it," Harry said.
"It'll be ok, Ron," she lied, aiming her wand at his head. "Stupefy!" she cast as strongly as he could; he was out like a light.
"Get everything out of the bag," Harry said. "Full review of what we've got and what could help."
It took several minutes to unpack all the stuff she had shoved into the beaded bag.
"I think – you start with these books, Harry," she said, giving him the lengthiest reference books. "I need to have a brainstorm with the potions supplies and books we have."
And nestled behind a kit of tiny bottles, ingredients, textbooks and muggle pen and paper, she sneakily pulled her bangle off again.
Is it you? You must tell me. I'm on my way to Imperius Pomfrey.
Not me, she wrote back, moving as little as she could to engrave the metal with her wand tip. Sliced up Ron's arm. Still attached but missing bone and tissue.
You don't have his missing flesh, I presume, Draco asked. Hermione shuddered. Splinching was so disgusting.
Definitely not, she wrote back, noting the most likely pain potions they could make given their ingredients and ease of finding or stealing others.
About ten minutes later, the bangle glowed again.
Have you stopped the bleeding? Draco asked, which she confirmed. And then, the bad news:
That's all you can do beyond manage pain. Healers can do a complicated flesh regrowth potion and transfiguration process over several sessions.
Any impaired use of arm/hand cannot be fixed.
She felt a frustrated anger well up inside her heart. Magic could be so useless sometimes.
Thank you for checking, she wrote back, sliding the bangle back over her hand and adding future healer potion/transfig process – cosmetic only to her notes.
"Anything?" she asked Harry.
"Just a reference that says fixing Splinching is a restricted magical process and you can only get it at St Mungo's," Harry said, slamming the book shut. "You?"
She grimaced, shaking her head. "Just pain management. But I think, even if we had the spell – we don't have the bits of his arm we're missing, Harry. And we can't go back and get them."
Harry took off his glasses and pinched his nose in irritation.
"Right. Well, how do we help him through it, then," he said after a moment.
"There's three options," she said, counting on her fingers. "A Strengthening Solution –"
Harry snorted. "He's going to need more than a magical steroid, Hermione," he said derisively.
"- a stronger pain potion," she continued, "but that will require some lucky ingredient hunting or getting into an apothecary."
She counted a third finger. "Or, robbing a muggle medical facility for morphine, which I think is our best choice."
Harry frowned. "Would that work, if it's a magical injury? I remember…um."
He trailed off, clearly also remembering Mr Weasley and his infected stitches incident.
"It's not trying to heal the injury, just block pain signals to his head," she replied. "I think it's worth a shot. It's much less risky for us to try than a stronger pain potion, and if it works, will be far more effective than a Strengthening Solution."
Harry drummed his fingers on the unhelpful textbook, thinking. "Say we pump Ron up with morphine," he thought out loud. "Will he be alert by this afternoon?"
"No? Harry, you can't be serious," she said, looking at him uncertainly. Who was this callous, uncaring man before her? "He's going to need weeks, is my guess, to – to get back to some sort of normal." Thank god it hadn't been his wand arm she had messed up.
Harry gave her a hard look that reminded her of Ginny. "I think so too," he said. "Which means you and I should destroy the locket now."
Hermione blinked. She wasn't quite sure she had heard him right. "What?"
"We don't know when we'll run into Death Eaters again," Harry said. "But in London it was only five minutes. We have the fang. If Ron won't be back to fighting strength for weeks, it's too risky to wait."
Hermione felt her stomach curdle up in knots again, tired of clenching from the nerves of the morning. She wasn't sure she disagreed with Harry, but –
"Aren't you exhausted?" she asked.
"You don't need lots of physical strength to kill these things," Harry said. "Not even magical strength, really. You need strength of spirit." He sniffed, fishing the locket out of his robe pocket and placing it on the table. "To get through the evil."
"Which I don't have, apparently," she snapped at him. Was he not the one who Petrified her while Ron destroyed the Ravenclaw horcrux?
"You do, Hermione," Harry said. "I think - this one will be more tricky for me." He frowned at the locket.
He said that like he knew something about it. "Why, Harry?" she said gently.
He was silent for a second.
"Because the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," he eventually responded, continuing to not look at her.
Hermione knew this was not about her, and that what Harry needed to hear was reassurance. But her mouth was running before her senses could catch up with it.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked, trying to control the demanding tone that had entered her voice.
"Because it's terrible?" Harry said, inflection rising in his voice – half question, half emotive response. "Because every Slytherin is evil and filled with hate?"
His words hurt them both. She forced the response out of her throat.
"That's not true, Harry," she said quietly.
"Well, most of them are," he said. "The Sorting Hat looked in…"
But he trailed off, and did not seem to want to say anymore. She got up and walked over to Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Harry, you just sprung over a dozen muggleborns from the gallows this morning," she said plainly. "You are not evil or hateful."
He continued to stare at the locket. "I need your help to kill this thing, Hermione," he said eventually. "I don't trust myself to take it on alone."
She reached over and gripped his other shoulder tightly, making him look at her. "We can do it, Harry," she whispered.
He shrugged out of her grip and picked up the locket, while Hermione carefully Summoned two of the basilisk fangs from her bag. Harry lead them out of the tent into the forest.
"It'll fight," Harry said, taking one of the fangs from her. "Be ready."
"Can we just – the outside?" she asked, vaguely gesturing a stabbing motion with the fang as he set the locket down amongst the thin grass and pine needles.
He shook his head. "No. But I think I know how to open it," he said.
"You do?" she asked, surprised.
"Yup," he said. "Parseltongue. Can you do that snake transfig again?"
She gasped. "Of course! You're right, Harry." Hermione turned around and cut a branch off one of the thin pines. "Serpens fio."
It transfigured into a friendly looking brown snake, slithering over to Harry.
She followed the transfigured snake back to Harry, and he looked from her it to her. The look in his eyes made Hermione feel less fearful. This was Harry as he was meant to be: determined, unflinchingly fighting Voldemort. And he had asked for her help. Nothing was more important than this.
This was the kind of love that made her stronger, she realised. The soldiers in World War I had been right. To be brothers in arms was a stronger bond than if Harry had actually been her blood brother. She should have known this, by now – that blood was meaningless.
"I'm ready," she said steadily, bracing for the horcrux to throw her and Harry aside like a small explosion, the way the diadem had.
The snake slithered around the locket, and Harry slightly tilted his head.
"Homnnek," he hissed, and the locket clicked and opened.
It was like a thousand dementors, quickly expanding from the centre of the horcrux. She fell immediately to the ground, the despair physically crushing her body like gravity.
No air. No sight. She could feel the mud and pine needles and the fang – thank god, she still had the fang –
"Hermione."
She would have gasped, if there was anything to breathe. A cold, pale hand on hers, trying to make her let go of her weapon.
"You left me to die, Hermione," Draco said.
"No," she argued uselessly, with Draco or the horcrux she didn't know, blindly grabbing with her other hand for the locket.
"Raping and killing and dying," he urged, grabbing her other, searching hand. "You cast me into hell."
Every word was worse than the last; the content crawled into Hermione's heart and died, and the sound of his voice crawled into her guts and –
The horcrux grew stronger with her weakness, powerful enough to fling her to the ground, pinning her wrists.
"I should kill you," Draco said, mouth at her neck, "for killing me."
She already knew it was not him, but the threat the horcrux made that her Draco, the real Draco, was magically bound not to say made it easier to turn the basilisk fang in her hand. Hermione stabbed the horcrux demon as it bit down on her throat; it recoiled into smoke, and she scrambled after it, seeing the locket-
She aimed the fang over the inside of the horcrux and slammed her fist down as hard as she could.
Something threw her back, but she held onto the fang as tightly as she could, and tried to push herself back up –
"No, Hermione," Harry said sternly, stamping on her hand painfully; she looked up to fight him off and her heart froze in her throat.
Harry's green eyes glowed blankly, lit up by magic. Blood ran from his deeply slashed throat like a ruby stream.
"You can't destroy it," Harry commanded. "While it keeps me alive."
His voice gurgled, closing up her throat as much as his. The whole world fell away from under her, and Harry smiled horribly, and then he screamed –
And then the scene shifted. Hermione blinked, as the midday sun emerged over the muddy clearing. Harry looked at her, several feet away, his throat in tact, picking up a shattered locket.
She shakily pushed herself to her feet, running over to him and hugging the real and blessedly unharmed Harry.
He pulled away, grinning. "We did it," he said, easily and without a throat full of his own blood.
She shook her head, trying to shake the image of the horcrux Harry out of it. "Harry – I was so scared -"
He nodded. "One person alone couldn't have fought this," he said, turning the broken locket pieces in his hands. "Pretty clever – it imitated you, I wasted time trying to stop you without hurting you. It only faltered when you stabbed it the first time – then I realised what it was doing."
Hermione gasped. "It did that to me, too!" she said. "After I stabbed it – oh, Harry, it was so terrible. I thought it was you. It morphed into a version of you that it had killed, said the hor – the locket, was the only thing keeping you alive, and I couldn't destroy it."
Harry nodded, looking thoughtful. "Did you see Viktor, too?"
She paused; physically and obviously, it did not get past Harry. "I saw Ginny," he explained further. "After you stabbed it, and I realised the first vision wasn't you. But that was easier to get through. Obviously I knew it wasn't her."
It was too hard to lie to Harry, he was too good at seeing through them. She'd be better off with a half-truth. "I saw…the boyfriend," she ventured, and Harry laughed.
"I did see the new Patronus, Hermione," he reminded her; and her mind went blank as she panicked for a second. "The dragon? Who else could it be? I'm guessing it's the one he fought at the Triwizard Tournament?" Harry said. "Cuter than I was anticipating, though," he said, smirking.
She shoved him automatically, a reflex whenever he was teasing her. "Is…that what you fought about at Bill and Fleur's wedding? With Ron?" she asked.
Harry nodded, looking towards the tent. "Yeah," he said, sounding slightly annoyed. "Sort of. He was saying some weird stuff about Ginny. I told him he was wrong, that you guys were dating."
The lie was overly complex, but given they were now on the run, with no easy way to contact the Weasleys or Viktor, maybe it would hold. She cast her mind back to the fight she'd had with Ron about Viktor; she couldn't recall saying anything that would contradict the elaborate set of circumstances Harry had wrongly pieced together. It seemed, for the first time, that Harry's stubbornness once he jumped to a conclusion would work in her favour.
"You know, you don't talk about him much," Harry said. "I knew you were talking round the start of the year –"
"Yeah," Hermione interrupted, not wanting Harry to think too hard about this in case he realised the pieces didn't fit. "Well – I don't know, we don't normally talk about these things, I guess," she said awkwardly, kicking a tufty weed in the ground. "And then – when you, um, ended things with Ginny, I…I thought you might say I should do the same."
Harry sighed. "I thought I ended things with Ginny. But I still love her." He closed his eyes. "I just – didn't want her to wait around for me." His voice grew quieter. "This could take years," he said, barely above a whisper. "We're three down. But I don't know where the other ones are."
She hugged him again. "We're with you, Harry," she said, squeezing tightly. "You're not alone. We'll do it together."
He let go, smiling a little sadly.
"We should go and help Ron," she said, wanting to distract him from thinking about the horcruxes or Ginny.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, walking back to the tent with her. "I don't want to move him again. Can we bring the drugs here?"
"Yup. I'll go," she volunteered. "I'm more familiar with muggle healthcare than you."
"And the Imperius Curse, apparently," Harry said. She stared at their feet, trying hard not to think of Gregory Goyle, or Draco's hand tightening on her wrist as he dragged her past him…
"Yes," she said shortly. "I used it on my mum and dad. To convince them to leave the UK."
Harry looked uneasy. "You'll have to teach me it, I guess," he said. "I might need it in a tight spot."
She nodded. "But can we do it tomorrow?" she asked, and Harry laughed as she rubbed her eyes tiredly.
"If you're heading out for morphine, you may as well get takeout and alcohol, too," Harry suggested. "Think we've earned beer and curry. Especially Ron."
"Good idea," she agreed, as she cast a reflection spell against the tarp of the tent and started transfiguring her appearance.
With the Invisibility Cloak, it was even easier to move through the muggle world. It didn't feel great to sneak into an emergency room, Imperius a nurse, and steal their drugs and knowledge, but she could at least pay for containers of tikka masala, naan and beer without feeling like a total scumbag.
After carefully dosing up Ron with morphine, waking him up, and magically doubling the amount of food and alcohol she had bought, another unkindly idea came to her.
"'ere you 'oin?" Ron asked, barely audible through mouthfuls of naan.
"Accio purse," she cast into her bag, pulling out a tenner. "I want to test something. Geminio."
A second note, identical to the first, appeared. She looked up at Harry.
"Does magic ever depress you?" she asked him.
"At least we don't need to worry about running out," he said, swigging from his beer. "Better some counterfeiting than stealing an unsuspecting muggle's life savings or trying to rob a bank."
"I just can't believe this is so easy, and fixing your arm without the splinched bits isn't," Hermione said, looking at Ron. But full of opioids, alcohol and Indian food, Ron merely shook his head, enormously forgiving.
"Nothin' doing, Hermione," he said. "We all got out alive. Locket's good and killed. That's all we could've hoped for." He paused, looking away for a moment. "I just hope Dad's ok."
"Me too," she said. "I'm worried they're going to pin it on him."
"I'm worried about Kreacher, too," Harry said. They had talked about calling him, but thought the risk was too great that a Death Eater would be literally holding onto him and arrive with him when called. They had been so distracted with Ron's Splinching and Harry's focus on the horcrux, that by the time they remembered with horror that Kreacher was in the house that had no doubt been stormed by Death Eaters hours prior, it was far too late.
"I guess there's no chance the Ministry doesn't know it was us, given they got into the house," Harry said. "Unless the Death Eaters didn't pass the information of our location onto the Ministry."
"Even if they hadn't, I think they would have guessed," she said. "We all used each other's names. They'll know your patronus, Harry."
"But not yours, eh, Hermione?" Harry asked.
"Oh, shut up," she huffed, walking back over to her dinner.
"I guess they have information on yours, Harry," Ron said. "Wizengamot trial and all…"
"Mm," Harry said, finishing his beer and moving his feet out of the way of Hermione's kicks. "Right. I think we should keep watch outside during the night. We don't need a bunch of Death Eaters finding us in our sleep."
"Oh, good point," Hermione said, looking at Ron. "Maybe we switch at midnight? Ron, I think you should just sleep, you need to rest."
"I feel alright with this muggle stuff you got," Ron said, looking at his shredded arm. "In fact, I'll go now." He picked up his plate and beer and walked out of the tent, rather abruptly.
Hermione looked at Harry. "Is he ok?" she whispered.
Harry shrugged. "Probably worried about his dad," he replied in a low voice. Hermione bit her lip nervously.
"I'll try to talk to him," she said, following Ron out.
He was trying to set up a fire outside, and looked slightly surprised to see her.
"Here –" she said, pulling out her wand and aiming a Warming Charm at him. "I know fires are cozy – but Harry probably doesn't want to attract any attention."
He stopped, looking like he was deciding something for a moment. "I guess you're right," he said eventually, sitting down on the ground. "It'd send up smoke."
Hermione nodded, charming her own hands to warm up. "Can I sit with you?" she asked tentatively.
Ron gave her a funny look. "If you want," he said, and she swiftly sat down beside him in the dirt.
"You don't go out of your way to spend time with me, lately," he said.
"Well," she said, trying to think about Ron and not the prickling sensation that would crawl across her whenever he touched her. "You were quite horrible to me at Bill and Fleur's wedding."
"Is that what you've been so mad about?" Ron asked. "It was over a month ago, Hermione."
"Well, it's not like you apologised or anything," she pointed out. This was dangerous territory, though – Ron hardly ever apologised to her. They usually just glossed over whatever they had fought about to continue being friendly to each other.
He was silent for a moment, clearly angry. Maybe coming out here had been a mistake, she was supposed to be comforting him –
"Why should I apologise?" Ron asked. "I bet I'm right. He's probably fucking Ginny now."
Oh, fuck this. Hermione stood back up.
"I'm sorry about your Dad," she said, technically trying to achieve what she set out to do, before storming back to the tent.
"Oh," said Harry, a nasty satisfied tone to his voice. "It went well then, I take it?"
"Shut up," she snipped back, Summoning her horcrux translation books and another beer, and setting up camp in a corner some distance from Harry.
Can talk now if you want, she sent to Draco. Thank you for your help today. Sorry I probably gave you a fright.
She did not get far into her translations before it pinged again. Hermione supposed now that Draco was back at Hogwarts, he had more of his evenings to himself again.
Well it did make for a more exciting first day back. She could almost hear the dry, unimpressed tone of his voice. What happened?
It was hard to describe in a few brief words. Infiltrated the Ministry for the mission. Took care of Yaxley and Umbridge en route, she eventually decided on.
There was a moment to find the English translation for "offrwm", before the bangle glowed with such praise it made her face grow hot.
Maybe I should stop being so worried. Can anyone stop you? You're incredible.
We nearly got trapped, she wrote, not wanting to overstate it. And Death Eaters got into Order headquarters. Please tell me if you hear anything about Arthur Weasley or the house-elf Kreacher, she added.
I will, he said. Are you somewhere safe?
Ah. Not really, she admitted. We're on the run.
There was a moment to look around their new home of a slightly damp, depressing tent before he replied. Why? Go to another safe house.
Like it was that simple. We don't have one, she sent, hoping not to get into a long conversation about mission logistics. The Ministry is watching every other Order house, Harry is certain.
But it was not to be. Ok, so learn the Fidelius Charm and make a new one? he asked.
They might as well move into Buckingham Palace while they were at it, given how flippant Draco's suggestion was. That would take forever, Draco, she pointed out. And I don't have a house to cast it on. I doubt the structural integrity of the tent we're camping in would hold a Fidelius, she added, looking at the tarp doubtfully.
His next reply was quick and somehow even more unhelpful.
Good grief, Granger. I thought you said your family was middle-class? At least rent a place.
I didn't take my parents money before I banished them from Britain, she etched into her bangle, annoyed. You trust fund dumbass.
But he was unperturbed by her class insults.
Ok, so get over yourself and take a muggle house so you can protect yourselves and do Potter's mission properly.
Which is what I THOUGHT this was all supposed to be about.
Harry would never agree, she wrote back, selecting from a dozen excuses as to why it would not work. And I have to draw the line somewhere. I'm not stealing a muggle home.
Plenty of excuses to give, except the most truthful one that her mind had latched onto and would not shake. A chance run-in with Death Eaters would either let her take more of them out, or would lead them to Voldemort, his snake horcrux, and freeing Draco from the Dark Lord's side.
She couldn't tell him. Hermione had already tried, and Draco had turned the Vow on her in a shocking and somewhat monstrous way to stop her. But they needed to take that snake out at some point. And she had to get Draco out of there. Harry was right when he said it might take years to complete the mission, and she was not leaving Draco by Voldemort's side that long.
The bangle blinked back at her, annoyed. You are the most infuriating witch I've ever met.
She glanced at Harry, who was clearing up dinner and humming – distracted enough. In a bad way? she wrote back, teasing. Or in a way you quite like?
I promise you, the idea of you getting caught by Snatchers because you were too righteous to be more careful has me extremely limp, Draco replied scathingly.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Well I didn't mean that, but ok, she sent back, putting the bangle back on and going back to her translation work.
But it warmed mere moments later. Where did we go so wrong that I'm trying to convince you to be more careful with Potter's life, and you're trying to convince me to send dirty messages, Draco asked.
It was probably rhetorical, but there was an obvious answer:
That's easy. In January, she etched into the metal.
You think making the Vow was the wrong thing to do? the bangle flashed back quickly.
No, she wrote back fast – she did not want him to get the wrong idea. I have a lot of feelings about it. But not regret. It's my link to you.
It was embarrassing to admit, even though it should really change nothing – it was not like any amount of shame could break the Vow. But her heart lightened a bit at Draco's reply.
Same. I think if we hadn't, you would have slipped through my fingers by now.
But you might not have cared about that, she pointed out, trying and failing to not smile at his words. He was better at written expression than she was.
Well, I would have been wrong, he wrote simply. And then, the message she had in all honesty really been wanting to see:
Anyway. I don't disagree that the witch who took out Yaxley deserves a reward. What would you like to hear.
"I'm gonna go shower," she announced to Harry, standing up suddenly and abandoning any pretence of horcrux research.
Hermione had never been so glad to see a dingy, cramped bathroom.
Let me tell you something first, Draco, she wrote back quickly, after casting the Prince's noise cancelling spells and turning the shower on loudly. I carved that man up harder than any muggle-born witch he laid his disgusting hands on.
Good, Draco said. He deserved it.
I did good?
She could feel the humming laugh in his tone just through his words. Of course that's what you want to hear. Yes, Granger, you've been a good girl.
And now you're going to be good again and come for me from wherever the fuck you are in Britain.
She grinned, jumping under the hot water. I would like that.
I know, Hermione, the bangle lit up. You know how I know? Because I know you, better than anyone else.
I know you felt good avenging those poor women. I bet you watched the light leave his eyes.
My Gryffindor freedom fighter. But you're not free. For whom does the blood in your veins sing out, Granger?
He did like to hear this, as though there wasn't a binding magical contract he could rely on. You, she dutifully replied.
That's right, it is me, isn't it? he said, and she laughed a little at his smug satisfaction before her eyes widened in slight surprise.
Can you feel it, under your wrists, along your neck? If you run a finger across your forearm, your throat, down your chest, what's beneath the surface?
Oh. This was going to be quite directive. But Hermione immediately realised she liked it – it would be as close to actually having him here that she would get, now that the accursed horcrux had been destroyed.
Thank god they had a basilisk fang on hand. There would be absolutely no way she wouldn't have fallen into a lustful Dark magic trap if they'd had to keep that locket around, waiting for a way to destroy it.
A siren song to Scotland, Draco continued. Because you belong to me, Hermione Granger. No one else.
So you are going to do something for me. You are going to take one left finger and start moving it slowly inside you.
And you are going to keep writing to me with your right hand.
She did as he said, placing her bangle on the soap dish.
I'm sure it will be difficult, but if anyone can rise to a challenge it's Hermione Granger. Isn't that right?
It was going to involve some cheating, but following everything to the letter was not the point of the exercise.
Yes, she replied with some trouble, writing with her right hand.
So determined, he commented. I want to break that resolve. And I'm sure I can, I can be quite persuasive when it comes to you.
I made you follow me to an empty classroom on Valentine's Day, remember? You couldn't possibly be that naïve.
You knew I was going to fuck you raw and you followed me because you wanted it.
Her mouth fell open slightly. That hadn't been her intention at all! Or at least, that was what she had thought; now that she thought back -
But Draco continued writing secret, exciting things to her, sweeping past any surprise. You know why I threw you against the wall? he asked rhetorically. I'll tell you: because you have a kink for violence, little lion.
I saw it, back in fifth year. I was the only one. I saw how unfulfilled and angry you were.
She couldn't believe what she was reading, or the effect it was having on her body. He may as well have been here casting some sort of forbidden hex on her.
And you responded by wrapping your arms around me and pulling your fingers through my hair.
It was very sweet. And I knew I had you.
Withdraw and run your hand along your jaw, he instructed; and she did, though it was a poor substitute for his cold, long fingers. I did that, if you recall, while kissing your neck.
I held you close and you sighed in my ear like you'd been holding on for a long time.
Since January, I suppose, when I bit you. I think that's when I got in your bloodstream.
Move your hand to your clit. And then I whispered in your ear. Do you remember what I asked you to say?
Oh, hell, she was not going to make it much longer at this rate.
Your name, she wrote back shakily.
That's right, I knew it would sound fucking good on your ragged breath after years of formalities.
She gasped, hot water falling in her open mouth.
And you said it so easily, like you'd been waiting for me to ask. Strangely polite, when you want to be.
I didn't want your manners. Or your pity, which you had for me in spades. I wanted you to scream for me until you cried.
He couldn't say these things. She needed him in her now. But it seemed like he knew.
Two fingers. Have you done it?
Yes, she replied, a precarious balancing act.
Good girl. You're going to fuck your fingers as close to the edge as you can, and then wait for me to say that you can come.
Edging fucking bastard. She bit down on her tongue to distract herself and tried to breathe through the racing pulse.
You took no convincing, he carried on, back to his graphic reminiscing. You couldn't get my clothes off fast enough. My lovely impatient witch.
One of your best qualities. If you want something you will take it. Who could stop you, with power like yours?
I think there's only one man who could hope to contain you now. Who is it, Hermione?
It was clumsy, but she wanted to tell him. You.
I want you to whisper it, he wrote, dangerously convincing even from hundreds of miles away. I want my name on your lips when you come.
It was already running through her head a few times every second. It was not much of a change to say it out loud.
You know I planned to be something of a gentleman and make you come before I fucked you, but you had other ideas.
Then again, you had been hot and bothered for weeks by February, hadn't you? I wonder how much longer I could have left you waiting for my cock.
"Oh my god," she whispered. She was so embarrassed she wanted to look away, but her hunger to read what he was writing was too strong.
I had barely started and you had one leg wrapped around my waist. Filthy, desperate woman.
Hermione remembered; she had hooked her left leg around him as he fucked her on a desk at the back of the classroom, and she could feel his smile as she pulled him closer. Hot breath against the side of her face, an iron-like grip on her hip and the desk as they fucked as hard and as fast as they could. So desperate amongst the sadness.
I wondered if I would finally make you blush. Hard to tell with your beautiful complexion.
And it was midnight. Didn't matter, though. I could feel the heat radiating off you.
She couldn't do this. But she didn't want to let him down. Please, she quickly wrote back, before putting her fingers back inside her – oh god, it was too much -
Say my name and curl your fingers.
"Draco," she whispered, closing her eyes as she did what he said. The orgasm shuddered through her entire body; she partly staggered, dropping her wand as she gripped for the shower door handle.
And then, the wave of endorphins. Ah, it was fantastic; it was like floating in the bath with him again.
Hermione blinked a few times, and looked around. The bangle had fallen to the drain; she picked it up from the metal shower floor.
…and let me know when you've come back to earth, he had written.
! That was fantastic, she replied. Fucking hell. How was she ever going to make him come like that over their Protean Charm? She had some thinking to do.
Well I aim to please, he wrote back, and she laughed, shoving the bangle back over her wrist while she quickly scrubbed with soap.
Author's note: Apologies for the late update, I got busy with work, sickness and falling in a Tomione hole.
I regret the fade to black I did for this scene earlier in the fic, so as a treat we get to recall it from Draco's perspective almost 30 chapters later. Hopefully that is acceptable.
It's recommended not to mix morphine with alcohol.
Sometimes Dramione is just an excuse to write platonic af Harmony; just like a horcrux fight is an excuse to get spooky and sexy. I'm having a great time writing all the "what ifs" about the sexy evil locket horcrux in a short Tomione fic I'm drafting if you're interested - it's called Treasure, you can see it on my profile.