THANK YOU for being so patient and lovely with your reviews! You're all the best. There's nothing I love more than reading your reactions to each new chapter and it helps fuel me to get back to writing faster.
There's been a lot of discussion and theories on the events of the last chapter and I wanted to make some things clear before we dive back in.
Draco's remorse here isn't a genuine sort of remorse. He's only annoyed that his own actions took Hermione away from him, and is angry with himself than anything, thinking that he should have just kept the ring on to avoid all this trouble. He's mostly mad that he's lost access to Hermione, like a child who can't play with their favorite toy anymore because their parent took it away for misbehaving, and they know it was their own fault. The only way he truly would have been sorry would have been if Hermione had actually died.
I was so focused on writing all this content between Hermione and Draco that I'll confess that I totally forgot about George. Oops! It'll be explained away later. Thanks to those who pointed it out.
You're all right about the remorse and Horcrux situation, but even if Draco's remorse was genuine, Hermione wouldn't be able to take advantage of it because she's not conscious. Her Horcrux isn't complete yet, keep that in mind.
Also, if you're so inclined, I have a Ko-fi for my written works that I'm trying to be more active on. You can find me there at thewanderingdaughter. I've been really bad about updating it but lately, I've been working on some artwork to add on there. Come by and take a look!
Lots going on in this chapter. Stay focused. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think and leave a review!
When it was nine in the morning Draco finally stood from the armchair, scrubbing at his face. He stretched. Sunlight peeked in from between the crack between the drapes on the windows, searching across the walls of the bedroom and creeping across the floor, reaching toward the bed.
Draco looked at his wife, his face blank. She hadn't moved once in the entire night.
There was a knock at the door. He motioned a finger and it opened. Pansy stepped through, looking first at the bed then at him, a silent question curling in the air between them.
He shook his head.
She nodded tightly and clasped her hands at her front.
"Lucio is awake and is having breakfast, my Lord. Will you come down and join him?"
Draco was still. "Did you follow my order?"
"Yes, my Lord." She looked at the bed again. "He was upset she did not say goodbye before she left."
Draco's eyes hadn't left the bed. He had been thinking back to the last words his wife had spoken.
"Is he at breakfast?" he asked after that pause.
It was clear he had not been listening. Pansy resisted a frown.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Send word to his tutors they won't be needed for today. Take Lucio to Diagon Alley," Draco said as he stood and went to the water basin on the dresser, splashed his face with cold water and braced his arms on the dresser, ignoring his reflection in the mirror. He tapped once on the space beside the basin and a heavy pouch materialized there. He motioned for her to take it. She stepped forward and took it. It was heavy with coin.
"Spend the day with him," Draco said. "Buy him anything he wants. If he asks about his mother, lie. We don't know how long this will last."
Pansy looked back to the bed. "My Lord, did you sleep at all last night?"
"No."
"Then perhaps Lucio and I can go out another day and I'll look over him and my Lady here so you may rest."
He had been in the process of magically changing into fresh clothes.
"No," he said coldly, fixing his lapels. "I want no distractions. I will not sleep, and I will watch over her."
"What about Weasley, my Lord?" She asked. "I have not seen him since the day of the ceremony."
"He isn't here," Draco said dismissively. "He's leading the group looking for Longbottom's grandmother."
Oh. How hadn't she noticed?
Well, the past few days had been very eventful, for one. And Weasley wasn't quite the social creature he used to be. Since his arrival at the Manor he spent much of his time in his room or outside the Manor unless the Dark Lord required his presence.
"Forgive me, my Lord," Pansy said. "I meant no impertinence."
"Then go and do as you're told," he said. "I'll send two men to shadow the two of you in case of any trouble."
He noticed her expression of displeasure and ignored it. Pansy was well capable of taking care of herself, but with Longbottom sniffing around constantly and then Hermione in her current state, he would take no more losses.
"You'll both go in disguise as well," he said. "The wards will take care of that."
"Will that be all, my Lord?"
"I'll expect you both back before dinner."
"Of course." She took her leave.
The door shut and Draco stared at Hermione on the bed. He'd had plans at the Ministry today but those would have to be postponed now. He would not leave Hermione but for an emergency.
She looked cold, alone there. Her stomach rose and fell steadily with each deep breath she took.
Draco went to the windows and pulled the drapes open, filling the room with sunlight. It streamed thickly into the room. The multi-colored light from the stained-glass window tinted her form on the bed like a glaze of paint. She looked like a cursed princess, waiting the kiss of her prince.
He let out a brittle laugh at that.
I kept you from the sun for a long time when I first got you, do you remember that, little bird? He thought to her. You missed it so badly I kept finding you at the windows, trying to tear the drapes down. Even when you slept at the stained window, I'd find your fingers all curled and scratching at the glass. It didn't do anything then, but maybe you weakened it little by little that way, and you didn't even realize it.
He remembered the day he had found her in his office, pushing his papers off his desk in anger after realizing he had charmed them to hide their contents from her eyes. He had trapped her between himself and the desk, and at seeing her unhealthy pallor had given in and uncovered the windows. He knew how much she hated being in his arms, but the moment that sunlight had touched her she had melted, closing her eyes as if she had been suddenly held by another and more preferred lover.
The jealousy that had torn into his heart spurred him into clearing the rest of the desk and claiming her right then and there despite her protests.
I couldn't bear to share you with the sun.
Her ring was on the bedside table. It glinted brightly in the light.
I never should have taken it off you.
He approached the bed rapidly and settled himself in beside her, his arms wrapping around her. She was still stiff and damp with sweat, her skin still hot to the touch. She didn't so much as flicker an eyelid as he cradled her head into his chest.
He felt her pulse thrumming in her throat, nuzzled his nose along that lovely soft column, pressing soft kisses here and there.
"Fight it, sweetheart," he murmured. "Fight it off and wake up. I won't let you leave me this way. Any way."
"Did father hurt mummy again?"
Pansy stopped in her tracks, nearly fumbling the spoon she'd been about to hand to Lucio as they walked out of Florian Fortescue's.
"No," she said simply.
It was her own magic this time. But that was a very complicated answer, and he would surely ask for clarification, and she didn't know enough to explain anyhow even if Draco had allowed her to.
It's still his doing. If he hadn't tampered with her magic, nothing would have happened. None of us would be in the situations we're in right now.
"I'm scared," Lucio said, looking down at his ice-cream cone.
And there it was. He had been brave all morning though she had known behind that sweet little face, worry lay in a tangled heap. They had gone from store to store—she had shown him some of her favorite books from when she had been his age, and they had looked over art supplies and Quidditch gear and cats and several toy stores. She had bought anything he showed even the slightest interest in, but he had not shown any strong emotion other than agreeing quickly to get a cold treat after she had heard his tummy rumble.
"It's okay to be scared," Pansy said, sitting down on a bench outside the shop. She patted the seat beside her but Lucio remained standing, his ice-cream dripping, his pale brow bent with pent-up tears. He sniffed.
Pansy caught eyes with Jones and Williams, who lingered casually across the street in front of a lively pub, wearing casual and nondescript robes rather than their black gilded uniform. Jones nodded upwards at her as if inquiring if something was wrong, and she shook her head. He looked away, scanning the street as other shoppers walked by.
"It's okay to cry, too," Pansy said. "I know you're worried about her."
Lucio rubbed at his eye. "Why didn't mummy say goodbye?"
Pansy's heart constricted.
"There was no time," she said gently. "But you know she loves you with all her heart."
Lucio's ice cream had begun to melt and dribble down his cone. "Did you see her before she left?"
It would have been so easy to lie. But looking at that innocent, sad little face, Pansy couldn't bear it.
"No, my dear, I didn't. Now sit with me and see to that ice cream or the thestrals will gobble it up for you."
At that, Lucio's seriousness broke, and he giggled, looking around as if expecting to find one of the invisible creatures beside him.
"You said there aren't any in Diagon Alley," he said as he sat down.
"Sometimes, there are," she said. "I saw one here when I was young. It was eating food off a vendor's cart and they didn't know what was happening because they didn't know what a thestral was. They thought someone was pulling a prank."
Lucio had finally taken up his spoon and hurriedly spooned ice-cream from the edges of his cone.
"Why aren't they allowed?" He asked.
Pansy pointed at the thin, packed stream of people moving about in almost a straight line along the main street.
"The streets are too narrow. Can you imagine walking in that mess with a smelly thestral tail in front of you?"
Lucio giggled again.
"Father says mummy rode one, once."
"Did she, now?" Pansy asked, wiping at a drop of ice-cream on her wrist. "I wouldn't be surprised. She's terribly brave."
"Daddy also says she also rode a Hippogriff." This was said in an awed tone. Pansy smiled.
"From the sound of it, you'd like to ride one, too."
Lucio frowned, suddenly perturbed. "I don't know what they look like."
"How about this: let's finish our ice creams and then we'll go back to the bookstore and we'll find a book on magical creatures, and I'll show you. Does that sound alright?"
Lucio smiled widely. "Okay."
When they returned, dinner was set and ready and waiting for them, but Draco was not there. Pansy and Lucio ate, and she did her best at keeping his spirits up but she knew he was wondering where his father was.
"He might be busy working," she said. "Come, it's time for bed."
She had gone to the master bedroom after, knocked on the door.
When it opened she walked in, let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room.
"How is she?" She asked softly, knowing he was there.
"Still the same." His voice came from the bed.
"Well, Lucio and I are back," she said. "He's gone to bed now."
"Good," Draco said, his voice toneless. "Take him out again tomorrow. Have a long walk. Go see a show, a museum. It doesn't matter. Keep him from the house as long as you can."
Why? Pansy frowned.
"Did you get any rest, my Lord?"
"Some. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, my Lord," she said.
The door shut behind her. Draco wiped away at his lips. His hand came away wet with blood, the same blood which was spreading its stain rapidly on Hermione's pillow.
On the second day, Pansy and Lucio had spent the majority of the day out and about, though the luster of being away from the Manor so unexpectedly had polished off a bit since the day before.
When they returned just in time for dinner the table was set and the food waiting as like the day before, but Draco was not there again. Lucio's face had been crestfallen.
Pansy went straight to the master bedroom after they had eaten and she had put him to bed. The room was dark again.
"She's still the same," came Draco's voice from the bed.
"I see," she said. She couldn't see him but could sense rage and agitation in his tone though it was flat.
"Do the same tomorrow," he said. She heard rustling on the bed as he shifted.
"Have you eaten, my Lord?"
He let out a huff of laughter. "That doesn't matter."
"Your son needs you," she said. "I must speak bluntly, my Lord. You can't keep pushing him out of the house thinking he'll be fine. He's worried for his mother. And he needs you. The less he sees you the more he thinks something is wrong."
She heard Draco sigh. "I'll speak with him tomorrow, then. You'll watch Hermione for me."
"Of course, my Lord." She bowed and left.
The next morning, Draco had appeared at breakfast and signaled to Pansy. Lucio had stared trepidatiously at his father as he'd sat down before him. Pansy squeezed Lucio's shoulder comfortingly and left to watch over Hermione.
"Where's mummy?" Lucio asked.
"Visiting someone who needed her help," father said. "It was urgent—she barely had time to say goodbye to me, too."
That eased Lucio's mind a little. Still, his mother's words from just days earlier still sat heavily on his mind and he watched his father carefully.
"What is it?" Draco asked. A plate of food had materialized before him the moment he had sat down but he had not touched it let alone glanced at it.
"Mummy told me the truth," Lucio began, suddenly frightened. "About you."
Father sat back in his chair and smiled. "So she did. And what do you think?"
Lucio frowned, suddenly feeling very small. "I don't know."
"She's right," father said simply. "It's all true: we were never friends at school, I did steal her, and she doesn't love me."
Lucio's eyes were on his plate, his appetite gone.
"Look at me," father said. Lucio looked up slowly and met his eyes. His voice was so cold. Everything felt so different. Shaken, his hands clenched the table.
"Do you love mummy?"
"I do. I love her so much that I stole her from her friends and family and kept her for myself, and I kept her from using her magic to protect her."
Lucio struggled to make sense of this.
"Why?"
"Some other fool would have stolen her away if I didn't do it first." Father drove his index finger into the table. "This is what I meant when I said to you a few months ago that you must learn to take what you want. If you leave things to chance you will be disappointed and run the risk of losing. Your mother loved somebody else and would have married him. I couldn't let that happen. I wanted your mother so I took her and I don't regret it, and I never will."
"Mummy loved someone else?"
Father's mouth twisted in a smile. "Yes. But I knew she was better off with me than him. Think of it: if I hadn't married her, you wouldn't be here now."
The dining room was utterly silent around them. Lucio wished Pansy was there with him.
Lucio frowned again. "She said you hurt her a lot."
"I do," father acknowledged gravely. "But you needn't worry about that. She made a promise to stay, and she'll keep it. She made that promise knowing what it meant for herself."
"Don't hurt mummy," Lucio said, and it pleased Draco to see that he was angry. "Leave her alone. She's scared of you."
"Watch your tone," Draco said coolly. "Finish your breakfast."
Lucio glared at his father for the first time he could ever remember. Hate was a new feeling. It almost scared him just how angry he was. But father's stare was just as frightening, and he was afraid of what would happen if he didn't obey, so he picked up his fork and woodenly ate another scrap of egg.
"I forbid you from intervening in what happens between your mother and I," father said. "I would rather you know the truth and hate me than be ignorant all your life. I'll not have you so when you are older and out in the world. Your mother may have told you I have always been cruel. She's right. But she is my wife and you are my son and I will always protect and care for you both, but I will not have you attempt to place yourself into what is not your business. Your mother may not like being mine but she has made her choice and her choice was to stay with me. You may not understand it now but you will in time. I will never harm you so you need not fear me, but I will not have you disrespecting me, either. Understood?"
Lucio looked down at his plate, crying and afraid, hate twining around them both within him.
Father's voice was sharper now. "Look at me and don't cry. Do you understand?"
Lucio looked up, rubbing at his eye. He missed mummy more than ever. "Yes, father."
"Good." Father stood up from his seat. "Your tutoring will resume today after breakfast. Finish your breakfast and get yourself ready. I'll see you at dinner."
He came around the table and kissed the top of Lucio's head. Lucio almost cringed.
After Pansy had gone to let in Bryson, who'd arrived for Lucio's daily lesson, Draco crawled back into the bed with Hermione.
Her condition had not changed. He sighed, frustrated, feeling her forehead and her pulse.
She breathed on evenly, displaying no awareness of his presence.
Draco leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
"If you wake up right now, I'll set you free."
She did not stir.
I didn't think so. Not that I'd have done it, anyway.
He straddled her slowly, leaning down to cup her throat in his hands.
"Wake up, wife," he said softly, kissing the hollow of her throat. Her fever-heat transferred into him, making him shiver. One hand tugged playfully at her curls.
"I miss you."
When she didn't answer he scraped his teeth gently along her throat.
His fangs slid easily into the day-old punctures they had left in her flesh. She didn't scream, flinch, or whimper as they sank farther in, and he drank.
He only took a sample this time. Not like the other night, where he'd drunk long and deep and had painted the sheets and his insides red with her life force.
It was a comfort, such a comfort, to feel her blood hot and rich in his mouth. It was thick and heady on his tongue, like velvet liquid. There was a faint, strange taste to it that was almost stale. He had felt that the day before, too. It had unsettled him but as long as it remained there and did not slide downwards into a fouler taste, he would remain hopeful.
He let her blood linger on his tongue like a wine to be savored, comparing it to its taste the last time he had fed from her whilst she had been alive and screaming. How much richer it had tasted then, like her fear and pain lacing through her had infused her blood somehow. It had had a vitality to it that was almost acrid, but delicious nonetheless.
When that taste comes back, or something apart from this stale quality arises, that's when I'll know you're better.
He couldn't wait to consume it again.
He pulled his bite gently from her flesh, his cock hard and pressing into her, his eyes glazed as he watched the dark streams of blood that oozed from the punctures. He gave the wound a slow lick, and when he pulled back the punctures had been healed.
In the ensuing days Draco and Pansy worked together to care after Hermione, who showed no sign of improvement until ten days in when her fever finally broke and her pulse returned to normal. Draco had sent for Healer Lewis again, who had conducted another wellness check that yielded no satisfactory answer. He had brought more Fever-Reducer potions and had given them to Hermione, and none had made any changes. Though Draco and Pansy had made sure Hermione was well fed (mainly through liquids, as she could not chew) and cleaned regularly and able to relieve herself she had lost a considerable amount of weight in that time due to the fever and the sweats that had ravaged her body, much to Draco's distress.
"She's wasting away," he'd said angrily. "Whatever this is, it's eating her from the inside."
Lucio had been distant and could barely meet his eye when they ate together. Gone were the days of his son looking at him with love and admiration. Draco didn't mind. Now that he didn't have to hide his true self he felt more comfortable.
Martin's next appointments had been canceled until further notice. Draco had sent him a sum of gold to cover his living expenses for the rest of the month, so he would not be lacking in anything by the time things were back to normal.
Pansy had managed to persuade him at last into getting back to business outside the Manor. He had been about ready to fire her when he realized she was right, that he was stagnating by staying by Hermione's side all day doing nothing. There were tasks to be finished, important talks to have. His followers had grown nervous at this unusual period of inactivity.
He resumed his affairs outside the Manor with a frenzied pace, and despite how normal things felt outside he could not stop reaching through his ring to sense her, and then remembering that she no longer wore it.
"A few of my men came across Longbottom near Diagon Alley the other day, my Lord," Nott had reported on the tenth day, when they had run into each other at the Ministry. There had been a photographer hovering nearby wanting to take Draco's picture—Draco gave the man a casual look and the wizard hurried off, having sensed the threat behind the glance.
They exited the Ministry and stood outside in the bustling street. A misty rain had begun to fall.
"What was he doing?"
"Buying books. Couldn't see what they were about. We caught sight of him just after he'd left the shop. Longbottom must've known my men were following him. Didn't know why he was so bold in the first place, but he must have Apparated or put on some glamours because we followed him around a corner and he was gone. We went back and asked the shopkeep what his books were about but he's about ninety years old and says he only cares to read prices—when he can see them."
What could Longbottom be researching now? Draco frowned.
You're not still scheming toward resurrection, are you, Longbottom? You're really that desperate?
"I think it's time your men put up anti-glamour charms around those areas," Draco said. "I'll… suggest it to the Minister."
"For the people's "protection", aye, I like the sound of that." Nott grinned. "What about when Lady Malfoy heads down there? I know you've got that land of yours warded to hell and back."
Draco had been about to Apparate away but turned back to look at Nott with a sly smile.
"Exceptions can always be made."
He had gone home that night, had dinner with Pansy and Lucio, and gone back into bed with Hermione. He sampled her blood in it and found no change in it since the last time.
The days continued to pass in this fashion. Either they crawled by or they sped past. Pansy felt like all she had to do was blink for it to be the next day. It was the opposite for Draco. Slowly, he lost the agitated, feral look in his eyes from the first few days. He seemed much calmer as the days passed and Pansy wondered constantly what he knew that she didn't that had turned him so normal, for lack of a better word, suddenly.
On the thirteenth day, Draco had come home early and changed clothes, had gone to the bed to pick up his wife, and sat her on his lap in the armchair.
He had kissed her softly, trying to rouse her, spreading his kisses to her cheeks, her neck, her breasts. Her skin was warm and smooth—he felt her bones more easily than before and was reminded again of her alarming weight loss. He'd have to plump her up a bit once she awoke.
"Come back to me," he'd murmured, stroking her. "Sweetheart, come."
She had not responded, her head lolling back into the armchair, her lovely throat exposed. He took the opportunity to adore it with his mouth, kissing and licking until he could wait no more and sank his fangs in again, taking in a long drink, relishing the feel of her warmth literally bleeding into him.
On that particular day her blood held a stronger taste to it—he sensed her vitals returning slowly. He moaned. His cock was hard and impatient to be buried inside her.
He pulled from her throat gently, but his fangs had got caught in her flesh somehow and tugged at it rather painfully. For the first time in thirteen days, she moved, twitching sharply in pain. Blood leaked from the wound but she didn't wake.
That was enough for Draco. He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead to hers.
Welcome back, sweetling.
He'd had half a mind to alleviate his lust then, but it was dinner time, and his appetite called for more than just sex.
He set Hermione back down on the bed and tucked her in, and left for dinner.
On that last day of her sickness, as Pansy, Draco, and Lucio ate in total silence, Hermione dreamt, but the experience was so vivid she felt as if she had been dreaming the entire time.
The last thing she remembered was her magic coursing painfully through her and Draco's worried voice. Then darkness.
When she came to she was at the Burrow in the room she had shared with Harry once, and there was a knock at the door.
The knock had startled her into full alertness. She looked around quickly, her eyes taking in every detail, exactly as it had been the last time she had been there.
She looked down at herself, at her hands.
Am I dead or dreaming?
She was in the robe that had been on the armchair when she had been on the bed with Draco.
There was no sign of the pain. She felt whole. Good. Better than she had in some time.
But why am I back here?
The homemade rug on the floor. The books piled up in the corner, sat atop an old trunk. The faded postcards tacked onto the wall. The cot Harry had slept in, beside the bed that had once been Percy's, where she had slept. It was as if she'd stepped into the last memory she'd had of this room before she'd quit it to give herself up to Draco.
There was another knock and instantly she froze, thinking it was Draco, remembering how even the way he had knocked at the door the morning he had evaded death had seemed so cold.
Another knock came and she flinched, unable to help herself, then paused.
Her hands were on the wooden floor beneath her—she felt every grain in the wood, every scratch from years of feet and shoes and furniture wearing at it. The rug she sat on was threadbare and had lost much of its original color, and the room was warmly illuminated by the sun that currently warmed her back and hair.
Another patient knock.
This isn't real.
Her hands rubbed at the floor to reassure herself, hoping that the illusion would slide away and she'd wake up properly now.
She stood carefully, her legs wobbling beneath her. There was no remnant of the pain that had put her under, but her limbs felt stiff and ached as if she had not used them for a good while. She stretched, frowning, but the soreness remained.
At last, when the knock at the door sounded again and she could make no more excuses, she went to the door and opened it, and found Harry on the other side.
He was smiling, his green eyes bright and tearful behind his spectacles.
Somehow she was not surprised in the least to find him there.
"Did I wake you?" He asked, and just the sound of his voice after so long a withdrawal from it made her face crumple in happiness. She hadn't realized until now that she had forgotten what he sounded like, but just in those four words, it all came flooding back as if the memory had never faded.
"I've been waiting for you," she heard herself say, and then launched herself at him.
His arms wrapped around her, crushing her to him.
Why it felt so real, she wouldn't question. She had spent years hoping and hoping that he would appear in a dream, that she would see him at least there one last time, had spent so many nights caught in Draco's arms, trying to recall the face that was pressed against hers now. She found herself laughing as his glasses slid down his nose and skittered to the floor. She hadn't even considered that this dream Harry might be intangible and that her hands might simply pass through him until she had his face in his arms and she was all at once grieving that it had been so long and intensely relieved that she had been granted one miracle.
"I miss you," she sobbed, her hands in his hair. "So much."
He kissed her, his hands cupping her head, joining up his kisses around her face in a constellation: from her lips to her nose, her right cheek, her left, her forehead, her eyelids.
When they finally broke apart she was breathless and they were both crying. She drank him in through her tear-irritated eyes, her heart aching so much she thought she might burst, but at the same time it was an ache of happiness, that she was finally with him.
They ended up on the floor somehow—she hadn't even noticed when it happened but her smarting knees were evidence enough. The knelt before each other, staring, taking each other in.
Harry was as young as he had been when he had died. How must she look to him? Suddenly she felt quite self-conscious.
"You've always been beautiful to me," he said, "and you still are now."
"How did you know what I was thinking?" She asked, surprised.
"It's a dream," he said, shrugging. "Things tend not to make sense here."
Their eyes met—they laughed. Her heart felt heavy.
It feels like back then.
Hermione reached out, drawing herself closer to him, and traced the lines of his face—his nose, his lips, his brows and scar, his square jaw, which she had always loved. He closed his eyes, longing and sadness set in the upwards tilt of his brows.
"I've missed you too," he said, his voice breaking with grief. "You don't know how long I've been trying to reach you."
The melancholic happiness on his face increased as he took in the faint lines that pain and sadness had etched around her eyes and forehead and between her brows.
"I'm still with him," she whispered. "The things I've done, Harry—" her voice broke.
He closed the gap between them, reached out for her and held her against him tightly—Hermione melted into his touch, latching on to him wherever she could.
His hands grasped hers. "You're doing it for your own survival, Hermione."
"For me," she repeated, staring at the floor. "And my son."
Harry said nothing for a moment, but there was a heaviness in his eyes when he asked, "how old?"
"He'll be six, soon."
"I was still alive when he was born," Harry said, frowning. "We managed to break into that first place he'd kept you but we were too late—I was too late. All we found was one of your hairs and an unused fertility potion—I didn't know it actually happened. How did I not know?"
"He kept the news secret for some time because he thought his enemies would try to kill our son," Hermione said softly. "It was not my choice to have a child. He kept the conception a secret from me, too, until I recognized the symptoms."
"I'm so sorry, Hermione." He squeezed her hands. "Is he—?"
"No," she said quickly. "He's nothing like his father. He's incredibly clever, and he's so kind."
"Just like you."
She laughed, wiped at her eyes and grabbed his hand, felt his arm.
"Are you a memory? Or are you really here?"
"I think that's for you to answer," Harry said, and she frowned, puzzled.
"I don't understand."
"I'm not sure I do, either. I feel like I've been waiting outside that door for years, but at the same time I feel like I just woke up outside that door the same time you came in."
Hermione shook her head. "That doesn't make sense, this all feels so real."
"I know," he said, looking a little unsettled. "Everything's the way it was before you left that night. Why are you here? Did he kill you?"
"No," she said, struggling to remember. "He gave me my magic back, but something went wrong. It was hurting me—I was so scared. I did think I was dying, but that wasn't his intent. He was as surprised as I was."
"He gave you your magic back?"
"We made a deal," Hermione said, unable to meet Harry's gaze. "I would join him if he gave me back my magic. He had me kill someone else to prove it. I'm a traitor."
Harry's hands wrapped around her.
"You are not a traitor," he hissed. "You're doing what you have to to make escape possible. He pushed you until you gave up—you had no other choice."
"Neville and Luna are still alive," Hermione said suddenly. "They've been raising a resistance. I saw them."
"I'm glad," Harry said. "I'm just sorry I'm not there to help them myself."
Hermione had been on the verge of adding something else when it fled her tongue and she forgot it promptly, but didn't care.
"I went back to Hogwarts," she said. "I saw your grave."
His eyes were pained. She went to him, sat astride his lap, kissed him, her hands eagerly roaming over him, need suddenly burning at her.
"I'm sorry I didn't visit it sooner."
His hands were on her bum, squeezing.
She kissed him again, her tongue sampling his. "I couldn't bear it."
His hands traveled up, tugging at her robe. She was pulling at his shirt.
"It's only a grave, love," he replied. "I know he kept you from it as long as he could."
"I want to stay here with you," she said heavily, panting as his mouth trailed down her neck, leaving a fire in its wake. "Forever."
He had tugged open her robe. She was nude underneath. He cupped her breasts in his hands, massaged them gently, taking a nipple into his mouth. Hermione's hands were in his hair; she moaned as he sucked on her breast, then the other eagerly, his tongue paying every attention to them.
"I've missed you so much," she repeated, her head falling back as one hand left her breast to slide down her hip and thigh, then back up to hook behind her knee. He pushed her backward gently until she was on the floor. He crawled atop her, kissing her anyplace he could reach.
"I love you, Hermione," he said hoarsely. "It was always you."
Draco's eyes snapped open when he heard a moan.
He was up at once and moved to the bed, where his wife was shifting as though she were waking.
"Hermione."
He was on the bed beside her instantly, reached for her. Her eyes were still closed—he pressed his palm to her cheek and she leaned into his touch longingly, moaning again and twisting in her sheets.
"Sweetheart, are you in pain?"
He turned to summon Pansy to alert the Healer.
His other hand had been on her hip, but in one kick of her leg she had flipped that corner of the sheet off and his hand slid down to her mound—he found her molten heat and his eyes widened in surprise.
"Minx," he whispered.
She gave a needful whimper, thrusting her hips in invitation.
Draco made a motion with his hand and was instantly divested of his clothing. He took the other corner of the sheet and flipped it off her impatiently, made another gesture to rid her of her slip.
Her nipples were hard, he instantly felt between her legs and found her deliciously wet and wanting.
Harry's hand between her legs kept itself busy as his mouth continued to tease at her nipple. She was arching underneath him, blazing with need. She could feel her muscles between her legs grasping desperately for something that was not there yet. Her nails raked at his shoulders as he coiled her tighter and tighter.
"Please, Harry," she panted. "I can't wait. I need you."
"Just a little longer, love," he said, settling himself between her legs. He placed his hands on her thighs to spread them and lowered his head to her mound. "Can you wait for me?"
He lowered his tongue to her and she moaned loudly. "Yes," she said breathlessly.
Draco tasted her slowly, taking his time.
You've made me wait, sweetheart. Now it's your turn.
Her hands were in his hair, her thighs threatened to close around his head and suffocate him. His erection throbbed painfully. He stroked himself occasionally, keeping most of his focus on those glorious lips and the wetness that pooled in between.
When she climaxed, she cried out—Draco stifled it with his hand, continuing his attentions until she peaked again shortly after and her body quivered at the mercy of his tongue.
Harry held her hands down on the ground by her head, their fingers entangled in each others' as he mounted her. His eyes were glazed with want. He pressed a kiss to her lips and she returned it passionately as he began to push forward.
"Yes," she panted. "Please, Harry. I'm yours." And she pushed her hips up.
Draco groaned in pleasured agony, pulsing inside her. She had thrown her head back, her palms damp in his hold as he held them down. He set out at a measured but rough pace, driving each thrust deep.
Will this wake you up at last, princess? He thought, laughing inwardly. Was this all it took? Should I have fucked you sooner?
A beautiful flush built up on her skin, spreading from her chest to her face. Was that a smile on her lips? Draco exhaled sharply in disbelief, his excitement driving his hips to a frenzy.
Harry moaned when he came, leaning down to press his forehead against hers, his nose nudging hers with each last thrust. Hermione tipped her head up and kissed him, wrapped her legs around his hips.
"I'm yours," she whispered, her eyes closing though she struggled to stay awake, to stare into Harry's eyes one last time.
"Always."
Darkness closed in.
Draco rolled his hips into hers one last time and pulled out, rolling onto his back beside her. Hermione was settling down into the bed slowly, her eyes still closed, a soft, satisfied smile on her lips. She turned onto her side, facing him.
Draco's eyes roved over her, gleaming. He had thought she would have woken at any point while they'd had sex. He touched her forehead. Normal.
You'd better wake tomorrow, my love, he thought. My patience is worn enough.
She slept on, oblivious.
He covered them both with the blanket and went to sleep, his arm slung over her waist.
Draco was buried inside her in the morning, thrusting hard and groaning in lust when she awoke suddenly, damp with sweat and panting. She was on her stomach and he was between her legs pumping away—Hermione groaned, feeling too stiff and sore to move, her head full of cobwebs. She braced herself and tried to push off the bed, uncomprehending.
She felt Draco's hand on her back stop her and push her back down—she struggled—he lied down on top of her and thrust deep one last time, ejaculating into her.
Her heart pounded—her memory caught itself up, and she went limp as he filled her. The memory of Harry's body against hers was still so vivid—she pretending it was Harry on her, not Draco. The room spun slowly.
When he had finished, his weight disappeared from on top of her and she sat up, dazed, exhausted just from waking up.
Before she could do anything else his arms wound around her and crushed her to him. He kissed her deeply.
"How are you?" He demanded. "How do you feel?"
"I don't know," she said, her voice hoarse and cracking. "Tired. My body hurts."
"I may have contributed to that," he said, chuckling. His hands would not leave her. "I didn't think that would happen—I was so worried about you, sweetling."
Hermione stared at the bed, blinking hard, her vision still fuzzy from sleep. "How long has it been?"
"Two weeks exactly," Draco said, smoothing his hand over her hair.
Her mind reeled.
"It felt like longer…"
"You were conscious?" He asked. "Could you hear me?"
"No," she said slowly. "It just feels like it was longer than that. I don't know why."
He kissed her again. "Do you feel any different?"
"Tired, mostly."
"And your magic?"
She raised her hand, and this time there was no struggle. There was a subtle flash and her talons returned. Another, and her nudity was covered with a robe.
She raised her eyes to meet his. There was a beat. A small smile curved her mouth.
Draco was forced onto his back against the bed, his limbs restrained. He tested them, grinning.
"So bloodthirsty so soon?" He asked teasingly. "My, how you've changed."
Her lip curled.
"This was your fault. If you'd never caged my magic this would not have happened."
She straddled him, dragged one talon down his cheek tenderly, barely grazing his skin. He leaned into the touch hungrily, his eyes locked onto hers.
"Shall I start with your face or with your cock?" She asked, dragging that talon down over his nude body, so close to making true contact.
Draco smiled lazily.
"You keep saying you want to cut it off, but you moan so sweetly when it's inside that delicious little pussy of yours. I think you'd miss it if you did cut it off."
It happened in a flicker—so fast he barely caught it—her face distorted in rage and her eyes flashed red. Her talons punctured the flesh of his abdomen, sinking in.
His smile widened. Shall I tell you now, little bird?
"I wouldn't miss a single part of you, ever," she snarled.
"That tickles, sweetheart."
She drove her talons in deeper—blood gushed forward, staining her skin.
"How about this?" She asked innocently, but her smile was wicked. She tore in one direction. The sound of flesh ripping would have made any onlooker retch—Hermione found it immensely gratifying. Organs glistened, newly exposed. She felt the heat from the inside of his body. Blood poured.
She stared down at the wreckage of his abdomen, her face lit with satisfaction and fascination.
"Does it still tickle, sweetheart?" she asked sweetly. Her hand moved toward the exposed organs, her talons sharp and ready.
"We can continue this another time," Draco said, sounding no worse for wear. "I'm very interested to see where this will go—but you do have a son who has been extremely worried about you and who would be beyond happy to see you're back and well."
Hermione's face cleared of wrath. She looked down at what she had done and froze, her face draining of color. Her talons disappeared abruptly.
"Oh, god. Lucio."
She stumbled off the bed and reeled backward, staring in horror at the gaping wound. The sudden movement had blood rushing to her head-she staggered and fought to stay upright. Her vision flickered out for a second. Her legs felt unstable underneath her.
Draco had freed himself of her restraints, barely flickering at eye at the gaping wound on his abdomen. He put a hand to it and locked eyes with her as he healed it. When he pulled his hand away, it was if nothing had ever happened.
"Very interesting," he said.
Hermione fled the room.