The Only Ones Who Know, ch 2

Hermione POV

Author's Note: There's one part left after this. Thanks for reading. Find me on twitter (xdarkofthemoon) and tumblr (darkofthemoonfic) xx Lu

She was flying on a thestral. Wind against her face and the leathery skin beneath her hands. What the destination was, she didn't find out. All she saw was the journey — over fields and mountains facing a watercolor sunset. Soaring towards something—

Hermione woke before her alarm, jolting upright as if from a nightmare. It was unsettling — she'd felt peace in her dream. A warm shower calmed her anxiety. A few spells dried her hair and tamed her curls before she pinned the front bits back, out of her face. She made instant coffee, the kind that would never fully dissolve. Little gritty grains always turned the last few sips unpleasant but she didn't have the luxury of time. She ate a piece of toast with too much butter and an apple. Then put on her cardigan, grabbed her medical kit, and apparated to Grimmauld Place for her assignment for the week. The Bristol safehouse had been evacuated the week before and she spent most of the last few days helping to brew potions at St. Mungo's. The smell lingered on her clothes and in her hair, so she'd been showering more and practicing her laundry spells. Skele-gro was foul.

Headquarters was more vibrant than the last time she'd been in the old house, when she'd had five minutes with Harry and Ron before they returned to planning their next attack. She thought she glimpsed Draco in the dining room, looking over maps with Charlie, but Ginny dragged her up the stairs to a bedroom to gossip before she could be sure. That day was tense. Full of hushed conversations and whispers of luck and safety.

Now there was something like hope floating around the halls of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The door opened with her touch and runic sequence. She ignored the immovable portrait behind its sheet, the taxidermy on the walls, and the memories that haunted the Order's headquarters as she strode towards the dining room.

All the while feeling as if something was missing. As if something was wrong.

Kingsley sent her to St. Mungo's to help with a few patients and that feeling lingered. She hadn't used the oven at the flat she was staying in. All of her patients were stable. She'd even remembered to pick up a small box of chocolates for Harry's birthday next week. But still something prickled beneath her skin.

The lead healer sent her away around noon. Too many hands, not enough patients for once. Come back later. So she returned to headquarters to find the makings of a celebration. Someone had found a case of butterbeer and there were savory smells coming from the kitchen at the back. She could see fading ginger hair and a wooden spoon held in the same hand as a short wand hovering by the hob.

"Hermione, dear, we've just heard from Ron — they've got the snake. It's almost over!" Molly pulled her into a warm hug and she pat the old woman on the back. Her blue eyes lined but cautious.

"Have you heard from the other groups? Is it just Harry and Ron's or what about Charlie?" It was easier to ask about one of the Weasleys. The one closest to who she cared most about.

"I think Remus might know more," Molly said, and dabbed her eyes with a sleeve. "He's been managing the patronus messages in the dining room."

They still called the rooms by their official names, though they weren't at all used for those purposes. Except maybe the kitchen. The dining room table had been shoved against one wall, with a few of its chairs scattered around the room, and a large map sprawled across the wood. There were markers for Death Eater hideouts, safehouses, last known locations of Voldemort and some of his closest allies.

Remus leaned against his crutch and dictated a note to a floating quill and parchment. Murmuring between sips of tea laced with wolfsbane.

"Hermione," he said, extending a smile. "We're hoping for more arrivals once we get the final word."

"Yes, I heard about the snake."

"Charlie's team gave them the opening. I know you have history with some of the worst of them—"

"As do you," Hermione replied. Thinking of his wife's murder. His lycanthropy. The crushed knee that they couldn't heal.

"Bellatrix and Dolohov, confirmed. Greyback managed to get away. Had a patronus from Charlie about half an hour ago."

Her heart raced. "Was anyone—Any of ours—"

"No, all accounted for. Or at least, only injuries but both groups had portkeys to St. Mungo's. Charlie sent Neville and Malfoy separately and Ron said Ginny splinched on arrival, so I imagine she's there as well."

She nodded, her eyes on the map. On the spot marked Last Stand? not too far from Hogwarts. Tucked along the edge of a forest. Her heart hammered and she tried to keep her voice level. "I should go to St. Mungo's, I think. See if they need help."

Lupin reached a scarred hand out and clasped her own, giving it a squeeze. "You're extraordinary, you know. It's not often I get to tell you. It's not often any of us do, but I'm grateful for everything you've given. And I know Teddy—" he faltered, and Hermione squeezed his hand again.

"Is a wonderful boy with a father who loves him. There are so many who will tell him anything he wants to know about his mum, when he's ready. I'm happy to help whenever you and Andromeda need. We all are."

Remus nodded and let her go, taking a deep breath before returning to his parchment.

She spoke quickly with a few others before apparating and making her way back to the combat ward. There were a few more patients, and she hurried to help, though her eyes searched the beds while she did. Suturing spells and other basic healings but otherwise, everyone she aided was fine. Neville was there, battered and bruised but grinning. His grandmother in tears beside him.

And no one knew where Draco was. "He had a portkey here,"Neville said. "I think they must have patched him up and sent him off. He wasn't here when I got here." But Padma hadn't seen him either.

Hermione knew where he was. They hadn't seen him because he never activated that portkey. And she couldn't find her own portkey. She slipped into the hall, frantically searching for it in her bag even though she thought she had it in her pocket. She always kept it in her pocket. The left pocket of her cardigan, so that she could activate it with her wand in her right hand. It was always in her pocket.

Vials of dittany. Pain potions. Dreamless sleep. Half a bottle of Skele-Gro. Gauze and bandages and packets of biscuits.

"Where is it where is it," she chanted, digging to the bottom of her medical kit. She stretched her cardigan pockets, poking her fingers in the corners to check for holes. Blinking quickly, her vision blurred and cleared. It was always in her pocket where was it—

"Hermione, are you alright?"

She snapped her head up and exhaled. It was Percy. The words stuck in her throat so she nodded quickly and resumed her search.

"Why are you crying? The war's nearly over," he said, and cautiously touched her arm to still her movements. "It's almost over." But it wasn't over. Not until she knew Draco was okay.

"I can't find something and I need to get—"

He held the little dragon egg replica between two fingers, presenting it to her. "Found this on the floor earlier today. I notice you holding it a lot. Is it a lucky charm? It's warm, almost like the real thing…" He kept talking but she didn't hear what he said.

Hermione's hand shook as she reached for it. The black scales were warm. The purple details almost glowing.

"Sorry, I just remembered—I have to go. Thanks, Percy," she said, and rushed for the lift. Not bothering to make her excuses before she slapped the button for the ground floor. She needed to be outdoors to activate it. Everything else dimmed beyond what she held in her hands.

The door had barely opened to the street when Hermione trailed her wand over the egg, drawing algiz as she spoke the incantation, "Quem quaeritis, quem quaerendo." It glowed a deeper amethyst and with a lurch she landed in the flat in Inverness. She hadn't been there, hadn't seen him since his birthday more than a month before.

She rushed down the stairs, holding the rail so she didn't fall. Passing the hospital ward and cresting the landing to the pub.

"Draco?" She called, skidding to a stop in the middle of the room. But he wasn't there. Her heart climbed into her throat. There was blood on the floor. She called his name again, racing toward the door and following the path. A rattling breath. A thump. And there he was, slumped on the floor, half hidden behind the bar. Barely conscious. Damp from the rain. One hand resting on his side. Where he was bleeding.

"It's alright," she said, throwing herself to the floor and casting a diagnostic. She summoned the gauze from her bag and pressed it against his wound. "You'll be alright. I'm here."

It was the same curse she'd been hit with at the Department of Mysteries. In her first battle. As a sixteen-year-old. She knew in an instant. The scan was red — extreme loss of blood. There was only one vial of blood replenishing potion in her kit. And she'd need at least three just to stabilize him. Then she needed to move him. If she risked moving him before he was stable…

There was only one way to replenish his blood without access to a cauldron's worth of blood replenishing potion. She wasn't supposed to do it. Healer training was very clear that it was old magic, and while they had to understand how it worked, they weren't to put it into practice. But Hermione had learned more than her textbooks had taught them. She sought the personal journals of the healers who had invented the spell. And she knew that this was the only way.

"Draco," she said, and gently eased him upward, so that he leaned against her. His head in her lap. Grey eyes blinked up at her, lacking focus. "Can you hear me?"

She summoned her one vial of replenishing potion and a collapsible cauldron from her kit. Enlarging it. Then she summoned a silver knife. It had an onyx handle. Beautifully carved with little vines that were like the ones on her wand.

"Never underestimate a good knife, Granger," he'd said when he handed it to her almost two years before. On her birthday. "It's not a gift. I'll want it back someday."

And now she pressed the silver blade into her palm, speaking words she'd promised she would never utter. It would cost her her healing license, if anyone found out. She'd never train in a specialty at St. Mungo's after the war was over. And she didn't care. Minei sanguinis, tui sanguinis, nostri.

Three fat drops of blood at the bottom of her cauldron. She tipped the vial of replenishing potion to his lips. Watching the golden liquid slither down his throat. His eyes fluttering. But she was able to collect three drops of his blood for the cauldron before the bleeding stopped.

She repeated the words and stroked his forehead with one hand, tracing runes over the cauldron with her wand. Their blood mingled until it was one. Creating a link between them. Hermione took a deep breath and pressed the tip of her wand to the crook of her elbow. She breathed and twisted the vinewood, pulling until a red thread appeared. It shimmered and she pressed her wand to his arm at the same spot. Until the thread connected them.

Functionally, it was similar to a Muggle blood transfusion. Wizards had long banned the practice because blood mingling lead to complications. But they didn't know what she knew. Hermione was the universal blood type. It would work with anyone. She had healing in her very blood. Her very Muggleborn blood. And it would save him.

The diagnostic slowly changed from a violent red to a slightly dulled shade. She focused on the curse's point of entry. Cleaning the wound with dittany and inspecting the laceration. Dolohov had created the curse himself. A lacerating hex that would refuse to close until enough blood had passed through. A twisted sort of payment. Hermione had been given so many blood replenishing potions that for a week she felt like her skin was on fire.

Draco's wound stopped leaking and she stitched as evenly as she could, given their position. She used extra drops of her scarring potion but it wouldn't take. He would carry a scar up his ribs just like she did. He had enough scars.

A quick glance at the diagnostic scan showed he was nearly stable. Just a few more minutes and she would need to sever the thread between them and move him.

"Hermione," he said, the syllables were spread out and weak but it was her name from his pale lips.

She tilted his head so that he could see her. "I'm here. It's alright."

Draco tensed beneath her hands and tried to rise, but she held him firm.

"It's alright — try to be still. We're getting you better and then we can move."

His eyelids flickered and his breathing stuttered. The healing magic was strong, and she needed to prevent complications. If he convulsed, it could rip the stitches or worse.

"You have to talk to me," she whispered, stroking his hair. "Remember when you told me about the peacocks? Can you tell me another story?"

"Story… Happy or sad?" It took him too long to get the words out.

"Anything you like," she replied. Feeling the tears at the corner of her eyes. Feeling the way her heart thumped. "I need you to talk to me, Draco. Please. About anything."

"Missed…you. Came here…" he moved his arm, dragging his hand over his blood-soaked trousers to his pocket. "Gave me…a portkey."

"Yes to St. Mungo's. And you should have gone straight there. I was there, I would have been with you when you arrived." She felt a tear fall and reached to brush them from her cheeks, halting when she realized her hand was covered in his blood. And hers. She cleaned them both as best as she could.

"Wanted to be with you," he said, a bit stronger. Breathing improving. "Want to be with you."

"I'm with you. I'm here. You're alright. You're safe."

He pulled himself up, leaning against the wall beside her. One hand in hers and the other twitching in his lap. "You're all I have left and I—I'm terrified of it. Of you. Losing you. That's why I leave."

She looked at him, at the openness on his face and in his eyes. "What do you think I think about when you're not here?"

"Literature."

Hermione let out a watery laugh. She gripped his hand tightly and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. Until she could breathe against his lips. "I think about you. Always you."

He kissed her too briefly, a whisper. "Are you still…nobody's anything?"

"No," she said, kissing him back just as soft. "No I'm yours. And you're mine."

It was time to sever the thread. But she knew it would always be there. Invisible to anyone else.

"What is it?" He asked, and as she untangled the magic she told him what she'd done. While he listened. The color returning to his face. Clarity returning to his eyes. Warmth to his skin. The spell worked better than she'd imagined.

"We still need to get you to St. Mungo's. I don't have enough potions here and you—"

"Wait," he said, and eased himself to standing. Pulling her up with him. Stronger than she could have hoped. "Can we do something first?"

She let him tangle their fingers. "That depends. I am still your healer and you should really be resting."

"That thread you made," he pressed her other hand flat against his chest. Over his beating heart. "What if something like that thread were permanent?"

Hermione's answer was to reach for his hand and place it over her own heart. "Then I'd never let you go."