Notes: And some time for healing. Thank you for your continued interest in this story. I hope all of you are healthy and well this holiday season.
WARNINGS: References to rape and torture
33. Speak of the Spring and Foison of the Year
It's been ages since she's been to St. Mungo's. The hallways are wide and clear, illuminated brightly, as if the light can mask the suffering. Hermione turns in a circle as she follows a healing assistant. The door nearest to them is solid wood, but moans of the patient within still reach the hall.
The war may be over, but trauma lives on.
She takes a fortifying breath and crosses her arms tightly across her chest. She barely resists the urge to pull the hood of her sweatshirt over her loose braid. Unlike before, there's no need to hide. Everyone knows she's Hermione Granger and that's okay.
More often than not someone will stop her, gratitude tripping over their lips. Hermione smiles the best she can and tells them she's glad to have helped the wizarding world. It's not a lie, but neither is it the full truth.
She doesn't regret what she, Draco, Harry and Tom did. But she isn't sure the price was worth the sacrifice. Or maybe she is.
How she feels depends on the time of day. On how much she allows herself to remember. On how fervently she misses Harry.
It's been weeks since they laid him to rest. The bite of autumn is in the air and grey clouds clot the sky more days than not.
The Order has cleared Draco entirely, which means they're free to leave their safehouse in North Yorkshire. Despite the freedom, they stay. Remus and Tonks are gone, leaving only the three of them in the stately house.
It's peaceful, nothing but windswept heather and grey oblivion.
She can't imagine venturing back into the chaos of the world.
Where would they go anyway? Draco technically owns both the Manor and the summer estate, but those buildings are saturated with bloody memories. Hermione could return to her parents' house, but it feels wrong to go there without them. And as much as the war is over, she doesn't yet trust the Grangers will be safe. There are still rogue Death Eaters wreaking havoc across England and until they are subdued, she will keep her parents blissfully unaware and half a world away.
Lupin, Snape and Molly have all pointed out the three of them don't need to remain together, but the idea of being without either Draco or Tom makes her gut twist. She's lost so much; she won't lose them too.
From the outside she understands they make an odd trio, far stranger than Harry, Ron and Hermione. To the Order, Tom is nothing but a foreign boy who helped defeat Voldemort despite his limited ability to do magic—that was one truth they couldn't conceal for long. That they know he's utterly harmless certainly deflects any suspicion of him being a nefarious character, let alone a version of Voldemort. Aside from the incident with Slughorn, no one gives him a second glance. In Order meetings gazes glide over him as if he isn't there, as if he doesn't matter. Sure, there are the appreciative looks from men and women alike, but when it comes to business, no one imagines Tom has anything of substance to add.
It would be humorous if it weren't equally tragic.
For Tom, it's merely further proof of what he lost. Once, every wand would have snapped to him, everyone aware of his lethal prowess. Now, he's a harmless Muggle, hardly worth their consideration.
That he hasn't lashed out as far as Hermione knows is a minor miracle. Not that he's a ray of sunshine. The only time she sees him smile is when her lips are on his skin, when he's let go of reality to lose time with her.
He smokes more than ever, his dark figure often outlined against the swirling mists of the moor, cigarette burning a trail to the heavens.
Hermione can't blame him. Despite now much she lost, she can't imagine being without her magic entirely. She may have forgotten magic after her obliviate misfire, but she never lost her ability to connect with it and her love of it guided her back.
Draco tries to help where he can, but there's a tension between him and Tom that feels raw. Sometimes she'll catch them looking at each other, the longing between them palpable. She slips away as quickly as she can, unable to breathe around the lump that forms in her throat at their clear distress.
This tension is her fault. Draco and Tom were real long before she understood the depths of her need for Tom. That she has torn them apart sits like sour milk in her stomach. She knows Tom doesn't regret his choice, but sometimes she regrets it for him. What makes her more worthy than Draco? What makes her the best option? She's nothing but a broken body and a fractured mind.
And now Tom is something worse.
His choice to sacrifice for her—she knows it was for her, not for anyone or anything else—has demolished him entirely. Can they truly be worth all this destruction? She knows she's not worthy of a lick of it.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione does her best to stifle the gasp that bubbles up her throat. She looks over her shoulder. Tom stands a pace behind her, deep sapphire gaze heavy with tension. St. Mungo's clearly doesn't agree with him.
"Yes?" She turns to the healing assistant, poor imitation of a smile threading her lips upward.
"Healer Murdock will see you," the petite woman says, voice high and bright. Hermione nearly winces from the energy of it. The assistant motions toward a room beside them.
Hermione can't control the trembling in her limbs as she steps through the door. Tom's hand settles against her lower back and she leans into his touch. He guides her through the healing room until they reach the medical cot. Her knees wobble and she drops to the thin mattress with a gasp.
Tom pulls her close to him, pressing his satin lips against her sweaty brow. She takes a shuddering breath and eyes the door, fingers tangling with his.
They don't have to wait long. A slender woman with fiery red hair and stunning emerald eyes enters moments later. For a moment Hermione's eyes burn with tears. The healer reminds her of Harry and Ginny and she can't help the thought that their daughter would look exactly like this woman. If Harry were alive. If Ginny had ever had a chance.
She swallows salt and regret.
The healer crosses the room and holds out her hand, "I'm Healer Murdock, but I go by Lisa with most folks. You're Hermione, I assume."
Hermione nods and clasps the woman's hand. The healer's grip is firm and professional. She turns her bright eyes to study Tom. "And who might you be?"
"Thomas Devereux, boyfriend," he replies crisply.
Lisa's gaze lingers where Hermione's fingers grasp Tom's. "It's kind of you to come." She angles a look at Hermione, "Does Thomas understand the extent of your injuries?"
She can hardly tell the woman that Tom was there for her rape and torture. That of all people in the universe, he understands the most. Instead, she nods and tightens her grip on him. "Tom knows everything."
Lisa glances one last time at him, emerald eyes calculating, as if she doesn't quite trust Tom to fully understand. Hermione doesn't let the healer's doubt rankle her. She's fairly sure she wouldn't have brought any of her other male friends, no matter her relationship status with them. What she shares with Tom is beyond explanation, even if she could tell Lisa he'd been in her head during some of the worst trauma she endured.
The redhead turns away and scans a parchment in front of her. "I was able to talk with Anna—imagine her surprise when she learned she'd treated Hermione Granger, not Jenna James. Anyway, she indicated to me that we've found several possible treatments for the scar on your arm and that the two of you discussed reconstructive work on your uterus."
Hermione blinks. She'd given consent for the St. Mungo's staff to reach out to the Order healers, but she'd never imagined they'd be so successful. If she ever sees Anna again, she owes the woman an apology for their deception, however necessary it might have been.
The healer continues, "we can do both of these treatments today, if that's something you'd be interested in."
Hermione's nodding before the other woman stops speaking. "Yes, please. Whatever you can do today is much appreciated."
"Let's start with your arm."
The procedure is simple enough and Hermione watches with widening eyes as the gnarled scar tissue slowly degrades and fades. Tom's expression cracks from calculated nonchalance to sharp interest as he watches.
"How is this working? The wound was cursed."
The healer continues to weave her wand over Hermione's arm, but glances at Tom. "A nasty curse too, but not one we can't break. It took some time in the archives, but I identified a counter-curse that will render the anti-healing properties of the initial wound inert."
"May I ask which volume?"
Some of his former fire flickers behind his stare. Hermione's breath catches. She forgot just how much of a force of nature he can be. How a mere look from those blazing sapphire eyes can make her ache.
"Hildegard's Remedies for the Unworthy," Lisa replies, pausing her ministrations to check Hermione's scars. They're barely visible now, silver lines against her golden skin instead of angry red welts.
Tom makes shocked noise in the back of his throat that has her looking at him again. He stares at the healer, dark brows disappearing into his ebony bangs. "That's a dark magic compendium."
The healer shrugs. "Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire, Mr. Devereux."
"Indeed," he murmurs, his gaze appreciative as he studies her work. "I tried every spell I could think of when the injury occurred, but no traditional remedies helped. It didn't occur to me to look into darker solutions."
It's Lisa's turn to wear an expression of shock. "You were with her when this happened?"
"Believe me, I would have stopped it if that were a feasible choice. It was not." Any warmth has drained from his voice, leaving only an icy veneer.
The redhead shakes her head. "You misunderstand. I'm not blaming you. I'm merely curious if you know the original incantation."
"Yes, I know what that bitch did," Tom replies, but neglects to elaborate.
Sensing his reticence, the healer turns her focus back to Hermione. "Well, if you ever are interested in discussing this particular case study, let me know."
The dark boy doesn't bother to reply. He traces light patterns against Hermione's palm with his index finger as the healer continues her work. Hermione's skin tingles beneath his touch and heat slowly pools in her core. This is the last place she wants to have this kind of reaction, but at the same time it's always a relief to know she can feel this level of desire. That she can want him so keenly despite everything.
Her lips part in a silent pant and Tom's focus snaps to her face. His pupils consume the sapphire of his irises, her hunger reflected back at her. His teeth catch his bottom lip and she groans, tearing her eyes away.
"Everything okay?" Lisa murmurs.
Hermione barely contains the hysterical chuckle caught in her throat. She's about to have her uterus repaired and she's sitting here salivating over Tom. She supposes it speaks to the strength of her desire.
Clearing her throat, she manages to reply, "all fine. It's just a bit hot in here."
The older woman gives her a look that says she's missed absolutely nothing, but doesn't comment.
Hermione's pulse is no longer a frantic staccato when Lisa finishes her arm. She's avoided looking at Tom for the last fifteen minutes and it's done wonders for her ability to breathe. His finger still draws teasing circles across her flesh, but she can ignore the delicious sensation if she avoids the siren call of his angelic features.
"I'm going to have you lay back on the cot for the next treatment. You shouldn't experience any discomfort, but you may feel some strange sensations in your pelvic region. That's normal. We're moving a few pieces around in there and you're going to feel it."
Tom's grip on her hand turns urgent and she finally looks at him. All vestiges of flirtation have disappeared, replaced by solemn lines and pursed lips. He knows how important this is to her. It's not nearly enough—it won't allow her to produce life—but having her womb intact again will help her heal and hopefully eliminate some of the pelvic cramping she experiences. It's never anything beyond the usual, but some nights the ache keeps her awake, as if her body knows it's been broken beyond repair.
Hermione settles on her back, feet dangling over the end of the cot. Tom brushes his lips across hers, quick and chaste. "You've got this."
She nods and turns to the healer. "What do you need me to do?"
"Relax as best you can. The less tension in your body, the better it will accept the healing process."
Tom's fingers slip from hers, reappearing at the base of her skull. He rubs slow circles along her neck and down her shoulders. She sighs, melting into his touch. He digs in just the right amount to scatter the tension, but avoid any pinching discomfort. She gives herself over to the push and pull of his hands, to the contented glow he leaves behind wherever he touches her.
Occasionally, she notices an odd tug in her pelvis, but she trusts the healer.
Time loses its rigid structure. It flows like liquid around her, a stream separate from her body and Tom's intoxicating touch. Unlike before, she doesn't feel heat gathering or desire thrumming just beneath her skin. A different kind of bliss settles over her, borne of trust and serenity. His fingers work through her anxiety like a hot knife to butter and she melts accordingly.
She doesn't worry about what Lisa is doing to her. She can't worry. He's taken her tension, the nexus of her negative emotions, and evaporated it. She mumbles her thanks, but it's an incoherent stream of syllables that mean nothing.
She feels his smile against her cheek as his lips brush her skin. "Just let go, Hermione."
She does and for a moment, it's the most perfect thing in the world. To feel his hands against her. To know she is safer than she has ever been even if he no longer has magic crackling at his fingers.
"All done."
Tom retreats, hands trailing over her shoulders in one last caress. She blinks several times before regaining enough coherency to push up to her elbows.
"Done?"
Hermione lets Tom propel her the rest of the way to sitting. Lisa has a soft smile on her face, earlier suspicion entirely erased.
"Yes, I worked for several hours and your uterus is restored. It's not entirely unblemished, but the inflammation in your pelvis should significantly reduce in the coming days. I expect you'll feel much better in a few days."
A frown tugs at Hermione's mouth. The discomfort hasn't bothered her that much. It's nothing she can't live with. But to be free of even a small degree of her suffering…
Her breath clots in her throat. She blinks and a heavy droplet runs down her cheek. She wipes it away. Merlin. She didn't expect to be this bloody emotional.
"I… thank you," she manages, vision blurring.
The redhead squeezes her hand, grip warm and strong. "I'm sorry we couldn't do anything more."
And while Hermione is sorry too, right now this is enough. She bites her lip and gives Lisa a watery smile. "No, thank you. This is…"
But she can't find words to describe how much this means to her. She takes Tom's arm and pulls herself into a standing position. Lisa is right. Her pelvis no longer aches when she moves, no longer catches in ways she'd come to accept as normal. A pain she never realized plagued her is now absent.
Is she truly so ruined she can't even tell when she's in distress?
The thought curdles her joy.
She clings to Tom and pulls them both to the door. If the healer is offended by Hermione's sudden exit, she doesn't it let it show. Instead she nods and turns back to her paperwork.
Tom waits until they're exiting the St. Mungo's lobby before tugging her to a halt. His large hands splay across her damp cheeks as he stares down at her, eyes searching.
"What is it?" She hiccups around a sob. He presses his forehead against hers. "Please, Hermione, you're scaring me."
She takes several steadying breaths before she can choke out the words. "I didn't even feel it, Tom. It hurt so much, and I didn't even know. I just thought that was normal. That my body should experience that amount of pain. I'm so broken I don't even know when something's wrong with me. How much more of me is wrong?"
He kisses her tears away. "You were thoroughly examined. Today and when you saw the healer with the Order. There's nothing else wrong."
"Except my inability to have children."
She feels him flinch, hears the grind of his teeth. "Except that."
The heat of his mouth on hers does nothing to quell the stab of horror splitting her heart in two, but it's better than the cold salt of her tears. Their lips move together, not in passion, but something deeper and sadder. His hands tangle in her braid, pulling strands loose as he presses desperately against her.
She doesn't understand what he tries to tell her with his fervent caresses, but it doesn't matter. For the moment, the feeling of him against her is enough to hold off the maelstrom of emotion that threatens to pull her under and never let her go.