Hushed voices nearby roused him gradually. When he recognized Hermione's voice, Draco wanted to leap out of his chair, but her clipped tone gave him pause. He deduced feigning sleep would be the best course for now.

"…supposed to mean?"

"No disrespect meant to you Miss Granger, not at all," whispered a frantic female voice. "It's just that he's a… he's a… well, you know, a… umm…"

"If you'd like to finish that sentence in this century?" Hermione interjected disdainfully, and Draco wondered if he'd had more influence on her than she'd care to admit.

When silence reigned, Hermione struck again. "If the end of your sentence isn't going to be 'wonderfully supportive boyfriend' or 'awfully brave man for saving your life' then I think you best not say anything at all," she said coldly and it took all of Draco's muscle control not to smirk.

"I meant no offense, Miss Granger, I'm sorry. I was only surprised to see him here with you."

"I assume they give you healers training in handling shocking situations? In how to react to the unexpected?"

She was so imperious in her iciness even Narcissa would have inclined her head in respect.

"I'm so sorry, I—"

"What's your name?"

"Trainee Healer Kane."

"And where were you during the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Oh dear, Draco thought wryly. This poor little lamb was heading straight for lecture-town to be verbally slaughtered by Granger.

"I was only 10 then. I was home."

"And the rest of the war? Home as well?"

Draco could picture the arching of Hermione's eyebrow.

"Yes Miss, my parents were half-bloods so we were left alone."

"How fortunate for you, Trainee Healer Kane" came the chilly reply. "While you and your parents were reaping the benefits of your blood status, I, along with the man asleep in that chair, were suffering in ways you cannot even possibly imagine. You have no right to cast judgment on those whom you know nothing about so as someone who does have first-hand knowledge of my partner's war time conduct, I'll thank you to keep your baseless opinions to yourself. And if the rest of our conversations during my stay are about anything other than my immediate health, I will report you to the head healer for a gross lack of professionalism."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. I love you.

"I… I… of course. I'll let Healer Simpson know you're ready for the discharge paperwork…" The poor girl sounded close to tears. Draco heard hurried footsteps leaving the ward and the firm snap of the door closing behind her.

"You're a rubbish fake sleeper, you know."

Draco cracked an eye open and was greeted with the beautiful sight of her teasing smile.

"And you're something to behold when you get all puffed up and prissy on my behalf."

Her grin drooped and she wrung her hands in her lap. "I know you can fight your own battles, but she was—"

"Defend me any time you like, Granger, it was quite the turn on."

They smiled at one another, and Draco's eyes roved over her features, hungrily taking in the sight of her face, alive and happy.

"Hello."

"Hello."

They stared at one another a beat longer before Draco clambered into the bed and crushed her to him. He pressed his cheek to her hair and inhaled her comforting scent.

"Never again, Granger. No more blasted fairy colonies, understood?"

Her laughter came out muffled against his chest. "I've survived worse."

Draco tightened his hold. "It's not funny. I don't know what I'd do if… you almost… damn it, Granger, this isn't funny."

Hermione pulled back to look up into his stern face. "Draco," she said softly and took his face in her hands.

"Draco, I'm fine, I'm all right. Thanks to you. You were brilliant, I'm sure, and of course I wasn't even there to see. You took care of me when I couldn't… when I failed."

She swallowed a lump in her throat and seemed on the verge of tears. "I've always struggled with my Patronus, and to fail at the moment when you needed me most… I'm so sorry."

"Don't you dare," he said harshly. "Don't you dare blame yourself. We made it out of there and that's all that matters." He gathered her tightly in his arms again.

"As long as you quit blaming yourself too. Your casting must have been very powerful to drive away so many Dementors," reasoned Hermione. "Can I see it now?" She asked meekly rendering Draco powerless to deny his witch when she looked so small and vulnerable.

Draco looked down into her hopeful face, rosy and bright once more. It didn't take much of a mental leap to picture that face standing before him under another joyous circumstance.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The dragon burst forth and Hermione gasped in delight as it flew around the room and came to a stop before her. She extended a hand out toward its snout just as it dissipated.

"Your namesake," she confirmed, regarding Draco with pride. "You know which breed that is, don't you?"

Draco shook his head, having only ever seen dragons during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament in his Fourth Year, and only then from a great distance.

"A Ukrainian Ironbelly, the largest breed of dragon with scales of a metallic gray… it's the same breed we freed from Gringotts."

And me, Granger. You freed me, too.

"What did you think of to conjure it?"

Draco clenched his jaw, knowing he would have to skirt around the truth. He could tell her now, but was a hospital really the right setting for such a declaration? Hardly, he reasoned, and contented himself with how she felt in his arms.

"Something that made me… happier than I've ever been."

Certainly not a lie, but not even close to the whole story. Though Hermione furrowed her brow at his dodge, she let the matter drop and settled back against him.

"Malfoy! Did you replace my bed sheets?"

Draco froze in the kitchen, in the process of helping himself to some tea.

"Why? Are you allergic to silk?"

Hermione stomped into view, hands on her hips. "Don't you dare try to smooth talk your way out of this. You had no right to meddle in my things without my consent!"

"Hark who's talking, don't think I haven't noticed that you've swapped out all my toothpaste for that spearmint Muggle stuff!"

Her glare crumbled into a sheepish smile. "Fine, we'll call it even then." She turned on her heel to see to the rest of her unpacking from their trip.

"It's all right to admit you've developed a taste for the finer things in life, Granger," he teased and quickly downed his tea. They'd been out of St. Mungo's for a few hours and Draco still put off returning to his own home. But when he could delay no longer, he said his goodbyes to Hermione and promised to return later that evening. She tried to brush him off, but Draco insisted on not leaving her alone.

"I won't be long, but I am returning, Granger."

She scowled. "I don't need a nursemaid, I'm fine. The healers said I should rest, but that doesn't mean I need—"

"It means actual rest, which means you actually need to stop puttering about and I know if no one's here to watch you, you'll have no problem disobeying healers' orders. Now go sit on the couch, Potter's Floo-calling you in 10 minutes."

He stuck his tongue out when she pouted and stepped into the fire. When he stepped through his own grate into the traveling parlor he was met with another scowling witch.

"Have a lovely stay at St. Mungo's did you?" Narcissa's shrill voice tore through the room as she hurried to Draco and threw a letter at him.

"A copy of your discharge notice arrived this morning. Would you care to explain why I had to find out my only son was hospitalized via a discharge notice?" Her eyes flashed dangerously and Draco took a hesitant step forward.

"Obviously I'm well, Mother, it was nothing to be concerned—"

"Don't!" she yelled and he fell silent. "Dementors, Draco! This letter said you survived a Dementor attack and hypothermia! Do not stand there and lie to me! I should have been alerted immediately, I should have been called to your bedside and ensured you were properly cared for! What if you had died? What if—?"

Her voice wavered but did not quite break. She whirled away from him and Draco felt a pang of guilt. He approached her and laid a cautious hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine now, I'm sorry, you're right," he said softly and turned her into a brief embrace.

"Will you tell me what happened?" She sounded as if she had a head cold, but Draco could not see her face.

Draco relayed the story of how he and Hermione had visited the fairy colony towards the end of their trip and the subsequent Dementor attack. When he finished, Narcissa stepped back from him, face impassive once more. "I see. Your letter says you were discharged yesterday. Where have you been?"

Draco set his mouth in a thin line. "Hermione's fine, thank you for asking." He bit out and his mother pursed her lips. "She was worse off than me, if you cared to know, so I stayed with her in hospital and made sure she settled in all right at home. In fact," Draco walked past her and moved toward the stairs, "I'm only here to pick up a few things and return to her."

"Draco!" Narcissa called and he froze on the bottom step.

"You are quite serious about her?"

He regarded his mother carefully and sighed, "Very."

Narcissa's head tilted from side to side, an idea sliding around her mind. "I'd like to meet her properly, then. Would you be opposed to dinner at my home once the renovations are complete?"

"That sounds agreeable, I'll ask her. We'll do this on her time, though, I'll not push. When she's ready, I'll let you know."

Narcissa's facial features tightened and Draco knew she'd held back a physical display of disdain.

"I'd like you to dine with me on week nights while I'm staying here."

"Fine."

"And you're to list me as your emergency medical contact with St. Mungo's."

"Fine. Are negotiations complete now?"

For a moment his mother looked like she wanted to say more, but changed her mind at the last minute and swept regally down the hall. Draco stared after her for a beat, wondering when things began to feel so suffocating whenever they were in the same room for too long. Draco still remembered the time in his life when his parents were the center of his whole universe. Was this strain a normal evolution of the parental-child relationship as one became an adult?

With a heavy mind and heart, Draco gathered a few essentials and Flooed back to Hermione.

"You just missed Harry," Hermione said from her spot on the couch.

"You say that like I wanted to see his face."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Mmhmm. You can snark all you like, but I know you two are close to friendly these days."

Draco scowled. "I think my 'Potter Stinks' badges need to come out of storage."

He dropped down onto the couch beside her. "Where's the horrid little beast?"

"Crookshanks is sulking in the upstairs guest room. Has been ever since Ginny returned him. It's the same after every time I go away for more than two days."

Hermione snuggled into Draco's side and sighed contentedly.

"I spoke to Ron, too," she said softly. "He apologized… for the way he spoke to me about you… and for the way he spoke to me in general. I think he's still trying to come to terms with… us. But he is trying. He even let me berate him for a good few minutes without interruption, it was rather cathartic."

Draco made no comment as he stroked up and down Hermione's arm, not personally caring about Weasley's opinion of his relationship and still harboring some ill will over the way he'd caused Hermione pain over it in the first place.

"Can we move to bed?" She coupled her request with a squeeze of his thigh and her hand continued its journey toward the front of his trousers.

"Granger," Draco warned in a delicate tone and removed her hand. "You're meant to be resting."

Hermione pouted up at him. "Please Draco," she braced a hand on his chest and propped herself up to kiss up his neck. "It's been days and I miss you…"

Draco closed his eyes and cursed himself for developing some sort of conscience.

"Granger, no, we can go to bed, but only if you're sleeping or—"

Hermione huffed and threw the blankets off her. "I am not made of glass!"

"I never said that, nor will you ever hear me say it. I just don't think it's a good idea to do… that… right now," Draco said patiently, but it only wound her up more.

She stood abruptly and threw her hands in the air.

"Well why not!? Is it because I look like a pale little ghoul with monstrous bags under my eyes? Well I'm sorry I haven't fully recovered to your beauty standards and haven't worn anything but pajamas, but—"

"Merlin, you have got to be kidding me! If it weren't for the fact that you were released mere hours ago from the bloody hospital, I'd throw you down on this couch and fuck you raw!"

She threw her hands up in frustration again. "Do that then! I'm not some weak little woman who needs you to take care of her because—!"

"You're missing the point!" he barked and stood to tower over her. "My entire life I've never been capable of taking care of you so let me do this at least!"

"I'm not asking you to!"

"Maybe I feel like I have to!"

"You don't have to prove anything to me Draco!"

"I DO!" he shouted and Hermione's mouth clamped shut at both the noise level of his response as well as the vehemence behind it.

"Don't you think I know exactly what made you fall to that Dementor? You were drowning in the memory of the worst day of your life and it almost got you killed! And I did that to you! Me!"

His chest tightened and the air thinned. Hermione deflated instantly and shook her head. "You did not do anything to me. Bellatrix was the one who tortured me, not you. You didn't do anything –"

"Exactly!" he cried. "I didn't do anything and you almost fucking died, right there at my feet."

He ran a hand down his face. "It's eating at me, Granger, I can't stand it. You probably have so many awful memories of me… memories that cause you nothing but pain."

"Not anymore," she said softly and placed a hand on his arm. Draco wanted to shrug her off and stalk away, but he couldn't. Not when she gave him such a beseeching look, as if she knew exactly how he wanted to react and begged him to prove her wrong.

When he didn't bolt, Hermione stepped closer. "When I think of you now," she said, voice gentle, "I think of our countless hours at the coffee shop. I think of all the discussions, from the inane to the stimulating, and how I feel challenged, emboldened, and encouraged by you. I think of how you constantly surprise me."

She reached up to palm the curve of his face. "You saved my life," she whispered. "And even before that, I'll tell you again what I told you before our trip. You're a good man, Draco."

Draco closed his eyes. He could no longer bear to look at her while she said these things. "I wish that were enough," he replied.

Hermione removed her hand from his face to grasp at his fingers. "Come on, come lay in bed with me, we need to talk."

He followed her obediently and laid down on his side, facing her.

"Do you remember, way back in November, what I said to you after our dinner? After you apologized to me?"

"Some of it."

"I said that one day, when we were both ready, I would want to talk about that night the Snatchers brought me, Harry, and Ron to Malfoy Manor. I think it's time."

Draco sucked in a harsh breath. Could he do this? Could he listen to her recount that awful night? He cleared his throat and accepted his fate. "All right."

"Do you want a Calming Draught?"

Sweet Salazar, did this witch's compassion know no bounds? I love you.

"No I… I can do this," he asserted.

"I think," Hermione took a deep breath, "I think we need to start further back. There's a lot we don't know about each other from before… before the war… and I want to get to know you, all of you. I don't want to avoid certain topics any longer because they might cause us discomfort."

They started at the beginning and talked almost through the night. No judgment, no scorn, just listening as they each unraveled the separate stories of their lives. They traded off memories, the good and the bad, and instead of feeling like an extra healing session with Browning, Draco found he didn't mind sharing these long-buried anecdotes with Hermione.

Draco told her about growing up at Malfoy Manor. It was a strict, yet charmed life. He told her about the many tutors, his every hour scheduled down to the minute with unending lessons on etiquette, history (wizarding and familial), French, Latin, flying, swimming, waltzing, piano, geography, politics, runes, arithmancy, reading/writing, and eventually spellcasting and potions. He wanted for nothing, obviously, his parents indulged his every whim, urge, and tantrum. Yes, heavy expectations were upon his head (sole heir and all) but there was never a doubt in Draco's mind that his parents loved him.

Hermione told him about growing up in a posh suburb. It was a cloistered, yet charmed life. She told him about her proud parents, so pleased their daughter showed such an affinity for reading and learning at a young age. Hermione was clearly a gifted child, and they treated her as such. She too had many extracurricular lessons outside of primary school, and a clear expectation that she would one day assume responsibility over her parents' dental practice. She wanted for nothing, and but for her Hogwarts letter would have had her pick of any number of upper-class secondary schools. There was never a doubt in her mind that her parents loved her.

Draco's Hogwarts letter arrived and it was everything for which he'd been prepared. His parents assured him he'd be a prince among boys, and then when Draco came of age, a king among men.

Hermione's Hogwarts letter arrived and it upended her family's entire life. Her parents assured her she'd go to this special school and be just as brilliant as if she'd gone to a Muggle school.

Draco arrived at Hogwarts and didn't have any friends. He had admirers, minions, and sycophants eager to exploit a connection with the young Malfoy heir.

Hermione arrived at Hogwarts and didn't have any friends. She didn't know a single soul, had no family legacy to uphold, and was so keen to prove herself worthy of her own magic that she didn't put herself out there unless it involved imparting facts.

It was all fun and games for Draco (taunting Potter, ruling over Slytherin, preparing for his future as an aristocratic kingmaker) for the first five years. Then the time came for him to put away childish things and schoolyard grudges. He was to become a servant for the Dark.

It was all breathtaking adventures and exhilarating impossibilities for Hermione (saving the Sorcerer's Stone, rescuing Sirius and Buckbeak, helping Harry with the Triwizard Tournament) for the first four years. Then the time came for action, preparation, and danger unlike she'd ever known before. She was to become a warrior for the Light.

When Draco had reached the point in his story about his initiation before the Dark Lord, he faltered. Hermione, no doubt recognizing his hesitation and the emotion behind it, took his hand and interlaced their fingers.

"I wanted it," he murmured hoarsely. "I wanted that damned Mark on my skin. Father had screwed up and this was my chance to prove to everyone that I could be the one to bring glory to my family's name. An honor, I thought, foolishly."

He pushed out a harsh laugh. "Gods, I was naïve. I thought I was so important. I was chosen. Me, so young and given such a vital mission. What a fucking joke." Draco met her eyes, expecting to see disgust, anger, or some form of chastisement (really, Malfoy what were you thinking?). But he saw none of that.

"My life had been so easy and I thought this would be just the same. That others would do all the dirty work for me and I'd sit firmly at the top of the food chain, reaping the benefits of a pureblood society."

By the time he'd realized how in over his head he was, he confessed to Hermione, it was far too late. He told her about his wretched Sixth Year: he couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate in classes, obsessed with fixing that cursed Vanishing Cabinet and somehow sparing his parents' lives from the Dark Lord's wrath. Moaning Myrtle his only confidant: the ghost of a Muggleborn girl who could no more help him than come back to life.

Then came that horrible night on the Astronomy Tower. In the heat of his triumph, he envisioned quickly and callously dispatching the old fool and returning to the Dark Lord and his family, a celebrated assassin. But when face to face with his intended victim, he couldn't say the spell. Dumbledore acted calm and merciful to the last and Draco spent countless hours after that fateful night fantasizing about what might have happened had he accepted clemency.

In Draco's healing sessions, Browning advised against playing the hindsight game, but it was damn near impossible to avoid.

"I should tell you," Draco suddenly interrupted his own story. "I… I still see a mind healer. It was part of my probation at first, to go twice a week. But I still go… once a month."

Draco looked away, embarrassed, but Hermione would have none of that. She gently took his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. "You didn't have to hide that from me. You don't have to hide anything from me. I think that's brilliant."

He nodded jerkily, then rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Looking at her for this next part might be his undoing, so he kept his eyes up and continued his tale of woe.

The Dark Lord lived in his family home, if you could call it that anymore. The Malfoys were a laughingstock amongst the Death Eater ranks by this time. His father, emasculated and discarded, a wandless failure. His mother, ignored, a socialite who could bring nothing of strategic value to the table. And then Draco, the gutless schoolboy. The Dark Lord enjoyed having Draco dole out torture sessions to fellow Death Eaters who botched missions, Muggle and Muggleborn victims, and anyone kept captive in the Manor's cellar. But Draco clearly didn't have the stomach for it and the Dark Lord soon grew bored of needling the Malfoy boy and busied himself with more important matters, leaving the control of the Manor to Bellatrix. Draco had to return to Hogwarts anyway, a slight reprieve for him. Snape and the Carrows left him alone, seeing as they were all part of the same little cult, so Draco existed in a sort of mindless daze, wondering when it would all end, and how.

And then, the Easter holidays. Stomach filled with lead, Draco turned on his side again to face Hermione. "Did you… did you want to speak first? I'd understand if you don't want me to talk about that night and… listen while you say your piece," he offered uncertainly.

Her eyes shimmered as she pushed herself up to sitting. She brought her knees up to her chest and leaned forward on them. Draco sat up too and though he wanted to reach out and touch her, comfort her in some way, he held himself back.

"When I think of that night," she began slowly, "I don't even think of you, really."

A stray tear escaped and Hermione brushed it away hastily. "I thought for certain that this time… this time I was going to die. I'd been through so many impossible situations with Harry and Ron… and though we were in danger most of the time… it never felt like we wouldn't pull through. But when… when Bellatrix," she paused to swallow a lump in her throat. "When she called me out by name and dragged me away from everyone else… I made my peace with dying and resolved to not break and betray our mission before I did."

A tiny fissure, just a little crack, but Draco felt it. His heart commenced the process of breaking.

"While the physical pain was… unimaginable, the despair of why I'd been singled out by her, and by your parents, made it worse."

Another crack in his heart, a little bigger this time.

"I had this wild thought when she dragged me by my hair into the middle of the room. Surely… surely some adult here will remember I'm practically still a child? That I'm the same age as their son? That I was a classmate of his? But then just as quickly it dawned on me," she swallowed and more tears leaked out. "It dawned on me that your parents… your aunt… they considered me less than human because of my blood."

His heart was almost in two.

"They were so quick, elated even, to have identified me. My life meant absolutely nothing to them and I thought in the deepest part of my soul that I would be tortured into either insanity or death in front of these people simply because my parents were Muggles."

It finally cleaved in twain. More pieces were chipping away now.

"Afterwards… after the entire war was all over and I finally had time to think about that night… I ran through so many emotions and besides the obvious one of fear… I found myself returning often to a burning anger. On some of my worst, lowest days, part of me wondered what would have happened if she'd killed me. Would I have been a martyr for the cause? A symbol that blood prejudice couldn't ultimately win?" She paused for a shuddering breath. "But I had the best revenge of all."

Hermione's eyes had a fierce glow, almost smoldering in their knowledge that she'd won. She'd beaten Bellatrix. "Because I survived and continued to survive. I'm so grateful now for the time I have with my parents again, with my friends, and with you."

Pieces upon pieces upon pieces. I am okay with this.

"So no, Draco. I do not blame you for that night, and I never have. There were others in that room who should have known better, who had the power to stop Bellatrix from torturing me."

Draco stared down at his hands in miserable shame. The same hands that had done nothing the day she was dragged through his family home.

"I want to ask you one question… just once. You don't have to answer but I… need to ask it," she said in a small voice. "You were so hesitant to identify us, and especially vague when it came to Harry. I know there's no way you didn't know exactly who we were immediately. And I want you to know that I will not hold your answer against you, nor will I ever ask you again."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Why didn't you try to help me?"

His chest felt hollow. His heart obliterated.

He couldn't run, couldn't hide, not this time and certainly never again from her. He'd look the woman he loved in the eye and lay his litany of faults at her feet and tell her exactly what type of spectacularly awful human currently sat in her bed.

He'd already discussed and worked through all his ghastly recollections from the drawing room debacle with his mind healer. Draco already explained his actions to the Wizengamot. But that was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared with answering to the victim of the war crime he'd witnessed, to the woman who owned his fragmented soul. Draco would go to the ends of the earth for her now, but adolescent Draco couldn't lift his wand to help her past self.

"I didn't help you because I wanted to live. I wanted my mother and my father to live. You were another unfortunate victim that was brought in front of my eyes and by that point I'd become numb to the violence around me. I didn't know how to help you and I was so, so fucking scared. When you'd all escaped, I'd barely had time to pull shards of glass from my face before… before he returned. I'd never been tortured like that…" He trailed off into almost a whisper.

"If you caught a glimpse of my father during the Battle… he was given the worst of it, obviously as 'head of the family,' the one supposedly left in charge. His eye wouldn't heal quite right for months and he had a permanent limp. My mother and I… well my mother and I took your place on the drawing room floor, so to speak. When he'd mostly sated his rage, the three of us were confined to the Manor until it was time to attack Hogwarts."

Her eyes remained on his face and Draco wondered what she thought of him now.

Draco continued in that same almost-whisper, "I didn't think you deserved it, none of it. I didn't think you were less than me anymore. Perhaps this is a pitiful distinction, but I want to make it nonetheless. My lack of interference had nothing to do with bloody purity ideals. I didn't act because I'm a coward. I'm not the hero, I've never been, I think we both know that."

She stared at him for a beat more before she lifted her hands to cup his face.

"Thank you for answering honestly."

Draco closed his eyes and placed his hands over her smaller ones. "I hate myself," he whispered. "I hate that I'm not enough for you."

"No," she murmured. "No, Draco. I know you now and you are enough. I wanted to hear your answer for my own healing. You are a good person."

I am okay with this.

He let his hands fall away, but hers remained on his face, as she patiently waited for him to open his eyes. When he did, he felt like he could breathe again. Whatever icy grip of melancholy had taken hold of his soul thawed as Draco drank in the sight of her.

"Hermione," he spoke her name like a solemn prayer, "Hermione I am so sorry."

Please don't leave me. I love you.

"It's all right, Draco. I know I asked a lot of you just now." She replied quietly and Draco finally understood. She'd not meant to blame or berate him. Hermione needed to exorcise the last of the demons between them and on her own terms. Draco respected her enduring strength, even if he feared the next words out of her mouth would be a dismissal.

"You'll still stay with me tonight? I didn't scare you off?"

His mouth went dry, his eyes wide at her question. "Yes of course… Granger obviously I—I mean—are you sure you want that?"

Are you sure you want me?

She smiled then, the one that crinkled the corners of her eyes and highlighted the apples of her cheeks, and if he weren't already arse over teakettle, that simple sign of affection would have done it.

"Yes, you knob," she chuckled and wrapped her arms around him and settled against his side. The relief in hearing her laugh calmed him better than any brewed draught.

For some reason, the word vomit wouldn't be kept at bay. He had the oddest urge to keep purging his sins, confessing faults, seeking absolution.

"I always protect my own," he said gruffly, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. "When you're a kid, you think you have to be brave for your parents… as if that would make a difference." Draco laughed hollowly. "In the end," he continued thickly. "My mother was the brave one. To this day I'm still astounded that she lied to the Dark Lord's face."

"It wouldn't be the first time Voldemort underestimated the love a mother has for her child," said Hermione softly. Draco sat with that statement for a moment. It had been more than a decade now, and he couldn't quite understand his mother's motivations then, nor could he fully comprehend them now.

"Speaking of… I saw my mother briefly before I came back here. She'd like to have you for dinner some time." At the frown on Hermione's face he quickly assuaged her fears. "I told her when you're ready. It's up to you."

She nodded. "I'll think about it," she clipped.

Draco swallowed nervously, unsure if he should even dare ask the question that burned his insides. "Would you ever consider introducing me to your parents?"

She gnawed her bottom lip for a minute. "I have considered it," she eventually replied. "And this might sound odd to you… but would you be willing to have dinner with the Weasleys first? Just Molly and Arthur, not the whole lot."

If anything, the request made Draco more curious than ever to observe Hermione's relationship with her parents, but he wouldn't pressure her on this. But perhaps she had a point to mending fences with the Weasleys first. They at least had more context for Draco's wartime conduct and choices.

"I'm… amenable to that proposal."

She beamed and his insides ceased their burning and melted. Hopeless.

Hermione reached up to brush some of his hair off his forehead and then leaned in for a brief kiss. "How are you feeling? That was a lot," she said with a quiet chuckle.

"Like a wrung sponge," he said bluntly.

Hermione pressed another kiss to his lips with a ghost of an apology written on her face. "It's late, we should try and sleep."

Instead, Draco watched as she drifted off, content to merely hold her. Never again, he vowed to himself. Never again would he be the scared boy in the corner, wand held limply at his side. Checking to see she'd fallen asleep, Draco rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt to his elbow.

Just a skull and a snake now, and barely recognizable as such, especially if you weren't of magical origin. Nothing but faded ink and grotesque, to be sure, but at least devoid of dark magic. And even with the cursed magic that once resided in the shape long gone, the smudge remained, not removable by any methods he'd attempted. He'd stopped trying long ago.

He glared at the blurry, grayish symbol, wishing for perhaps the hundredth time that he were anyone else, any other nameless man with a clean forearm and unburdened history.

Never again.

But wishes of that nature were futile, self-defeating, and he knew Hermione would tear him a new one should she ever develop the skill for Legilimency. He'd earned the trust of the witch slumbering in his arms and that thought served to collect the shattered fragments of his heart. Every shard, every sliver and scrap, gathered up by her faith in him to create something new. Something whole. Something that could conceivably be offered with pride, but only to her.

I am okay with this.

A/N: I'm overwhelmed (in a good way!) by the reception of this story. Thank you again lovely readers, you've all made this experience just beyond fun for me. Say hi or drop an ask on tumblr at any time: heyjude19-writing. Also, if you want to see some beautiful art created for Chapter 35 by two amazing artists, check out aster-risks and eternallyreadinggoodthings on tumblr. They both left me speechless. Next chapter will go up on 9/25.