Notes: Thank you all for sticking with me and this story. We're about to switch gears again and I'm so excited to experience the next arc of the story with you, my amazing readers. I hope are are staying safe and healthy wherever you may be on this wonderful planet.
WARNINGS: Canon violence.
~*~ Thirty Three ~*~
A crash sounded behind Hermione, the concussive wave that followed nearly knocking her over. She ducked as another spell soared directly through the space her head had occupied. The smell of ozone and charred flesh was strong, enough to make the fight against dry heaves near constant. Whatever simplicity had existed in their previous engagements was gone now, the fighting matching the ferocity she remembered from the clashes of the Order and Death Eater ranks. She'd already been forced to draw blood a handful of times and she knew it was only a matter of when, not if, the first soul would fall to her wand. It was easier to ignore the twist in her gut, the knowledge that this death was not wholly necessary, when the spells were flying like lethal grasshoppers. She descended into the rhythm of the fight, sinking further into Draco's space as they parried and swiped, incantations pouring from their wands like torrential rain.
"Protego!" he hissed beside her and a flutter of attacking spells fizzled into nothing upon impact with the barrier. The shield charm sputtered and another volley was upon them before she could cast. They ducked instead, both rolling through the blood soaked mud, an arc of hexes tracking their retreat.
Hermione sliced her wand and another shield sprung into life long enough for them to clamber to their feet. The instant the barrier dropped, Draco hissed off a series of curses that made Hermione's skin crawl, but gave them another second to breathe. A jet of green cut between them, both lunging aside as it singed their muddy cloaks. Draco let out a low growl and turned his wand in the direction of the attack, slashing wildly into the haze of blood, sweat and smoke.
"Sectumsempra!"
There was a hollow shriek that cut off abruptly to a gurgling gasp. It left chills down her spine and bile coating her throat, but she didn't have time to question Draco's use of the curse. Her vision went bright white, heat seared into her chest and then a bloody scream tore from her lips. It was akin to the Cruciatus, but not as much pure agony as what Tom had done through their bond, not nearly so all-encompassing and personal. She could tell the curse was isolated to her chest, just below her left ribs, but the heat it produced was racing through her veins like a lit fuse, delivering agony to every nerve. Her lips were parted, a strangled yowl of torment still ripping from her raw throat.
She could feel Draco's arms around her, his deep voice vibrating her chest as he hollered orders to their ranks. The sick twist of apparation followed a moment later and she couldn't help the riot of her stomach and torrent of vomit that surged from her gagging mouth upon impact with solid ground.
Draco's hand weaved through her hair, pulling it back until the heaves abated and she whimpered with pain again. He lifted her, cradling her in his arms before setting her on a supple surface she dimly recognized as a pallet. Ripping filled the air as he tore her shirt, her chest suddenly far too cold.
"Merlin," he hissed between gritted teeth, a hand that was far too hot probing her ribs. She nearly heaved again and he reduced the pressure to a mere whisper of touch.
"This is going to hurt a lot bloody more before it hurts less, Granger. Can you deal with that?"
Her vision was too bleary to focus on his face, but his words were clear enough. She risked a glance down her body and saw only an angry swirl of red and black. Her lips were chapped and trembling as she managed to croak, "What is it?"
"Maledictum nocturno cruore. Nasty curse that turns your blood into black ichor if you don't treat it in time. It hurts like hell. Only way to get it out of you is to boil your blood, which is about as pleasant as it sounds."
Hermione appreciated his matter of fact tone, but just the thought of her blood heating beyond the fever pitch it had already attained was enough to make her want to pass out. "And that's survivable?"
"If I'm careful, yes." His hand cupped her cheek, thumb rubbing gently across the moisture there. "I promise I'll make it as quick as I can. It would be best if you stayed as still as possible. I could immobilize you if you think that would—"
"No." She shook her head, pain rocketing up her neck at the movement. "No. Just do it. I'll manage."
Draco dropped a kiss across her forehead, murmuring, "Brave girl. I've got you. Just hold on a little bit longer."
Then there was only a pure, agonizing burn that consumed every facet of her. It began at her fingers and toes, making her skin stretch outward, her blood surging toward freedom with ruthless pressure. The sensation slowly spread inwards, collapsing toward her abdomen in a steady crawl of torment. When it hit her face, she swore her eyeballs sizzled, the tears falling from them instantly dry. Her lips burned as if the skin had been rubbed raw then soaked in acid. But the worst by far, was the frenzied stutter of her heart, as if it could not withstand the pressure, as it lost a beat and then two. Then another. It took her a moment to realize the familiar pounding in her temples was absent, another to observe the light had faded, Draco now a mere shadow in a wash of grey.
Pressure slammed down on her chest, different from the burn she'd endured, but equally demanding. Then there was oxygen rushing into her lungs and a hint of cedar and mint tickling her nose. The pressure and breath intermingled as she floated, apart and above, deadened to the world.
Draco's voice was an echo of something she might have understood, a plea she had no idea how to heed. But she clung to its familiarity, to the trust she had in him.
Her cough was ragged and deep, forcing her eyes open. Wide eyes stared back at her, luminous tempests that she did not understand.
"Fuck, Hermione." Draco's voice was lost, timid like a child's. He knelt over her, his lips hovering a breath away from her mouth, his chest rising and falling in a rapid pant. "Fuck," he muttered again before dropping his mouth to hers.
It was a messy kiss that tasted of bile and blood, but it was raw and honest too. Her lips were chapped, her breath shallow still, and his movements were frantic, uncoordinated and desperate. She lifted a hand to pull him more securely against her, wending her fingers through the matted strands of his silken hair. He groaned and increased the pressure between them, his tongue swiping across blood to find hers. She clung to him, welcoming the invasion, the taste of mint and the tranquility she remembered from their previous entanglement in Tom's bedroom.
His teeth were sharp on her already abused lip and he pulled back immediately at her harsh inhale. Still breathing rapidly, Draco shifted, rolling to settle next to her on the narrow pallet that served as her bed. They were in their tent she noted, now that the world wasn't shrouded in pain or shadow.
He let out a wretched sigh, his hand finding its way to clasp hers. "I can't face losing you, Hermione. I've lost everything. I just can't, not again."
She wasn't daft; she knew her heart had stopped, knew that he'd resorted to Muggle methods to resuscitate her. But there was air in her lungs and a steady leap of her pulse between their clasped hands. She would live to see another tomorrow and it was entirely due to the man beside her, the man whose kiss was currently searing her lips long after the effects of the blood curse had faded.
It had been different before, when it had been Tom's mania bringing their mouths together, her mind entrapped in a web of misdirection. She hadn't known the agonies of his soul, hadn't known him at all. But now, now he was everything good in her world, everything that held her together and made her believe wounds could heal and scars could fade. No matter how much she wanted to pull him back to her, to feel that serenity only he seemed to evoke, she needed him to be her friend. She couldn't bring herself to sully what they had with the messy lock of lips and slide of flesh.
"I can't…" She had no idea how to tell Draco her need for him transcended flesh and blood and desire, all the baser instincts that had led her to ruin. In fact, need wasn't a strong enough word for the sensation humming beneath her skin, swimming through her veins and blanketing her fragile heart. Her breath faltered as the truth slammed into her. This was no mere need; it was a profound love that had roots in every facet of her battered soul. She hadn't understood she loved him until now, had never taken the time to identify the feeling that was as comfortable as her own skin, its strength born of his steadfast support.
He shifted, propping his chin on his hand to look down at her, his gaze warm despite her refusal. "I know. I would never ask anything of you."
"It's not that." Or maybe it was, she really didn't know what he meant, but she kept talking, searching for the words to describe to him the emotion vibrating within her. "I'm attracted to you. I do want you, but it feels… selfish to act on it. I've only ever been hurt that way and I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to be hurt either, but it's you I'm more worried about, honestly. We've both lost so much, Draco, and I need you too much for this to simply be a way for either of us, or both of us, to cope. I love you, Draco Malfoy, but I'm not willing to be in love with you. Not right now. I need you too bloody much to risk that."
The storms in his eyes had extinguished while she spoke, brilliant silver shining through, the moon emerging from the shadow of a cloud. "I love you too, Hermione Granger." He pressed his lips chastely against hers, an echo of heat chasing the brief caress. "I certainly didn't plan to and I was as lost as a kneazle in a rainstorm when I realized what was happening, but I can't say I regret a second of it. I've lived a life of regret, but you will never be one."
It didn't surprise her that he understood. While his hell had been distinctly more profound than hers, he knew her suffering well, knew the doubt and shame that lurked beneath the surface of her psyche, preying on her like worms upon the corpses of the dead. He knew every broken facet of her soul and yet he still loved her. She wanted to doubt his declaration, to refute that no one could love a broken thing like her, but she loved him and the fractured landscape of his soul made hers look veritably whole. She sighed, pulling him down to lay beside her, placing their palms above the steady drum of her heart. So they would love each other and that would be more than either of them deserved.
A wry smile crossed her lips, stretching the sore skin. "Aurelia had us pegged months ago. She kept telling me you cared about me, but I could never believe her. There was no way in the universe Draco Malfoy cared for Hermione Granger, no matter how much magic or time travel was involved. She was very put out when I kept shutting her down. We fought about it for weeks."
His thumb ran gently across the back of her hand, the tender caress making her sigh softly against his shoulder. "Not surprising that the ability to read a Malfoy runs in the family. Although I'm fairly certain I still thought I wanted to murder you and Riddle for most of our time at Hogwarts. It was… painful to be back there, to see Aurelia and to remember what…" He trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence. For several long minutes it was only the rasp of her damaged lungs. Hermione didn't mind the silence, content to wait until he speculated, "You know, I think Astoria would be happy I found you."
"She wouldn't be mad you'd found another?"
His breath tickled her skin, his lips moving against her hair when he spoke. "No. She hated our lives, hated what had happened to me more than anything he ever did to her. At some point I think she gave up, stopped thinking we'd find a way to escape or that Potter would win the war before we both met our violent ends. But when I look back, I realize she always knew I was going to outlive her, that the bastard would find a way to take her from me before he ran out of use for my abilities. She kept telling me to find something to hold on to, beyond her. I refused. She was everything to me and I would die before I let anything happen to her." He let out a strangled laugh that was more muffled sob. "Except clearly I didn't, did I?"
"And here we are." Hermione could almost feel Astoria in the room with them, a gentle soul searching for peace, wanting nothing but happiness for the husband she'd left behind.
"She liked you, you know."
"So you've told me." Hermione turned so she could see the chiseled panes of his face, the bow of his lips and the stormy riot within his deep eyes. "She'd forgive you, you know. For not saving her. I might not have known her very well, but from what you've told me, I know she would forgive you."
"I know," he breathed, "but I will never forgive myself."
"I forgive you too." She brushed her lips across his sharp cheekbone, savoring the softness of his lightly bronzed skin. "I know you won't accept it, but I do. You tried your best in a very bad situation. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone sane who could have survived what you endured."
His eyes were desolate as he asked, "Who says I'm sane?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Relatively sane. We both know neither one of us has all our marbles anymore."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not judging me. For wanting to know about Astoria. For finding a way to love a damaged man like me. It doesn't matter if we never... I mean, I'm male and not quite an old man yet, so I'll take what you're willing to give me, but this isn't about that. It's about…"
"Acceptance," she supplied, staring at him with every bit of her focus, memorizing the tilt of his brows, the pleased curve of his lip, the strong line of his jaw.
Draco's breath caught, his grip tightening around her hand and then relaxing a beat later. "Yes. You see me and I can't quite believe it."
"Whenever you're ready to stop hiding from your demons, Draco, I'll be here." She knew he wasn't going to tell her today, or perhaps ever, but she needed him to know she would accept him as he was, raw scars, unspeakable horrors and all.
He was silent, as she had known he would be. But they allowed themselves a moment of rest, breath intermingling and frayed nerves calming, until the shouts outside their tent grew louder and the world had to be faced once more.