A/N: Hi everyone! A thank you to CatPeach, Parrisblues24, InsideTheFridge, Aid4, rebelsaurus29, and the Guest who commented on the last chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

As always, enjoy!

Chapter 13

Hermione had barely left the bed in the week after she had brought Kingsley and Harry to apologize. She would sleep, wake, eat, feed Draco, then sleep again. Apart from her occasional bathroom breaks, the bed, and Draco, had been what she had been anchored too.

Hermione was mostly irritated about being bound to the bed, but she wasn't mad at Draco, or his parents.

Mostly Harry.

And anyone else who hadn't told her about this mess.

And much to Hermione's surprise, she needed less and less of her potions. She was thankful, of course, to not live in the haze the pain potions caused but hollow feeling. The dread that soaked into her skin, it was still there when she wasn't with Draco. It ate away at her until she crawled back into bed.

The room was a revolving door of people. Zabini would come in and give the pair potions then spend an hour tracking Draco's vitals. Nott would sit by his bed and sit there silently before he rushed out, fighting tears. Parkinson only ever watched from the door way.

Harry occasionally came to visit. He would stand in the doorway and apologize while George and Hermione would talk about the on goings of the shop. She was supposed to be working at WWW after all.

Ron only visited once, he had asked if she needed help breaking out, and if she ever found herself wanting to leave, he would help.

It was safe to say that it was a short conversation.

But today was a new morning and new day. That didn't ease her anger in any way, but Draco had been doing better, though he mostly slept at this point.

Hermione sighed, stretching her legs, her knees cracking as she did so. She flipped on to her stomach, reaching out to touch Draco before she willed herself to go back to sleep.

There was no one there.

There was no warmth on the sheets.

Hermione shot up and her eyes widened at the empty side of the bed.

"Good morning, Granger," a deep voice said as Hermione scrambled to sit up right.

Her eyes shot up to Draco who was sitting across the room in a warn chair covered in Hermione's clothes. Her eyes met his and she almost flinched when she saw his cold expression, his mask firmly in place. But he was pale, the bags under his eye's still prominent, and though he tried to his it, Hermione could see his hands shaking.

"What are you going here?" He asked, his lip curling in distaste.

Hermione swallowed thickly, "How are you feeling?"

"Answer the question, Granger," Draco said. He stood abruptly, his hands balled up into fists, and this time Hermione jumped back.

She didnt think he would be upset. Or at least, she didnt think that he was going to be this upset.

Hermione cleared her throat and sat up straight, "It's a long story," Hermione said, "but I think we both know why I'm here," the brunette motioned to the room around her.

Draco's face fell, "How long?"

Hermione brushed her hair out of her face, "A little more than a week." Hermione pulled the duvet off of herself, rising up across from Draco, the bed standing between them, "You were so sick— I dont— You could have died in hours— let alone a week!"

Hermione stomped around the bed, "Why didnt you tell me?"

Draco only stared at her, his eyes never leaving her. He opened and closed his mouth several times, not words coming out. Hermione looked up to the veela, a fire burning in her eyes.

"You would have come?" Draco's voice was quiet, a far cry from the anger that he had before.

Hermione felt her growing anger soften, "Do you think so badly of me?" Hermione asked, "We've worked together for so long— I couldn't have just let you die."

Draco crossed his arms, "That's why I didnt want you to know. You didnt have to do anything. And once I find out who told you, I will rip them to shreds. I dont want you to throw your life away to deal with this mess."

"No one told me, Draco," Hermione whispered, "I came here and I forced your parents to tell me if they knew why your friends were stealing my things— And— I may have chosen to say because you could have died, but I dont know, Draco."

It wasn't a lie. Well, not technically.

Draco's cheeks pinked. Hermione could have cheered.

"And you stayed?" Draco asked.

Hermione put her hand on his forearm to comfort him he swallowed thickly, mustering the courage to say what he needed to say. He pulled away from her, his arms falling to his side.

"Are you going to stay?" Draco asked, his eyes showing what Hermione could understand as hope.

"I am." Hermione said solemnly.

"And you aren't staying because of what would happen if you leave?" Draco asked— demanded.

"No, Draco, I want to stay." The witch replied.

Draco's shoulders sagged, his breathing becoming ragged. Hermione surged forward when Draco's knees started to buckle. She wrapped her arms around his waist in an attempt to hold him up. He gripped her shoulders, his thin frame lighter than Hermione would have thought it would be.

She tried— and almost failed— to get him back into the bed, dragging her feet

"Sorry," Draco muttered. He buried his face into her neck, breathing her in.

Hermione pulled away, her hands on Draco's arms to make sure he was steady.

"It's okay," Hermione whispered, "you're okay."

Draco nodded, his head in his hands, elbows balanced on his thighs.

"I dont feel good," Draco slurred. His muscles were spasming, jerking every so often.

Hermione recognized the abrupt movements, she remembers when her's started, the pain that came with them.

It was something she wouldn't soon forget.

That night in the manor — in this manner— was a night that would be carved into her for the rest of her life.

Hermione pulled the chair to the bed, setting it in front of the blond. She settled in the chair and pulled Draco's arm away from his face.

The veela flinched looking at her with wide eyes, his muscles tensing under her touch.

"Trust me," Hermione whispered.

She pressed the pads of her thumb into the palm of his hand, slowly working the muscle that lay underneath the skin. Draco sighed as her fingers moved, and slowly she worked up his right arm to the top of his forearm, stopping when the tremors lessoned.

Hermione looked up to the blond, his eyes were closed, and she noticed, despite the week of rest, he still looked tired.

Hermione took Draco's left hand and repeated the motion. She paused when she got to his Dark Mark.

Her chest tightened, not at the sight of the tattooed flesh, but at the scars that riddled the skin around and on it.

"Why did you stop?" The blond hummed. His eyes fluttered open, a content, lopsided, smile in his face.

He ripped his arm away when he saw her staring, pressing his arm into his chest.

"Don't look," Draco whispered. The two sat in an uncomfortable silence, "Did— did I scare you?"

"It's okay," Hermione said, swallowing thickly, "I— I— It's—" Draco shrank deeper into himself. "I just wasn't expecting it."

Draco snorted, "So you forgot I was a Death Eater?" he said through his teeth, "Did you forget what happened to you because of me and my family?"

Hermione stood, Draco flinched. The brunette sat next to Draco setting her hand on his back.

"No," Hermione said, "Why dont we sleep for a little while longer, then we'll eat, then talk— hm?"

Draco pulled away, laying down facing toward the drawn curtains.

Hermione shook her head and walked around the bed and crawled under the sheets, facing the door, away form Draco.

There was a sniffle.

"I'm sorry," Hermione heard Draco whispered, "I'm so— so— sorry."

Hermione turned over and tucked her arm around Draco's waist.

"Go to sleep, Draco," Hermione replied, "you need rest."

The witch held the veela until his shoulders stopped shaking, his ragged breathing evening out.