Wow, I'm hoping that the muse will stay and I can finish out the rest of this in the next two months. A couple of things, we go full plot next chapter. Another thing, this was terrible to write. I thought I could easily do it, I really did, but I was wrong. So I hope that this will meet your expectations, and I hope that it is raw, and real, and that I've done a job well done.

Thank you to MykEsprit for not only reassuring me, but doing a badass beta job.

Hermione was in the middle before she knew she had begun.

It happened instantaneously, the chill shooting up her spine as distraught screams reached her and the charm against her throat igniting against her skin. She didn't give pause to a traitorous thought that it was Draco who had done something, not for a moment, not—

There wasn't time for thinking. She'd already made that mistake once that day, and she wouldn't—couldn't—allow it to happen again.

She sprinted up the dock, the weakest board shattering below her trainer. Hermione rushed straight for the Slytherin cabin when she didn't see Malfoy standing beside Padma or Lisa. Her stomach dropped.

Isobel was in the middle of the camp, waving her hands in front of Michael, and screams died on her lips as he silenced on her.

"I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong," he stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "MacDougal, you need to—"

"HELP!"

Lisa's gaze jerked to Hermione at the sound of Oliver's pleas and the raw emotion in it. Padma seemed to realize all at once where the screaming was coming from; in an instant, she was moving.

Hermione didn't think she should be the first one in the cabin. But she was faster, and she wouldn't apologize for that. "Oh, Merlin." She gasped, her eyes widening in terror at the sight in front of her.

All of the colour had drained from Malfoy's already pale face. The sheer lifelessness painting his features made bile rise in her throat. The wooden floor was covered in blood, though Oliver had managed to slow the bleeding. Oliver stared up at him, his eyes filled with tears as footsteps sounded behind Hermione—presumably Padma and Lisa. "You have to save him," Oliver begged.

"You need to leave," Hermione told the boy, stepping out of the way as Padma rushed past her. She leveled a stare at the girl, taking in her frazzled look, the way strands of hair were coming undone from its plait. "What do you want me to do?" Hermione asked.

If Padma wanted her far away from the man on the floor, she didn't say a word. Her lips were set in a determined grimace, and she nodded her head slightly. "Help me get him into the bathtub."

Lisa was right behind her. The three of them carefully waved their wands, levitating Malfoy into the bathroom. "We need blood replenishment potions," Lisa said, gritting her teeth as his head hit the back of the clawfoot tub. "Calming Draught. Merlin, what the fuck are we doing?"

Hermione understood immediately. "We need to get to St Mungo's."

"...no," he whispered, struggling to open his eyes. "They'll admit me."

"Get the potions, would one of you? I can't leave him." Whereas she had been close to tears only seconds earlier, Padma had schooled her features.

Lisa was out of the door, slamming it shut behind her in the same movement. Her voice floated, angry and tense, as she told everyone to stay out of the Slytherin cabin if they knew what was good for them.

"Granger," Draco muttered.

Hermione froze in the doorway, the charm still white hot against her skin. "You shouldn't waste your strength," she uttered softly. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, looking completely wild in the moment.

It was her fault. Hermione had caused this. It didn't matter that it had never been intentional; without a doubt, Hermione Granger had played a part. And she wasn't sure she should be there at all, not as—

"You know, I can hear your brain all the way from over here." He laughed. Her heart clenched as his usual baritone was missing, and a weak whisper had replaced it. "Padma, tell her it's not—fuck, that hurts!" Malfoy hissed, his head slamming back as his body convulsed.

Padma was fussing over him then, her hands flitting to his slashed forearm as her bottom lip quivered. "It's healing."

"The Dark Mark will repair itself if damaged," Hermione whispered, but she did not take one step closer.

"Tell her—"

Padma sighed. "You sure are bossy despite being on Death's doorstep."

Hermione couldn't control her audible gasp at the words. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Not that she could tell, but it looked as if Malfoy had attempted to roll his eyes. "Padma, I swear—"

The woman glared at him. "Get over here, Hermione."

She didn't move.

"I will Accio her myself, if I have to," Malfoy hissed.

Hermione moved at that, too afraid he would strain himself. She kneeled beside the tub next to Padma and looked down at his arm. It was covered in red, spilling down his forearm and rolling off his fingertips. The Dark Mark was still momentarily disfigured, but it was rapidly healing. "Stop talking," Hermione said, lifting her eyes to meet his.

"He wants me to tell you he doesn't blame you for—" Padma gestured to the wound. "For the record, neither do I. The other things, absolutely, but this was a choice he made. Which we will get to, and we will help you, Draco."

Hermione couldn't believe she'd ever speculated that the relationship between them was at all romantic. She'd known Padma and Parvati for years, and Padma's tone was unmistakable. Hermione's head tilted as she paused, just as the door opened behind her. It made more sense for the young witch to be so protective now.

She thought of Malfoy like a brother.

Vials clinked together as Lisa rushed into the room, handing the pain potions to Padma. "He needs these first," Lisa instructed, laying the rest beside the sink basin.

He greedily swallowed them as they were tipped to his lips. "That tastes like shite," he muttered.

"Does it? The blood replenishment potions won't taste much better," Padma replied in earnest, reaching a hand over her head.

It was all Hermione could do to sit there, feeling out of place as she did so. Lisa and Padma had it clearly under control, so why was she there? As she moved to stand, Malfoy shook his head. "I should leave," she said slowly, looking to the two girls in confusion. "Three is a crowd, and I'll only get in the way."

He shook his head again. "Don't go."

Padma gave a slight nod as his eyes fluttered shut. "Stay," she mouthed to Hermione.

It was, single-handedly, the most frightening moment of her life as she watched his labored breathing. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and his free hand gripped the tub's edge until his knuckles were white. "Don't take me to Mungo's," he insisted again.

She cleared her throat. "I know you may not want to hear this, but I think that might be for the best." Hermione whispered, her heart rattling in her chest as his eyes shot open. "I don't want you to go there, but I'm worried that…" Hermione trailed off as she remembered—as if she hadn't known the moment she saw him—just how close they had been to losing him.

"We'll talk about that tomorrow," he replied lazily, his head falling to the side as Padma cleaned the blood from his arm.

There were two charms dangling from Padma's neck. As her brows drew together in determination, it gave Hermione the chance to see it up close. The letter P was stamped on both pendants, filled with a rich black ink that contrasted against the gold. On the pendant tucked behind the first, there was what appeared to be dried blood.

Hermione's lips parted. Parvati must have been wearing it when she was killed.

"I haven't cleaned it," Padma murmured. "I'm afraid if I do, it will become real."

Her cheeks heated up as she realized she'd been so obvious in her staring, but Hermione could only nod. Hermione leaned against the tub, laying her arm on the edge. "How bad is the pain?" she asked. "Do you need another pain potion?"

He shook his head. "I'll live, unfortunately."

Padma burst into tears then, no longer able to keep her emotions at bay.

Fingers brushed against her forearm, trailing along her bared skin. Then they moved up, tracing up her bicep and her shoulder. "Granger," came a low voice, but she didn't stir. "Granger," the voice said again, this time accompanied by a sharp poke to her cheek.

Hermione yelped. It was dark in the room, the stars clearly visible outside of the bathroom. She rubbed her eyes, shifting her weight. The floor was terribly uncomfortable, and her back might never be normal again after camping in the forest for a year.

She realized rather slowly that this wasn't her cabin, and this wasn't her bathroom.

"Are you going to scream?" Malfoy drawled. "Because I would really rather you not do that. My head is pounding. I'm not sure if Lisa knows how to brew a potion, but Merlin." He shook his head.

Hermione scrambled to her knees, leaning over the tub and picking up his arm gingerly. The events of the night slammed into her, sucking the breath out of her. "It's healed." She didn't so much as think before she ran her fingertips over the Dark Mark, now fully intact once more, and just as dark as it ever was. "Oh, thank Merlin."

He scowled. "You'll understand that I'm not as happy about that."

She looked up at him, dropping his hand as he stared at her. "I'm so sorry."

Malfoy shook his head. "Are you deaf? Padma told you I didn't blame you. If anything—"

"No!" Hermione said too loudly as tears pricked her eyes. "I was wrong, and I've been wrong. I'm just as bad as Leanne for worrying you would do something terrible."

His hand curled into a fist. "I won't lie to you and say it's not upsetting." Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to slick it back and sighing when it fell back into his face. "This wasn't your fault. I was thinking about the war. About after. About how no matter what I do, it's probably never going to be enough for the good witches and wizards of Great Britain."

"That's not true." Hermione spoke in hushed tones, crossing her legs as she looked up at him. "You're a good man."

He laughed. "Am I? I'm the man who watched you writhe on my drawing room floor. I watched my own aunt carve you up while she laughed, and you soiled yourself. Do you remember how I called you a Mudblood? I do. I remember the tears filling your eyes as you fought to prove to me and everyone else that you belonged in our world. And I've never told you, and I'll deny I have if you ever mention it, but you belong here more than anyone else." He continued, and it was as if he was talking to himself more than to her.

She was silent, her fingers trembling as she clutched the edge of the tub. "Malfoy—"

"I remember when you became Prefect, and you were overcome with happiness. I was with Parkinson on the train, and I told her a little Mudblood like you would be put in their place when the Dark Lord won."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He smiled, not unkindly, and a chill unfurled on her spine. "You seem to think I'm a good man. I'm not."

If he weren't possibly still injured, Hermione would have stuck him. She crawled onto her knees, leaning over the tub without breaking eye contact. From the corner of her eye, she could see the blood stained in the bottom of the tub, and she absently wondered why he had never moved. She would ask him later. "You're wrong," Hermione snarled.

His eyes flashed at the sound, and his fingers curled around her forearm. His thumb brushed her own scar, tracing the M that he knew was there. "Fuck you, Granger. What do you know about me? I understand you have a complex, but I thought it was Potter's complex to save the world. You can't save everyone in it as well."

Her nostrils flared. "I don't want to save everyone."

"Don't you?"

"I want to save you," she said quietly.

His eyes snapped to hers. "A terrible idea, really."

"I don't think you're the man you've described at all, Malfoy. You're the boy that watched in fear of a war that held the power to rip your family apart. I think you did what you had to do to survive, and I was a fool to think that made you dangerous."

His fingers tightened around her wrist. "Make no mistake—I am dangerous, Granger."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "You're the man who I drank firewhiskey with in the middle of the night. You're the man who rushed to catch me from falling into the lake. When my boyfriend, a man that you entirely loathe, dumped me, you offered me comfort. And even though you're a man who hates who he is,, you're also the man who told a little boy jokes as you carried him, and you are still the man who rushed into a deadly storm to save me." Her voice rose with each word, growing more and more confident as she leaned forward.

"You haven't always felt that way," he murmured, his eyes dropping to her neck. "In fact, it's a recent development. Don't lie to spare my feelings. You never wanted me here, and you never will."

"I want you here." Silence stretched between them as she reached up, hooking a finger through the chain and ripping it off of her neck. "Padma cornered me after you came back with Oliver. She was right. I was a hypocrite. I testified at your trial, and I...I was wrong. So incredibly wrong that I'm not sure how I can ever make it up to you."

He was silent for a long moment as she held the charm out to him. "I can't say I care for your apology. I don't know for certain if it's because you regret it or not."

Hermione nodded. "Whatever it will take for you to see how deeply I regret it," she breathed, her shoulders falling as she met his gaze squarely. "I will do it."

"Are you so sure about that?" he asked. "If so, grab my wand."

With a non-verbal Accio, Hermione held her hand out as his wand shot into it. She handed it to him. "What do you plan to do?"

"Aunt Bella taught me Legilimency."

Hermione's hands were sweating as she stared at him. Legilimency. It wasn't surprising. "Will you only look at memories of tonight?"

His fingers gripped his wand lazily as he nodded. "I have no desire to dig through your mind. Your memories are your own."

She squared her shoulder, swallowing hard. "Alright."

"You're serious?" he asked, incredulous. "Granger, why the fuck would you let me—"

She clapped a hand over his mouth, ignoring the narrowing of his eyes as she did so. "Whether you choose to still like me,"—it wasn't the right word, she thought—"after you see how terribly sorry I am for my prejudices, you still deserve to know that you aren't a monster."

A heartbeat passed before he said anything. "What did Padma say to you?"

"I'll let you see it," Hermione whispered. "But I have a question."

"Of course you do. Go on, then."

"Where are Padma and Lisa?"

He looked to the doorway over her shoulder. "Padma was exhausted. I told the pair of them to sleep in their cabins."

A frown twisted her lips. That didn't explain why she was still there. "And why didn't you send me to my cabin as well?" Hermione could remember, just barely, that she had fallen asleep as Malfoy swallowed a Calming Draught. "Why am I still here?"

He shrugged. "I suppose I didn't want to be alone. You don't talk nearly as much as Padma," Malfoy said, rolling his wand between his fingers. "I wanted to talk to you."

She wasn't sure what to say or what to think of that. He gave her little time before he raised his wand and said steadily, "Legilimens."

During the war, Snatchers had used Legilimency on her before dumping her on the floor of Malfoy Manor. She knew just how unpleasant it could be at the hands of an enemy. There was no pounding in her head, no violent ripping through her memories as if she were a test subject. While she hadn't expected Malfoy to treat her as such, Hermione was surprised.

She wouldn't have known he was in her head unless he'd told her.

He started at the memory during the flying lesson, and he smirked as he recognized the way he'd affected her by being so hands-on. Fuck.

"I heard that," he mused.

It shifted into the same moment she had replayed over and over again for hours by the lake. Michael rushed in, accusations flying. He saw Hermione draw her bottom lip between her teeth as she held up her necklace and explained the charm. And he saw the crippling guilt as she realized what she had done.

He didn't linger on the thought.

She wondered if he believed her at all.

He clenched his jaw as he watched the confrontation with Padma in the kitchen, muttering that the witch didn't have the right to speak to Hermione that way on his behalf.

Hermione would have disagreed; she would have told him how Padma saw him as a brother, and she only wanted to protect him. There were several things she could have said, but a stray thought crept into her mind. It was due to the sight of the scar on her arm, and suddenly, all too quickly, Malfoy Manor was around her.

She was screaming.

Malfoy ripped back away from her as if he'd been burned by a hot iron. Heavily breathing, he stared as she fell back into the tile floor, her grip slipping from the tub. "I didn't mean for that to happen," he blurted.

"Of course not," Hermione agreed. "I didn't mean to think of it. I should go."

He grabbed her arm. "Could you stay?"

Her mouth was dry as he asked her for the second time. "Why?" she croaked.

"Is it so hard to believe that I don't want to be alone?" he muttered miserably, dragging a hand down his face. "It's fine. Go."

"You should get out of the tub," Hermione told him. "It can't be that comfortable to sleep in."

Malfoy blinked. "I wasn't intending to sleep." Nevertheless, he rose from the tub and followed her into his bedroom.

Hermione opened the drawers, pulling out a pair of silk bottoms and a matching top. She handed them to him. "You should be comfortable, Malfoy. You've been through quite the ordeal tonight. I'll turn around."

It might have been one of the only times he'd ever laughed so loudly around her, or was it at her? Still, he shook his head as he said, "You've seen it all before, Granger. No need."

He'd have muttered that she was a prude if she had turned around, so she didn't. Seeing his bare chest didn't matter—not when it had been easily one of the most taxing nights of her life. "I'll stay." She cringed at the authority in her voice. "If you still want me to."

He patted the mattress beside him. "Have a seat, Granger."

Hermione carefully crawled onto the four poster bed, sitting with her legs crossed. She sat directly across from him, her hands folded in her lap. "I'm so sorry."

"Please don't cry," he said quietly.

She wiped her eyes furiously. "I'm not." Her voice told a different story, cracking as it did. "Okay, I might be."

"You were crying when you found me."

She fidgeted with a loose sheet on the blanket. "How could I not? I was terrified we would lose you, and I would never—" Hermione cut herself off, mentally berating herself. This wasn't about her.

He was, unfortunately, curious. "You would never what?"

She shook her head. "It's not important."

As if he wasn't terribly cross with her at the moment, he tilted her head up by placing one finger beneath her chin. "Humor me."

Hermione whispered, hot tears stinging her eyes. "I would have never forgiven myself if you had died. That's selfish to say, though, when this isn't about me. I just wanted you to live, and I wanted the chance to tell you I was a fool."

He moved, and she thought he was going to hug her. Only that wouldn't have been like him. Malfoy's hand found hers, and he threaded their fingers together. "I'm not sure what to tell you. I don't blame you for this. You were a bitch, and Padma might want to paint you as the only villain, but that's naivety at best. You were tortured in my home and tormented by me for years. Why wouldn't you be worried?"

"Maybe at the beginning," Hermione murmured, her thumb tracing the heart line of his palm. "But then you were different. Kind at times, even though it was often skewed and set off course with backhanded comments. It's quite clear to me now that you are nothing like I expected, and I've done you a disservice by thinking otherwise."

He held up his hand, the chain spiralling from it as the pendant swung from side to side between them. "You should keep this for your peace of mind. I suggest glamouring it lest you want Padma to—"

She shook her head. "I don't need it. I would even go as far to say that I never did."

His voice was quiet, a low rumble from his chest, and Hermione didn't have the courage to look at him. "She said you were as bad as the rest of them. She was wrong." Her finger hovered above his palm, stopping in place. "But you believe her, don't you?" Malfoy sighed.

Her shoulders fell, and she felt incredibly small, trapped in place. "Of course I believe her," she finally said. "Why shouldn't I? Leanne and Michael, they've always been clear with their distrust of you. I thought of you as my friend—I still do—and all the while, I had a fail-safe. I regret it. I regret that it could be the smallest part of the reason you chose to take a weapon to yourself."

He exhaled a harsh breath. "Granger—Hermione, look at me—"

Her head snapped up. It was unlike him to use her first name, and yet it slid off his tongue so easily.

"There are a lot of reasons for it, and I'm not in the mood to discuss all of my failures with you tonight. One thing that should be absolutely clear is that no matter what had happened, it wouldn't have been your fault. It's my choice. Maybe you could have been part of the reason, which is unfair to say as well, but it could never be your fault."

She couldn't agree—not with the guilt in her stomach threatening to suffocate her. "I'm terrified out of my wits that I will find you lying in a pool of blood tomorrow morning. Or maybe it would be the day after, or the week after. But with each time I look at you, it's all I can think of." Hermione's eyes watered. "Fuck, I just want to Apparate to St Mungo's with you so you can have proper help. You might never forgive me, but I would rather know you were alive and angry with me."

"I will look into therapy myself after the summer concludes."

Hermione didn't like the sound of that, either. "That's not enough, Malfoy. Anything could happen between now and then."

To her surprise, he wasn't even a little bit angry with her. "I don't much care for dying, I realized while I was waiting for you to wake up. Not really. What good would it do me to give in?"

"I can't—"

He held a finger to her lips, just hovering a breath away from her mouth. "I know. It's probably impossible to believe me, but I am willing to make a promise." Taking his wand into his hand once more, he cast a whispered, "Reparo," on the necklace she had broken. He dropped his wand and pressed the pendant into her palm. "Your charms are gone. Instead, if I attempt to harm myself, you'll know."

She closed her hand. It wasn't enough, she thought, not when he needed professional help, but it was a start. Wasn't it? "I knew when you were hurt," she said quietly. "I didn't know it would work that way. It was a coincidence, one that I'm so grateful for. If you feel the way you did tonight, will you talk to someone? Not me, obviously—"

"—Granger,"

"— but Padma or Lisa, perhaps?"

"You're overthinking." He smirked. "I might be cross with you, but all friends are bound to have a row from time to time. You just happened to fuck up worse than others. It's fine. You can make it up to me."

She thought it was silly how the word friends rattled around inside of her head, and how it filled her with hope. "Malfoy?"

A genuine smile curved his lips. "What is it?"

"If you're serious about being friends, or giving me another chance, which really, I'm thankful for," she rambled.

"Get to the point, Granger."

She glared at him as she brought one knee to her chest. "My friends call me Hermione, or 'Mione, but I'm not too fond of the nickname."

His nose crinkled as he mulled it over. "But you're Granger." At her exasperated sigh, he raised his hands in defeat. "Don't expect me to say it in front of everyone else."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I would never."

"Well, Hermione," he paused, "I have a bottle of Firewhisky still. No?" he asked as she shook her head.

"Absolutely not." She laughed. "Anything but that."

"Flying?"

She found she didn't much feel like denying him, especially if the sight of her falling made him laugh at all.

When he mounted the broom himself, motioning for her to slide onto in front of him, her voice was stuck in her throat.

"Come on. Haven't I already proven to you that I won't let you fall?" he rumbled.

Well, when he put it that way, she supposed that he had. "You've proven a lot of things." she murmured, and he did not reply.

He stayed close to the ground, chuckling under his breath when she latched onto the broom.

There was something to be said about watching the sunrise as colour painted the sky. And she might have told him something, but as she caught the content expression on his face, she found there was nothing she could say.

I would be oh so happy if you could leave me a comment with your thoughts.