Edited 10/13/15

8. Reunion, Part Two: Forget To Fall Down

I missed your skin when you were east

You clicked your heels and wished for me

Through playful lips made of yarn

That fragile Capricorn

Unravelled words like moths upon old scarves

I know the world's a broken bone

But melt your headaches, call it home

Hey moon, please forget to fall down

Hey moon, don't you go down

[Northern Downpour, Panic! At The Disco]

"Morning," Tonks said as she juggled eating her cereal and nursing Teddy at the same time, caught in a sunbeam at the tiny kitchen table, her hair the same gold as the morning light. Her eyes swept over Hermione and Draco, taking in every inch of them, and an amused and knowing smirk hovered just behind the cheerful smile she gave them. It was ten in the morning, and they were both still un-showered and mussed, in the same clothes they'd worn last night - only Hermione had nicked off with Draco's cotton boxer shorts to wear like ordinary shorts over her knickers, so she was decent. Draco had eyed her very intently when she'd said that, and said that looking at her in his tee-shirt and boxers did not inspire decent thoughts in him; only utterly obscene ones - his lazy smirk making her stomach turn somersaults.

Draco glared sleepily at Tonks and made a non-committal sound in response, slumping down at the kitchen table across from Dean, who was in the process of shovelling porridge into his mouth at a speed worthy of Ron. Dean mumbled a good morning barely audible through his mouthful, hair sticking up in all directions and still looking half-asleep, and Draco groaned and grumbled something back while Hermione watched the exchange with amused eyes.

"Morning," she said to everyone with a cheerful smile and headed for the teapot, dragging her fingers through her hair and trying not to feel awkward dressed the way she was, with everyone knowing so blatantly what she and Draco had been doing. At least the privacy charms meant they hadn't been able to hear. Seamus was leaning lazily up against the bench, an apple in hand, crunching away with satisfaction. He made a grunting noise and waved the apple at Hermione in greeting.

"I've already got the kettle on," he said helpfully around a half-chewed mouthful of apple, and Hermione wrinkled up her nose at him and pulled extra mugs out of the cupboard for her and Draco, rinsing the dust of storage out of them.

"Got any coffee?" Draco asked as he blinked blearily at Hermione and Seamus, the bruises over his nose and beneath his eyes vividly black and purple in the sunlight and making him look terrible.

"Sorry Malfoy," Seamus spoke up around a chunk of apple, and Hermione wondered why his parents hadn't taught him to eat with his mouth shut. "I had a look in the larder last night when we got here but couldn't find any. Just loads and loads of tea."

"Huh," Draco grunted and ran his hands through his hair, the silver one catching the sun and glinting bright, and Hermione watched him with a happy, aching pang in her heart, and a smile stretching her lips until her cheeks hurt - but she couldn't wipe it away. He was here, and he was real, and he was safe. It was like all her Christmases had come at once, and Hermione couldn't help being ridiculously happy. She stifled a yawn, turning and squinting out the windows and seeing nothing but endless fields scattered with a few copses of scraggly trees off in the distance.

"Where are we?" she asked Seamus quietly, turning and mimicking his pose leaning back against the kitchen bench, and he took another bite of his apple and shrugged. "Dunno. Nice enough place though, I s'pose. Lovely and peaceful."

Hermione asked him about what he knew about Harry, Ron, Ginny and Cho and all the others, and if they were all right, and what on earth was going on and what the Order was going to do next. Seamus didn't know much, but he told her what he did know, and they chatted quietly while the kettle began to boil.

"Do you know how long we're going to be staying here?"

"A couple of days, I think. Harry said something about him, Lupin and Shacklebolt having to take a few days to lay plans, and let everyone recuperate. Maybe a week." Seamus grinned. "Bit of a holiday, huh?"

"Hmm. That sounds…nice. Except that Voldemort isn't exactly going to wait around while we rest up, is he?"

Seamus gave a noncommittal shrug, taking another enormous chunk out of the apple and chewing with his mouth open, and Hermione looked away pointedly.

"God, you eat like Ron. That's disgusting, Seamus."

"Do not."

"You do too! Close your mouth when you eat!"

He stared at her, leaning forward and exposing her to a mouthful of half-chewed apple before deliberately snapping his jaw shut, and snorting at her irritated expression, and then nearly choking when she elbowed him sharply in the side and glared at him.

"I want to find out what's going on," she said quietly after another moment. "I hope someone comes by soon to let us know what's happening. I hate being left in the dark."

"Someone'll probably come by today," Seamus said, as if it didn't really bother him whether he knew what the situation was or not; an attitude Hermione couldn't get her head around. They'd just been driven out of Godric's, their main base of operations, and had been scattered all over the countryside with absolutely no idea what was happening - it bothered her greatly. But at least Draco was here - every cloud had a silver lining, she thought absently, and surprised herself with the re-emergence of her optimism, which had been deeply buried since their capture.

"You look like shite," Dean commented to Draco, and Hermione paused in mid-sentence to watch Draco sneer at the Gryffindor, his obvious exhausted grogginess ruining the intimidating effect he was going for.

"What a surprise, Thomas. I wonder why." Draco was immediately defensive and bitingly acerbic, far more antagonistic than he'd been with Dean and the others before they'd been captured, and Hermione wondered why. Maybe he was just tired; they hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night, and even when she'd finally started to drift off, he'd still been wearily wide-awake. She remembered stirring to half-consciousness at one point in the early hours to find the bed empty, and him a statue-still silhouette by the window, one hand pulling the curtains back just enough to look out on the faintly moonlit night, his wand clutched tight in his hand. She had sleepily told him to come back to bed, but he'd shaken his head and said; I can't sleep - it doesn't feel safe. She had meant to say something else - to argue and persuade - but sleep had dragged her back down again before she could formulate any coherent words.

"Just saying, Malfoy. No need to bite my bloody head off." Dean was looking at Draco in surprise, leaning back in his chair, and a sudden stillness filled the air, broken only when Seamus moved to take the whistling tea kettle off the stove. Draco clenched his jaw and looked away, hair nearly white in the sun and falling long and pale over his eyes. He sighed heavily.

"Didn't mean to snap, Thomas. Don't take it personally. I haven't exactly had the best week. Or month."

"S'all right, mate," Dean said magnanimously, but kept looking a little warily at Draco, seemingly taken aback by both Draco's initial biting sarcasm, and his half-apology.

"So, how's your arm, Hermione?" Tonks asked loudly, breaking the lingering tension between Draco and Dean, and Hermione jerked her head up and lifted up her arm - strapped in bandages and tender, but it had been a clean break and was pretty well usable already, if sore. Skele-Grow worked wonders - if Hermione had broken her arm as a Muggle, she would have had to spend weeks with it in a cast.

"Much better, thanks. How are…you?"

"I've taken far worse, Hermione," Tonks said, canting her head to one side and shrugging casually with a grin, tugging her shirt back into place as baby Teddy let out a little snuffly snore in her arms, milk-sated and fast asleep. "I'm fine."

Seamus shoved a cup of tea at Hermione, and she nodded in thanks, an air of awkward domesticity in the room. It felt far more intimate and homey with just the five of them and Teddy - Hermione supposed the Auror, Dolt, was still around somewhere, but he wasn't part of this strangely tense and yet familiar atmosphere. It wasn't like Godric's, where they had a whole houseful of people, and there was all busy activity going on; this cosy little cottage was…different. Nice.

Hermione stayed leaning against the bench as she sipped at her tea, something restful and contented swelling through her bones and making her feel solid and warm as she watched Seamus shove a mug across the table at Draco, and get a nod of thanks in response. It was really nice. The sun fell hot on her back, and Draco watched her silently over the rim of his mug as he drank his tea, the only sound for a while Teddy's snuffles and Seamus' chewing, but the quiet was oddly peaceful and companionable.

"Ron!" Hermione cried in delight and relief, dropping her breakfast spoon and standing as he strode into the kitchen looking dead tired but whole and unharmed, his hair a thatch of messy red that stuck up in crazed, dirty-looking spikes, his clothes a pair of holey old jeans and a black tee-shirt, his wand holstered at his hip. It was nearly lunchtime, and they'd all been wondering when someone was going to come by and let them know what was happening. Dean and Seamus would be disappointed that they hadn't been here when Ron came by; they had buggered off to explore the house and its surrounds while Hermione and Draco had a very late breakfast.

"Hermione!" Ron greeted her with pure relief in his voice, making a beeline for her and her for him, and they met at the end of the table, his arms crashing around her, lifting her right up onto her tip toes with the enthusiasm of his hug and squeezing the breath straight out of her. He smelt like smoke and sweat and old blood, and when he released her and stepped back with his hands gripping her shoulders firmly, she saw bags beneath his eyes and hard lines around his mouth. He didn't look like he'd slept at all.

"You right, 'Mione?"

"Fine. You? Cho? Harry and -"

Ron's mouth flattened further. "Harry and Ginny and the others are fine."

Hermione's stomach lurched. "Cho…?" she asked him faintly, fear suffusing her, and Ron hissed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Cho got hit by a curse. A nice little slow-acting one that she didn't even realise she'd taken at first. But an hour after we got out of Godric's she started burning up with fever, and a few hours after that, the curse was trying to cook her alive from the inside out."

"Oh Ron, is she…?"

"Alive. The Healers were able to save her - barely." Ron swiped a hand over his eyes, which were wet with unshed tears, and he looked older than Hermione had ever seen him, all filled with worry and anger for his wife. He dragged in a rough breath and looked away from Hermione, blinking hard as he tried to regain his composure. And his eyes fell on Draco, sitting silently at the table watching the little scene unfold, and anger shaped Ron's face. He turned to face Draco fully, and Hermione felt dread come over her, because she knew what was coming - and Tonks wasn't down here to yank Ron back into line with a sharp word - she was upstairs taking the chance to nap while Teddy slept, still exhausted from the Cruciatus and a disturbed night with Teddy, who had been fractious and unsettled.

"Ron…" she tried weakly, but he waved her sharply off with a hand, leaning down and resting his knuckles on the table, leaning toward Draco, who met Ron's eyes without a word, his face cold and composed.

"You led them there. You led them to Godric's." There was a deep seething anger behind Ron's words, and Hermione bit her lip, not sure what to do. He was angry because Cho had nearly died, and he had every right to be angry and upset about that - but Draco had been under the Imperius; he couldn't help what he'd done while under its influence.

"I'm sorry about Cho, Weasley. I'm glad she's all right." Draco said quietly, a totally unexpected apology, and Ron jerked his head back like Draco had smacked him one, freckles standing out lividly against his drawn, pallid complexion.

"All right? She's not fucking all right. The curse damaged her organs…nearly killed her…they don't know yet if she'll ever be able to have children because of the damage to her - her - bloody hell, Malfoy, didn't she fucking suffer enough when your father took her leg? And now…"

Hermione sucked in a breath of horror and sympathy, because she knew just how much having children meant to Ron - and Cho too - and Draco rocked back in his chair from the force of Ron's anger and pain, just as pale as Ron now and lips clamped tightly together as if he was stopping himself from saying something he'd regret.

"And now you led the Death Eaters to us," Ron snarled, thudding his fist down on the table. "You fucking well brought them to Godric's, and thanks to you, my wife nearly died. She might not ever be able to…"

Draco gulped, ashen, grey eyes horribly wounded. "I'm sorry, Weasley. I'm so fucking sorry that Cho -"

"And look at you, sitting there perfectly fucking well. Not a bloody thing wrong with you." Ron was scaldingly bitter, and Hermione was frozen to the spot, not sure what to do, afraid that whatever she did would just make things worse, because how was she supposed to calm Ron down after what had happened to Cho? There wasn't anything she could say to make that better, and she doubted he'd listen to reason - to the fact that Draco hadn't had any choice about leading the Death Eaters to Godric's.

"You've even got a brand new hand. It'd be nice if Cho could have a new leg like that. I guess she doesn't deserve it, because she didn't kill and torture enough people to get a reward, like I'm pretty sure you must've. Loyalty to the Dark Lord - that's why he gives out limbs, isn't it? What did you do, Malfoy? Kill people? Torture them? Rape them?"

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm as soon as she realised what he was going to say, trying to drag him back, hissing: "Shut up, Ron, shut up shut up shut up!" Because if there was one thing that Draco wouldn't react well to right now, it was accusations that he'd done to someone what had been inflicted upon him. But it was too late - Ron had said the words and Draco heard, and his chair went tumbling back as he shoved himself to his feet, an icy hatred in his eyes as he sneered across the table at Ron.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Weasley. I'll stand here and let you call me a murderer, and accuse me of torturing people, if it makes you feel better about what happened to your wife, because I did do those things while I was under the Imperius -" Draco emphasised dangerously. "- but don't you ever accuse me of - of that. Never. Understand me?"

"Did I hit a nerve, Malfoy?" Ron mocked, and Hermione gasped and yanked at Ron's arm again, and Draco swallowed hard and his silver hand flexed, making a strange soft metallic sound as he squeezed it into a tight fist.

"Ron, shut up! Don't -" Hermione started frantically, sick at what was happening between the two people that she loved - neither of whom were technically at fault - but Ron just shook her arm off roughly and whirled on her.

"I don't care if you fucking love him, 'Mione. Because of him, Cho almost died, while he's been off murdering and torturing and raping people, just like a good little Death Eater. Why else would Voldemort give him that pretty hand? Why else, unless he was doing what Voldemort wanted?" Ron snarled and Hermione could hear Draco's teeth grinding together.

"He was under the Imperius, and he never -"

Ron seized her arm and leaned down to her, grabbing too hard in his anger and making Hermione wince. "I would never have done that. Imperius or not, I would never murder or torture or rape innocents. Never. Because I have some fucking honour. Because I'm a good person. But then Malfoy isn't -" Ron broke off as Draco's hand clamped on Ron's shoulder, jerking him stumbling away from Hermione.

"Don't fucking touch Hermione like that. Ever. And stop saying I - that I - stop it, Weasley." Draco shivered a rough, angry sound, nearly shaking, his eyes iced over and flat with hurt and horrible memories, and Hermione wanted to slap Ron just to snap him out of it - Draco didn't deserve to be Ron's punching bag. "Just stop it. I know you're angry, but don't fucking accuse me of things I didn't do -"

"Does it count as cheating on her?" Ron asked, lips twisted and trembling with his fury. "Does it count as cheating on Hermione if the women didn't want to, Malfoy?"

Hermione thought Draco was going to hit him then, and she wouldn't have blamed him a bit, but instead he released Ron like the redhead disgusted him, and stepped back, a vein at his temple pulsing as his jaw clenched and unclenched. He shot Hermione a look.

"Tell him," he snarled at her, and for a moment Hermione thought she'd misheard, because why would Draco want Ron to know - how could Draco stand having Ron know…? "Tell him just how much of a rapist I am, Hermione," he snarled again, and then turned and stalked from the kitchen, slamming the door behind him so hard the room echoed with the crash. Ron made as if to go after him, but Hermione grabbed hold of his shirt, yanked him to halt.

"Ron! I need to talk to you," she said, mind frantically racing. He turned and glared at her, and then rubbed his hand over his face, as though he realised it at least wasn't fair to be angry with her. She didn't know what to say. Draco had been…she didn't know how he hadn't hit Ron, after what Ron had said. But he clearly hadn't been thinking straight; because why on earth would Draco want Ron to know what had happened to him, even in the vaguest sense, when he couldn't even speak about it to Hermione? But he'd said tell him, and maybe Ron should know what he'd just done to Draco. Hermione had no bloody idea what she should do.

"Oh god, Ron…you idiot…" Hermione sighed, suddenly exhausted, and sank into a chair at the table, and he shot her a sharp look and started pacing the length of the kitchen, across the table from her. Up and down, up and down.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I just - I can't bring myself to give a bloody fuck that he was under the Imperius. What happened to Cho because of him…what he must have done while he was with Voldemort…" He paused in his pacing and his eyes bored into her. "How can you stand to let him touch you, Hermione? How can you -"

"He's just as much a victim as the people Voldemort forced him to torture and kill, Ron," Hermione said forcefully, the sun feeling wrong on her back, the domesticity of just an hour ago having faded utterly. "He didn't want to kill people, and he didn't want to torture people, and he tried to fight it - and in the end, he did break free. I can stand to have him touch me, as you so charmingly put it, because Draco's not the one who did those things. Voldemort is - he just used Draco as a tool against his will."

"But…"

"And he never - never raped anyone, Ron. I know that." Her voice went all strangled and twisted up, and tears stung in her eyes as she watched Ron pace back and forth, muttering angrily under his breath, but still listening to her. "I doubt anything could force him to do that. Not after what happened to him."

Ron froze. "What?"

"When we were prisoners…" Hermione gulped and felt faint and sick. "When we were held prisoner, the Death Eaters were going to rape me. I know - know I didn't put that in my report. I didn't put much of what happened to us in the report - it didn't seem relevant."

Ron stared horrified at Hermione. "Shit, 'Mione I didn't know. I'm so -"

"They didn't," she interrupted. "Snape - stopped them." Ron hadn't been told about Snape being on their side yet, and his eyebrows nearly crawled right up off his forehead when he heard that. "Snape stopped them from doing it to me." She looked at her hands, and it took all her strength to finish. "But only me." And she hoped desperately that Draco had really meant for her to tell Ron, because otherwise he would be so furious with her.

Ron stared at her blankly, like he was trying to figure it out, and then comprehension came over his face. "Oh shit. You mean…"

"Yes. Yes, that's what I mean. And you just accused him of being a rapist," Hermione interrupted, not wanting Ron to say the words. She shoved herself to her feet and stared him down, her tone scathing. "Now do you see why I tried to shut you up, and why he was so angry? Good job, Ron. Good bloody job."

"I didn't - I was angry - Cho -"

"I know, Ron, and that's awful, and I'm so sorry, and I hope she heals completely, I really, really do. But I'm rather certain Draco already feels terribly guilty, and you didn't need to rub it in by accusing him of things he couldn't help and of things he didn't do, when he was saying sorry, and I was telling you to stop!" Her voice rose to a near shriek, and Ron shrank a bit, the anger dissipating and replaced by embarrassment for his behaviour, and worried grief over Cho, his shoulders slumping and eyes dropping. "He apologised to you, Ron - which is not something Draco does easily. And I know if he could take it back, he would. Of course he would - you know that just as well as I."

"I just -"

"I know. But it was wrong of you to take it out on Draco. It's not his fault. It could have as easily been him that had escaped, and me that had been kept prisoner and Imperioed, and would you have done what you just did to Draco to me?"

Ron was silent, and Hermione nodded. "I thought not. I think you owe him an apology, but for Merlin's sake, not right now. If there's nothing official to talk about, then I think you should just go."

"Hermione…"

She paused with her hand on the door handle, glanced over her shoulder. "Give Cho my love, Ron," she said gently. "I hope she makes a full recovery." And then she was out the door, and hurrying down the hallway toward the room she and Draco had claimed as their own.

He walked. He didn't know where he was walking to - he was just walking, his strides angry and heavy, hands shoved in his pockets, watching his booted feet kick through the long dry grass of the fields. He had wanted so badly to just fucking kill Weasley right then, but he hadn't. He hadn't because Weasley was half out of his head with anger and grief, and he hadn't known why what he was saying to Draco hurt him so much. And also, Draco hadn't tried to kill the bastard - hadn't even hit him - because Hermione would never have forgiven him if he'd killed Weasley, and because there would be no satisfaction in beating the shit out of the Gryffindor. Draco growled under his breath, furious and holding back stupid tears.

The house had fallen far behind him and he was well past the wards, which wasn't wise, but he had his wand and he didn't really give a fuck about anything right now. He was too busy cursing himself for telling Hermione to tell Weasley what Rostan had done to him; stupid, fucking stupid. By now, Weasley was probably hearing all the sordid, shameful fucking details, and Draco could just picture the expression of pity on the redhead's face. He hated the thought of Weasley knowing how much he'd been hurt, but he'd been furious and hurt and not thinking, and just wanted to - wanted to make Weasley feel guilty for being such a thoughtless fucker. Only Draco had ended up cutting off his nose to spite his face, because now Weasley knew. He knew.

Draco stopped at the edge of a small stream cutting through the farmland, and sat down heavily at the top of the bank, burying his head in his hands. He was coming apart at the seams. The three weeks he'd spent under the Imperius had felt like months, and the time of imprisonment and torture before that had felt like years, and now he was free and out and it was over, but it didn't feel like it was over. Oh, it had last night, when he'd lost himself in Hermione, and again this morning when they'd shagged, but every single second apart from those deliciously mindless moments, Draco had still been filled with the same exhaustingly alert paranoia and fear - trying to be ready for anything. He was still constantly expecting torture, or rape, or being forced to hurt or kill another innocent, or bow and scrape to the Dar - Voldemort.

The sun was bright today, scorching down on him as he braced his forearms across his knees and sank his forehead onto them, feeling the strange, slightly warmer, harder feel of the silver hand that began just above his wrist. Weasley had been right about that much; he'd paid for the hand in blood, whether he'd had a choice about any of it or not. He almost wished he didn't have the damned thing - almost, but part of him was grateful and that burnt at him. He pictured the faces of the five innocent people he'd killed while under the Imperius, and the two Death Eaters, and the several dozen people he'd tortured in one way or another, and he felt sick to his stomach with guilt, and anger, because he hadn't been able to help it. Only maybe Weasley had been telling the truth when he'd said he'd never do that kind of thing - maybe Ronald Weasley would have been able to resist the Curse altogether. Not they would ever find out; it was all academic.

Draco got thirsty after a while, but the half decomposed carcass of a water rat he spotted in the stream trapped and half-hidden in a build up of leaf matter and small branches dissuaded him from drinking it - even after a purifying charm he'd still feel too disgusted. He knew he should head back to the cottage - that Hermione was probably looking for him - but he couldn't be bothered. The sky was clear blue and scattered with drifts of clouds, the grass was greens and yellows and waving in the breeze, and the stream gurgled and wound muddily along its path. It was rather pretty, and so quiet - all alone out in the middle of nowhere, the house a little dot on the horizon behind him, he'd walked so far. The only blot on the scenery was the rotting corpse of the water rat, which Draco absently thought was really rather appropriate, somehow.

There was always death and decay - it was everywhere, if you looked hard enough, marring otherwise perfect places. It seemed like it would make good metaphor for something meaningful and important.

And then Draco heard the sound of legs swishing through the grass, and then Hermione's voice as she hissed in pain and grumbled something under her breath. He didn't look around, and in another moment she was sitting beside him, still dressed in just his shirt, boxer shorts and cloak - her feet bare. She pulled one foot up onto her lap, and shot him a quick look that he noticed out of the corner of his eye. She didn't say anything though; just examined the sole of her foot carefully, a grimace on her face.

"Ouch."

He sighed. "What's wrong?"

"I stepped on something, and I can't get it out," she said pathetically, and their eyes met and she tipped one side of her mouth up in a little smile that Draco found himself automatically returning, a trickle of happy warmth running through him.

"Let me see," he said and she shoved her foot up by his face, the sole all dusty and dirty, and he recoiled and she snorted a short laugh at his expression. "C'mere - don't kick me in the bloody face." He grabbed her foot and shifted it so he could get a good look in the light - found a tiny prickle beneath the skin in the ball of her foot by her big toe, and then looked her in amused exasperation as he pulled his wand and said pointedly: "Accio foreign object in Hermione's foot."

The prickle flew straight out and Draco he put his hand up, let it land in his palm. "Brightest witch of our age?" he queried dryly, and raised an eyebrow, and Hermione glared at him and thumped him lightly.

"Thanks." She bumped her shoulder against his, settling closer to his side, and he slid his arm around her waist, her head settling heavy against him. "I didn't know where you'd gone. You worried me. We aren't supposed to come this far beyond the wards."

"I needed to get away. It was that or attempt to murder the arse, and that didn't seem very fair to you, or the bastard's poor wife."

"I'm sorry - about Ron. He was an utter git. I don't care how upset he was about Cho, it's not your fault. Not in the slightest. Nothing that you did while under the Imperius was your fault," Hermione said very forcefully, and then cleared her throat, shifted uncomfortably. "And, I, ah…" She flicked him a nervous look. "I told him."

Draco let out a puff of breath and nodded slowly; that was what he'd been expecting, but dread still swept over him.

"You wish I hadn't."

Draco stared at the water rat's body vaguely - the draggled half-rotted away fur, and the exposed teeth, one paw missing altogether - and shook his head. "No. I wish I hadn't told you to tell him. I don't blame you for doing what I said, but…fuck. I don't need him fucking staring at me with pity and knowing what…" His voice cracked with anger and he didn't finish the sentence, tension making his shoulders hunch up and the muscles in his jaw ratchet tight. Her hand twisted into his, warm and firm, her thumb stroking over his, over and over.

"I didn't tell him anything specific. I was extremely vague - as vague as I could be while still making Ron realise what I meant. I just intimated that he was accusing you of doing something that you'd actually suffered through, and that he owed you an apology."

"Fucking hell. He's not coming to apologise now is he?" Draco asked, looking around nervously, half-afraid Weasley was going to pop up behind them any minute and spit out a resentful, meaningless apology and Draco was finally going to lose it on him.

"No. I told him to go away, once I'd given him a piece of my mind," Hermione said. "He seemed to feel pretty bad about what he'd said though, once he realised," she added quietly, and then silence fell again. Neither of them made a move to go back into the safety of the wards; it was so peaceful sitting here by the stream, and Hermione's head was warm and heavy on his shoulder, her fingers fiddling with one of the shirt buttons, her slow, even breaths puffing hot against his chest through the cotton of his shirt. It was very, very peaceful.

"I tried to kill him, you know," Draco said after a very long silence, and Hermione blinked - drowsing half-asleep on his shoulder. She straightened a little, making him aware that she was listening, but not saying anything yet. "He tried to - again…except this time I had a wand, and I could defend myself."

Rostan, Hermione thought, and winced, hurt for Draco pushing blunt and painful through her chest. She reached her hand back to her side and folded her fingers around those of his silver hand where it curled around her waist, and squeezed tightly.

"I tried to kill him, but I couldn't." His voice was dreamy-drowsy and very far away, and Hermione looked up. He licked his lips and swallowed. His eyes had caught the sun and shone very pale, and he was staring fixedly at a point in the stream, where leaf matter and other debris had clumped up against a stone that jutted out of the water.

"Why not?" she asked softly, not thinking Draco would be the type to have a sudden crisis of conscience over ending horrible scum like Rostan, and curious as to his reasoning. He didn't answer, so Hermione guessed, grasping blindly for why. "Were you…trying to take the high road?"

It sounded stupid even as she said it, and Draco smirked down at her and snorted, no longer so far away when he said: "No. Do you really think I'd do anything so noble? No. The Imperius wouldn't let me."

"I'm sorry…"

"It's all right. I'll kill him the next time I see him," Draco said calmly, and Hermione felt a chill dance up her spine as a cloud cast over the sun. His eyes were fixed back on the same spot in the stream, and Hermione squinted at it, trying to see what Draco found so fascinating.

"Oh my god, that's a dead rat!" she blurted disgustedly when she saw it, disguised amongst the debris, and Draco laughed and she looked at him oddly, worried. "It's not funny. It's gross."

"It's interesting," he corrected her, and drew his arm from around her, folded his arms up over his knees - which were drawn up to his chest - and rested his chin on his forearms, staring intently at the carcass. Hermione sat beside him quietly; it was only mid-afternoon, and there was no pressing need to get back to the cottage - and despite the dead rat and Draco's odd mood, it was quite lovely, sitting there with the breeze and the sun. She sat tailor-fashion, cloak a barrier between her bare legs and the scratchy tufts of grass on the edge of the bank, plucking shoots of grass seed and delicately stripping them, sneaking surreptitious glances at Draco now and then.

"He called me a whore." Draco nearly whispered the words, but they cut through the air just the same. He was still resting his chin on his forearms and staring down at the damned dead water rat, his expression strangely vacant, eyebrows scrunching down very slightly, lips chapped and dry. Hermione tried very hard to keep breathing normally, and not flinch or gasp or otherwise react badly.

"Well he's a murdering, sadistic piece of scum; I don't find it surprising that he's a liar as well," she said very matter-of-factly, and a corner of his mouth twisted up in a surprised smile, which disappeared just as quickly as it came.

"But he's not," he said, sounding very small and ashamed, and Hermione felt her chest get all tight at his tone. "He's not a liar. I - I was…I was. Am."

Draco kept his eyes fixed on the dead rat and his features mostly composed, but the words flowed out of him, soft and disjointed and filled with a terrible shame that made Hermione want to shake him and scream at him because he shouldn't be feeling like this. He hadn't done anything wrong. He'd just tried to survive. Hermione listened.

"Everything. They did everything. Made me do everything to them. Fuck. Fuck. I don't want to talk about the d-details - I don't think I need to. It was…e-everything you can imagine, and probably some things that you can't. All the filthy, sordid, painful, violating acts imaginable, and they did it all to me. Me. I was just…a toy to them; something to hurt and to play with, until they got bored. I was just a - a nothing. A fucking piece arse for them to occupy themselves with." His breath shuddered out and his fists clenched convulsively, and Hermione just listened in abject horror as he went on and on, like he couldn't stop himself.

"I used to think that I was someone important, you know? Back at Hogwarts, before sixth year - before everything really went to shit - I thought I was so fucking above everyone else. I was a Malfoy. A pureblood. My father was Lucius Malfoy, and woe betide anyone who tried to fuck with me. I was a bigoted little arsehole, and I thought I was so powerful, and so superior, and I was the one who got to hurt others and strip away their meagre façades of power with nasty words and little hexes and jinxes, and other kinds of bullying. I wanted to make the other students - including you -" Draco admitted in a low voice, "- know that they had no power - that I could essentially do whatever I wanted to them, and they couldn't do a thing about it." He blinked away tears. "Ironic, how things turned out, isn't it? Some people might call what Rostan and the others did to me justice."

"No," Hermione whispered, blinking back tears of her own. "No, it's not justice, Draco. It's not even close. It's…" She ran out of words, but he didn't, his voice flowing on and on like the stream, inexorable. Rising and falling and cracking at times, but the air was heavy with his confessions, and each word brought Hermione closer to the verge of crying, or shaking him to stop him saying such awful things about himself, or trying to come up with a miraculous fix for everything. But the first two wouldn't help him, and the last one wasn't possible. So she just sat and listened, glancing at Draco's face occasionally - sharp and drawn, and curiously colourless against the scenery around him, making him seem like a ghost on the landscape; grey eyes, white cheeks, pale, dry lips, and platinum hair blowing and falling over his eyes in drifts with the breeze.

"And I - I - in the end I just stopped fighting them. Stopped resisting at all. I let him do - let them all do whatever they wanted. I - in the end I knew what they wanted and I gave it to them, without even a token struggle. They took me away and they tortured me until I was screaming and begging them to stop, and then they cut me down and I did whatever they wanted. Willingly - I did it all willingly, in the end, Hermione. Eagerly even, because at least it meant no more torture, and because - because if I didn't make them…happy…they'd just hurt me more…but…but I was a…I was what he said. I am what he said." Draco looked at her with wounded eyes, and Hermione felt so cold under the sun.

"You're not. You're not. Not ever." She struggled for the words, and only meaningless clichés came to her mind, but she said them anyway, because she had to try. "That's what he wanted you to believe. What they wanted you to think. That's how they truly try to break you, isn't it; by making you believe that you deserved it, somehow. That it's tainted you, somehow."

Draco heaved in a breath and was silent for a moment, and then turned his eyes to hers. "And it hasn't? It hasn't tainted me?" He sounded dryly bitter and disbelieving, and Hermione shook her head hard.

"No. It hasn't."

Awkwardly she twisted so she was kneeling, her legs feeling stiff and sore from being folded beneath her for so long, and Draco watched her silently; let Hermione lay her hand on his cheek and press her mouth against his. A chaste kiss, their eyes open and locked together, and then he exhaled hard and his head sank to her shoulder, face burying in her neck. Hermione's knees ground into the dirt and spiky grass, and her back ached and a cramp started in one foot, but she knelt there without complaint, without a word - her arms around his shoulders and her cheek pressed against his head, until finally his shoulders stopped shaking, and his ragged breaths slowed and eased. Wet, red-rimmed eyes met hers at last, and Draco smudged away the tears, half-embarrassed, cleared his throat and swore quietly under his breath.

"Thank you," he said after a moment, voice rough and gruff and embarrassed, and then, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" A pink flush crept over his cheeks, and Hermione smiled at him and kissed the corner of his mouth, her thumbs swiping away the remnants of his tears.

"Don't be sorry," she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth again, and he caught her lips, kissed her deeper. Like he was reasserting himself, Hermione thought with half her mind as his hands swept up beneath her shirt to play with her breasts, his tongue and lips on hers, gentle but firm. Like he was working to erase what he perceived as weakness in crying on Hermione's shoulder like that, and she didn't think he had anything to feel weak about, but she let Draco do what he needed to, her head swimming and her skin all prickling and hot with want for him.

They were both silent as Draco laid Hermione back on her cloak and slid her borrowed boxer shorts and her knickers down her legs, unbuttoning his trousers and letting his cock spring free. She looked up at his face, silhouetted against the sun and the clear blue sky, lying there on her back on the cloak with her shirt pushed up to expose her breasts and his hands running over her body, his mouth following in their wake. The air was cool and made goosebumps shiver over her bare skin, but Draco's mouth and the sun were hot. He fitted himself between her splayed legs at last, his lips and teeth and tongue at her throat and making her shudder and arch her hips up to bump against his erection. Hermione was so wet her juices were seeping down onto her cloak beneath her as Draco dragged his fingers between her folds, teasing and exploring, and then a moment later he slid his cock into her, filling her up with himself so deliciously…and the silence was filled with soft moans and rough gasps as he thrust into her.

When they walked back to the house Draco seemed lighter to Hermione, as if the weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he held her hand with his real, flesh and bone one, squinting into the sun, hair fluttering pale over his face, and she felt happier than she had in so, so long. Just the two of them, kicking through the long grass, alone under the sun in the empty fields, him glancing down at her occasionally, grey eyes smiling as his lips curved up, and Hermione could almost believe that the war was over, and this was another time.

A future in which everything was as perfect as it could be, and the past was far, far behind them - a sad past, filled with sad memories, but pale and insubstantial compared to the squeeze of his fingers on hers, and the delicious tenderness between her legs, the vivid blue of the bowl of the sky, arcing out above them and filled with cloud and sun that made everything else fade away.

"Wha?" Hermione blinked and recoiled from the face hovering above her bed. It was Tonks, her shoulder-length hair a vivid green and hanging about her face as she leant over Hermione, cradling Teddy in her arms, a sleeping bundle of blanket and baby. "What's going on?" Alarm threaded through Hermione as she sat up, holding the sheet up to her chest, and grabbing her tank top off the bedside table, pulling it on. Draco kept breathing evenly beside her as though deep in slumber, curled up on his side with the blankets around his waist, the lean, scarred expanse of his back visible. Hermione doubted he was still asleep though; he woke at the slightest sound.

"Nothing's wrong, everything's fine," Tonks assured her in a whisper. "I'm sorry to wake you, Hermione, but I have to go see Remus, and Teddy hates apparating and I'd rather not have to take him anyway, because we'll be talking about the war and I can't afford to be distracted and-" Tonks began, staring down at Hermione beseechingly, and she nodded immediately, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning, trying to wake herself up properly.

"Of course, Tonks," she mumbled. "I'm always happy to watch Teddy for you."

"I expressed some milk and put cooling charms on it - a couple of bottles in the kitchen, if he gets hungry. And there are nappies in the bag in our room, and if he gets too grumpy, just send Dean or Seamus to get me - I'll be at Aberforth's with the others," Tonks rattled off in whisper, and Hermione nodded along intently, listening to the slew of instructions with a hidden smile; she'd looked after little Teddy enough by now that she knew how to mind him. But Teddy was about the only thing in her life that Tonks got madly flustered over - most of the time she was cool as a cucumber, if unbelievably clumsy, but when it came to Teddy she was a classic worrier.

"We'll manage, Tonks. Just let me get dressed and -"

"No, no, it's fine, don't get up. He's dozing anyway - if I tuck him up in bed with you he might just go properly back to sleep and be less of a bother," Tonks said, still in a whisper, although Hermione was certain Draco was awake now - there was no way he could sleep through all this noise. Hermione held back the blanket just enough to tuck Teddy in without exposing the fact that Draco was stark naked to his cousin, and Tonks carefully laid Teddy between Hermione and Draco, and swept her hand lightly over the top of his fuzzy head. His eyes were shut but he smiled at his mother's touch, and made a little mewing sound.

"Thanks, Hermione. I shouldn't be long - just a couple of hours. Remember, just send Dean or Seamus if you need me," Tonks said and Hermione nodded and smiled, unwrapping the swaddling blanket from around Teddy and tucking the bedcovers up to his chest.

"It's fine, Tonks. I love minding Teddy. We'll take good care of him. Don't worry."

Tonks hurried out of the room, hair turning a deep, dark burgundy as she shut the door quietly behind her with a last grateful look at Hermione, who yawned and lay back on the pillows, twisting onto her side and staring at the baby, who was dozing just as Tonks had said. He was still little enough that he'd sleep pretty much through anything if he was tired. He was adorable; his tuft of fine hair a mousey brown in his sleep, and his little rosebud mouth all pursed up as he made sucking motions. Hermione brushed a finger over his fisted hand, and his fingers sprang open and gripped hers surprisingly hard, and she grinned.

"I know you're awake," she told the back of Draco's head, and his steady, deep breathing stopped. "You can't fool me, Slytherin," she added and grinned as he rolled over - carefully so as not to disturb Teddy - and his grey eyes met hers, sleepy and a little annoyed.

"You let Nymphadora dump her child on us."

"I know you think he's adorable."

"I may or may not think the child is adorable - but that is not the point," he said snippily, but a smile threatened to break through his frown. "I wanted to spend the morning fucking you, and instead I end up with an infant cock-blocking me."

"Draco! That's just…crass," Hermione laughed and blushed and planted a hand over her face, peeking through her fingers at him, and Teddy stirred and mewed drowsily.

"Shh, you'll wake him up," Draco scolded her, sounding ridiculous, and she pressed her lips together and muffled her inexplicable snorts of laughter in the pillow. And then she heard a, "Oh shit," and when she emerged from the pillow she saw Teddy staring up at Draco, who was leaning over the baby and frowning at him intently.

"Good one, Hermione. You woke the baby."

"Oh look - he likes you!" she said delightedly, watching as Teddy's soft fuzz of mousey brown hair turned platinum as his big eyes blinked up at Draco, and slowly turned a grey that was close to Draco's natural colour, if not precise - an infant's eyesight wasn't the best. But Hermione sucked in a breath at the similarity in colouring, and her heart suddenly squeezed. Draco was staring at Teddy, frown gone, a funny look on his face as his hand lifted as if of its own accord, and stroked down over Teddy's plump cheek. Draco's eyes were wondering and a little awed, and Hermione bit her lip, breath gone all uneven and heart beating too-quick.

"He looks just like me…"

"He likes you. Teddy only mimics people he likes to look at, Tonks said," Hermione offered quietly, and Draco glanced up at her, and the look in his grey eyes made her shiver all over.

"He looks like he could be mi- me when I was a baby…" Draco murmured softly, turning his gaze back to Teddy, who gave Draco a gummy, lopsided grin, and then blew a spit bubble. Hermione had a feeling that Draco had been going to say something other than 'me', but she let it go for now.

"You must have been an adorable baby, then," she said instead, and Draco nodded very seriously.

"Oh, I was; of course. Malfoy babies are always absolutely adorable. It's a family trait. I had blue eyes until I was one though, and according to the photo albums my mother has - had - at about nine months I went through a stage where I was so bloody fat it looked like someone had cast a Puffing Charm on me, which wasn't quite so cute."

Hermione grinned. "Maybe one day I'll be able to have a look at those photos. Draco Malfoy as a baby…as a five year old - I bet you were still cute then. As an eight year old? I suppose you'd started looking like an arrogant little toerag by then, because you certainly did by eleven."

He raised an eyebrow at her, thumb still tracing gently over Teddy's cheek and fingers smoothing up over Teddy's platinum blonde hair, and Hermione didn't think Draco even realised he was doing it. "Well, yes. I did look like an up-myself little brat by eight," he admitted, adding firmly, "But a very handsome up-myself little brat."

"You really did look like a ferret when you started at Hogwarts; all pointy and sly looking," Hermione teased, propping her head up on her hand, elbow digging into the pillow as she rubbed her other hand over Teddy's fat little tummy in soothing circles and smirked at Draco.

"I'm still rather pointy, Hermione," he said with amusement, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw.

"Not so much. Your chin -" She poked it with a finger. "- isn't quite so sharp, and…well…you look different, somehow. You've grown up into a very handsome ferret."

"I dispute the ferret part, but I'm not going to argue with the handsome." Even though they were grey, a colour that didn't make Hermione think of warmth, Draco's eyes were warm on her right now. Like smoke, and steam, and the hot ashes of a fire, Hermione decided, and the curl to his mouth was delectable - a composed half smirk that made her want to kiss him hard until that composure was destroyed and his face was drawn in stark lines of need, lust making his breath ragged.

"Now you - when you started at Hogwarts…" he began, and Hermione groaned, her dread only half-pretend, because a large part of her really didn't need to hear Draco teasing her over her looks. He'd made her incredibly sensitive to her looks when she was young, and although it was silly, she didn't need to hear him saying how buck-toothed and horrible she'd looked then; even jokingly. Because it hadn't been joking when he'd said it at the time.

"Don't, Draco - I know you thought I looked hideous," she interrupted, trying to sound light and teasing, but the words came out more serious than she'd meant them to, and he gave her a look, eyebrows scrunching together.

"Actually…" he started reluctantly, looking down at Teddy instead of her and chewing nervously at his lip before he continued, "Actually, I thought you were well, relatively pretty - apart from your disastrous hair."

"You teased me mercilessly over how ugly I was!"

"Of course - you were a mu- Muggleborn, and I was a bigoted, arrogant little arsehole. Of course I wasn't going to be nice to you. But I didn't really think you were ugly. You were just…Granger. You just looked like you, and because what you were was a know-it-all little Muggleborn who kept beating my marks…" Draco shrugged and looked a little shamefaced, and Hermione made a disbelieving, slightly annoyed sound.

"So you didn't actually think I looked awful and hideous and like a troll and -"

"To be honest I didn't really notice your looks that much at all, Hermione. I was too busy hating you." He gave her an uncomfortable glance at the turn of their conversation. "Can we talk about something else now? Please?"

"Fine," Hermione said and scowled at him, and then turned a beaming smile on Teddy, who cooed up at her as she made faces at him, and tickled his tummy lightly, Draco still stroking the baby's white-blonde fuzz-covered head.

Hermione could feel Draco's eyes on her as she played with Teddy, and she felt like his gaze was burning straight through her skull and into her head, as though he was desperately trying to see what snuggling with Teddy - when he looked rather like a mini-Draco - made her think. Hermione didn't know what Draco wanted her to be thinking, but what she was thinking, was simply, this is nice. So Teddy was Tonks and Remus' child and not really a mini-Draco, but it was only just dawn, and they were lying sleepily in bed with a baby between them, all snuggled up and cosy, just like an actual family. So Hermione thought to herself, this is nice, and, he'd make a good dad, and her heart swelled and wobbled a little bit in her chest as she used this peaceful little moment to extrapolate on what the future could be like.

She really hoped that one day, far, far into the future, the baby lying between them really would be theirs, and not a borrowed baby, so to speak. Because that would be nice. Hermione pushed up onto her hand and leaned carefully over Teddy, kissing Draco's cheek and smiling softly at him as he raised a questioning eyebrow at her, her heart all wibbly-wobbly as she pictured that perfect little future in her head.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing," she said, still smiling, and shrugged. He stared at her a moment longer, and just as he opened his mouth to question her further, Teddy's face screwed up angrily, and he started to grizzle. Saved by the baby, she thought and sighed with a little relief.

"Oh shite. He's crying." Draco edged back from Teddy as though he was going to explode, and Hermione scooped the baby up and sat up, jiggling him in her arms, her broken arm aching a little at his weight, but not too badly.

"Babies do that, Draco. He's probably hungry. His bottle is in the kitchen - could you go grab it?"

"Do I look like a ruddy nursemaid?" Draco grumbled under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear him. "Why can't you fucking get it? You're the one who said we'd mind the bloody child." He kept mumbling to himself but threw the blankets back and got out of bed, scowling the whole time. Hermione caught snatches of words as he hunted up his trousers. "Bloody…fucking…not a…think…can just order me 'round…" Draco jerked his trousers on and stumbled out of the bedroom in search of Teddy's bottle with one last glare at Hermione, scratching at his shoulder and yawning, his hair all mussed and his bare feet padding quietly on the wood floors, and Hermione smiled after him as she rocked Teddy to ease his increasingly irritated grizzles. Sometimes Draco just looked so normal and ridiculously domestic, and she couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of life, and the strange twists that it took.

But it was good. Very good.