Two chapters today, because you guys are just so awesome!
Hermione stared, seeing his glassless eyes and the limp hand that had fallen, outstretched, as if he was still attempting to reach her. He looked so pale – a phantom of his prior self.
"No," she whispered hoarsely, refusing to accept the obvious. Her wand was a few steps away; grunting with pain, she crawled over to take it into her left hand.
"Episkey," she tried.
Nothing.
"EPISKEY! EPISKEY! EPISK–"
A bout of coughing broke off her attempts to heal him. She felt a wetness gather on her lips; when she wiped them, her trembling fingers came away red with blood. Disgusted, the tossed her wand away; with her magic spent, it was as useful as a knut.
...And he still wasn't moving.
She fell over him, bracing herself with her knees and using her good hand to push down on his chest as she counted out loud: "One, two, three..." Her makeshift CPR was frantic, weak, awkwardly positioned and probably pointless, but she binned that thought and continued, leaning down to desperately force her breath into his lungs.
How long could a human brain survive without oxygen, anyway – a minute? Two? Five?
"One, two, three, one, two, three..."
She tried to hold onto, lose herself in that rhythm, searching for meaning in meaningless numbers, but soon the pain in her side became unbearable, and she collapsed on top of him, the impact almost causing her to lose consciousness. For a moment, she lay there, observing the darkness recede from her vision as the last vestiges of hope drained from her soul, leaving behind a desolate wasteland.
"Please," she begged, cupping the weeping wound on his temple, "please don't leave me."
He didn't answer; only Dolohov, somewhere to her right, gurgled faintly. It wasn't fair, she thought, cursing the universe for its cruel, uncaring nature. How could a monster like Dolohov still cling to life, while Draco, her Draco was…
She couldn't finish that thought. Her eyes prickled, but no tears came; she had cried them all out. Empty. She was empty, useless, alone. She'd never hear his voice again, grow exasperated at his banter, spend the night in his arms.
Hermione didn't move, but simply watched in a kind of detachment as the first rays of morning light swept up over the horizon. She couldn't find any joy in their beauty; to her, the world had transformed into a kaleidoscope of blurry grays and blacks. They weren't even distinct in any particular way; in fact, it was more the absence of color that she perceived. A bleak realm, an endless nothing that went on forever and ever and...
Lost in her despair, Hermione didn't notice it, at first: that faint burning which originated in the palm of her left hand. It was but a spark, but it grew quickly, flaring beneath her skin till she could deny it no more. She felt its heat permeate her body, a destructive, hungry power that flared as it settled near her heart, pulsing to its beat as if it were a drum on the field of battle.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump.
She glanced up, confused, and then her eyes widened as she picked up a trace of sulfur in the air – an element that had no reason to be here – and heard the assertive clip-clop of hooves hitting wood.
"Shhh…" She felt someone's fingers trace through her hair, carefully untangling some of the knots. "Come, darling, don't despair. There are still many notes to play in your melody. Just remember…"
"Remember…" A second voice, as frigid as an angry November blizzard, echoed through the room, weaving a tapestry of frost on the high windows. "Fire and ice…"
Fire and ice.
Hermione gasped.
She saw it now, that memory of a woman, no, not a woman, but a creature of hell, a demon, striding towards her on cloven hooves, pressing something into the palm of her hand along with lulling words that soothed her into a dream she thought she'd lost.
"A gift," the Fae Queen had called this mysterious object, "from a lesser being. It's rare they give one freely to your kind."
"I can't see or touch it."
"The time is not yet right…"
Hermione's heart beat wildly, hope blooming in her chest. The Queen had told her that fire was only fit for destruction, but ice…
Another memory came, of a vast land of white, ice and snow stretching in every direction, where an inhuman presence spoke words she had failed to comprehend at the time.
"But the cold...the cold preserves. It can keep someone who is on the very brink of death alive, for a time, at least. Fire and ice, child. There is a balance there."
The fire inside her body was flaring, and the Queen's gift, cold and stark – the one she had received in that empty land, responded. Hermione could feel the two foreign magics – powers that were not meant to be wielded by man – bristling at one another, like a pair of wolves baring their fangs, ready to lunge and battle for dominance.
"Putting opposites together often yields a volatile reaction. But, in rare cases, they can combine, and the resulting spell is magnitudes stronger. Fire and ice, child," the queen's voice sang in her mind. "Fire to burn, ice to preserve, and blood to catalyze. Put them together, complete the pattern, and they may return that which you think is already gone."
Fire...to burn the infection.
Ice...to halt the march of death, keep Draco in the realm of the living.
And blood...she needed blood…
No textbook held the instructions for what she needed to accomplish, no written tome or scroll could guide her. This went beyond regurgitating bare facts in class; Hermione needed to corral both alien magics, shepherd them into Draco's body and make them fight for her cause.
And so Hermione closed her eyes, leaned down, and kissed Draco's pale lips.
She did so without any doubt or hesitation; at that moment, a distinct clarity possessed her mind, bringing a certainty that this is what she should do. She pressed her lips against his, feeling the fire and ice orbit within her, and willed them, with every fiber of her being, to go to Draco, to heal him, and keep her love safe.
The magics heard…and answered her plea. They felt the strength of her need; through her, they tasted the blood on her lips, mixing freely with his, and they roared, melding together to form something that had no name, but was potent and grand and vast! The fire and ice became one and rose in a torrent of power, passing through her chest and lips and into the Slytherin's still body.
Hermione's hair frizzed from the excess magic, and she kept up the kiss, even though the sensation was raw agony. It was not meant for humans, this magic, but she held on, gathering fortitude in the simple fact of Draco's presence and in the desperate hope that he would survive.
She'd do anything for him. Anything at all.
She had little control over this operation; she was just a vessel and, second by second, she felt herself emptying as more and more of the magic flooded into Draco, filling him to the brim, making his hair shine in the morning light, his lips tremble and then – she felt it and her heart went crazy – they moved! His lips moved, and a strangled gasp came from his throat, and Hermione wanted to cry, but couldn't; there was no more strength, no power, and all she felt was the pain from her wounds.
She let go of his lips and rested her head on his chest, feeling it shift up and down, and then she closed her eyes, letting the hungry void take her far away.
Outside, at that moment, the sun breached the horizon and sparkled, bathing the world in golden light.
. . . .
. . . .
Silence…and then, the sound of voices:
"Over here, we've found them! Where's the medical team?!"
"Oh, Hermione…"
"Out of the way, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley!"
"Gods, Harry, look at her! If her friend hadn't found us with that potion..."
"Move, move! What do we have?"
"The boy: heavy blood loss, but otherwise fine, surprisingly so; seems to be in a magically induced stasis. The girl...Three broken ribs, one's punctured the lung, snapped wrist, numerous bruises and abrasions, lesions on her right upper shoulder, a completely drained magical core – that'll take months, maybe years to recover…"
"But she'll be fine, yeah? Oh, thank Merlin. Ron, I can't...I need to sit down…"
"There's one more thing…"
"What? What is it? Tell us!"
A pause.
"...She's pregnant."
. . . .
. . . .
She woke to the muted hiss of hospital machines. Her eyes inched open, slowly, allowing the light to filter in through her eyelashes before snapping them open and soaking in her surroundings, watching Harry jump to her bedside.
"Hermione," he said softly.
"Where–where am…" she croaked out, and he raised a hand to hush her.
"St. Mungo's," he explained. "Anastasia flew in from Russia with the potion her babushka brewed. We found you draped over Malfoy, almost dead, but the staff here says you'll be fine."
"Dolohov?"
"Surprisingly, alive, although I'm not sure how. We have him sedated and in–"
He paused when she grasped his arm. "Harry, we can't..." she rasped, fear speaking through her words, "Voldemort's virus...no one can know...if that sort of magic becomes available…"
"Shockingly, Ron and I managed to figure that out," came Harry's dry reply. "So, for the time being, we're the only ones in direct contact with him."
Hermione breathed in deep, closing her eyes as she pondered his words.
"Hermione–" Harry began, but she cut him off.
"Give him to me."
"What?"
Hermione paused, moistening her lips, and then said: "Dolohov needs to disappear. Give him to me."
"Hermione, I'm not sure–"
"Harry." It was the way she said it: open, with a depth of emotion that he had never seen. There was a simmering fury in her tone, an aching need for vengeance. Unwillingly, the raven-haired wizard took a step back, blinking as he tried to reconcile his memory of Hermione-the-girl with the bitter and angry woman lying in the bed before him. Who was she? When had she changed so?
"Please."
Harry looked away. Hermione watched him, silently. His posture was rigid, face hard. He was blaming himself for another victim of the war.
He really shouldn't, she thought. But, if making him feel guilty would get her what she wanted…
"You could have died there, you know," he finally said in a hoarse whisper. "It's a miracle we were able to find you in time… the medics said another hour, and you'd have been…" He broke off, quickly wiping his eyes. "I can't lose you, Hermione. Promise me I won't lose you."
She reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. "You have my word, Harry. I'll be by your side – always."
He exhaled, and quickly leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. "Alright, then. He's yours. Ron and I–we'll take care of it, when you're ready. I imagine I won't see him after that?"
"No, Harry," she promised. "You won't. I…" Hermione stumbled, lost for words. "There's something else I need to know. How–how is–" She couldn't get herself to finish the question. Some answers are just too terrifying.
"Ah." Harry understood her instantly. "That git. Thought you'd want to know about him, considering how you two have managed to become so close." Hermione blushed crimson, averting her eyes when Harry pierced her with his emerald stare. "Well, he's quite alright, actually, apart from his, well, gittiness, but I don't think there's a cure for that. Quite the surprise you brought us."
"I...I wanted to tell you, about him and me, but I was…I mean…"
"Hermione," he stopped her. "You should never be afraid to tell me anything. Ever. Agreed?"
She shook her head gratefully and smiled.
"Agreed."
"Well, I want to be angry with you for thinking you couldn't trust me with that information, but then what kind of friend would I be? Besides, I now know something you don't, and, believe me, you're in for one hell of a surprise. So, here's what I'm gonna do: I'm gonna go tell Ron that you've woken, so that he can come visit you while I babysit Dolohov, but, before that...there's someone here who wants to see you. This certain...git, for lack of a better word, has been driving Ron and me up the wall, but I think you'd want a few words with him, am I right? Hmm...thought so. He's been sleeping here, you know, in the hospital, waiting for you. Well, I'll let him in now."
Hermione clutched her chest, unable to respond through the sudden tightness in her throat. Her vision shimmered, and she thought she saw Harry walk out, heard him say a few words, and then...
He walked in, his blond hair in a disarray and bags under his eyes, but she didn't care. To her, he was the happiest sight in the world, and she extended her hands, watching him run up until his face was only inches away, and something wet was on her cheeks, but it didn't matter, because it was proof that he was alive and her soul soared higher than the heavens above.
She knew then that she was at the beginning of something wonderful. Something that would last her entire life.
And so it did.
Welp. That is that. Just the epilogue remains.