A/N: In a shocking turn of events, I also have the next chapter written. It will be up next Sunday. Three more to go, folks. I'm so grateful for all the reviews. This is my first Harry Potter fic, and it's been a real delight to share this with you all :) Drop me a line if you enjoyed it, as I always love reading them. As always, mind the tags from chapter 1.
Friday, January 14th, 2000
Hermione has known since her very first year in Hogwarts, the minute after battling a cave troll, that there is one unchanging truth about herself. She will be anything, do anything, for those she loves. Right now, she is considering using all of her considerable intelligence and power and setting the entire Ministry of Magic alight with fiendfyre with Kingsley Shacklebolt, former friend or not, inside it.
However, it would require leaving the St. Mungo's room that Draco is lying unconscious in, and she's not quite ready for that.
Her head is pillowed on the side of his bed, close to his hand but not touching. He's got a variety of monitoring spells on him; a few she has seen before in Hannah's room, but some are new. He's pale and sallow, and it reminds her of sixth year in the most intensely awful year.
They've only been here an hour and the Healer who had updated her after their emergency entrance had been kind and positive. Hermione had been quick enough with the bezoar that they expected no lasting damage, and Draco should be waking up soon; however, the poison that had been used on him was unidentifiable.
While Hermione respected that Professor Snape had spent years helping their cause without any acknowledgement, she was still bitter over his treatment of students, especially Harry. Yet, she would have hugged the man if he'd been here (not that he'd let her), simply because Hermione was smart enough to recognize how brilliant he'd been at potions. Snape made Slughorn look like a bumbling first year.
Still, it would have been difficult to discover the poison's origin even if she had a Potion Master; the champagne glass had been smashed, every trace of liquid gone.
A knock at the door has Hermione raising her head, still gripping her wand tightly in her fist. It's only Harry though, who walks through the doors.
"Hey," he says softly. He looks like hell.
"Hi," Hermione replies.
Harry pulls a chair to the other side of Draco's bed. "Ron stopped by to see how Hannah was, but still no change. If you're up for it, we're all heading to Theo's now."
Hermione glances at Draco. It physically pains her to leave him here, but she knows there's no other option. She has to go to Theo's — everyone is there, Rosmerta will be there soon if she takes the portkey, and there's still the child to deal with.
"Harry," Hermione says shakily, "exactly how much influence do you have at St Mungo's."
"About as much as you, I reckon," Harry laughs, "But I can put an Auror on the door, a loyal one, if you want."
Hermione sighs. "Get Dawlish. I trust him. And Harry, do tell him I've set up wards all over this room. If anyone enters this room, I will know exactly who they are and what they are up to, and I will respond accordingly."
Harry lets out a weak laugh. "I'd be surprised if you hadn't done that. Dawlish is loyal though. Come on, Hermione. The sooner we go, the sooner we're home."
Tears spring to her eyes — he had said that, once, during the Horcrux hunt. It had felt like a lie then, but she had still held the words inside of her where most of her hope had gone in those awful months.
Harry leaves first, giving her a moment with Draco. Hermione leans over her husband, pressing the softest kiss she can muster to his cheek.
"Draco Malfoy, when I get back here you better be awake," she whispers threateningly.
There is no response forthcoming, and the silence hurts her worse than anything else Draco Malfoy has ever said to her.
Hermione imagines that Nott Manor hasn't been this busy in years. She apparates to the front door with Harry and Ron, wands out and ready. It feels like old times — but in the worst of ways, terrified of every noise and ready for anything. Constant vigilance.
The door opens quickly, Luna filling the doorframe. She's wearing the most casual outfit Hermione has ever seen her in, simple muggle jeans and a light pink sweatshirt. Her long blonde hair is tied back in a complex braid, and her wand is tight in her first and extended in front of her.
"What colour robes did I wear to Bill's wedding?" she demands, without a smile.
"Yellow," Harry answers quickly. Hermione glances at him, shocked at his memory.
Luna's smile breaks through, "Oh, thank Rowena. We've been waiting for you, but I had to be sure, you know?"
Harry laughs. "Luna, you once recognized me through polyjuice with only my expressions as a clue."
She shrugs and rests her free hand on the curve of her stomach. "Theo is nearly worse than Mad-Eye, he's so paranoid." She laughs fondly, half rolling her eyes, "constant vigilance might as well be the new Nott motto."
"Better than always pure, or whatever Malfoy's is," Ron grouses. Hermione realizes how exhausted she is when she doesn't even bother to correct him.
Luna steps aside, and they enter the foyer. It's lit well, and Hermione can feel even more wards than usual pressing down on her. Pansy and Neville are leaning against the far wall, with Cho sitting cross-legged in an armchair near the window.
She barely blinks and suddenly Theo is standing in front of her, desperation absolutely rolling off of him. "Is Draco okay?"
She nods thinly. "Yes. He's at St. Mungo's, guarded well. He's still unconscious, but the Healer assured me he will make a full recovery."
Relief washes over Theo, barely visible before his expression turns furious. "I'm going to murder Kingsley."
"Get in line," Hermione grouses. "But it was Hawksworth."
Harry's eyes snap to her, shocked. "How do you know?"
"First of all, Hawksworth hates me more than anyone. He was visibly angry that Draco drank the glass, and I saved him." Hermione explains. "Also, that curious spell that filled our glasses with whatever we wanted to drink was very unusual."
"I knew you'd wonder about that," Harry says fondly. "What was it?"
Hermione huffs. "All the glasses except mine were charmed with house-elf magic. There's nothing else that could make that so personalized. But my glass had champagne in it."
"So?" Pansy snaps from where she's leaning against the wall.
"So… I didn't want champagne," Hermione answers. "Every single person in that room got exactly what they wanted, except me. I was dying for a pumpkin juice; I even mentioned to Draco that I was thirsty. That's why he drank my glass, to tease me." Hermione's voice clogs suddenly, and she can't finish her thought.
How curious to think that only six months ago she would have avoided Draco Malfoy like the plague, and now she can't bear to imagine a moment without him.
"You realized it was personalized after you asked us what was in our glasses, didn't you?" Ron asks abruptly.
She nods miserably. "Yes. I suspected that something was off about it. My glass appeared a few seconds after Draco's, but I didn't think about it at the time. It's my fault."
"It's not your fault," Theo says seriously. "You saved his life, Hermione."
Hermione blinks back tears. "It was my glass, Theo."
"Oh, get over it, Granger," Pansy snaps. "Draco Malfoy is disgustingly in love with you. He'll tell you himself as soon as he wakes up that he'd drink poisoned champagne any day rather than you get hurt."
Hermione snorts at Pansy's abrasiveness, but she feels better either way.
"Plus, only you knew about the bezoars," Neville adds, much more gently than his wife. "If you'd been poisoned, none of us could have saved you."
Logic. She's good with logic. Neville is right. She shakes off the guilt she's been wearing like a second skin and focuses instead on the next task.
"Alright," Hermione agrees. "So, I take it the mission was a success?"
Neville grins. "Madame Rosmerta's daughter is currently sleeping in Theo's guest room, warded to the teeth and being guarded by Blaise. Her name is Louise, and other than being obviously traumatized, she's otherwise healthy."
"And the guards?" Harry asks.
Theo smirks. "Hermione's wards were brilliant, the stunners took out half of them before we even saw them. We stunned everyone left standing and got them all trussed up. Didn't even have to use the artifact."
Theo pulls out a small copper cube, covered in ancient ruins. He hands it carefully to Hermione, and she drops it gently into her small beaded bag. She had used a combination of Harry's invisibility cloak and powerful confudus charms sneaking that out of the Misuse of Magical Artifacts division. It had been the most illegal thing she'd done since the war.
"Where are they now?" Ron asks.
Pansy smirks. "The one perk of associating with known death eater relatives is that you have a lot of dungeons available to you. They're currently all under a deep sleeping spell in Malfoy Manor's dungeon. I figured Draco wouldn't mind, and it's about as difficult to escape from the Malfoy dungeon as it is Azkaban."
"How did you get through the wards?" Hermione asks.
"Jealous, Granger?" Pansy grins and Hermione rolls her eyes. "Don't worry. I used to visit Narcissa during the war when Draco wasn't around. I had pretty unlimited access, and Draco never bothered changing it back."
Hermione opens her mouth to retort but a crack of apparition silences her. Theo heads to the front door, his wand in his grip, and Hermione reaches down to press her fingers gently against the handle of her own wand.
When Theo opens the door, it's George and Parvati, out of their gala finery and back in regular robes. Theo scowls, "What happened the very first time we met, George?"
George rolls his eyes. "Peeves dumped water on you and Fred and I ran him off. You didn't thank us either you wanker, I might add."
Theo heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank-you. Now come in, we're waiting on Rosmerta."
George steps inside with Parvati close behind and catches sight of everyone in the foyer. Hermione watches his eyes skate over everyone, searching for a missing face.
"Draco's still at St. Mungo's," she says softly. "The Healer assures me he'll make a full recovery, but he hasn't woken up yet."
George nods slowly. "It's a damn good thing you had the bezoars, Hermione. I totally blanked."
A loud siren rings through the entrance, and Hermione watches every witch and wizard in the room yank their wands out and ready within seconds. Grief scorches her for a moment; they are so prepared for war, that there is no rest.
"It's just my wards," Theo explains. "Someone is in the basement."
Hermione follows Theo with Harry by her side, everyone else remaining in the main room. Theo opens a heavy oak door, revealing wide steps leading down into a dimly lit room. It's not particularly nice, but Hermione admits it is a far cry more comfortable than the Malfoy dungeons, considering what Luna had shared in the aftermath of her rescue.
Rosmerta is standing in the middle of the room, wand out and trembling, clutching the hair barrette George had given her with white knuckles. They don't get a chance to speak; Rosmerta takes one look at Harry and bursts into tears.
"Do you have her?" She demands, wand dropping.
Harry stiffens. "We must make sure you are yourself before we allow—"
"I am myself!" Rosmerta shouts. "Harry Potter — I have known you since you were but a boy — so cast what you must, ward what you must, break my damn wand if you must, but please I beg you — is Louise here?"
It is Theodore Nott, in the end, who can't stomach her visible pain. "Louise is here, Rosmerta. She's safe and well guarded. We got her out."
Rosmerta sinks to the ground as though every ounce of strength inside of her washes out. Her wand clatters to the floor and she brings her palms up to her eyes and wails — the hair on Hermione's arms stands straight on end, and she wonders if she's ever seen grief so strong.
Theo approaches her gently, picking her wand up and sliding it into his pocket. He holds his own wand gently and murmurs, "Finite Incatatum". When no sign of charm or magic occurs, Theo crouches down to eye level.
"Madam Rosmerta," He murmurs. "If you will allow me to hold on to your wand and cast a non-apparition shield around you, for the time being, we can take you to your daughter."
A shuddering breath leaves her before she meets Theo's gaze. "What do you want from me?"
Hermione can't stay quiet any longer. "Nothing — we figured out ages ago that you were feeding the Ministry information on each of us and our families. We know you helped design the matches, making sure to pair powerful couples or good business partners. I investigated and found your house," Hermione swallows at the memory of blood. "I knew you were helping because they took a child from you."
Rosmerta nods miserably and chokes out a sentence between tears. "They killed my husband. He was a muggle — he didn't stand a chance — I'm so sorry."
Theo takes her hand and pulls her to her feet slowly. When she's stable, he pulls his wand and casts a few tracking charms and wards for apparition. "It's not your fault." He says when he's done.
Madam Rosmerta finds Harry's face. "I'll tell you anything you want, Potter. Everything I know! But please, please, take me to Louise."
Harry nods and turns back to the stairs. Rosmerta dutifully walks behind him with Hermione at her side, Theo bringing up the rear. She emerges into the front foyer, blinking at the brighter lights and all the familiar faces.
"You… you all helped?" She whispers after a moment, gaze switching from face to face, taking in the medley of Slytherins mixed in.
Neville shrugs bashfully. "Of course. It's not right, what they've done. To any of us."
"I'll go get Blaise," Pansy offers, "Bring the girl down here."
Harry leads Rosmerta to an overly cushioned armchair where she sinks into the pillows. She's still wearing a gown from the gala, and high heels.
"Thelma," Theo calls.
The house-elf appears instantly and takes in their newest guest. "Yes, Master Nott?"
"I was hoping you could get us a few snacks and drinks?" Theo asks gently. "I know it's a bit late."
Thelma beams. "It is never too late for snacks with friends."
Within minutes, there are trays of biscuits and sandwiches on the coffee table, but they are nearly forgotten when Blaise appears carrying a small, sleepy child.
"Mama," Louise shrieks at the sight of Rosmerta, nearly falling out of Blaise's grasp as she leans. No one stops Rosmerta when she leaps to her feet and sprints the few steps. They collide gently, and Louise tangles her tiny fingers in Rosmerta's curls, wrapping her legs around her waist. Rosmerta falls to her knees again, and while she's still crying, she's pressing kisses to every inch of skin she can find on her daughter's head and face.
Hermione loses the battle with blinking back her tears, and glances around at her friends, all looking at the emotional reunion with pride. Hermione feels it fill up somewhere inside of her, the way it always does when she makes the right choice, when she does the right thing.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Rosmerta is whispering weakly, voice lost in Louise's riotous curls, but the sentiment filling the room all the same.
It's Blaise who extends his hand and helps her to her feet gently, his hand resting carefully under her elbow to keep her steady. Hermione is nearly overcome by the idea that tonight, Slytherins saved this baby, and Rosmerta has felt their kindness echoing over and over again. It would take years to change the reputation of Slytherin house, but Hermione realizes suddenly that it could be done — these people, her friends, could do it.
"You don't have to thank us," Pansy Parkinson says, in the friendliest voice Hermione has ever heard her use. "Instead, why don't you help us take down the Ministry of Magic?"
"Pansy!" Theo hisses, but Rosmerta laughs brightly. She heads back to the cushioned chair, her daughter still plastered to the front of her. They sit as one, and she rubs Louise's back over and over.
"Sure," Rosmerta agrees easily. "Tell me what you need me to do?"
Hermione jumps in before anyone has a chance because, throughout all of this, the one mystery she can't seem to solve is the why of the matches. "Tell me why certain matches? I know the business thing, the power thing, whatever. But George and Parvati — why them? Why Ron and Hannah?"
Rosmerta sighs. "When the WPG first was first thought into being, I was already being blackmailed. I don't really know everything, I was just constantly asked for information. I know the Abbott's are a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, and Weasley's are pureblood, whether they like to admit it or not."
Hermione flinches imperceptibly, and her voice feels like it's been dragged over glass when she answers. "So it's about blood. It's still about blood?!"
"Not totally," Rosmerta says, "It was mostly about power. George and Parvati are both twins. Twins are incredibly powerful in the magic world. The odds of them having twins was higher, so they got paired."
"And Malfoy and Hermione?" Ron interrupts, his face flushed with anger. "Because that's obviously not about blood."
Madam Rosmerta's eyebrows raise and she turns her eyes towards Hermione, who shrinks at her look. "Shall I tell them, or would you like to, dear?"
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione replies.
Rosmerta half shrugs, but the movement is lost when Louise grasps her tighter. "Hermione Granger was initially paired with Harry Potter."
The silence is suffocating — Hermione reels at the words. It all clicks together; Harry, probably the most powerful wizard in great Britain, and her own words to Draco, ages ago, about being the third most powerful witch in the country.
They were matched — matched in power, in personality, in everything — and Hermione had arrived on Kingsley's door and threatened him to ensure Harry got Ginny.
Harry's face has gone dark, "Who was Ginny Weasley matched with, initially?"
Rosmerta rolls her eyes, "With Kingsley himself, obviously."
Hermione can hardly catch her own breath. "But… you?"
"Don't you get it yet, dear?" Rosmerta sighs. "I was intended to be with Draco Malfoy. They thought either he'd kill me, or I'd kill myself, I suppose. It didn't quite work out that way, but don't be fooled; I was to be executed in a matter of days. You've all saved more than one life tonight. I am in your debt."
The room is sombre and still other than Rosmerta's constant gentle strokes up and down Louise's spine. Luna has gravitated towards Theo and is pressing against him gently, and Hermione wonders if she's facing the same realization that Hermione is having — with only a moment's work, she changed everything. How easy it could have been for her to never match Draco, and never know what she was missing.
"Last question, and then we'll let you get some rest," Harry says finally. He doesn't address Rosmerta, though, and instead faces Hermione. "Exactly how did my match get changed, then?"
Rosmerta snorts, and Hermione shoots her a dark look, but before she opens her mouth to explain, Ron sighs heavily. "I don't know why you're surprised, mate." He says, scrubbing a hand over his red hair. "I've known since the moment you opened your letter and it said Ginny's name that Hermione was up to something."
"What?!" Hermione gasps. "How would you know that?"
Ron shrugs. "Honestly, 'Mione. I've known you since we were eleven. The moment they announced the WPG I could nearly hear your brain working overtime with how you would fix it. You should have seen your face when Harry opened his letter. You looked the exact same way you did when we got our OWL results."
"What?" Hermione scowls. "What did I look like?"
"Smug," George answers suddenly. "I remember it, too, now that you mention it, Ron. I brushed it off, at the time."
Hermione sighs, "Yes, okay, fine. I went to Kingsley's house the minute they announced the law, and I threatened to burn down the bloody Ministry if he didn't give you Ginny's name. And it all worked out, I might add."
Harry's annoyance fades into exasperation. Hermione's half expecting a scolding, but instead, Harry strides across the room and pulls her into a tight hug. It's unexpected — Harry's always been receptive to physical affection, but he rarely initiates it.
"Thank you," He says quietly. "That may be the bravest thing you've ever done, and I've seen you ride a dragon before."
Hermione finds herself blinking back tears once again because she thinks something has finally gone right.
Saturday, January 15th, 2000
Hermione wakes up more exhausted than she had gone to sleep. She had left Theo Nott's late into the night after they had settled Rosmerta and Louise into a spare bedroom and warded it to the teeth. George had offered to stand guard until they decided if they could trust Rosmerta, and Theo had gratefully accepted, nearly falling asleep on his feet after their mission. Parvati, Blaise, Pansy and Neville had all returned home, but Hermione had returned to St Mungo's with Ron.
Ron, who is now gently shaking her shoulder and staring at her with a hopeful expression. She glances at Draco, who looks peaceful but still unconscious.
"Hi Ron," she says quietly.
"I was thinking we could grab a coffee and some breakfast in the cafeteria," Ron murmurs. "I could use real food."
Hermione nods and forces herself to her feet. She tugs the blankets up to Draco's chin and pulls her wand to test her wards. Dawlish has been replaced by another Auror this morning, but Harry had sent a note assuring her he was also trustworthy.
They leave the room quietly, and Hermione leans against the door after she shuts it. Ron's presence at her side is steadfast and reassuring, and it occurs to her that he has been half-living in St Mungo's for weeks.
"How are you?" She asks, turning suddenly to examine him.
He laughs, "I'm alright, 'Mione. Promise."
"I'm exhausted," she admits.
Ron nods. "Yeah. But we've been more tired than this before, and we made it then. We can do this, Hermione. I know it."
She reaches out and grasps his hand tightly. "Did you know, that you are the only person in the entire world that can make me feel optimistic when I feel like shite?"
He tugs her closer and wraps her in a hug — and Hermione forces herself to breathe because she feels like she could burst into hysterics that never end at any moment. Ron is solid and familiar and smells like the Burrow, like memories and happiness and comfort. Hermione rests her head on his collarbone and listens to his heart thud solidly.
"Thanks," she whispers. He releases her and shoots her a grin before turning towards the cafeteria. She follows him in comfortable silence.
"You know what I think about, sometimes?" Ron questions.
"What?"
He gestures to the hallway. "All these doors. All these people. Some of them have got kids and spouses and friends, lying sick in there. They don't worry about the WPG — they only worry that the person they love gets better."
"Ron, this is not making me feel better…" Hermione warns.
"It's not supposed to," Ron admits sheepishly. "I just think that it's important sometimes to look around and realize what we're fighting for. It's bigger than us, you know? I didn't really realize it, with Voldemort. But I see it now."
"It is bigger," Hermione agrees.
Ron is silent for a few moments. "Hannah wanted to be a Healer."
"I didn't know that."
Ron shrugs, "Yeah. I want that for her. I want her to wake up, and find something that makes her happy."
Hermione stops and turns to look at her best friend. "Of course you want that, Ron. Hannah knows that. I don't think she ever once doubted that you wanted her to be happy. I know I haven't been around as much as I should have, but this was not your fault."
"I miss her," Ron admits. "I just want her to wake up. I brought all these applications for St. Jouge's Hospital in New York City, and I filled them all out for her. I thought… well, maybe she'd like to start fresh when this is all over. Become a Healer, and help other people. Get away from all… this?"
There are no books or words that Hermione has memorized sufficient enough to explain Ronald Weasley; his goodness settles into her bones the way it always does when he surprises her. There's a reason she's never been able to stay angry with him, even if he deserves it. No one in the world loves like Ron does. It's written into his DNA — he is the best part of every bit of Weasley, and Hermione wonders if Hannah will take those applications and leave Ron behind.
She'd be a damned fool to leave him behind.
"Hannah is going to wake up, Ron," Hermione assures him. "And when she does, you can show her those applications and encourage her to follow her dreams. But maybe give her the chance to tell you if she'd like to stay. There are things worth staying in Britain for, you know."
"Yeah, yeah," Ron nudges her gently as they walk. "Thanks, 'Mione."
She grins. "Anytime. Let me buy you breakfast."
Hermione is reading one of the Malfoy family grimoires that Draco had brought to their cottage upon her insistence. It's dark and awful, and Hermione is only reading it because it's distracting enough that she forgets to listen for the constant beeping of the heart monitoring charm.
"Trying to finish me off, Granger?" Draco's gravelly voice croaks.
Hermione drops the 200-year-old book with a crash and nearly launches out of her chair, landing beside him and grasping for his hands. His silver eyes meet hers, and she's torn between falling into sobs of relief and hugging him until he can't breathe.
"Did you just throw a single edition of an ancient family book filled with dark magic?" Draco asks, offended.
Hermione finally goes with the second option, pressing herself gently down to him and wrapping her arms around him. Draco's one hand snakes around her shoulder and presses into her hair, fingers tangling in curls.
"Malfoy, I will kill you if you ever do that to me again," she breathes.
Draco huffs a laugh, "Miss me, Granger?"
She raises her head just enough to meet his eyes, not in the mood for teasing. "Malfoy, I was—" her voice chokes off, and Draco's expression changes from gentle to terrified.
"Don't cry!" He says, "I'm fine! Please—"
"Shut up," Hermione hisses, and presses closer to him while still half-hovering, hesitant to hurt him. He sweeps a palm down her back in soothing motions and presses close-mouthed kisses to her hair. Hermione is reminded of Rosmerta, only the night before, holding Louise so close to her. A love that is devastating and healing all in the same breath.
"You drank my champagne," she chokes out. "It was mine, and it was poisoned."
"Look at me, Hermione," Draco commands, and Hermione raises her eyes to meet his. "It's not your fault the champagne was poisoned. I'm so fucking glad I drank it."
"No," she groans miserably, pressing her face back into his hospital gown.
"I am," he says again. "I am. I assume by my general alive-ness that you somehow managed to save me?"
Hermione sniffs and pulls back just enough that she can rest her head on the pillow beside him. She could enlarge the bed with a simple spell, but even millimetres feel like miles. "Yeah. I carry bezoars in my bag."
A most familiar and beloved smirk graces his features. "That's my girl,"
She laughs weakly. "Always prepared."
"You saved me," Draco repeats softly. "If you had drank that champagne instead, I would have killed everyone at that party in revenge, and yet, you'd still be dead. But you, Hermione, saved my life, and now I get to be here with you, instead."
"I love you," she murmurs, so close to him she forgets they're in a hospital and anyone else in the world exists. "If I hadn't had the stupid bezoars, I also would have murdered everyone in the room. I've already written down twelve different ideas for assassinating Hawksworth. They're in our notebooks. I thought they might cheer you up when you finally awoke."
Draco laughs, and it's beautiful. His eyes crinkle in the corners, the way they only do when he's comfortable and finds something truly hilarious. Hermione loves that sound more than anything else in the world. Her breath nearly stops hearing it again.
"How did I get lucky enough to marry a witch who celebrates my health with murder plans and treason? A secret Slytherin you are, Granger."
Hermione grins, "I haven't even told you the best part yet —"
He interrupts her by kissing her, slow and sure and sweet, setting fire to her bones. Hermione can only focus on the press of his lips and the weightlessness seeping through her.
She may have threatened Kingsley over Harry's match, but if she had known, if she had realized a love like this existed, she would have gone to war for herself.
Hermione pulls back, only far enough that she can meet his eyes. "I have to tell you something."
"Is it the best part?" Draco teases breathlessly.
She nods. "You said I'm a secret Slytherin — but when I threatened Kingsley to ensure Harry matched with Ginny, you called me a Gryffindor."
"Okay?"
Hermione smirks. "And if I hadn't done that, I'd be matched with Harry and you'd be matched with Madam Rosmerta."
Draco gapes at her. "You're joking."
"I'm not," Hermione laughs. "Rosmerta herself told me that. So in the end, I was rewarded for doing the Gryffindor thing."
She shares the story of Rosmerta and Louise, and how Neville and the Slytherins rescued her; somewhere along the way she chokes up, and Hermione realizes how much she loves her friends. Just how far she would go for them.
"You're a sodding Hufflepuff," Draco finally announces, and Hermione's tears turn to laughter. He's grinning at her, and she finally feels like she can breathe for the first time in two days.
"Can we go home?" Hermione asks.
Draco smirks. "I thought you'd never ask, Granger. I need a sponge bath, and I have a feeling you'd be a willing sponger."
Hermione snorts but doesn't both denying his claim, since she's desperate for a bath and his hands on her as well. She pulls herself out of the bed and threatens Draco into staying exactly where he is while she finds a Healer to release him.
The Auror is still stationed outside the door, and Hermione nods to him when she passes. She's barely rounded the corner when she runs into Molly Weasley.
"Mrs. Weasley?"
Molly's eyes light up and she tugs Hermione into a surprising but much-needed embrace. "Oh, Hermione, dear. I'm so relieved you are okay. How is Draco doing?"
"He actually just woke up," Hermione says when she steps back. "I'm headed to find his Healer to see if we can go home soon."
Mrs. Weasley looks exhausted but overjoyed at the news. She presses gently fingertips into Hermione's cheek. "That is wonderful, dear. Would you like me to go sit with him? I was just heading to check on poor Hannah, but I'm in no rush."
Something inside of Hermione eases, "Would you mind terribly? It would be a relief to have someone in there with him."
"It's no problem, Hermione." Mrs. Weasley assures her. "Ron isn't expecting me for another hour, anyway."
Hermione impulsively embraces the witch again, the smell and comfort of the Burrow greeting her. "Thank you," she whispers.
Molly tuts and smiles gently at her. "Go, dear. He's safe with me."
Hermione believes her — after all, she was the one who told Draco that Mrs. Weasley was the most powerful witch in the country.
It's just over an hour later that Hermione finally returns to Draco's room, and finds Molly engaged in a wizard's chess match. Draco looks perplexed, and Hermione grins. She's never seen Mrs. Weasley play wizard's chess, but Ron had once admitted that while it was Arthur that he often played at home, it had been his mother who taught him to win.
And Ron Weasley was the best wizard's chess play Hermione had ever seen.
"She's cheating, Granger," Draco complains as soon as he catches sight of her, "I'm sure of it."
Hermione laughs. "Draco, you should know better than to challenge a Weasley at chess."
Molly turns and beams at the sight of her. "Oh, Hermione, I'm so glad you're back. I must be off, now. Draco, dear, let's finish this game next time you two come for dinner?"
"Are you off to see Hannah now, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asks.
Molly frowns, "Oh, no. I've just thought of something I must do at home — I've left Astoria there alone, you see. Poor Charlie had to go back to Romania for this week so he can be home in time for the march."
"What does Astoria need help with?" Hermione wonders.
"Granger," Draco interrupts, "stop being nosey. Can we go home now?"
Hermione rolls her eyes, but warmth blossoms in her chest at her husband's smile. "Sure, Malfoy. You've got full clearance to leave."
Draco sits up immediately, and Hermione rushes to help him stand. "Excellent. Molly, raincheck on the game — you're a wonderful opponent, but I find myself eager for a bath."
Hermione feels herself flushing beet red and scowls furiously at Draco. Luckily, Molly seems distracted with her coat and chessboard, and she barely shares her goodbyes before she's heading out of the hospital room.
"Molly seems concerned, don't you think?" Hermione asks Draco after he's dressed in her robes again.
Draco sighs. "Granger, she's got four hundred children, and they're all Weasleys… if she wasn't concerned I'd be worried."
Hermione goes to smack him gently on his bicep, but he catches her fingers and tugs her towards him instead. Draco wraps his arms around her and presses his lips to her hair, just above her ear. Hermione can feel his heart against her chest — steady and sure and alive.
"My mother told me something once," Draco says softly. "And she made me promise to never repeat it. I'm going to tell you, though."
Hermione swallows. "You don't have to."
"She'd want me to, I think," Draco murmurs. It's silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his breath is hushed against her ear, and sparks skate down her spine. "My mother met a seer — long ago. She didn't know her, just bumped into her in an alley one day when she was just a girl; she only realized she was a seer years later."
"What… what did the seer say?" Hermione asks.
"You — the betrayer. You will follow love, unlike anything you've ever known, through hatred and emerge a lion." Draco intones quietly.
Hermione swallows — it is not so hard to understand the seer's words now, years later.
"Can you imagine her fear?" Draco whispers. "When the sorting hat was put on her head? With Bellatrix and Andromeda watching from the Slytherin table, and my mother knowing that a seer had proclaimed her a lion at only eight years old?"
Hermione nods because while she thinks the housing system at Hogwarts is wholly flawed and divisive, there is nothing so terrifying as disappointing your family.
"Mother was announced a Slytherin, and a few years later fell in love with my father," Draco explains. "For a long time, she forgot the words. But Lucius Malfoy was not exactly a love unlike any other."
"That's why she told you," Hermione breathes. "Because it was you, Draco. She loved you more than anything in the world. She would have followed you anywhere. She betrayed Voldemort for you."
"I know."
Hermione waits for more, but he is not forthcoming. He continues to hold her, but patience is not a particular skill of hers. Finally, she asks, "Draco, why did you tell me this?"
Draco pulls back, just enough to press his forehead against hers, even though he's half bent over to do so. "Because. I'd follow you anywhere, Hermione. Through anything. And I thought you ought to know that."
Hermione swallows at the words because the only answer she knows how to give him isn't enough — all these words, all these books, and no one has ever thought of anything better than 'i love you'. It doesn't matter though, because one thing Hermione has discovered within Draco Malfoy, is someone who knows her in a way she never thought she'd be known. And so instead of the words that she'd like to say to him every moment of each day; instead of odes or poems or a love that she'd shout from the stars, Hermione kisses him.
When she pulls away, the expression on his face is endlessly soft, and so she teases. "Draco Malfoy, a secret Gryffindor?"
He laughs again, loud and searing — and she's not afraid of anything.