Hermione entered her parents' bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. Blaise set down a phial rack full of potions on the vanity as she approached the end of the bed. Her parents slept, but fitfully, Judy's stringy grey hair falling across her face.
"Good morning. I was just about to administer their next round of potions. They're coming out of the last dose now. It can be… unpleasant," he winced as he emphasised the last word.
Hermione skimmed her hands down her crimson sweater dress. "I brewed more Dreamless Sleep last night. There should be enough for another fortnight." She pulled a miniature boiling flask from her beaded bag, and checking that the seal was tight, enlarged it to its regular size before handing it to Blaise.
He accepted it with a steady grasp. "Thank you. I hope it gives you peace of mind to oversee the process. You care for them so well, Hermione," Blaise rested a cool palm on her shoulder for just a moment.
"Do you think I could have a minute with them?"
It had only been days since they'd decided to keep her parents under the effects of Dreamless Sleep in hopes of slowing their snowballing decline. She hadn't spoken with them since, only to them — telling her father fairy tales while she rubbed lotion on his legs, reading to her mother from Draco's copy of Beloved — and all the while they slept on. Hermione still had hopes of one last Christmas together, though they dwindled at the sight of them this morning, her father looking especially frail.
"I don't know if it's the best idea."
"Please, Blaise."
He sighed. "Alright. But I'll stay in the room in case they get agitated and require sedations. It's not good for them to get worked up."
She wanted to shout that it didn't matter if it was good for them, because they weren't going to recover. Her rational side knew Blaise was only trying to help her. He'd been the one to formulate a plan to get them to Christmas, which was only a few days away. But Hermione worried she wasn't maximising her time, and that she'd have them there physically but not at all mentally.
She crossed to her father's side first, gently squeezing his shoulder, then running her fingertips all the way down his arm to hold his wrinkled hand.
"Dad," she managed, her voice clogged with unsaid words.
"Hmm?" Wendell's eyes opened, cloudy and bewildered. "Who's there?"
"It's me, Hermione. I'm your daughter."
"Hermione," he repeated.
Tears streamed freely down her face. "Yes. I just want you to know," she paused, wiping her face with a sniffle. "I love you very much, and I appreciate everything you've done for me. You're the best dad a girl could ever have, and I can't wait for Christmas."
It wasn't all she wanted to say, but she'd never been the best with words. Harry had always been the one for a rousing speech. Hermione showed her love with acts of service, but for all the aphorisms about actions speaking louder than words, it seemed hers were but whispers in the wind, tossed about and never landing where they were intended.
"Christmas?"
"It's a time when families come together. We'll open presents, eat a delicious meal, and Mum will play piano. We'll sing along off-key until she begs us to stop and then we'll drink cocoa by the fire. It's our favourite holiday."
"Sounds lovely." He opened his mouth as if to say more, but a crackly cough racked his thin frame.
Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. She'd hoped he might call her pet one last time, give her something to hold onto. But he was very much Wendell Wilkins, lifelong Sydney resident, married to his long-time sweetheart Monica. They loved the beach, tennis and hosting the annual neighbourhood barbeque. They had no children.
"I'll see you then," Hermione reassured herself more than him. She choked back a sob, struggling to maintain composure.
He patted her hand, then pulled away to cough again. She motioned to Blaise for the phials, and he handed them to her one by one. He kept his eyes low, and she appreciated his attempt at giving her privacy.
Hermione helped her father sit up, gently pouring each potion past his purpling lips. When he'd finished, she laid him back on the pillow, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. No sooner had her mouth left his skin than he'd drifted back off, chest rising and falling with a tremulous rattle.
She fought to lift her feet off the floor, her steps heavy as she approached her mother's side of the bed. Judy's eyes, too, had clouded, but there was a sharpness to the remaining visible iris.
"Have you come to say goodbye?"
Hermione shook her head. It wasn't goodbye. Not yet.
"I know a goodbye when I see one, Hermione Jean."
Fresh tears fell from her eyes in a flood. "I love you, Mum. I'm so sorry."
"Hush now. You've said all this before. Let me tell you something now." She paused, hoisting herself up and reaching for her daughter's hand. "I've told you before about the night you were born. When I made the wish on that star, I knew it'd come true, and you'd be so amazing I'd have to share you with the world. I just didn't realise I'd have to share you with this magical world as well. But the whole point of having children, Hermione, is not to keep someone for yourself that you can love and train to love you back. The point is to send a little light into the future. And you were destined to light up two worlds."
"Mum," Hermione fell to her knees and lay her head on her mother's lap.
"You'll understand, someday," Judy said softly, stroking Hermione's hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't always the best mum, but I loved you fiercely. And I always will."
Blaise's shadow fell over them as he handed Judy's phials to her. She drank them one by one, the glint in her eyes dimming with each sip. After she finished the last one, she accepted Hermione's help in returning to a comfortable lying down position.
"I'll see you at Christmas," Hermione promised.
"And I'll see you in my dreams. What library was next on our list? Do you remember?"
Of course she remembered. "Guildhall."
"Ah, yes, Guildhall," Judy said, eyes fluttering closed. "I'll meet you in the reading room."
Hermione dropped to the floor with a wailing sob. Blaise appeared at her side, silently checking Judy's weak vitals. She couldn't speak, and he said nothing. There was nothing anyone could say. She wrung herself out, all her sadness, pain, exhaustion, frustration, fear. She knew Blaise had seen it all before, and it comforted her to know he'd guide them all through the end, like Charon ferrying souls across the Styx.
But Hermione, who accepted nothing, who always strived for more and never took defeat lying down, couldn't swallow this. There was always a chance. Harry had died and come back, for Godric's sake.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, irritating the delicate skin there. "What else can I do?"
Blaise's voice was gentle. "I think it'd help if you brewed the modified Amortentia and the other dark potions again."
"I don't think I can."
Draco was right. She couldn't keep using dark magic. The extent of her exposure over the years and her window into the Dark Lord's most depraved wishes clouded her judgement; made her malleable to his designs, one of which she now wore on her arm. She'd shut herself away, made herself believe she could wield any magic she wished and remain unscathed. Hermione was lucky she hadn't descended any further, or succumbed to madness.
But she wasn't alone now. Harry had seen all the signs she ignored in just one meeting, and while it hadn't gone exactly as she hoped, it was a start. In time, she'd reconnect with her friends. And she'd already found new ones in Pansy and Theo.
And then there was Draco, no longer her enemy. Nor was he her friend, especially not after yesterday. He was something else altogether, something she wasn't ready to examine quite yet.
Blaise interrupted her thoughts. "What do you mean? You don't have access to the recipes anymore? You destroyed the book?" A flash of panic reverberated in his dark eyes. He was jumpy today, as if his proximity to the heightened emotion between herself and her parents had set him on edge. Fair enough — her tears had been a release valve. What did Blaise have to help him through his days, moving from one terminal patient to the next?
"No, it's not that. But I think brewing will make the Dark Mark worse."
"How so?"
"I've had… visions. Hallucinations. Draco thinks I had a seizure last night."
"A seizure? Have you seen anyone? Even a Mediwitch?" Concern swept over his chiselled features.
"No, I'm fine," Hermione said. Blaise massaged his face with his hands and blew out an irritated breath.
"You need to keep me apprised of these things. I could've ordered scans to pinpoint the seizure's cause, but now it'll be too late for them to be useful. Salazar."
"Do you think they're connected?"
"Brewing and the Mark? I doubt it, but this is new territory for me," Blaise said, making a note with his quill. "Hermione, I hate to dig up old bones but may I remind you that you hired me to make decisions for your parents. I know I don't make decisions for you, but it's my professional opinion that you should take this advice, based on my years of training and experience, and continue to provide these potions for them."
Blaise only wanted to help. She knew that. But this help would end up hurting her.
"I'm sorry," she said, fists at her side. "I know you don't like it, Blaise, but it's my call."
"So, just to confirm, you're going against medical advice?"
"Yes."
He turned to the rack with a stiff back and placed the newly emptied phials in their individual slots. "Have you been drinking the tea?"
"Of course." She'd had heaps of the stuff.
"I thought that it might help, but a seizure… I think it's time you showed me that book."
She hesitated. Every cell in her body said to keep the book to herself. But maybe that was the dark magic burrowing into her marrow, hollowing her out from the inside. Draco said they had to start accepting help from others, and Blaise might see something she didn't. This might be the first step to a breakthrough.
"I think you're right. But it shouldn't leave the flat."
"I've no problem with that," he said, tapping his temple. "Eidetic memory, remember?"
Hermione nodded. "I'll bring it to you."
00000
"Draco," Hermione knocked gently at his door, the exhaustion from crying overtaking her.
Draco, fresh from the shower, opened it near instantly. Grey joggers hung just below his hips and the sleeves of his white t-shirt hugged his biceps.
She collapsed into him, and he cocooned her in his arms. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"I think I just spoke with my parents for the last time," she said, tears pouring forth anew. "Blaise isn't sure if they'll make it until Christmas now. I told him I wouldn't brew the dark potions, and he tried to convince me otherwise, but Draco, if there's any chance of getting this Mark off of me, I… I have to take it."
Draco's head dropped onto hers and his shoulders slumped. "Of course you do. I'm so sorry."
"It just happened so fast. I finally got them proper care and…."
"I know, I know," he soothed.
Something about his gentle nature made her cry harder. She clutched at his shirt as her vision blurred; the last of her reservations about being with this man, in this bedroom slipping away like a dirt road in the driving rain. They moved out of the doorway, but all she knew was soft cotton and lavender.
Moments later, Hermione found herself cradled in his lap. He'd sat them on the bench at the end of his bed, his hand moving rhythmically up and down her back, sending shivers up her spine. Draco had to be aware that they'd be far more comfortable nestled in the pillows behind him — this was an intentional choice, keeping them hunched over on a hard surface.
It was safer to avoid the bed and the conversation it represented, even though her heart told her she was the safest place she could possibly be, in the arms of her former enemy.
It wouldn't do to fall into bed together. They had to be safe. Didn't they?
They'd never discussed their wedding night. She knew now why he'd turned away afterwards. It wasn't because he regretted bringing her pleasure or finding his own. And she was starting to think the ritual hadn't fanned the flames as much as she'd thought it did, because Draco sparked that wildfire within her now just as he did then.
Her tears slowed, and so did the small circles he made on her back. Hermione tilted her chin up to look at him. Unspoken words hung between them, lost in the heat of quick breaths and bitten lips. His eyes contained the sky before a storm, his expression giving nothing away, as much as she wanted it to. Hermione ached to tell him she didn't want to be alone anymore; not in this, not in anything.
He slid his hand up her back, the drag along her spine lighting up every synapse in her brain. He settled his palm at the base of her neck, his fingers curled in her hair. "I hate to see you cry. May I?"
Whatever he was asking, yes. Yes.
She nodded, and she inhaled sharply as he kissed a tear lingering on her jaw, sucking just enough to make her stomach swoop.
Oh.
Oh.
"Is this okay?"
She nodded again, reaching for the hill of his shoulder. He soldiered on, his other thumb coming up to press the hollow of her throat. He dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses on her decolletage, and she gasped as he licked his tongue up her neck in one fluid motion.
Draco's lips found hers, and Hermione arched her back, squirming in his lap, seeking friction. He jerked his hips up sharply, and the ridge of his desire pressed into her. She opened her eyes and found a delicate pink flush scoring his cheeks. His eyes met hers questioningly as she forced herself to break the kiss.
She climbed up to stand, and he adjusted himself uselessly. If anything, the joggers accentuated the long outline of his cock, and she swallowed hard.
"Too much?" Concern, and a little hurt, thickened his gravelly voice.
Hermione shook her head and hiked up her dress, too nervous to do it slowly, teasingly. The moment could evaporate in an instant, and so she hastened to lower herself onto him, straddling his legs. "Not enough."
His Seeker reflexes astonished her, his arms wrapping around her in an instant and pressing her down onto him. She rolled her hips, extracting a low sound full of longing from his kiss-bruised mouth. She covered it again with her own, running her tongue along the seam of his lips. He opened for her, and she drank his sighs, yielding to his relentless pursuit when he extracted keening sounds from her as well. His embrace, moments ago a safe harbour, suddenly engulfed her like a burning room — beams crashing from the ceiling, flames climbing the curtains, devouring everything in their path. His kiss was her only source of oxygen, and she sucked down air like her life hung in the balance.
"You chose to stop. You chose yourself," he whispered in her ear between kisses, the awe in his voice shining through. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
She had, hadn't she?
But she'd chosen him, too. Them.
Her fingers skirted the edge of his t-shirt. "You look good in Muggle clothes," she said, nipping at his neck.
Draco hummed. "They're usually pretty comfortable. Not so much right now."
"Maybe you should —"
Before she could suggest he take off his shirt, Pansy's voice floated through the door. "Draco, you in there?"
His attention never wavered. "Shh," he spoke in a low tone only she could hear, placing his thumb over her lips. "We're not here."
He dragged the thumb down slowly, his eyes heavy with desire. Hermione shifted on top of him, suddenly aware of just how soaked her knickers were. She'd leave a wet spot on his joggers if he didn't take them off soon.
Pansy spoke again, louder this time. "Homenum Revelio. Oh, uh —"
Hermione's head thudded into his shoulder. "Fuck."
"What?"
"It reveals the presence of humans in your direct vicinity. And their, uh, positions."
Draco leaned all the way back with a groan, his upper body hitting the bed behind them. His t-shirt rode up, exposing the muscular grooves that started at his hips and journeyed somewhere further south. Hermione, reluctant to move even though whatever they'd kindled had just been thoroughly extinguished, traced one with her finger. His hips jumped as she stopped just shy of his waistband, and he grabbed her hand. She met his eyes, still dark, and wished he'd pull her down, wrap her in black silk and smother the fire in her core.
"Terribly sorry for interrupting, so sorry," Pansy prattled on outside the door.
A familiar airy cadence, the likes of which Hermione, at one time, thought she might never hear again, took over. "Whenever you're done shagging, just come out to the kitchen. I brought cake!"
Hermione apologetically tore her hand from Draco's, set her dress to rights, and bounded out the door. "Luna!"
00000
"Sorry about that," Pansy said sheepishly. "For years I've been able to pop by unannounced. But seeing as things have changed… I need to cancel the intimacy coordinator." She muttered the last part to herself.
Hermione hadn't let go of Luna, not even while she sliced the towering blue cake. "It's strawberry," Luna said, as if the flavour was obvious just by looking at it. She had crow's feet around her eyes that she'd coated in iridescent glitter, and a capelet embroidered with baby manticores draped over her snowy shoulders. Hermione leaned in, letting the other witch's comforting scent of earl grey reassure her that her friend was indeed within her grasp.
Blaise exited her parents' room, robes billowing behind him as he strode down the corridor towards the group.
"Hello, all. What are we celebrating?"
Luna finished licking a dollop of frosting from Pansy's finger. "Life. Love. The inimitable decadence of sharing homemade baked goods with friends."
"Is that all?" Draco drawled, easing past Blaise and into the kitchen. Hermione's heart skipped a beat thinking of the reason he'd needed a few extra minutes before joining them. He shot her a salacious wink. Confidence looked good on him.
With her free hand, Pansy offered a slice of cake to Blaise. "Would you like some?"
He placed an apologetic hand over his heart. "I appreciate the gesture, but I've other patients I need to see this afternoon. Hermione, would you be so kind as to leave the book on the worktop? I'll be back later tonight to read it."
"Of course." Hermione slid her eyes towards Draco, who gave her an approving look.
See? She wanted to tell him. I'm opening up. We're going to figure this out.
"Luna, Pansy, Draco," he said in lieu of goodbye, and bag in hand, exited the flat via Floo.
"We didn't come round just for cake. I know it's been difficult to be cooped up like this these past few weeks, and so Luna and I were thinking you might like to come skiing with us this weekend. We usually invite Harry and Ginny, too, but with the new baby…"
Luna gripped Hermione's wrists. "Please say yes. We've got a ski-in, ski-out cabin in Savoie and we go whenever we can. It'll be just the four of us. Well, and the Muggles when we go on the mountain. But it'll be such a good time."
"The Solstice Ball is on Monday," Hermione teetered on the edge of saying yes, even though that meant she wouldn't be alone with Draco again anytime soon. In such a short span of time she'd gone from dreading their isolation to seeking him out, craving his touch, yearning for —
"Exactly," Luna beamed. "So what do you say?"