Hermione anticipated the Imperio this time.

Her initial resistance meant the fog didn't blanket every part of her brain as it had before. Still, she couldn't gather enough magic to overpower the Healer. She allowed her face to slacken as Blaise loomed over her. Draco could easily defeat Goyle and Daphne. He would be here any minute, if she could just hold on.

"I could kill you. I'm rather tempted. There's no better feeling, taking a life. And if I harvested your heart quickly enough, your magic could nourish me for days." He licked his lips. Hermione's heart beat wildly, as if it could run out of her chest and escape, leaving the rest of her body behind.

"It's been a while since I had such a young heart, such tender flesh…"

Of course. Hospice care. A reliable source of unwanted organs, full of fat and nutrients, but also magical energy. Blaise wasn't hungry for one type of power alone.

"But your power is too great to remain unleveraged. All my patients serve me, and you will achieve greatness I could only dream of. It's all well and good to collect riches and estates, but perhaps I could install you as Minister for Magic and stop playing Sturgis Podmore's shortsighted games altogether. I could put all of Wizarding Britain under my thumb, and who would stop me? You haven't made it easy for me, what with that stunt you pulled in The Quibbler. But I do love a challenge. Yes, it's going to be such a pleasure to break you."

A smile crawled across his countenance, sending a shiver up her spine.

Footsteps echoed across the stone floors, and Hermione's ears perked up. But her hope shattered as she realised there were two sets of steps. Moments later, Goyle and Daphne reappeared, not a scratch on them, and she nearly cried out.

No. Draco was a masterful duellist. This wasn't happening. It was all another hallucination; a fever dream.

"He's dead," Goyle said, as if Draco were just another man; just another death on Goyle's bloody hands. "Left him outside the gates."

Outside the gates. Their Unbreakable Vow — he couldn't set foot on a Malfoy property ever again. Why had she never thought to undo it? She'd led him to his death. She should have tried a wandless Patronus and called Ron. Or Harry. Anyone else.

Hermione stopped resisting the creep of Blaise's curse, and it slowly drew the curtains of her mind again. The despair was too great.

She never should've gone anywhere with Blaise alone. Blinded by the hope of a cure, she'd forgotten her promise to Draco. Whatever happened next, she supposed she deserved it.

"Did you at least hide the body?"

"No, I came back here for further instruction," Goyle said, as if it were obvious.

Blaise brought a hand up to his forehead. "Anyone could come by and find him! What do I pay you for? Why must I do everything myself?"

Goyle waggled his wand at the Healer, widening his stance. "You never do any of the dirty work yourself, Blaise. You make nice with the doddering old fools and their desperate families, slip 'em the tea and wait around, then collect the Galleons and start all over again. Who kills anyone who gets suspicious about what you're up to? Me. Who helps you identify the right sort of patients? Me. Who's been recruiting Death Eaters? Me." He stuck his thumb in his chest with each mention of himself for emphasis.

Daphne flattened herself against a moth-eaten tapestry, making herself as small as possible while the two men yelled at each other. Her fist was white around her wand. She made eye contact with Hermione, and something about the look made the little hairs on Hermione's arm stand at attention.

It was as if Daphne was begging her to fight.

Blaise clenched his hands into fists and punched them at his side. "I'm not a Death Eater! I never told you to recruit Death Eaters! I don't give one flying fuck about blood purity. It's watered-down bigotry for pathetic idiots with no talent for anything besides inbreeding. And I don't know how to get it through your primitive, incest-ridden lizard brain, but Voldemort is never coming back!"

Daphne mouthed something to her. Hermione focused on her lips, watching her repeat herself again. If she wasn't mistaken, the woman said only one word: Catch.

Catch what?

Goyle was silent, his jaw clenching, his face turning purple. "This isn't what Lucius promised. This isn't what was supposed to happen!"

"Didn't you hear him, Greg," Daphne asked in a mocking tone, her hands on her hips. "Lucius was probably insane. You've been following the ravings of a madman."

"Don't talk about him that way!" Goyle slapped Daphne across the face, and as she fell, another wand, this one familiar, fell out of her robes in such a way that it clattered across the floor, landing in front of Hermione's feet.

Catch.

In an instant, Hermione summoned all her power and obliterated Blaise's hold on her mind. She dove for the wand — Draco's wand. As soon as it met her palm, the core sang to the magic thrumming inside her veins. Malfoy magic. Their magic.

Daphne locked eyes with Hermione and both women pushed themselves up off the floor as fast as they could. Hermione's limbs were like jelly, and she fought for balance as Daphne fired a hex at Blaise before sprinting down the corridor. He hissed as it glanced off his shoulder and tore after her. Hermione hoped she could outfox the wizard and find help, although it was unlikely considering they were in the middle of Wiltshire. Goyle watched Daphne, then Blaise, speed away as if he couldn't believe they'd abandon him.

Hermione had seconds to adjust to the new wand and force her sore arms to cooperate. Every cell in her body ached from the Unforgivables. She could do the same to him now, if she wanted. Or she could command him to do anything she asked. She was his Mistress, after all. And he killed her husband.

"Expelliarmus," she said, disarming him with ease. He was still slack-jawed.

Goyle licked his lips and held his hands up in surrender. "I never meant to… I have been nothing but a humble servant, I swear."

"Do shut up." Hermione pointed the tip of Draco's wand right between Goyle's eyes. "Stupefy!" He toppled to the ground, motionless.

She had to act fast, but she didn't have to act alone. She stumbled around the corner and pulled her beaded bag from beneath her coat. Hermione fished out two squares of chocolate, chewing and swallowing as fast as she could.

"Expecto Patronum," she said shakily. It didn't take. Her happy memories of Draco had weakened now that she knew he was gone. She couldn't grieve yet, though. Daphne risked everything to help her, and she wouldn't let her down. Goyle and Blaise had to be thrown in Azkaban forever, and she knew just the man to do it.

Hermione forced herself to focus. The spell had never come as easily for her as it had for Harry and Ron, but now her life depended on it. The image from last night — Draco looking at her with eyes like molten metal, confessing his love to her again before they made love — fluttered to the forefront of her mind. Her beloved husband, the love of her life, would always live here.

"This time I'm in love with you."

"Expecto Patronum!" She roared the spell and her otter appeared, filling the room with silvery light. "Find Ron Weasley, and tell him to bring as many Aurors as he can to Malfoy Manor. Please hurry."

As the otter bounded away, she took off as fast as she could. Her legs shook from her brief encounter with Goyle's Cruciatus Curse, but she pressed on. Daphne, just as much a victim as Hermione, was now chased by a cannibalistic sociopath. Hermione wouldn't leave her behind.

As she pumped her legs, Hermione lamented the fact that she'd been under the Imperius Curse when they'd first entered the Manor. She had no idea which direction Daphne and Blaise had gone. She cast a Hominem Revelio and revealed their glowing outlines, and although it looked like Blaise hadn't caught up to Daphne, it was impossible to tell how many layers of stone lay between them and Hermione.

She checked one room and then another, finding only dust-covered antique furniture that bore no signs of being recently disturbed. Hermione closed a bedroom door only to hear light footsteps headed her way. They could belong to Daphne, but they could just as easily belong to Blaise.

She ducked into the room across from the hall, used as a study, from the looks of it. She assessed potential hiding places and ultimately crouched behind an oversized leather chair in the far corner. As soon as she got into position, the very same footsteps creaked across the study's floorboards. She held her breath.

"Hermione, I know you're in here," Blaise crooned. "Come on out. Let's make a deal, you and I."

Hermione heard the rip of a curtain as he tore it away, searching for her. He was otherwise quiet; methodical, and she wasn't sure where he was in the study. She kept the wand brandished with one hand and rummaged around in her bag with the other, careful not to make any noise. She prayed that what she needed was still inside. Parchment, foil packets, coins... Hermione silently rejoiced as her fingertips finally brushed reinforced glass.

"You have to know that I never wanted to hurt you, Hermione. You're so much smarter, so much more powerful than anyone gives you credit for. You were wasted on Potter and Weasley, and then on Draco. He could never really love you, you know. And he certainly doesn't deserve you. People like Draco, Greg, Daphne — they became Death Eaters because they get off at their perceived superiority. They need to be seen as special, and they drag people like us down. They're dead weight. We can forget about them."

A lamp crashed, glass shards skittering across the stone floor, some landing on the rug near her hiding place. Hermione flinched. Her legs still trembled, but adrenaline surged through her veins. They couldn't give way yet. She just needed to pick her moment.

Blaise's tone rose, giving his speech a frenzied quality. "Don't they repulse you, too? Regular people. They're weak, infirm. People like us, well, we could hold their lives in our hands. Poison them or cure them, kill them or let them live another day."

Another crash, and something heavy fell with a thud. He was drawing closer. "I know you're curious. You're dying to know how to feast on their bodies and strengthen your own. I'll show you how. Between your Dark Mark, that book of yours, and my aptitude for the Dark Arts, we'll be unstoppable."

Now.

She leapt from behind the chair, unstoppered the phial of venom, and threw it in Blaise's face. He screamed and collapsed on the floor as the Venomous Tantacula's revenge burned through his skin. Already his nose was gone, and the stench of necrotising flesh filled the ruined study.

Hermione left nothing to chance. She tossed the phial aside and channelled her magic through her husband's wand once again.

"Incarcerous!"

Ropes cut into Blaise's robes, holding him fast. Still he writhed and moaned, lips disappearing, eye sockets hollow, void. Hermione pulled her jumper up over her nose and mouth and stepped over him, her shoes crunching as she walked over broken glass. She didn't turn back when she reached the door.

She had nothing more to fear from Blaise Zabini.

Now she had to find Daphne before Goyle did. The stunner had likely worn off, and Goyle would be out for blood.

Hermione's wobbly legs carried her down the corridor. She braced herself against the wall with one arm, Draco's wand lighting her way. Her progress was slower than she wanted, but she soon heard what sounded like soft weeping. Terror clutched at her heart. Had Goyle discovered Daphne first? She used all the energy she had remaining to push herself towards the sound.

Hermione burst through a set of double doors and fell to her knees with a gasp. She hit the sticky floor, something curved but blunt poking her underneath her right shin. Her hand scrabbled for it and she dragged the cool metal out from under her and into the light.

A spoon.

She'd never been in this room before, but she knew exactly where she was now.

She was in the dining room.

Daphne kneeled amongst shards of glass and china beside two human skeletons, murmuring something too low for Hermione to hear. But that wasn't what shocked her most.

Two glowing spectres hung in the air above Daphne's near-prone form. One Hermione immediately recognised as Narcissa Malfoy. Even as a ghost, she presided over the room as a queen might hold court from atop a throne. The other ghost reminded her of Daphne — the slope of her nose, the large eyes. Though Hermione had never met the woman, she could only be one person.

Astoria Greengrass.

Hermione crawled to Daphne, bits of debris digging into her hands and knees. Her head throbbed and floaters danced in her vision, warning of an impending migraine. There was still danger, but her grief bubbled up at the sight of the women Draco had loved so much, and tears pricked at her gritty eyes.

Daphne's hand closed over Hermione's, jolting everything back into sharp focus. "Hermione, listen to me. If you hurry, you might be able to save Draco. He's right outside the gate. Don't worry about me. I can handle Greg."

Draco. He might be alive.

Daphne rose, tugging Hermione's elbow, and Hermione wordlessly staggered to her feet. Her bones and muscles ached as she made for the exit.

"He hasn't joined me yet," Narcissa confirmed as Hermione reached the doors. "He lives."

Astoria flew over to her and lowered her transparent face to Hermione's. "Make a right and run. He needs you, Hermione."

Hermione pushed her pain aside and ran like her life depended on it. In a way, it did.

She depended on Draco, and if there was a chance he could live, she would take it. She would care for him, do whatever he needed until the day he died. And that day could not be today.

Memories flashed through her mind. Memories she'd cherish for the rest of her life.

Draco, shirt and trousers shredded, head held high as he returned to the kitchen after he lost his battle with her wards.

Draco, comforting her as she sunk into his embrace. The smell of lavender, the warmth of his chest, the way his arms tightened around her like a promise.

Draco, looking back at her with his grey eyes as the ski lift rose up, up, up — never tearing them away.

Draco, confessing his love for her in an impassioned speech that left her lost for words and weak in the knees.

Draco, waiting for her with bated breath at the bottom of the staircase with forever in his smile.

She didn't want to live in the past anymore, and Merlin willing, they'd have years and years to make more memories. Years as a family.

Draco Malfoy, her husband, was her future. And she would do anything for him.

Hermione shoved open the heavy main door, only to be met with fresh, deep snow to slow her pace. She trudged through the depths, legs screaming with pain as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Her trousers were soaked through, chilling her to the bone. Wind bit at her face, wrenched her curls into knots, stung her eyes.

The gate wasn't far now, and she could see him, a bright red stain underneath his body. She redoubled her efforts, every agonising step bringing her closer to her love.

"Draco!" She cried out to him, hoping the wind would carry her voice to his ears. "Draco!"

Finally Hermione reached the gate, and she shut it behind her. She skidded to a stop and fell to his side.

He was alive.

Goyle had cut him deep. Draco's coat and shirt were saturated with blood. The cold must have slowed some of the flow, but he was in bad shape.

"You're here." Draco offered her a lopsided grin, blood staining his teeth and dribbling from his mouth. The phial of Felix Felicis lay empty at his side.

Hermione hoped she looked confident, despite her shaking body. "Of course I'm here. I'm here Draco. I'll get you patched up, okay? Good as new."

Hermione sifted through her bag, but she was out of tricks. No blood replenishing potion, no Dittany, no more luck. She tried to press her magic into the gash across his abdomen, but she was tapped. Using his wand was only a stopgap, and whatever spell Goyle had used was dark, and unknown to her. Her Patronus had sapped most of her magical reserves.

Where were Ron and the Aurors? It felt like she'd sent for them forever ago.

"I think our luck's run out, Granger," Draco wheezed.

She sobbed at the name only he called her, stroking his hair, smearing red amongst the platinum strands.

"No, no, it hasn't. Just hang on, Draco. Hang on for me, okay?"

"I just wanted… To see you… One last time." He coughed, launching a spurt of blood into her hair.

His breaths grew shallower, and Hermione screamed through her tears. "Help! Somebody help!"

Draco closed his eyes and drew another ragged breath. "It's okay… As long as you're safe…."

She cradled his head in her hands, smoothing his hair, now smeared with his blood. "No, no, no. I need you. Don't go, Draco, please. Don't go."

"I… choose… to be good. Love you… Forever." He gasped the last word, and his eyes fluttered closed.

Hermione shook him, but though his breath rattled in his chest, he didn't wake.

Their night at the pub flashed before her eyes, when she'd asked him if he'd rather be lucky or good.

"Why not both?"

"Say you had to choose."

"If I have you by my side, I'd choose good."

"Why?"

"Because if that's the case, I'd have already used all my luck."

Draco was dying, here in her arms. She was too late. She was always too late.

She hung her head over his chest, tears spilling in earnest now, her grief all-encompassing.

Cracks of Apparition rang out, one after another after another. She shielded Draco with her body instinctively, but after a split second of quiet, Hermione looked up. Ron Weasley, a decade older and broader, was surrounded by at least ten Aurors, their robes flapping in the icy wind.

His next words were the second best thing she'd heard in the last twenty-four hours.

"Padma, I think we need your assistance over here."