Chapter 5: Monday, October 1, 2001

"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey."

-Kenji Miyazawa

Hermione was absorbed in her notes. She had spent the last two weeks planning and outlining every detail of what extracting the curse from Harry would entail. She wrote down where every item that was in her possession should go if something went wrong. She wrote down her final wishes, where she wanted to be buried, what would happen to her belongings, what should be done with her research. She wrote down an itemized list of every potion she had brewing that wouldn't be finished by the end of the month.

"Granger, if you don't stop clicking that bloody pen, I'm going to snap it in half," Draco hissed.

Hermione looked up from the parchment she was jotting down her thoughts on and narrowed her eyes at him, "Excuse me, but I'm a bit nervous for what tomorrow entails. I'm sorry if my clicking pen is irritating you, but I need to do something with my hands!"

"I've got an idea of something you can do with that hand that will help you get the stick out of your arse as well as-

"Draco, love, remember when we had the conversation about things that are inappropriate to say out loud?" Ginny interrupted him.

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned over, placing a swift kiss on her cheek, "Yes, Red, I do. But-

"No 'buts'. You're being crude. Hermione doesn't appreciate it when you're crude."

Hermione sniggered as Ginny chastised Draco on her behalf. "Thank you, Ginny."

Ginny smirked, leaning into Draco as he wrapped a long arm over her shoulders. "Besides, who are we to judge someone who chooses to be celibate?"

Hermione's jaw fell open as Draco burst into laughter. "Ginny! I am not celibate! And I thought you were on my side?!"

"Hermione, I will never be on the side of someone with a body like yours who doesn't let anyone look at it properly," Ginny laughed.

"Come now, Gin, that's not fair," Draco said. "It's not that she doesn't let anyone look at it! She just doesn't have the patience to deal with those who don't know how to touch it the right way. Can't blame her there! Although, a good shag would probably help ease your mind."

Ginny nodded adamantly with what Draco was saying, "Absolutely. You know, I'm sure Theo would be game to give it another go! Or even George-

"You shagged George?" Draco asked, his jaw dropping open as he laughed.

"And Seamus," Ginny added.

"Good God, Granger! I was wrong about you, clearly."

"Can we please stop talking about my sex life? Or, the lack of it right now... I swear, you two were made for each other! Arsholes." Hermione grumbled, clicking her pen at them in defiance.

"All joking aside, you really should stop with the cheap muggle pens," Draco said. "The clicking is driving me mental. Actually, hold that thought…"

Hermione furrowed her brows at him in confusion as he got up from the table and disappeared up the stairs. She looked at Ginny in question, receiving a shrug in response. A few moments later, Draco returned with a slender black box topped with a gold bow.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow in suspicion at him.

"A gift," Draco drawled.

"Obviously. What's it for?"

"You," Draco said, dragging out the word. "You didn't honestly think I'd forgotten to get you something for your birthday, did you?"

"I didn't think about it, I guess." She answered, looking again to Ginny for a hint.

Ginny raised both hands up, showing her palms in defeat and shrugged her shoulders again. "Hey, don't look at me. I have no idea what this is!"

Hermione slowly took the box from Draco's hand and looked at him apprehensively before pulling the golden bow from the top and opening the lid. Inside, laid a fountain pen. It was gold, and judging by the weight of it, she could tell it was really gold. There were tiny rubies lining the side of it and engraved on the shaft near the cushioned holder was Hermione Granger.

"Oh…" Hermione gasped, picking up the pen and feeling the weight of it in her hand. "Oh my God. Draco… Draco, this.. This is too much! I can't accept this!"

"Well it literally has your name on it. So if you know another swotty, bushy haired girl with that ridiculous name, feel free to give it to her. But until then, I suggest you use it and stop. Clicking. Your. Damn. Pen." Draco said, enunciating each of the last words with vigor.

"You're one to talk… Ridiculous names…" Hermione trailed off, opening the cap of the pen and signing her name on the parchment she had been writing on. She smiled to herself. It was the smoothest pen she had ever used and it glided across the parchment like a dream.

"It's charmed, so it will never run out of ink," Draco said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

She finally looked up from the parchment and smiled at him, "Thank you, Draco. Really. This is… This is lovely."

"You're welcome Granger."


Tuesday, October 2, 2001

It was just after midnight and the moon created a silver glow over the room. Draco was walking around the room, setting wards to make sure no one interrupted. Hermione was pacing Harry's bedside, her arms wrapped around her frame, her hands sliding up and down her biceps as if to warm her. She wasn't cold, but the gooseflesh pimpling her arms made her twisting stomach knot even further. She rubbed at them, hoping they would subside and her nerves would calm down.

"Stop pacing, Granger." Draco mumbled, checking the door one last time.

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't. Draco, what if it doesn't work? What if we do this ritual and it kills Harry? What if-

Draco stepped in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders and held direct eye contact with her. She wanted to look away. Sometimes the intensity of his steel gaze felt heavy, like it would bury her. She wanted to look away, but the command he held in the room wouldn't allow for it. So she stared into his face, searching it for something to calm her.

"Granger, it's going to work. Potter isn't going to die, at least not from this. When he does die, I'm sure it will be for some other disastrously heroic reason."

Hermione couldn't help but breathe out a nervous chuckle, "Shut up."

Draco offered her a small, but kind smile. "See? You know I'm right."

Hermione sighed, nodding her head once in resolution. "Do you think it's going to hurt?"

"What? Becoming the vessel for an extremely dark curse that's meant to turn you into a Dementor? No, not at all. I'm sure it'll feel like getting attacked by a herd of pygmy puffs. Or-or perhaps getting mauled by a baby kneazle. Better yet- a baby niffler."

She laughed louder, playfully smacking at his chest. "Okay, you prat. You've made your point."

"I'm not sure I have…" Draco said, his smirk widening. "I bet it will feel like getting a hug from a large swarm of butterflies. Or maybe wrapped in a particularly fluffy down blanket! Maybe-

"Okay, okay!" Hermione said, shoving him. "I get it. It's going to hurt."

"Oh it's definitely not going to be pleasant. Not in the least," he said, his tone serious.

"Your bedside manner is terrible, are you sure you're a Healer?" Hermione said.

"If this works, hopefully not for long. If I have to make rounds on the pediatric floor one more time, I'm going to avada myself and save the Death Eaters the trouble."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him, "Always so dramatic."

"That is not dramatic. Have you ever dealt with a toddler who had dragon pox and also no control over their accidental magic? Because I have a scar that can prove why being an actual Healer is a hundred times worse than being a battle-field medic."

Hermione rolled her eyes and realized that while Draco was teasing her and being his usual pratty self, she had calmed considerably and now the severe churning in her gut was just a mild unpleasant queasiness.

"We'd better get started, the moon is going to start fading soon," Hermione whispered, looking out the window.

"Last chance for an out, Granger."

Hermione shook her head, "No. I don't turn my back on Harry, he doesn't turn his back on me. Those are the rules. I didn't write them, it's just what we do."

Draco gave a sharp nod and began to wave his wand in the complicated patterns of the spell while chanting the words over and over. On the third chant, Hermione took the small, silver blade that Draco had used to enter the library in the dungeons of the Manor, and dragged the blade across her palm. On the sixth chant, she did the same to Harry, and then grasped his hand, their palms touching.

Hermione could feel the magic in the air, surging around them like static electricity. She got the strangest flashback of being a child. It was her sixth birthday party and her parents had filled the room with balloons. Small kids from the neighborhood she lived in played with her cousins while she sat on the floor with her cat, a book open in front of her as she listened to the laughter of the kids around her. She remembered the feeling of the latex of the balloon against her head, when one of her cousins bopped it to her and instead of catching it, the static electricity made it cling to her bushy mane of hair. It felt like tiny needles pricking her face and she cried until her mum made the other children go play outside.

She could feel her hair standing on ends, much like it had when the balloon attacked her. Except this energy felt powerful. Raw magic pulsating around her, heating her from the inside out. As the speed of Draco chants grew more frequent, she could feel her breathing getting heavier. Her chest felt as if it were collapsing in on itself and she sat in the chair next to Harry's bed, careful not to disrupt the connection between their palms.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tight, her mouth open slightly as the breath from her lungs came in wheezing pants, she doubled over. She could feel her nails breaking the thin skin on the top of Harry's hand. The sound of Draco chanting had been drowned by the harsh pitchy screams being ripped from her chest. She could feel the curse moving under her palm, scalding her veins and seeping into her tensed muscles as tears dripped off her chin, searing salted circles into the skin of her forearms as she gripped Harry, anchoring herself to his body and sending silent prayers to every deity she never believed in to end the agony in her bones.

Hermione gulped for breath, the cool air stabbing her lungs like knives. This is it. This is how I die, she thought. Seconds felt like hours and as they ticked on, the concept of time was lost completely. There was only blinding, scorching pain and the need to hang on to Harry's hand. At some point she became aware that Draco was no longer chanting, he was instead, standing over the opposite side of Harry's bed, waving his wand and whispering fiercely.

She tried to grasp onto what he was saying, to follow the movement of his wand to figure out what he was doing, but the pain was too great. She felt her eyes force shut again, her mouth dropped open in a silent scream of terror, the sound never coming. She didn't have the energy to push it from her lungs, to cry out in the pain that was pulsing through her. She could feel it so deeply in her body now, writhing in angry ripples through her core, melting her from the inside out.

Finally, when the center of her magic seemed to radiate from the fiery incalescence deep inside her chest, she felt the sweet abyss of darkness come over her as consciousness slipped from her grip.


Hermione stepped through the threshold of the library at Grimmauld Place. It was late, nearing midnight, and she knew she needed to get some sleep but sleep was so hard to come by these days. She smiled to herself when she saw him on the sofa. Long legs stretched out across the cushions, crossed at the ankle, book in his lap as he mumbled softly to himself, his eyes flitting across the pages.

Remus had shown up earlier in the day, begging to come with them on their hunt. Of course, he had no idea what they were looking for. Harry refused to divulge any information, refused to involve anyone else in their plans. They had gotten into a shouting match and Harry stormed off, locking himself in Sirius's old bedroom, as he always did when he needed to calm his temper and spend time alone with his thoughts.

"Do you mind a little company?" Hermione whispered, not wanting to startle him.

Remus looked up from the pages of the book and his eyes met hers, a soft smile pulled at his tired features. "Of course not," he said, pulling his legs up closer to his body and motioning to the newly vacated cushions, "Please, have a seat."

Hermione sat facing Remus, her back against the arm of the sofa, her legs folded under her bottom. She watched as he carefully marked the page he was reading, taking care to set the book on the end table instead of the floor. When his eyes returned to her, she could see the uncertainty in them.

"I'm sorry about Harry," she said. "He's been a little tense lately."

"Understandable," Remus replied. "You're all under a lot of pressure, it seems. Harry especially."

"Remus…" Hermione took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to best word the question so as not upset him. "If I'm overstepping here, you can tell me to mind my own business. But where will you go? If you aren't living with Tonks, do you have… Do you have somewhere safe to stay?"

Remus sighed, "Honestly? I don't know. I hadn't really planned for my fiance to admit she was in love with Charlie Weasley." There was an echo of humor to his voice that she recognized as a cover up for frustration.

"I'm so sorry Remus," she said, leaning forward and placing her hand over his, squeezing it lightly.

Hermione pulled back and Remus kept hold of her hand, closing his eyes briefly as the pleasant facade fell from his face and was replaced by a flash of sadness. "It's not your fault. I always knew we weren't right for one another."

"Doesn't make it hurt any less," Hermione whispered.

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

Hermione pulled her brows together as she looked at the man sitting in front of her. His hands, warmer than any hand she'd ever touched, holding onto her hers. The pad of his thumb drew light circles over the back of her hand and he seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes flickering between mossy green and gold. She traced the silvery pink scars that ran across his handsome face with her eyes, and felt a tug in her chest. On instinct, she moved closer to him, shifting her weight to lean against him. Remus needed comfort, she could tell that. It broke her heart to see him here. Hermione knew it must have been difficult for him to approach them, asking for refuge and offering to help in return for a place to stay.

She felt him stiffen as she leaned into him, his body tense, his thumb stilled against her hand. Someone so deserving of comfort who had no idea how to react when he received it. He pulled away from her, quickly standing from the sofa.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. That was… This is inappropriate of me. I shouldn't have… I can't… Tell Harry I'm sorry, for what I said."


The first thing Hermione realized when she came into consciousness was the harsh smell of cleaning potions. She could tell it was light out, even with her eyes still shut, and she could smell the distinct scent of cleaning potions she had become accustomed to over the last three months.

The next thing Hermione realized was that she was laying down, and there was someone lightly ghosting fingers over her face. She could feel someone looking at her, their gaze burning holes into her skin as she tried to ignore them and allow sleep to claim her a while longer. Hermione whined when their fingertips brushed her hair from her forehead once more. A familiar yet distant warmth of a touch she knew.

"Stop it, Harry. You know my hair is almost as bad as yours. It won't lay down without a fight," she mumbled.

It took exactly four seconds, after the words left her mouth, for her eyes to finally snap open. When they did, they were met by a pair of shining, bright emerald green eyes behind circular frames and a shock of raven hair.

"Harry," she gasped. "Harry!"

Hermione bolted upright, ignoring the lingering ache in her body as she wrapped her arms around Harry's torso and sobbed into his neck. Harry's chest shook with laughter, a sound that was music to her ears. She cried harder when she felt his arms snake around her, squeezing her tightly to his chest, his lips planting comforting kisses against her temple, cheek, and hair.

"It worked!" she whispered, over and over. "It worked!"

"She's awake?!" Draco's voice came from somewhere across the room, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor.

Before Hermione could process what exactly was happening, Draco had pulled her off of Harry and was waving his wand over her. As the symbols indicating her vitals began to float above her, he muttered a lumos and pulled her eyelids further open, shining the light into them and dilating her pupils until she saw spots. He began checking pressure points and reflex points in her neck, arms and legs.

"Get off of me!" Hermione grumbled, shoving Draco away from her. "Stop it!"

"You're okay? You're feeling okay?" he asked, a worry in his tone that she was familiar with, the same tone he used when an injury sustained in battle was looking fatal.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why are you so worried? I know that look on your face, Draco Malfoy, why are you so worried?"

"Granger, you've been unconscious for a week," Draco said.

"A week? What? No, that isn't possible!" Hermione argued, "I passed out and I just woke up. A few hours maybe but a week?"

"It's true, Hermione," Harry said, "I woke up and when I did, you were passed out in the chair and Draco was trying to revive you."

Hermione stared between Harry and Draco in disbelief, her eyes flitting between them as if she were trying to follow the quaffle during a Quidditch match. She closed her eyes for a minute and tried to remember, tried to grasp on to the last thing that happened. All she could remember was pain. White hot pain as it pulsed through her body. She remembered Draco standing over them, she remembered the entire ritual. How had she been unconscious a full week?!

"I wasn't sure you'd wake up," Draco mumbled. "I tried everything I could think of. But nothing worked. Your vitals all looked good, your magical core hardly budged at all. I thought… I wasn't able to do anything for Potter, so I didn't know what I could possibly do for you…"

"It wasn't your fault, Draco," she said, instantly realizing the tone he was taking. "Don't you dare blame yourself. I'm the one who insisted on doing this, remember? You tried to talk me out of it. And If I was out for a week, then I was out for a week. But I'm awake now. And Harry is okay, and it worked."

"It worked," Draco repeated, his eyes brightening at the statement.

"Now that we've established that," Harry said. "Can we go home? I'd really like to see every one and catch up on everything I've missed. And you two have a lot of explaining to do."


Upon arriving back at the Shrieking Shack, Hermione had learned that Draco had not let Harry leave St. Mungo's after waking. The ritual they used to extract the spell wasn't exactly well researched, and he was afraid that if Harry strayed too far from Hermione, she would start to rapidly decline.

Thankfully, aside from a general weakness from being unconscious for a week and a slight hit to her magical core, Hermione felt fine.

When they entered the Shack, Draco immediately called an Order meeting and was met with loud shouts of happiness at the sight of Harry. Tears flowed as the members of the house began to explain everything that had happened, the state Harry had been in and the moves that had been made by the Order in his absence. Hermione and Draco then explained that they extracted the curse, leaving out a few details and deciding it best to tell Harry the type of magic used in private. No sense in stirring up any lingering resentment to Draco in the midst of a celebration.

Once the evening had calmed down and most of the house turned in for the night, Draco, Ginny, Blaise, Harry, and Hermione sat at the table in the dining room. Draco and Hermione gave more details on the curse and what exactly it meant. Surprisingly, there weren't as many questions asked by Harry as Hermione would have expected, but she was thankful for that. Given they didn't know a ton about it and there was little research to prove them right.

Once they began to explain their plans of how to find the countercurse or antidote potion, Hermione could practically hear Harry's brain turning the information. She could see the disbelief on his face as they explained the Time Stone and what she planned to do.

"So you're just going to go back to the first war and what? Hope to find Snape? Hope that someone will believe you enough to let you in the Order without thinking you're a spy or a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"Not exactly," Hermione said. "I have an idea for that."

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a/n: Alpha love forever to Mayghaen17, this story would be nothing without you.

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This story is prewritten so updates every Tu/Th/Sa. Thanks for reading!