Hermione believed death would save her from the all-consuming pain, but as it turned out, death brought only more pain, and it was never-ending. She was sure that what she saw before her were hallucinations. Writhing in agony, she saw Luna's face looming over her, the lines of it blurry. Then Luna transformed into a snake and kept biting her, making Hermione scream. But the snake wasn't real, it wasn't there, it was dead, its' butchered pieces on the floor with Gryffindor's sword next to it, its' dark blood glistening on the black tiles, its' vicious black eyes cold and venomous even in death.
The ring was squeezing the finger of the hand that had been bitten, and Hermione was certain she would soon lose her hand either from the poison or from the horrendous clenching of the finger that stopped all blood flow there. The imagines in front of her changed as Luna turned to snake, the snake turned to Harry, turned to Voldemort, and the real dead Nagini turned to Ron, laying helplessly on the floor, drawing his last breath, until finally he died and died again and again in front of her – Hermione was about to join him soon. She accepted the thought of dying with immense relief because that meant she could finally meet the ones she had lost – her friends, her loved ones, all the innocent lives she never got to save, all of those she had wanted to switch places with, all those she would've rather died for than watch them die herself. But it also meant that the pain would end. Death would be a sweet mercy from the suffering – not only the physical one she was experiencing now, as she was dying from poison, but the emotional one that had its' clutches on her ever since the war started and ever since she started blaming every bad thing that happened on herself. Soon, all that misery will be just a memory belonging to someone else, and she will be free even from a shadow of it.
She barely registered the two men in front of them, she had forgotten Luna was there, holding her in her arms, speaking sweet nothings into her ear, begging her to stay alive a little longer. Time and space and people no longer existed to her – she was only a pile of nerve-endings set on fire. She was only a flesh of misery, a screeching mess of soon-to-be-dead molecules. She didn't know her name, didn't know her gender, didn't know what the word Mudblood meant, and it was both freeing and terrifying. Luna's hands were switched with something else, something firm and hot and a solid, and she saw a shock of platinum blond hair ghost over her vision. She saw a skull-like mask and she was sure death had come to her at last. If she saw as good as dead, then why didn't the pain lessen? Wasn't death supposed to be peaceful? Didn't she deserve complete senselessness on the last moments of her life? Wasn't she good enough for a mercy like that? Then the mask was gone, and she saw a face which she did not recognize. A scar, similar to hers, on an exquisitely handsome face that she couldn't put a name on.
They were somewhere else now, and the other people that had surrounded them were now gone – there were just the two of them, her, a dying person, and him, a man without a skull mask, and somehow even her spatially incapable brain somehow managed to grasp that information. It distracted her from a fire in her body. He grabbed her left hand, the one with ferociously swollen bitemarks on it, and he put his lips on the injury. At first, she thought he was kissing it. But then, unimaginable pained soared through her like a tidal wave, wrecking her whole being on the way. She didn't know there could be agony worse than that of poison, but if there was, this was definitely it. The man's teeth closed around the wound where the snake's fangs had just been, and his jaw worked its way through her skin, tearing into her flesh, causing misery so awful she passed out from it. Only to regain consciousness mere seconds later, watching the way he bit her, then drew back, then bit her again before leaning away once more as if he were repeating a strange ritual of sadism. He was a snake, he was worse than a snake, he tortured her because he liked it, she knew it. He drank her blood only to spit it out as if the taste was wrong. Was he a vampire? Is that what was lurking for her in the dark all this time?
She tried to push him away, to hit him with all her strength, to kick him away for her, but to no avail – the man didn't budge, only kept repeating the strange actions of sucking and spitting her blood. She screamed, tugged at his hair, trying to keep his teeth from her, to get herself from under him, but he had her trapped with his enormous body. His eyes glistened at her dangerously as if he was angry that she was trying to stop him, as if he had any right to be angry with her when he was the on mutilating her.
Utter surprise overcame her once she began to realize that the pain was withdrawing one atom of poison at a time, that the more he bit and spit, the less delirious she felt, that the longer he had his teeth in her flesh, the more soreness gave way to exhaustion, and her body slumped limply under his, her eyes closing involuntarily as she came to a conclusion that maybe she wasn't dying anymore. Right before diving into complete darkness, a comforting sea of forgetting, she watched the way he withdrew his mouth from her completely, watching her with scrutinizing awareness. She fell asleep.
He wasn't a snake after all. He was a dragon.
Hermione didn't know how long she was out – it could've been hours, days, even weeks. Consciousness and rational understanding came to her slowly like a stalking predator, one real thought after another. She was being fed and given water, and with time she felt her body get stronger. When she finally felt well enough to ascend from her slumber, she saw Draco before her, sitting on the edge of the bed she lay in. she tried to sit up, and a pair of strong hands rushed to help her up.
"Easy," she heard him whisper softly.
Hermione groaned. "Draco… You're alright…"
Instead of answering, he gave her a glass of water which she drank greedily.
"How are you feeling?" he asked after inspecting her being closely.
She frowned. "Strange. Like I've been sleeping for decades. My body feels heavy and it's hard to… think."
"That's normal," he said.
"What—what happened?" Hermione asked, looking around consciously for the first time. The things around her gave her little information of where she was – she knew she had never been here before.
"You and Lovegood were attacked by the snake, Lovegood killed it, but it managed to bite you." She nodded to that, urging him to continue. "When you both went down, Voldemort showed himself to us – I believe his plan was to separate us and kill all of us at once. But it didn't work. He sent a few Killing curses my way, but as you know, they did nothing to me. I thought we were doomed, but then I saw it in his eyes – the moment he realized another one of his Horcruxes was destroyed. I tried to kill him when I realized this. But it didn't work. Instead of fighting us, Voldemort fled. We got to you about an hour later," he continued, looking down from her. "I was so scared we were too late. I saw you on the ground, poison running from your hand."
Hermione listened to him quietly, her still-confused mind having a hard time understanding his retelling of the events.
"But how did I—how did I—not die?" she asked quietly.
"My Horcrux stopped the poison from spreading long enough until I got to you," he explained grimly. Hermione looked down at her wedding ring, grateful as ever to be wearing it. "As long as it's on you, no deadly harm will come to you," he added.
She looked up at him. "What are you saying?" she asked quietly, not because she didn't understand the meaning of his words but more because she couldn't believe them.
His eyes were intense and possessive. "My soul is yours. As long as I live, you do too."
She didn't know that was possible. In her worst nightmares and best daydreams, she never imagined something like that to be possible. She didn't realize she was crying.
"Are you still hurting?" he asked, worry filling his gaze.
She shook her head. "No, I just—I can't believe it…"
"I assure, you are bound to me in no way, and you are free to choose as you wish. I do not have any control of your being whatsoever, the ring is only a precaution," he rushed to explain.
She nodded, still crying. "Okay… I—thank you… I don't know what to say…" She will live as long as he will. She will see the end of her days with him. If everything goes according to plan, hey might have a chance at happiness at last. A year ago, she would've been disgusting by the idea of wearing someone's Horcrux and loving the person for it, but now, she couldn't help but feel her heart swell with all the precious feelings she had for him. She remembered him drinking her blood, but now it made more sense. "You saved my life… You sucked out the poison…"
He nodded. "I know it was very painful, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't."
Hermione thought for a moment. "What about Blaise and Luna? Where are they?"
"They left the moment they could. I don't know where to exactly, and it's better that way."
Silence settled upon them as Hermione looked around, still trying to identify her surroundings. She could smell faintly the salt of water and particles of sand, but that only made her more confused. The room was too simple and too rustic to be part of the Manor.
"Where are we?" she asked.
Draco's face blanked, but he answered, "Scotland, Aberdeen. Father had some land here, and he built a cottage for my mother when she gave birth to me. We couldn't get back to the Manor, so this is the safest place now. No one knows about it."
"Why didn't we get back to the Manor?" Hermione wanted to know, but dreaded the answer.
"It's gone. Voldemort set it on fire, believing you and I were inside. They won't search for us at least for a while."
Hermione's heart sank, her mouth going dry. "What about Mipsy?"
His face was grim. "Dead."
Hermione breathed in shakily, watching her fingers tremble. "I'm sorry," she breathed out. "I'm so, so sorry, Draco. It was your family home, you didn't deserve—"
"It's fine, Hermione."
She blinked at him, thinking of the house and all the memories it held – the good and the ugly – now all turned to ashes.
"You said you… tried to kill You-Know-Who but you couldn't do it even though Nagini was dead," she began. "Why?"
Draco's expression turned even darker, if that was possible.
"Because Nagini wasn't the last Horcrux."
She tried to hide her confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Remember when you told me Voldemort had to kill Potter because he was a Horcrux?"
Hermione nodded, still not understanding. "Yes, but it's done now—"
"I think he's still a Horcrux. I talked to Potter about his special connection to Voldemort, and it's quite apparent nothing has changed." "I don't think it's possible to destroy a Horcrux with a Killing curse, I believe the damage needs to be literal and physical. It requires powerful and destructive means, one that no ordinary wizard can possess." Hermione listened wide-eyed as he spoke, her heart hammering in her chest. "I think you know where I'm going with this."
Hermione shuddered. "You're saying that—Harry needs to be killed—for the Horcrux inside him to be destroyed?"
Draco nodded. "I believe a chance of surviving that is zero," he added.
"No…" Hermione spoke out, not recognizing the sheer terror in her voice herself. "No… There has to be another way…"
"There is no other way. If there was, Voldemort would already be dead."
"You can't kill Harry…"
"As long as he is alive, Voldemort lives too. As long as Voldemort lives, the war goes on. As war goes on, more and more people die," he stated, his voice firm and hard.
Hermione knew this made sense, but she simply couldn't accept it as reality. She wrapped her hands around herself, trying to untie the knot in her stomach.
"I waited for you to wake up because you need to understand," he continued while she looked down at her hands. "Hermione, look at me." She flinched at his commanding tone but met his eyes. "You know I'm right." She knew it. "You know there is no other way." She knew that too. "Potter knows it too. And we agreed that this is how we end Voldemort. But I need you to understand. This needs to be done."
She nodded, tears blurring her vision, erasing the harsh features of his face. "I need you to say it, Hermione. We could leave this be, we could stay here and hope no one finds us, but the war would still go on for others, and I would never be completely sure I can keep you safe here."
She looked at him, her lips trembling. But she said, "I understand… There is no other way…"
He nodded. "Potter and I already discussed the possible scenarios," he told her. "I need to get to Hogwarts and let him know so we can get to work." This was their plan, Hermione realized. This is why Harry was so pale and frightened when he spoke with Draco. He knew he will have to sacrifice himself. "Will you be alright all alone here? I won't take long," he addressed her in a softer voice.
"Yes, but… Can I see him, one last time? Can I say goodbye?"
Draco watched her for a moment, thinking. "I'll bring him here."
Hermione was still crying when he Apparated to Hogwarts. Only later when she looked at the sea from out the window in her room she realized she had forgotten to tell him how much she loved him once again. She prayed to get a third chance.