Malfoy's willingness to help her did not, as it turned out, extend to the bath. In light of the very early hour, he told her to rest until breakfast. Agreeable, she fell promptly back to sleep.

She woke, later, to the sound of him talking in hushed tones through the open-but-not-open door and then summoning a basket from whoever had deposited it outside. He was in all black again. Despite being trapped beneath millions of tonnes of dirt and rock, he was as fastidiously put together as ever. His hair, white in the light of the torches, combed neatly to the side. Black sweater again, no adornment. Black jeans. Feet - bare? That was a bit of a surprise.

Malfoy scowled at his visitor and turned away, dismissive. Was it Harry? No it couldn't be, he was trapped too. Ron? An elf? No it was probably Nott. Get your brain working. Nott brings his meals. She closed her eyes, hoping for another few minutes of genuine rest. She listened to Malfoy moving about - he was rummaging through the basket and setting things on the tea table. The sounds would have been soothing, if she was capable of being soothed.

It got quiet and she opened her eyes to see what he was doing. His eyes flicked to her immediately and saw her watching. He frowned, wordlessly vanishing something that had been in his hands. Good morning to you too.

She stretched her legs and arms. Which reminded her of the stretch she'd had after that morning's orgasm and how much better she had felt in the immediate aftermath.

"Breakfast is here." Middle-of-the-night-orgasm Malfoy was definitely gone. He'd been replaced by Morning Malfoy, who glowered and berated kind friends who brought him food.

"Go ahead."

"Not until you join."

"I want to wash."

Malfoy shook his head, belligerent. "Food first."

"I'm malodorous."

"What's that got to do with eating?" It was not a denial, which stung. A reminder that she was disgusting, covered in the filth of a week without a wash. And camping before that. He'd been forced to touch her, rub his hands all over her. No wonder he seemed disgusted by her presence.

"I have to bathe, Malfoy."

His jaw twitched. "Will you eat after?"

She sat up, her legs over the side of the pallet. Hesitating. She felt a loop-de-loop in her brain, but quelled any reaction so he wouldn't see. "My options are bath or back to bed." Her tone must have conveyed the desired intensity, because he stood and walked to the bathing chamber. She heard the water start before he came back and stood in front of her.

"Can you walk?"

She nodded, standing, but promptly sat right back down. Sighing dramatically, he leaned down and gripped her elbow. Harder than strictly necessary, she noted. Asshole.

Hermione managed to walk on her own, mostly, in spite of the occasional stumble like a baby fawn. As she passed through the bathroom door he wordlessly handed her a conjured bundle - clothes he must have scavenged from her knapsack. Then he left her in peace.

She moved stiffly, taking off her filthy clothes and stepping into the old tub. The water - he'd made it blissfully hot. She sank into it, feeling her muscles twinge and come awake. There was a bar of soap and a folded cloth - she scrubbed herself weakly, desperate to feel clean again.

Her body was smaller and weaker than it had been when she left her apartment on their doomed expedition. It was hard to believe she'd hiked many miles just over a week ago. She couldn't imagine such a thing, now. She looked at where her legs met - and avoided dwelling on the fact that Malfoy had put his hands there, several times, and made her come.

She spent only a few minutes in the bath - she began to feel lightheaded. But before she got out she worked up the strength to dunk her hair briefly. She immediately regretted it, as horrifying images of rising waters and drowning people flooded her mind. Hermione panicked, nearly calling for Malfoy, but managed to desperately slosh her way out of the tub and stumble against the sink for support. There was a folded towel ready - she swiped it roughly on her arms and legs before pulling the clothes unpleasantly over wet skin.

Malfoy had handed her leggings and an old Gryffindor jumper. Clean. Comfortable. Well chosen. Though not clothes she would have ever selected to wear in front of a rich Slytherin bastard. These were clothes she'd thought Harry and Ginny might see as they sat around a campfire, comparing notes about the object of their pursuit and telling stories. Old friends, comfortable and happy. Now, checking herself in the mirror, she frowned. The sleeves of the jumper were slightly frayed and the leggings had worn thin. Malfoy would surely notice.

Sure enough, when she opened the door, wet hair hanging in thick curls around her shoulders, Malfoy was right there, walking again. He paused, assessing her carefully.

An elaborate-looking breakfast was laid out behind him on the tea table. Her stomach churned unpleasantly. Not now.

"Come and eat."

She declined, saying she felt better but the bath wore her out. She took a few feeble steps forward, back to bed, before he reached her, holding her forearm tightly.

The torches had multiplied.

Strange.

"Granger, you are visibly weak."

"I swear - I'll eat something later. Tomorrow. Breakfast."

But he didn't argue with her as she climbed back into the bed in the alcove. He brought her a bottle of water, which she drank several gulps from. Clean sheets, she noticed. And a nicer pillow. There was an extra blanket too, laid neatly at the foot. She would have mocked him - How'd you sneak one of your servants in here, Malfoy? - but she was too tired. She sank into the pillow gratefully, while he glared at her from the couch, eating his food.

The powerful lull of fresh bedding, washed skin, and clean clothes pulled her under. Hermione woke again before she realized she was even falling asleep. This perpetual cycle of waking and sleeping, dozes and naps and fitful rest - she was ready for it to end. And yet the exhaustion felt insurmountable.

Malfoy was talking loudly to Harry while he moved - exchanging ideas for ways to get out. Every time he approached the magically blocked door, he shot a different spell at it. Nothing. She heard Harry doing the same. She had the impression they had tried them all before.

After several attempts, in a fit of pique, Malfoy threw his wand onto the couch. He looked like he wanted to hit something. But it made Hermione wonder - where was her wand. And - she noticed for the first time - her watch was missing. She lifted her wrist. There was a pale spot where it had resided for the past several years.

"Malfoy."

His head jerked at her. "Talk later, Potter. She's awake."

Harry was trying to shout something when Malfoy smiled and threw up a wandless and wordless silencing charm, interrupting him. Prat.

"Granger. Nice to see you getting up for the day. You're just in time for . . . bed." He continued to loop the room, though without the angry edge he'd had when he was talking with Harry and casting pointless spells. Now it was more of a saunter.

"Where's my wand?"

"About time," he muttered. "Some kind of witch you are." Picking up his wand, he Accio'd hers - from the top drawer of a simple wardrobe in the corner. She hadn't even noticed it. He stepped forward and offered it to her.

She took it, still laying on her side.

Examined it.

Felt nothing.

Accepted that her magic was gone.

And then handed it back. His jaw twitched with suppressed anger but he took it from her.

"And my watch?"

He turned abruptly and went to sit on the couch. Her wand vanished from his hand. "I don't have it."

She blanched at that, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead he was opening a bottle of wine, pulled from that day's basket. "Can't you summon it?"

He shook his head, his eyes on the red liquid he was pouring into a glass. "Too far."

She huffed. "Did it fall off when - we were attacked?"

Malfoy shrugged, sipping.

She rolled over onto her back, covering her eyes with a hand. A stupid thing to cry about, in light of it all. But she'd had that watch for years. It brought her immense comfort. She looked at it all the time.

"Replace it," he offered.

"No," she said bluntly. "It's not a regular watch. It was . . . ." How to describe it to a man like him? A man who didn't appear to like his own friends, much less have debilitating anxiety about where they might be at any given moment? "I can't."

"Too bad."

A silence fell. She studied the rock in the ceiling of the alcove. Eventually she heard him mutter something - a spell. She turned to see. He had a book in one hand, his wine in the other. The remnants of his dinner were still on the table. Probably to try to tempt her. It would not work.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

Malfoy's eyes flicked up at her before returning to the book. "Shakespeare. Macbeth."

Oh. "That's -"

"Muggle, yes. Though there's some debate about that amongst wizarding scholars." He sipped his wine and turned a page with a wordless spell.

"Debate?" She could not help it. She'd never heard that before. It was - interesting. She turned more fully on her side so she could face him.

He did not look up, his eyes moving rapidly over the words. "Apparently there was a wizarding family with the same name. They died out a generation or two after his works were published." Another sip, another page. He used his free hand to push his hair back. It feathered under his fingers - cut in posh, neat layers.

She waited but he didn't say more. "Is there any other evidence?"

He shrugged, still reading. "The three witches."

She nearly laughed. "Anything else?"

"No. That's why it's a debate."

She had read it, of course - years ago. She wished -

As if he could read her mind, he began to read, his voice deep but lilting in the way that she imagined the playwright had intended. He went on for a long time, finishing one glass of wine and then another, the words resonating pleasantly against the stone. It was comforting and familiar.

When he paused to take a sip she spoke.

"Did you read to me? When we were first trapped and I was . . . out of it?"

His eyes narrowed, assessing. "Yes."

She remembered it, vaguely. "Thank you. It was nice."

He didn't seem to know what to say with that, and shrugged. "Something to do. Potter suggested it."

It didn't sound like something Harry would suggest, but she didn't protest.

At some point she dozed and woke from the beginnings of a bad dream with a start. Malfoy was pacing, his wine glass held in the tips of his fingers by its stem.

She watched him for a few laps. Eventually he looked at her and stopped short. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes glassy.

"Come, we'll to sleep," she said softly.

He smirked. "Now is the time of help."

She could not resist. "If it be mine, keep it not from me."

"Quickly I'll let you have it." He set the wine glass down on the tea table. He'd cleared away the dinner, which was relieving. She didn't like seeing uneaten food - it reminded her of the world's waste.

He came and sat on the edge of the alcove pallet. She did not speak. Apparently reading something on her face, he slid his cool hand into her fingers, and she squeezed twice. Malfoy nodded, looking resigned.

"Move over then."

She scooted ungracefully. Very thankful for the bath earlier in the day. He lay beside her, long and large.

Facing her, he set his hand on her hip. "Like earlier?"

"Okay." She turned away, onto her side, so that his chest was to her back.

She briefly wondered whether she should offer to take her leggings off. But that felt - too intimate. And he didn't seem troubled . . .

As he skimmed his hand over the skin of her stomach.

As he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband and down between her thighs.

She spread them slightly. "Thanks," he said, like she'd handed him a fresh parchment he needed for class. Like this was completely normal and not at all insane.

Get the job done, she told herself. Pay attention and don't make it take longer than it has to.

He was stroking her gently, sliding his fingers through her natural slickness. "Is that alright?"

She nodded. Tried to be still. Her abs trembled with the effort.

"Let go, Granger. Don't hold back on my account."

Hermione didn't know what to do with that. She had never been inclined to excessive displays in sexual encounters. She tended toward rigid and quiet. Not a screamer. But he was making it feel so nice, she couldn't hold still. She widened her legs and covered her eyes with a hand.

He continued his steady pressure, sliding a finger in slow circles around her clit.

She bucked against him and he cleared his throat. "That's it."

He added another finger, avoiding her entrance. More steady movements while his fingers teased her. Finally, he brushed his thumb over the place where her pleasure centered. "Ah," she said, more breath than word.

That was enough, and she came. He kept at it, pushing her through the first wave and straight into a second. She was shaking, every muscle tight, her legs together, trapping his hand. She tried not to, but he was doing such dreadfully wonderful things with his hand.

Her eyes still covered, she released a shuddering breath. "I think - I'm done."

He ignored her, and pressed against her clit again - harder this time. A few little strokes and he had her.

She cried out, briefly, before she snapped her mouth shut. Blushing furiously, she was grateful not to be able to see him. She could only imagine his face. Her other hand clenched into a fist at her side.

Malfoy and his magic fingers.

Apparently satisfied that he'd rendered her sufficiently insensate - he withdrew, standing swiftly like he had the last two times.

"Good one," he said. She opened her fingers and turned to look at him. He stretched, yawning. "I guess you've worn me out."

She sat up, tucking her shirt back into place from where it had ridden up by her ribs. "Sorry."

Noticing her effort, he cocked his head. "Interested in a late dinner?"

She made a face - no.

He wasn't surprised - but also didn't try to hide the irritation. "Well I'm going to take a bath and head to bed. Do you need the loo first?"

She nodded and fumbled to stand. He watched her struggle, frowning like he wanted to say more. She quickly passed him on her way to the bathing room.

Hermione was brushing her teeth with an extra toothbrush she found on the side of the sink, her arm trembling with the effort, when - her stomach gurgled. Was that hunger? Progress? Malfoy would certainly think so.

Before she went out to tell him, she paused at the mirror. Unbrushed after her bath earlier, her hair had turned frizzy. It was crushed into unflattering angles, curling every which way.

No one - not Harry, not Ron, not the girls in her dorm at Hogwarts - had ever seen her look this objectively awful.

Oh well. It's just Malfoy. He thinks you're hideous anyway.

She emerged and he watched as she collapsed back into bed. "Better?" he asked. Every word he spoke to her was laced with frustrated annoyance. She supposed she should get used to it.

"My stomach rumbled. I think - I'll try breakfast tomorrow."

"Good, because you already swore it." He nodded once. "Well, goodnight." He stepped around her quickly and the door of the bathroom clicked.

She tossed and turned for a bit, wondering why he needed so many baths. It seemed like he was in there at least twice a day. His hair was perpetually damp. He probably just wants to be away from you. It was a very small room.

Hermione was just slipping into sleep when he came back, a dark figure in black joggers and a t-shirt with haphazard wet hair, and arranged himself on the couch. She hadn't seen him prepare for bed before, and watched through her lashes as he conjured a pillow and blanket. She was reminded of how different he was, how traces of the boy, the classmate, had vanished - now his arms filled the shirt, muscles pleasantly sized. Not too big, but strong. He lowered the torches until they cast only the softest of glows and then lay back. Setting his wand on the tea table within easy reach he ran his fingers through his hair a few times before he put his arms behind his head. She saw a quick flash of a Dark Mark for the first time, a stark outline against the pallor of his left forearm.

She was glad to have seen it like this, when he didn't know she was watching. She wondered if that's why he was always in those sweaters and long sleeves. Hiding it. But why? He must know that she guessed it was there.

Malfoy was still for a long time, and she thought he'd fallen asleep. But as she lay quietly, blissfully free of terrible visions thanks to his 'treatment,' she heard him whisper to himself. "Let's make us medicines of our great revenge to cure this deadly grief."

Indeed.