38.

The terrible pain was gone; that was the first thing Hermione registered when she slowly swam up to a groggy consciousness. Light glowed soft red-gold through her still-shut eyelids, and she knew immediately she was in a bed – soft, the blankets pulled up across her chest and her arms lying on top. She still felt weak and achy; her dislocated shoulder and her knee were sore, and her stomach and throat felt very tender, but obviously her ills had been treated.

St Mungo's; she had to be at St Mungo's. The memory of Draco holding her in his arms, carrying her to the floo, resurfaced. Hermione cracked her eyelids open with an effort – God she felt so tired – and rolled her head on the pillow, and a blurry shape came into view to her left.

"Oh thank bloody Merlin, you're awake," a male voice exclaimed, weary and filled with relief, and Hermione's heart sank slightly. She licked dry lips and tried to speak.

"Ron?" Her eyesight slowly focused and his face resolved in her vision; bright blue eyes bruised around with dark shadows, his shock of red hair a mess, his auburn beard nearly hiding the worried shape of his mouth. He leaned forward and took her hand in his two, scooting his chair closer to the bed.

"Yeah. It's me. You're – you're at St Mungo's, and you're going to be fine." He sounded like hell. Hermione wished he was Malfoy, and then wondered why Malfoy wasn't there. Hurt spiked small and stupid in her chest. She'd thought Malfoy would be here when she woke up.

"What day? The children?" she asked, meaning; how long was I held prisoner, are the children okay, do they know, and after two decades together Ron understood, thank Merlin.

"It's Friday morning. November the..." He frowned. "Merlin, I don't actually know. The 8th, I think? But we've been searching for you since Monday. And then Malfoy brought you in last night. The kids are absolutely fine. They had no idea you were even missing. Mum and Gin thought it was best not to tell them until – until we really had to." His voice shook.

"Good," she whispered, pleased and relieved. Molly and Ginny were sensible, and thank Merlin, Ron had listened to them. Hermione had hated thinking that the children were frantic with fear and worry for her, while she was trapped in that nightmare. Sunday night to Thursday night – only four days but they had seemed endless. Terrifying. Like a lifetime. Like falling through into another dimension, where everything was alien, and awful, and wrong. She remembered Caritas's shrieks as he'd burned, and Ciaran's hand in hers as he'd died, and a strange, hollow feeling dug into the pit of her stomach. Then Ron distracted her.

"Shit, 'Mione, I was so fucking worried about you." Her cheek and ear were suddenly prickled by Ron's beard as he stood and bent over her, hugging her carefully but radiating intensity. It was warm and enveloping, his breath tickling her neck. "I thought – we thought –" He released her at last and sat back down at her left side, taking her hand in his again, and brushing a lock of hair off her forehead where he'd disarranged it. "We had no idea where to look, and no way to trace you. You were just...gone." He swiped at his eyes with his jacket cuff and sniffed wetly, and she realised with a shock that he was crying.

"Please tell me you're not about to declare your renewed love for me," Hermione croaked, a shiver of horror that Ron might actually be about to do that rolling through her. A grin creased his face and he laughed, tired and relieved.

"No, 'Mione. Sorry to disappoint."

"Hah, disappointed? Hardly. More like relieved." She grinned back weakly, trying for humour as he cradled her hand in his two again, rubbing his thumb over the back of it gently as he leaned forward and held her eyes, expression serious.

"It did make me think about how I've been behaving though." He sighed. "I've made a real mess of things, 'Mione. I know that. I thought a lot about – about if we never found you. Or maybe almost worse, if we found you, and you were –" He broke off and took a deep, shaky breath. "Us not being married anymore? I know that's for the best. We weren't happy anymore. Hadn't been for a long time. But I didn't have to be such an utter git over it."

"No, you didn't," Hermione said tartly. "You said horrible, terrible things to me, and I'm not sure I forgive you for saying them yet, to be frank. You still haven't apologised." Ron shot her a guilty, pitiful look, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, who'd gotten a smack on that thieving hand for it.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione. I truly am. I realised when you were...gone...that I'd be devastated to lose you. That I do still love you. Just not like that, not anymore." Ron shot her a pleading look as Hermione eyed him sceptically from her pillow. "I regretted everything I've done, so much. I was a childish, nasty, prat –"

"An arsehole," she interrupted. "A hypocritical, terrible, unfair arsehole, who tried to leverage Harry against me, and make me feel terrible, because you wanted to be able to screw around while I couldn't even go out to lunch!" She wanted to yell at him but her throat was too sore, so she whispered it very angrily instead, her pulse beginning to race. Ron looked shamefaced but not quite repentant.

"Yeah," he admitted at last. "But it's Malfoy, Hermione. Malfoy. He was a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. And even before he went off and joined a mass-murderous megalomaniac's special gang, he was horrible to you for years. To all of us! And now you're just –"

Hermione made a sharp sound, cutting him off as she tugged her hand out of his grip, narrowing her eyes on her estranged husband. "Think very carefully about what you say next, Ronald."

He swallowed hard and rubbed his hands over his face, looking tired and old. "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry 'Mione. I just – why'd it have to be Malfoy?"

How could it not be Malfoy, Hermione thought, heart too-full and throbbing just at the thought of him, and wondered where on earth he was. She wanted – desperately – to see him. To have him hugging her and holding her hand. Not bloody Ron. But first she had to deal with this mess. Christ, why did Ron have to dump this on her now? She'd just been kidnapped for Merlin's sake. Couldn't he give her some time to recover before he tried to assuage his own guilt? But here they were, and she may as well deal with it. Hermione sighed heavily.

"Because he was lovely, charming, and thoughtful, and – don't make that face, Ron! You're not a child you know," she snapped, glaring, and Ron straightened his face out of the pantomime of disgust it had been twisted in.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Go on."

"Hmph. Well. There's not much else to say, really. He was all those things – charming and such – and he pursued me, and I fell for him. The end," she said decidedly.

"You fell –?" Ron broke off, expression crumpling.

"I love him, Ron. I'm sorry, but I do." A twinge of guilt shot through her at Ron's expression.

"Merlin's fucking balls," he swore, low but vehement.

"Oh why do you care, Ron? Don't you love Chastity?" She was genuinely curious.

"No!" he burst out, then paused and scratched his beard. "Well. I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it. We were just having fun, and, I mean, she's said...but I just thought...shit..." He looked bewildered and suddenly worried, and Hermione held in a smile. "I do like her though," he said, and Hermione shrugged.

"I don't really care, Ron. I wish you all the best, with whoever you date." It felt so sad, saying that and meaning it, but she forced a faint smile. He looked at her awkwardly, clearly not sure what to say.

"I – I wish you the best too, 'Mione. Just...it's Malfoy. He was a Death Eater," Ron repeated, as though he was stuck in a loop. "Do we even know exactly what he did during the war? He could have killed a dozen Muggles, and there's no guarantee we'd know."

"I'm fairly certain they would've interrogated him under veritaserum, Ron," Hermione said wearily, her head beginning to ache, her throat starting to burn. "Anyway, I'm not asking you to be friends with him. Just – don't be horrible to me because of him."

"I won't. I swear. I just want us to be friends again, one day, if we can." He shot her a pleading, hangdog look. As if he hadn't been the one to create all the bad blood between them! Hermione glared at him.

"For God's sake, Ron! All I ever wanted was for this to be amicable. You're the one who made it awful." She groaned and dragged a hand down her face. "Look, I can't do this right now. I only just woke up. Shouldn't I be telling someone what happened?" The thought suddenly occurred to Hermione with a shock. She'd passed out last night before she could give any details other than the poison. Ron looked uncomfortable, and she frowned. "What, Ron?"

"The Aurors decided the situation was serious enough to temporarily extract your memories and –"

"What?" she half-shrieked despite the pain in her throat, and Ron hushed her, waving her down. She felt like all her memories were there, but how would she even know if they were gone?

"Calm down! Bloody hell, Hermione, let me finish," Ron said firmly. "They asked my permission, and I gave it –"

"I'm so glad we're getting divorced," she said viciously and perhaps a little unfairly, "because then you won't have the legal right to give people my memories," she finished, feeling hot and horrible all over, thinking about Len groping her, and Ciaran's mouth gentle on hers, and the way she'd sat there slowly being poisoned so she could hold his hand as he'd died. She didn't want anyone else seeing that. Didn't want anyone else toknow about it. And now it was too late.

"They put them back, 'Mione! They knew after the breakout from Azkaban that Caritas Usbourne had to be involved, and wanted to try to track him down, and anyone else involved."

"Well, they're all dead," Hermione said angrily, a terrible mortification still gripping her. She half-wished Ciaran hadn't died, and told herself firmly to stop that line of thinking, now. He was dead, and he'd been a sociopathic monster, and it was sad and terrible because she'd been able to glimpse what he could have been, if he hadn't been utterly empty and warped. But he had been. She exhaled, a heavy puff of breath.

"Well, they know that, but only because of your memories."

"Did you see?" She reached out and grabbed his sleeve, urgent. Ron gave her a puzzled look.

"No. Why?" Worry scratched behind his eyes. "They didn't...?" he began to ask, a fearful suspicion dawning, and Hermione shook her head.

"No. No, they didn't do...that. Mostly I just sat there, cold and bored," she said sparsely. "Why didn't you all just wake me?"

"Because you were very busy almost dying, 'Mione," he said seriously. "Maybe you don't realise how bad it was. Your knee was broken, your shoulder was dislocated, you had a whole variety of cuts and bruises, you were dehydrated, and your organs were beginning to shut down from the poison." He eyed her steadily. "You nearly died. All because of your stupid damned jo–"

"Don't! Don't you dare." Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes. A legitimate reason for Ron to denigrate her job – as too dangerous now, instead of stupid and meaningless – was the last thing she bloody needed. He shut his mouth, thankfully. "So – so I don't have to talk to anyone?"

"Not really," Ron said, letting his anger go with a visible effort. Hermione supposed dryly that it was nice that he cared. "I think an Auror – probably Harry – will be in touch once they know you're awake, but it'll just be a formality. There's an ongoing investigation now, to find whoever was involved in orchestrating the breakout, but it won't involve you."

"Okay," she said in a small voice. "I – I think I want to be alone now. Or –" it felt so awkward to ask "– do you know where Malfoy is?"

Ron made a derisive scoff and his expression tightened. "Fuck. Yeah, okay. Fine." She stared up at him, slightly bewildered by the strength of his reaction as he stood and then kissed her forehead. "Get better soon. I'll be in touch tomorrow about what to tell the kids and when, yeah?"

"Okay?" she agreed, frowning as he strode to the door and yanked it open.

"Malfoy? She's awake," he called, tacking on in a mutter, "fucking ferret." It actually made Hermione want to giggle weak and tearfully, just as much as it made her want to snap at him to shut up. It was just so vintage Ron. And as much as she was angry at him and hurt by him, he was still Ron, and she was alive and safe, and Malfoy must be right there if Ron was calling him, so she couldn't be mad.

And then a second later Malfoy was standing there in the doorway in nothing but trousers and a crumpled shirt that had blood on the collar, barefoot, his hair spiked up at all angles and a frantic worry in his eyes.

"Granger."

"Oh my God, Malfoy!" Hermione's heart squeezed in her chest at the sight of him, and she forgot about everything but him. She held out her arms like a child, annoyed that she was too weak to struggle upright with any speed. "Malfoy." He crossed the room in a handful of swift steps and, ignoring Ron still standing at the door, bent over her and cradled her face in his two hands, his eyes intent on hers.

"You're awake," he said brittle and tight, his fingers trembling slightly on her cheeks. It felt like the eye of a hurricane. Like the seconds before a lightning strike. Like the space between breaths.

"Yeah," she whispered, drinking in his face, lifting a hand to cradle his cheek. He was wan and strained, the frown lines between his brows slashed deeper, his eyes bloodshot, his jaw unshaven, tension and exhaustion running through the bones of him.

"I was so scared," he said very quietly, his voice still weirdly tight as she ran her thumb along his jaw. "I thought –" His voice broke, his fingers smoothing over the lines of her face and pushing through her hair. Ron made a sound then, and Malfoy turned toward him, trying to cover his emotion and failing. He looked shattered. Raw. "Get out, Weasley," he said sharply, voice steady but vibrating with tension, and Hermione glared at Ron.

"Ron," she said, weighted with warning, and Ron's jaw tensed as he looked at them both for a second longer and then jerked a nod, the door swinging shut behind him.

Malfoy looked back at her, still pointlessly smoothing her hair and tracing the outline of her face, his touch very gentle and his eyes very intent. Slightly wild, as if her disappearance had driven him to the brink of sanity, an animal intensity radiating off him.

"I thought you were dead. Or – or about to be. And there was nothing I could do." Frustration shuddered through Malfoy's voice as he slumped into the chair Ron had been sitting in, burying his face hard against her side, left hand sliding over her abdomen. Hermione stared at him, startled, and then rested her hand gently on his head. He made a small, wounded sound against her as she played with the unwashed strands, his fingers twitching on her stomach. "There was nothing for anyone to follow – no clues, no way to track you, nothing –" Malfoy jerked his head up abruptly, eyes burning into her.

"You need a tracker," he said very intently. "I looked it up. There are Muggle things that can be tracked. In – in items, or under the skin."

Hermione snickered slightly hysterically. It was so sweet, and so crazy. How had he even looked that up? Was he trying to use the internet to keep her safe? Or – or Muggle libraries? Asking Harry? Good God, that was dedication. "Malfoy, I'm not a dog! You can't inject me with a tracker."

"Watch me," he said darkly and with complete sincerity, and Hermione didn't know whether to be concerned or melt beneath his gaze. And then he smiled faintly, tired and worn. "I was thinking more about putting it in a piece of jewellery, though."

"That would be far more reasonable, yes," Hermione agreed, smiling back, her hand wriggling into Malfoy's where it lay on her stomach. She felt so happy right now that she felt as though she were going to float away, buoyant and giddy. And tired. But mostly happy. She yawned. "A nice pair of earrings, maybe. To match my necklace." And then she remembered. "Oh no. I lost my necklace," she said, feeling unreasonably distraught.

"Oh." Malfoy sat back and dug in his pocket, and pulled out the necklace. Chain and all. It was grubby looking, and as he held it up for her to take Hermione saw the chain was still broken, but it was all there. "Potter found the chain at your house, and the vial at Paviland Cave when they went there last night, after they looked at your memories." He looked at her as she rubbed a thumb over the diamond pavé of the bail. "You drank the felix felicis?"

"It saved my life," she said quietly. "You saved my life. I couldn't get to it to drink it before last night. I – my hands were chained behind my back and I couldn't convince Ciaran –" a flush burned over her cheeks at the way his name came so easily, and Malfoy's eyes narrowed "– um, convince one of the kidnappers to unchain me until after I was poisoned."

"Did he hurt you?" Malfoy said, dangerous, as if he were reading things Hermione wasn't meaning to broadcast. Putting things together somehow. "Granger? What did he do?"

She blushed hotter, fidgeting with the necklace as he sat forward, elbows on the edge of the bed, one of his hands resting on her belly again. She took a deep breath and let it out again, slowly, deciding to be honest in a way she could never be with Ron. She let the words just fall out of her, however they wanted. "He was nice," she ended up saying, small and quiet, avoiding Malfoy's eyes.

"Oh," he said, more an exhalation than a word, but filled with an understanding. His thumb rubbed reassuringly across her stomach.

"The other one – Len, he was just terrifying, and awful. He kept talking in detail about how he wanted to rape me to death –"

"Fuck," Malfoy muttered somewhat brokenly, as if it were involuntary, and buried his head in his hands. "Sorry. Shit, sorry, go on."

She went on. "But Ciaran was – well he was a complete sociopath, but he was weirdly nice, almost. He gave me food and water, and some sort of privacy when I had to, um, pee. And a blanket. And he protected me from Len." Malfoy looked up at her, grey eyes stricken, as if he knew where this was going. Hermione bit her lip. "So, um, I decided..."

"To seduce him?" he finished, very brittle, when she trailed off, unable to say the words. She nodded, dreading what he was going to say. "Fuck, Granger. That was probably the right thing to do, but... I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry." His expression was taut and fragile, but relief that he understood rushed through her. And he wasn't angry. If he'd been Ron, she would have expected a possessive jealousy, but Malfoy just looked devastated for her. "Did –?" he began to ask, as if he were afraid of her answer.

"No. No, it didn't go that far, thank Merlin." She chewed on her lip again, confessing. "He kissed me. Three times."

"You're saying that like you think I'll be angry," Malfoy said crisply, and he did sound slightly angry, but Hermione thought it was for different reasons. She swallowed hard.

"I held his hand when he died. I felt bad, Malfoy. I think – I think he actually liked me, in some messed up, monstrous way, and I used him. And then instead of being glad he was dying, I – I stayed with him until... After he kidnapped me. After –" She pressed her hands over her eyes and started to cry.

"Shit," he said tightly. Then: "Do I still have to follow the stupid fucking rules, Granger?"

"N-no," she got out through her sobs, and the fact that he'd been trying to follow her rules even now just made her want to cry harder. "Although I d-don't really feel like sex right now, Malfoy."

He barked a laugh, and then something nudged her side. "Budge over then, Granger. If you want..." he offered diffidently.

"I do want," she half gasped snottily as she tried to wriggle over and he helped her, careful of her injuries. And then he was lying on the hospital bed and she was draped half over him, clinging to him like he was a lone rock in a churning sea. He was warm and lean and smelled like old sweat and stale coffee, and it was amazing. She buried her nose in his armpit – he made a startled sound – and breathed him in. Malfoy. Safety. Sweaty, wonderful perfection. He obviously hadn't even thought of washing since she went missing, and she loved that to an irrational degree. His heart thudded steady and slightly fast in his chest and his arms were wrapped tight around her. The necklace was still in her hand, and her leg was hooked over his hips, her head finding a resting place at the juncture of his shoulder and chest, and oh it was so lovely.

"You don't have to feel bad about anything you did while you were... held captive, Granger," Malfoy said after a while, rubbing her back rhythmically and soothing. "You did what you had to do. And you were smart about it. And you don't have to feel bad about how you feel either. It must have been a terrifying, confusing situation." He paused. "And if someone kept you safe from worse things, then it's okay to feel bad that they died," he said after a moment. "I'm certainly not going to be angry about it."

Hermione choked on a sob, emotions welling up almost unbearably. "I love you so much," she murmured urgently, arm tightening around him. "So, so much."

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, Granger."


Housekeeping!

Fascination currently stands at 197,000 words, and 53 completed chapters out of 60 to 62-ish, depending on whether any planned scenes run away on me, or new ones pop up, making the fic longer. And they do have a tendency to do that, with me!

Aftermath is currently at 148,000 words, and 31 completed chapters out of 40 to 42-ish, again depending on rogue scenes.

As always, thank you so much to everyone who has engaged with my fics, whether that be leaving likes, following, commenting, or sharing. It makes me very happy! 3