Warning: This chapter is nsfw due to sexual content


Hermione's recovery was long and arduous and, she quickly realised, frustrating. While she insisted on using the loo on her own, she still required help getting up from bed and needed to be escorted to the bathroom door. It was vexing, to say the least, and she quickly found herself growing tired of spending her days within the same four walls. Draco was almost always present, and Harry and Ron spent as much time as they could with her when they weren't at meals or speaking with Minerva via Phineas Nigellus.

For the first three days, she slept more than anything else. Kreacher brought her simple foods when she did wake up, and one of the boys — though it was Draco more often than not — was always with her when she woke. She often wondered what they did during those long hours she slept. They must have talked about her at least a little. She imagined their hushed conversations in the kitchen, wondering if she would make a full recovery, wondering why Draco spent so long in her room — in her bed — not the way Harry and Ron did, but holding her close…

Whatever they were thinking, they didn't tell her. Perhaps they were afraid of upsetting her, or sending her into another episode of whatever it was her scar did to her.

She wished for murtlap more than anything. Never again would she take the Hogwarts medicine stores for granted. A Patronus provided some relief, but the pain returned just as quickly as the mist faded. Still, it was better than nothing, which meant it was not uncommon for Hermione's room to be populated by an enormous white stag, a Jack Russel terrier, and the amorphous fog Draco was able to produce. It took the edge off the pain and sometimes made the difference between her being able to stand or sit, but it still was not enough.

It didn't stop the nightmares. She'd meant it when she'd said it felt like the Cruciatus was trapped within her somehow. It lashed at her during her waking hours and tormented her while she slept with flashes of images and sounds — like the Horcrux's taunting, but intrinsic and inescapable.

It was a week after their debacle at the Ministry that Harry and Ron entered her room, newspaper clutched firmly in hand. Hermione was awake and alert, attempting to make her way through Kreacher's generous breakfast. Draco was sat beside her, picking at the extra toast she couldn't stomach. He discreetly removed his arm from around her shoulders as the door opened.

"Hey," said Harry by way of greeting, "you might want to see this." He made his way to the side of the bed and unfolded the Prophet across Hermione's blanketed legs.

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED MAKES RARE PUBLIC APPEARANCE IN DIAGON ALLEY

"What?" Hermione spluttered. The accompanying image, which took up most of the front page, didn't dare show Voldemort himself but rather flashes of magic illuminating the near-deserted street, and a small crowd of darkly robed figures marching in wake of the terror.

"They make it sound like he just went out for a shop," commented Ron as Hermione read the article, aghast, "but Minerva says it was more like — like an intimidation tactic. He destroyed some stuff and started raving about how anyone who allies themselves with Harry or knows anything about where we are and what we're doing, needs to turn themselves in or he'll… be upset."

Hermione was too appalled to do anything but scoff.

"He's never done anything like this before," said Harry gravely. "Exposed himself like this, I mean. He always has Death Eaters do it instead. It means he knows we're going after the Horcruxes, I'm sure of it."

Hermione looked to Harry sharply. "Have you had any more visions?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "The Occlumency — I think it's working. I can sense it, though. At the edge… He's upset. Unstable. There's no other reason he'd do something like this."

Hermione exhaled, long and slow. If Voldemort knew they were hunting Horcruxes… Well, did it even matter anymore? All that remained was the snake, and she was always going to be nearly impossible to get close to, regardless of her master's paranoia. Perhaps not much had changed, after all.

Oddly reassured, Hermione flipped the page only to find her own scowling face alongside matching portraits of Harry, Ron, and Draco. The top Undesirables.

"Oh, yeah," said Ron with amusement, "Malfoy got promoted."

"I'm an accomplice now." Draco smirked.

"'…wanted for wanton destruction and violence at the Ministry of Magic,'" Hermione read aloud. "They couldn't spin it anymore — making you our victim, I mean."

"Nope."

Hermione didn't dare ask the obvious question, what it would mean for his parents. It was a pointless query that could only lead to distress.

Her chest throbbed. She turned back to the front page and gently folded the newspaper in half, hiding the haunting image of Voldemort's rampage. Harry swiftly took it back, held anxiously in his hands.

"Sorry," he said, watching as she stiffly reclined back against the pillows. "We just figured you'd like to know."

"No — thank you for showing me. I'm alright. Really. I just —" She sighed and shifted, trying to dispel the ever-present ache running down her middle, and the profound exhaustion which refused to abate for more than a few hours at a time. "I think I'd like to sleep."

Harry and Ron retreated from her room and Kreacher came to collect the food tray. When they were finally alone, Hermione gingerly arranged herself along Draco's side, her head resting on his chest as his fingers toyed with her unwashed hair.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked.

Hermione nodded silently and closed her eyes. She was immediately transported to Diagon Alley, to when fearful civilians had been terrorised by Voldemort's deranged crusade. No-one had died, the paper said, though some had been injured by debris.

"Hey." Draco's hand moved from her head to her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Relax."

She tried to exhale, long and slow, to relieve the pressure in her chest. She was sick of the nightmares, of how every bad thought seemed to stick to her subconscious no matter how hard she worked to dispel it. She just wanted to be better.

Draco's hand had taken up a repetitive, swirling motion against her shoulder. She focused on that, determined to sleep undisturbed by sheer force of will.

She would get better. She had to.


The days after ran into each other until time became an endless blur of dark dreamscapes and woken hours passed in the same monotonous pattern of food and that omnipresent ache which lessened at a barely detectable pace. To Hermione, this quickly became irritating and intolerable, but despite her dogged attempts to heal with ample rest and nourishment, it grew apparent that her body required more than she could offer it here. The boys were doing their best — even Kreacher was — but it just wouldn't be enough. The war was raging without them, and she was stuck in bed. Broken.

Her frustration only seemed to nourish the Dark Magic lodged in her scar, manifesting a restless torment which refused to be satisfied. It took all her energy not to become irritable and snappish. Some days, even Draco's touch was unwelcome, another reminder of the life she was unable to withstand.

But then sometimes it was his gentle, searching caresses which sought her out during her nightmares, guiding her back to the surface, and she would lie half-awake in his arms for hours as each breath became easier, the vice of her scar slowly loosening its hold on her ribcage.

It was after a difficult night such as this that Hermione heard voices. They were hushed, but the cadence betrayed the anger present and so Hermione began the arduous process of pulling herself out of sleep. Her muddled mind could not conceive a reason for there to be arguing so close to her bed. In the haze of deep sleep, she could barely remember where she was or who might be nearby, until Draco's voice rose sharply and yanked her back to reality.

"I won't let her, Potter!"

"I'm not asking for your permission, Malfoy, I'm telling you that we're going!"

"She's not ready — she's not strong enough yet —"

Hermione, who had quietly got to her feet and padded across the room, opened the door to find all three boys huddled in the hallway in front of her room. "What aren't I strong enough for?" she asked mildly.

They all turned to her at once, surprised. She merely eyed them with raised brows. Waiting.

"Well?"

It was Harry who recovered himself first. "I just spoke with Minerva. They've figured out a way to get us to Hogwarts and we're to go as soon as we can. Tonight."

Draco scoffed. "They haven't 'figured out a way.' They've devised a ridiculous, untested scheme which could maim us and" — he turned to Hermione — "who knows what it could do to you. You can barely walk! How are you supposed to —"

Hermione turned to Harry. "What is it? What's the method?"

Eyeing Draco with annoyance, Harry explained, "It uses portrait magic, which is why it's sort of… unknown. You remember how we used a portrait to get to the Hog's Head?" Hermione nodded. "Well, it's like that, except instead of a tunnel, it'll be more like a portkey."

"So… so we'll go through Phineas' portrait and pop out in the headmistress' office at Hogwarts."

"That's the idea."

It was preposterous and entirely unlike anything Hermione had heard of before. Not that she was an expert in portrait magic, of course, but she understood Draco's outrage and concern.

"We can't do this," declared Draco as though everyone around him was very stupid, "not until it's been tested. Honestly, I don't see why we can't stay here —"

"Will you shut up? Do you want to speak with Minerva? Let her tell you all the ways it's unsafe for us to be here? Because I haven't got time to explain this to you, Malfoy."

Draco's jaw clenched and he looked murderously at Harry, but he didn't say anything.

Hermione discreetly leaned against the doorway and turned her attention to Harry. "When do we leave?"

Draco's mouth fell open; Harry just looked relieved. "Tonight," he said.

Hermione nodded. "I'll be ready."

"Okay, good. Good… I'll go let them know. And pack." He gave her a smile and then hurried off upstairs.

Ron just shook his head. "Don't be a twat, Malfoy." And then he followed after Harry.

Hermione watched them go, still leaning against the threshold and already beginning to feel a little weak. She could stand on her own now, but not for very long. It frustrated her to no end.

Draco turned to her, looking appalled. "Are you insane?" he demanded.

"No," she answered primly and turned back to go into her room. "But you must be, to shout at Harry like that."

"You can't be serious," he said as he followed her. "Look at yourself: you can barely get in bed on your own. You think you can endure whatever this portrait portkey bullshit entails?"

"It doesn't matter whether or not I can," she snapped. "What matters is that I have to. We haven't got a choice. And if you're not willing to accept that, then you can leave. I need to rest."

For a few long seconds, she really thought he would turn and walk out the door. She watched his features battle between shock and anger and hurt, before his expression closed off altogether and he shook his head. "No. I'll… I'll stay."

"Good." Hermione sighed back into the pillows. "You can come sit with me, then."

He came to the bed cautiously, like he thought she might shout at him again. Truthfully, Hermione was irritated enough that she would not hesitate to scold him if he brought up the subject. But he didn't speak as he came around to the side of the bed and sat on the edge, looking thoughtfully at the bedding. "I just… I just want you to be alright," he murmured.

"And I will be, Draco," she said. "I promise."

She wasn't sure how exactly they ended up side-by-side again, only that Draco was quiet and sullen as he lay against her. Hermione let him have his silence. She understood his fears, of course. She shared them. And with time, she was sure Draco would come around to realise that it was necessary regardless.

She knew he was about to speak when his breathing changed. "I'm sorry." His words hung in the air a moment. "I shouldn't — I shouldn't have done that. I should have listened to you."

Hermione didn't open her eyes. "You're right."

"And I will listen, I promise, but" — she felt him shift onto his side — "but you need to promise me you won't be like Potter, that you won't just run into things headfirst without thinking for yourself."

Hermione blinked slowly before turning to look at him. He was watching her with such earnest fear that washed away the last of her irritation and replaced it with tender warmth. "I told you already," she said as she shifted to face him, "I do. I promise."

He leaned in and kissed her, long and slow. "I just worry," he breathed against her lips, and she felt him smile. "You don't make it easy to care about you."

Hermione laughed, but he didn't stop kissing her. Pressing himself up to hover above her, he caged her in with his arms and kissed her languidly.

"Is the door locked?" she murmured against his lips.

He stopped, reached for his wand, pointed it at the door, and cast a Locking Charm, followed by a swift "Muffliato!" His wand was returned to the bedside table and he grinned at her. "It is now."

Hermione giggled and tugged him back down by the front of his shirt. It had been so long since they'd been intimate in any way that didn't involve her being medically supervised — not to mention now was probably the first time since they'd got back from the Ministry that Harry and Ron were too distracted to come check on her. Though she was still weak, she wound her arms around his neck and held him deliciously close as he snogged her thoroughly.

His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, then trailed to her ear. "Don't let me hurt you," he whispered. "Tell me when to stop."

Hermione made a whine of assent as his lips affixed themselves to her neck, awakening all those sensations which had become dormant. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tousling it irreparably, clinging to him as he nudged her head to one side, exposing her throat to his tongue.

The Dark magic didn't stand a chance, she thought as pleasure danced across her skin. Her scar was quiet, and though her torso still felt stiff, there was nearly no pain at all.

Still, Draco handled her delicately, moving down her body like she might break if he weren't careful enough, and when she tried to shimmy to make it easier for him to lift her shirt, he stopped her.

"No — no, stay like that," he instructed as one hand slid beneath the material to rub tantalising circles across her unscarred hip. "I want you like this." And then he tucked his fingers in the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and tugged them down.

Hermione yelped in surprise as they were removed, exposing her lower body to the cool air. Draco smirked and moved up so swiftly she barely noticed before he was kissing her lips again, firmly this time. It felt good to know that he desired her just as much as she did him; she tugged his hair, sighing at the growl it earned her.

Still, he pulled away from her, grinning wickedly in a way which made her stomach drop with desperate anticipation. With her fingers still caught in his hair, he slowly crawled down her body, leaving heavy kisses through her shirt to those unscarred parts of her torso — her sternum, her breasts, her ribs, the gentle curve of her waist — all the while maintaining eye contact. Hermione could scarcely breathe, already nearly overwhelmed by his attention when he nudged her thighs apart with his knee.

She obeyed without thinking — she was so used to him now — and reached for the front of his trousers only for him to bat her hands away. But before she could question what he was doing, he settled down between her legs and placed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses to her bare thigh.

Hermione gasped, her fingers clenching in the bedding as she looked wildly to the door. If Harry and Ron came in now — but no, the door was locked, there was no reason to think —

A groan resonated across her skin. "Fuck, Granger, you smell so good."

She made a wanton sound of desperation. He rewarded her by shifting closer to her centre, where she was wet and wanting, and passing a curious finger across her. She moaned decadently and she thought she felt him smile against her thigh. The finger quested further, sliding down across her slick clitoris until it teased her entrance. Hermione held her breath, waiting for relief from his teasing, and then nearly screamed when his finger departed, to be replaced by his lips.

He placed slow kisses across her whilst she trembled with need. Hermione's eyes squeezed shut as her hands tangled in his hair again, anchoring his head against her. It had been so long — her body was so sensitive — that she felt that uncontrollable, twirling pleasure rise up much faster than she had expected.

"Oh," she gasped, "please —"

Draco groaned, quickened the movement of his tongue against her, until she arched against him and cried out in ecstatic pleasure.

When she'd stilled, he came away and crawled up her body, hovering above her, with a smug smile. His lips were shiny.

"Now I know you're strong enough," he said. Hermione laughed and swatted him until he rolled off her. Still laughing, she curled up against his side, feeling sated.

But a shadowy corner of her mind wondered if this would be the last time she was with him like this, if after tonight everything would be so irrevocably different she might never get him back. Not like this.

Hermione rested against his side and breathed him in, thinking of potions laboratories and parchment and everything she wanted when this was all finally over.