Using the wall as leverage, she managed to get a shoulder under him.
"Lean on me," she ordered, kicking the door closed with a foot.
Hermione was, perhaps surprisingly, not panicked. This was a Situation. It required Action. She would take care of it. She could react later, when everything was Fine.
She guided him, awkwardly, toward the loo. "This way." Blood was everywhere, it dripped through his fingers onto the shoulder of her robe.
Once they were in the little room he collapsed onto the lavatory, his head in his hands. "I'm sorry."
She had the chance to survey him. He had a black suit on beneath the robes. Formal. Why?
"Let me see," she said, tugging at his hands. He let her - he had cuts on his forehead, his brow. His lower lip. She leaned forward, threading her fingers in his bloody hair. Tilted his head back and looked in his eyes. They were glazed, his pupils wide.
"I'm not just drunk," he mumbled. "I've taken - something."
She forced her brain to calculate, to function. Poison? Drugs? Some potion for posh wizards gone wrong? She wanted her magic more than ever before. She needed to run a diagnostic, to test him. A healing spell, anything. The urge was so intense -
"Wait here." She ran to the mantle, grabbing her wand. Would it work? It twitched in her fingers, but it might have been her hand shaking. No.
Then she began to panic.
She hurried back, kneeled before him, held a towel to the cuts. He had been hexed, or hit, hard. And square in the face. Malfoy was a good wizard, a powerful one. Why was he getting hit full on?
He listed to his side, leaning against the sink.
"Draco, I can't use my magic. What did you take? I don't know how to help." Her voice shook slightly. Hermione - you must stay calm. For him.
Malfoy made a sort of groan, holding his abdomen.
The fear was tangy in her mouth. She was far more worried about whatever he'd ingested than the cuts on his face. She didn't care about his face. No matter what it looked like, she'd find it -
"Under your sink." He sounded dizzy.
Confused, she scrambled for it. "I don't have what you need, not for this. Just some old bandages."
He groaned again. She wrenched the cabinet open, hoping to be wrong.
She was wrong.
Malfoy had stocked her - when? There was a ridiculously large kit, nestled neatly in the back. She'd not noticed - though, she supposed, she hadn't been looking. Wrenching the lid open she found neat rows of little bottles. Dozens of them. Professional script. He'd paid a lot of money for it.
"What is this for?" she asked, verging on shrill, as her hands flew over the options. Searching. Blood replenishers, hangover cures, calming draughts, it was all here. She spied a vial of Skele-gro.
"In case." He was fading. "You needed it."
"I hardly leave my flat." Acting on instinct, she grabbed an antidote to common poisons. Unstoppered it and forced his head back, pouring it into his mouth. "Swallow. Why would I need this?"
He swallowed. Fell into her, his head against her stomach. She clutched him, trying to breathe.
Long moments passed. Time seemed to freeze, as she waited. It was impossible, that it wouldn't work. Without magic, she couldn't heal him, couldn't move him, couldn't summon help. She was no better than a Muggle. A Muggle without even a phone. She was useless. Hermione squeezed him to stay grounded. It was simply impossible that he could -
Malfoy spoke. As if coming back. "I nearly got you killed an hour after we got out of the cave. Merlin knows what more trouble you'll get into."
Tears threatened. "Is it working? How do you feel?" She was frantic, pulling his head back. "Draco, speak to me."
Blood oozed from the cut above his eye. His knuckles were bruised. She noticed when he lifted a hand toward her face. "So smart."
Catching his fingers, she held them gently. He was watching her, waiting for her, his face a devastating contrast of white and grey and blond and red.
She turned his hand in hers, kissed the back of it. Thankful. Overwhelmingly relieved. "Who did this?"
He shuddered, pulling her roughly into his lap. She sat sideways, her legs hanging toward the sink. Malfoy put his long arms around her, squeezing too tightly. "Don't let me."
"Let you what? I need to get up, I need to fix your cuts."
He frowned. "Fire won't fix this. Nothing will."
She didn't understand as she pushed herself out of his arms, shoving him forcefully so he'd let her go. She bent over him, examining the wounds. They were deep, real lacerations. Fuck.
What was she going to do? She bent back to the cabinet, looking - yes. It wasn't just potions. He had a whole medical kit in here. She began to unroll some bandages. Thought about asking him to heal himself, but the after-effects of his drinks were still very apparent. He was liable to seal his own eye shut or something else unintended.
"You can get these properly handled tomorrow, by a real Healer. For tonight, I'm going to get you cleaned up and put you in bed."
"Bed," he said angrily. "A distraction." He swiped at her hips, trying to find purchase. She side stepped him, cleaning with a damp cloth around the cuts.
"Were these knives, fists, or hexes?"
"You wore this in the cave," he said. He still sounded out of it. Hermione prayed to Merlin and the gods - let the antidote continue to work.
"What? Yes."
He fingered the hem of it lightly. "The first time I saw you in it -"
"Tell me." Keep him talking.
He spoke like he was choking on it. "I thought maybe it meant that you trusted me a little."
She tried to think back, through the fear of the present, to her mindset of the past. "I suppose by then I knew you weren't going to hurt me."
He pulled her against him again. "I couldn't believe it. You should have been cowering from me."
Setting aside her cloth, she ran her fingers over the red in his hair; if his skin was bloody let hers be too.
"Which day was that? They all run together. It must have been at least a wee-"
"Day seven," he said firmly. "Two days after the first time I touched you."
Oh. "You have a good memory."
"Not really." He nuzzled her chest, but it wasn't sexual.
Hermione had a flash of herself in the bathing chamber in the cave. "I knew this old robe was so hideous there was no risk you'd think I was trying to attract you."
He laughed at that, blood on his teeth. It was a sad laugh. "I wish it had worked."
She didn't know how to take that. But he was clinging to her so tightly she let his arms be the answer.
Malfoy buried his face in her neck. "You little swot. That's what I thought, the first time I saw you again. That you were meant for that, to be fucked, to have that blood driven out of you." He was very out of it. Her heart pattered a little.
"My blood?"
"Do you know," he asked, leaning back and biting her neck, harder than she expected. "Your blood, I've felt it."
The bath. "Yes. You took care of me."
"I would have liked to fuck you, to taste it."
She chuckled lightly, trying to distract him as she held him still for a moment and secured a bandage to his brow. "What are you, some kind of vampire? They're dark creatures."
He blinked, looking devastated. "Yes. And I know what they'll do to you, when they get the chance."
"Wake up." She pulled back, shaking him gently. "You're delusional. Everything's alright. You're hurt, but we'll fix it. I just want to know what happened."
"Me."
Gods, he was frustrating. "Malfoy. Who do I need to kill?"
"You don't have magic. What are you going to do, sic Potter for me?" Uh, yes. That was pretty much her entire plan. "You're not, he's tied up chasing the real problems."
"Harry's an auror. If he thinks this is worthy of his attention, I defer to him. You're really hurt." It was true. As she stood here, tending him, his eye had blackened. Though she'd stopped the bleeding at his hairline and brow. She couldn't do much about the split lip - so she held a fresh cloth to it for a few moments, applying pressure.
He looked terrible.
Terribly handsome.
Hermione, you are sick.
"Please don't bother Potter. I'll be fine." He chuckled again. "For now."
She took him by a hand - careful to avoid his bloodied knuckles - and pulled. He stood, leaning heavily into her.
"Hermione, you have to stop."
"I'm just standing here." She guided him, firmly, toward her room.
"It's going to be so bad," he whispered. "I dread it."
He didn't make any sense. She felt his brow with the backs of her fingers, checking for heat. But he was cool. Just bloody. "Everything's better after a night of rest. Come on."
When she got him to her room she removed his robes and his suit jacket while he swayed. Loosed his tie and unbuttoned his fine shirt. Not the way she'd dreamed of undressing him. She tried to undo his belt, to get him down to his briefs - just for his comfort. But he brushed off her hands. "No."
Mercifully he laid down at her shoving.
"Can I hold you for a little longer?" he asked, looking up at her from the bed. It sounded like heartbreak.
Yes. It was a thrill, to have him here. No matter his state. "Of course."
She busied herself first, gathering an extra blanket, a glass of water. A hangover potion from his surprise collection.
When she returned, Malfoy grabbed at her hand and pulled her down into his side. "I can't wait."
"You already have."
He folded her against and under his body, laying himself on top of her, his head against her chest. "Will you promise me -?"
Her heart sang. Anything.
"When this is done -" he said roughly.
She cuddled him to her. "Yes?" It would be easy, to promise.
But he never told her what the promise was. Instead he looked up and kissed her, deep and sloppy. He tasted of blood, metallic. "I want you so much," he said, swiping roughly at her face. "It's all I think about."
"You should rest," she countered. His lip would hurt even more if she let him continue.
Malfoy settled, his head nestled under her chin. In moments he was asleep, making the occasional soft snore. Hermione arranged them so that his face rested on her shoulder, so that she could hold his head and shoulders in her arms and clutch him properly.
Her mind raced, even as she treasured the feel of his breathing against her collarbones.
The most important thing was that he was safe. He was here, in her arms. She was keeping watch.
But keeping watch meant time to think. To feel. And she was definitely feeling - hurt.
Hermione hadn't allowed herself, over the past few months, to think much about where Malfoy spent the nights before or after he visited. On the rare occasion that she had pondered it, she assumed the pleasant fiction that he was at home. Stewing in the dark, perhaps, an expensive crystal tumbler dangling from his fingers. Wearing black and staring at flames and snapping at his elves. Maybe he saw a friend or two - Theo or Blaise or Pansy.
But tonight - he'd been out somewhere. Now that his hair was beneath her nose and her breathing had calmed, Hermione could smell cigar smoke and his cologne. He had been dressed in a suit for some kind of event.
At the root of it - it hurt that he had been out. Out in the world.
Draco, dining with others. Chatting and smoking and drinking.
She believed him, when he said he wasn't having sex with someone else. But it wasn't jealousy over his cock she felt, laying in her bed with him on her chest in the dark of night. It was jealousy over him. His time. His energy.
He'd been out, without her.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt so much, if they ever went out together. If she'd ever seen him in a suit, put on for her to admire.
She tried to imagine Malfoy at a party. Would he glower in a corner? Or run the room, mingling with everyone? She didn't know, because he hadn't invited her. Ron had said he was political. But she had her doubts - it didn't seem like Malfoy.
The October feelings of intense embarrassment re-surfaced. She was mortified - at the situation overall, at the distance between them. Here was Malfoy, dressed to the nines. Returning to her - Hermione in an old pilled night set, alone and waiting in her sad little flat.
Where his elf brought all her meals and she spilled laundry at his feet. Where he got her off and let her grind against him like a frustrated teenager, but hardly let her touch him.
No wonder he doesn't let you, she thought. You're pathet - no. He said not that word. You're desperate - for his company, for his attention. Malfoy had been going out, mingling, surely getting sloshed and laughing uproariously with his friends. Meanwhile you're still the chore you were in that cave. She visualized him out and about, checking the clock. Ugh, it's time to go see Granger, he'd probably thought.
Hermione realized she rarely gave him the chance, anymore, to set boundaries. To escape her arms and her lips and her neediness. She tended to leap upon him at arrival, cling to him. She blushed.
That ends now.
She was flooded with anger. A little at him, yes - but more at herself.
Holding him in the dark, she made a resolution. Several, actually.
Things had to change.
His friends - posh parlor types - likely greeted him with cool subtlety. You can do the same. First - no more jumping him at the door, full of smiles and bounces.
Second, no more letting Kirby, and therefore Malfoy, provide all her food. You're plenty capable. She'd known how to cook the Muggle way, once. She could do it again. Show him that she was self-sufficient. She could go to the grocery. It would be nice, to use her hands and make a meal again.
And, no more hiding in the shadows, waiting around for Malfoy to pop in when it was convenient between living his life.He'd called his Mark once his "secret shame." But it wasn't the Mark anymore, was it? It was her. They had to make the transition - out - at some point, if this was to continue. When she was back at work, what was she going to do? Meet him only at her flat, as though she was ashamed? It would be difficult, to face questions and her friends' scrutiny. Being seen with a Malfoy? A Death Eater's son? But she would do it. For him. And - for herself.
He needs to see you - out in the world. Her third resolution. Make him take you out.
Finally - she needed answers. That one was simple. Where had he been? With whom? Why had they hurt him?
She wished she was stronger. Fully healed. That she had her magic - and pride - back and at full strength. Because she would have told him "Don't come back until I'm good enough. To touch your cock, and hear the truth, and attend your parties." If he refused her - well, she'd have an answer to that unthinkable question in her heart.
He snored, bringing her back to him, and twitched, his arms flexing around her.
For now, for tonight - Malfoy was still in her arms. New resolutions heavy on her heart, she trembled. If he rejected her - her demands and the expectation of moving their relationship beyond these walls - this may be the last time. Confident that he was heavily asleep, she tried to memorize it. Him. The weight of his slumber, flung comfortably over her body.
Memorize too, the tears that slipped, hot and silent, from the outside corners of her eyes and into the hair at her temples. Tears of fear, and relief, and - something unspeakable.
She lightly traced the shape of his head.
The edge of his ear.
His jaw. The suggestion of stubble rasped against her fingertips.
His lips, careful not to touch his cut.
She wrapped her hand briefly over his throat. Possessive.
Ran her fingers across as much of his back as she could reach.
Stroked the muscles of his arms, strong around her body.
Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy.
Dawn broke to her still holding him, an arm across his shoulders and her other hand lightly massaging his hair. She hadn't let go, not once.
Hermione was exhausted. And - determined.
She'd laid with him all night, dozing only in short spurts. Partly because she did not want morning to come. She wanted to lay like this forever. But also because the hidden Healer within her had to make sure he was breathing evenly.
She didn't mind a bit. This was the first chance she'd ever had - to do anything, for him, really. She didn't want to waste it.
Nor did she want to squander him. As morning approached she had accepted a few things. Most importantly, that she'd been so focused on his body, on the hot desire between them, on Draco taking her virginity - she'd forgotten to simply enjoy him. To let him lead and come to her. He would come, when he was ready. But, if he never was - she would accept it. Would try to, anyway.
That's what she was thinking about - how she would suffer, forever, if she had to, waiting for him - when he jerked awake.
His gasp, a gust of air against her chest. Malfoy lifted his head with a start. "Granger? What the fuck." He looked around, bleary eyed. "How am I here?"
"Don't you remember?"
He scanned her. Saw the tears which had sprung to her eyes - or perhaps had lingered for hours.
"Did I hurt you?" He was aghast. "What did I do?"
She was so tired. Too tired to hold them back completely, and as he sat up, retreating from her, she turned her face away to wipe her cheeks. "I'm fine. You didn't hurt me."
He reached for her, disbelieving. "What did I say?"
She laughed. Pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Stop. Remember the plan. "You showed up here from some party - or event, or dinner, I don't even know - drunk and drugged and injured. You were rambling. Go look at your face."
He didn't move. "I remember," he said thickly. "Someone slipped me something."
She scoffed. "And hit or hexed you. Who did that?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." Liar. She could see it, the lie. He didn't even look sorry for telling it. He only looked sorry that he'd come, that he was in her bed, that he was being burdened with her frustration and questions. And, he looked a little sick.
She reached for the water and hangover potion that she'd left on the side table. "Take this. I tried to heal you but I couldn't summon the magic. You'll have to see a real Healer today."
He nodded, blinking away the fog. "Did I say anything . . . inappropriate?" His eyes raked over her face, looking for any hint.
"You were fine." She didn't mean to sound severe, but she did. It wasn't fair to dump all of her questions on him now - he didn't feel well.
Malfoy pushed himself off of her and stumbled toward the loo. She heard him bang into the walls. Drunk? Or still poisoned?
When he came back he stood straighter. "I, uh, availed myself of some of your potions. I'll replace them."
"They're yours," she said. "Take what you need."
He looked chagrined. "So, I guess - I should go. See a Healer."
"Okay."
He stood in the door for a long moment. "Can I borrow a shirt? My clothes are a mess."
She nodded and stood. She found the Muggle shirt of her father's, the one she'd worn as a nightshirt. The first night she felt his hair, she thought, as he pulled it gingerly over his head, her bandages. It was tight on him, flattering his shape. Of course.
Malfoy continued to hesitate. She suspected he was suffering from anxiety. What had he said?
Hermione sighed. "I suppose we should talk, next time." She didn't want him to suffer unnecessarily. "I would like to know where you were last night. With whom you were drinking. Because one of them tried to hurt you - did hurt you." She gestured at his face.
"I ran into something," he said quickly. "Nott was there. The drink was probably meant for him."
"Would Theo confirm that?"
"I'm not bringing my friends round to be interrogated. Believe me or don't."
"I don't."
He shrugged. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Right. So it was to be no answers, then. Thankfully, she'd spent several hours pondering the other ways she could get at the truth. She was not without resources - or auror friends in high places. Harry can find out.
Although - Harry had been at work until three in the morning, when his hand on her watch finally dragged itself to Traveling and then to Bed. Where Ginny had been for hours. She'd only bother him with this if she really had to.
"Will I see you tonight?" she asked.
"I, uh, may be tied up tonight," he said. "But tomorrow - I'll be by."
"Whenever," she said. Trying, failing, not to sound flip.
He frowned. "Fine. Maybe the next night."
"Okay. I'll be busy. I have research to do." Pointed.
"Into the monster?" They both remembered their disagreement from his last visit - about his library. "Right. I'll send some books today."
"Yes. I wish I could choose them myself, but I appreciate your relinquishing possession. At least temporarily."
He nodded, lips pressed together. "I've got to go," he said. "I need to get these cuts closed before I go home."
"I hope you avoid a nasty scar. I am sorry - that I couldn't heal it."
He stepped forward, bent hesitantly as if to kiss her. Hermione turned her face away, letting his lips brush her cheek. They were still bloody, the bright red from last night dried and turned to dusty brown. But that wasn't why she avoided them. His blood wasn't the problem.
Malfoy turned and left, dress shirt and jacket and robes in one hand, his wand in the other. She saw the flash of dusty brown, stark in his hair, when he closed the door.
True to his word, he sent Kirby, who arrived with, and unloaded, a staggering amount of reading material.
And a heavy folding table, which fit perfectly between the end of her couch and her bookshelves.
And several of Malfoy's favorite meals, which had also become her favorites.
And some chocolate frogs.
And a set of very nice quills, nicer even than the ones Ron had given for her birthday.
And a lovely book with her initials embossed on the cover, for notes.
And some flowers. "I'm to leave them on your table, Miss," said Kirby. "From the Manor greenhouse. I had to hide them from Mistress Narcissa - she hates to lose blooms, this late in the year."
Merlin.
Malfoy really felt bad.
Good.
He'd sent a lot of books about magical creatures - most of which she'd never seen before. She'd have to order copies for the Ministry's collection. She dove into them with genuine desire, spreading it out after Kirby left. She sipped a hot tea, and used her wand as anchor when she twisted her hair into a bun - might as well use it for something, she thought longingly - and she felt nearly like her old self. If only she had the magic to levitate two books at once and help with the note taking.
Soon.
She was Hermione Granger, and she was going to walk into that Ministry on her first day back knowing what had happened.
Except - as the hours passed, she found nothing concrete. None of it quite matched. The creature wasn't a kneazle or a nundu or an occamy or a lethifold. Nor a thestral. Nor anything similar to any of those.
Frustrated, she went to bed. And tried again, all the next day. She read and read, maintaining a list of what she'd excluded through the process of elimination.
Around dinnertime, she had a knock. Ginny.
"I had to come and give you a hug." Her friend settled onto the couch with a tea, looking on as Hermione continued to sort through a sheaf of parchments. "It's brilliant, to have a project. You'll figure it out in no time, and show Ron that Pansy was the world's worst research partner."
"I don't want to attract Ron, Gin." Hermione checked her watch. Ron was at Work. At least it wasn't Pub again.
Ginny nodded. "I know. I just want him to wake up. Anyway, it will be wonderful to have you back at work. It's miserable without you. Everyone is so cranky and tense, and worried about the rumors."
"Rumors?"
"Yes. That certain Death Eaters' families are getting together - like during the war. When You-Know-Who was in power."
Death Eaters? Hermione whirled to look at her. "Tell me." She felt the familiar old panic - the Mark in the sky above the World Cup, above Hogwarts, the masks and the Department of Mysteries and Bellatrix's screams. "Which families?"
"The Carrows might be in charge. But no one knows for sure." The Carrows. Yes. They were Bad. "Harry's saying it's nothing, but he's stressed, I can tell, being pulled in all directions." Ginny sipped her tea, looking fretful. "The heir, Alonso I think his name is, has been talking about it, that he beat Ron up a few months ago. And worse - bragging that they're solidifying old connections."
"But - they have no power. The Death Eaters lost."
"Sure. But as Harry told Kingsley in a meeting last week, peace is fragile. We're only ever one bad man from it slipping away."
Not Harry - that was what Hermione had said, back on the moors. Outside their tent, the first night of their journey. Harry had laughed it off.
But apparently he hadn't forgotten.
Hermione frowned. "I'll be back soon. We'll get to the bottom of it. Maybe another task force."
Ginny smiled ruefully. "No more excursions, though."
"Promise."
When Ginny was gone she turned back to her work. Death Eaters were supposed to be shirking in society's shadows. Hiding their faces, acting ashamed and contrite.
Not beating up war heroes - Ron - and stressing Ministry officials - Harry and Kingsley.
Worried but unable to do anything about it, she focused on the pile of Malfoy's books instead.
This creature was confounding. She took pages of notes, her quill not moving fast enough to keep up with her mind.
She worked until she heard a sound at the door. Malfoy. It was late. She lifted, and stretched, bending. Her back ached, like it needed to be cracked.
If only he'd crack it for her, she thought wryly. Any day now. She wasn't mad at him, not really, not after he sent such nice presents. She was weak, and apparently easily wooed.
Still, she did not greet him at the door. He found her bent over the sagging table and several open books. "Granger."
"Come on in. There are leftovers of some pasta I made - if you want them."
She could feel him standing behind her. She'd dressed in skimpy sleep shorts, and she knew his eyes were on her legs. "You upset Kirby. He says he's not allowed to bring lunch anymore."
"He'll recover," she said - cheerfully. "I went to the grocery and got myself the basics. It feels good to cook again." She glanced up. "How's your face?"
He lifted his hair back so she could see the wounds - pink and puckered. "The Healer said I might scar, but it'll be very faint."
"What about the poison?"
He smiled, but it didn't meet his eyes. "A quick-thinking witch administered the right antidote in time. I feel much better."
Her own lips stayed pressed in a line. "I'm glad to hear it. But - I'm ready for our talk."
Malfoy exhaled. "I figured I wouldn't be so lucky as to avoid it. Can I eat first?"
She turned away from him, back to her work. "Go ahead. I'm in no rush."
He was in the kitchen for a long time, heating up a plate and eating. She heard him do the dishes himself. Stalling. Meanwhile she took notes on the types of boggarts and their evolution on different continents.
Finally, he was back, and settled onto the couch. "You're a good cook." She felt him watching her. "Well?" he asked.
She eyed him over her shoulder. "I'm waiting for you - to be honest."
"Ask your questions."
She turned, looking down at him, dismayed. "I don't know where to begin. You were dressed for something formal. It could have been a date, a dinner, a party, work? I have no idea because you don't tell me anything. And then you're drunk, and get yourself drugged. You lie and tell me it was meant for Theo. And also you said a bunch of strange and terrible things while I was trying to mend you."
He paled. "What did I say?"
She threw her hands up in disgust. "Answer the main points first. I care a lot less about what you said than why you were in the position to say it in the first place."
Malfoy's mouth twisted bitterly. "I was with Nott. And Zabini. It was a dinner to . . . celebrate some recent success."
"Your joint venture?"
"Yes."
"Why would someone want to drug you?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. Honestly, Granger - I don't. Candidly, I'm worried about it."
"Do you have suspicions? Who else was there?"
He swallowed, looking away. At her wand, which she'd put back in its place on the mantle. "I have suspicions, but I'm not going to tell you. Because of Potter."
"You don't want Harry to know who your friends are?"
"They aren't my friends," he said darkly. "Clearly."
Hermione felt rageful again. "Will you tell me which one of them gave you those head wounds?"
He met her eyes. Shook his head slowly.
"Get out then," she said. "I -"
"Just assume I deserved it, and let's move on. I want to make it up to you." He was using his most alluring voice.
She snorted. "Do you think I'm that simple? That I'll fall into your arms just because you use that tone with me? That I'll take nothing for an answer?"
Malfoy exhaled. "Not really. But I had to try." He stood, staring at her for a moment. "It's true - that I deserved it. I picked a fight that I shouldn't have picked. What if I told you - that it was in service of a friend?"
That made no sense at all. But - "Like, you were defending someone?"
He nodded solemnly.
She bit her lip, thinking about it. "Someone I know?"
"Yes."
"And why can't you tell me more?"
"You'll just have to trust me."
Trust. But there was nothing on which to base that trust. Nothing - except the way he'd carefully cared for her all these months.
"You said crazy things, too."
Malfoy eased toward her, jaw clenched and fingers flexing. She could feel it, how badly he wanted to touch her. In that, they were alike. "Such as?"
"You wanted me to promise something, but you wouldn't say what it was. Just that it's going to be bad. And - there was a bit about vampires." Hermione laughed, incredulous.
His face was stone. "I do want a promise."
Oh? He'd backed her up a bit, so she was nearly in the window. She sat abruptly on the sill, looking up at him.
"I want you cured before the end of the year."
He had his mask on - a mask of anger and frustration and something else.
"Why the rush?"
Malfoy smiled meanly. "Rush? I've been helping you since August. It's been more than four months of this." He said it like it was something awful.
"Do you have some kind of deadline?"
"You do. You're going back to work, yes? You'll need magic for that. Ginny Weasley's been back and doing fine since September." His tone shifted. "I'm starting to think I'm doing a bad job of it."
"You know you're not. You know what you do to me -"
He raised a hand, cutting her off. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to intensify my efforts."
"How so?"
"Just - let me take care of you the way I'd like. I'll clear my schedule as much as I can."
Her stomach fluttered. With anxiety and . . . anticipation. "I'm fine with whatever you think is best. I thought I'd made that clear."
"You have." He seemed to be making a choice. "I know we talked about . . . ." He trailed off. Fucking. "Is that still something you'd be fine with? If it comes to it?"
"Yes." She said it a little too fast. Malfoy's brow rose. "Though I don't want you to feel any unnecessary pressure."
He looked away from her. "I appreciate that. But - I think it's been long enough. You deserve to be restored to your full abilities."
Something concerned her. "Just because I go back to work, Draco - or even when I get my magic back - I still plan to see you. I - I'd like to see you."
Malfoy frowned, pushed his hair back. She saw a flash of one of his new scars. "Let's see."
Let's see. Wouldn't he miss her? Wouldn't he be devastated, if he didn't visit her any more? But the resolutions she'd made in bed, clutching his bloodied face to her chest, were still fresh. Aloof, Granger. Don't act desperate. Let him come to you. "I agree. We will see."
A pause - and he nodded. "I'd like to take you to bed now."
Please. It had been days, since he last made her come. She was feeling it, the lack - deep in her body, on the edges of her mind and mood. "I'm ready."
He reached for her, took the fingers she extended, pulled her to a stand. He led the way to her room, tugging her close behind. He left her lights off, only the glow from the kitchen filtering in weakly.
Malfoy removed his shirt, folded it carefully, and turned. She was standing, waiting.
"Hermione," he whispered, all sharpness blurred away. "I owe you an apology."
"For?" Her voice shook. That resolve to stay aloof was about to crumble.
He kissed her ear, featherlight. "I shouldn't have come to you when I was in such a state." Kissed her throat. Wrapped it in his hand and lifted her chin with a thumb. "You're not supposed to have to take care of me."
No, that wasn't the lesson. She placed her hands on his bare chest. "I didn't mind that part. That part -" Was nice.
His nipples pebbled under her fingertips. "Won't happen again." He kissed her sweetly, carefully. Like she was fragile.
It bothered her, a little. She'd held him all night, patched his wounds without magic, stayed strong when she could have panicked. She pulled back slightly and their eyes met. "I'm alright, Malfoy. I promise."
He licked his lips, eyes flickering. "Aren't you angry? You turned Kirby away and you've been reading - all those books about the monster."
"I'm not mad. Just wanting to manage things for myself a little more. But that's not about you. It's about me, and getting stronger."
"I see."
"I won't break if you pick me up and throw me on that bed."
He set his hands on her hips, squeezing. Backed her toward the bed, and pushed her roughly down onto it. "Then take off your clothes."
He kissed her cunt until she'd come twice, and then he slipped his finger inside her and made her spasm around him once more. "Do you have any idea how that feels?" he asked, wondrous. He was laying over her legs - too far away - watching himself touch her. "The way you take my fingers?"
She was too relaxed to say anything. "Mmm."
Eventually she tried to reach for him, but he was already leaving, a kiss on her forehead.
And yet.
The next few days, there was something off.
It was subtle, to be sure.
But more than once she caught him staring at her. Several times it was when she looked up at him from her research, her quill scratching unpleasantly at the sight of his eyes sad and brow furrowed.
"What's wrong?"
He blinked it away. "Nothing. Have you found anything?"
A few times, when she allowed herself to hold on to him in bed, hoping he'd stay a few minutes longer, she could feel when he shifted from content - to keep her against him, to strum her skin with his fingers - to anxious. Anxious to leave.
He didn't stay the night. She asked, but he claimed he had appointments and needed to see his mother. "She's especially sad this week."
Of course.
But there was obviously something bothering him, something holding him back. She had to find a way to break through - to engage him fully. He'd said he wanted her healed by the end of the year - but she wasn't going to get her magic back alone in her bed.
She caught him, one night, as he was headed out - he must have thought she was asleep. He paused in her bedroom doorway, looking back. And his face. It was terrible to see. A mix of rage and pain and devastation.
It rattled her.
"Were you alright? Last night?" she asked the next day. He'd just made her come, his hand down the front of her leggings, spooning her on the couch.
His arms around her stiffened. "I was fine."
"You just seemed - upset. When you left."
He stroked her forearms, lingering briefly on her scar - Mudblood - with his fingertips. "Did I do something?"
It was all over your face. "Not at all. Perhaps I just . . . sensed it."
"You think too much, Granger."
Silence fell. She did think - a lot. And had been, constantly. It was hard, not to obsess. Christmas was nearly here. Which meant - New Year, and the return to work. Things were about to change.
She knew, objectively, that going back would be good - both for her and her relationship with Malfoy. His desire and respect for her would surely increase once she was busy, with more interesting things to discuss than how much she'd eaten that day.
To amuse herself, she tried to picture his face when he saw her in professional attire. It made her smile. He'd have a fire in his eyes. She anticipated the way he'd step toward her a little faster, slide his hand around the back of her neck. Hottest witch their year at Hogwarts? Not bloody likely. But - she might admit she was the hottest Junior Minister of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The competition was - less stiff. She resolved to facilitate, somehow, Draco seeing her on her first day back, her most flattering pencil skirt peeking out beneath her robes. Wear your highest heels - that will get him panting.
Thinking about her return to a normal schedule made her remember the holidays, first. Christmas. She had written to her parents already, promising to see them on Boxing Day. That would be nice. She couldn't apparate yet, so she'd have to take a train. Or - could she ask Malfoy? He might be willing to take her. Not to meet her parents, of course. Unless he wanted to. Just - to drop her off. She knew he could apparate from Yorkshire to London, wizard that he was - from her flat to her parents' house would be no trouble at all.
She pulled out a calendar. A week until Christmas. He'd said he would come every night, if he could. Did that mean - Christmas Day? Together? The prospect was thrilling. A little scary. Mostly thrilling. She did not have plans. If he did come to see her that day, she could give him a present. He'd given her something for her birthday, after all.
She fingered her watch, the little dials wavering comfortingly. Remembered when he gave it back to her. "I have something for you too," he'd said. Would he give her something? For Christmas? "I'm not a complete ogre." Right. If he gave her a present, he was definitely going to have to hug her. No escaping this time.
But what could she give him?
She knew what she'd like to give him - her hands, and mouth, on his body - to repay him, at least once.
What did she want from him? She knew - it didn't come in a package or with a bow. What Hermione really wanted, more than anything, was to fulfill her resolution to go somewhere - to leave the flat with him. Perhaps dinner. On New Year's Eve. She'd - always wanted to do that, actually. She'd spent the last couple of years in her pajamas, on her couch or a friend's. They were fine nights, fun even. But the idea of putting on a proper dress - maybe even something new - and doing her hair and being seen with Malfoy on her arm . . . it had a heady appeal.
"Tell me what you want, Granger." He'd told her that, in the cave, his hand between her legs. He couldn't be mad, if she applied it in this context as well. She would ask him while wrapped in his arms. Whenever he was in a good mood.
She could bide her time. Aloof, restrained. When the moment was right, she'd share them with him, her desires.
To go out.
To ring in a New Year.
Perhaps with a kiss.
When Christmas was just a few days away - Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve, as children called it - she finally worked up her courage to bring it up.
She'd prepared a little speech. Practiced it in the mirror in her bathroom as she put her hair into a fetching coiffure.
What are you doing New Year's Eve, Malfoy? I want you to take me out, as my present, and kiss me at midnight under the stars. Also, spend Christmas with me. Also, drop me off at my parents' house the next day. Would you want to meet them? My mother likes yellow roses, if you'd care to bring some.
That was all.
The evening started like many others had, since the night he was injured. She was in the kitchen, cooking and baking the Muggle way. The way she'd learned from her mother. She diced vegetables for a chowder and sipped a glass of wine. Biscuits were in the oven. Soon, she'd have magic back, and wouldn't be able to resist using it. For now there was something old fashioned, sentimental, about making it all herself. It felt like the holidays.
The door unlocked. Malfoy.
She grinned, eyes on her work. Let him come.
"What have I here?"
She wore plain leggings and a camisole, nothing special. She'd planned to change before he arrived, into one of her matching sleep sets. He was a little early.
But sure enough, his hands slid around her waist, and his nose found her neck. He bent, watching over her shoulder as she julienned a carrot.
"I'm making dinner."
"Need a taster?"
"That's for bed, later." He laughed. "It's not ready yet. For now, you can have a glass of wine with me."
He waved his wand and the open bottle on the table filled a waiting second glass. She turned and raised hers - they clinked.
"Cheers," he said, eyes on her - narrowed, suggestive - over the rim as he drank.
She blushed. "Cheers."
There was something in the air between them tonight. Was this it? It certainly felt like it could be. The tension seemed a tangible thing - a cord.
He tugged it, stepping closer when she turned back around to finish the soup. She felt one of his palms, spread on her bum. "Have I ever told you how I feel about these?"
"My arse cheeks?"
"Those too. But I meant these strange Muggle trousers."
"Ha. Those are leggings."
"Yes, I learned. I had Nott get them, when we were stuck. Your supply seemed to be running low."
Of course it had been him - not Theo, or Pansy, or Ron. "You ordered them?"
"I showed him some from your knapsack and told him to find more."
"He did a good job. They were from a nice store. I think, actually - this is one of the pairs."
"I know." He rubbed gently, covering her with his hand. "I . . . enjoy seeing you in them."
She nearly sliced her finger. Enough chopping. She dumped the rest of the vegetables, in varying stages of preparedness, into the pot and gripped the edge of the counter.
"Be more specific."
He chuckled, pressing his cock - half hard, already - into her backside. His hands moved to her hips. Better to pull her into him. "Is that clear?"
Stomach flipping, she egged him on. "Not really. Is it the fabric? Maybe the color?"
He nibbled her neck, sucking briefly on his favorite spot. His cock twitched. He does want you, Hermione. You know he does. "They make everything smooth and round and . . . enticing."
His tone had raised the hairs on her arms. Tonight was definitely the night. She was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy - wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything.
"I see," she said flirtatiously. "It must have been difficult for you, in the cave. I wore them a lot."
He let her go and stepped away, picking up his wine. "Can I help with anything?"
Odd. Come back, she wanted to say. Hold me again. "No, everything's finished. Just a couple of minutes and we can eat. And then . . ."
She smiled. He didn't.
Was it something she said? "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine - what then?"
"Uh, I'd like to talk to you about something."
"Let's talk now." He sat, crossing a long leg over his knee, and swirled his wine. "I can't stay late."
Right. Not tonight, then, for sex. She felt a whisper of concern. He was acting strangely. Distant, in a matter of moments. "About Christmas."
Malfoy's waved a hand, suspicious. Go on.
"I, um, was wondering if you had plans that day. If you wanted to see each other."
He blinked. "I - I suppose I should spend it with my mother. She gets upset, with Lucius unavailable."
"Of course," she said quickly. Something - hope, perhaps - shriveled. "Right. I figured that would be the case. I just wanted to make sure you weren't looking for something to do." She sounded so stupid, so juvenile to her own ears.
"I could come by the night before," he offered, tilting his head. Christmas Eve. But his tone - there was something in it. Pity? She could take a lot - but not that.
"Sure. If you have time. If not, that's fine. I have to go and see my parents."
"On Christmas Eve?"
"Maybe. Or Christmas Day. Or Boxing Day." Her deliberate caginess was humiliating. He could surely see right through it.
Malfoy frowned. "So, when would you like to see me?"
"Christmas Eve is fine. After that - I'll probably be busy. Or, gone. Until New Year."
She hoped he'd take the hint. Waited, a painful silence descending. He watched his wine glass, swirling the stem.
"Are you, um, available that night?"
"New Year?" He took a drink, busied himself with a top off.
"Yes."
This is it. Ask him. He's just preoccupied with something, clearly. Push through.
"Hoping for a midnight kiss, Granger?" His eyes flitted to her, intense and wary, a mismatch to his smirk.
Yes.
"If you - or - maybe we could do - go - something." It was a jumble. Her cheeks were as hot as the pot on the stove. "I mean, I was thinking that perhaps we could . . . leave."
"Leave." Was it a question? He was unreadable.
"Leave - my flat. Go . . . out."
"Are you asking for a date?"
She fought a wave of nausea. What was going on? This conversation - she'd expected it to happen between kisses and culminate, perhaps, in him fucking her and asking her to go on some surprise holiday. She'd tried not to hope for Italy. This was . . . not that. Hermione, you fool.
"Not a date, no. Just - it might be nice for us to do something together."
"On New Year's Eve." He didn't need to say more - the occasion by itself was heavy with implication. She could read between the lines.
"We spend so many nights together. What's one more?" She laughed the first syllable of a laugh before it died in her throat.
His nostrils flared. "I thought this might happen."
Oh gods. She felt herself plummeting, back into despair. It was as though she'd climbed a hill - but just before the view at the top, she slipped. Now she was staring up at where she'd started from the valley below.
"Nevermind," she whispered. "I thought -"
"Hermione. We can't." His tone was the most painful part - soft, gentle. A man handling a broken thing, holding it delicately so he could pass it off, get rid of it in one piece as soon as possible.
She laughed again, more convincingly. "Malfoy, please. I'm just bored. I thought it might be nice, for us to get a change of scenery and leave this flat. But - don't worry about it. I return to work after the first of the year. I'll be busy again. I knew you probably had plans."
His eyes widened for a second. "Maybe your friends -"
She waved him off. "Yes, I'll go to Harry's. It'll be fun. Anyway, let's eat."
So - they weren't going out on New Year. And she wasn't going to see him on Christmas. She'd have to take the train to see her parents - or she'd cancel, maybe. She could see them in January. She'd say she wasn't feeling well. The truth is the easiest lie.
She changed the subject while they ate, telling him about the holidays of her childhood and the presents she could remember. He nodded, and smiled at parts, but he looked miserable. He answered each of her questions as briefly as possible. "A broom. I was five," and "A pet? Never."
"This was good," he said when they were finished. "I'm impressed."
"At my ability to cook? Or humiliate myself?" She grinned. Keep it easy. Keep it light. Keep him.
Instead of answering, he offered to do the dishes. She sipped her wine as he gathered everything up for the sink, which he magically filled with suds. She liked to watch him do these little tasks.
Turning when he was finished, he stared slightly past her. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Breezy. "You promised me a taste tester."
He smirked, sort of, though it was more of a grimace. He pulled her up and led her by the hand to her bed, where he spent the next hour exploring and kissing and lavishing every part of her with his mouth. He took his trousers off that night, and for a few minutes she thought maybe this was it, after all - that he would avoid discussion about it altogether and simply fuck her in the ordinary course.
But in the moment, with their fingers entwined, his body stretched above, his cock pressed through his briefs against the apex of her thighs - so close, she could feel it, he was about to offer - Hermione was the one to turn her face away. To break eye contact. To pretend to swallow a yawn.
"I'll let you rest," he whispered, and was about to let go. Thought better of it. "After one more."
And he made her come again, the way he used to, with her back to his chest and his fingers drawing her pleasure. His free hand caressed her breasts, holding them like they were precious.
Damn him, it felt wonderful.
"When will you have your witch times?" He asked casually, while he was getting dressed. "Shouldn't it be soon?"
She stretched and pulled the duvet over herself. "Yes. Tomorrow or the day after. You can leave me be if you'd like."
"No. I don't want to lose several days. Since I assume you won't let me remodel your bathroom to add a tub, would you be interested in a field trip this month?"
A field trip? To . . . leave the flat? Perhaps their kitchen conversation hadn't been a complete failure, after all. "Ah. Sure."
"I have a little surprise for you."
Her heart skipped a beat. "It would be nice to go out." With you. "I only walk during the day. I miss the London streets at night."
He nodded, face neutral. "I'll arrange it. Just - write me when the pains begin."
Merlin. She squirmed a bit, expecting. For the first time in her life she wished she'd start her period as soon as possible. "I will."
Her belly started to hurt the next morning, sharp and insistent. How had Malfoy known?
When Kirby came by with some laundry he'd snuck from her and "just snacks, Miss, don't be mad, it's not even a full meal," instead of protesting she handed him a sealed note. "Please give this to Draco."
The elf turned it over in his hand, anxious. "Is it urgent, Miss? If it's urgent I promise I'll get it to him, like always."
She smiled. "Not urgent. Anytime today is fine."
He came the next night. She had his favorite joggers on. He smiled at her indulgently. "Ready?"
"I didn't know what to wear. Shall I change?"
"Just bundle up," he said. "We won't see anyone. And it's cold."
When she had a coat on, and her shoes, he wrapped a scarf around her neck. "After you." He locked her door with his wand behind them.
They went down the stairs of her building. It was dark, but the streets were aglow with Muggle decorations. Lights everywhere, sparking prettily.
"I love this time of year," she said. "Don't you?"
He looked up, as if noticing for the first time. "Not particularly." Curmudgeon.
He held his hand out and she took it. They apparated with a soft crack.
They were at the end of a driveway - a very long one. "I'm sorry," he said, as he held the gate open and his boots crunched against white crushed stone. "There's no apparating on the grounds. We'll have to walk."
His Manor. That unspeakable thing reared up inside. He'd brought her to his home? "That's fine. It's nice to walk."
The large white manse loomed ahead of them - but they turned before they got to it. "This way." Malfoy guided her elbow. She snuck a few sideways glances at him. He kept his eyes, mostly, on the path before them.
So it was up to her, to look around. At the neat path and trimmed hedges and manicured lawn, brown for the season. At the windows - all dark.
"Is your mother home?"
"Yes. That's why we're skirting the edges."
So - he'd brought her here. But she wouldn't be meeting Narcissa, not tonight. Which - probably better, given that Hermione was wearing her son's overlarge clothes.
He led her around the house, to the back - and away. Through what she assumed were the kitchen gardens, dormant for the season. To - a glass house. Condensation dripped from the inside, shrouding it. A pool.
She looked up at him swiftly. He was watching her. "Care for a swim?"
"I'm not very good."
He smirked. "You'll not drown on my watch."
He led her inside and locked the door with his wand. Shot a clouding spell toward the ceiling and walls, thickening the mist. "I'm not chancing an elfin intruder."
It was warm, steam curling from the lovely pool. There were plants in the corners, and lounge chairs. She saw a stack of fluffy towels. A sudden thought - "I don't have a suit."
Malfoy laughed. "That's the idea." Came and stood before her. Untwined the scarf from around her neck, slowly. Unbuttoned her silly big coat. Slowly. Lifted it off her and tossed it aside. Slowly. "There's a robe in the changing room. Go put it on." He gestured at a door.
He didn't have to tell her twice. Grateful for the chance for privacy, she went and changed. Peeled off his clothes, and her knickers, and her bra - and pulled on the robe.
When she came out, he was already in the pool, treading. He had dark trunks on, unfortunately. She saw them rippling beneath the surface. He dipped his head, swimming to meet her. Shook it, droplets flying.
She was worried about something, and stood awkwardly at the edge. Malfoy looked up at her, amused. "I'll get your pool dirty."
"You won't. But - I'm the only one who swims here. And, I don't care."
Oh. Hermione sat, awkwardly, on the edge. He came and stood before her, water sluicing off his chest. He reached for the tie, undoing it firmly. Shoved the robe off her shoulders and opened his arms. "To me."
Then he'd pulled her in, and she wrapped her legs around him, and he was holding her up with a strong arm at her back. He dipped them gently, up to her neck.
"It's so warm."
"I figured you'd want it heated. Normally I keep it cold."
She tightened the grip of her thighs at his waist. "This is very kind of you."
He didn't speak. He was moving, walking them slowly, ripples swirling into little whirlpools in their wake.
Hermione sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. It was wonderful, to be buoyant. To float. She felt better already, from the pains. And he hadn't even touched between her legs yet.
Nor did he seem inclined to - he held her and walked through the water for a long, long time. She nearly fell asleep, warm and wet and safe in his arms.
But eventually he moved them to the stairs, in a corner. Releasing her, he set her on the top step.
"First -" the sooner he made her come the sooner this would end - "can you show me how you swim? Kirby said you were good at it."
"He exaggerates. I'm not. I just - like to, sometimes. For exercise."
She tilted her head. "I'd still like to see it. To see if it matches - my vision." She blushed, admitting it.
Malfoy's lip curled proudly. "Fantasizing about me in the pool, Granger? I didn't think I'd get a two-for-one out of this."
She smiled and splashed him lightly. "Make yourself useful and give me a show."
He laughed. And jumped, backwards, into some kind of long, confident stroke. Proceeded to take several laps, his arms and legs moving like they were meant to move on a man like him. Merlin. Her mouth watered.
When he had gone back and forth many times, and was satisfied, his bright head surfaced, eyes visible, just a few feet away. Hermione shrugged. "You're right. Kirby exaggerated."
Malfoy snorted into the water, which caused him to splutter as he stood. "I'm going to make you regret that."
She leaned, away, coy. Moved so that her back was in the corner of the pool, her arms resting on the edges.
She kicked at him. But he grasped her ankles and spread them wide. Stepped between them. Leaned up and over her, his chest filling her vision. She felt his hand between her legs - saw the Mark, undulating beneath the ripples. "Bad girl."
"My turn for a punishment?"
"Oh yes," he whispered darkly. "And my reward." He leaned so that he was very close. "I want to watch your face."
He was stroking her in slow, unfocused touches. She spread a little wider, floating blissfully. "We could both have a reward, if you take those trunks off."
"This is for you. I'm here to alleviate whatever pain I can."
She wanted to argue - she did. The request was on the tip of her tongue. Have sex with me in this pool. But with grey eyes hovering above her, he'd see - if it hurt her. She couldn't risk it. And she hadn't really planned on her first time being in the water. It might - be awkward.
So she let him touch her, and arched her back, and when she came the first time, and again the second, she did as she was told and looked at him, mouth parted and chest heaving as she floated. Her soft cries echoed off the glass.
Malfoy had lost any trace of humor - he was watching her with his eyes open wide, as if memorizing every detail of her face and her breasts and her body. His free hand gently protected the back of her head from the stone edge of the pool, fingers tangled in her hair.
When she came down, he got out of the water to fetch a towel. And her robe. She stood, covering herself carefully. She went and changed back into her shirt and his joggers. She found supplies for her period in a basket on the back of the lavatory. He could be so fucking thoughtful.
Malfoy was waiting for her on a lounge chair, dressed and ready. She caught a flash of emotion on his face, before he blinked it away. He bundled her back in her coat, and rewound the scarf, and cast a drying charm on her hair. "You must be tired."
Yes. Would he take her to his Manor? Tuck her into his bed? It was late - surely his mother was asleep?
But no - they crunched along the same path, back to the front gate. He walked just out of her reach, so that she could not easily reach for his hand. But she wanted to - more than she could say.
He apparated her home, and escorted her up to her front door. There - he stopped.
"I'll see you in two days," he said softly. "Is that alright?" Christmas Eve.
Staring up into his face, she felt profoundly sad. Come inside and hold me. Please, Malfoy. Please. But - he'd done what she wanted, right? They'd left her flat - gone out, together. It was . . . a start. It had to be. Maybe next time he'd let her inside the Manor. She still wanted to see the library.
"Yes of course." She smiled. Leaned up and kissed his cheek. The corner of his mouth. He turned slightly and brushed her lips with his.
"Thanks for the swim." His answering smile looked as forced as hers felt. Then he left her there, watching his retreating form back down the stairs.
She spent the next days keeping herself studiously occupied. Hermione went out to run little errands - purchased presents for her parents at one of the Muggle shops, casting glances at the happy families doing last-minute shopping. Forbade herself from guessing what Draco might like, if they were in a relationship where presents could be un-awkwardly exchanged. She lingered in the aisles of the grocery, picking out her favorites. Honey, and cheese, and fruit.
Back at home she baked bread. Ate it thoughtfully, slathered in butter, while she read every last word in each of Malfoy's books. She'd gotten a delivery - Pansy's notes - from Ron. They were - no surprise - very bad. Not up to her standards, she thought primly. Jumping from source to source, they were not structured the way she would have done at all. Topically would have been better, cross referenced against anything relevant.
Like Malfoy had done, in the cave, she thought. His notes had caused no friction between them - in other words, they'd been works of art.
She was determined to distract herself. And - the Prophet was motivating. The morning after her swim with Malfoy it had reported that there had been another attack.
Muggle Man Found Comatose in North Yorkshire read the headline. A source from St. Mungo's shared that they'd sent a healer to recommend the treatment - which would be kept confidential for patient privacy. And Obliviate the Muggle doctors afterward. Hermione's mouth was a tight line, reading it. It was the creature, without a doubt. She'd have to ask Malfoy about it. See if he'd had any reports. Where had it been, all these months? No matter. She'd be back at work soon, and identifying, locating, and containing it was her first and highest priority. She'd put the whole team on it. Malfoy would probably be glad, for her to handle it. You can show him how competent you are. Impress him.
But the article was another reminder - she'd put the world away, these last few weeks. Months. Tucked it aside as if it was a project she could put down, something to avoid. It was only a few more days now, before that world returned. Colleagues, and meetings, and the exhaustion in the evenings after a long day in her office. Where would Malfoy fit in? He seemed resistant, defeated, when it came to continuing to see her. Well. She'd simply prove him wrong. There was a place for him in her life - as there was already, in her heart.
Laying in the dark, watching the moon, she thought about the week ahead. It was Christmas Eve tomorrow. Draco had said he wanted her cured before the end of the year. She had no gift for him - no gift except herself. She could think of no more appropriate exchange after all this time, all this yearning.
He'll do what he wants to you. And you'll do the same.
Let him heal you.
Let him bury himself in your body.
Make him feel what you feel, when you're together.
He couldn't end their visits, not if she did that.
She was sure of it.