By one morning in the third week in the cave, Hermione had lost any sense of time. If someone told her they'd been trapped for years she would have believed it. Her world had narrowed to shouted conversations with her friends, clothing with forgiving waistbands, and Draco Malfoy, whose imposing form dominated every moment of every day.

But her body reminded her, as she sipped a coffee and pretended not to watch Malfoy do his exercise - it was well into September. It must be, because she could feel it, low in her abdomen. A pain. That time of the month. A warning bell - that within hours she'd be bleeding.

She nearly dropped the mug. No. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Counting off her fingers, forcing her brain to function, she confirmed her instincts. Yes - it had been exactly four weeks since the last time.

What was she going to do?

The idea of telling him - Merlin, no.

How would she say it? Perhaps she didn't have to.

He wouldn't even notice.

He fingers you twice a day.

Fine, she conceded. Malfoy would notice, yes.

Unless . . . she could just tell him she was feeling so much better, she wanted to take some time off from her treatments. He'd probably be pleased, to have a break.

But he didn't miss a thing - how to convince him she was fine? She would have to make a good show of it.

Watching him sweat, she knew it was impossible. He'd see right through it.

Her mind raced with possibilities for next steps.

She'd have to find a way to tell him. Just be an adult, Hermione. He's not a total idiot. Probably two words and he'll get it. Right. Of course he would. She was increasingly convinced he had a lover on the outside - he was still keeping as much distance as he could when he touched her. So surely he was used to this. He knew women, as evidenced by his ability to make one come in about fifteen seconds. He'd be disgusted, but not surprised.

Plus, she needed him to get some . . . supplies. Delivered.

Oh gods, that was maybe worse. Theodore Nott, knowing your cycle.

She blinked and swallowed. Perhaps they could ask Pansy - yes. She'd ask Malfoy to write to Pansy. Or - could she ask Harry? He had quill and parchment and had been giving Nott some letters to send. When Malfoy had his wash, she could ask Harry.

Wait - she didn't want to tell Harry. She and Harry didn't talk about things like that. She knew he'd be lovely, of course, and understanding. But it wasn't - them.

Some theretofore unacknowledged part of her preferred to tell Malfoy. He was her comrade in this madness, after all. She'd maturely ask him to relay a request for what she needed. And - they'd just take a couple of days off of the orgasms. It would be fine.

You've survived worse. She steeled herself.

But Malfoy's workout had the inverse effect she'd hoped for - he was in a terrible mood. When Ginny called "Is he in the bath yet?" . . . he lost his temper.

He'd rolled onto his back, taking a short rest between movements. At the question he lifted his head.

"I'm not," he shouted so Ginny could hear. "Don't let that stop you, though. Why don't you just fucking ask her what you want to ask her?" He rose to a sit, his arms loosely around his knees. Looking murdery.

"Sorry, I just thought -" Ginny started.

"Ask Granger what I've done to her. Ask whether I've hurt her. Ask whether she's going to need you gits to hunt me down and castrate me when this is over."

Silence fell.

Malfoy glowered. "Go on. Ask her!"

Hermione, desiring peace, intervened. "He's bluffing, of course. He hasn't hurt me."

Awkwardness descended.

"Are you and Potter averse to talking about the important shit?" he called again. "Where are we on getting the fuck out of here?"

Hermione stood, slowly - to walk to the barrier and test it. Normally that was Malfoy's job, but she needed to use the loo and make sure she wasn't bleeding yet. While she was up she might as well check they were still stuck.

Sure enough, the magic was as strong as ever - it squeezed the back of her neck possessively. She moved away from it, gasping.

Malfoy was on his feet, behind, a flash of momentary hopefulness vanished from his face.

He stalked over, circling her. She turned and glared at him. "Don't take out your bad mood on my friend. She just wanted to check on me privately. I give you space to talk to Nott - can't you do the same?"

"Nott doesn't think you're abusing me. Forgive me if I get a little defensive."

"Ginny's one of the only people who has ever experienced what I've experienced. She knows what it's like. We need to be able to communicate."

"I haven't stopped you." He was close. She could smell his sweat.

"No - but I don't like you antagonizing her."

"Making you mad, am I?"

Hermione felt another contraction of pain in her belly. "Malfoy, I'd rather not have Ginny more stressed than she is already - she feels bad that she's with someone safe and I'm out of sight and stuck with our worst enemy."

She didn't mean it - she didn't. Even before the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take it back. Malfoy wasn't her worst enemy. He wasn't.

He smiled, slowly, the corners of his mouth lifting as though he'd expected it.

"Of course," he said, low and soft. "Was I your worst enemy this morning?" he purred, continuing his slow saunter.

"I shouldn't have-"

"You were pretty cavalier about letting your worst enemy touch your tits a few weeks ago - but only if he wanted to." He cocked his head.

She felt guilty. And in need of a hot water bottle.

"Or was I your worst enemy last night or the day before that or the day before that when my fingers," he held them up and waggled them - "were the only reason you could get out of bed."

Hermione felt tears - actual tears. They were coming, and she was powerless to stop them. So she started to brush past him for the bathroom. Get away now.

"That's it?" he asked, arms wide. "Aren't you going to -"

She slammed the door. Busied herself with sitting on the edge of the tub, biding time.

What a mess. She sniffled, wiping harshly at her eyes. This was the opposite way she wanted to reveal her impending . . . situation.

She certainly couldn't say anything now. The idea of being vulnerable before him when he was angry, berating her, mocking what he did to her - no.

She'd have to talk to Ginny - ask her to relay somehow to Pansy to send what Hermione needed.

Then, too - she felt terrible about what she'd said. Malfoy was right - though she strongly disputed how he'd said it. She had no reason to think he wasn't doing his best in a bad and difficult situation. Worst enemy. That title went to - well, his father, probably. Or Umbridge, maybe. Not Draco.

She worked up her courage and stepped out, bound for bed.

They didn't talk nearly at all for the rest of the afternoon. Hermione felt increasingly uncomfortable with the monthly pains. So she curled up, staring at the torches, arms wrapped around herself protectively. Malfoy, assuming she was mad at him from earlier, occupied himself with making notes about whatever he was reading.

She needed him to have a bath - he'd put it off, for some odd reason. She needed to talk to Ginny - sooner rather than later.

When she'd finally waited as long as she could, she started to sit up. He rose to stretch at the same moment. "Oh," she said. He'd surprised her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." They both know there was only one other place to go. She started to lay back down. "I'll wait."

"No," he said gruffly, "you use it first."

She hurried to the bathing room - she wasn't bleeding yet. But she knew her body well enough - it could start any time. The anxiety was a rock in her chest. Be strong, Hermione. Just tell him you need some space.

"Are you able to eat?" he asked, when she opened the door. He'd laid out their dinner. "Before?" He looked at the bed.

"Uh, I'll try."

"Is everything okay?" He was suspicious.

"I'm fine. Go use the loo, I've got to talk to Ginny. About something - for women."

He went, no questions asked. She supposed he knew something was off - she'd never asked him to leave her alone before.

"Ginny?" she called.

No answer.

"Ginny!"

But there was a silencing spell on her and Harry's room. Hermione struggled to subdue a flash of pure rage - I need you and you're not here. Here for everyone else and not for me. Me, who saved - She took a deep breath. This is irrational. You know it. Ginny didn't mean to ignore you. But in the meantime, she needed Nott to bring supplies. Which meant -

"Malfoy?"

He walked out immediately. She was sitting glumly on the couch, staring down at the untouched food.

She covered her face with her hands. "I'm having my -"

"Witch times," he said quickly.

"How did you guess?" She fell into the cushions, mortified, feeling out of sorts and in pain.

"We've been here for weeks. I - should have expected."

"Please tell Theo so he can bring . . . things."

He cleared his throat. "Erm, yeah. I'll tell him. He's swinging by soon to do the drop off and check in. I'll ask for, ah - what you need."

She nodded but did not speak.

"Hungry?"

"I'm going to take another nap, if you don't mind."

"Of course not."

Twisting on the couch, she faced the back. She wasn't sure she could sleep, but thankfully the emotional energy it took to tell Malfoy something so private had drained her. And - she hurt.

After a moment she felt the slightest pressure - oh. Malfoy had laid a blanket over her.

She listened to the sounds of him eating - soft, like he was trying to be quiet. The clink of his knife and the pouring of water, the scrape of his plate on the table.

When she woke it was because Nott had arrived. Malfoy was speaking to him, a murmur at the archway. She heard Harry's voice too and covered her head with the blanket.

She buried her face in her arm, cheeks afire. She couldn't bear to listen.

Sleep - no, not sleep exactly - pulled her under. It was the doze of the depressed. She was hazy, half awake, but also not. It could have been five minutes or five hours before she felt the urge - she needed to get to the bathing chamber immediately. She sat up, too fast, and her head began to throb.

Malfoy was perched on the edge of the bed as if he'd been waiting. He stood.

"Can I -"

"I've done this before," she snapped. "Just - leave me alone."

He sat back down.

She rushed into the bathing chamber and confirmed - yes, it had begun. The curse of witches. She was twisted up inside with the aches and the anger. It was awhile before she could face him.

He'd cleared away the food, thank Merlin. Set out wine, which she declined.

She saw he was trying to help though, so she whispered, "I'm feeling pretty bad again. Maybe I just need to rest some more."

Malfoy grimaced as he evaluated her.

They stood, facing each other, for a long time. He looked like he might say something.

"I think it's time for your bath," he said eventually. "I'll go and start it."

"I'll take one tomorrow."

"You'll take one now."

He passed her and she heard the water. She waited, watching him through the open door of the bathing chamber. She didn't argue - she simply wasn't going to take one.

But then he was back and he leaned down into her space. "Let's go, Granger."

"No."

"I can carry you, or you can walk."

He's bluffing.

He bent and started to pick her up in one smooth move, as though she was a sack of potatoes. Wanker.

"Put me down, you git!"

He set her down.

"Now. In you go."

She went into the loo, shutting the door. Fine - she wasn't sure what a bath was going to accomplish. Maybe he wanted to buy himself time for Nott to return. Or avoid her churlish mood.

Regardless, now she was in here. Might as well if he was going to be such a bully about it.

She peeled her clothes off slowly and sank into the water - hot.

She lay back, staring at the stone above, wishing vaguely that she was dead. It was odd. She did not want to die, because that would take some effort, but she did not want to be here anymore.

She was tired of this oppressive nothingness. She felt - the complete absence of joy.

Joy. Which, now that it was gone, she realized she had previously experienced in both large and small aspects of her life - a cup of hot tea, the scratch of a new quill on fresh parchment, the smiles of her friends and the love of her parents, the wonder of magic.

She had not appreciated how much joy permeated her life and existence until the creature had attacked and stolen it all.

Hermione shut her eyes and tried to focus on her bath. One moment at a time.

She was mid-soak when, without any warning or a knock, the door opened and a bright head appeared.

It was Malfoy.

Of course it was Malfoy, but for some reason she was still surprised to see him and not - someone else. Her mother, or Ginny. Hermione was a woman, in the bath, and he was a man.

Intruding.

Get out. But she was too addled to say it.

He shut the door behind him, leaning against it and looking down at her. She reflexively laid a hand across her chest to cover herself, water swirling.

"Yes?" It came out as a choked whisper.

He gestured at her knees. "How long will you have your, uh, witch times?"

She answered, such was her shock. "Just another day or two. It doesn't last long. I'm lucky." The old Hermione would have absolutely, positively died at this conversation. Talking about her period. With Draco Malfoy.

"Right. Okay. Let's crack on."

And he reached down and pulled off his shirt in one swoop. Just . . . dropped it to the floor.

Then he reached for his belt.

Hermione sat up like a shot, water splashing onto the floor.

"What. Are. You. Doing?"

"You were better this morning after our, ah, session." He smirked as he unfastened his trousers.

Those dropped too. As had her jaw.

"And now you're worse. I don't want to wake up tomorrow to the version of you that can't eat or talk or tell me to sod off."

He bent down and picked up his clothes, draped them over the edge of the sink. He was standing only in his undershorts. His body -

He moved forward, as if to - to get in. To the bath.

"Malfoy," she said, holding up a hand to stop him. "Are you daft? I'm bleeding."

"Granger," he parroted, leaning forward, gripping the edge of the tub. He was very close to her face. "Are you daft? I know."

"But I'm . . . I'm a . . ." she gulped. She could not say the filthy word.

He had the sense to duck his head at that and look vaguely embarrassed. "That's more about who your family is. Not your, you know - your actual blood. And regardless, we're trapped in here together and I don't want to spend the next several days watching you regress just because of your . . . cycle. I'd be even more bored than usual."

She just blinked at him. Who was this person? This person who had bullied her and tortured her with reference to her blood - her dirty blood - now wanted to climb into the bath with her and slip his fingers through it.

Befuddled, that was the word for it. She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Yeah, well." He lifted his broad shoulders, which gave her an excuse to survey - briefly - his body. Mistake.

"If you were in my position, I am confident you'd do the same. Those twats Pansy and Weasleby can't figure out how to get us out of here. I need you up and reading and engaged. I've only got a couple of days left before -" He cut himself off abruptly.

"Before what?"

He waved a hand nonchalantly. "Nothing important. But - I don't have the rest of my life to linger down here."

"Neither do I," she said with a hint of fire.

"Then we're on the same page."

And with that Malfoy gestured at her - as if she was an idiot - to slide forward, out of the way, so he could get in behind her.

She did, because - what was there to say? It wasn't like he hadn't gotten her off dozens of times. He'd seen her tits, just last week. This was merely a - change of scenery. Right?

Then he was there, his body filling the tub, and suddenly it was far too small for both of them. He grunted a bit while he arranged her, in his lap, moving her legs and lifting her by the hips until he was satisfied with their positioning. Despite the undershorts, she definitely felt . . . him. That. In a way she had not, before.

"Is this okay?" he asked through her hair.

She nodded, an arm still flattened against her chest.

He summoned his wand from his pocket and conjured a leather tie, which he used with surprisingly deft fingers to pull the damp curls up into some kind of bun. "That's better," he said. "Lean into me."

She did.

She wouldn't have had words even had her current state not been semi-comatose. Because - how could one describe this moment? He was about to slide his hands between her legs and - and then he did.

He just went right for it. One second she was accepting that her back was pressed against his naked chest, strong and smooth, and the next second he was grazing his hand up and down her inner thighs.

There was no sound but the occasional ripple of water. No sight except the candlelight on steam and her toes peeking up at the end of the tub.

It was . . .

Actually, it was incredibly peaceful.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let the sensation wash over her. Malfoy's mouth was near the back of her neck and she could have sworn she felt the barest hint of his nose in her hair. His fingers ghosted over the center of her, and found the slickness. Blood now, not natural wetness, but when you feel like you're floating there is no difference.

She was floating, actually, a bit. He must not have liked that positioning because he splayed his right hand on her stomach and pulled her back down to him, against him. His Dark Mark was on his forearm, the snake moving like it was alive beneath the surface of the water.

He noticed that she saw. "Admiring my secret shame?" He lifted his hand.

"No." A whisper. "May I?"

"Sure."

She ran her fingertips over it as he made a fist. The skin was smooth beneath the ink.

"Probably never thought a man sporting one of these would have his hands between Hermione Granger's legs."

"I suppose not."

"I didn't either." He sounded amused.

"It's all in the past. You don't judge me for this, do you?" She turned her own forearm to align with his. Mudblood, faded now to a pale scratch. Barely visible on her skin. Surely he'd noticed it - confirmed when he didn't act surprised.

He ran his thumb over the faint letters like he knew them. "I don't think I'm in a position to judge for anything. Especially this. I should be apologizing."

She hummed and his nose brushed her shoulder. "I think saving me probably makes up for it."

"I haven't saved you," he said, an edge in his tone.

She was about to argue when that arm, the Mark, that hand, resumed its work between her legs. He pressed a finger inside of her and began to move it. The other hand drifted downward to lightly, ever so gently, press on her clit.

Both hands at once - she made a little noise.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded slightly but then she remembered that he wanted her to say it out loud. "Yes" - was what she meant. It came out more like "guh ah."

He refrained from a mocking quip.

Just continued his slow ministrations, one finger in and out of her, two fingers playing with her clit, and his lips on her - oh.

He was kissing her neck. Or rather, pressing his lips against the skin there, below her ear. She lolled her head to the side, a bit, to give him better access. He rewarded her with the slightest graze of his teeth. She exhaled in a long shaky breath. That was new. But it felt good.

She leaned her head a little more so he'd know - do that again.

And then he was moving a little faster. Her hands drifted away from her tits so that they were free to bob in the water and instead she reached for something to hold onto - and found his legs, strong and slender, on either side of her hips. She gripped his thighs.

Hermione was awash in sensation. She was sure it was going to take awhile, as careful and languid as he was being, but suddenly he hooked the finger inside of her and she made a noise from deep within.

There it was.

For the length of time her pleasure crashed over her - she was fine again. She was Hermione Granger.

She felt her body and her soul together, united, and she forgot all about that wall of darkness. Her light drove it up, away, and she reveled in the connections between her body and his - but also within herself.

She was beautiful, smart and strong, and she would live.

She had tensed in his arms and as she returned to reality - and as the darkness came lapping back, cursing her again - but not so close this time, not as close as it had been - she found she was fully relaxing on Malfoy.

He'd withdrawn his fingers from between her legs and had one hand stroking the top of her thigh and one hand holding her tightly on her ribcage. His lips were still tracing something on her neck. She did not mind, this was fine. She was still feeling the little ripples throughout. He could have done whatever he wanted to her in that moment.

She moved ever so slightly to adjust herself and felt him then - hard and long against her backside.

Oh. Of course. She would not play naive about bodies. He had promised to get her what she needed for her 'witch times,' and used her blood to finger her. She would not embarrass him for reacting to - all of this. The heat, the water, the press of their skin together. His undershorts the only fabric between them.

He brought it up first. "Just ignore him. He's incorrigible right now. And very selfish. I'll play with him later."

She was on the verge of a laugh. She definitely smiled. "He?"

"Might be weird if he wasn't."

She nodded, and he fitted his chin against her neck. She could feel his eyes on their bodies - her breasts floating in the water, nipples alert, their legs nestled together under the surface. She wondered why he hadn't tried to touch her chest.

But then she remembered that this was a chore, this was medicine, a means to an end. Get her well enough so they could figure out how to escape. He would not touch her, pet her, linger over her whole body because he did not need to to achieve his desired result.

She shoved the thoughts - of course he doesn't want to touch you - aside and focused on the present. The steam was pleasant and they just rested for a moment, their breathing evening.

"Shall we do that again?" he asked, slightly strained. Odd. She tried to turn to see his face but he pressed his cheek against her head so she couldn't. "Before you shrivel into a prune?"

"Actually," she said, her hand falling to her stomach. "I'm rather hungry."

He flexed his arms, tightening them momentarily around her. "Let's eat then."

She leaned forward and he got up, dripping terribly and splashing water everywhere. She watched while he wrapped a towel around himself and used a quick vanishing charm - so the floor was dry when he offered a hand and helped her stand and step out. He gave her a towel and she dried herself while he nipped out into the cave.

He was back in just a moment, a little bundle in his hands. "I told Nott to return straightaway - he left another basket. These are your supplies, I think, and more clothes. Looks like . . . wait. Bollocks, these are mine." He rolled his eyes, examining the pile.

"Fucking Nott. These are my softest joggers too, you're bloody lucky." He eyed her warily and raised his pointer finger at her. "I want these back, you hear me? No nicking them into your bag and making off with them. They're my favorite pair."

She raised her eyebrows and smirked right back - "I'll have to try them on before I make any promises" - and shooed him out. She found what she needed bundled in Malfoy's clothes and silently thanked someone - Nott, or the elves? Maybe Pansy? - for knowing she'd also want a pain relieving potion, fresh pads, comfortable pants, and a pair of fuzzy socks.

Ten minutes later she was warm, clean, and dressed in an old T-shirt and his joggers, which she rolled at the waist to fit. He was right - they were butter on her skin, well-worn.

She checked his handiwork on her hair in the mirror. It looked - pretty good, actually. A few curls had fallen loose to frame her face. Malfoy's bun. She left it alone.

When she walked out of the bathroom he was already dressed and waiting for her by the food she hadn't eaten earlier. He must have saved it. He was swilling some wine from the bottle. At first glance his eyes widened, taking her in. Then he made a face. An oh-no-you-better-not face. "You have to give them back, Granger. I mean it. I wear them whenever I get sick."

"These might be the most comfortable pants I've ever put on my body." She made her own face - a so-sorry, but-I-will-be-keeping-these face.

"They are that way because I've had them for years," he gritted out. And didn't take his eyes off her while she walked over and climbed onto the couch. Or when she leaned forward and grabbed some cheese and a slice of bread. Or when she reached out her hand for the wine and chugged a bit herself from the bottle. She felt his eyes on her and pointedly ignored him. These were great pants. She wanted them.

"Do you have what you need?" His tone was intentionally casual as he made up her plate and handed it to her.

"Yes, thanks." She took a few bites. "How did you know?"

"I didn't spell it out for Nott," he chuckled. She noticed how his cheekbones moved. "It was pretty great, though, watching him sort out what he needed to get."

She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. "Doesn't he have sisters?"

"No. I'm sure he asked Pans." He laughed loudly. "I would give almost anything to have heard that conversation. I imagine he got a lesson on witches he'll never forget."

"Probably good for him," she agreed. "But how do you know?"

"Know what?"

"What a woman needs for her witch times," she mocked softly.

Malfoy shrugged, inclining his head slightly to show off the shine of his hair. "I'm not an idiot, Granger, despite what you apparently think."

"Was your mother open with you?"

He chuckled again. "No. But I learned fast enough when a girl was off limits and that I'd better drop off a few chocolate frogs to earn my way back into her good graces."

Oh. Hermione was reminded of her lack of experience. No boy had ever known she was on her period.

"Quite the chivalrous gentleman."

"Just randy." He grinned, remembering, and his teeth were perfect and white and it was so rare she couldn't help but return it.

"Another powerful motivator," she acknowledged.

There they were, smiling at each other. She was stretched out on the couch, her feet up and near his legs, and he was leaning confidently, his arm across the back cushions. They ate and drank companionably, stuck together in a tiny room deep in the earth.

And Hermione was - content.