At breakfast he handed her a fresh coffee, his attention focused on the Prophet. They hadn't read it on her birthday, so he was catching up.
Hermione coughed suggestively. Hand over a section. But he was too focused to hear.
She coughed again, which resulted in him handing her his own mug, absorbed in the news.
"That's yours."
"Sorry." He tried to hand her his half-eaten croissant. Not what she wanted.
"Malfoy."
"Yes?" He looked up, annoyed.
"Did someone die?"
"No."
"You're reading that newspaper like something's happened." She held out a hand. Let me see.
He wrenched it away from her, a flash of concern on his face. "I'm not finished yet."
It was an excuse. "Tell me."
He stood, holding it while he paced. What was going on?
"Is everything okay?" Her voice was tinny. The trauma of the school years, of Harry reading the Prophet and looking up in panic, Voldemort on his lips - it sometimes came crashing back.
But he knew he overplayed his hand. He reshuffled the paper and handed her the front section. "It's nothing." He hesitated. "Our old friends who should know better, making poor choices."
She began to page through it, searching for what he was talking about. She passed an article about Azkaban's tunnels - let Harry worry about that - skipped a headline about the Autumnal Equinox, in a few days - and found a short blurb, just a few sentences, about a brawl at a high-end nightclub frequented by the graduated Pure Blood set.
"Not the sort of place where this kind of thing happens," proclaimed the story. Names weren't named, but it was intimated that the fight happened over a woman. "This is what we get when we let blood traitors in," an unnamed source was quoted. "They pick fights and steal our witches."
"How old is this edition?"
"Two days," said Malfoy. "And yes, it was Weasley. He got in an argument with an ex of Pansy's. He's fine, just a bit roughed up. Hopefully regretting this fling they're having."
She checked her watch. Ron's hand still hovered over Bed. She wasn't sure how to take that. He loved a good lie in under the best of circumstances.
"Which ex?"
"A Carrow cousin."
"Big lad?"
Malfoy shrugged. Preoccupied.
"How do you know?"
"Note from Nott."
"Can I see it?"
He had the sense to look guilty. "I burned it."
"I wish you'd told me," she said. Knew why he hadn't.
"I didn't want to upset you."
Hermione thought for a few minutes. Ron being hurt was a reminder - a painful one - that the world was passing by. Her work, her friends, the seasons - moving on. What if they were down here for another month? For a year? For the rest of their lives?
But what will happen when you get out? Draco had said he never wanted to see her again. Was that true, really? Would they separate and never speak? Somehow, she could not believe it. They were distant and yet not.
It was the most confusing connection with someone she'd ever had.
She simply had to trust. In herself.
And - in him. Her suspicions about the way the magic of the cavern worked had only grown stronger. She had to hope that the same feelings that would allow her to walk out of the archway would be the same feelings that facilitated some level of communication, some kind of relationship, when they were free.
Someday. When you're better. When you're the old version of you, the interesting and chatty and hard-working woman who wears real clothes and occasionally some lipstick. She and Malfoy could be acquaintances. Or . . . friends.
In the depths of her heart lurked a hidden hope - one she would not permit to come to the surface of her conscious thought.
"Draco."
He frowned, irritated. "Don't call me that."
Hermione licked her lips and took a deep breath. Looked directly into his grey eyes, searching for something.
"I want to go home."
Hermione sat on the couch, eyes on Malfoy, her back ramrod straight.
Finally saying it - I want to go home - felt like the words they'd all been searching for, scanning thousands of pages for, guessing at.
He was staring at her. While she waited for him to process it, she thought for a moment how much she'd memorized him, and yet had not. Every time she looked at him she saw a new detail. The precise shape of his ears or the curl of his eyelashes.
He shivered as if chilled.
"Did you hear me?" she asked softly.
"Yes." He spat it.
But she would not give up an inch. He had kept her trapped. Had kept Harry and Ginny trapped. "We've been in here for almost a month because-"
"Fuck that. I have nothing to apologize for. Do you hear me? Nothing."
"Malfoy, the magic is what it is. You can't avoid the plain fact that this all happened-"
"I am done. Done." He stood, began to walk aimlessly around the little space, shoving his hair back and speaking his anger aloud. "I have killed myself for you in this room. I have given up some of the last parts of me that I was sure I'd never lose - the parts that would never violate a woman, would never touch someone against her will -"
Hermione's chest clenched. "That's not-"
"Shut up."
"I hate it when you talk to me that way."
He pushed his shoulders back and somehow grew another few inches. "I will say this one more time. I don't understand the magic. Maybe it's true that Malfoys once had a password to release themselves. If so - I'm as bothered by my ancestors' negligence in not passing it down as you are. I would never have chosen to be trapped in here, with people who hate me. It doesn't make sense on the face of it." He paused, breathing heavily.
His diatribe merited correction, but she pressed on. "There is no password. There is just here." She gestured at her chest.
His jaw flexed.
"I said, I want to go home. You've heard me. I think - I believe - you'll let me. Will I be able to?" They both looked at the barrier that had kept them in the room. The edges of it shimmered.
"That's up to the magic." He looked pained.
"I'm going to get up and walk through it now," Hermione whispered. "And if I cannot, it's because you want me in here. With you. If I can't leave, the only explanation is that you consciously want me to stay. You may not have known, before, the power you wield over this cave. But now - you know. And my containment from this moment forward is intentional."
He flinched - he knows you're right, she thought - and stepped backward.
She rose.
She took a moment. Memorized the room - the walls of stone. Her unmade bed in the alcove and his couch, parallel. The door to the bathing chamber and the little wardrobe in the corner. Stacks of books everywhere, crates of random things they'd accumulated. Everything lit by the glow of the torches. Then she looked at Malfoy, the master of it all.
He watched as Hermione passed him, as she walked confidently toward the barrier.
She refused to deflect, would not be afraid.
You are leaving. He will not keep you here.
She approached the archway.
Behind her, he made a noise in his throat - a strangled gasp of sorts.
Where the wards had blocked and held for so many weeks . . . nothing. No staying hand at her throat, no force pressing her back. Instead the remnants of magic rippled over her like thick water, and then she was through.
She was in the large cavern that connected all the small rooms. The Bunker.
She was out.
She was free.
The leavings of their camp were still around the firepit from that first night, cots and sleep sacks laid out. She turned and saw where Harry and Ginny's room had been. How close - she was a little surprised she hadn't heard more from them.
She pivoted slowly, looking behind her. Malfoy.
He was unmoving, his eyes glued to her. His face was blank.
"Come on out," she called. "It doesn't hurt a bit."
He shook his head, disbelieving.
But then he was walking forward. Passing under the archway.
And - yes, he was through.
That was so easy.
But she knew it hadn't been - something had changed in him. The magic simply recognized it.
Malfoy had released them both.
Her naïveté expected that he would stand before her, concede defeat, admit that he had failed to understand his own family's blood magic. Or, better yet, hug her. Celebrate.
He did none of that.
Instead, he moved methodically - as though he was following some kind of procedure, as though he was preparing an evacuation. He flipped his wand out of his pocket and turned to Accio her wand, her knapsack, her clothes, her books, her birthday presents. Ever practical.
He left everything of his. She supposed he could just replace it all. Must be nice.
When it was all out and neatly piled, he handed her the hiking boots she'd worn here. She sat on the hard ground and pulled them on - they felt heavy and strange after so long in stocking feet.
While she did that he shrank and stowed her belongings in her pack. "Shall I carry it for you?"
"No." Something about all this methodical organization made her cranky. "Give it to me."
Levitating it, he sent it toward her. Gods forbid they get too close. Hermione slung it over a shoulder. He'd used a charm to lighten it. "Thank you."
He bent down and pulled on his own boots. "Granger?"
"Yes?" The magic must have done something to her after all - she was feeling a little bit sick. She wanted to get out as soon as possible.
"Don't forget. What you promised."
She rifled through memories. Searching for a promise. Ah - that she wouldn't speak of her treatments in that bed. That she wouldn't tell anyone what he'd done to her. "I won't."
"Ever."
"You don't have to worry."
He nodded for a second before he smirked. "Good."
She turned toward the way out. "Do you think the monster is still here?"
He cast a trace spell - it revealed nothing. "Let's not wait around to find out."
This was it.
"Shall we?" she asked.
He stepped forward, leading. "Follow me."
They hiked in silence. Malfoy, wand raised to share its light, picked a careful path over the rough stones, between boulders, past stalagmites and streams of water. It was physically exhausting after so much time in bed, but he didn't ask if she could do it.
Her thoughts had time to bounce about. She reminded herself, multiple times, that he disliked her intensely. That the last month had been his worst nightmare. That he was also probably embarrassed that he hadn't known how to get them out and didn't want to admit that they'd wasted all this time and - body contact - because of a failure to understand his own wards.
She tried to keep her gaze on his feet and not his long legs or the round, firm bum above them.
As they walked she gained a new appreciation for Theodore Nott and all those baskets he'd delivered. It was not a quick trip.
When her own legs were quivering and she was about to ask for a rest out of sheer necessity, she looked up. Sunshine. It streamed down toward them.
Malfoy was silhouetted against it, stark against the day. Blocking the light at the end of the tunnel - typical.
How is it that you were moaning from his fingers just hours ago? she asked herself. She realized, belatedly, that he had touched her intimately for the last time.
And that she would never again feel his body against hers, his hand on her hip and his arm beneath her cheek.
Would never relax into him as he stroked her, as he ghosted over her most sensitive places.
As he pushed her to heal in wave after wave of pleasure.
As he eased her toward the light.
The light she was following him into now. She stumbled, rocks scraping beneath her boots.
He turned his head back, so she saw his profile. "Are you-"
"I'm fine," she snapped. "Hurry up." They both knew she was winded - her breathing echoed. She had to slow, but did not feel bad about it because he slowed as well.
The last few yards until they reached the exit and open world beyond were the hardest. She placed one foot slowly in front of the other, avoiding any glances at him.
And then they were out.
Bright. Too bright.
She had to close her eyes.
But that allowed her other senses to absorb it all - the ache in her calves, the warmth of the sun on her face, the grasses whispering against each other. Far away a partridge clucked.
Malfoy muttered a shield charm to mimic a cloud. It allowed her to open her eyes, at least - to see him standing a few feet away, hair ruffling pleasantly in the wind, his hand above his own eyes. He was evaluating her.
The moors beyond were picturesque to the point of obscenity.
"Yes?" she asked.
"I can apparate you from here. Do you feel strong enough?"
She did not, but wouldn't admit it. "I think I'll walk a ways first. Adjust to-" she waved her hands- "all of this again."
He tipped his head. "I promised Potter I wouldn't leave you. So - I'll follow."
"You don't have to do that. I'll be fine." A lie. They both knew she had no magic.
"I agree. I know you'll be fine because I'll escort you to wherever I can deposit you into the custody of one of your friends. I won't be blamed as the reason you've disappeared, or been splinched, or gotten injured again." He turned away.
And appeared to notice their surroundings for the first time, because she saw him draw in a breath. Even Malfoy isn't immune to nature's charms.
"It is rather lovely, isn't it?" She moved so that she was beside him, and they looked out onto the hills together. The clouds made evocative dark and light patterns on the rolling lands. They stood like that for a long time, until she realized he was waiting for her.
"I don't know where to go."
He pointed to their left, down a winding and narrow path. "There's a village that way. Or we can hike a bit-" he pointed to their right- "and when you're ready I'll take you to wherever you think Potter & Co. might be."
She looked at her watch. Harry - Work.
"Harry's probably at his office."
His jaw twitched. "I'd rather not wander through the Ministry."
That presented a conundrum. She couldn't take him to Ron's place. Ginny was with Family, which meant she was at The Burrow - where Malfoy would not be received with welcome. "I'd like to hike a bit. And then I suppose we could go to my flat. I'll owl Ginny or Harry or Ron. Maybe one of them can meet us and . . . confirm."
He thought about that for a moment and nodded, not looking at her. "Let's go then."
She kept up with him easily, probably because he was moving at a snail's pace. She did her best to enjoy freedom, and the daylight, and the gentle buffeting of the wind.
But he was in front of her, tall and strong, drawing her attention. It felt strange to be following his footsteps through the heather. She associated Malfoy with being an indoor type of person.
"Are these all your lands?" she asked.
He did not break stride. "Family lands. Yes. Until the boundary of the village I showed you and ahead a few more miles." A few. Understatement. She'd seen the map.
"Do you come here often?"
"No."
"Hmm." She watched a couple of plovers chase each other, skimming low over the earth.
"Why?" he asked, after a minute.
"It's just so beautiful. I can't imagine owning a place like this and not wanting to spend all my time in it."
"It's far away," he said defensively.
"I suppose. You could build a little cottage on it. A hideaway in the middle of the moors. That's what I would do."
She watched his shoulders rise and fall while they kept walking. "My mother doesn't like it here. It's boring."
Hermione chuckled which caused him to look back over his shoulder, annoyed. "Something funny?"
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Not at all. Just - how can you say that? You could hike, ride, camp. Or spread a blanket and have a picnic, spend an afternoon in the sunshine reading."
He made a face. "My mother? No."
"Leave her at home then. Take Theo, or Pansy or-"
"We don't do things like that together, Granger. We're not your merry gang of troublemakers."
"You are friends, aren't you?"
"Sure, we're friends. Friends who lounge in parlours drinking firewhisky and playing cards and gossiping about who's fucking whom."
It was her turn to make a face, but he wasn't looking at her so he didn't appreciate it. "That sounds awful."
"To each their own."
They walked for a while longer, making their way over several of the hills. He took his time. After so long inside and in the dark it was a glorious feeling to be in nature, to be moving, to be unconfined. She relished the trickle of sweat down her neck and back.
Eventually though, Malfoy stopped. They were at the top of a rise, rocks before them. A promontory of a sort, overlooking a vista even prettier than the one at the mouth of the cave. She made an involuntary noise of appreciation and his eyes looked her over instantly. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "Just thankful. To see such perfection. It's hard to believe we were trapped in a place like that under a view like this."
He too gazed out at the land before them. "I suppose," he said gruffly. Cleared his throat. "I expect you're tired. This is a lot after being inactive for so long. Are you ready?"
"Eager to be rid of me?" She was joking, or trying to. But somehow it didn't sound that way to her ears, and his mouth twisted.
"I think we both know this experience has been bizarre and it's better for all involved if we separate and never speak of it again as soon as poss-"
Hermione held a hand up. "Enough."
He acquiesced. "Indeed."
She would think about this later, she decided. From the comfort of her own bed, in her cheerful home. It would take some time to unpack it all. She would digest what had happened to her, and to Ginny. What had also happened to him. "I'm ready."
Malfoy clenched his hand into a fist and extended it to her. No more hands touching, she supposed. That was left in the cave. He only ever touched you because he had to. She gripped the smooth skin of his wrist firmly.
Before she could linger on how it felt - they had apparated with a crack.
They arrived on the street corner across from her building. She'd forgotten how powerful he was - very few wizards could travel that far, to an unfamiliar point, with someone else along. She checked to see if he looked proud - but he didn't appear to think anything of it.
He'd landed them in a magically hidden space between a light pole and a trashcan where Muggles couldn't see. It was a bustling day in London, working types wandering this way and that, their heads bent and various types of bags slapping at their sides. Her home was near the entrance to Diagon Alley - she'd heard her father's voice, location, location, location, when she rented it - and a few witches and wizards also wandered through the throngs, completely unnoticed by the non-magical. She released his arm. She'd been holding it so tightly he swayed, ever so slightly, in her direction. Hermione slid away, paranoid that she might brush against his side. Don't let him think you need any help. "How did you know where I live?"
"In the early days, when you were still . . . out of it." He looked down at her. "Ginny thought you might want your apartment checked. Plants watered, mail collected. That sort of thing. I sent Nott and Potter shared where to go."
She nodded. Theodore Nott had been in her apartment. She didn't love the idea of that, but at least it had been tidy. "Right. I guess I forgot - it's a bit of a fog." A wave of exhaustion and sadness washed over her. It must be the apparating? Being around so many people all of a sudden? But she forced a smile that he did not return. He made a face instead that could only be described as a scowl.
"You're looking shitty, Granger. Are you alright?"
"Sorry I didn't think to do my hair." She stomped forward, crossing the road. If he's going to be rude, you can do the same. You'd think after what you've just been through together he would -
There was a blur of movement and panic and noise all at once.
She had stepped, without looking, in front of a bus.
As it happened, it was a rapidly moving bus, with a driver who did not notice her.
But it didn't matter, in the end, because before her brain could properly register that she was about to be hit - to be killed, in all likelihood, and certainly to be terribly mangled - there was magic surrounding her and under her.
Everything slowed - the bus froze as if time had stopped. Dust particles hung in the air. People everywhere were statues. It was like someone had pressed pause.
No - someone had, quite literally, pressed pause.
Only Malfoy was moving, stepping toward her in the street, scooping her and her pack into in his arms, then striding swiftly across the lanes, weaving gracefully between the cars.
When they were on the sidewalk in front of her building, the last grain of sand in some magical hourglass fell, and everything resumed. Traffic was honking again, people moved past, the bus continued on its way. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't almost been crushed. She began to breathe again - hadn't consciously stopped.
He set her down, very slowly, but kept an arm around her shoulders. "Can you stand?"
"How did you do that?" she whispered.
"Time suspension spell. Hermione, can you stand?"
"Yes," she said, but stepped forward in a stumble. She pulled her wand from a pocket in her knapsack to tap the hidden entrance - muscle memory - before she remembered she couldn't muster any magic. In fact she needed to collapse, until her racing heart could return to normal.
Her wand was gently removed from her hand. The door rippled into existence in front of them. Malfoy to the rescue. She reached for the handle but he opened it for her, stepping aside.
"After you."
As soon as they were in the narrow foyer, he shut it firmly and turned to face her. "I'm going to chalk that little display up to your judgment being impaired from exhaustion after an eventful day - and not some latent desire to end it all."
She had no strength to argue. Her heart was still pounding and her stomach was doing some kind of terrible backflip. "I'd like to sit down."
His face changed. "Can you manage the stairs?"
She looked up, toward her flat - on the fourth floor, which normally she loved but currently deeply regretted. "In a minute."
"You look like you did in that cave." Then Malfoy was taking her knapsack and shifting it to his own shoulder. Bending toward her, lifting her under her back and knees. She was in his arms again.
He was climbing the stairs.
She rested her head on him, her hands clasped around his neck. She felt every single step. He took them very slowly. Because you're heavy. He still smelled of the soap they'd both used underground.
When he had hauled her up six flights and they were in front of her flat he put her down. Her stomach roiled. Now you'll never touch him again. He tapped the door with her wand and she heard the locks.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked.
He hesitated. Of course he doesn't. "Candidly, you've just nearly been hit by a bus and you look like you're about to faint. So while I had hoped not to invade your personal space, I do think I should wait until . . . you're settled."
The handoff. Right. He didn't want to be accused if she collapsed and hit her head and it was days before Harry or Ginny came to see her. She turned away and opened the door, leaving it so he could follow.
Home.
She would have appreciated it, but the capacity for complex thought had left her brain somewhere between the near death experience out on the street and Malfoy carrying her up the stairs. So she simply moved into the familiar surroundings and toward the living room, where she laid down in a heap upon her own couch.
Her ears began to ring. Breakfast was threatening to make a reappearance.
"Malfoy?" She wouldn't have thought it was her voice except she knew they were the only ones here.
She kept her eyes closed to try to stop the room spinning. He was at her side, long fingers brushing lightly against her forehead as if checking for a fever. "Who should I summon?"
She swallowed to try to keep the nausea at bay. She couldn't call Ginny - she was still recovering herself. And Harry - he was dealing with actual problems like Azkaban. He didn't need to be bustling back and forth, caring for them all. Ron - well, she had no idea what she would say to him, now that he was shagging Pansy. Luna? Neville? Padma? They were friends, of course, but they didn't usually come to her flat. Nor were they the kind of friends who brought soup 'round when she was sick or helped her through the waves of emotion generated by being nearly pancaked in the street or returning from a month trapped in a cave with an enemy who had been compelled to make her orgasm.
No, she would deal with this herself.
"No one. Please don't call anyone. I just need - some time. To calibrate. You can go."
She was glad she couldn't see Malfoy when she said it. Her eyes remained tightly closed. She could only imagine the face of disgust or, worse, pity.
There was a pause. "I'll get you some tea."
He retreated, his footsteps loud against the old wooden floors. Then she heard the sounds from the kitchen - the gentle rattle of cupboards and the clink of the kettle. Water being poured and the swoosh of a fire lit in the stove burner. Silence, and then - the whine announcing it had boiled. More clinking of cups and saucers. She focused as hard as she could on the homeyness of it and her own deep breaths.
"Time to sit up."
She cracked an eye open. He was across the room, closing the curtains. A comforting darkness fell. That was better. How did he know? Wanting to make it plain that she would be fine, she pushed herself to a half sit and leaned into the arm of the couch. He handed her a cup. Wrapping her hands around its heat, she took a little sip. "Thank you."
"For?" He picked up his own cup and drank, but did not sit. A line too far, apparently. She would have laughed at the irony if it hadn't felt like the world was closing in.
She sipped again. "Saving my life. Carrying me upstairs. The tea." She kept her eyes on the steam and her hands and his shoes.
It was a minute before he answered. " You're welcome."
She knew her body was flirting with shock. It was odd - to be able to identify what was wrong but do nothing about it. She needed to rest. That much she knew. Every bit of energy she'd felt just an hour ago on the moors of Yorkshire had disappeared.
"I feel better now."
"Really? It's been . . . an odd day."
She was surprised to see he wasn't angry, or sneering. He just looked tired and a little sweaty. In his fitted shirt, with wind-tousled hair, he put her to shame. "Can we extend our agreement not to speak of what happened on that pallet to this?"
He froze, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
She gestured down at herself. "I'd rather people not know that I'm having some kind of breakdown, stepping into traffic and needing to be carted into my own home."
Acceptance of - something - flickered across his face. "Sure. Of course. I won't tell anyone but Potter about your little suicide attempt."
"Even your friends?"
He huffed a mirthless chuckle and paced a few steps in the short distance from the couch to the window. It was not a big flat, and felt even smaller with him in it. "My friends are only going to ask if we fucked down there, Granger. I'm going to tell them no and they are going to laugh their asses off. One or two might press for information about Potter or how we both survived being trapped, and I will make a joke about how it was the worst torture of my life - but at least I got a lot of reading done. And then I will change the subject to Pansy fucking Weasleby and they will latch onto that and never ask about it again. It will be forgotten."
Well. That answered that. Her head had become too heavy and she laid it down on the arm of the sofa. That was not enough, and she slid until she was completely prone. Buried her face in the crook of her elbow, hair spilling everywhere. She couldn't see him this way. Ideal.
"I think you should worry a lot more about the questions your friends will have for you. Yours don't seem the type to take a simple 'no' for an answer."
That was true, she had to admit. Ginny was going to want to dissect every single day in that cave in detail. But that was a bridge to cross another time. Today Hermione felt awful, and wanted not to speak anymore of Malfoy or what he'd done for her. How he saved your life. Twice, actually - in that cave and when that bus was inches away. How he fed you, clothed you, bathed you. How his tone was one of complete nonchalance - like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.
"I'm really fine. You can go." Convincing, when you can't even look up.
"Okay," he said.
His fingers on your forehead - that was to be the last touch. She didn't know why she cared. Why did it matter what the last touch was? It didn't. Your body is confused. She shook it off.
"I'll send an owl to Potter. That you're here."
"Okay."
He didn't move.
"Leave, Malfoy."
"I'm going. But I have to say - you have that look again."
"What look?"
"The look you had after the attack." He didn't need to say more.
"I just need to rest."
"Rest didn't help you then."
This was simply too mortifying. They were skirting too close, on the edge of speaking about what he'd done to her down there. What they'd done together. How he'd helped her. How it had felt.
"It will be different now that we're not trapped. I'll sleep tonight, have breakfast tomorrow, get a little sunshine." Her voice was muffled.
"I'm going to tell Potter that someone needs to visit."
Fine. Yes. Leave it to her friends to come by and assess her condition . At least from them it wouldn't cause her to die of embarrassment.
"Goodbye," she said pointedly, with the last of her strength.
He did not respond. She heard him, after several moments, walk to the kitchen, where he returned the cups. Then, slowly, his steps receded to the entryway. There was a silence - had he left? - before she heard the door click open. An even longer silence before she heard it click closed. She waited. Was he gone?
Finally she called out, testing. "Malfoy?"
No one answered.
It turned out Hermione was very wrong. She was not, in fact, different now that she was not in Malfoy's cave. Though she did sleep. Slept far too much.
After he left she dozed on the couch until evening, when she roused to the creak of the trees against her living room windows. She lay there briefly before she stumbled to the loo then straight to bed, pausing only to remove her clothes. She didn't have the energy to pull on a nightshirt, so she slept in her knickers and a camisole. That was unlike her.
The next day, when she woke - late, judging from the sun's position - she tried to eat, she did. She dragged herself to the kitchen and found that, of course, nothing was edible. A month in the icebox meant spoiled milk, bad eggs, and mouldy bread. Exhausted at the effort she'd expended to learn something so obvious, she had gone to lay on the couch and contemplate whether she really needed to eat after all. It seemed like too much work.
She'd passed her knapsack in the hallway - Malfoy had left it for her. Her wand jutted from a side pocket. She ignored it. Couldn't use it anyway.
After a couple of hours of laying there and staring at the gradual shifting of shadows there was a knock. "Hermione? It's me." Harry.
"Door's open."
He was carrying bags. Groceries. "Where are - oh." He'd come down the hall and spotted her on the couch. She lifted her head to see him. He looked like himself - a slightly stressed, red-cheeked version of himself. He set down his load onto the floor and came round to face her. He bent over, pushing her hair back and giving her a half hug - as much as he could with her laying down. "I've missed you."
She lifted a hand to pat his shoulder. "Same."
Harry pulled back to examine her more closely. "He wasn't kidding."
"Malfoy?"
"Who else?" He went to put the food in the kitchen. She didn't even contemplate following him.
"What did he say?" she called. She heard him bustling about, pulling things out of the bags and putting them away in the cupboards. "Harry! What did he say?"
He turned on the stove and rattled a pan. "Is eggs on toast okay?"
"What. Did. He. Say." She was about to drag herself up just to throttle him.
Eggs cracked. "Malfoy?" He was whisking.
"Yes."
"I'll tell you in a minute." Something sizzled.
She rolled her eyes - better to save her energy for an inevitable argument. Her head didn't leave the arm of the couch.
She wasn't sure how long it took Harry to make the little meal, but he returned eventually with a tray, laden with juice, cut fruit, and eggs on toast. "Dinner is served."
"Give me a minute." She did not move.
He set the tray down and squatted in front of her so they were eye level. Harry examined her, his expression free of judgment and full of concern. "You have to eat."
"I will. In a minute."
"Now." He reached out and took her by the arm, dragging her so that she was at least upright. She dropped her feet over the edge of the couch to the ground and he moved the tray onto her lap. He sat down in a chair on the other side of the room to observe. She speared a strawberry with a fork and took a small bite. It tasted like nothing.
"This is perfect," she said to be polite. "I know you're busy. Oh -" she remembered suddenly. "And engaged. I'm sorry. Congratulations."
"Merlin, Hermione. My life can wait. You say it like I wouldn't cancel everything to help you. I didn't expect you to be this bad off."
"I'm not that bad off."
"Take another bite without looking like you can't keep it down and maybe I'll believe you."
"My stomach is still upset from a . . . scare yesterday."
Harry nodded and conjured his own cup of tea. He sat back in the chair like some kind of therapist. "Malfoy mentioned it. The bus?"
"Yes." She scraped off the egg but nibbled at the toast.
"He sure laid it on thick in his note. Trying to convince me he didn't starve you down there, I expect."
Her head snapped up. "He didn't."
"Oh yes," he nodded vigorously. "It was quite pathetic. I should have brought it with me, I think it would have made you laugh. I never took him for dram-"
"No," she said loudly. "I mean Malfoy didn't starve me. He -" she grasped for the words. "He cared for me as well as anyone could have under the - the circumstances." She tried the juice but it tasted off. She put the glass down.
Harry frowned. "Uh huh. Well the evidence suggests otherwise. You don't appear to be doing . . . very well."
"Thanks." She took another bite of toast. She couldn't believe she was feeling this way but - she was ready for Harry to leave. The sooner he was gone the sooner she could drop the charade of eating and sitting up and speaking.
"You know what I mean, Hermione. He warned me you were still ill, and it seems he was right. You're quite pale, and honestly -" he paused, lines deepening between his eyebrows. "You look very sad."
"How is Ginny?" She poked at the eggs and her stomach declined. Nope. She took another bite of toast, and knew she was finished. Better luck next time. She set the tray on the table, wishing he would pick it up and take it out of her sight.
"Doing fine," Harry said softly, watching her. "She's definitely still affected, but she's able to eat, and sleep, and shower. Take walks."
At that Hermione flinched. "I'm going to shower."
"It's not a criticism," he said swiftly. "Just relaying that she's better. And I'd be happy to see you improve as well."
"I'm sure I will," she said. "Now that I'm out of there. Not trapped with Malfoy."
That perked Harry up considerably. "That's exactly right. You need some space. A few days alone. And I think - some more time away from work."
She sank slowly back down on her side. "I suppose I should write to my Department. Tell them I do need more time."
"I took care of it," he said. He leaned forward and set his tea cup on the tray beside her uneaten eggs. "You've got another two weeks at least - extra if you need it."
"Two more weeks," she said softly. "And I've already been gone a month. I've never taken two weeks off in my life."
Harry clasped his hands between his knees. "No time like the present. You don't seem to be in any shape to come back."
She could only nod in agreement.
His voice changed then. "Hermione."
"Yes?"
"How are you going to get better now?"
The question hung there for a few seconds. She closed her eyes, visions of Malfoy stretched out beside her on that pallet flipping through her mind. Malfoy climbing into the bath. Malfoy, looking at her breasts but never, ever touching them. Malfoy whispering good girl. Malfoy making her body shake, his fingers inside her. She shoved it all aside. "Like I said, I'm going to rest."
He chewed at his lower lip, thinking over what to say. "Well, Ginny is still - she still needs -"
"You, fucking her."
He frowned at her French. "Something like that. You know."
Hermione felt heavy. Breathing, lifting her hands, raising her head - all felt impossibly difficult and as though each part of her body was full of lead. She sensed the abyss nearby, its edges ever expanding as it collapsed on itself, sucking anything good or warm or happy down into the darkness. She did not want to think about what to do or how to fix it. But she knew that every minute she lay here, in the dimmed living room of her apartment, alone, the edges drew ever closer. "I'll think about it."
"Can I help you get to bed?"
Her bed might as well have been in Australia. Too far. "No."
Harry stood and came to hover over her. "I'm worried. What can I do? Who can help you, Hermione? Can - should Ron come?"
She did not answer. Not Ron. She didn't need to say it. Harry sighed. "Look, I'm sure it's disappointing to leave the caverns and find yourself slipping backwards despite being free. But I think we've all accepted that the after effects of the monster attacking you and us being trapped were coincidences. So we've dealt with one problem, but that doesn't mean the second one has automatically resolved."
She felt tears brimming in her eyes but would not let them fall. "I know, Harry. But I have to hope that rest and a few more days off will fix this."
"And if it doesn't?"
She didn't know what to say. There were no other options. Ron was - Ron. And with Pansy, apparently. While she knew he would try to help her if asked, she simply couldn't. She didn't even know if it would . . . work, with him. His hands between her legs - no. No Ron. Perhaps George? Perhaps someone random from the street? An idea: she could pay a sex worker. But she couldn't ask Harry to recruit someone for that. She could imagine how he'd react. Hermione sighed and decided that was a tomorrow problem.
Apparently accepting she was done speaking for the day, Harry patted her shoulder. "I'll check on you. We'll figure it out."
He left the tray - hoping, she figured, that she would eat some more - and called goodbyes and I love yous on the way out.
But when he returned the next day she was in the same spot, the tray and its dried, rubbery food untouched. She'd gotten up a couple of times - to use the loo - and found herself back on the couch.
Harry didn't talk to her much on that second visit. He cleared the dishes and brought her some water, which she sipped. He busied himself with straightening piles of books and papers and doing some magical tidying. He tried opening the curtains - which drew her sharp rebuke, so he let them fall closed again.
Then he sat with her for a while and read snippets of positive articles from The Daily Prophet. She liked that part, and closed her eyes to listen. She thought of Malfoy, reading Shakespeare by torchlight.
When she woke, Harry was gone. He'd left a note pinned to the mantle, but she hadn't the desire or ability to get up and read it. Nor to summon it to her. Come to think of it, she didn't know where her wand was. When was the last time she'd seen it? Oh right. In your knapsack. Malfoy dumped it near the front door. No matter - she rolled over on the couch to face the back cushions and tried to sleep again.
She had no sense of time. It was probably the third day since she got home from the cave. Why was she awake? She still felt very tired. But there it was - a knocking at the door. Hermione didn't move - Harry knew how to get in.
"Hullo?" Not Harry. It was Ginny. "Oh!" It was a soft little sound - of surprise. And, Hermione had to concede, horror.
"Come and sit, Gin," she said, her voice cracking. She reached for the bottle of water Harry had set out. "Congratulations are in order. I'm sorry I'm not ready to celebrate your engagement properly."
Ginny padded across the room and sat hesitantly on the same chair Harry had occupied. "He said you weren't feeling well but I - I didn't understand. I would have come sooner."
"It's okay. It wouldn't make a difference." Hermione meant it to make her friend feel better, but Ginny frowned. Her hair was pretty, soft and wavy around her shoulders. She was wearing a flowered top and denims, and she looked as young and wholesome as ever. The new ring sparkled loudly on her finger. Hermione, still laying on her couch in her knickers and a camisole with only a blanket pulled over her, was glad she'd never got around to putting a mirror over her mantle. The only thing worse than her current state would be to have to watch herself in it. Her curls were undoubtedly frightening.
Ginny pursed her lips. "What shall we do first?"
"First?"
"Well, you need a shower, a meal, a walk outside, and an orgasm or two. The order is up to you."
Her tone reminded Hermione of advice from her mother. Never ask a toddler if they want to leave the park. Tell them firmly it's time to go - and offer that they can walk or be carried.
Hermione smiled. "I really just need some more sleep."
But Ginny was stone faced. "No, you don't. I've been in your position, Hermione. Recently. And I know what you need because it's what I needed. You can nap when you've completed the aforementioned to-do list." Her tone brooked no argument.
Hermione's eyes widened. "I don't need - all that. And of course - you - you can't. I mean, it wouldn't work." Ginny's eyebrows only raised incredulously. "You're with Harry."
"You think I wouldn't haul you to your room and make you come myself? Don't try me. I know what you're going through, what you're feeling. Or - not feeling, as the case may be. The only thing that will measurably improve you is a thorough round of pleasure." Ginny shrugged as if it was nothing. Hermione's mouth had fallen open. Ginny Weasley, goodness gracious. "That pleasure can come from you, or me, or Ron, or even Harry at this point. Frankly, I'll find anyone you want. But you need some. Now. Before you regress further."
"That's just it," whispered Hermione. "Why am I regressing like this? The day we left the cave I felt - not great, I'll concede - but pretty good. Malfoy and I, we even hiked a couple of miles before we apparated to London. I was - content. In the sunshine. On the moors."
Something passed over Ginny's face but she hid whatever it was as fast as it came. "Right, but then you had a scare, didn't you?"
"Yes. I wasn't paying attention. I stepped in front of a bus."
Ginny was careful with her words. "I think - whatever we have. From that monster - it can be worsened or triggered by things around us. Bad things. Upsetting news, sudden feelings, not taking care of ourselves." She shrugged. "I definitely feel better but that's thanks to a pretty strict routine I've developed."
"Tell me?"
Ginny blushed then, and ducked her head. "Well, I wake up and have . . . time with Harry. In bed." She forced the words out as quickly as possible. "And then I eat a healthy breakfast and shower. I have a walk every day. I read but not too much. And I don't read any bad news. Harry circles the happy stories. I relax in the afternoons or visit my mum. I try to do a little project of some kind - but again, not too much. Not like the long hours we were putting in at the Ministry. Just - something to occupy my hands, and my magic, and my mind. Something tangible. Then, in the evenings, we cook a simple dinner and have . . . more time together."
"In bed." Hermione was disbelieving. Twice a day? But, she supposed, that was similar to what she and Malfoy had been doing in the cave.
Ginny nodded, cheeks the shade of an overripe tomato. "And then I go to sleep early. Harry doesn't need as much as I do, he lets me rest while he stays up late working. But if I don't do all this, every day - yeah, I slip back. Not as severely as you have, but still - it's noticeable. I can feel the oppressiveness of the sadness. Getting closer."
"And you think it gets worse if something bad happens?"
"Well, my emotional state got worse when I realized that Ron being with Pansy is, like, a real thing." She made a face. "I couldn't get out of bed for a day and a half. Harry had to dedicate himself to my recovery."
Hermione didn't have a Harry, though. She was alone. And, apparently, was going to have to hire someone to come and give her orgasmic medical treatment for the foreseeable future.
Lovely. The ad wrote itself. Rapidly aging witch seeks a discreet man with agile fingers to come and frig her senseless. Pay negotiable. No vacation. She sighed.
"Gin, I appreciate what you're saying. And it makes sense, of course. But in my current condition, I cannot imagine leaving this flat anytime soon. I'm taking care of myself as best as I can. And I don't want anyone I'm friends with to have to put their hand between my legs." She readjusted her head on the couch cushions. Something Ginny had said did leave her wondering. "Can I ask something?"
"Anything. Always."
"Is Harry just touching you?"
Her friend's eyes widened. "Like, for the pleasure?"
Hermione inclined her head. You know.
"No. At first, yes. In the cave. He tried to be respectful. I mean - he was respectful. Very."
"It is Harry," Hermione said, and they both smiled.
Ginny's face turned wistful. "But pretty quickly, as I recovered, the lines blurred between touches for healing and touches for . . . ." She struggled to find the words.
"I get it," Hermione said quickly.
"You do?" Ginny's panic was apparent. "With Malfoy?"
"No, no," she assured her. "Just - you have to be so close for it to . . . work. And of course, if there are already feelings there, I see how it could happen."
"Right. Plus, I felt sorry for him after a couple of days." Ginny grinned. "I can only imagine how difficult it was, getting me off all the time with nothing in return."
Hermione nodded her head slowly, like she understood. "I mean, surely he could . . . handle things himself."
Ginny laughed at that. "Well yes, I suppose. But you know - it's not the same."
"Uh huh." She didn't really know, though. Malfoy had seemed perfectly content to have a wank as he called it. And stay as far away from her as possible. Something tickled in the back of her brain. He didn't really though, did he? There were several times that he hadn't stayed away. Had pulled her closer. Kissed her neck. Touched her more than strictly necessary. "When did it change?" she asked. "For you and Harry?"
A pause. "It was in the middle of the night. I woke up to use the toilet and when I came back to bed - he looked so peaceful. So content. Here we were in this terrible situation, but he had been so happy that day because I was feeling better. His relief was palpable. I lay down beside him and he reached for me. Tucked me up against him like the old days." Her eyes were misty, gazing back into the memory like Hermione wasn't even there. "I wanted him. Wanted the pleasure he gave me, yes, but not just to heal. To share it together. It was as simple as that. I woke him up and asked him - please." She ran her finger tips over her mouth absentmindedly. Then reality seemed to come back to her and she focused on Hermione. "It didn't take much convincing." She laughed again.
Hermione did not. Her heart hurt. "That's really . . . nice."
"Thanks." Ginny smiled sadly at her. "Was it terrible? With Malfoy?"
The silence hung there while Hermione considered how to answer that without betraying her promise not to speak of it. "It was very awkward. Of course. The first few times. But then - we got into a pattern." His wine had helped.
It was Ginny's turn to nod slowly. "And he was gentle with you?"
"He was very respectful, honestly. I even told him he could - you know. Touch these." She gestured at her chest and Ginny's mouth twisted. "But he never did. He was as . . . professional as possible."
Professional wasn't quite the right word but Ginny seemed to accept it. "Right. Well - that's good. I'm . . . surprised. And I am grateful to him. We were both worried sick that he'd hurt you or something and it turns out those fears were unfounded."
"Quite. I think it was better that I wasn't trapped with someone I cared about as you care for Harry. It meant we kept it - transactional."
Ginny's eyes widened at that. "You returned the favor?"
"Oh Merlin no. Of course not. I - I kept my hands to myself." Mostly. "I mean that he seemed to take responsibility. Maybe because we were on his lands, when it happened. Sometimes it felt like he thought it was his fault or something. I think he wanted me to get well enough that I wouldn't disparage him or cause further problems."
"It was his fault." A hint of her true feelings.
Hermione felt a spark flare within her - irritation. "Fault may be too strong a word."
"I cannot imagine doing that with him. I mean - whatever worked," she added hastily.
"I don't understand what you're trying to say."
Ginny frowned. "It's just that I will always look back at that time as - well, as special. As a time when I needed another human being more than I've ever needed anything in my life, and Harry - he was there. He held me, comforted me, reassured me. And, yes, gave me pleasure."
The look of pity on her face made Hermione want to scream.
"It was deeply connecting. Even if we weren't getting married, now. I'll always be glad it happened. With him."
That was simply too much. The spark of irritation had been fanned to a flame. Hermione pushed herself up to a sitting position and leveled a firm gaze at her friend.
"That's wonderful, Gin. Really. And I'm happy for you. But no, Draco Malfoy didn't hold me or coddle me. He wouldn't want to, of course, and I would never have let him. I'm not sure what you thought we were doing in our room, but it wasn't . . . any of what you're describing." Ginny held up a hand like she was going to interrupt, but Hermione thundered on. "Let me finish. For the record, he took excellent care of me. Got me eating, got me in the bath," at that she fought a blush, "made sure I rested but also stayed mentally fit. I don't want anything bad to be said about him."
Ginny was biting her cheek at this little speech and answered very slowly and carefully. "I didn't mean to impugn him. I simply wonder whether you'd be doing better if you'd been in there with someone who could have done for you, emotionally, what Harry did for me."
Somehow, that was even worse. "Yes, I often wonder what my life would be like if I wasn't alone."
She shook her head. "You know that's not what I mean."
"I'd like to go back to bed now."
"You're not even in bed," Ginny said sharply. "It appears you can't make it off the couch. And like I said, I'm not leaving until you've at least made a plan for your recovery."
Hermione drew the blanket up over her head. "I'm not hungry. I don't want tea. I'll shower later. And I'll . . . take care of myself."
"We both know we've tried touching ourselves and it doesn't work." Hermione could hear how frustrated with her Ginny was. She'll have to deal with it. "Harry and I aren't sure why, though we have our theories." She cut herself off. "Anyway, you need someone to help."
There was no answer to that. Hermione had tried again, the night before, to see if it would be an option - slipping her fingers down to her private places. It had been as pleasurable as rubbing her arm. In other words - a waste of time.
"Hermione?"
She pulled the blanket down so that just her eyes were visible - to see Ginny's exasperation. "Gin, I'm going to hire someone. But I can't do it today. I'll - deal with it later. I'll place an ad."
Ginny was clearly trying to stop herself from saying something she couldn't take back. "That is ridiculous and you know it. And it's rather urgent. When's the last time you ate? You look gaunt."
How she looked couldn't hold a candle to how terrible she felt - but that was no matter. The immediate need was to get Ginny out of her apartment so that she could go back to the important work of laying on the couch with the curtains drawn.
"I'll do it tomorrow."
And with that, she simply waited. Ginny eventually sighed, and stood, and came to pat her the same way Harry had. "You're going to get through this. I promise. I'm here to help. So is Harry. So is Ron, despite his current infatuation with that dreadful trollop. So are your parents and my parents and Neville and all the people at work. I've been there. I know you don't believe me right now - but the world needs you, Hermione. We all need you."
Hermione felt a tear threatening, and closed her eyes against it. No, thank you. They can all leave me alone.
Ginny left after that. Hermione relaxed at the click of the lock.
She lay there for a long time before she got up due to necessity and visited the loo. She stood in front of the shower stall and looked at it for several minutes, trying to decide if it was worth the effort to get in. It wasn't.
She went to bed, on top of the duvet, facedown, burying herself in the pillows.
She drifted in and out of sleep, but stayed exhausted.
Her thoughts when she was awake came back continually to something Ginny had said about Harry - about how they had been in the cave. About how Ginny had needed more than orgasms - had needed another person more than she'd ever needed anything. Is that why you're so sick?
Hermione cursed the monster - for turning her into this unrecognizable woman who couldn't function. And for exposing her to Harry, Ginny, Ron, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott - and, worst of all, Malfoy - as a person who had no one with whom she could connect well enough to recover. That was it, wasn't it? The worst thing the monster had done was reveal her secret.
That although she was surrounded by friends and family and acquaintances and colleagues - she was, in actuality, completely alone.
Finally - she began to cry. An overdue cry - lengthy, face-swelling, and painful.
It should have been cathartic. But when it was over and she dried her tears into the pillow - she felt nothing.