She Whom He Harbors

by EllieEckert

Hermione, on a Ministry mission with Harry & Ginny, is attacked by a mysterious creature in a cave on lands of an unknown owner. The effects are immediate and profound - she is dissociated, her soul and body cleaved. Research indicates the cure requires pleasure - but the only person available to give it to her is a reluctant and ragey Draco Malfoy, who has been trapped too.

40. Two Things Can Be True At Once

"Hermione, wake up." A shake of her shoulder. "I need to go."

She was reclined in a large chair. A painted ceiling and rainbow lights appeared through her lashes, too bright, which only made the pounding headache all the worse. She turned her head — the Malfoy crest over the fire. A pensieve. Glasses and dark hair and a scar at her side, holding her hand and gently pushing her curls from her face.

"Can you hear me?"

"Harry." Laden with pain.

"I know," he said gently. "I'm sorry."

"He was doing his best." Her voice cracked. "His very best."

"Yes."

"He — I think he loves me."

"That's quite clear."

"Do you think he'll admit —?"

Harry bit his lip, considering. "I wish I could assure you. But he's —"

"Don't say it." Doomed, now. Because he'd broken out of prison.

Broken out of prison.

Her thoughts sorted themselves thickly, frustratingly slow. Draco had broken out of prison — hadn't he?

She jerked her head toward Harry. "Draco's memories — he'd accepted that Azkaban was his fate. He didn't seem to have any intention of escaping."

He released her hand. "Ah."

"He was supposed to have Lucius with him at the Carrows' Carnival." They'd arrest Lucius. And then they'd arrest Draco. This time tomorrow he might already be in Azkaban. "Harry," she'd grown a little shrill, "what happened at the raid?"

Harry took two large steps back as Hermione pushed herself up.

"Lucius wasn't there when we arrived. Where was he, Harry?"

Her best friend put the pensieve — wide and heavy — between them. "Hermione, listen."

Not a good start.

"You — tell — me —" suspicions flared as she swayed to her feet — "right now."

"Lucius got spooked." Harry held a hand up like he was taming a dragon. "Draco hosted the worst of the Death Eaters in his tent, trying to keep them and his father distracted and engaged, trying to collect them for us. But his father fled, paranoid, the moment we arrived. Draco had to make a choice — chase after him and risk being captured, risk losing any credibility and leverage he had with us, or . . . ." He sighed —

— and she knew the answer. "Or see me." Oh gods.

"I have surveillance wards on this tent at every corner." She'd interrupted his plans — again. No wonder he'd been angry, probably remembering her arrival at New Year, destroying his careful checkmate. "This feels suspiciously like a redux of that farce," Draco had said. "I hope there's a point to your presence. Out with it." He'd wanted to see her. Had pivoted, and demanded an audience with Harry. "I'll turn myself in without a fuss. But only to Saint Potter directly."

She recalled his last memory. How hopeful he'd been, laying in his cot. How tired. How ready to accept his fate — all because he'd been sure his father would be captured, he'd been sure she would be safe.

One of his final thoughts. He'd kept Hermione safe. Except when Lucius ran, Draco had known she wouldn't be. He'd known his father would be loose in the world while Draco was in prison. Her eyes zeroed in on a very nervous Harry, waiting for her to have the realization.

"Your conversation after I left the tent. You said Draco mostly tried to suss out if you knew where his father was."

Harry blushed sheepishly. "Well, he did. At first. And then was extremely disappointed — and rather rude, quite frankly — when he learned that I didn't. He said it 'should have been fucking obvious,' and some other things I'll not repeat."

"You said he exacted a promise from you." Her voice was high and scathing. They circled each other, the pensieve protecting him from her and her from herself. "You said it was 'in exchange for information essential to the Ministry.'"

Harry nodded. "That was true."

"He made a deal with you, didn't he?" She struggled for breath. "What was the deal, Harry?"

He rubbed his brow. "Draco accepted his arrest. But he also knew his father had retreated to the caverns." He looked at her with an embarrassed sort of sadness. "He made me promise."

"Out with it."

"He said I had to capture Lucius before you found out where he was and did something rash. Or before he got to you. And if I couldn't, I promised . . . ."

"What did you promise?"

"I promised that I would arrange a chance for Draco to do it himself." He bit his lip, appropriately guilty. The room spun so badly she couldn't hear what he was saying. "— had aurors stationed at the mouth of the cave ever since, this whole time, we tried, we really did —"

"But you didn't catch him," she said dully.

"Clearly not. And Lucius found other exits, other ways out. He evaded —"

"He released the monster," she whispered, fingers at her lips and head reeling. A flash of blond and a ripple of robes — far off, a blip against the darkness. And the night she'd stumbled home from the pub, drunk and dreaming. That familiar hair, across the street, in the space between the light pole and the trashcan. "He was coming for me."

"Yes."

"You said this morning, Draco was out of prison. Not that he escaped —"

"No."

"— because he didn't escape." Her knees were about to give way.

"I promised Draco that if I couldn't capture Lucius, if he threatened you in any way, I'd arrange a temporary release."

Temporary release.

She gripped the sides of the pensieve, holding herself upright. Draco's library blurred in her vision, a soothing backdrop of dark wood and books and dusty warm light. "To do what, Harry?"

"You know what," he said softly. "Lucius is dangerous, he's lost his mind. His son is the only one who can get through the cave's magic, who can get close."

"So you let Draco out to deal with it — all by himself." Temporary release. She counted slowly to eight, knuckles white against the pensieve's grey stone. The memories swirled, strands of silver that reminded her of his eyes. You cannot faint. He needs you.

"And I'd do it again," Harry argued defensively. "Draco made me realize — if his father got hold of you, he'd drag you into that cave — the cave that contains or excludes at his whims — and make you a prisoner. You'd be a madman's captive, Hermione, and we'd be powerless to help —"

She didn't hear the rest. So Draco was a martyr, after all, in the end. Just not for whom she thought. Not for Lucius, or the Death Eaters, or Voldemort.

For her.

Harry began to gather his auror robes. He examined them wistfully before he pulled them on. "I have to go. Draco is supposed to lure or drag Lucius out. I need to be there when he does."

"And then what?" Temporary release.

His voice was infuriatingly gentle. "Then he agreed he'd go back quietly. Even offered to share the same cell, to make sure his father stays put this time."

"Tell me his crimes," Hermione demanded. "You've seen it, same as me — what did Draco actually do?"

Harry snorted, incredulous. "What did he do? Attempted murder of a bunch of wizards and Muggles and you and Ginny, for starters. His monster is still doing dama—"

"That's his father's fault," she argued. "Draco did his best to contain it. And we're all fine, now. Some of us are even better —" she held up her left hand pointedly. A reminder of the ring on Gin's, Harry's bride a privilege. His monster the matchmaker.

He moved to leave and she crossed the room, white skirts swirling, to cut him off. "Draco more than made up for it."

"That's debatable."

"Then let's debate it." She stood stubbornly in front of the doors. "I'll go to every victim. I'll beg every one to forgiv—"

"It doesn't work like that," Harry tried to move around her, exasperated, but she blocked him again. "You know it, Hermione. Draco did something terrible. If you hadn't showed up on New Year he'd have assaulted dozens more."

"Then thank the gods I did."

"He organized the Death Eaters."

"He met with a few, sure. But Carrow was already working with the vampires, already coordinating with Lucius."

"Speaking of his father," he reached behind her for the knob, "he didn't do anything to stop him getting out of prison."

That was fucking rich. "Neither did you!"

Which got Harry properly pissed. "You cannot possibly compare us."

"Draco's the reason we've all been safe from Lucius these past months — he devoted himself to watching him, to trying to get him captured."

Harry laid a hand on her arm. "Hermione, I know this is a shock. And we can discuss it more, we will discuss it more — but if you want me to help Draco, I have to go."

She let him slip past and out the doors — and spun on her heels, hot on his. "We need to help him. I'm going with you."

Harry balked. "No."

Hermione laughed, the Malfoy portraits in the long hall frowning disapprovingly. "Good luck stopping me."

"You're staying here," he insisted.

"Malfoy won't hurt me." They'd reached the top of the grand stairs. She saw an elf peek out of the shadows and then retreat.

Harry paused on the steps, turning to gaze up at her. "Draco won't hurt you, no. I realize that now. Feel fucking stupid for ever thinking he might, now that I've seen . . . how he feels. But Lucius definitely will. That's exactly what Draco's trying to stop, Hermione. If you intrude — if you interrupt — you'll render his efforts a waste." Green eyes sad behind his glasses. "What would he want you to do?"

Draco's home surrounded — a sight more familiar now that she'd seen it through his eyes, his experiences. His life. She took in the moldings and the sweeping columns and the ridiculous chandeliers. "He would want me to stay here and comfort his mother and cry sweetly — over his grave or his return to prison."

Harry nodded.

Hermione moved swiftly around him, down the steps — two, three, at a time. Crossed the foyer in long strides."Fortunately," she flipped her hair over her shoulder and gripped her wand tightly in a fist, "he's not going to get what he wants. Hurry up."

---

Harry argued all down the drive, gravel crunching furiously beneath their feet. But she had a counter to every point.

"— Lucius is dangerous —"

"You knew this was coming. Knew it was coming, and you didn't tell me."

"I agreed not to tell you so you wouldn't do exactly what you're doing right now! And I had no idea Draco cared so much about you, Hermione. When we came looking for him —"

"— and for what, you knew he wouldn't be here —"

"I had to keep up appearances," Harry snapped. "And inform his mother. Some of my aurors suggested a search and I said, 'sure, go ahead.' I didn't think anything of it. Then his elf led them to the safe, and —"

"— and thank fucking Merlin," she was yelling, "because if you hadn't seen his memories you'd never have bothered to come get me, would you? You would have let me go to work like it was a normal day, never knowing that he was out, maybe getting himself hurt or kill—" She couldn't finish. Unspeakable. Unthinkable.

They raced each other through Malfoy's gates, iron serpents twisting in the sun. If Harry's plan had worked as intended, Draco would have been back in Azkaban before she even knew he was free. Gods, the urge she had to throttle them both.

Harry held his hand out for her to grip. "I came straight to your flat the moment I got out of that pensieve, Hermione. I didn't stop or breathe or think. I agree it changes . . . the calculations. And I knew you'd want to see."

"Oh, well. How generous. Thanks. Can't help but feel like you two conspired behind my back, like I'm a child or an idiot —"

"You are neither, but as Draco pointed out the night I arrested him, you are extremely headstrong and prone to making ill-advised forays into caverns and other places where you aren't invited." New Year's Eve parties. Carnivals.

She gripped his wrist. "I am so angry with you — so angry. But we can fight about this later. Can you apparate to Yorkshire in one jump?"

Harry drew himself up, a little haughty. "Draco isn't the only strong wizard you know." He took her other hand in his, both of them cross, and they were gone with a pop —

— into blazing sunshine, delightful warmth. Hermione turned in a circle, dazzled by the moors. It was, objectively, a gorgeous day.

But she might as well have been standing in a dirty lot filled by broken glass and rubbish. She saw none of the beauty. Each stone, every blade of grass, the flowers — simply another obstacle to traverse. Harry set off, showing her the way. She took two steps before she caught a toe on a rock. Her delicate flats, which had been meant to match a sweet sundress for a day at the office, feet tucked under her desk. Not traipsing through moors and caves —

— transfigured into heavy black boots in an instant. "Faster," she snapped. They hurried along.

To a place she knew well, now, not just from her experience but also from his.

The mouth of the cave —

— and four bodies, collapsed around it.

Aurors.

Harry fell to his knees beside one of them, shouting about what happened. Familiar brown hair and broad shoulders. "Merrick," Harry shook him hard, while Hermione did something useful and cast the counter-spells for stuns. "Wake up and tell me —?"

Draco — hurting aurors? That wouldn't help his case, wouldn't help her to convince —

"Struck from behind," Merrick gasped as he stirred, as Harry helped him up to a sit. "We weren't watching."

"Was there a fight?" Hermione demanded. "Was he hurt?"

"He?" Merrick shook his head, confused. "He — Malfoy? We let him past hours ago, like Potter instructed. He went in, alone, with his head up." Hermione slipped her fingers into her pocket.

"Then who?" Harry asked, a hand on his auror's shoulder. "Who attacked?"

"A witch," Merrick coughed. "Older. Silver hair, looked like his —"

Hermione was already moving.

Running.

The transition from brightest day to blackest dark was blinding in a different way, and she stumbled, nearly crashing head-first into the cavern's walls.

Narcissa —

Harry pounded behind, shouting at her to wait.

Going after Draco herself —

And her husband, whom she'd find mad and unpredictable.

What would Draco do, to protect his mother?

Hermione's feet sounded out her suspicions.

She knew. She'd seen it. Felt it.

He'd do anything.

She sprinted until her lungs gave out, until she regretted not having some kind of rigid and regular fitness regimen. Curse the cave. Curse its anti-apparition wards. Curse every Malfoy who had ever entered it, every Malfoy save one. She ran until she had to pause, until she collapsed against a boulder, leaning into its weight, dirtying her dress, gasping for air. A terrible cramp gripped her side.

Harry came to an abrupt stop behind her and grabbed at her arm.

"Hermione Granger, you will wait for me." He needed a rest too, chest heaving and face sweaty. "We can't help him if we fall into a crevasse or slam our heads into the ceiling." She tried to jerk away, out of his reach, but he gripped her tight. "Slow down, damnit. We're going, I promise. As fast as we can."

She pushed off the stone and started to move, though the lightheadedness forced the run into a walk. Fast as she could muster.

Harry kept pace, their wands extendedto guide them. "There's no rush — Lucius has the barrier up before the Bunker. The aurors have tried, but they can't get in. It's impenetrable."

"I have to get closer."

"Even with his mother there — this is what Draco wants, Hermione."

"We're not moving fast enough," she spat, pushing herself forward. "Narcissa, Harry. You know what that means."

It raised the stakes. Upped the ante. I gambled, Draco had said to Hermione. Letting the three of you intrepid explorers think you could capture it. But he'd not wager his mother. He'd not risk her. He'd do anything, no matter the consequences for himself, to save her.

"I do," Harry assured her. "And I'm not stopping you. Just trying to get you to maybe temper the pace a bit."

She closed her eyes and willed the control. Calm, Hermione. Calm like Draco. She saw him in her mind —

calm as he stood before the vampires, offering himself as a bargain —

calm when his father demanded blood, the bottle filling slowly —

calm when he comforted Theo, confident that he could take care of it all.

Calm when he was in her bed —

in her arms —

his heart temporarily soothed.

Calm.

She exhaled slowly, and settled into step with Harry. Draco doesn't need you panicked. He needs you calm.

"You're not doing a very good job hiding your feelings," Harry muttered. "When did you get so effusive?"

"Roundabout the time you brought me to that pensieve and let me dive in without any warning." She held her wand tightly, her fury leashed. "I cannot believe you. Can't believe any of it. You were dishonest about your conversation with him, you knew he was going to get out —"

"I didn't know, I hoped we could avoid it and capture Lucius ourselves. And truthfully I thought Draco was trying to save himself, his own skin. Maybe negotiate some kind of long-term deal. Fetch his father in exchange for fewer years."

"And now?"

He ducked his head to avoid a stalactite. "Let's see how today plays out."

"You can't, Harry. You cannot take him back." She grabbed his hand suddenly, squeezing so hard she felt the bones crack.

"Maybe I won't have to," he said. A terrible portent.

"If he dies —" she cut herself off. Couldn't speak it, or think it. Lucius, a madman in the dark. "How much farther?"

"From my memory it's another fifteen minutes, at least." Harry pulled away and lifted his wand a little higher, the light watery over their rocky path.

A quarter hour. So much could happen in a quarter hour. Hermione was thinking of all that could happen, all the terrible things that could be waiting ahead, around the bends —

"This is our last mission," Harry interrupted. Chuckled lightly.

She kicked a rock out of their way. "Never letting me along again, are you?"

"Nah. You can have more missions." He smiled at her sideways. "I suspect you will."

His tone caused her to slow a half second. To examine his face carefully. There was a change in it. "Harry? What do you mean, 'last mission?'"

"I think we both know I've done a shit job, the past year." He snorted. "Leading us into this cave in August? Letting us stay the night? Watching Gin wander off, alone in the dark?" He gestured at the stone surrounding. "You both nearly died. And after, I didn't even think before I let Malfoy take you into that room — what if he'd hurt you? I didn't know him, not then. He wasn't a safe person. But I was so worried about Ginny, I didn't think clearly."

"It's understandable —"

"I'm a damned auror, Hermione. But I'm not a very good one. Certainly not qualified to run the whole Department like Kingsley wants. Azkaban is a block of Swiss cheese. In the fall, I thought I'd sealed those tunnels." He laughed. "Then Lucius escaped. And it wasn't hard at all for me to get Draco out of there. They hardly questioned it. All my work, all those hours, and nothing fixed."

"People want to please Harry Potter," she said. "And it's one bad year. Don't let it force rash decisions."

"I've already made the decision. Made it sometime between Christmas and when I pulled my head out of that pensieve this morning. Made it with Ginny, in slow, sad conversations in the middle of the night. To her credit, she's tried to hide how thrilled she is. She let me arrive at it on my own."

"What are you saying?" Hermione held a breath.

"I'm saying that when we get around these final curves and find Lucius —" he nodded at her, his choice settling into his features, "and exonerate Draco —"

— Merlin let it be so —

"I'm going to resign." Harry grinned then, teeth flashing in the thin light. "And send Hogwarts' Headmistress the owl she's been begging for since the day we graduated."

Her heart leapt, for more reasons than one. "Oh, Harry. Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"For a few years. Until McGonagall retires. She's eager to hand off the reins."

Hermione brushed away a tear. Knew it would not be the last that day. "You'll be so good at it. We need you. If this whole ordeal has taught us anything —"

He agreed as they persisted down the path. "I think Draco's memories have showed me a world I didn't understand. I've been so invested in the bubble of the Ministry and Department politics. I didn't appreciate what you told me."

"'Peace is fragile,'" she whispered. It echoed back at her from the stone. "'It doesn't happen by itself.'"

"'We're only ever one bad man away from it being broken,'" he finished, adjusting his glasses.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't think I don't notice that it took you seeing it from Draco's perspective — a man's perspective — to hear what I was saying."

Harry sensibly conceded. "I won't make that mistake again. Truly. I should have listened, because you were right. I think I can have a bigger impact on the world — on the future Carrows and Dolohovs and Macnairs — if we reach out to the disaffected when they're still children."

A dream come true. "You'll be great at that."

"Maybe Draco could help me," he said softly. "From what I saw, I think he'd be good at it too."

"Yes."

Harry frowned, rueful. "Speaking of good — there was more in him than he ever knew or gave himself credit for. Certainly more than I ever gave him credit for. It's a shame he didn't have the opportunity to explore it before his father got at him."

"A terrible shame." A different path.

"Promise you'll come and guest lecture when I need you?"

"Of course."

"Maybe I'll ask that vampire too. I liked him. History, straight from the source."

"Not a bad idea," she agreed. "But be careful — you know he wants a taste."

Harry laughed. "I'll wear a high collar."

"So — Hogwarts. Finally."

"That's just how Gin sounds when we talk about it. She's already planning how to convert and expand Hagrid's old cottage into a grand family home for plenty of kids." He frowned slightly, serious then. "You two — you're the best witches a man could ever have in his life. I don't know how I got so lucky."

"I'll always be your friend, Harry. Even when I'm angry with you."

Their final mission indeed.

The future was hidden round a curve in the path.

Please, please let there be light at the end.

"Whatever we find up ahead, Hermione — I'm here. Ginny's here. Ron's here." He pointed at her watch. "You'll always have us."

She could not articulate a response. They were fine. They were good friends. But they weren't what, who, she wanted.

Draco, exonerated.

Draco — I'm coming.

For they had arrived at the barrier — thick and shimmering, blocking their progress. Its pulsing power might as well have been a solid wall. Harry leaned into it, testing. "See? Aurors can't get in."

"Harry, let me try."

"Absolutely not," he said firmly. It was his turn to block, to put his body between her and the magic. "Part of my promise was not letting you anywhere near here."

"Lucius wants me to get through. And subconsciously, I believe Draco does too. The magic might let me in. Please, let me try."

"No."

They squared off, Harry's back to her path.

But the love of her life was down in the darkness. Maybe hurt, maybe worse, at his father's hands. Either way, she would be the first, the only, to hold him. Hermione felt it with the primal fierceness of womanhood.

All the power in her, the inherent magic of a witch.

Calm.

She nodded. A terrible actress —

— sniffed and bowed her head. Lifted a finger to the corner of her eye.

Harry opened his arms to console her.

Hermione stepped into them. Hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you, Harry. I know you'll make a better professor —"

sagged into him, really, the force of her despair knocking him off balance. Spinning them slightly on the slick stone.

Turning them so that Hermione's back was to the barrier. She could feel it, just behind.

The magic called to her.

And, oops, she tripped.

"— than you do an auror." And she shifted, fell, slipping from his arms. Toppled —

"No!" Harry cried, scrabbling for her hand —

But he missed.

The magic stopped him —

but Hermione was through.

The caverns welcomed her. Whichever Malfoy wielded the magic.

She straightened and looked at Harry through the ripples. "I had to."

His face was rage and frustration. "Please don't," he begged. "Please come back through."

"You'd do the same for Ginny."

"It's not the same," he insisted. "What if Draco can't protect you? What if he can't stop Lucius? What if he's injured —"

She remembered his cut lip, the duel wounds she'd bandaged. The weight of his head on her chest, wrapped in her arms. Draco's hand in his memories, the skin split wide and the awful red dripping. If he was injured he needed her all the more.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," she said, apologetic. Left Harry fuming and worried, watching her go.

Draco, Draco, Draco.

His name in her footsteps.

His name on her heart.

She had to fix what she'd started. What she'd interrupted. The checkmates she'd spoiled.

Tears prepared themselves behind her eyes. Not yet.

Soon she would weep with joy or wail from grief.

But not yet. He needed her, first. He needed her calm.

She heard them as she moved toward the bunker. Just around the last bend, the curved path. She doused the light of her wand.

Men arguing. One reedy voice, raised and erratic . . . the other, deep and familiar.

And a woman's interruption. "Both of you stop, please —"

Hermione slid slowly, her back scraping the stone, covered in cobwebs and confined to the shadows.

She stayed well away from the fire's light. From the flames which illuminated . . . filth. Lucius's camp, as messy as his mind. All of the crates had been upturned, or smashed, their contents spilled. The careful stores of the Malfoys, scattered everywhere — broken bottles and torn books and rotting food and ripped sheets. It didn't look like a battle, though. It looked like a man gone mad with loneliness and dashed hopes.

Their little family stood in a triangle. Draco's back was to her. How beautiful the shape of his neck, the cut of his body. How striking his hair, grown long enough that the ends hinted at a curl. He seemed taller than she remembered, an imposing figure against the backlight of the flames. The strongest man she'd ever seen. He wore clothes she'd not seen before, dark trousers and a jumper. A borrowed wand dangled, deceptively loose, in his left hand.

Malfoy. Draco. Every sense tingled, to be so near. Hermione had not had time, yet, to think about it.

About what she'd seen in his head.

About what he'd hidden in his heart.

But that could come later. It would come later. It had to.

She heard the muffled sounds of feet scraping — behind, from beyond the barrier. Harry's aurors, all caught up. Unable to get in.

Hermione forced herself to be still, to hang back in the shadows. To listen.

To listen to Lucius, thin-faced and ranting. "— was one of the first messages I sent. 'Don't tell your mother,' that's what I said. And you couldn't fucking listen."

Narcissa stared at her husband, mouth agape and hand at her breast. She wore practical robes, fine but unadorned. Boots like Hermione's. She'd come prepared. "Lucius, I promise you it's not true. Draco protected me as best he could. He didn't reveal anything, I guessed on my own —"

"A mother's love makes excuses, darling." He shot sparks in Draco's direction, forcing him to throw a forearm up to block. "But our son is a disappointment."

"A dud," Draco supplied cheerfully, brushing a bit of burning ash from his sleeve.

"He hasn't done anything to support the cause," Lucius raged. "'Gather the other families,' I ordered. But where are they now? The useful ones are all captured, part of his trap."

"How could he have helped you?" Narcissa spoke with the pain of new awareness, the shock at his condition. "He's been in Azkaban, remember? We've missed him, though." She smiled weakly at her son. "And we understand now."

Lucius, too, had eyes only for Draco. They all had eyes only for Draco. "Oh, we understand perfectly. We understand the depth of his deception." He slashed his wand, suddenly, violently through the air, and Draco whipped his head to the side as if slapped.

Narcissa gasped as Draco felt his cheek. Red on his fingertips when they came away. "Hex me all you want, sir. Merlin knows I deserve it. But send Mother away, so we can talk man to man."

"Let her leave?" He laughed. "You've made sure I can't. Your ancestors and I went to a lot of trouble to protect this place. To keep it secret. And now half the fucking world knows about it. Damned aurors at the exit, Draco. All because of you."

"I think you've made good use of alternate exits," he said lightly. His Death Eater voice. She recognized it from his memories, from New Year, from all the times he'd hidden himself away. She heard the lie in it. He was fighting like he always had, intellect and patience his greatest assets.

But his father could not hurt him, not while Hermione was there. She readjusted the grip on her wand as Lucius drew closer. Over her dead body. She planted her feet more firmly on the stone.

She had Draco's back — and she wasn't leaving.

"Speaking of alternate exits," Lucius ranted, features frightening. The firelight made him look headless, his cheekbones from pronounced to hollowed. A floating skull. "It took me days of effort to get one of those exits back open so I could get to the air. You'd closed them up. You wanted to force me to meet your and Potter's friends."

"I'm no friend of Potter," Draco stated calmly, blood trickling down his cheek. "I'm happy to talk about my plan — not in front of Mother."

"They'll capture her the moment she crosses that magic." Lucius grinned, teeth sharp and terrifying. He slid toward his wife — and Draco matched him inch for inch.

"I'm not going anywhere," Narcissa assured. Her husband gazed lovingly into her face. But Hermione saw the subtle hand she held out low and to the side, the hand that told her son — back off. "I've missed you, my darling. I came to see you as soon as I realized where you were."

Lucius began to move around the pit. He kicked aside a splintered chair.

"Don't get closer," Draco snapped. Hermione felt the tension in him, the stress. The fear. His wand flicked up, extended. "Don't you fucking touch her."

But that was the wrong thing to say. It infuriated Lucius, who strode quickly away from his wife — but toward his son. Draco used his slight advantage in their heights, craning over. Unafraid.

"You've ruined everything," Lucius breathed. "Ensured I had nowhere to go but this cave. You tried to trap me down here — yes he did, Narcissa, your own son. That first day, on Christmas. He thought his magic would be stronger." He grinned, cruel and triumphant. "The caverns contain or exclude as desired. But your blood couldn't beat mine. The magic obeys me."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "As I've obeyed you, Father. I've done everything you asked."

"You didn't!" The shout echoed off the walls. "You didn't do any of it. I did it on my own."

"Sure," Draco agreed. "You — and the gold you inherited."

Lucius pressed his lips together. Raised his wand to his son's chest, eyes flashing —

Hermione's heart stopped as she slid a half-step forward, a "no" on her lips —

But Narcissa was there. "Draco, please." She spoke like he did, soft and measured. "Please be honest. Your father has some legitimate grievances." She eased her way between them, and Lucius lowered his wand. "It's true you worked hard last summer — no, don't argue, Lucius, he did, I observed it myself — but your father hasn't had opportunity to appreciate your efforts." She touched her hand to her husband's arm. "Draco gathered so many at New Year. He even made a speech about you."

"Ah yes, his ballroom snare," he sneered, lips curled at his heir over her shoulder. "The Ministry showed up, didn't they? Just like he planned. He used that Mudblood whore to lure them."

"As you planned to do," Draco answered calmly. "You thought to draw Granger here. You released the monster and tracked her in London. I'm guessing you tried to get into her flat and couldn't. If you wanted me to submit to you, you figured out how. You knew I'd come to protect her. Well, here I am." He extended his hands. A gift. "And ready to have it out. Neither of us can leave this hell while the other keeps him trapped."

"So this is it," his father agreed. Resigned.

Draco nodded. "You gave me this Mark." He yanked up his sleeve, showing it off, black ink against pale skin. "And taught me what it meant. Don't be surprised when I act just as you intended."

Lucius tilted his head back and cackled — shot sparks, a hex into the yawning blackness of the ceiling above. Then he turned.

And looked right at her.

"Come into the light, Mudblood. I think my son has earned a chance to say goodbye."

Goodbye.

It happened so slowly, and in a moment.

The last time she'd seen him — when had it been? Was it months? The equinox? He'd escorted her to the front of his tent, her body covered in his scent and sweat. Or had it been mere hours ago, her mind swimming in his, her heart breaking at every new memory and revelation? His words, his feelings, in his head.

Draco's head. A slash of red down his cheek. She could hear his thoughts now that she knew them so well. Let it be false, he was thinking. Let it be a feint. But he had to check, had to be sure. He'd fall for his father's trickery, just to be sure.

And Hermione slid forward, tugged on a string.

Grey eyes flashed. Grey eyes met hers.

Grey eyes filled with a terror she'd never seen before and never wanted to see again.

If you intrude, if you interrupt, you'll render his efforts a waste, Harry had said.

Draco had been so careful, so thoughtful. Arranged the pieces on his chessboard, so strategically, one more time.

Set up a checkmate that he could execute, working without his Queen.

But she'd showed up anyway and ruined the game.

He'd thought her bad at chess. Which — fair. She was bad because she didn't care, she never had. She'd only really ever played because he liked it. Because she liked to talk with him and watch him strategize.

This wasn't chess though. She cared about this.

And Hermione didn't lose, not when she cared.

Never.

She shifted her focus from Draco to his parents.

She raised her wand — as Lucius raised his.

Checkmate.

"Hermione, please," Draco spoke, strangled. "Keep away, keep your hands clean —"

But Narcissa, seeing it all, had already fixed her own grey eyes on her husband. She opened her arms. "Lucius," she said, sweet as a young lover. He shifted his attention to her. Distracted, instantly, from anything else. "Lucius, darling. To me."

Lucius, darling.

It seemed as if time froze.

Everything froze except Lucius, who moved into his wife's arms as if compelled.

His wand dropped to the stone at his feet, a quiet clatter.

Narcissa looked over her husband's shoulder — at her son.

The subtlest of nods.

Draco stepped forward as Narcissa buried her face into her husband's neck. She settled her lips on the same spot Hermione loved. The spot just beneath his ear. Where his pulse pounded, just beneath the skin.

Lucius wrapped himself around her.

They held each other in a way that was worthy of capture in oils — the companion piece to that night when Draco first kissed her. Would people stand before them, in a museum, and know they were lovers? Would they whisper to their companions how obvious it was, how sad, a woman holding onto a man when he's trying to go? Hermione would stand. She knew. She'd whisper that it was beautiful, their love as bright as the fire in the darkness —

The fire which no longer moved. Which no longer crackled. Its flames were still, painted vividly against the black.

Time had actually stopped.

Narcissa and Lucius, reunited in each other's arms. Would they think she was begging, trying futilely to keep him?

No, not begging. Their faces were relaxed.

Content.

Their son, their reflection, surveyed the scene they made.

"Draco," Hermione said, but he didn't look at her. Only the tear down his cheek and the silent spell on his lips gave it away. He had given them what he could. Another — a final — moment.

But then time ran out. He moved smoothly, unhesitating. He laid a hand across his father's shoulder and pressed the tip of his wand, softly, to his back. "Avada —"

There was an intense strength in it. He meant the words. But he whispered them, a gentle incantation. He made them sound like something beautiful, like a kindness.

"— Kedavra." Hermione said it with him, her whole soul lending its power. The soul he'd put back where it belonged, somewhere along the way.

With a crack and a flash, the magic absorbed into his father's body — and the sands of time resumed.

Slowly, a trickle.

Lucius, collapsing against his wife, falling down her body to his knees and then backwards. Narcissa dropped with him, making sure his head did not hit the hard ground. She cradled it, her fingers tangled in his hair.

Hermione had heard it, the keening wail of heartbreak. It had rung through her mind, rampant in her visions from the monster. It had echoed in her ears in that cave. But somehow, Narcissa's silence was worse. She laid her face against her husband's chest and covered it in wordless tears. It was a terrible thing to behold.

Nearly as terrible as her son's face — at the resolve and the guilt. "Mother. I'm sorry," he said. "I had to —"

Narcissa didn't seem to hear him. She was focused on her husband, hovering over him on her knees. She kissed his cheeks. Stroked his lips. Entwined their fingers, one last time. Not frantic, not desperate. Withdrawn into herself, saying goodbye.

With the barest of nods, a nod for himself, Draco walked away.

Hermione intended to follow, her heart craving — but five sets of footsteps pounded around the bend and into the cavern. Harry, in the lead. His aurors, close behind.

With Lucius's end the magic had shifted. The cave had accepted their entrance. Harry cried out when he saw her, pulling her into the tightest hug. "Hermione, thank the fucking gods." The aurors flanked, staring at Narcissa and Lucius and murmuring to each other. Merrick was all business, serious and focused. He'd already flipped a quill and parchment from his pocket and begun his report with a critical eye.

But where they probably saw chaos, Hermione saw only peace. A loving wife. A man who'd reached his end. And their son —

"Harry." She pried herself from his arms to see his face — and so he could see the earnestness in hers. "It was self defense. Defense of me, and his mother. I saw the whole thing. I'll swear it, I'll take an oath, you can bring me in for questioning or make me take a potion. I'll do anything —"

"It's alright," he soothed her. "I believe you." He turned to Merrick. "Write that down, M. Clear self defense."

Merrick looked at her then. Took in her dirty dress and thick boots and streaked face. Met her eyes. "Of course, Potter. We all heard it, didn't we? Malfoy saved a Junior Minister. I'd dare say it was heroic."

Heroic.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Merrick smiled at her, kind and genuine. Lifted a shoulder. "It's the truth." And returned to his notes.

She pulled at Harry's robes. "You said a temporary release. But you can't, Harry, you cannot take him —"

"I don't intend to," he said, low and soft for her to hear. "But there are politics involved. Kingsley will want a Malfoy back in Azkaban —"

"You can't," she begged, terrified, her hands finding his and gripping —

"Let me finish." Harry held her fingers. Gave her the most intimate look they'd ever shared. "I oversee the recommendation of charges. I can bring them or drop them. It may take me some time, but — consider Draco's dismissed."

"They'll try to overrule you," she protested, her heart a storm's swell.

"Then I'll resign."

Hermione blinked. "You're going to do that anyway."

Harry smiled and let her go. "Kingsley doesn't need to know that. If I have to end my illustrious Ministry career by throwing down my uniform in defense of Draco Malfoy — well, it's not an ending anyone expected."

It sounded good. It did. And her chest thrummed at his confidence. But he'd been confident before — that the tunnels weren't a problem, that Azkaban was safe. That everything would be alright.

"When will you be sure?" Her voice shook. "I won't leave his side, I won't be able to sleep. I'll be frantic with worry, until you let me know you're sure."

He gazed at her for a moment before he touched her watch at her wrist. "When you see me at the Pub — you'll know I'm having a celebratory drink. And I won't quit the Ministry until I'm sure Draco will stay free." He hugged her once more. "It may take me a few days — I'll do my best."

She dared a breath. "Thank you, Harry. I'll be forever grateful."

"I think I owe you one. Or two. Now —" he turned to the scene. "I suppose I have a bit more work to do before I take my stand."

The aurors rummaged for evidence in the trash. They'd formed a wide circle around Narcissa. She knelt elegantly beside her husband's body, hands folded gently in her lap.

"May I?" Hermione asked Harry.

He gestured to go on.

So she moved near Draco's mother — avoided looking at Lucius — and offered a hand. "Narcissa?"

Her eyes had dried. "Miss Granger. I'm glad you're here."

"So am I." Hermione smiled sadly. "Of course, I'm sorry for —"

"Please don't." She shook her head. "I — I'm going to accompany my husband to his resting place at home. And then I'm going to spend some time alone. Tell Draco," she accepted Hermione's hand and rose to her feet. "I'll contact him when I'm ready."

Hermione frowned at that. He was going to be hurt.

"And — Miss Granger? I know I needn't ask you this but it will make me feel better." She sighed. "Will you?"

Take care of him.

Make him happy.

Let him keep you.

"Yes," Hermione promised. "Yes. I will."

She waited quietly at Narcissa's side while Harry's aurors made their reports and record of the scene. Harry directed it all, commanding and thorough. He reminded them to be gentle as they wrapped the body in their uniform robes.

"Good luck," he said, looking toward where they both knew Draco waited. "I'll see you soon."

"I don't plan on coming to work until I hear from you." She held up her wrist. No matter what — she would need some time.

"Of course. I'll tell Kingsley. Take as long as you need."

So Hermione watched as Lucius Malfoy left the cave for the final time, wrapped in Ministry robes and levitated by aurors. His wife walked behind, back straight and head held high.

Hermione half expected Draco to appear, at the end, but he stayed away. Waiting for them all to leave. She knew he could hear. Knew he was choosing to stay unseen.

Harry gave her a little wave as they went round the bend. "Goodbye," she said.

Barely breathing, Hermione turned toward the place where Draco waited.

The place where she'd expected to find him since she pulled out of his pensieve.

The place where it began.

Their room, dark beyond the door.

It was perhaps an appropriate moment for her to pause, to think. To reflect on his memories. To parse through what she felt and what she should say. It was definitely the moment to prepare herself for the conversations they needed to have. But Hermione didn't give herself that moment. Instead she rushed across the bunker.

It had been too long already.

Remnants of magic slipped over her when she stepped through the archway. It invited her in.

She muttered the spell to light the torches, and the low flames flickered comfortingly to life. The room was in what must have been its original state when she was first injured. Bare. A space frozen in time, forever waiting for the next round of Malfoys who needed its unique protection.

Draco sat on the edge of the alcove, her pallet, hands clasped between his knees and head bowed.

She stopped herself several feet away and stood still, staring.

Staring at the bright blond, disheveled and curling about his ears. At the shoulders, hunched and hopeless.

She stared, and forced herself to be patient. Wait for him. He knew she was there.

And he spoke first.

"Resting in the darkness of Azkaban, it was like being in here again." Did not look up. "I let myself pretend that you were with me. I relived all those moments. Every time I'd touched you. Every time we kissed."

He unclasped his hands. Pressed them instead to his eyes. Hermione swallowed, rooted to the ground.

"I was okay the first few days. The memory of you was still so fresh. But it's amazing how quickly you start to lose it. That second week was probably the hardest. The monotony of the stone and hunger and cold spins you into madness faster than you might guess.

"I tried to fight it, losing my mind. Knew a day might come when I still needed some wits. I'd lay there and listen to the cries of my fellow prisoners — Umbridge was the worst, fuck that witch — and wonder what you were doing. I'd imagine you going to work, walking in the sun. Laughing with your —" his jaw flexed — "with whomever you spent time."

"I imagined you too," she said. Gods the urge to close the distance between them. "I'd imagine you beside me on that walk. You even accompanied me to the grocery. You made sure I arrived home, safe." He rested his elbows on his knees, blood smeared across his cheek. "My flat that was safe, thanks to you. Your wards. It was very thoughtfu—"

"I shouldn't have needed to," he interrupted crossly. "You should have protected yourself."

"Yes." She had time, finally, to reacquaint herself with the details. The curve of his ear. The line of his neck. Oh that he would lift his face, and let her remember the shade of his eyes.

"I started to panic that you wouldn't," he sighed. "After the first month I found myself spinning out of control. My thoughts kept returning to the things that could go wrong. The terrible things that could happen to you. If you were working late, was Ministry security really sufficient protection? What if a vampire got in? I lamented that I'd lacked the blood to ward all of London as I'd warded your flat. What if you didn't pay attention? What if a bus —" he trailed off. "Or my father." A shudder rippled across his back.

"I distracted myself with the fiction of alternate timelines, of other worlds. Scenarios in which everything was different. I liked to pretend it was a year ago, and I bumped into you on the street or in a pub. There were thousands of possibilities." A thousand things he'd like to do. "When I ran out of memories I made up some that could never exist. Different endings — at New Year, if we never left the library. Or at Carrow's Carnival, if I could have kept you in my tent."

The heartbreak in his voice was a knife to her chest.

"There are places I wanted so much to take you — to see you in them, just once — but we weren't in another timeline. There is no other story. Just the path that led me to that black cell, and you to —"

"To this room, Draco. To you."

He ignored her. "When the guard brought me a borrowed wand and these clothes yesterday, I knew what it meant. Potter needed me to clean up the mess I'd made. Finish what I started."

"He told me you volunteered," she said lightly. "A temporary release."

"More like made him fucking promise. He owed me a day of freedom, if my father tried to get to you. I don't think I've ever felt such a mix — afraid that it wouldn't work or I would be too late, relieved at the opportunity, desperate for fresh air and maybe a last look at sunshine on the way to these fucking caverns." He stared down at his palms. "How did you find out?"

"Harry came to me this morning."

He snorted. "Fucking Potter. He wasn't supposed to tell you."

"I am," she tried to control her voice, "very glad he ignored you on that particular point."

"He put you in danger, bringing you here."

"I didn't give him much of a choice." Please. Look at me.

"Wanted to witness it for yourself, did you? Lucius's insanity — and my future state."

"You're nothing like him, Draco. Never will be like him. But I am sorry. So sorry, about what you had to do. That he's —"

"It's better. After being in Azkaban —" he shrugged. "I understand. He wanted a chance, and if it didn't work, he wanted it over. At least he died in my mother's arms. It's a better end than he deserved."

"Would he really have hurt me?"

"Learning the answer to that was not a risk I was willing to take."

She resisted, with every fiber of her being, leaping upon him.

Draco had discarded his borrowed wand, thrown it onto the sofa. Hermione picked it up to distract herself. It felt wrong, brittle and unfit. "Sometimes I make the mistake of forgetting how powerful you are." She twisted it in her fingers. "To be able to do what you did with someone else's wand. You have such strong magic."

"My mother provided a distraction." He did not lift his head.

"Surely he must have known when you arrived. That you'd come to end it."

He grunted. "Hubris. One of the Malfoys' strongest traits. I was able to get close, telling him I'd escaped and was thrilled to join him."

"He believed you?"

"I think he was delighted to have another chance to lure you, and therefore Potter. Kind of you to deliver yourselves to him on a silver platter. Too bad Lucius died before he realized his chance at a third war had arrived, waiting past his magic just around the bend."

Patience. "Why did your father assume I'd come for you, Draco?"

And he looked up, finally, eyebrows raised. The grey — just as she remembered. Piercing and angry. "You're here, aren't you? So predictable, Granger. Proving I was right to worry, all along."

She itched to touch him. To clean his wounds and smooth his hair. To smell his skin again. "I believe you'll be lauded as a hero, for saving me."

He smiled that mean smile. "A hero. For making a monster. For letting Lucius escape. For setting this whole sordid tale in motion."

"You know that's not true." Hermione tossed the borrowed wand away. He'd not need it again. "You did the best you could."

"I definitely didn't." His grin now a glower.

"You have every right to be angry. You've been hurt. By the Ministry, by society, by your parents. By Harry. And," she gulped, "by me too. I feel terrible about that. It's part of why I came today. But you can take the armor off, Draco."

His eyes took her in with a hungry reluctance. She felt them like a caress — over her hair, surely terribly tangled, and her filthy dress, and her legs, and the heavy boots. At her hand, in her pocket.

At her fingers, drawing out something that needed to be returned.

His wand, extended between them.

"I collected it before I left my flat. I suppose some part of me dared to hope —"

His fingers twitched in its direction.

"If there was a chance for it to come in handy, I should bring it along. Take it." So he did, careful to avoid any brush of their hands. She watched him examining it, turning it reverently. "Sometimes I would hold it when I was lonely," she said. "I could feel the magic in it — your magic. It was a comfort, when I was —" despondent, despairing — "thinking about you."

"I don't need it. Keep it." He shoved it toward her and stood. Sidestepped her, refusing contact. Hermione held it for a moment before she set it carefully on the tea table. Waiting for its master to come to his senses.

To accept what was rightfully his.

"I think you will need it. You hold a unique position — bridger of worlds. If this past year has taught us anything it's that society's ills didn't die with Voldemort. There will always be those who want to upend or undermine the good. You know a lot of them, and I think your connections can help to assuage their concerns. Prevent a war from ever happening again — at least in our lifetimes."

He looked at everything but her as he stood awkwardly in the center of the room. "Stop it, Granger."

"Harry thinks so too."

"The next time I see Potter, on my way back to prison, I'll tell him to fuck right off. He had one job — to keep you away from here — and he failed. So as I said, stop it."

She kept her voice soft and even. "I won't. I think we still have a lot to talk about."

He scoffed at her. "I have nothing more to say to you — except perhaps to ridicule you for coming back here and risking entrapment."

"You don't want me to stay down here. No more than you want to be here. I'm not afraid of being trapped — not ever again." She said it with as much brightness as she could muster.

"Easy to be so confident with my father dead. He's the one who would have held you here forever. Do you know the fear I've been living with since the day he escaped? That he'd get you in his clutches? That he'd hurt —" His eyes had grown overly bright and he turned away to compose himself. "I came into this cave today expecting never to leave it," he muttered. "I'd appreciate you giving me solitude to grieve."

"No."

"You're here on a fool's errand. Go. I don't want you."

She laughed. She couldn't help it, it burst out before she could stop. "How you can say that with a straight face — you're deluded, Draco. You want me and I know it. I felt it."

He scrutinized her face, searching for a clue, a hint —

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he tested.

"Actually," she whispered. "I do."

Grey eyes wide, refusing to accept —

"Saw your epilogue."

Grey eyes, boring into hers.

"No."

"Yes," she said gently. "I was at your Manor just a few hours ago."

Beware the cornered dragon. He stumbled backward, held himself up with a hand on the closest stone wall. "How?"

"Harry's aurors found the pensieve when he was letting them search the Manor for indications of your whereabouts. Apparently an elf led them to it."

"Damn it, Kirby."

"So you can let the lies end, please. I know how you feel."

He began to pace like old times, treading a path back and forth across the room. "That was then. I find that in light of what I've done today to protect you, I've changed my mind."

"That's fair. I have a lot to fix. To make up for."

He didn't like that, jaw clenching. "That's not what I mean. You don't owe me anythi—"

"Why didn't you want me to see your memories?" she asked.

He walked furiously, emotions radiating off of him. "I didn't want you to forgive me. I wanted you to move on."

She indulged him, voice low. "Unfortunately for you, they have had the opposite effect."

He snarled at that. "You are an idiot if you do anything but convince Potter to throw me back in prison."

"You don't think I'm an idiot. You think I'm 'brilliant,' and 'clever,' and 'so fucking smart.'"

"Hermione Granger, in my head." A sort of horrified bemusement on his face. "I suppose I deserve the humiliation."

"I saw it all, Draco. How you fought for me. Yearned for me. The risks you took and choices you made."

"Terrible choices. Evil. Blood on stone and monsters in the dark."

She nodded, lips pursed. "Yes. A monster I can help you to contain. Your father set it loose again."

"I'll chase it once you go. Don't forget I incited a revolution."

"You had a few dinners with Death Eaters. And Carrow would have tried it anyway, with or without you."

"I trapped you in the dark. Kept you here. My magic is as sick as I am. I wanted you —"

"— to be safe." She forced herself to smile, to project calm. "To protect me from danger. Me, and my friends."

"I took advantage." His tone was disgusted. "I lusted."

"You gave me unspeakable pleasure and accepted none for yourself."

"I lied to you — over and over."

"Mostly by omission," she conceded. "And yes, I'm angry about that. Very angry. We'll need to work through it."

"I obeyed my father's instructions," he argued forcefully, making another lap of the room. "I would have helped him out of prison."

"Would you have?" she mused, counting his steps. One two three four. "I don't know if I agree. You made poor choices, yes. I wish you'd told the solicitor to fuck off on that first visit." She shrugged. "But if you had, Lucius probably would have escaped anyway — and he wouldn't have trusted you. He might have come after me or Harry and you'd never have known or been able to stop it, you'd have been excluded from his plans."

Five six seven eight, turn. "Now who's the one inventing alternate timelines?"

"The paths all intertwine." She held her hands open before her. "Two things can be true at once, Draco. Two things are true at once. You used blood to hurt, and to heal. You started a coup and ended it. You sacrificed yourself to stay close to Lucius, guarding the world from him. You offered up your life to the vampires to break the alliance they'd formed with Alonso — an alliance forged before you ever got involved. You broke my trust and you've earned it back — with actions, not words — expecting nothing in return. And —"

The tears were coming.

"— while, yes, you deserved to be punished . . . you have been."

"Not enough. You are explaining the unexplainable," he spat. "Why, I don't know." The way he said it, he wanted very much to be away from her.

Too fucking bad.

Hermione was feeling hot and angry. Her fingers fussed with her skirt, trying, failing, to stay patient. "Am I expected to believe that you don't even like me?"

"No." His lips twisted with the confession. "I suppose I was too busy falling in love to like you."

Her heart knocked roughly against her ribs.

Love.

"Haven't you missed me?" The words caught. Because I've missed you.

"Like a sickness," he snarled, so fast it seemed like he'd been waiting for her to ask. "Like I might die from the wanting." He shook his head, vengeful as he paced in his relentless rhythm.

Hermione wavered, desperate to hold him. But she was terrified to move closer, afraid of nothing but scaring him off. "You talk like hope is lost. But I have more of it than ever."

He circled, avoiding her touch — like he had for all those days in that room. "We were never going to work."

His hair shone under the torches. You will touch it again, Hermione. You will run your fingers through it and feel him shiver. Don't give up. "Draco, I forgive you."

"I don't accept. It's time for you to go. Or me to go. I've got to find Potter."

"Harry is gone. He's at work, filing a report that absolves you."

"I'll refute it."

"He's going to get the charges against you dismissed."

"My fellow prisoners will love this story when I'm returned to my cell."

"You're going to be free. He said it might take some time, but he's going to convince the Ministry —"

Draco hummed like it was nothing, obstinate and infuriating. "Potter's corrupted — I'll tell Kingsley. Maybe I'll show him my memories too, since everyone else has seen them. That'll prove where I belong." He laughed darkly. "Potter won't succeed, Hermione. Believe what you want, but they're coming for me. And now they can get me for murder, patricide, too."

Her own fears tangled up with her frustration. "You're not going back to prison. Not today, not ever. I'll fight beside you, I'll never let them take —"

"You'll go back to the safety of your flat and forget what you've seen. I'll obliviate you if I have to."

"You won't. You'd never do that without my consent."

"I'll flee. Make my way to the prison and knock at the gates. The dementors will be happy to receive me."

"If you love me, you won't do this." Her voice cracked, the sound of patience tested.

He covered the pain with a cruel smirk.

"I know you do, Draco. And what you feel for me — I feel just as much for you."

But he was already shaking his head. No. "Impossible."

"I'm sure of it," she argued. A tear escaped and Hermione dashed it from her cheek, angry. "The things you love about me — I promise they are the same things I —"

"Don't say it." His voice would accept no argument.

This was not an option. She could not leave this room without him. Impossible, he'd said. Yes. Impossible that she could survive it, her heart breaking in two. Malfoy won't hurt me — a lie she'd told herself. He was going to end her. She heard herself laugh. "You went to all that effort to make me well. To get me eating and drinking and talking. To return my magic. It was so much work. I didn't appreciate how much, until I watched it through your eyes. And despite it all, you're going to hurt me more than if you'd just left me to die on that stone floor when I was first attacked."

His lip — had it trembled? Draco turned away, refusing to look at her. She evaluated the lines of his back and his waist and his arms. So fucking handsome. So far away.

"Why did you bother?" Her voice cracked again.

He was walking, moving, ignoring her.

Hermione stayed silent, her stomach twisting with anxiety.

Please —

The silence stretched on.

— please talk to me.

Finally, ricocheting around the room,

one two three four

hands at his hips

five six seven eight, turn

— and a war in his eyes —

Draco talked.

"Helping you — it was the first time in my life I had done that. Cared for someone. Taken care of someone." His bright head bent forward slightly, expression thoughtful. "I had never had a sibling, nor a pet. I didn't know the simple pleasure of providing for someone in need. But there you were —" he glanced at the pallet and away quickly. "Helpless and weak and still. It was awful to see. I felt sick, watching you lay here. And the guilt, knowing I'd created the thing that did it to you. I was envisioning how I'd join my father in Azkaban for killing Potter's Princess, and accepting that I deserved it, when Weasley and Pans came with the cure." He laughed bitterly. "It was absurd. I couldn't do that — especially not to you."

Hermione wiped a tear, seeing it in his memory. How terrible she'd looked, curled up in the alcove. How Draco had hung his head, had dreaded to touch her.

"But then I did, because Potter made me. Because some part of me couldn't live with myself if you died. And — you squeezed my hand." He was quiet for a moment, his steps the only sound. "It was incredible in every sense of the word. You — you, Hermione Granger — you trusted. Me." He sounded wondrous, recalling.

Oh Draco —

"It was heady, being responsible for you. I became obsessed. Counting how many sips of water you took. How long you slept. I measured your progress in the bites you ate and words you spoke. And —" he flushed slightly, "in how you felt under my hands. It was a challenge I set for myself. How fast I could make you come, how intense it could be. How many little shakes and sounds I could get out of you."

"No one could have taken better care of me than you did," she whispered. "No one."

He seemed as if he would fight her but then he nodded. "Actually, I agree. I was so careful. You were this fragile, beautiful thing. I think I knew from the first touch that being in my position was a privilege. I didn't want to squander it." He took a deep breath. "Or sully it with my disgusting desires."

He held up a hand at her open mouth, ready to argue.

"Quiet, Granger. You wanted me to talk. This is The Talk."

She stayed quiet.

"I promised myself I wouldn't take any pleasure from it. Any more than I already was, furiously wanking in that bathing room about eight times a day. It was awful, how turned on I would get. You were depressed as hell, terribly ill and here I was, attracted to you." He shuddered with loathing. "Attracted in every way, to everything. The lust gave way to . . ." He shook his head. "I didn't have to spend much time with you before I had completely fallen."

"When?"

When had it been? Which day, which hour? When had his heart begun to beat her name, as hers beat his?

"I don't know, Hermione." His face was etched with misery. "You say you've seen it now. When do you think it was?"

"I want to hear it from you."

"I suppose it happened in pieces. First, when I climbed into that bath — and found I truly didn't care at all about your blood. I just wanted you to feel better. And you touched my Mark like you were sure it was only a relic of the past. You were so kind to me."

She nodded. But he'd still been plotting then, with the letters and the Carrows and his father. "When else?"

"Watching your friends and their messages on your birthday — I wanted to be able to tell you those things too. By then I'd seen it for myself."

"Seen?"

His eyes changed then — sparkled with life, and something else. "The Why."

"Why what?"

He chuckled. The quickest flash of his sharp white teeth. "The Why. Your courage when you ran off into the dark after Ginny. You didn't even think twice. The bravery it took, to shove her aside and face that thing head on.

"Your persistence. You were so sick, but every day you fought a little harder. Pushed yourself."

She disagreed. "That was all you."

"No, Hermione." Grave. "Your willingness to be vulnerable, to do what it took to heal. To spread your legs for me, your worst enemy?"

"I didn't mean th—"

"You inspired me to stay calm, enabled me to push through the awkwardness."

Her eyes were leaking and she wiped at them roughly. "You inspired me. You seemed so confident, so experienced." He snorted. "There we were, in a ridiculous situation, but I felt comfortable and . . . and safe. I felt treasured."

He blinked. "Well — I suppose you were. The moments I had a reason to hold you, to put my hands on you, they were life changing. If you felt my confidence — it was inspired by your pleasure and the reactions you gave me. In between, I loved your intelligence. Talking to you over meals. Every time I got you to smile, or laugh — it felt like I'd won the World Cup. I appreciated how patient you stayed even when I was a raging arse."

"Sometimes I slipped you snacks," she smiled. "That helped."

"So, yes, seeing how your friends sang Happy Birthday, the ease with which they confessed how they felt about you — I was nearly blind with jealousy. For the first time, I became conscious of my feelings. I think that's why, that night, the barrier wavered."

He'd gotten a little closer to her — but stepped away abruptly.

"Finally, the day we left the cave. When you said you wanted to go home, I loved you enough that giving you what you wished was the easiest and hardest thing I'd ever done. Watching you walk through the barrier nearly killed me. And I knew how I felt for sure, standing on the moors. I hated every step that took you away from me. But you were so fucking plucky, noticing the good and loveliness in the world. You didn't act at all like you'd spent a month in the damp and dark, trapped with and by a piece of shit."

He tilted his head back, lashes fluttering.

Hermione released a shuddering breath. Patience. "Draco, everything you felt that day — I felt the same. Each step was agony for both of us. I didn't know how I was going to live without your touch."

He pulled the hair at the crown of his head. "I didn't know how I was going to live without it either. I'd become addicted to it — your little cries of pleasure and the softness of your skin. I had my first — vile — regrets, that I hadn't allowed more contact between us."

She literally burned with the desire to touch him. Patience. "I wish you had."

"No," he said firmly. "That would have been wrong. I'd promised myself. I swore early on that I could touch you how you wanted, give you what you needed. But nothing more. Nothing for me." He choked on it. "Of course you went and mucked it all up with your requests, later, in your flat. To 'intensify.' To 'increase connection.'"

He paused. "By that point, you were ripping my heart from my body every night. But how could I deny you? You deserved to heal. When you'd jump into my arms, trying to seduce me — in some little night set or my old clothes — I'd be rock hard just looking at you. It was a struggle not to laugh at the irony of your attempts. You could have asked anything of me — anything — and I would have done it."

He sighed. "I was so in love." Was. "Being in the presence of your pleasure, giving it, witnessing it." He had a far off look. "Being the first man to fuck you — I had no right. It was more than I'd ever let myself hope or expect. It was enough."

Was.

Hermione fought to contain the terror.

Was.

"The harder I fell, the harder I worked to right the ship. I'd charted its fucking course and it was my job to turn it around. It felt impossible, though. Events I'd orchestrated just months and weeks before were going perfectly, all according to plan." He scoffed. "Except they were the plans of the man I was before I found you in my cave. I'd lie awake at night, after I left your flat, and laugh at myself. There was comedy in the tragedy of it."

"You should have told me," she said. "If you'd told me —"

He stopped before her and shook his head. "When? In the cave, and terrified you? In your flat, and driven you into the arms of a whore? By that point healing you had become my penance. Or should I have revealed it once I was counting down our final weeks, our final days?" He hummed. "Sorry, Granger, but you knew I was fucking selfish. I always have been and always will be."

"I deserved to know."

Flickering light over his haughty cheekbones, one still slashed with his father's hex. "I don't disagree."

The tension crackled.

"The night we slept together I knew Lucius was probably in the midst of his escape. I wanted to tell you it was a possibility — but I was such a coward. If I told you, and you failed to get your magic back? Then it seemed, when we were finished and it was time for me to leave, that it was finally an out I needed to accept. You'd healed and made your choice."

"I was dying inside," she said simply.

"To be honest, that didn't occur to me. Other than the occasional wondering, I didn't spend much time thinking about how you felt. There was no way a healthy Hermione Granger in her right mind could fall in love with me. And when I saw, in the late of the year, that you might be feeling . . . something . . . I assumed it was the monster's effects. Our situation. All those orgasms." He shrugged. "And if it wasn't, I knew any genuine feelings would evaporate the moment you discovered me. What I did. Who I truly am."

He said it like it was final. Like The Talk had concluded, and decisions had been made. Like they'd come to the end of the path.

But it was Hermione's turn. Patient long enough. She crossed to him in two strides and gripped his biceps. Purporting to hold the great Draco Malfoy still.

Looking up into his face — "It hasn't faded. It never will. I meant it in your library, and I mean it more now. I love you, Draco."

He jerked out of her hands, a wary step back, grey eyes glinting. Blinking.

An awareness was dawning inside her, prompted by a familiar ache every time he inched away.

"Draco, stop. Listen to me. I — I think I'm understanding something." The realization crashed over her. She spoke it slowly. "It wasn't the pleasure that healed me."

It bloomed, rushing with a roar through Hermione's head. Her heart.

"It was you." Awe in her voice. "It was love — of you. It was love."

He scowled, close enough that she could have kissed it away. But Hermione smiled at him instead, assuring them both. "It's been love the whole time. My instincts said to increase our connection, and I meant it. But it wasn't more orgasms I needed. I think it was just you."

Draco stared down at her like she was crazy.

She bit her lip, shaking her head, putting the pieces together as she talked it out. "It seems so obvious now. Being around you was the cure. Talking to you. It wasn't the bus that sent me spiraling the day we escaped this place. It was shock, sure, but not of nearly dying. It was the shock of being deprived — of you. A month in this tiny room together," she gestured around them, "and you expected me to accept the loss of your presence? Just like that?"

Her turn to scoff. "Of course I collapsed."

She was musing to herself then, but he didn't take his eyes off her face. "And the minute — the moment — you walked back through the door of my flat, offering your assistance. All you have to do is ask." She laughed. "I was better. I remember waking in the middle of the night and sensing you were there. You hadn't even touched me yet and I had more energy than I had in days."

"Energy to argue with me."

"Yes. And to get out of bed. To shower. To eat."

He looked very much like he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. Anywhere he could avoid facing this.

"It wasn't sex that brought my magic back. It was the feeling between us. I thought it wasn't real." She shook her head. "I didn't know it then, but it was."

"It felt real," he breathed, in spite of himself.

"Yes." She leaned into him, her hands on his chest. Borrowing his strength. "I think I've loved you since you led me out of this room."

"That's enough, Granger."

"It's not enough — your feelings aren't, anyway."

"I love you more than anything," he insisted, frustrated and flailing.

"No," she argued. His lips were so close. "If you did, you would care more about what I want than about denying yourself joy for no reason."

"There is a reason," he said, watching her mouth. "We are impossible."

"We are inevitable." It was a fact and she calmly stated it as one — but the tears had returned. They slipped down her cheeks every which way.

Draco tried to resist. "I've hurt people, Hermione. I hurt you."

This would not be the narrative she let him have. "You saved me — and let me go."

"Barely." He whispered it. "I'm selfish."

"You call it selfishness. I call it love."

His face — it shifted. She narrowed her eyes, examining his.

There. A flash in the grey. Weakness.

She slid her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, around his neck. She held him as she wanted to be held. Her fingers found his hair — relief, for them both — and he shivered.

You have him.

"You said it was a sickness, the wanting. Yes." She whispered it into his lips, which trembled. "That's exactly what it is. We're meant for each other. We'll heal each other. If you deny it, you don't just deny yourself. You condemn me."

His hands slid over her hips, around her waist. "No."

"I'll never love another," she promised. Like she was taking an oath. She supposed she was. "I will never love anyone but you. So you either keep me or not. But I'll love you just the same."

"I don't want that for you." Determination in his voice. "You'll change your mind, it's the monster's curse —"

She brushed her lips over his cheek — softly spoke the spell to heal. His wound mended beneath her words and she brushed a thumb through the red. If his skin was bloody let hers be too. "I'll spend forever proving it's not."

"I can't imagine forever."

"You already have. I saw it. Me, in your home? Your bed? Your life?" He shook his head and she pressed herself closer. "Let me change your mind," she begged. "Let me try to make you happy. Let me give you some of the pleasure, the joy, you've given me. I've kept it hidden away. But not anymore." She settled her lips to his neck and kissed his throat. "You're mine."

He shivered again. She kissed his jaw and his cheek and the spot under his ear. Inhaled him.

"Why?" Like he genuinely didn't understand.

She could have laughed — wasn't it obvious? — but when she pulled back his face was stone. Make him understand. She tightened her arms around him. "Finally I get to tell you."

He scowled and she kissed the corner of his lips. Put that away.

"You're smart. So smart, Draco. Now that I've been in your head, I realize our brains work alike. In many ways we think alike. Your decisions, your methodical approach — it was a gift to be in your mind. I should have known from the moment I first saw your notes on that sofa, organized properly. By topic, not source. I love to watch you read — I imagine it's how I look when I do, intense and absorbed. Your voice — it actually does The Bard justice."

He rolled his eyes. "It doesn't."

"You make me laugh. Even when I could barely breathe from sadness, you somehow had me laughing. Life can be so hard — yet you have a talent for pointing out its humor. And you're so thoughtful, noticing me and what I like. Strawberries? Clean sheets? Which books, my favorite wine. How I take my coffee. When I'll have my witch times. You hand me what I want before I even know I want it. My watch —" she held her wrist up. "I'll never take it off," she promised. "A birthday in a cave — but you made it perfect."

"Potter helped." Like it negated everything he'd done.

"You're the reason it was special, Draco. And I love the way you touch me. When you sometimes can't help it. How it makes me feel. The pleasure you give, that you draw up from within me — there's nothing like it. There aren't really words."

He was silent at that.

"You got into the bath with me."

Her throat swelled with the truth, with the memories.

"And there's nowhere I'm safer than in your arms." She said it fiercely, confidently.

The parts of him collided and jumbled in her heart. Make him understand.

"Is there anywhere safer?" she demanded. "Would you trust anyone else on earth to care for me?"

Draco bent his head, then. He leaned down, into her.

Buried his face in her neck. It felt like —

surrender.

They both knew the answer.

No one else.

She hugged him as tightly as her strength allowed, her arms twined around his neck and his shoulders.

"Let's do this," she whispered. "Harry said he needs some time. Just — just let me stay. Until he's sure, or they come for you. Please, Draco. If you only have a few hours, a few days of freedom — don't you want to spend them with me?"

He exhaled, the air hot against her shoulder. "I needn't answer that."

"We can stay here," she offered. "We've done it before."

"You don't belong in the dark, Hermione."

"I don't care, I'd be happy to —"

He cut her off with a kiss. An answer in it. A few days, he thought. He didn't believe her, didn't trust Harry. But that was alright.

She would believe enough for them both.

So she kissed him back, and tugged at his hair. Opened her mouth and tasted the sadness in his. Let him taste the hope in hers.

Hermione could have kissed him for hours — but before it could become more, he pulled back. Pressed his mouth in a thin line. Picked up his wand.

Then Draco entwined their fingers and pulled her out of the room.

Out of the bunker.

When they passed the firepit, she looked at where his father had fallen. But he didn't. He stared straight ahead, leading her away.

Leading her around the bend, out of the cave, along the same path they'd treaded those many months before. Leading her up, out of the darkness. They walked slowly, her wand casting a low Lumos at their feet. There's no rush.

She leaned into his side whenever her boots slipped on the rocks, and he stayed solid. Gods it felt good, to lean into him.

They walked for a long time, long enough that she wondered if night had fallen. Perhaps it would be dark —

But they came around another bend, and saw the hint of light.

The pinks and oranges of a Yorkshire sunset, intruding into the cavern's dim.

When they emerged into the fading sun she squeezed his hand. Twice.

The moors were stunning in the golden hour, the breeze and grasses working together in choreographed harmony.

Hermione watched the hem of her skirt, swaying in the wind. Her dress an apt choice, for the way the day turned out. She transfigured her shoes back to sweet flats, abandoning utility in favor of fashion. It was okay if she went slowly. Draco kept to her pace.

She expected him to turn them toward the nearest village. An inn, perhaps, or an apparition point. Would he want to return to his Manor? They walked together, hand in hand, and she had no idea where they were going.

Nor did she care.

Hermione found reasons to bump into him, but if he noticed he didn't say. He just kept walking, tugging her gently in a different direction. She followed, quiet, content to be beside him and watch the clouds. Perhaps he just wanted to wander. When she checked his face he seemed to be watching the horizon, expression somber.

He led her down a lightly worn path.

Over a hill and then another, the scene punctuated by wildflowers and chirping birds.

And came upon a promontory overlooking the most gorgeous of vistas.

In its center, amidst the beauty of the heather, sat a little cottage.

Stone walls freshly whitewashed. The thatch roof too new for moss.

Before she knew what was happening, Draco lifted his wand and cast his first spell — shutters slid apart, curtains unfurling merrily in the breeze.

The red door swung open.

As they made their way toward it, down the path, she could see shelves inside. Books. A fireplace.

Two chairs. For reading.

She looked up at him, awareness dawning. He was watching for her reaction, tinges of pink on his cheekbones. Strong fingers flexed nervously around hers.

"I suppose some part of me dared to hope," he said.

Dared to hope, indeed.

Hermione smiled — and pulled Draco inside.