a/n: This chapter contains a depiction of sexual assault. Please be mindful of your triggers.

Once again, Hermione didn't sleep. Her interaction with Malfoy the previous evening had unsettled her greatly. So, she rose early, made three sandwiches—one for herself and two for Malfoy—and went to the clearing, content to research Horcruxes until Malfoy inevitably appeared. The weather was warm and the sun was bright in the sky. Instead of settling herself against her usual tree, Hermione took several steps outside of her wards, seeking the sunshine.

Hermione read for several hours and she was feeling incredibly relaxed when she heard the snapping of twigs. She looked up, expecting to see Malfoy. It was early, but he had promised he'd come, and she had questions for him.

Also, if she truly thought about—she was looking forward to his company.

"Can't believe they still have us searching the forests," came an irritated voice.

Her stomach dropped. Snatchers. That certainly wasn't ideal. Hermione forced herself to remain calm. Snatchers had become exceedingly rare over the past years, but she had avoided several during her time in the woods. They were the lowest level of Voldemort's ranks and were often incredibly dim—more brute than brawn—so all Hermione had to do was remain calm. She stood quietly and disillusioned herself, tucking her wand into the band of her leggings.

It was times such as this that Hermione was reminded that staying in England had not been her smartest decision. According to Malfoy, Voldemort ruled the isles with brutal totalitarianism and Hermione knew she would have been much safer elsewhere, but she found herself unable to leave. She knew the final Horcrux was somewhere in England, and she felt that she owed it to Harry to find it—to make his death a little less meaningless.

"Seems a bit stupid, don't it?" said another voice. "Everyone knows all the Mudbloods have either run away or been caught. Don't know what they expect us to find in this here forest."

"Just keep your eyes peeled. Maybe we'll catch us something good and we can finally get our Marks."

"Hmm," agreed the other man. "That would be great—I'd love to get in on that business in Belgium."

One of the men snorted. "Belgium?" he laughed. "Belgium is just the entry point. He has His sight on taking over the entire peninsula by the end of next year."

So, it was true then—Voldemort's power was spreading.

There was a moment of silence, before one of the men spoke again suddenly, "There are wards nearby."

"Really?" asked the other, sounding mildly interested. "How can you tell?"

"Can't you feel the tingle in the air?"

A pause. "Sure can," the other Snatcher agreed. "Come on, this way."

The footsteps of the Snatchers grew closer and closer, and Hermione held her breath, not daring to make a sound as the two men came into view. The taller of the two men, dressed in dirty and ill-fitting robes, stopped right in front her and smiled. His teeth were black. "Right here," he said, his rotten smile growing wider. "Little thing thinks it's clever. Come out and play with us, Mudblood. We promise we won't hurt you."

Hermione did not move a muscle. She did not breathe, even as her lungs began to burn. They were much too close. She had been stupid. She should not have left her wards, she should not have allowed herself to relax. Constant vigilance—the phrase flickered unhelpfully in her mind. She had let her guard down, and this was the consequence.

She knew better.

She was an idiot.

"Yeah, come on out," agreed the other man, smiling wickedly. He was missing several teeth. "We're all friends here."

"Aww, come on," said the other Snatcher when Hermione didn't appear. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, Mudblood."

Hermione's nerves began to flare. Remain calm, she repeated to herself. Her disillusionment was still in place—she was not yet caught. She took a few small steps back in attempt to distance herself from the Snatchers. If she could get far enough away quietly, then she could run.

The first Snatcher let out a dramatic sigh and took several steps back. "Fine. But don't say we didn't ask you nicely," he said before drawing his wand. "Finite Incantatem!"

The spell struck Hermione squarely on the shoulder and she felt her disillusionment drop. The time to remain calm was over, and Hermione bolted, running as fast as she could through the forest. Her wand was tucked into the band of her leggings, and she struggled to free it, but it was trapped beneath both her t-shirt and a jumper. If she could just get it, she could apparate—

A thick arm wrapped around her waist, trapping her wand further and pulling Hermione to a halt. "I told you not to make this more difficult than it had to be, Mudblood," the Snatcher breathed into her ear. Hermione continued to fight, kicking and thrashing, still determined to get to her wand. "Stop fighting!" he ordered harshly. "Grab her legs!"

The other Snatcher appeared before her, grabbing her thrashing legs even as she tried to kick him in the face. With an irritated expression, the Snatcher pushed her feet firmly together and bound them together with magic.

Hermione tried to push the arm around her waist away so she could get her wand. The Snatcher ignored her hand and pushed her down onto the floor of the forest, pinning her down with his knee. All of the air was forced from her lungs, and momentarily Hermione could not breath. With surprising strength, he forced her arms up above her head. When the air returned to her lungs, Hermione screamed in pain. It was as if he had wrenched her shoulder from its socket. In short order, Hermione's hands had been bound, too. She struggled with the bonds, attempting to free herself. She felt the tip of a wand on her forehead and suddenly she could not move at all.

How had she let this happen?

"Wanna take a look at what we just caught ourselves?" asked one of the Snatchers, his tone smug.

Hermione glared up at the Snatchers through her tears, hating them.

"She's a pretty one," commented the Snatcher with the missing teeth. "Maybe we can keep her?"

"Fuck," whispered the other Snatcher. "She's gorgeous." His eyes roamed her body hungrily and Hermione forcefully closed her eyes, feeling disgusted with the Snatcher's stare. Nausea broiled in her belly.

The Snatcher with the rotten teeth began to pull at her jumper clumsily, pulling at the zipper. Halfway down, the zipper became caught and the Snatcher, frustrated, simply ripped the jumper apart. Hermione's head struck the ground with force of the Snatcher's movements and black spots appeared in her eyes.

Hermione continued to attempt to kick and thrash, to no avail. She had been completely immobilized.

How was this happening?

There were hands on her belly, slipping beneath her shirt. She began to cry harder. One well-placed kick and she could overpower him—

Hermione heard the fabric of her shirt being torn, then ripped from her body. She heard it land somewhere in the dirt. The sunshine was warm, but all she could feel was coldness as the Snatcher's fingers explored her skin.

A hand went between her legs—thankfully still covered—and Hermione began to sob. She reached for her wand in vain. She couldn't move. Her wand was right there, and she couldn't move.

Her mind went blank as one of the Snatchers began to pull down her leggings. She watched as he tore them from her ankles, feeling as if she was no longer connected to her body—this was happening to someone else. Not to her.

When one of the Snatchers went to remove her bra, he fumbled and Hermione averted her eyes—the only part of herself she seemed to have control over—not wanting to see his face. Her gaze instantly landed on her jumper, torn and abandoned in the dirt. Her brain seemed to restart.

A coin with no serial number.

Malfoy's coin.

He had given her a coin so she could contact him.

She had no wand, but she still had magic. Hermione could feel it crackling just below her skin. The Snatcher was still fumbling with her bra.

Hermione stared at where she knew the coin was, summoning all of her magic. Help me, I need you. Please. Help, she thought desperately, hoping it would be enough.

Please help me, Malfoy.

She heard her bra being ripped. It wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough. Hermione closed her eyes again.

She barely heard the crack of apparition before the weight of the man on top of her was violently ripped away from her. There was a scream and a sickening crack, followed by the crunching of leaves, a desperate "No, please!" and a half-hearted Stupefy.

Moments later, a masked Death Eater was standing over her. Hermione began to sob again. This was it—she was going to die. They were going to rape her, and then they were going to kill her.

The Death Eater pulled off his mask, and his expression was gentle. She was struck by just how blond and pale he was. "It's me, Granger. It's just me. You called me." He pulled his cloak from his back and wrapped it around her. "It's just me, Granger. I won't hurt you."

"Malfoy?" she asked, clutching his cloak to her chest.

The Death Eater nodded. "You called me."

Hermione began to sob in earnest. "Oh, my gods, oh my gods." She sat up, clutching Malfoy's cloak tightly to her body. She was shaking violently.

"You're all right, Hermione. You're all right," Malfoy said, gently touching her shoulder. "I'm going to apparate us somewhere safe, okay? Just—take my hand—" he offered it to her, and Hermione at once took it, holding it tightly in her own. "Just hang on and trust me, okay?"

Hermione's hold on his hand tightened. She nodded. "Okay," she replied, her voice shaking.

The apparition was abrupt and unsettling, and Hermione found herself on her knees and wrapped in Draco Malfoy's arms, dry heaving from the sensation. In any other circumstance, it would have been embarrassing, but Malfoy rubbed her back and muttered assurances until she felt better.

Slowly, Hermione got her bearings back and took in the room before her. It was a simple flat, containing only a small kitchen, a black leather sofa, a coffee table, a closet, a loo, and what appeared to be a small bedroom. "Where are we?" she asked blearily.

"My flat," Malfoy replied softly. "I'm going to get you some clothes, okay?

Hermione realized she was still clutching his cloak across her ripped shirt. She flushed and clutched it tighter before nodding.

Malfoy returned after a few moments with an old shirt and a pair of pajama pants, which he handed to Hermione with his eyes averted. "I didn't look," he said quietly.

Hermione discarded his cloak and pulled the clothes. She was still trembling violently.

As soon as she was dressed, Malfoy pulled her into his arms. "It's okay," he said quietly. "It's okay. I promise, Hermione. I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe."

She breathed him in—mahogany and teakwood, woody and masculine, and—Malfoy. It comforted her. Her trembling eased somewhat, and she wrapped her shaking arms around his waist, pulling him in closer. Malfoy took several steps toward her in her unspoken request to be closer to him. She took a deep breath, and rested her head against his shoulder. He was shaking, too.

"I've got you," he said softly, his breath ghosting across her ear.

"I thought—" Hermione began, "I thought—" What had she thought? She didn't know. Her mind was a racing, jumbled mess, and the only thing she could focus on was that Malfoy was there, and he smelled good, and he wasn't going to let anyone hurt her.

"I know," Malfoy murmured.

"My wand?" she asked, remembering that the Snatcher on top of her had tossed it away.

Against her, Malfoy shook his head. "I don't know, Granger," he replied. "I have to go back to take care of—some things. I'll look for it."

"Did you kill them?" Hermione asked quietly.

Malfoy was silent for nearly a minute. "I stunned one of them. The one—the one that was on top of you—" he cut off, then swallowed. "I don't know. Maybe."

If they weren't—then—they had found her. They had found her once, and therefore could find her again. Abruptly, Hermione pulled away from him, but grasped at the collar of his shirt, incapable of being entirely free of him at this moment. "Draco," she said urgently. "They found me. If they aren't dead—you have to go back. You have to obliviate them."

Malfoy's expression was unwavering. "I know, Granger. I know. Come, sit. You need to calm down." He gently took her hand from his shirt collar and led her towards his bedroom

She took one look at the bed and whimpered, attempting to pull her hand away from Malfoy.

"Just to rest, Granger," Malfoy clarified gently. "I'm going to get you a Calming Draught."

Hermione forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed as Malfoy went back into the kitchen. His flat was so small, she could still see him from where she sat. As she watched, Malfoy opened a cabinet that was lined with several unmarked vials. He studied them only for a moment before selecting one and closing the cabinet. Potion selected, he returned to Hermione and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. "Here," he said, handing the potion out to her. With shaking fingers, Hermione forced herself to take the vial. She uncorked it and took and inquisitive sniff. Immediately, she felt calmer. She looked to Malfoy, who was watching her intently. "Standard Calming Draught, Granger," Malfoy clarified. "I brewed it myself."

Hermione nodded before forcing the potion down her throat. The calming effect was instantaneous. Suddenly, the world around her was bright and beautiful, and if she hadn't known any better, she would've thought she was dreaming. There was a light touch on her back, and Hermione felt herself lean into it, feeling almost as if she were a cat seeking a scratch. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt her head connect with something—someone?—stable. It was warm, and smelled of mahogany and teakwood. Then she remembered—Malfoy. She opened her eyes, and found him staring down at her, his brow furrowed.

She had called him. He had come to her. He had saved her. Her fingers found his face, and she gently touched his cheek, wondering if perhaps she was simply hallucinating. But no—he was there. Warm and solid. "Are you real?" Hermione asked, her tongue feeling sluggish and heavy in her mouth.

Against her, Malfoy nodded. "I'm real, Granger. You called me, remember?"

Hermione did remember. She nodded slowly against Malfoy's shoulder. She wanted to sleep—badly. She had never felt so calm in her entire life.

"Hermione," Malfoy said, calling her back to attention. "I'm going to let you sleep, okay? But I have to go back to take care of some things."

Despite the Calming Drought, Hermione felt her heart begin to race. "What?" she asked quietly. She didn't want to be alone. What if—what if—They'd found her once, and she didn't have a wand.

Malfoy stood, opening a drawer in the nightstand that sat just next to the bed. When he returned to the space next to her, he placed a wand and a small wrapped parcel between them. "I'm going to try and find your wand, Granger," Malfoy said gently. "But while I'm gone, if you need anything, you can use my mother's wand, okay?" He waited until she'd nodded before continuing, "You should be safe here, but if anything happens, there is a Portkey." He gestured to the small wrapped item. "If you touch the key inside, it will take you to my family's estate in Russia. I'm the only one who knows about it."

Hermione stared down at the wand and the parcel, her sluggish mind attempting to understand what was happening. Malfoy was giving her his mother's—his deceased mother's wand—and a Portkey to a secret estate in Russia. That seemed—

Well, that seemed like a lot.

She nodded. It was growing harder to form words, and she simply wanted to rest.

Malfoy smirked—the one she liked, she registered vaguely. "Rest, Granger. I'll be back in a bit."

Hermione no longer had the energy to fight him. She dropped back against Malfoy's pillows, allowing her eyes to flutter closed once more. The pillows smelled like him, and she breathed in the scent. Between the Calming Drought and the scent of Malfoy, Hermione knew she'd be asleep in a matter of moments. Vaguely, Hermione felt someone pull the comforter up and over her body. She nestled into it gratefully, falling instantly into a deep sleep.

When Hermione awoke, she was surprised to find that night had fallen, and she was in an unfamiliar bed. She shifted in the bed and found her wand lying next to her. Narcissa Malfoy's wand and the Portkey had been placed on the nightstand, still within her reach. The day's event suddenly washed over her: how she'd been found, how she'd been attacked, how she'd nearly been—no, no, she could deal with that later— and how Malfoy had come to her rescue.

Hermione gripped her wand in her hand, relief coursing through her veins as she felt its familiar weight and texture. She sat up, pushing the silky emerald green duvet off her body, and scanned the flat, searching for Malfoy.

He was easy to find in the sparsely furnished flat: he was fast asleep on the couch, still gripping his own wand. Hermione stared at him in the dark, relishing that she could finally study the man she was just beginning to know in a moment that wasn't stolen. The first thing that Hermione noticed was that he had changed clothes—no longer was he wearing his perpetual uniform of carefully pressed slacks and black button-ups. Instead he was wearing a black cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded grey sweatpants. On his feet, he wore a pair of dark green socks. Hermione couldn't help her grin when she realized that the right sock had a hole in it, evidenced by the tip of Malfoy's toe poking through.

It was the most casual she had ever seen him, and she found it absurd.

Even deep in sleep, however, he did not appear relaxed. His brow was tightly furrowed, and he wore a frown on his face. He held his wand tightly against his chest, in a way that was not natural, but one, she suspected, born of trauma. Hermione felt her grin fade.

Death Eater. Spy. Good with animals. He'd given her a coin so she could contact him. Lonely. He'd rescued her. He slept with his wand.

Hermione sighed, dragging her gaze away from where Malfoy slept on the couch and began to take in the rest of the flat. She had thought, perhaps, she had not seen Malfoy's flat correctly, because it certainly didn't strike her as a place any Malfoy would live, but no—It was a simply one bedroom flat, containing hardly any furniture. In fact, in her cursory glance around the flat, the nicest thing Hermione had spotted was the emerald green duvet that she had just been curled up under.

Simply put, it was curious.

But then, everything about Malfoy these days was curious.

She was suddenly struck with the overwhelming urge to urinate, and she stood from the mattress, tip-toeing to the only door she had located in Malfoy's flat so far.

Her hand was on the handle when a groggy voice sounded in the darkness. "Are you okay?"

Hermione turned to find Malfoy up, his blond hair disheveled and falling over his eyes. Even in the dark, she could see the silver of his eyes as he stared at her from across the room.

"I have to pee," she replied quietly.

His hair caught the light of the moon as he nodded, and several more strands fell into his face.

When Hermione returned, she found that Malfoy had not returned to sleep, but instead he sat upright on the sofa, twiddling anxiously with his long fingers and gnawing at his bottom lip. Hermione exhaled and perched herself on the couch next him, leaving several feet of space between them.

Malfoy looked towards her, but did not meet her eyes. "Hey," he said quietly, giving her a grin that Hermione instantly recognized as being false.

"Hi," she replied, staring down at his hands as he fiddled with them. She was watched as he thoughtlessly tore a bit of fingernail from his thumb. Her first instinct was to take his fingers in hers, to make him stop fiddling, to make him look at her. She ignored the urge. "Thank you for finding my wand," she said instead.

He nodded jerkily, still staring down at his fingers. "Of course," he said tightly.

"Malfoy—"

Malfoy interrupted her: "Everything is taken care of, you don't need to worry. They won't find you again."

It had been what she was about to ask, so Hermione merely nodded.

There were several minutes of silence, and for the first time since Malfoy had appeared in her clearing, she felt an awkwardness in his presence. Suddenly, she realized she was fiddling with her own fingers. She stilled them promptly.

Finally, Malfoy spoke again, "What the fuck happened, Granger?"

Hermione exhaled deeply and closed her eyes, attempting to gather her thoughts. "It was a nice day. I wanted some sunshine. I went outside of my wards—"

"What?" Malfoy asked harshly. "You went outside of you wards? What the fuck, Granger?"

"I was waiting for you," Hermione replied weakly.

Malfoy moved closed towards her on the couch and gripped her shoulders. His fingers were shaking. "You will never go outside your wards without me again. Do you understand?"

Inadvertently, Hermione flinched.

Malfoy's grip instantly loosened, and when Hermione looked at him, his silver eyes had softened. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's not your fault. I just—" he cut himself off, his eyes searching her face.

Hermione nodded, meeting his eyes, and not knowing how to respond.

"I am serious, though, Granger," Malfoy continued. "I don't want you going outside your wards—especially to wait for me. It's not safe. How could you—Fuck, Granger." Clearly frustrated, he furrowed his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "How could you be so careless?"

"I haven't seen anyone in the woods in nearly a year, Draco," Hermione replied, in an attempt to explain.

"I found you," Malfoy argued. "And they did, too."

"I know," Hermione relented, realizing that he had a point. "Are they dead?"

Malfoy's expression darkened briefly. "No," he said after a brief pause. "Just obliviated."

Hermione nodded, not understanding the change in his expression. It had disappeared as quickly as it appeared, however, and she pushed it away from her thoughts. And this time when she had the urge to touch him, she did not ignore it. Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for coming for me."

Malfoy tensed briefly before she felt him rest his chin on the top of her head. "Of course," he replied. "Of course I came for you. You called me."

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Because of course he come for her. Had she ever really doubted he would? She had doubted her magic, but she hadn't doubted him.

She hadn't doubted him for a second.

a/n: I think Sunday will be update day. Thanks for reading, see ya next week. Until then, thoughts are appreciated.