Draco didn't move to extract himself until Hermione had finally cried herself empty. He said nothing as she pulled away and swiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He silently retreated back and watched her, his concern finally overwhelmed and drowned out by his own exhaustion.

"When was your last meal?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," she replied softly, eyelids drooping a little - or, perhaps it just appeared so, because they were swollen from crying. "I had some supper, last night." She paused and grimaced. "Something about the eggs put me off this morning."

"You need to eat something," he said quietly, his voice thin with fatigue.

She didn't look at him. "Okay," she sighed. "Sorry."

His fingers felt electrified where he had held the back of her head, where they had felt her hitching and heaving with sobs. She still smelled faintly like Christmas baking - the vestiges of the bath she'd managed the other day - instead of the usual antiseptic sterile scent of the hospital linens.

The need to leave was overwhelming.

But somehow, he acknowledged a hazy desire to sit back down on her bed, kicking his shoes off, and curling himself over her until they both fell asleep.

Which means you absolutely need to fucking leave.

"I'll have the elves send you up a tray," he said after a moment. "Some soup, at least. I think it's carrot and coriander tonight."

She smiled weakly. It was a performative gesture, he knew.

"Am I going…" she started, then she swallowed heavily, looking away. "Will I feel it? When you're…"

"No," he said firmly. "Not when it's happening. You'll be fully asleep. We'll make sure we've optimised your pain potions for when you wake up."

"I won't remember anything?" she asked, then quickly clarified, "from the procedure, I mean."

"No," he said again, "it is going to be painful when you wake up, but you won't remember any of it."

Only I will.

He gave her a reassuring smile.

A performative gesture.

Draco was about to deposit the tray he'd fetched from the cafeteria at the Medi-Witch station when he heard an unwelcome voice.

"Malfoy, can I have a word?"

He thought idly that he really should invest in an invisibility cloak for walking around the ward. It could've been worse - it could have been Weasley - but he didn't have the mental fortitude for this right now. His jaw tightening, Draco sighed and met Harry's eyes, nodding curtly.

Harry was holding a large text under his arm, which Draco would've thought odd, but he immediately surmised that the book was for Hermione when he read the title: The Politics of Wizards and Beasts Relations, 1500-1799.

No doubt she had asked for it to 'entertain' herself while she was locked away.

Harry looked down at the excessive array of dishes Draco had grabbed - soup, bread, fresh fruit, bangers and mash, peas, treacle tart - and one of his eyebrows lifted suspiciously.

"I'm trying to get her to eat something," Draco muttered, his lips pulling down into a scowl. "Well? What is it?"

"When can you release Dolohov into our custody?"

Draco appreciated the omission of introductory small-talk. "He needs an IV infusion for another two days, then he's yours."

Harry nodded with a neutral expression. "Good."

Silence.

"Any updates on the investigation?" Draco asked, figuring he might as well test his luck.

Harry eyed him, but otherwise didn't provide much of a reaction, much to Draco's surprise. "We've got some promising leads on accomplices that we're looking into."

"Anything you'd care to-"

"No," Harry said flatly. He then motioned to Hermione's room with his head. "I was about to go in. What's happened? Is she alright?"

Draco felt oddly relieved. He had been intending on leaving after dropping off the food, but leaving after - well, whatever that had been - felt a little bit like fucking off in the middle of a funeral. He was glad that Harry would be with her, taking up his post.

"Physically, she's coming along," he said distractedly. "Mentally…" he trailed off, and then his gaze snapped suddenly to Harry's eyes. "You know what? Ask her yourself." Draco's tone was surprisingly caustic, even for him.

Harry looked surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for thinking she might want to discuss something other than how horrific her life is right now," he said acerbically, his face drawing into a scowl. "You're right - I don't think it's sunk in yet."

Ah, yes. Just like the old days. Malfoy runs his mouth, Potter retaliates. Both parties puff out their chests until one of them finally explodes.

Nothing is accomplished.

Ad infinitum.

He was so fucking tired .

"You think she's interested in gossiping about idle nonsense?"

"Yeah, actually," Harry said hotly, "I think it might be a nice reprieve from talking about being hunted by Antonin Dolohov, or permanently maimed, or-"

"You're supposed to be her best friend," Draco shouted, pointing his finger at the antechamber to Granger's room. "Do you have any idea how fucking isolated she is in there?"

Harry looked incredulous, but he didn't fire back like Draco had expected. After an extremely tense pause, Draco spoke again. "She needs to talk about it with someone. Preferably, someone she trusts. Stop treating her like one of your bloody case files, Potter. She needs a friend ."

Harry's expression softened slightly. He said nothing and swallowed tightly. After another pause, somewhat less tense this time, he pointed his wand at the tray, levitating it with him as he began to walk towards Hermione's room.

Draco let out an exhausted rattle of an exhale. He turned to grab his coat when he heard Harry say, "you'll have more luck with desserts, if you're trying to get her to eat."

Draco looked back and saw that Harry was watching him with an undecided expression. "Right," Draco muttered with a slightly hesitant nod, and adding - against his own petulant impulses - a quiet, "thanks."

"Harry!" Hermione said with false brightness, feeling a mixture of surprise (and disappointment, she acknowledged begrudgingly) when she realised that it wasn't Draco carrying in the tray of food. To be fair, he had said he would have the elves send it to her, but she had hoped - part of her had hoped -

Nevermind.

Harry offered her a tight smile, but to her relief, the anxious energy he'd brought in the last time he visited was absent. He set the tray down on her table, and she felt her eyes bugging out at the sheer volume of food he'd brought. "Malfoy says you haven't been eating."

"I haven't been hungry," she said automatically, and it was true. Not once since she'd been in this godforsaken room had she had even a slight appetite. "You spoke to him? Did he tell you…"

She let the sentence die away, and Harry let out a single, staccato laugh. He sat down heavily in the chair next to her bed. "No, he didn't. Fully lambasted me for asking him before I'd asked you, actually."

He almost sounded impressed when he said it.

"Oh," was all she could think to say. She frowned, wondering where to start.

"Food first," Harry said firmly.

"But-"

Harry gave her a hard look and plucked up her hand, encircling her wrist between his thumb and index finger and rattling it to emphasise how much space was between her and his fingers. His eyebrows were raised defiantly.

Hermione had tried not to think about it much, but she knew that she must look frighteningly thin. She hadn't bothered to look up at the mirror in the bathroom - what was the point? She didn't even want to imagine how she looked, if it was any reflection of how she felt. She had become shrunken and bare, like there was nothing protecting her bones from the outside world.

"Yes, father," she grumbled, which seemed to appease Harry slightly. "Pass me the treacle tart."

"Nope," Harry said, popping the "p" happily. "Bread and soup. Then we'll see about sweets."

"Harry, I'm not a child," she snapped.

"No, you're a fully grown, exceptionally intelligent, and stubborn woman," he agreed, "who is absolutely shit at taking care of herself."

She glared at him, but took up the spoon after he pushed the tray towards her. As Malfoy had said, it was carrot and coriander, and it even had fresh-cracked pepper and a splash of coconut cream on top.

It was surprisingly good.

Harry watched her smugly as she mopped up the last drops of soup with the heel of a crusty baguette that he'd smothered in butter. Testing his luck, he pushed the bangers and mash towards her, but she grimaced at the sight of the sausage.

"Harry, please, I can't," she insisted, and he relented, swapping out the dish with treacle tart.

"Worth a shot," he said evenly. "Now. What happened today? Ginny said the sangoma finally came."

Hermione blinked tiredly and brought a forkful of tart to her mouth, stalling. Harry waited patiently as she chewed, swallowed, and cleared her throat.

"Apparently I've been Obliviated ," she said hoarsely.

Harry's expression fell. "What?"

"Mmmhm," she replied, taking another bite, suddenly feeling unable to stop eating, even for a moment. "So I'll get to experience the full scope of Draco's expertise while I'm stuck here."

Harry stared at her with a look that communicated everything it needed to - he knew what Obliviation therapy was, what it entailed, and why it was so exquisitely horrific for her specifically.

"Hermione…" he croaked, the corners of his lips twisting down. "I'm sorry."

"That's not all," she muttered, covering her mouth to shield him from her talking with her mouth full. "I also apparently agreed to something called a ' Blood Oath ' - for what reason, I can't even imagine - in which I agreed to make my own magic curse me if I broke the oath."

He looked properly incredulous now. "That's-"

"Unbelievable?" she supplied, chuckling darkly and scraping the last of the dessert out of the aluminium shell. "Indeed. Could I get more soup and another one of these?"

She felt strangely calm and matter-of-fact, having exhausted her emotions with Draco so recently. Harry nodded and nearly lunged to the door and into the antechamber. She could hear him yell to the Medi-Witch at the front desk to have more food sent up.

Harry peppered her with more questions - how Draco and Femi had come to their conclusion, what would happen next - and she answered them as best she could, although she acknowledged that she hadn't been in much of a state to exact details about the treatment plan.

"So, there's plenty to look forward to," she said with dark, perverse cheer. "Locked up, being a squib, the Cruciatus curse - and, best of all, I haven't the faintest idea why."

"Shit," Harry breathed, mussing his hair with his palm and scratching at his scalp with his fingers. " Shit. "

"Which brings me to you," she said with forced calm, giving Harry a determined stare. She had restrained herself up until now, but if Harry felt like he could order her around, she had no qualms barking orders right back at him. "You've barely said a word to me about Dolohov's investigation."

Harry's cheeks reddened. He had the wherewithal to look guilty, at least. "I didn't want to make you… worse," he said weakly, wincing at the words as he said them.

Hermione glared at him.

"I know, I know," Harry muttered, raising his hand up as if to stop her, even though she hadn't said anything. "I'm sorry. But Hermione - you don't understand. I thought - I thought I'd killed you. If Malfoy hadn't used the Vita mutatur, I don't think you would've survived another day. Really, I don't." Harry's eyebrows drew together angrily and his eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. He was staring into space, well beyond the white hospital walls. "I had to just watch and you were dying. You don't understand," he said again, suddenly meeting her eyes with sharp defiance.

"Harry," she said softly, fiercely grabbing her best friend's hand and smothering it with both of her own.

"If you're about to tell me it wasn't my fault," he started bitterly, though he didn't pull away from her, instead forcefully running his thumb across the back of her hand. He sniffed. "Respectfully, Hermione, you can stuff it."

The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched upwards. "Ginny said you might say that."

"Did Ginny also tell you that I received a note from Dolohov hours before he attacked you, threatening to 'take something' from me?" he barked, his voice dripping with self-loathing. "But I was so busy making sure that Ginny was safe that I didn't even see the most bloody obvious thing that was right in front of me."

Harry's head hung in defeat. Clearly, this had been weighing on him, and she got the sense that he expected her to recoil from him. She didn't want to be flippant and just instantly discount his feelings of guilt. It had been so long since she'd felt like Harry was being sincere with her and rather than shielding her from one thing or another.

Hermione sighed and squeezed Harry's hand. She knew she would never be able to convince him that keeping everyone else safe wasn't his responsibility - she'd have more luck trying to get Malfoy to skip merrily through the halls and sing Christmas carols.

Nevertheless.

"It's alright," she murmured. "You made a mistake. It's okay, Harry. I forgive you - even if I'm not sure there's anything you did that needs forgiving."

Harry's arms were around her in an instant, crushing her. He was mostly silent, but he couldn't totally suppress a couple of shaky gasps as he squeezed her around her arms and chest. She rested her chin on his shoulder and brought one of her hands up to his.

"But I don't want you treating me like I'm made of glass while I'm in here," she whispered, her voice finally catching with emotion too. "Everyone acting like the only thing that matters is if I've got enough books or if my linens have been changed is maddening. I want to know what's going on."

Harry nodded against her, sighing tiredly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. But no more," she said seriously.

"No more," he agreed, sniffing and straightening up. "I wish I had more to tell you about Dolohov. But it turns out that the Veritaserum wasn't a total waste, at least."

Hermione cocked her head. "Oh?"

"He mentioned that he'd been watching you since the war, and he'd noticed the decline in your health," Harry explained, and Hermione felt her stomach drop. Had it been that obvious?

"I didn't think anything of it at first," he continued. "But when we were reviewing it - well, it's highly unlikely that he was able to get back into the U.K. until a couple of months ago. So-"

"He would've had to have been communicating with someone in London," Hermione said cautiously. She had already figured that Dolohov would've had an accomplice, someone filling him in on the goings-on at the Ministry and the Order.

"Not just that," Harry said, his voice picking up tempo a little, "someone in London who sees you often. You've always been good at hiding how you were feeling, except maybe right before you and Ron broke it off. You hardly ever took sick time from work. Obviously, we knew something was wrong - but that's only because we know you. You never slowed down, even when you were feeling your worst."

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that particular insight, but she couldn't argue against the truth of it.

"So - someone who sees you fairly often, and would've paid you a lot of attention." Harry considered for a moment. "Or - maybe someone who knew about the blood oath, so they knew to watch you. But, I'd think they'd still need to have access to see you."

"I'm not exactly inaccessible," Hermione said with a groan. "I'm unfortunately a public figure, Harry. As you know."

He shrugged, but didn't appear deterred. "I could be wrong, but I don't think anyone's been able to tell that something's off just by looking at your press clippings. I really don't."

"So, you think it's… someone in the Ministry, then?"

"I think it's a reasonable place to start," he replied. "I suppose it could also be a diplomat from elsewhere, but you don't actually see them more than once or twice a year at formal events anyway, do you?"

Hermione shook her head.

It was a reasonable place to start, she thought.

"Can you bring me anything you can find on blood magic?" she asked. "I don't know if you'll find anything, but - oh, and Obliviation therapy, I suppose."

Harry smirked a little, eyeing the pile of books that were accruing in the corner of the room. "Did you ask St. Mungo's permission if you could change their quarantine room into a library?"

"I'm bored," she huffed. "What else am I supposed to do all day?"

Harry's smirk broadened a little, but he didn't reply. After a beat, his smile fell and he looked down, clearing his throat. "Full honesty now, yeah?"

Hermione swallowed, tensing. "Yes, please."

"Ron needs to see you. Sooner than later."

She wasn't sure what she had expected Harry to say, but it wasn't that. "What do you mean? Ginny said that he's been coping-"

"Then I'm not the only one who's been withholding things from you to keep you from worrying," Harry interrupted firmly. "Ron is not coping. He's been a complete wreck since you've been in here. As of this morning, Goldstein's put him on leave."

"But-" Hermione choked out. "Why would he? I'm alright - I'm not even in danger right now, really–"

"For someone with your brain," Harry said harshly, "it amazes me how thick you can be, sometimes."

Hermione's mouth snapped shut.

"He thinks he's missed the chance to make it right," Harry continued, more gently. "He's aware that he didn't apologise, 'Mione. Not properly."

He has missed his chance, she thought automatically, stung. He missed it years ago.

But the way Harry was looking at her - earnest, tired, willing to accept defeat if he had to.

That stung, too.

"I'm not trying to punish him," she whispered thickly. "I never wanted… that."

"I know that," Harry assured her. "That's why I'm telling you now. I understand why Malfoy banned him from coming in. But you're awake now, and you're stronger, and you've asked for honesty. So I'm just telling you the truth."

"Okay," she said quickly, but it came out a bit strangled when she said it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She didn't want to start crying, again.

It felt like she was always crying now.

"I'll speak to Draco about it."

"Okay," Harry returned softly. "Thank you."

She nodded, and Harry nodded in return before turning towards the door. For a terrified moment, she thought that he was going to leave right then, saddling her with the weight of what he'd just told her. But he soon turned back around, levitating in a new tray with a fresh bowl of soup and two more treacle tarts.

Hermione reached for the tart and broke off a piece with her fingers. She looked up at Harry suspiciously. "Is this allowed? Or are you going to make me finish the soup first?"

Harry grinned, plopping down into the bedside chair again. He picked up the second tart, peeling down the foil and taking a bite straight out of the pastry. "I'll allow it."

It had been years since Draco had taken a calming draught. The last time had been when he'd first started the clinical trials for Obliviation therapy, and he'd had to learn how to cast the Cruciatus on innocent victims.

Generally, between Occluding his thoughts and maintaining a respectable distance from any whiff of social intimacy, he was able to keep himself relatively even and grounded.

Eat. Work. Sleep.

Rinse, repeat.

But tonight, once he'd left St. Mungo's and he was inside the safety and solitude of his home, he'd erupted into cold sweat and tremors that he couldn't still, no matter how much he tried to breathe or anchor himself in reality. Meditation was right out. Not a fucking chance .

His thoughts weren't even coherent, they were more like thematic cries of his subconscious, too base and primal to verbalise fully.

Patient. Responsibility. Reputation. Punishment.

Wrong.

Cur.

You're a miserable fucking cur, Malfoy.

Draco sucked back the calming draught like a man dying of thirst. As the panic started to loosen, he cried out in naked frustration because his first un-frenzied thought was how much he'd wanted to hold Granger, and how good she had felt pressed up against him.