A CHILD OF THE SUN

NOVEMBER 1, 1997.

The hours had passed by in a blur of panicked voices and hurried movements. Lucius felt like he was still spinning in that void of apparition, could still feel Hermione's warmth in his arms. Now, she lay motionless in one of Bill Weasley's spare bedrooms. The youngest Weasley sat beside Hermione, keeping a constant vigil in case the unconscious girl finally showed any sign of consciousness. She and Lucius sat there in silence, waiting for something akin to a miracle to happen.

Lucius remembered how his feet dug in the sand and dirt, making his movement sluggish as he numbly followed Bill and the others to the cottage, leaving a trail of Hermione's blood along the way.

Fleur Weasley pushed open the door to let her husband quickly pass through. Lucius saw his wife sitting on the small couch with the wandmaker. Mr. Ollivander's eyes quickly darted to the older Weasley while Narcissa rushed to Lucius' side.

"What happened?" she softly asked as her eyes went down to the blood on his hands. He hadn't realized he was still gripping Hermione's wand like a lifeline.

"I don't know," he helplessly said. His attention was then shifted to the commotion coming from the kitchen.

"Here, Bill!" with a flick of her wand, Fleur managed to clear the table and helped her husband lay Hermione face down on it. Bill then proceeded to rummage through their kitchen cabinet looking for something.

Fleur's focus went to the other occupants of the room. "Help me take off her shirt!" she ordered, her voice soft yet firm with determination.

In front of Lucius, Weasley stepped forward but Fleur stopped her. "Not you, Ginny. You're shaking. I need steady hands." Her eyes then traveled from her sister-in-law to Lucius.

With an encouraging nod from Cissa, he quickly went over to them. He and Fleur were now flanking Hermione on both sides of the table. As he helped Fleur peel off the blood-soaked cloth, he finally noticed all the deep slashes and bruises that marred Hermione's body.

Gods…

"Merde! This doesn't look like an ordinary knife," Fleur hissed. There were runic symbols carved on the hilt and looking at it closely now, Lucius could detect a faint aura of dark magic coated around it. "Are you familiar with this knife, Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius shook his head. But he had seen Bellatrix point that damned blade on Hermione's throat in an attempt to stop the rest of them from attacking her. He had thought that it was merely an ordinary knife. Lucius should've anticipated that nothing Bellatrix owned was ever ordinary.

"I don't want to pull it out of her without knowing what it is," Fleur wrung her hands anxiously. "Bill! I need you here!"

Bill Weasley finally returned carrying a handful of potion bottles and some towels. He set it carefully beside Hermione and then began assessing the situation.

"What's happening to Hermione?" Potter cautiously approached the makeshift emergency room. Behind him, Lucius saw the worried faces of everyone he'd met in the dungeons. Potter took another step in Lucius' direction. "Lucius, what happened to her after we left?"

He tried to recall everything that had transpired when he started apparating with Hermione. He recalled the billowing black smoke that made him panic, blurred visions of the drawing room as he turned, and the flash of glistening silver as the world finally disappeared around him.

"Bellatrix threw the knife at the last minute, while I was trying to apparate out of there," Lucius replied, his gut sinking as he recalled what happened after they finally materialized in front of their destination.

He glanced at the wand in his hand. Hermione would be furious with him if she saw the blood on her wand.

"The blade itself isn't cursed," Bill finally said as he flicked his wand over it. "Unfortunately, these runes on the hilt mean that any wound inflicted by this blade cannot be healed by any form of magic."

"What about poison?" Fleur asked.

Her husband shook her head. "No poison, but we have to act fast once we pull out the knife. She's going to bleed to death."

Lucius shivered at the last word.

"How are we going to save her if we can't close the wound?" the youngest Weasley asked.

"There are other ways, Gin," Bill replied. He then nodded to his wife to proceed.

Fleur Weasley raised her wand over Hermione's body, muttering a litany of spells as she swept her hand across. The area where the knife was poking out glowed a faint light blue color, making the couple sigh a breath of relief.

"Luckily, the knife missed any vital organs. It's only a matter of pulling it out and closing the wound," Bill announced, but it didn't make Lucius feel any better about the whole situation.

"We need to hurry, Bill," Fleur set her wand aside. "Her pulse is fading."

Lucius stepped back as Bill crossed over to his side. He then tilted Hermione's head and began slipping what looked like a blood-replenishing potion into her mouth. Once that was done, he transfigured the empty bottle of potion into a hook-like needle and a thread.

"You're going to stitch her wound?" Potter asked.

"It's the only way, Harry," the older Weasley replied. He handed over the needle to his wife and grasped the hilt of the knife. The couple shared a brief look before Bill swiftly pulled it out. Lucius heard Hermione groan in pain.

"Shh, shh, it'll be fine, Hermione," Fleur whispered soothingly as she wiped the oozing blood from Hermione's wound. "Hang in there."

It could've been hours or minutes to Lucius, but Bill eventually stepped away and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The needle used to stitch Hermione was set aside beside the blood-drenched towels and empty bottles of potions. Fleur immediately cleaned up Hermione's back and proceeded to wrap her body in gauze.

Lucius had to look away out of respect for Hermione's privacy as Fleur and Bill tended to her. He felt a mixture of guilt and helplessness washing over him. Guilt for his part in her current situation, and helplessness in the face of her suffering.

He cared for her.

This internal admission didn't surprise him at all considering everything they had been through together in the past months. Despite their tumultuous history and opposing beliefs, there was a bond that had formed between them, born out of shared experiences and mutual goals.

But he didn't want to dwell deeper into this newfound confession. Lucius cared about her and he wanted to leave it at that for crossing an invisible line of no return would only complicate matters further. Hermione needed his support now, not his conflicted emotions. He needed to make amends to Potter and Weasley as well. Furthermore, he had his wife and son to worry about.

Swallowing his unease, Lucius stepped forward, his voice betraying a hint of concern. "Will she be alright?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Bill and Fleur, searching for reassurance amidst the somber atmosphere.

"For now," Fleur said. "While the wound wasn't fatal, it's going to take time for her to fully recover. We still don't know the extent of what Bellatrix had done to her, so we need to monitor her closely."

Bill nodded in agreement. "We'll need to keep a close eye on her for any signs of infection or complications. But Hermione had always been a strong one; she'll pull through."

With a silent nod of acknowledgment, Lucius turned his attention back to Hermione, observing the rise and fall of her back as she lay on the table, her face peaceful in repose despite the ordeal she had endured.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, to reassure himself that she was truly breathing but stopped himself before his body could make the decision for him. He slid her wand into his holster and stayed rooted in his spot, watching her.

A low rumbling sound pulled Lucius back to reality.

His eyes landed on Weasley who had instinctively wrapped her left arm around her waist as if doing so would prevent Lucius from hearing the growling of her stomach.

"You should eat, Ginevra," he softly said.

"I'm fine," she insisted, her blue eyes focused on Hermione's prone form on the bed. "I'm not hungry."

"Your stomach says otherwise," Lucius said gently, realizing a little late that it was the same tone he used to use on Draco when he was stubborn about something.

Weasley sighed, torn between her worry for her friend and her own willfulness. "I know, but I just can't bring myself to eat right now. I feel guilty sitting here while Hermione is suffering."

"Taking care of yourself is just as important as taking care of Hermione. You won't be able to support her if you are not well yourself."

Weasley nodded reluctantly, knowing he was right. She slowly released her grip on her waist and stood up, her stomach still protesting with hunger. "Don't leave her side, Malfoy."

Lucius nodded, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. "Of course," was all he said.

The atmosphere in the room softened as Lucius and Weasley shared a silent understanding. He watched as Weasley finally made her way to the door, her steps heavy with worry yet determined.

And then it was just them.

Lucius settled into the chair beside the bed and gently took Hermione's hand, his thumb lightly tracing her skin. He had been yearning to do this the moment Fleur Weasley took her unconscious form off his arms. Hermione was sleeping a bit sideways, careful not to put much pressure on the wound on her back. He could feel the faint pulse beneath her skin, a fragile reminder of her fight for survival.

As he continued to sit by her side, Lucius found himself reflecting on his own past. The choices he had made, the mistakes he had committed that led him to where he was now. They weighed heavily on his conscience, now more than ever. He glanced at his other arm where the Dark Mark should have been present. It was as if it had never been there in the first place. Not a lingering trace, not even a blemish or a faded dot.

And he looked at Hermione and the cuts and wounds she bore. Some of them would fade, but he was sure some—if not most—would retain. She would forever carry those scars and trauma. All the pain inflicted on her due to her unfortunate heritage.

Lucius felt himself raging at the thought of the cruelty Hermione had endured. He knew that his own past actions had contributed to the world that had allowed such suffering to befall her and others like her. His guilt gnawed at him, but now he had a chance to make amends, even if only in small ways.

He remembered their conversation that night outside the tent in the woods.

Magical people aren't any different, Lucius. We're just as capable of savagery and violence as them. The only difference is that we are aware of the power we hold.

In his mind, Lucius could see the smug look on Hermione's face if ever that conversation was brought up again. He could hear the words 'I told you so' coming from her lips as she cocked her head to the side, a satisfied smirk playing on her face.

Lucius would prefer that look—no matter how much he found it annoying—over what was in front of him now.

Just how aware were we of our own power? There were times Lucius felt like it was too much. All this war just to prove a bloody point. We were no different than Muggles after all. That realization was a bitter pill to swallow for him.

This cycle of hatred has to stop, Lucius.

Here was this girl who had given him a choice. Had granted him the freedom to break free from his own cycle of hatred, free from his masters: his father's influence, and servitude from the Dark Lord. But what did she get in return? A knife to her back and likely a broken trust she had freely given to a man like Lucius.

"Why, Hermione?" he asked her sleeping form. "What did you see?"

What did you see in me?

Potter and Weasley would not hesitate to torture the information out of Lucius the moment they had subdued him that night they first came together. But Hermione insisted on making a deal with him, going so far as to form an Unbreakable Vow.

She chose to give him a chance. Lucius didn't realize it at first, blinded by his hatred of her kind. But he could see now, clear as the Dark Mark-free skin on his arm. It would be foolish of him not to make the most of it.

"This is a gift, you know," he whispered into the fading sun, hoping his voice would reach her unconscious mind and pull her back to them. "I will never forget it."

Harry sat on the small swing behind the cottage, watching the sun as it dipped down below the horizon. He could hear the waves as they crashed to the shore, the sound calming his body and his thoughts. For a moment, he felt at peace as if the war didn't exist. As if his life and the people closest to him weren't in imminent danger. He could see why Bill and Fleur chose to live in a secluded place like this.

He had spent most of his childhood living in a cupboard under the Dursley's stairs. Darkness and dust had been his closest companions. To have a place like this, no matter how small, would be a luxury for him.

Harry wondered if he would live long enough to have something like this in the distant future.

He might.

But at the cost of everyone he cared about.

It seemed that darkness and dust weren't his only companions throughout his life. Death was the first and had accompanied him the moment his parents were taken away from him. It had never left his side and continued to take everything away from him just so he could continue living.

Sirius.

Dumbledore.

Moody.

Hedwig.

Their lives in exchange for his.

It wasn't fair.

A voice inside his head—the selfish one he had to silence for years—told him that it wasn't fair for him to give up his life for them as well. That he didn't ask to be their savior. That he deserved to live just as much as any normal person would.

Harry kicked the small stone beside his foot and watched as it skidded across the sand, barely reaching the tips of the waves.

Was it too much to ask? To have someone with him as he went through this impossible quest Dumbledore had asked of him? To have someone to share his burden?

The price he paid for this was Hermione being tortured and nearly dying.

He should've gone on this mission alone.

Maybe it was the reason why Dumbledore had confided this task to him and only him.

Muffled footsteps sounded behind him but Harry continued to watch the waves. Whoever it was, he hoped it would leave soon. He was in no mood for a conversation or company.

The footsteps halted, and he could sense the person standing just behind him, an uneasy silence filling the air. He took a deep breath, the salt and sea breeze mingling with the familiar scent of grass and earth.

"Mind if I join you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked behind him and blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the presence of Narcissa Malfoy. Her usually cold, aristocratic demeanor seemed softened, perhaps by the serene environment or perhaps by something deeper he couldn't yet comprehend.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry acknowledged, his voice steady but cautious. "What brings you here?"

Narcissa took a tentative step forward, her gaze shifting from Harry to the horizon. "The same thing that brings anyone here, I suppose. Seeking a moment of peace amidst the chaos."

Harry nodded slowly, understanding all too well the need for such moments. He gestured to the swing beside him, an invitation. Narcissa hesitated for a brief second before taking a seat, the swing creaking slightly under her weight.

For a while, they sat in silence, the rhythmic crashing of the waves providing a soothing backdrop. Harry stole a glance at Narcissa, noting the lines of worry etched on her face. She looked tired, the kind of tiredness that went beyond mere physical exhaustion.

"Why are you really here?" Harry finally asked, unable to keep the question inside any longer.

Narcissa sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I've come to realize that there are things far more important than pride and certain upheld… beliefs," she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. "The war has taken so much from all of us. I wanted to... I needed to talk to you."

Harry raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "About what?"

"About Lucius," she replied, her voice tinged with a mix of desperation and resolve. "He has told me all about the deal he made with Miss Granger. I fear he is in way over his head—more than he realized."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked as he sat a little straighter. It wasn't like they had asked Lucius to sacrifice his own life or resurrect Harry's parents.

"Despite the façade my husband exhibits publicly, he's the kind of person who is easily led by his emotions," Narcissa smoothed out the non-existent crease on her dress. "Especially if it concerns the people he deeply cares about."

"Forgive me, Mrs. Malfoy but I find that hard to believe," Harry found himself saying despite the voice in the back of his mind saying otherwise. He had witnessed moments of it whenever the topic of Lucius' family would be brought up but Harry didn't want to reveal that he had been observing her husband quite closely.

"It doesn't matter what you believe in, Mr. Potter. It is the truth about Lucius and it is the sole reason why he agreed with that deal in the first place."

The older witch looked him in the eye and Harry saw a vulnerability he hadn't expected. Narcissa Malfoy, always the epitome of elegance and control, now seemed like a mother desperate to protect her family.

"Lucius made the deal with Miss Granger not just out of a sense of self-preservation or to gain favor with your side. He did it out of desperation to keep Draco safe."

Harry felt a pang of sympathy and envy. Sympathy for Lucius' desperation to save his family and envy that Draco still had living parents who cared so much about him.

"I think it's a fair deal, Mrs. Malfoy. He'll get Draco and your family will be completely pardoned in exchange for helping us find and destroy the Horcruxes."

"Draco was taken by my sister's daughter and is likely hiding him there at her place. In his desperation, Lucius failed to realize that Draco would have been far safer there than in any other place." Narcissa countered. "The deal was unnecessary for him."

Harry's mind raced as he processed Narcissa's words. The deal had seemed straightforward, even beneficial. Yet, here was Narcissa Malfoy, suggesting that Lucius had been driven more by emotion than reason, making the deal out of fear and desperation rather than strategic advantage.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry began, choosing his words carefully, "we all make decisions to protect the ones we love. But Lucius' decision, whether necessary or not, has put him in a position where he's helping us. That can't be entirely bad, can it?"

Narcissa's eyes bore into his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something—perhaps respect or perhaps just resignation. "You're right, Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "It's not entirely bad. But understand this: Lucius' actions, driven by his desire to protect Draco, could lead to unintended consequences. Locating these Horcruxes seemed too Herculean a task and Lucius' life is on the line should he fail it."

Harry nodded, finally starting to understand what Narcissa was trying to imply. "What do you want me to do?" he asked finally.

Narcissa's expression softened slightly. She then stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. "Lucius and I used to read to each other. He would often read me history—not Bathilda's, no. More like Carneirus, Montfort, and sometimes, Muggle authors like Bingham though he would never admit that to anyone. There was a story he read to me that I could not stop thinking about."

Harry leaned forward, intrigued.

"The Incas, in times of terrible crisis, would sacrifice a child to the sun," Narcissa said. "I was appalled when Lucius told me that story. The idea of killing children to appease nature? I told him that those people were nothing but a bunch of savages. But Lucius told me to look at it differently. He said: What could you possibly kill that you love so much that it would make the sun rise again?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he absorbed Narcissa's words. The question hung heavily in the air between them, laden with implications and unspoken fears. The idea of a sacrifice, something or someone so beloved that its loss would restore balance or hope, felt both ancient and chillingly relevant.

Narcissa Malfoy then glanced at Harry. "Convince your friend to release Lucius from the vow, Mr. Potter."

The thought of Hermione releasing Lucius from the vow felt almost unthinkable; it was a safeguard, a necessary assurance in their quest against Voldemort. Yet here was Narcissa Malfoy, a mother desperate to protect her family, imploring him to reconsider.

"I understand your concern, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said carefully, "but Hermione made that vow to ensure Lucius' commitment. If we let him go, there's no guarantee he'll continue to help us."

Narcissa's gaze didn't waver but Harry could detect a hint of sadness and wondered why. "He would still help you. If not for the others, then for the future of his son. That I can guarantee, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked down at his hands as he digested her words. The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore seemed to echo the tumultuous thoughts in his mind. The idea that Lucius Malfoy was a human being capable of love was difficult notion to accept. Yet, the earnestness in Narcissa Malfoy's plea and the desperate love for her family tugged at Harry's sense of fairness and empathy.

It was a side of the Malfoy family he hadn't fully considered before—their vulnerability and the sacrifices they were willing to make for each other.

"I'll talk to Hermione once she wakes up," Harry said finally, his voice firm yet gentle. "But I can't promise anything. We're all trying to survive this war, and every decision we make has consequences."

Narcissa nodded, a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. "That's all I ask, Mr. Potter. Just consider it. Lucius has made mistakes—terrible ones—but he is a father trying to save his son. Sometimes, that is all that matters."

Harry nodded, the weight of her words settling on him. He watched as Narcissa stood up, her graceful movements betraying the strength and resilience that had kept her family together through these dark times.

"Thank you," she said softly before turning to leave.

Harry remained on the swing, staring out at the horizon. The sun had fully set now, the sky a canvas of deep blues and purples.

As he listened to the waves, Harry found himself pondering the ancient tale Narcissa had mentioned. The idea of sacrificing something beloved to bring back the sun seemed a cruel yet profound metaphor for their current struggle. He knew, deep down, that the sacrifices were far from over.

But just how much more sacrifices could he make? How many more lives could he offer just to see the sun come up again?

She found herself enveloped in darkness, a suffocating abyss that seemed to swallow her whole. Her senses felt dulled as if she were submerged underwater, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. Panic gripped Hermione's chest as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings, but the darkness offered no answers, only an oppressive silence that weighed upon her like a leaden shroud.

Suddenly, a voice pierced through the darkness, sharp and cutting like a blade. It was a voice Hermione knew all too well, filled with malice and cruelty, sending shivers down her spine. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" She knew who it belonged to even before she saw her face.

The darkness shifted and twisted, morphing into the familiar form of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her wild, untamed curls framed her pale, gaunt face, and her eyes gleamed viciously. The mad witch approached Hermione slowly, her wand held aloft in a threatening manner while the other hand held Slytherin's locket.

"Where did you get it, Mudblood?" Bellatrix's voice was a low hiss, filled with barely contained rage.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, her voice trembling with fear. But even as the words left her lips, she knew they were futile. Bellatrix was not one to be easily deceived.

A wicked smile twisted the dark witch's lips as she raised her wand, the tip glowing ominously in the darkness. "Lies, lies, lies," she taunted, her voice dripping with hostility. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a curse hurtling towards Hermione, who cried out in pain as searing agony ripped through her body.

The torture continued, each lie met with a curse more painful than the last. Hermione's resolve began to crumble under the relentless assault, her mind clouded with fear and desperation. But amidst the pain, a new question emerged, one that she had been trying to escape from.

"Do you love him, Mudblood?" Bellatrix's voice cut through the darkness like a knife, her eyes boring into her captive with malicious intent. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she realized who Bellatrix was referring to.

"I-I..." Hermione faltered, her mind racing as she grappled with the truth. She had never dared to admit it, not even to herself, but the question lingered like a specter in her mind. Did she love Lucius Malfoy, the man whose family had brought so much pain and suffering into her life?

Bellatrix's laughter echoed in the darkness, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. "You do, don't you? You love him," she sneered, her voice filled with ridicule. "Pathetic little Mudblood, falling for the likes of him."

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to find her voice, to deny the truth that threatened to consume her. But deep down, she knew that Bellatrix was right. She did love Lucius, despite everything, despite the blood that stained his hands.

"He's using you, Mudblood," Bellatrix taunted. "He'll never love you, not truly. He will break your heart and leave you with nothing. You are nothing to him but a means to an end, a pawn in his twisted game—a game you're surely going to lose."

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes as she faced the harsh reality of her feelings, the truth too painful to bear. She had deluded herself into believing that their connection was real, that there was something more between them than mere circumstance. But in the end, she was still the fool.

Everything was shattering and it was her mistake.

Faced with Bellatrix's spiteful jeering, she couldn't deny the truth any longer.

"I love him," Hermione murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The admission hung like a heavy weight, the final surrender in her battle against the truth. They said that the truth would set you free, but it rather felt like a noose around her neck instead.

Bellatrix's laughter grew louder, the sound reverberating off the unseen walls, mocking Hermione's confession. The sound twisted and echoed around her, amplifying the weight of her admission. Hermione felt the sting of tears as they streamed down her face, the anguish of unrequited love mixing with the physical torment she endured.

The dark witch's face contorted with savage delight, her eyes dancing with perverse glee. "And now, Mudblood, you die," she hissed, raising her wand once more. "Avada Kedavra!"

Hermione's scream echoed through the darkness as her eyes snapped open, her breath coming in ragged gasps and sweat clung to her skin. She lay gasping for breath, her mind still reeling from the horrors of her nightmare as she struggled to orient herself in the dimly lit room. Her back hurt like she was struck with something and her hands shook violently.

Harry's concerned face came into focus, his stormy green eyes filled with worry as he reached out to touch Hermione's trembling hands. "It's alright, Hermione. You're safe now."

You're safe now.

Harry's words triggered the memories Hermione would rather forget.

Pale blue eyes staring at her. The sound and feeling of comforting words and gestures. Of broken trusts and shattered hearts. Hermione remembered it in bits and pieces. But she remembered enough to realize she had been deceived. Lucius' earlier words rang in her mind—what used to be words of assurances now mocked her in the face.

I know trust is a rare commodity these days but I'd like to think I have earned it enough, haven't I?

Harry's expression softened as he pulled her into a comforting embrace. "I'm here, Hermione. You're not alone," he murmured, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of her emotions.

Hermione groaned when she felt the piercing pain in her back again. Harry pulled back, alarmed.

"You shouldn't move too much," he cautioned. "Fleur says you might pull the stitches on your back."

Stitches?

"What happened, Harry? Where are we?" Hermione asked. It was still dark outside the windows but she could smell salt in the air and the faint sound of crashing water against land.

"Shell Cottage," Harry replied. He recounted everything that had transpired since she was separated from them up until he found her in Lucius' arms bleeding from a knife poking from her back. "It's past midnight now. You've been asleep since yesterday."

"I see," was all she could muster to say.

"I—," she heard Harry say but stopped himself. He released Hermione and stood by the window, opening it wide to let some air in. After a tense silence, he spoke. "Ginny feels guilty about what happened to you. She blames herself."

"Why?" she asked. "Is it because of the locket?"

Harry nodded.

Hermione looked at her hands. There were bruises all over and she stopped her eyes from going over her entire arm lest she recalled all that Bellatrix had done to her.

"I took it willingly, knowing the risks," she eventually said. "Even if the locket was with her, I think Bellatrix would still come for me. I'm a Mudblood."

"Hermione—"

"It doesn't matter, Harry," she stopped him. "What's done is done."

Harry looked at her and Hermione could see the worry and pity in his face. Hermione wondered if he knew how she truly felt right now. How her chest felt so hollow and heavy at the same time as if someone had cleaved her heart out and replaced it with thorns.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," he softly said. "I know you trusted Lucius. I did too."

Hermione looked away. "Don't be, Harry. I understand why he did it."

"It's not really an excuse, is it?" he said, a hint of anger seeping out of his words. "We would've found a way to fit it into our plans if he had just told us!"

"Would you?" Hermione challenged. Harry remained silent. "Like I said, Harry. What's done is done."

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. It pained Hermione to see him so conflicted and burdened with guilt. She knew her friends blamed themselves for what had transpired, despite Hermione's attempts to absolve them. She reached out to touch his arm gently, seeking to reassure him as he had reassured her moments ago.

"Harry, none of this is your fault," she said firmly, her voice tinged with conviction. "We all made choices based on the information we had. I chose to trust Lucius and it backfired on me. It's a setback, but we can't dwell on it now. I'm just glad everyone's safe."

Harry sighed heavily, running a hand through his tousled hair. He started pacing across the room. "I just wish—"

"I know," Hermione interrupted softly. There were tears in her eyes now and she furiously blinked countless times to prevent them from falling.

Admitting it within the safety of her mind—in her nightmare—was one thing, but to say it out loud and in front of Harry would likely break her. Let it be a burden she alone would carry. Let her feelings for Lucius stay inside her heart where they could never be mocked and misunderstood.

Harry then turned to look at her. Years of friendship with him made Hermione attuned to her friend's own inner turmoil.

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching Hermione's face with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. He then sat on the bed, his back facing her.

"I..." Her friend began slowly, choosing his words with care. "I just want to make sure you're okay. Not just physically, but... everything that's happened, Hermione. It's a lot."

"It's a lot for everyone, not just me," Hermione said.

"But not everyone experienced what you just went through," Harry countered as he turned around to face her.

Hermione smiled despite herself. "I wouldn't wish it for anyone I care about. Even if the entire world is at stake."

Something in her words must've set off something in Harry. Her friend looked away from her, but Hermione could see the pain in his eyes.

"What if sacrificing someone you love the most is the only way to save the rest of the people you care about?" Harry asked.

Hermione was surprised by Harry's question. Sure she had seen Harry grapple with similar dilemmas before, burdened by the destiny that seemed to demand such sacrifices, but it was the first time she had heard him articulate it so directly, so personally. She considered his question carefully, knowing how deeply Harry internalized the weight of such choices.

She reached out and gently touched his arm, her voice soft but resolute. "Harry, we've faced impossible choices before. But sacrificing someone you love shouldn't be the only option. There's always a way."

Harry looked at her, his expression conflicted yet hopeful. "I want to believe that, Hermione. But sometimes it feels like we're running out of options, and time."

"If we start sacrificing those we care about, what kind of victory would that be?"

He nodded in understanding. "Narcissa Malfoy talked to me earlier."

Hermione's chest tightened. "What does she want?"

Her friend hesitated before answering, gauging Hermione's reaction carefully. "She's asking you to release Lucius from the vow." Harry then proceeded to tell her all about his conversation with the older witch.

Hermione frowned. "It's just words, Harry. What if the moment we release him, he runs straight back to You-Know-Who?"

Harry sighed heavily, his concern etched deeply on his face. "I don't trust him either, Hermione. But Narcissa seemed genuine about wanting to defect, to protect her family. And if what she says is true, then Lucius might also want the same thing."

Hermione listened to Harry's words, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. There was no doubt in her mind that Lucius would stay with them and help them find the Horcruxes even when he was released from the vow. She just knew it in her gut.

But that unbreakable vow was the only thing linking her to him. The idea of severing that only connection… could Hermione let go of it? She remembered the desperate look in his eyes as he held her bleeding body, his whispered pleas for her to stay awake.

Could she really let it go?

Hermione rubbed her temple, trying to alleviate the tension building up inside her.

"I don't know, Harry," she admitted finally, her voice tinged with weariness. "This is all too much for me right now. I need some time to think."

"Of course," Harry replied, his tone gentle and understanding. "I'll leave you to rest."

Harry made the move to get up but Hermione reached out and grasped his hand, stilling his movement.

"Stay, please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The raw vulnerability in her tone made Harry's heart ache. He sat back down, his hand warm and steady in hers.

"Always, 'Mione," he said softly.

Hermione felt a small measure of relief at his presence. The pain in her back was a constant reminder of her ordeal, but Harry's support was a balm to her wounded spirit. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she felt a bit more grounded.

"Thank you, Harry," she murmured after a while, breaking the silence that enveloped them.

"For what?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"For being here," she replied, her voice wavering slightly. "For always being here."

They sat in quiet companionship, the sound of the waves outside offering a rhythm to their thoughts. Perhaps, in time, she would make peace with her feelings about Lucius and the choices she made. But for now, all she could do was enjoy this silent reprieve they momentarily had.

AN: The part about the Incas and the line "what could you possibly kill that you love so much that it would make the sun rise again?" was taken from the show Succession. That scene forever lives in my head rent-free.