The Prophecy

by Kris Black

In the shadows of the Hogwarts library, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy's secret, passionate affair deepens into a dangerous bond. As war looms, they must navigate conflicting loyalties, hidden emotions, and forbidden desire. Will they risk everything for love, or remain enemies forever? Cross-posted on AO3

14. i look unstable

Chapter 12

i look unstable

---

unstable: as in unsteady

not being in or able to maintain a state of balance

- Merriam-Webster

---

The unexpected apparation left Hermione feeling queasy as Draco deposited them inside a lush, cozy living room. The walls were cream, the furniture a plush grey and the wide, tall windows that took up one entire wall gave way to a stunning view of a bay.

They were no longer anywhere near Wiltshire, that was certain.

"Draco, what?" Hermione started but was cut off abruptly as Draco seized her left arm and pulled it to him.

The wound was still bleeding. A jagged, oozing M was carved into her arm.

Draco cursed, pulling out his mother's wand and attempting several healing charms.

Still, her blood flowed from the peeled flesh.

Hermione looked down at the cream carpet, the cream of the carpet standing in cruel contrast to the dark red stains now spreading across it. She glanced up at Draco, her heart sinking as she took in the many small cuts that marred his face and neck, the skin a sickly shade of pale beneath the blood. His eyes were unfocused, glazed with a mix of exhaustion and pain.

"Fuck." Her voice shook.

The chandelier had fallen with a terrifying crash when Draco had lunged to shield her from its fall. The shards of glass had scattered across the floor, some of it embedding into his skin, and now he looked… shattered, both physically and in a way she couldn't quite name.

She moved toward him, reaching out to check for any signs of deeper injury, but her hands hesitated, hovering over the bloodied cuts on his neck. The world felt distant, like she was watching a scene unfold through a fog, the weight of what had just happened settling over her. She had been terrified at that moment, but seeing Draco like this, protecting her…

Her thoughts blurred. The blood. The cuts. That he'd thrown himself into danger for her without a second thought.

Hermione used the sleeve of her jumper to wipe the trickling blood off her arm before snatching the wand from Draco.

"You first." She said, cutting off his alarmed protest. "Mine will need to be looked at more closely. We can fix yours now, at least. Episkey."

Hermione watched the minor cuts over Draco's face, neck, and hands knit themselves back together. She followed it up with a scourgify, leaving his skin pale and unblemished again.

"Thank you," he said, a little put out. "Come on, let's get you to the bathroom and see what we're dealing with."

She allowed him to lead her through the staggeringly beautiful hallway, lined with bright wainscotting, before entering a marble Muggle bathroom. Malfoy started the tap on the sink, grabbing a cloth to soak and pressing it on her still oozing wound.

"Draco, where are we?" she asked as she watched him clean the blood. "Whatwhat happened to Harry and Ron?"

"We're at a safe house, Grange Manor," Draco said. "As for your friends, Dobby grabbed them right after I got to you. I'm sure he took them to the place they were headed."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "What about your parents?"

Lucius had been unconscious and Narcissa wandless when Draco disapparated.

They protected her. The Malfoys protected her.

They'd known at the beginning that she was wearing her ring. She bore enough ancient and blood magic to deflect all but the most lethal curses. It was likely why they hadn't intervened before, letting the confrontation unfold with the faint hope Bellatrix would tire herself out, her spells fizzling against the unseen barrier.

When the first streak of blood appeared on Hermione's arm, when she started screaming, Draco tore back into the room, his restraint shattered.

There was no hesitation after that—no glances exchanged or silent acknowledgments. In a single, unspoken accord, Narcissa and Lucius stepped in.

"They can take care of themselves. Mother has backup plans for backup plans, should something like this ever happen." Draco's shoulders tensed, and he looked away. "I'm sure they're at another safe house somewhere in the UK. They'll reach out when it's safe."

Draco sounded confident, but Hermione wasn't so sure. Not wanting to add to his stress, she dropped the topic for now and focused on observing her surroundings instead.

"Grange Manor?" Hermione questioned as she opened the vanity and found a decently stocked first aid kit.

"Regrettably, it is a lot smaller than we're used to. But short of offing some Muggles, this was the best we could do in the short term."

Hermione looked up sharply from the kit at her husband, her face growing red with ire.

"I was joking, Hermione." Draco laughed and sat leaning against the side of the free-standing tub that took up the centre of the bathroom, which was larger than her room. "We haven't done that in centuries."

She shot him a dirty look at the off-colour joke. "Where are we, exactly? What is this?"

"A safe house, protected by the Fidelus charm." Draco held out his hand to Hermione expectantly. "One of several my mother has spent the last year procuring and protecting."

Without thinking, she held the wand out to pass to him. Draco grabbed her hand instead and drew her closer, between his legs and so close that their chests brushed each time they inhaled.

"To answer your other question, we are in the south of England, just outside Salcombe."

He removed the wand and let her hand drop before picking up her left arm and drawing her jumper sleeve up again to inspect the wound. He hissed at it, still jagged, red, and bleeding.

"You should see the other guy," Hermione cracked a joke to ease the tension.

Draco glared at her in response, but she could see his lips twitching, clearly showing he was trying to hold back a smile.

"I'll have Mother look into what the fuck Bella did and how we can counter it once they check in," Draco said after trying another series of spells to heal the wound. He huffed in frustration; his brow furrowed as he glanced down at the angry red gash still etched into her skin. "For now, I suppose we treat it the Muggle way."

Hermione's eyes shot up, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "How very progressive of you."

Draco rolled his eyes, shooting her a glare that held no real heat, then summoned the first aid kit with a flick of his mother's wand. He opened it deftly. He cleaned the wound using magic, the cool sensation causing Hermione to hiss softly, then applied a strong-smelling antiseptic salve before wrapping it in fresh bandages.

"We'll likely have to change the bandage a few times a day," he said, his voice clipped, still not meeting her gaze. "Luckily, it doesn't seem to be bleeding enough that you'll need a Blood Replenisher."

Hermione watched him closely. His eyes were fixed on the bandage he'd just secured, but his expression was distant. She could see the weight of the day hanging over him, his mind replaying her screams as Bellatrix tortured her.

"Hey," she whispered, cupping his face and turning it toward her. His skin radiated warmth, but his eyes held a cold, distant fire. "I'm right here. I'm okay."

Draco swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and nodded.

"Do you want to show me the rest of the safe house?"

Draco smirked, his hands sliding down to grasp her waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of her jeans.

"I'd much rather show you directly to our bedroom," he murmured, his voice low and rough with need.

His hands moved to her ass, squeezing gently, and Hermione laughed softly, the sound a balm against the tension still coiled in her chest.

"How much time do we have?" She threaded her fingers threading through his platinum hair, tugging lightly.

The warm twilight hues bled through the glass, casting long shadows across the room. The fading light painted the walls in soft shades of orange and pink, creating a calm, almost ethereal atmosphere. As the last remnants of daylight slipped away, the room grew quieter, the shadows stretching further as night settled in.

"As much time as you want," Draco said.

Hermione frowned. "The tracking through the Mark?"

Draco's expression tightened, the mention of the Dark Mark dousing the playful warmth in his eyes. He hesitated, his hands still on her waist, reality pressing between them like a tangible thing.

He took a breath, releasing her slowly as he leaned back, his expression guarded.

"My father developed a potion," he said, his voice cautious. "It can weaken the tracking enchantment on the Dark Mark. Hide us if we're under an enchantment like the Fidelus charm. I'll need to take it soon. It's the only way I stay with you without leading them straight to us. After the manor, I can't return to Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes widened. Lucius developed a potion? Her mind rushed to the implications and what that could mean for her research. The potion she was creating. Could the potions work together? "What kind of potion? How does it work?"

"It's complicated." Draco swept his hand through his hair. "It temporarily disrupts the magic that binds the Mark to me, scrambling the tracker. But it's… painful, and it doesn't last long."

She caught the flicker of fear in his eyes, a glimpse of the boy beneath the mask—the boy who was terrified but doing his best not to show it.

"Painful, how?"

"It's not pretty." Draco's eyes darkened. "It's like it burns from the inside out, tearing through my veins. The pain doesn't stop until the potion wears off, and even then, it leaves me weak for hours. My father says it's the only way, but… it's not sustainable. I must take it every twelve hours, or the tracker will activate again."

Draco reached for the stand beside them, his fingers trembling as he grasped a small, dark vial. The faintest sound of the cork coming loose echoed in the stillness. The sharp, acrid scent of something bitter and potent filled the air. Hermione recoiled, the pungency invading her senses, her heart sinking at the unmistakable smell.

"It's one of the most unforgiving brews you'll ever encounter." He gave a half-hearted laugh. "The ingredients are volatile, disrupting the Mark's hold only by compromising the drinker's magical core. It saps you and leaves you vulnerable. Shaking, fever, weakness. It causes nausea and decreases appetite. It can also inflame the Mark, which swells and burns. My father… barely recovered from his last dose when he was experimenting. Now we use a diluted version."

Draco lifted the vial to his lips, tipping the contents back in one swift motion.

The effect was immediate, and Draco's body went rigid, his breath catching in his throat as the potion surged through his system. He doubled over, a low, strangled gasp escaping him, his hands clutching his abdomen as if he could somehow hold the agony inside. His face contorted in pain, each muscle tightening as the raw, searing burn spread through him. His body shook violently, as if trying to escape the torment, but there was nowhere to run.

He pressed his back to the wall, his fingers digging into the stone, seeking something solid to anchor him amidst the chaos tearing through him. His breathing came in shallow, jagged gasps, the pain consuming every inch of him, making his vision blur and his head spin. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his skin felt slick with it, the cold touch of it in sharp contrast to the fire raging inside his veins. Each tremor, each wave of pain, seemed to strip him of his strength, and yet, he fought to remain upright, his entire body trembling with the effort. The pain was unbearable, suffocating, and in that moment, he felt completely and utterly helpless.

"Draco!" Hermione's heart lurched, her hands hovering helplessly over him, wanting to offer comfort but afraid to touch him in his current state. She could only watch, agony mirrored in her gaze as he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

Every muscle in his body seemed to spasm, the pain visibly rippling through him like waves crashing against the shore. He gritted his teeth, letting out a low, guttural groan that sent chills down Hermione's spine. It was unbearable to witness this slow, tormenting destruction.

"Just… need to… let it run its course," he ground out between gasps, his voice tight with barely restrained agony.

Hermione's throat tightened as she crouched beside him, her hand reaching out to rest on his back, the heat of his skin burning even through his robes. She bit her lip, her own helplessness bearing down on her like a physical force.

Seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity as Draco continued to writhe in pain. His face was contorted, sweat beading at his temples, his breaths coming in short, pained gasps. Hermione could feel the strain in every fibre of his being, the toll this was taking on him.

Finally, the tremors subsided, his body slowly relaxing as the pain ebbed. He leaned heavily against the wall, his head drooping forward, his hair clinging to his damp forehead. Hermione held her breath, watching him carefully. A lump lodged in her throat as she saw the toll the potion had taken.

"Can I do anything?" She brushed a stray lock of hair from his face. His eyes fluttered open, exhaustion clouding their usual brightness. He looked at her, his gaze softened but shadowed, the remnants of pain still etched across his face.

"Just… don't look at me like that."

Draco closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, his breathing steady. She could feel the lingering tremors in his body, the fragile vulnerability that he so rarely allowed her to see.

It solidified the resolve she'd forged back at Hogwarts. Hermione knew now that she would stop at nothing to release Draco from the tracker—and, if possible, free him from the Dark Mark entirely.

Because the sight of Draco suffering, enduring this agony to stay alive and protect her, was more than she could bear.

Hermione touched his cheek, her fingers tender against his skin. "There has to be something better—some other way to break the connection for good."

"I knew you'd say that." Draco's eyes softened, and a rueful smile tugged at his lips. "That's why I wanted to take you straight to bed. I didn't want to ruin the moment."

"You prat." Hermione's lips twitched despite herself, and she swatted his arm lightly.

"I wish there was another way." Draco's smile faded, his gaze growing serious. "But I don't have the luxury of wishes, Hermione. I have to stay under their radar, and until we find another solution, this is all I've got."

"Luckily for you, I have a head start." Hermione grinned. "You'll never guess who broke into the Restricted Section last year and copied enough pages from tomes about binding dark magic to write her own manuscript on the subject."

Draco paused, studying her for a moment. Had she really done that? Started the process of researching the Dark Mark, to free him of it, before he'd even asked?

A well of emotion built within him, but he tampered it, refusing to allow it to breathe. If he did, he wasn't sure he could ever let Hermione out of sight again.

"Always the rule breaker. People would be shocked if they found out," he teased, though his eyes were serious, a hint of admiration behind the mockery. "Do you even know where to start?"

"Actually, I do," Hermione said. "I think I might be close to a breakthrough. But my bag was lost at the Manor."

Draco's jaw ticked as he drew in a slow breath, his gaze flickering to the side before he met her eyes again.

"Don't even think about returning to the Manor for that bag, Draco." Hermione pointed a finger at his chest. "Luckily, your wife is brilliant. Most of the notes I made have already been committed to memory. It's not worth the risk."

"My wife is brilliant." Draco smiled, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip as his eyes wandered down her body. "But that likely won't be enough. In the past decade, no one has discovered how to remove the Mark. Hogwarts likely didn't have all the resources you need."

"Maybe not." She reached up, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm not just using magic, in any case. Plus, you can access two of the most extensive magical libraries in the wizarding world—the Malfoy Library and the Black Library. If we need to retrieve any books, that is."

Draco's lips parted as if he were about to speak but then closed again, his jaw tightening. His gaze dropped, and a shadow crossed his face, the muscles in his neck tense as though he were physically holding back words. She could see the internal struggle behind his eyes—the reluctance to drag her deeper into the darkness, battling with the desperate need for her help, her presence, her light.

"You just said yourself that it's too dangerous. There's no way I'm risking you returning to the Manor anytime soon. Maybe if we know exactly what to look for, we can try for Grimmauld Place." He exhaled, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "And I can't go with you. The potion leaves me too weak to stand some days, and I can't risk leaving the safe house without triggering the tracker."

"Then I'll try my best with what I have," Hermione said.

Draco hesitated. "You can solve it if anyone can."

"Because I'm the brightest witch of our age?" Hermione teased, always a little embarrassed by the moniker.

"No." He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing against hers. "Because you're Hermione Malfoy. You're as tenacious as you are brave and as clever as you are intelligent."

She blushed a deep scarlet as he leaned in and kissed her. He clung to her as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. She held him just as tightly, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against her chest, the warmth of his breath against her neck.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"Yes, I do." She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "I love you, and that's all the reason I need."

"Alright." Draco's breath hitched, his voice rough but steady. "I'll help you, but you must promise me something."

"What?"

"That you'll stay safe." His hands moved to her shoulders, holding tight. "No matter what. Don't take any risks you don't have to. Don't… don't make me lose you. This isn't worth that."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. "We both know I'm not exactly known for playing it safe."

Draco let out a choked laugh, a slight, broken sound that made her heart clench, and he leaned down again to kiss her—soft, tender, and desperate, like he was pouring everything he couldn't say into that moment. She kissed him back just as fiercely, vowing silently that she would end this nightmare to free them both from the chains of the past.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other's. Draco's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining tightly, and he gave her a small, determined smile.

"Can your mind let the research wait until the morning?"

They'd just been through a lot, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the reality of the situation was enveloping them like a shroud.

They were always on borrowed time, stolen moments snatched between chaos and danger.

Stealing time.

Defying the fates.

"You should show me where I'm meant to sleep, Mr. Malfoy."

"Gladly, Mrs. Malfoy." His lips brushed against hers as he spoke.

He led her through the dimly lit hallway of the safe house, his hand tightly entwined with hers. The coolness of the air was a balm to her anxiety, a welcome reprieve from the mounting unease.

The bedroom was small but cozy, with a comforting, intimate feel. A large four-poster bed dominated the centre of the room, draped in rich shades of grey and blue that gave the space a calm, quiet depth. A single lamp on the bedside table cast a soft, warm glow, adding a gentle contrast to the cool-toned linens and creating an inviting sense of tranquillity.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Draco was all fire and urgency. He slammed her against the door, his mouth crashing into hers with a ferocity that left her breathless. His hands ravished her sides, slipping under the edge of her shirt and leaving a trail of tingling sensation in their wake.

Hermione met his intensity with equal hunger, her fingers clawing at him, pulling him closer until their bodies were fused. She could feel his heart beating wildly beneath her palms, and she knew he could feel hers racing just as fast. Her hands pulled him closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

The world outside ceased to exist. There was no Dark Lord, no war, no curses. Just them—just this stolen, secret moment.

"Every second with you," he murmured against her lips, "is worth the risk."

Her breath hitched at the raw sincerity in his voice. She pulled back, her eyes searching his. "Then let's make the most of this one."

Draco's lips curled into a devilish smile as he lifted her effortlessly off the ground and carried her to the bed. With a swift motion, he removed her jeans and underwear, his hands burning against her skin. He then discarded his shirt, revealing a toned torso.

Before she had time to admire him fully, he was on her.

Draco's lips trailed down her neck, his teeth nipping lightly at her skin before continuing downward. His tongue traced a line near her belly button before he dipped even further.

"Draco," gasped Hermione as his tongue pressed against her core.

She felt his lips turn upward against her skin as he began eagerly exploring her body with his mouth. She tangled her fingers in his hair, revelling in the sensation of him pleasuring her. Repositioning her legs onto his shoulders, allowing himself even deeper access, he expertly added a finger to heighten her pleasure.

The climax hit Hermione like a freight train, her body trembling and convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over her. Hermione let out a curse, her thighs tightening around Draco's head to keep him in place. He let out a low, deep chuckle that almost made her come again.

As the intense sensations ebbed away, her limbs turned to complete mush, leaving her entirely at Draco's mercy. He pulled back, his face glistening with her slick as he looked down at her limp form. With a devilish glint in his eyes, he wiped the evidence of their passion from his mouth and brought his finger to his lips, savouring every last drop.

Fuck, he was sexy.

"Now, little wife, let's see if you can be a good girl."

Holy fuck. Did she have a praise kink?

She nodded eagerly before her brain could catch up.

Draco grinned, dark and devious. He knew how much that little phrase had turned her on, despite just having a fantastic orgasm.

Hermione's breath caught as Draco's fingers traced along her collarbone.

"That's it." He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "Such an obedient little thing for me."

A shiver ran through her body at his words. She arched towards him instinctively, craving more of his touch.

Draco's hand slid lower, teasing the swell of her breast through her thin blouse.

"Tell me how much you want this," he commanded.

"Please," Hermione whimpered. "I need you, Draco."

He rewarded her with a searing kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth as his hands roamed her curves. Hermione melted against him, desire coursing through her veins.

She felt his fingers fumble with the tiny buttons on her blouse. The cool air hit her bare skin as he peeled off her shirt. Her bra strap slipped down her arm as he tossed it to the side. She watched him unzip his trousers and remove them, revealing his muscular thighs.

Evidence of his arousal stood tall and hard. She licked her lips at the sight of it.

She wanted to touch him. She reached out, only to have him catch her hand before she could make contact with his member.

"Ah ah," Draco tsked, a wicked glint in his eye. "Not yet, love. I'm not finished with you."

He pinned her hands above her head, his grip firm but not painful. Hermione squirmed beneath him, desperate for more contact.

"Patience." His lips ghosted along her jawline. "Good girls wait their turn."

Hermione whimpered, her body on fire with need. Draco's free hand trailed down her side, his touch feather-light and maddening. He cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple until it hardened into a tight peak.

"So responsive," he purred, lowering his head to take the sensitive bud into his mouth.

Hermione arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips. Draco lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and playful nips that sent sparks through her body.

When he finally released her hands, Hermione entwined her fingers in his hair, holding him close. Draco chuckled against her skin, the vibrations sending a shiver down her spine.

"Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

"You," Hermione gasped. "All of you. Please, Draco."

He positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance.

Then he pushed himself inside of her.

Hermione let out a sigh of contentment as they joined again. Finally.

Draco's rhythm was unhurried, savouring each movement as he withdrew, only to press into her again, deep and thorough. His gaze was locked onto her face, watching her responses with a possessive gleam that made Hermione's heart race. His hand returned to her breast, fingers tracing lazy circles that sent jolts down her spine.

"You feel incredible." His voice was rough with the strain of holding back. "Such a good girl… taking me so well."

Hermione whimpered at his praise, her nails digging into his back as her body tightened around him. The praise, the control—everything about the way he possessed her—drove her wild, and she could barely contain her desire.

Draco noticed, smirking at her with a glint of satisfaction. He pulled out almost entirely, leaving her empty for a brief, maddening moment before plunging back in, slow and deep. Each thrust pulled another moan from her lips, her body arching up to meet his in desperation.

"Draco, please… faster," she pleaded, breathless.

He tightened his grip on her waist, pinning her hips down, a smirk ghosting his lips as he kept up the same tantalizingly slow pace.

"Good girls wait," he repeated, his tone commanding yet full of teasing warmth. "Be patient, love. I'll take care of you."

He bent his head, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss, one hand threading through her hair as he deepened it, as though he wanted to consume every sound she made. His name left her lips in broken gasps, her body climbing higher with every torturous thrust, tension coiling tight in her core.

Finally, he increased his pace, his hips slamming against hers with the force she craved. Hermione cried out, her body arching as pleasure crashed over her in waves, her release shuddering through her with dizzying intensity. Draco's movements grew erratic as he followed her, his own release surging as he buried himself deep, holding her close as if he'd never let go.

In the afterglow, he brushed his lips softly over her forehead, and she melted into his embrace, feeling a warmth that was so much more than physical.

But she knew they couldn't stay like this forever. They were living in a war-torn world, and soon enough, reality would come crashing down.

Draco lifted his head to look at her, his silver eyes gazing into hers in silent communication. They both knew they had to talk about what had happened and what would happen next.

For tonight, that could wait.

"I missed you." Hermione broke the silence between them.

"I missed you too." Draco buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent and recommitting it to memory.

"Do you regret it?"

"The mind-blowing sex we just had? Absolutely not."

"You know that's not what I meant." Hermione huffed and smacked his shoulder lightly.

He had just given up his life-his home, his parents, his freedom-for her.

"Never," said Draco firmly. "I have no regrets when it comes to you."

Hermione felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She had feared that their time apart might have changed him—that he would no longer feel the same way about her—but his resolve was comforting.

She cupped his cheek with her hand. "I love you."

He leaned into her touch with a slight smile on his lips. "I love you, too, Hermione."

They shared a tender kiss, pouring all their love and longing into it before falling asleep in each other's embrace.

---

They lay tangled together in the golden light of morning. Hermione's head rested on Draco's chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, and for a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything beyond these walls. The war, the danger, and the impossible choices all faded into a distant hum.

Draco's fingers traced idle patterns across her back, his other hand buried in her hair. She could feel his chest rise and fall steadily, his breaths deep and slow. She wanted to stay like this forever, hidden away from the world's cruelties and fate's merciless hands.

A soft, melodic chime broke the silence. Draco stiffened beneath her, his fingers stilling. The air before them shimmered briefly, and a delicate, glowing piece of parchment appeared, floating just above their heads.

Draco's eyes scanned the message: We're okay. Don't worry. Stay safe. Love, Mother.

Shifting, Hermione propped herself on her elbow, peering at the message. "They're okay?"

Draco nodded, waving his hand through the floating message, dissolving it. The glowing tendrils drifted on a magical breeze.

"Narcissa is Grange Manor's secret keeper. That's why she told me the address." Hermione deduced. "Who's the secret keeper of their safe house?"

"It depends. I'm not sure where they are, but likely myself or my father." Draco slid out of bed reluctantly. "They'll likely be moving regularly between them as an added safety precaution. My father will also take the potions, and he's weak right now. He hasn't recovered from Azkaban."

Hermione was part of the reason Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to Azkaban after the battle at the Department of Mysteries, but she refused to feel guilty about it.

As Draco pulled on a pair of joggers, Hermione started to get out of bed.

"Don't." He held up a hand. "I'm just going to take another potion. I'd rather you not have to witness it."

Hermione frowned, the warmth from their morning fading as worry took its place. She clutched the blanket around her as she watched Draco cross the room. His shoulders tense, his movements slow.

"Draco." She reached out as he passed by the bed. "I don't want you going through this alone."

"I've been doing things alone most of my life, love." Draco's lips twitched into a dark, sardonic smile.

"No, you don't have to be alone in this. I'm not going to lie here and pretend it isn't happening. If you're going through it, then so am I."

"I don't want you to see me like that." Draco sighed, pushing his hair back as he turned to face her. "Not again."

Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cool air brushing her skin as the blanket fell to the floor. She carefully stepped toward him, resting her hand on his arm, feeling the faint tremor still lingering there.

"Hiding it won't make it easier for either of us."

Draco's gaze drifted over her, lingering on her bare shoulders and the soft curves of her body. The world outside faded for a moment, and all he saw was her—a comforting, maddening distraction.

But then his eyes dropped to the faint red stain seeping through the bandage on her arm, and something in him tightened, a mix of concern and guilt.

"Fine." He reached out, gently taking her injured arm and lifting it, his thumb brushing over the edge of the bandage with a careful touch. "I'm taking care of this first."

The tenderness in his voice and the delicate way he handled her arm sent a rush of warmth through Hermione, even as she felt the sting of the wound beneath his touch.

Making their way to the bathroom, Draco motioned for her to sit on the tub's edge once more. His fingers carefully peeled back the old bandage, revealing the gash beneath. His jaw tightened as he saw its rawness.

Draco grabbed a fresh bandage strip from the kit they'd left out the night before. His fingers worked quickly but carefully, wrapping her arm with a gentleness that belied the hardness he tried so hard to project. He cast a cooling charm, and Hermione sighed in relief.

"I'd give anything to protect you from all of this." He swallowed, his grip on her arm loosening as he looked at her, war raging in his eyes. "But sometimes… sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, I'll never be enough to keep you safe."

Hermione's heart twisted at the vulnerability etched on his face.

"I don't need protection, Draco." She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "I just need you."

A faint, weary smile flickered across his lips as he leaned into her touch, his head dipping until their foreheads touched. They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other's presence, holding onto the fragile hope that this could be enough—that they could survive together.

As she gazed at him, at the weariness shadowing his eyes, Hermione couldn't ignore the gnawing worry deep in her chest. She knew this couldn't last forever.

"I'll send a note to Mother today about your arm."

Hermione nodded, and Draco pulled away, stalking toward the cabinet from the night before that held the potions he needed to take. It was full.

"Did your father stock all the safe houses with the suppression potion?" Hermione asked.

"He did." Draco uncorked the vial, the bitter scent filling the room, and Hermione clenched her hands together, steeling herself.

"I'm going to deconstruct this potion of your father's. I have my own version of a potion, and I think this one may give me key insights into what I need."

"No need to do that," Draco said. "He also taught me how to brew it, just in case."

Just in case. Just in case he needed to brew his own for some reason. Just in case Lucius wasn't alive to brew it himself. It seemed like this war was becoming a series of just in cases.

Draco lifted the vial to his lips, and with one final, resigned look at her, he downed the contents in a single, swift motion. Like the night before, his face contorted immediately, his body convulsing as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Hermione reached out instinctively, her hands hovering as he staggered back, his breaths coming in short, agonized gasps.

He let out a low, guttural groan; his fists clenched so tightly she could see the strain in his knuckles, the thin sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. His face was pale and drawn, and his breaths grew shallow, as if even the act of breathing caused him pain.

"Just… let it pass," he ground out between gritted teeth, his voice hoarse and filled with barely restrained agony.

Hermione bit her lip, watching as he gripped the edge of the vanity, his body shuddering with each wave of pain. She felt a surge of helplessness, her hands clenching at her sides. She refused to look away; she refused to let him endure this alone.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his body relaxed, the tension easing as the pain subsided. He leaned heavily against the dresser, his breathing slowly steadying, though his face was still pale, a haunted look in his eyes.

"I want you to teach me how to brew the potion." Hermione rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Fine." Draco nodded weakly. "We've been married less than a year, and I have yet to deny you anything."

"You still have plenty of time, don't worry." Hermione teased, hoping that it was true—that they did still had plenty of time. "I have a theory I'm working on. If I'm correct, this potion may have a key that I'm missing in my research."

"Your mind never stops. You wouldn't be you if it did." His voice trailed off, and he looked away, his hand gripping the edge of the vanity until his knuckles turned white. "Hermione, even if I tell you, even if you learn… this isn't something that you can just undo with logic or potions. This magic is ancient, dark, and binds with intent."

Hermione reached out, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing across his jawline. "My intent is just as strong, Draco. We're bound by more than just a ring. I'm not going to let anyone else have a hold on you."

"Do I sense jealousy, Mrs. Malfoy?" Draco's face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his brows knitted together in pain, but his tone was light and teasing.

"You said you hid my ring in your trunk to keep it out of his grasp." Hermione moved some damp hair off of his forehead. "I'm not sure I like his intentions with my husband."

Draco let out a humourless laugh. If only she knew the efforts that he went through to keep that ring out of the Dark Lord's clutches.

Draco shook his head, exhaustion colouring his features. "You're impossible."

Hermione laughed. "I don't back down from a challenge. Even if it means I must brew a potion that smells like dragon dung or sit through you tediously teaching me it."

"Alright, then." Draco snorted, a glimmer of humour breaking through his tired demeanour. "I'll teach you the potion, but don't blame me if your eyebrows go singed." He paused, his face grave as he finally met her gaze. "I'll also tell you what I remember about the ceremony. All of it, if it means giving you something to work with."

Draco's hands rested on her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space between them, only warmth and that electric thread of their shared bond.

"Thank you." She tilted her face to look up at him, her gaze soft but filled with steely determination.

"And it won't be tedious. I'm not tedious." Draco sounded a little petulant.

The initial pain of the potion finished, leaving him only with the aches and pains. If it were anything like the night before, the pain would flare every so often, but it mostly left him exhausted and achy.

"Whatever you say, husband," Hermione smirked.

"Maybe I should come up with something to keep your brilliant, busy hands occupied while I go over the details." His grin turned wicked as he tugged her closer, his voice low against her ear. "Wouldn't want your mind wandering."

Hermione's breath hitched, cheeks flushing crimson as his implication settled over her. Her fingers twitched against his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath her touch sending a shiver through her spine. Her mind couldn't help but race with the possibilities, each more tantalizing than the last.

Draco chuckled, his hand tilting her chin so their gazes locked.

She rolled her eyes, pushing against him with mock indignation, but he caught her hand before she could pull away, lacing his fingers through hers and drawing her back to him with a playful glint.

"Thank you, Draco," she said. "I'm not giving up on us. Ever."

The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, a flicker of raw emotion crossing his face. His fingers tightened around hers, and he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

"I know, love. And somehow, that's what scares me most of all."

---

Narcissa arrived a few days later, unable to be tracked via spies or a Dark Mark she did not bear. She was the only one in the Malfoy family who seemed to be able to move unfettered nowadays.

"I have your wand," she announced upon arrival, placing the implement on the coffee table in front of Hermione, where she sat reading one of the many novels she found in the bookcases. Followed by the jingling of her beaded bag. "Your bag as well. Which is equipped with a lovely, very illegal, extender charm."

"Harry and Ron?"

"Are fine. Dobby got them out after the priceless chandelier hit the drawing room floor." Narcissa was deadpanned, as though she found everything boring and irritating. "I grabbed your things while Bella was still indisposed before Lucius and I made our way to the first safe house."

"Thank you," Hermione said cautiously. "For the information. And my wand."

This was the first interaction she ever honestly had with the Malfoy matriarch if you discounted the torture at her home days prior. Without Draco as a buffer, the women stared at each other, realizing the other was a significant part of Draco's life, but neither knew how to interact.

"Draco's asleep. I could wake"

"No, please don't," Narcissa said. "I'm sure he needs it. I'm here to speak with you, anyway."

"Oh. Tea?" Hermione offered the quintessentially British way to give her time to process what was happening and fill the awkward silence.

"Yes, that would be marvellous, thank you."

Hermione walked to the kitchen, grateful for the brief reprieve, as she filled the kettle and set it to boil. It was surreal, the thought of making tea for Narcissa Malfoy—a woman who had once been nothing but a name spoken with distrust among her friends. Now, here Hermione was, in a home Narcissa had arranged as a sanctuary for her family.

A family that, perhaps against all odds, seemed to include her now.

Malfoys always come out on top.

Was it sheer luck, or did it have more to do with the fierce women who stood beside them? With her unwavering grace and quiet strength, Narcissa had probably saved her family more times than anyone would know. Maybe it wasn't so much about the men's power or cunning but about the women they gravitated towards, the ones they revered, the ones they wed and protected.

Did strength, Hermione wondered, naturally draw these men in—or was it they only thrived because of the fierce devotion of the women in their lives? Perhaps there was a lesson in that she hadn't fully understood until now.

Hermione returned to the living room to find Narcissa still perched on one of the seats.

"It's our wish that you remain here where you are safe." Narcissa took the proffered cup. "I'm not foolish enough to believe you'll do that, especially now that your wand is returned."

Hermione shook her head, looking around guiltily at the home prepared to help keep her safe. A home she couldn't stay in while her friends were put in the line of fire every day.

"I didn't think so." Narcissa took a sip of her tea. "I just wanted to let you know that, should you need it, this house is as much yours as ours. You may stay or come and go as much as you please."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa scoffed at the moniker. "Oh, please. I think that would get confusing after a time, wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Malfoy?"

A twinkle in her eye at the joke momentarily reminded Hermione of Sirius. A pang shot through her as she stared at his cousin.

"I know we don't know each other very well, and you likely know more of my family history than I would like, as told by someone else," Narcissa continued. "But please call me Narcissa; we are family now."

"You can call me Hermione."

Narcissa offered Hermione a small, reserved smile, a trace of her son's features echoing in her own as they quietly finished their tea in companionable silence.

"I've identified the curse on the knife Bella used…" she trailed off. "On your wound. I can heal it now if you'll allow it?"

Hermione nodded. The wound was still seeping blood and was swollen, red, and itchy despite her and Draco repeatedly treating it as much as they could. She offered her left arm to Narcissa, who unwrapped the bandage. She let out a low hiss at the sight of the wound before pulling a vial out of her bag.

"I'm not sure how much Draco has told you, but I want to make it abundantly clear. Lucius and I hold no ill will toward you," Narcissa said as she administered to the wound, slowly dripping the contents of the vial on it.

"Draco said as much." Hermione hissed in pain, the wound beginning to smoke a little as the curse burned away under the potion. "I somehow still find that hard to believe."

Narcissa frowned. "Yes, well, Lucius was always more radicalized than me. As a Black, I've seen what years of inbreeding can do to a family."

Narcissa paused, watching the wound, waiting for some sign. Hermione only felt the stinging of the potion working its magic. Narcissa let out a soft hum, reached into her bag and pulled out another tincture—a salve. She prised the cover off and started applying it to the wound. A cooling, numbing sensation overtook the previous stinging.

Nodding at her work, Narcissa pulled out a wand that wasn't hers and magically re-applied the bandages to Hermione's wound. "That should take care of that. I'll leave the salve with you. Apply it twice a day, even after it closes up. Unfortunately, I can do nothing about the scar it will leave."

"Thank you." Hermione frowned at the matriarch. "Narcissa, you excommunicated your sister for marrying a Muggleborn. Do you expect me to believe that you are okay with your son being married to one?"

Narcissa hesitated.

"I suppose that's fair," she said. "I cut ties with Andromeda because I was engaged to Lucius. If I maintained contact, Abraxas, Lucius' father, would have forced us to break our engagement."

Narcissa fidgeted, a nervous tick Hermione never thought she would see in the Malfoy matriarch. "I must confess, had I known you two were involved, I likely would have tried to stop it. Not because of your blood status but because of the differences in the worlds you were raised in. Not everyone in Draco's circles will be as understanding."

"Then perhaps Draco should get better friends."

"I supposed you're right," Narcissa let out a short laugh. "Something I hear I should get used to with you as my daughter-in-law."

Hermione smiled.

"Lucius would like to explain his motivations to you and Draco." Narcissa set down her teacup. "There are many misunderstandings between Muggleborns and Purebloods, not just because of the Dark Lord or longstanding prejudice. It goes much deeper than that, at least in Lucius' mind. Especially against ancient magic and practices. Lucius wants to teach you so you can spread awareness."

Hermione perked up at the idea of being taught magic not found in the textbooks at Hogwarts. To be taught magic centuries old and passed down through generations as part of tradition.

But being taught by Lucius Malfoy. That was too much.

Could she trust him not to hex her? Not to corrupt her with ancient, dark magic?

Or was that the crux of the problem to begin with? She immediately thought of it as something sinister.

"You're a remarkable young woman, bound for greatness," Narcissa said. "Even if you were less remarkable, you make Draco happy, which is the most important factor to us."

"You're talking like you're assuming that Vol-"

"Stop!" Narcissa cut her off. "Please, don't. There's a taboo on the name."

"Oh!" Hermione blanched, understanding forming in her eyes. She thought back to the Forest of Dean after escaping the Lovegood trap. How quickly they were captured afterward. "Is that how the snatchers found us?"

Narcissa nodded, sitting back down, her body tensed.

"You're talking like you believe You Know Who will lose the war."

"I know better than to put all my eggs in one basket." Narcissa shifted. "And I also know better than to bet against Hermione Malfoy."

Hermione blushed deep crimson at the compliment. "And if he wins?"

"I suppose we'll cross that bridge if it ever comes."

"I'll be the first on the chopping block right after Harry," Hermione warned.

Hermione didn't like to think about what would happen if they didn't win the war. The bloodshed that would ensue.

But sometimes, at night, her mind ventured there like an unmoored boat.

And sometimes, it was Draco wearing a silver death mask that delivered the killing blow.

"His reach has yet to gain international traction." Narcissa studied her nails. "I have the house-elves preparing one of the castles in France as we speak as a precaution."

Hermione blinked.

House-elves. Castles in France. She wasn't sure where to begin with that statement. Sometimes, she forgot the true scale of how wealthy Draco's family was.

"Assuming we can remove the Mark or break the tracking spell permanently."

Narcissa hummed. "You concentrate on winning the war. Let Lucius and I worry about what happens if you don't."

"Does Draco know? That you're making all these contingencies?"

"I would be surprised if he didn't," Narcissa said. "Malfoy's always come out on top. That doesn't happen by sitting idly and waiting for things to happen."

Hermione played with the ring as she considered her mother-in-law's words.

"I need to go. The potion's effects are hitting Lucius particularly hard today." Narcissa stood and brushed her robes off. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, let me know. Have Draco show you the spell for sending messages between the safe houses."

Narcissa Malfoy disapparated from the living room, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts and her wand.

She had her wand back.

Now, she just needed to figure out how to return to Harry and Ron.

---

Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor, her copied research pages and notes scattered around her. The faded pages whispered secrets of blood magic and dark enchantments as she sorted through them. Draco was across from her; his brow furrowed as he focused on a complicated string of ancient runes, his finger tracing the curled script. She glanced up, her mind only half on the words on the page as worry pressed down on her chest.

It had been almost a week since they fled Malfoy Manor and every quiet moment was filled with thoughts of her friends—of Harry and Ron. Her last glimpses of them haunted her: the desperate, chaotic scramble to survive, the sight of her friends' terrified faces.

She exhaled, unable to keep her thoughts contained any longer.

"Draco."

He looked up, meeting her gaze. "What is it?"

She hesitated. "Is there any way to… get a message to them? To Harry and Ron?"

Draco's face shifted, hardening, and he shook his head, the answer already written in his expression. "Hermione, you don't even know where they are right now."

"They could be in danger, Draco."

He scoffed. "When isn't Potter in danger?"

"They probably think I'm dead or worse." Her voice cracked, and she hated the vulnerability in it, hated that he saw her fear and anxiety laid bare. "They need to know I'm alive."

Draco's gaze softened momentarily, but he shook his head, the crease between his brows deepening. "You're safe here. Sending a message—any message—could compromise that. We don't know who's watching."

Her frustration bubbled up, hot and overwhelming. "Am I just supposed to sit here, then? Pretend none of it matters? You can get messages to your parents. They're my friends, Draco. They're… they're my family."

Draco looked down, his jaw clenched. "I understand that, Hermione. But you're not just risking yourself. Every move you make could lead them to me, to my mother and father. We're all at risk here."

She let out a frustrated sigh, her voice rising. "I know that! Do you think I'd risk it if I didn't believe it was worth it? Harry and Ron could be alone, fighting—doing Merlin knows what. They need help. They need me."

"Hermione." Draco's voice was firm, bordering on harsh. "If you try to contact them, you could lead Death Eaters right to them. Right to us. Are you willing to risk that?"

The room was silent for a moment, thick with tension. She opened her mouth to speak but faltered, his words settling heavily in her mind. Her stomach twisted, torn between her desperation to know they were alright and the reality he was laying out in front of her.

"Draco… you know I can't stay here forever. They need me," she said. "I don't think I could live with myself if something happened to them, knowing I just hid away."

Draco's face fell, his eyes narrowing in frustration and something darker and harder to place.

"What about us? I need you."

She looked away, trying to swallow down the emotions threatening to overtake her. "This isn't just about us, Draco."

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair.

"Right. Because it's always about them, isn't it?" His tone was biting, jealousy and frustration dripping from each word. "The Golden Trio, off to save the world. Meanwhile, I'm just—"

"Don't," she cut him off, her voice sharp. "Don't do that, Draco. This isn't some competition. They're my friends. You're my husband. I love you both, but I have a responsibility."

The words hung in the air, and she saw the flash of pain in his eyes before he looked away, jaw clenched tightly. He stared down at the notes in his lap, the lines on the page a blur as his thoughts raced.

"So you're just going to walk back into a war zone?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Leave me here to wonder every day if you're alive?"

Hermione's heart ached at the defeated tone in his voice, but she forced herself to stay strong, to hold her ground.

"I'm not leaving," she said. "Not yet. Not unless I need to. But you have to understand… I can't just sit here and ignore everything happening outside these walls. It's not who I am."

He looked up, the raw emotion in his gaze catching her off guard.

"Who are you, Hermione? Are you willing to throw your life away because of some misplaced sense of duty?" His voice was raw, and she saw the fear there, the fear he tried so hard to keep hidden.

"I'm someone who can't abandon her friends," she replied, her tone unwavering. "I know you understand that, Draco. Despite everything you say, you understand loyalty. You understand love."

He flinched, looking down as if the words physically hurt him.

"I do," he whispered. "But sometimes, love means choosing to stay. To fight smart, not just… run headfirst into danger."

She swallowed, her own heart pounding.

"I will. I'll stay, for now. But please, Draco… don't ask me to promise that forever. Not if it means abandoning them."

Draco's gaze dropped, his fingers brushing lightly over her knuckles, afraid she might slip through his grasp.

"You'll stay, but only until you can't bear it anymore?" His tone held a bitter edge, a mix of resignation and worry.

"Yes," she whispered, pressing her hand over his. "Because when I leave, if I do… I need you to know it's not because I don't want this or us. It's because of who I am. And I know you wouldn't love me if I were any different."

He shook his head, his face caught between frustration and a deep, consuming sadness.

"We don't even know where they are, where to send anything if we could."

She sighed, realizing he was right. "No… we don't."

Draco's fingers brushed her cheek, his touch a little firmer now as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. "The thought of you away from me makes me want to tie you up."

"Again." Hermione deadpanned, remembering when he'd trapped her in the Slytherin dorms during the Battle of the Tower. Then she smirked. "Although, I think I might be able to find something you like better using ropes."

Draco raised an eyebrow as she closed the remaining distance between them and kissed him. Her hand slipped around the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss, pouring every unsaid word, every unfulfilled promise, into the press of her lips.

Draco's arms tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she felt the quickening beat of his heart against her chest, mirroring her own. She didn't want him to feel like she was slipping away, so she kissed him harder, reminding him of her warmth, her presence. His hands roamed down her back, trailing heat along her spine, and her breath hitched as his fingers gripped her hips.

Their breaths mingled, urgent and hungry, and she moved her hands over his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall, the raw, unspoken need they both shared. His mouth trailed along her jaw, his voice a rasp against her skin.

"You're… exasperating." His lips pressed tenderly against her neck, his hands slipping under her shirt, palms warm against her skin. "And maddening."

Her fingers teased the edge of his shirt, pushing it up as her lips found his again.

"You're infuriatingly protective." Her voice dripped with both irritation and desire. With a swift movement, she tore off his shirt, their lips colliding in a frenzy of need.

Hermione pushed him onto a nearby chair, casting a quick binding Draco to the chair with tight ropes, her movements precise and calculated. She dropped to her knees before him, her hair cascading like molten gold down her back. Draco could feel the heat radiating from her body as she leaned in closer.

With practiced ease, she undid his trousers and took him into her mouth, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to bring him to the brink of ecstasy. The sounds of their ragged breathing and the rustling of fabric filled the air as they lost themselves in each other.

"II'm…" Draco tried to warn her before he exploded, but it was too late. He released himself into her mouth, feeling each pulse of pleasure shoot through his body.

"Fuck," he groaned, leaning his head back against the chair. "That was intense."

As she pulled back, Hermione's lips glistened, her eyes dark with satisfaction. She stood slowly, running her hands up his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his skin as she gazed down at him, taking in the sight of Draco completely undone, tied to a chair, his eyes half-lidded in the aftermath.

For a moment, there was silence between them—heavy, electric.

"Finite Incantantem." Hermione released him.

Then, Draco's hands found her waist, urgently pulling her toward him. She straddled him in the chair, his hands moving to her ass. He kissed her gently at first, soft and slow, the passion of moments before lingering in the press of his lips, the tenderness that followed now a stark contrast. His hands slid to her back, then down to her hips, his touch reverent.

"You're amazing," he whispered against her lips, his voice hoarse but filled with genuine admiration. "You drive me wild."

Hermione felt a flutter in her chest at his words, the compliment, the way his hands mapped the curve of her body like a map he'd already memorized. She leaned into him, letting the intensity of the moment settle into something deeper, more intimate.

He stood, taking her with him as he strode with purpose, guiding her to her back on the soft rug nearby. His movements were controlled, deliberate—driven by something far beyond desire.

With careful hands, he undressed her, his touch slow as he traced the curve of her jaw, the line of her throat, and the delicate skin of her collarbone.

When he finally settled between her thighs, his eyes met hers, searching for something—permission, maybe.

"I want to return the favour."

Hermione's breath hitched, her heart racing in anticipation, but a gentleness in his touch calmed her. He kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that matched his actions as if he was holding onto a piece of her he didn't want to lose. Each caress was a prayer, a whispered promise of reverence.

And when he finally took her in his mouth, the sensation was overwhelming—where urgency had once ruled, now it was all about giving, cherishing, savouring. The feeling of his lips, his tongue, was a slow, intoxicating pleasure that made Hermione's body melt beneath him. She grabbed his hair, pulling him closer. Waves of warmth and desire built inside her.

"Draco…" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, but it was enough. Enough for him to know how deeply she felt, how much this meant. He responded by deepening his efforts, his hands bracing her hips gently as he brought her closer to the edge once more.

When he finally rose, his face flushed with the same intensity, his eyes never leaving hers. There was something beautiful about how he looked at her—tender, full of adoration. Worship.

They held each other in that moment, wrapped in the aftermath, their hearts beating together in rhythm.

---

The safe house was still and quiet as Hermione and Draco sat side by side at the small table, the thick, studying the notes spread out before them. A soft golden light illuminated the pages, flickering as the occasional draft slipped through the room, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a nostalgic twinge for the Hogwarts library. There was something almost comforting about the familiar scent of old parchment and ink, the quiet scratch of her quill against paper as she took notes. For a fleeting moment, it was as if she was back at school again, unravelling some mystery in the dead of night.

She glanced at Draco, who was flipping through two separate piles with careful, practiced fingers. His brow furrowed in concentration, but a rare softness graced his face. She was beginning to cherish this quiet Draco—less guarded, open in a way he'd never been back at Hogwarts. He must have sensed her gaze because he glanced up, catching her eye with a small, wry smile.

"You're staring, Granger," he said, the old habit slipping out before he caught himself and corrected. "I mean… Mrs. Malfoy."

Hermione felt a flush creep up her cheeks, but she smirked back at him, an eyebrow raised. "Is that a problem, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Not particularly." He leaned back in his chair and balanced it on two legs, shifting his focus to her. "Just don't want you to get too distracted."

She stared at his form, sucking her bottom lip through her teeth. She had a feeling that distraction was precisely what he wanted right now.

Draco sent her a cocky smirk, opening his mouth to something so dirty it would turn her entire face red, but with quick charm, a glowing piece of parchment appeared before him, floating just above the table. A note from Narcissa.

"It's from Mother," he said, setting his chair back on all four legs with a sharp motion.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "And?"

He met her gaze, his expression hardening. "Father would like to visit."

"Why?"

A flash of a sneering Lucius Malfoy hit her, followed by the memory of him stepping in front of her at the Manor.

Hermione swallowed, her fingers brushing over the bandage on her arm.

Draco's hand closed over hers, squeezing. "I can tell them no."

Hermione pulled her hand back, her mind racing. There was no denying the weight of Lucius's presence and the history that came with him. Yet she couldn't bear to be the one to keep them apart. If she wanted Draco, she must accept that his parents went with the package.

"No." The word slipped out before she could second-guess herself, her tone firm but betraying an undercurrent of doubt. "If your father wants to visit, he should."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"It's fine, Draco, I promise." She looked back to her notes, removing her hand from under his. "We all need to learn to get along. Now is as good a time as any to hear him out."

But the words felt hollow. Did she really believe that? The thought of facing Lucius, of putting herself back into the same room with him, twisted something inside her. She wasn't sure if bravery or sheer exhaustion made her say it. But there was no going back now. She had to face this, no matter how much it made her skin crawl.

Hermione took a slow breath, forcing her thoughts away from the unsettling idea of Lucius's visit. She grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, her quill hovering above it. The words she had just spoken were still echoing in her head, but she pushed them down. She needed to focus and find something that could distract her from the nervous tension rising in her chest.

Her eyes scanned the notes in front of her again, the familiar words pulling her back into the problem at hand. She ran her finger over the parchment, tracing the formulas and theories she'd written in the past few hours. Each line seemed to blur until her mind locked onto a tiny detail.

She re-read the line again, and suddenly, a puzzle piece clicked into place.

"Draco. I think I found something."

His attention shifted back to her, his gaze sharp. "What is it?"

Hermione's eyes were bright with excitement, the problem momentarily forgotten in her growing sense of discovery.

"What if we started by isolating the mark from the blood? We could use a detaching charm if the blood magic was designed to bind. Something that severs the magic from its source?"

Draco leaned back, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "In theory, sure. But blood magic is tricky—it feeds off the connection. Severing it would require something more… absolute. It's not like cutting through rope."

Hermione frowned, absorbing his words. He was right, of course. Blood magic didn't work like ordinary spells—it was rooted in a far more profound, ancient power.

"So, we'd need something that disrupts the core of the binding." She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Something that breaks the connection completely, not just severs it."

"Exactly," Draco replied, his tone more thoughtful now. "We need to think bigger, something more drastic. Like… a forceful magical reset."

Hermione nodded, her mind spinning with possibilities, her earlier discomfort about Lucius forgotten—at least for the moment. The breakthrough felt good, and she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope.

Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. "See, you're thinking of blood magic as a simple spell with a neat beginning and end. Blood magic is… messier. It's a bit more like… growing weeds. You don't just cut them; you uproot them. But how do we find the roots?"

She gave him a thoughtful nod. "Okay. So we'd need to locate the base of the mark, the 'roots' as you put it. But how? The blood is already integrated."

"That's where it gets fun." Draco's eyes glinted. "We might not be able to remove the Mark without drawing out the tainted blood, which is a little extreme, even for me. But we could attempt a counter curse that siphons the effects without removing the blood directly."

Hermione scribbled furiously, taking notes as they talked, quills enchanted and darting across the page to capture their ideas. "Siphon it, yes. But wouldn't that be… well, dangerous? What if it ends up amplifying the effects instead?"

Draco shrugged, though his face betrayed a flicker of unease. "Dangerous? Sure. But would you expect anything less from dealing with the Dark Lord's blood magic?"

Hermione frowned. "You're right."

"Knowing him, he probably made it as hideous as possible."

"So a siphon is one possible answer," Hermione said as she made a note. "What about a counter curse? Almost like finite incantantem, but using the same magic?"

"A reversal curse that turns the blood binding inward, neutralizing it? That could actually work." Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning over to peer at Hermione's book. "If we find the exact magical signature he left, maybe we can isolate it, then use a cleansing spell to strip the layers off one by one."

"Cleansing spells," Hermione echoed, scribbling on her parchment. "But only powerful ones would work on something this dark. Maybe like—oh! Expurgare Incantamentum. It's a cleansing ritual, but it's ancient. Could strip off the binding magic layer by layer."

"But it could also do the same to my skin." Draco frowned, jotting the possible side effect next to the third bullet she'd made on her notes. He leaned back, studying her thoughtfully. "You know, love, you're quite terrifying when you're determined."

Hermione smirked, unable to resist a jab. "That's because I'm an unstoppable force. Whereas you're just… a Malfoy."

He rolled his eyes, feigning a wounded expression. "Just a Malfoy, am I? Careful. I might take that personally."

Hermione grinned. "Now, look at this." She slid a page in front of him. "There's also mention of ritual sacrifice involving blood to counteract curses."

"You're not planning to sacrifice me, are you?" Draco looked horrified for a second. "We just got married, Hermione. I'd at least like a decent honeymoon."

She chuckled. "Relax. No sacrifices—just ideas. Though avoid making me too angry for a while."

"Noted." Draco sighed, leaning backward. "So we're looking at a mix of a cleansing ritual and a curse-breaking ceremony, then? That seems doable—just slightly insane. And dangerous."

"Absolutely," Hermione said. "Let's keep adding ideas. The more options, the better."

Draco nodded, a sly smile on his face. "Just so we're clear—no sacrificing husbands, but plenty of dangerous magic? That's all I ask."

"No promises, but we'll try other solutions first," Hermione replied, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she gave him a little shove. "But alright, back to work. So, we have a few options: a counter curse siphon, a blood ritual, a modified cleansing spell, and perhaps even an isolation spell to hold off the effects. Anything else?"

"I'm still grateful sacrifice husband isn't on the shortlist." Draco tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, we could always try combining them—if we layered an isolation charm with a siphoning counter curse, we might weaken the curse's effects long enough for the blood ritual to take."

Hermione nodded eagerly, her quill darting over the page.

"That's… brilliant, Draco." She met his eyes, genuinely impressed. "You know, sometimes you have good ideas."

"Sometimes?" Draco feigned offence. "Please. I'm full of them. It's just that no one's smart enough to keep up."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, playfully rolling her eyes. "Full of it is more like it."

Draco chuckled, leaning over to nudge her shoulder gently. "Think we actually might be onto something, Hermione?"

She paused, looking down at their notes, the hurried scrawls, and the possibilities they'd laid out together.

"Maybe… maybe we are," she murmured, feeling the slightest spark of hope flare in her chest. For the first time in a long time, she could envision a future for them—one where they didn't have to live in hiding or fear, one where they weren't bound by their parts in the war.

Draco's gaze softened as he watched her, and he reached out, brushing a stray curl away from her face. "Then let's get it right. For both of us."

She held his gaze, their silent determination weaving a powerful thread of understanding between them. They didn't know if any of these solutions would work, but together, they would fight fate.

---

Hermione stood at the work table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully measured powdered flux weed into the potion bubbling before her. She glanced at her notes, quill poised to jot down any adjustments, while Draco leaned against the table beside her, arms crossed, guiding her through the intricate steps of brewing his father's potion.

"Lower the flame slightly," Draco said. His pallor was evidence of the potion's toll on him, yet his focus on its creation was unwavering. "If it gets too hot, it'll destabilize the valerian root."

Hermione nodded, adjusting the cauldron's heat with a flick of her wand. "And this is the last step before the infusion, right?"

"Correct," Lucius Malfoy's voice cut in smoothly from the corner of the room. He stepped forward, his presence as imposing as ever, though his gaze had an uncharacteristic softness when it shifted to Draco. "You've been thorough, Miss Granger."

"It's Hermione," she corrected automatically, not looking up. Her focus was too sharp to notice Lucius' fleeting smirk at her audacity.

Lucius's gaze was unsettling, sharp and assessing, like a hawk circling prey. His eyes followed Hermione's every movement, and she could feel the weight of his scrutiny as she shifted under his gaze.

He'd arrived shortly after Draco sent word that he was welcome to visit, and from the moment he stepped into the room, a palpable tension filled the air. Hermione's stomach clenched, but she forced herself to maintain her composure, unwilling to show even a flicker of the discomfort clawing at her insides.

"Tell me more about the Dark Mark. About how it works. I only know what I've read. Nothing goes into a lot of detail." Hermione gave her potion four-stirs, counter-clockwise. "I am assuming it's to prevent copycats."

Draco leaned against the counter, watching her. His gaze was steady as he observed each precise movement she made.

He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the faint outline of his Mark. It looked different from how she remembered. Instead of a simple black tattoo, it looked infected, inflamed red, and swollen. Hermione's fingers twitched at the sight, her hands tightening on her potion spoon as she fought the urge to reach out and trace the lines that marked him so deeply.

"The Dark Mark is more than a simple branding. It's layered magic. Blood magic, binding charms, protective enchantments." He clenched his fists, his expression darkening. "The first layer is the tracker, the one the potion weakens. It's… like a net, keeping tabs on every move I make."

"A spider with its web. So it's in constant flux?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she stirred the potion again, carefully maintaining the precise rhythm. "That's how it follows your location?"

"Exactly. It's almost like the Mark has a heartbeat of its own." He clenched his fist, pulling his sleeve down to cover the mark. "And when the Dark Lord focuses on it, he can pinpoint where I am, even across great distances. The potion slows the beat down. It makes it harder for him to 'hear' it if that makes sense."

Hermione added a vial of crushed valerian root to the cauldron, watching the potion shift colours.

"If the potion disrupts the magic in your core, that could explain the fever and weakness," she said, more to herself than to him. "It's fighting the pull of the Dark Mark, drawing on your energy to disrupt that connection."

"Exactly. It's like… siphoning off bits of yourself just to make enough distance from him to breathe," Lucius said, looking up from the second pile of Hermione's notes he was assessing. "But it's painful—like ripping off pieces of your magic just to stand in your skin again."

Hermione stirred the potion again, letting the rhythmic motion steady her.

"But it's worth it." Draco's face darkened, shadows playing over his features. "The Mark permeates you, penetrating every part of your being. You're never quite the same."

Hermione's fingers gripped the edge of the countertop, and she looked down, focusing on her next ingredient to mask the intensity of her reaction.

"It's sickening," she said, her tone filled with anger. "The way he's made you… made all of you into his property."

Draco's mouth twisted in a bitter smile.

His father's expression remained carefully neutral, but his fingers twitched, betraying a brief ripple of discomfort. A faint shadow crossed his face—was it regret? Resentment? It was hard to tell. But his jaw tightened, and his gaze grew cold and distant as if the accusation had struck a nerve he wasn't willing to acknowledge openly.

After a moment, Lucius cleared his throat, his voice measured but steely. "The Dark Lord's influence has left scars on us all. We do what we have to—what is demanded of us."

Hermione caught the brief flicker in his eyes before his mask slipped back into place, hinting at something he'd likely never admit to aloud.

"That's the whole point. To bind us to him fully, leaving no room for rebellion." His gaze softened as he watched her mix the powdered root with deliberate care, adding a touch of powdered stardust to the cauldron.

Draco and Hermione shared a long, sombre look before she lifted the powdered dragon scale, sprinkling it into the potion.

As they worked on the potion, Lucius silently continued to read through Hermione's notes, his sharp gaze methodically scanning each line. His face remained impassive, his expressions tightly controlled, giving little indication of his thoughts. Yet occasionally, he would let out a faint hum—a habit eerily reminiscent of Draco—and reach out to make a brief, almost dismissive annotation in the margins with a flick of his quill. His handwriting was precise, each stroke deliberate and exact, betraying the disciplined mind behind the calm exterior.

Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye, her curiosity simmering beneath her discomfort. His slight gestures, the almost instinctual way he processed information, reminded her of Draco in ways she hadn't expected. And yet, Lucius exuded a colder detachment, his face never betraying so much as a flicker of approval or distaste. It was as though he were dissecting the notes for weaknesses, hunting for some hidden flaw rather than merely understanding them.

Occasionally, he would pause, tapping his quill against the page as if considering a difficult problem, his gaze growing distant. His thoughts were like closed doors, locked behind layers of practiced restraint.

He set the quill down when the potion was nearly brewed, folding his hands behind his on the table. His sharp gaze scanned over the meticulous notes and scattered ingredients. "I've been considering an addition to your rather simple but ingenious potion. Basilisk venom."

Hermione froze.

"Basilisk venom?" she repeated, turning to face him.

Lucius inclined his head. "I wanted to use it in the original formula, but wartime scarcity made it impossible. The venom has unparalleled destructive properties—it destroys magic at its core. Theoretically, it could disrupt the Dark Lord's magical signature entirely."

Her heart skipped a beat. Basilisk venom. Her mind raced back to the Chamber of Secrets, the shattered diary in Harry's hands, and how the venom had destroyed the horcrux.

Horcruxes.

A realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

The Dark Mark wasn't just a brand. What if Voldemort's magical signature was imprinted into their very cores—a smaller-scale version of a horcrux? Not a piece of his soul, but a fragment of his magic, binding them to him in the same invasive, parasitic way.

She grabbed her new notebook, her hand trembling as she scribbled her thoughts.

"Basilisk venom doesn't just destroy—it forces the magical system to treat the foreign magic as a lethal threat. If we can integrate it into the potion…" Her words trailed off as she scribbled furiously, her mind connecting threads she hadn't seen before.

Draco straightened, his curiosity piqued despite his weariness. "What are you thinking?"

Hermione glanced at him, her breath coming quickly. "It might be able to force the magical core to see Voldemort's signature as an invader. It's like… like triggering a magical autoimmune response. The body will fight to purge it. We can try to do the same with the body, fighting the physical part of the Mark as well."

"Autoimmune response?" Lucius asked, his voice slow over the unfamiliar word.

"It's a Muggle medical phrase. It's terminology for diseases where one part of your body identifies another part of your body as a foreign agent and starts attacking itself."

"So, if the bond could be disrupted…" Lucius stared at Hermione wide-eyed.

Lucius' expression was unreadable, though his sharp eyes gleamed with interest. "A sound theory," he said, "but the execution will be perilous."

Draco's eyes flickered with cautious hope as he looked between them. "But basilisk venom is rare and volatile. Even a slight imbalance could backfire—badly."

"We'll need to be careful. Do the correct equations. Maybe use protective runes." Hermione glanced between the two Malfoys, her heart pounding and cheeks flushed with the thrill of discovery. "It might be the key to removing the Mark permanently."

Draco's hand brushed against hers, grounding her. "You'd have to test it."

Her stomach twisted.

"I know where we can get basilisk venom."

The two men turned to her quickly, and she swallowed hard under their intense gaze.

A quiet understanding passed through the three of them, memories of the second year at Hogwarts. Lucius had been the one to give Ginny Weasley the diary by which the Chamber of Secrets was opened.

"Hogwarts is too dangerous." Draco shook his head.

Hermione nodded, her fingers brushing over the parchment as she considered the risks.

"I'll need Harry, anyway. He's the only one other than You Know Who that can open the chamber."

But the potential was undeniable. With Lucius's insight, they were one step closer. It was risky, but she could almost see the path toward freeing Draco from the mark's grip.

Lucius inclined his head, an unspoken approval in his gaze.

"Do what you must. If this works, MissHermione, it will do more than save my son. It will break the Dark Lord's chains from those no longer willing to abide by his rule."

She didn't even mention the potential side effects of triggering an autoimmune disease yet. Or that, potentially, to keep the Mark at bay, it may become chronic. First, they needed to have a way to create the response. Then she'd go over potential repercussions.

"But we still need to figure out how to isolate the Dark Lord's magical signature. I don't think I've heard of anything like it before." Draco frowned.

"Let me work on the potion equation," Lucius offered, pulling out fresh parchment and making a few notes. "I believe there have been a few books written on magical signatures in the past, but they would be ancient. I'll try to recall the names for you in the next few days."

"Thank you, Father."

Hermione didn't miss the weight in his words. The Malfoys, for all their faults, loved each other fiercely. She realized then that Draco's defiance, his refusal to crumble under the Mark's burden, came from the same unyielding loyalty that had driven Lucius to present himself to them today.

He came to be useful, to help. To show… familial ties? Support?

Hermione finally found the courage to say what she'd held back since Lucius arrived.

"I… I must admit, Mr. Malfoy," she began, keeping her tone as steady as possible. "I'm genuinely surprised you're willing to work with me on this."

Draco stiffened beside her, shooting her a wary look. A flicker of discomfort flashed in his eyes. He gave his father a sidelong glance. He didn't interrupt, but his gaze flickered between his father and Hermione.

Lucius lifted his gaze from the parchment, his pale eyes piercing as they settled on her. His mouth curled, not in a sneer, but in a trace of something that was almost thoughtful.

"I suppose that doesn't surprise me, Hermione," he replied carefully. "Given my history, it's an understandable reaction." His voice was flat and factual, but its weight suggested something deeper.

"I can't pretend that your assumptions are entirely baseless." He looked directly at her, his expression oddly contemplative. "I'm not unaware of the harm caused. I do not intend to excuse it, but I believe context may be… enlightening."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I didn't mean it as an accusation. It's just… everything you've done and supported—it's hard to reconcile that with what we're doing right now."

Lucius exhaled, settling back in his chair as he began, his tone almost detached, as though recounting a history not entirely his own.

"I was raised with beliefs deeply embedded in tradition and culture. My father was… selective. He viewed anyone outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight as inherently flawed—a sentiment he often reinforced without room for dispute. For him, our traditions, our ancient magic, were everything. They represented the core of what it meant to be part of the wizarding world. We were guardians of this heritage, and he believed those outside our circles couldn't possibly grasp the depth of it."

Draco's jaw tightened as he looked down at his notes, a flicker of discomfort shadowing his expression. He knew this story and the ideologies that had been passed down to him. But he'd never heard his father speak about them this way.

Hermione nodded cautiously, allowing Lucius to continue. She had spent enough time in the wizarding world to understand the importance of ancient traditions, but to hear it from Lucius Malfoy was entirely different.

Lucius leaned back, eyes narrowing as he looked away, as though seeing a world far from their coastal safe house.

"My childhood was steeped in old ways, ancient magic, spells, and rites that were part of the wizarding fabric. But with each passing year, I watched that very fabric fray. Over the years, I watched as these traditions… faded. Our magical holidays, once vibrant, began merging with Muggle traditions. We used to celebrate Samhain and Beltaine, honouring the turning of the year and the ancestral magic in our blood. And then, they began disappearing, or worse, being twisted by outside influences. As wizarding children grew closer to Muggle society, ancient practices were criticized, ostracized even."

"That's what this was about?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "Preserving tradition?"

"It's never that simple, Hermione." Lucius's eyes flicked to her, cold but contemplative. "What my father taught me—what I came to believe—was that the wizarding world was at risk, not just from Muggles, but from losing its very identity. In our world, magic isn't merely a skill or a tool. It's part of who we are, woven into our history. And yet, so much of it is now seen as dark or dangerous, merely because it's ancient or powerful."

Lucius sighed deeply, shifting in his seat.

"Magic can be powerful, dangerous—regardless of the branch. But more and more, anything that didn't fit neatly into Ministry-approved boxes was branded as dark. Traditional practices, even those with purely protective intent, were suppressed or forgotten. For me… it was as if wizarding society was bending to fit a Muggle mould, diluting the very essence of our world."

Draco's gaze softened, understanding his father's struggle in a way Hermione hadn't seen in him before.

"And so… you sided with You Know Who?" Hermione asked, cautious as she met Lucius's piercing gaze.

"In hindsight, perhaps my loyalty was misplaced." Lucius let out a dry, humourless chuckle. "The Dark Lord promised preservation—claimed he'd protect our traditions, our way of life. And I was young enough to believe him the first time, to overlook the glaring brutality for what I thought was a noble cause. I bought into a lie, but at the time, it seemed the only way to secure a future for my lineage, to preserve the values my father instilled in me. The Dark Lord knew that."

He glanced at Draco, a flicker of something pained in his eyes. "I failed to see the price until it was too late. And I failed to understand that by aligning with him, I was endangering everything I claimed to want to protect."

Draco leaned forward, his brows knit together. "So, it wasn't really blood purity?"

"Blood purity was part of it. Your grandfather was… a staunch believer in bloodlines." Lucius's lips tightened into a thin line. "But to me, the lineage mattered less than the heritage and understanding of our world. The merging and the… bending to Muggle ways disturbed me. Our history, our identity—it was being diluted."

Hermione nodded. She still didn't agree with his conclusions, but she considered the nuance behind them. He wasn't excusing his actions and wasn't asking for forgiveness. But he was giving her a glimpse into a mindset shaped by a different fear.

"It doesn't make any of it right," Hermione said. "People like me—we've worked hard to learn, adapt, and contribute. You're right that magic isn't inherently dark. Intent does matter. But it doesn't mean Muggleborns don't understand or respect magic."

"Perhaps." Lucius looked out the window towards the bay. "But you must understand that your kind represents a kind of change that terrifies people like my father and… me."

"Change can be good." Hermione bit her lip. "It can bring new ideas and drive innovation and discovery."

"Like your answer to the Dark Mark." Lucius met her gaze with something resembling a flicker of respect. "I know you are a powerful witch, strong in magic and intellect. Regardless of lineage, you're an asset to our family. Perhaps someone like you, not the Dark Lord, was who we needed all along."

Draco shifted, uncomfortable but somehow more settled. Hearing his father speak like this didn't erase the past, but it brought clarity, an understanding of the path they'd all ended up on.

Hermione hesitated, looking torn. "I still don't agree with it. In this case, the ends don't justify the means."

"I expected no less." Lucius inclined his head. "Understanding is not the same as condoning, nor does it erase the damage done. I regret what I've done, but I don't expect forgiveness—only that my choices are seen in their full, flawed context."

He looked back down at the notes.

"I understand, Mr. Malfoy."

"You may call me Lucius." Lucius looked down at the potion ingredients spread across the table and then back to Draco and Hermione, his expression hardening. "My injudicious reasonings don't change what needs to be done now. Our time is limited. Let's not squander it."

They resumed their work in silence, but Hermione couldn't shake the echo of his words. For the first time, she viewed Lucius Malfoy in a different, more complex light.

As they resumed their work, Lucius's gaze sharpened, dissecting each line and symbol across the parchment with a renewed intensity. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye, half-expecting him to find fault with her work, but instead, his expression took on a look of careful calculation.

Hermione felt a flicker of respect for Lucius—not as a Malfoy or a former Death Eater, but as a strategist who, like her, was willing to do whatever it took to dismantle the lingering chains of the past.

With his help, she would perfect the potion.

She would retrieve the venom.

And she would free Draco, once and for all.