"Draco, how are you here?" Astoria gasped as soon as she regained consciousness. She reached over and touched her side gingerly as she shrank back in the chair.

"I had to apparate across Europe because of you," he said in a low snarl.

The rage in his voice was palpable.

Hermione stared. Cross-continental apparition was—almost impossible. It required either jumping so many times that a person exhausted their magic and had to stop, or such a tremendous amount of concentration that it was practically impossible to survive. Most people who jumped more than a few countries splinched themselves to death. If Malfoy had actually apparated so far, he should be nearly dead from magical exhaustion.

In that case, it was no wonder the manor had shaken. The power and concentration to successfully perform such a jump would explode like a shockwave from a sonic boom. There was probably a room in the manor that had been reduced to splinters.

"That—that's completely impossible," Astoria stuttered.

"Underestimating your husband, Tori?" he said in a coolly murderous tone. "Not very wifely of you."

"Oh, are you here because of me?" Astoria's voice was vicious. "No. You aren't. You're here because of that Mudblood. You hexed me. You threw me into a wall. You murdered Graham Montague all because of that Mudblood."

"Yes, I did," Malfoy said. "I did all of those things because she is the last member of the Order of the Phoenix, and that means she, unlike you, is important; infinitely more important than you are. Considerably more important than Montague. Did you know that the Dark Lord has her brought before him regularly to inspect her memories? The eyes are rather useful when performing legilimency."

Astoria paled and Malfoy continued speaking in his cold, deadly voice, "I have tried to be patient with you, Astoria. I've been willing to overlook your indecent behavior and petty interferences, but do recall that aside from being somewhat decorative, you are useless to me. If you ever go near her again, or speak to her, or use your status as the lady of this manor to break through any of my wards, I will kill you. And I will do it slowly; perhaps over the course of an evening or two. That isn't a threat. It is a promise. Get. Out. Of. My. Sight."

Astoria gave a terrified sob and fled the room.

Malfoy stood breathing deeply for several seconds before he turned back to Hermione.

He approached her slowly, then knelt and tilted her face up to look at her eyes again.

"The pupils are different sizes," he said after a moment. "After I've applied the Essence of Dittany, I'll send for a specialist to come and see if there's anything else to be done."

Hermione stared at him.

"You don't need my eyes to perform legilimency," she said in a wooden voice. "It's just easier that way. It won't matter if I'm blind in one eye."

She felt the fingers on her face flinch faintly and his jaw clenched.

"I consider it a matter of convenience," he said after a beat.

His thumb ghosted lightly across her cheekbone as he continued to study her.

She stared back at him. He looked haggard but maybe it only seemed that way because of how her vision blurred.

"How did you apparate from Romania?" she asked.

He gave a tired smirk. "The ability came compliments of the Dark Lord. Although—I don't believe he had any idea at the time. It was intended as a punishment."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. She had no idea what kind of punishment could possibly have the side-effect of enabling cross-continental apparition. Some kind of horribly obscure Dark magic.

"What kind of curse—?"

"It wasn't a curse, it was a ritual, and not one I feel like discussing," he said, cutting her off abruptly.

"How did you know I'd know the spells?" she said when he kept staring at her.

"You were a healer." He shrugged. "If I'd apparated you to St Mungo's, I assumed the pressure would have wrecked your eye. Time was essential."

"Where did you learn to heal?" she asked, thinking back on all the spells and diagnostics he'd known immediately.

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"I was a General for years, I picked things up along the way. It was an obvious skill to develop."

"Not to everyone." Hermione had tried on many occasions to teach the members of the Order more than basic emergency healing spells but most of them had been reluctant to learn much beyond episkey.

"Yes. Well, I was on the winning side, we obviously made better strategic choices," he said in a cold voice as he withdrew his hands.

"It was an unusual diagnostic spell you knew," Hermione said, ignoring his comment.

"It was a long war." He was still kneeling in front of her.

Hermione looked down at her lap for a minute, then looked back up at him. There was a headache beginning to develop in her temples from her imbalanced vision.

"You—have a natural talent for healing. In another life, you could have been a healer," she said.

"One of life's great ironies," he said glancing away from her. She thought the corner of his mouth twitched faintly, but perhaps it was just a trick of her vision.

"I suppose it is." Hermione looked down at her hands again. Her fingertips were stained with blood. So were his.

There was a crack, Topsy appeared with a small vial of Essence of Dittany which she handed to Malfoy.

"Get the door repaired," Malfoy ordered the elf, barely glancing at it as he turned back to Hermione.

Hermione started pushing herself unsteadily to her feet.

"I should—I should lay down, so it doesn't run," she said. Her balance felt off and her hands and arms shook and wouldn't bear her weight. She sank back onto the floor and bit her lip in frustration; maybe she'd just lie on the ground.

A hand closed around her elbow and drew her to her feet.

"I'm not leaning over you on the floor," Malfoy said in a cold voice as he pulled her across the room and then backed her into her bed. "Lie down here."

She felt behind herself and slid onto the bed. She pushed the pillow to the side and lay down flat.

Malfoy leaned over her, vial in hand. His face went in and out of focus every time she blinked. Dark. Light. Dark. Light.

"How many drops?" he asked.

Hermione hesitated. Essence of Dittany was expensive. When she'd been a healer she'd had to ration it; carefully weigh the benefit against the cost.

"A drop every two hours for the next several days is ideal. But, one dose of three drops will do," she finally said.

"Will do what?" he said.

"I'll probably be able to make out outlines and detect colour within a few feet," she said.

Malfoy leaned forward and used his right hand to lightly hold her left eye open while he dripped one drop of the Essence into her eye. It stung. Hermione immediately closed her eyes to refrain from blinking it away.

The hand on her face vanished.

"I'll be back in two hours. And I'll ensure Astoria stays away."

She heard his receding footsteps and raised her hand up to hold her left eye closed so she could watch him go.

He stumbled slightly when he was near the door, as though he were unsteady on his feet.

Hermione closed her eyes again and lay still, willing herself not to cry.

Don't cry. Don't cry, she told herself. It would waste the Dittany.

Malfoy reappeared two hours later with a specialist; an elderly man dressed in lime green robes. The healer's expression was drawn but he seemed determined to hide his discomfort. He barely glanced at Hermione.

"Sclera punctures are quite a nasty business," the healer said in a wheezing voice as he conjured a chair beside the bed and looked back towards Malfoy. "Not always much that can be done. Basic healing charms aren't much for preserving sight. We'll have to see what there is to work with. She was the one who told you which spells to use?"

Malfoy gave a short nod and leaned against the wall.

The healer turned toward Hermione and cast an unfamiliar ocular diagnostic charm.

Hermione stared at ribbons on colour floating over her head and but didn't know how to read them. The healer was silent for several minutes as he manipulated the diagnostic.

"This—is quite exceptional repair work," the healer said in a tone of surprise after giving the ribbon a final prod with the tip of his wand and sending little sparks of light into it. The ribbons flickered and twisted in response.

"What spell did you have him use?" the healer asked, finally looking down at Hermione's face.

"Sclera Sanentur," she said.

His eyebrows jumped. "You probably would have lost your sight if you'd gone with more common spells. Where did you learn this kind of healing?" he asked in an astonished voice.

"Austria, France, Albania, and Denmark," Hermione said, her voice subdued. "I moved around. My specialty was healing the dark arts and casualty injuries."

"Really?" The dismissive quality in the healer's behavior toward Hermione faded and he studied her thoughtfully. "I applied to study in Albania. Back in '64. Couldn't get in, my wandwork wasn't precise enough. Beautiful hospital. Their Old Magicks Department was Europe's finest."

"It was," Hermione said, her voice wistful.

"Pity how the terrorists destroyed it during the war," the healer said. "Then again," he eyed Hermione's clothing and wrists and his lip curled, "I suppose you were one of them."

"Not one who ever attacked a hospital," Hermione said.

It had been a favoured tactic of Voldemort's; attack places that should have been neutral and frame the Resistance terrorists for it. It had helped ally the public with Voldemort, and driven the Resistance further underground.

Hermione remembered when they'd gotten word the Albanian hospital had been blown up. There'd been almost no survivors; all the healers who had mentored Hermione had died in the rubble.

The Resistance in Albania had disappeared soon after.

The specialist continued to study the diagnostic reading over Hermione for several more minutes before he made it vanish with a flick of his wand. He cast a few charms that Hermione felt sink in and it grew strangely cold feeling toward the front of her brain. Then the healer leaned forward and added a drop of Essence of Dittany to her eye.

"I think you may actually make a full recovery. Keep the lights low and apply Essence of Dittany every two hours during the day and an extra drop just before you go to sleep for the next two weeks. Do that, and I think there may end up being little to no long term impairment in your vision."

Hermione watched one-eyed as he stood and turned toward Malfoy, straightening his robes pompously.

"I must say, that's an exceptional little healer you've got there. When you told me what happened I was expecting she'd end up mostly blind in the eye. Sanentur spells are quite obscure and injury-specific. It's remarkable she had the presence of mind to distinguish that it would be appropriate for repairing that particular type of puncture."

"Quite fortunate," Malfoy said, his tone bland. "Is there anything else you recommend? I'm under strict orders to keep her in good condition. I don't want anything overlooked."

"Well—perhaps a cool compress. Essence of Dittany works best in the eyes when kept at a cool temperature. And—ah—um. Nourishing food. Chicken broths and the like. To help the body heal. She probably knows."

"Very well," Malfoy said, straightening and indicating toward the door of Hermione's room which the house-elves had repaired.

The healer looked down at Hermione again.

"Quite exceptional," he said again in a wondering voice. "Pity. Such a waste of talent."

"Hmm," Malfoy said noncommittally.

"And you, sir. Quite remarkable you could perform the spells so well. Very impressive collaboration. You could be a healer yourself."

"So I keep being told," Malfoy said with an insincere smile. "Do you think St Mungo's will still hire me after I murdered someone in their waiting room?"

The healer blanched. "Well—What I mean is—"

"If there's nothing else, I'll see you out," Malfoy cut him off and strode from the room.

Hermione spent most of the next several days in bed. A House-elf arrived every two hours with a vial of Essence of Dittany, watched her as she applied a drop to her eye, and then popped away again.

After four days, her vision within an arm's length was mostly recovered but, beyond that radius, things became blurry and it hurt to try to focus.

Malfoy did not appear again but Hermione thought she heard his footsteps in the hallway.

Then Healer Stroud came.

"You've had a rather unfortunate month, I hear," Stroud said, conjuring a medical table and waiting for Hermione to approach

Hermione said nothing as she went over and seated herself on the edge of it. Stroud pulled a vial of veritaserum out and Hermione opened her mouth and accepted the drop on her tongue.

Stroud cast a general diagnostic on Hermione and they both studied it. Hermione's eye was doing better. Her sodium levels were normal. Her cortisol levels were extremely high.

They were always high, but there was a marked spike in them.

Stroud sighed and wrote something in Hermione's file before casting a pregnancy detection charm.

Hermione already knew what the result of the charm would be. She stared pointedly at the clock on the wall. Her imbalanced vision meant she couldn't make out the numbers anymore or even the hands unless she closed her left eye.

There was a long silence. So long that Hermione finally looked back and found Healer Stroud had cast a more detailed diagnostic of Hermione's reproductive system.

Hermione couldn't make out all the readings clearly but she recognised enough to know that there was nothing unusual in it. She glanced up at Healer Stroud's face.

It was blurred but Hermione could still make out the familiar tensed irritation around the woman's mouth as she manipulated the diagnostic with her wand.

"You're still not pregnant," Stroud said flatly.

The words were both an accusation and a condemnation.

Hermione didn't flinch or even blink. Healer Stroud continued, "You're one of the only ones still not pregnant. And in the case of the others, it is because the—sires have issues of their own."

There was a pause. Healer Stroud seemed to be awaiting a defense.

"Perhaps the High Reeve has issues too," Hermione finally said.

"He does not. I examined him myself, several times now. He is perfectly virile and fertile. Exceptional even."

Hermione fought against letting her mouth twitch with amusement at the thought of Malfoy being examined by Stroud. He must love that, she thought to herself.

Outwardly Hermione was silent. Healer Stroud sighed sharply.

"How does he take you? Do you stay reclined after as instructed? Are you washing afterwards?"

The questions were suspicious.

Hermione felt her cheeks flush as she was compelled to answer the questions.

"There's a clock there on the wall. I always wait for the allotted time before moving. I follow all the washing instructions. The portrait can verify it."

Healer Stroud's eyes were narrowed.

"And how does he take you?"

Hermione stared intently at the blurry clock until her head began to throb.

"On a table."

"What?" Healer Stroud said sharply.

"He—he conjures a table, in the middle of the room. And has me lean over it."

"He takes you from behind?"

Hermione felt her cheeks and ears growing hot. "Yes. He's very—clinical about it."

"How many times a day?"

"Once a day. For five days."

There was a long silence.

"Well—" Healer Stroud finally said. Then she leaned over and tapped her wand twice on one of the manacles on Hermione's wrists. There was an immediate flush of heat.

A minute later, there was a sharp rap on the door and Malfoy walked in, looking as cold as Hermione had ever seen him. She could just barely make out his face as he walked toward Healer Stroud. She closed her left eye in order to try to see more clearly.

"You called," he said.

"She's still not pregnant," Healer Stroud announced.

Malfoy looked neither surprised nor disappointed by the announcement.

"How unfortunate," he said coolly.

"Indeed. It's beginning to become anomalous. There is nothing I can find to account for it."

Healer Stroud's eyes were narrowed as she stared at Malfoy.

Hermione's curiosity was suddenly piqued. Did Healer Stroud suspect Malfoy was trying to avoid impregnating Hermione? Was he? Why would he? He should have been desperate to get her pregnant. If not for an heir, at least in the hopes that the compatible magic would finally corrode and break through the magic protecting Hermione's memories.

"The Dark Lord may have reason for concern if she continues to be unfruitful. As you know, his desire for it is dual in nature."

"Indeed. I am aware." Malfoy said, a dangerous edge entering his voice.

"Then you should have no objections if I make some recommendations as to how to increase your odds of success."

Malfoy inclined his head. "Anything in the service of the Dark Lord."

"No more tables then," said Stroud in a pointed tone.

There was a flicker of something, possibly irritation in Malfoy's eyes.

"Fine.

"And have her in a reclined position," Stroud said, raising her chin, "with less detachment."

A sneer curled onto Malfoy's lips, but before he said anything Stroud added, "Magical pregnancy is more complex than merely the biological process of fertilisation. It can require a connection. Otherwise, we could be utilising muggle methods for this repopulation effort with far greater convenience for everyone."

"Really? Do all the other pregnant breeders you have attribute their conditions to the connection they have with the sires?" Malfoy drawled.

"She is exceptional in her magic, as are you," Stroud said, her expression stiff. "According to some theories, such power causes the spark of life to require more—persuasion. Unless there's some other explanation you can offer."

She gave Malfoy a long look which he returned without blinking.

Hermione was certain, Stroud did suspect Malfoy of doing something to interfere.

"Fine."

"Excellent," Stroud said, her mouth widening into a thin smile. "After all, the Dark Lord is quite eager for access to be gained to those memories. If the conception efforts continue to fail, we may find ourselves obliged to consider other 'sires.'"

"I was under the impression that using magical pregnancy to unlock the memories necessitated that the father be the legilimens or it may result in a miscarriage," Malfoy said in a lightly cutting tone.

"That's true. The magi-genetic familiarity is important. However, it wouldn't necessarily need to be a paternal familiarity. Half-siblings, for example, could be another option. I have heard rumours that your father may be recalled to Britain."

Hermione felt herself wobble and her throat contracted as though she were going to be sick. Malfoy's expression didn't flicker but he paled, visibly, even in Hermione's blurred vision.

Healer Stroud continued and there was a taunting quality to her voice. "I haven't mentioned the option to the Dark Lord. Yet. But I know how eager he is for progress. It would a disappointment for me to have to recommend it. As a scientist, I must admit I'm particularly curious to see the progeny from two such uniquely powerful individuals. But... my first loyalty is to the Dark Lord, so if this particular pairing is still unfruitful after six months I feel I'll have no option but to offer an alternative solution."

"Of course," Malfoy said, his tone calm but with an edge to it that Hermione recognised as cold fury. "Was there anything else?"

"Nothing else, High Reeve. Thank you for your time," Healer Stroud said.

Malfoy turned on his heel and vanished through the doorway.