Draco looked away and shook his head. "What is the point of legilimency if you don't use it to keep someone from killing you?" He scoffed, the sound harsh and angry in the back of his throat. "He survived as a spy through two Wizarding Wars only to be killed by an insurgent vampire coven."

Hermione could feel the cold rage starting to emanate from him.

She swallowed. The news felt like a concussion. After days of dreading Severus' arrival, of regarding it as a foregone conclusion, his sudden absence felt like seismic shift. Everything had been thrown into the air, and there was no telling how it would land.

"Is it confirmed that he's dead? He might have escaped."

Draco looked back at her and gave a slow nod. "It's confirmed. They sent the bodies back with a message: 'The blood of the Dark Lord's servants will fuel the revolution.' His corpse was drained. I personally confirmed that it was him."

Draco gave a sharp sigh and started pulling off his Death Eater robes. "The rest of Eastern Europe is expected to follow suit within the next few days. It's—" Draco snorted, "—it's the collapse we orchestrated, we just hoped they'd wait until July. Severus claimed he had everything under control." He sneered. "Fucking idiot."

The last words were half-snarled.

Hermione swallowed and forced herself to breathe. Her stomach felt as though there were a weight in it so painful she wanted to double over and vomit. She was going to die. She and the baby and Draco were all going to die.

Severus had been the vital piece. He'd been her last hope. She'd thought that maybe he'd help her find a way to save Draco. She'd told him before she left for Sussex that she needed Draco to live. He had to know she wasn't going to fly away quietly while Draco went off to commit suicide. She'd mentally rehearsed a speech begging him, " I told you, I need Draco. I'll do anything. Anything it takes. Anything you want. Please help me. Please help me. If I lose him, I'll die of a broken heart. I'll do anything you ask if you help me save him."

She'd clung to the idea that Severus might have ideas that she and Draco hadn't considered.

Without him, she suddenly felt the last tiny ray of hope gutter out. It was as though a black hole had opened under her feet, swallowing not only her desperate hope for Draco's survival, but hers and their baby's as well.

Draco looked as though he were on the verge of a breakdown. He breathed in sharply through his teeth and dragged a hand through his hair before kicking his robes across the room.

Her hand twitched towards him. She felt as though she might faint.

She reached out and touched him lightly on the arm. He stared down at her, and he looked so tired.

"It's—it's alright, Draco," she said, meeting his eyes. Her voice threatened to waver, but she forced it to stay steady. "It's alright," she said again.

Don't do anything else to yourself.

Her chest spasmed, and her fingers gripped his sleeve. "You did everything you could. More than anyone should have ever asked."

I'd rather die in your arms.

Draco looked at her for a moment before his eyes narrowed. "You're still leaving."

Hermione stared at him blankly.

He reached up, and his fingertips brushed her cheek. "I can still get you out. Severus was the safest option, but there are other options. I didn't mean for you to think you wouldn't escape now."

Hermione was still gripping his sleeve. He rested his hand on hers. "It won't be as clean. It's longer, and it'll be a more difficult journey for you to take," his expression was worried, "especially pregnant. Ginny will come back to Britain and take you."

Before Hermione could react, he called out "Topsy!"

Topsy instantly appeared in the room.

"Topsy, Severus is dead." He said it matter-of-factly. The rage was gone. He was cold and intent, back on mission.

An option had been eliminated. He'd moved on to the next. Unhesitating. Unyielding. Driven to succeed.

Severus had been a mechanism for getting what he wanted.

"Granger will leave Europe via the route Kreacher and I established this spring. You and Kreacher will both leave tonight for Ginny's safe house. When you arrive, you'll take over care of James while Kreacher brings Ginny back. Everything you'll need for the journey is in the safe house at Whitecroft. I'll send word, so she'll expect you."

Topsy looked up at Draco and then folded her arms obstinately. "If Topsy is going, who is taking care of the Miss?"

Draco considered for a moment. "Bobbin. Bobbin will take care of her while you're with James."

Topsy shook her head. "The Miss is not even knowing Bobbin, she is only knowing Topsy. Bobbin knows babies, Bobbin is not knowing one thing about pregnant witches. Topsy will stay."

Draco gave a long suffering sigh as he stared down at Topsy, whose chin was only slightly higher than his knees. "Bobbin could care for James in the short-term, but if the escape doesn't go as planned, you'll be caring for him for the foreseeable future. Bobbin is not capable of that."

Topsy began opening her mouth, but Draco raised an eyebrow pointedly and continued, "I'm aware it's not ideal, but Ginny trusts you with James. I can't have her baulk or delay because I sent a house-elf she doesn't know.

"But—"

Draco's expression grew icy. "Topsy, I didn't call you to consult with you. You will go care for James. That is an order. If all goes well, you'll see Granger again within the month. Go on now."

Topsy stood for a moment as she stared up at Draco, then she blinked and her enormous eyes filled with tears. "And when will Topsy be seeing Master Draco again?"

Draco stared down at her for a moment, and his throat dipped as he pressed his lips into a flat line. "Don't do this, Topsy. This has always been the plan."

Topsy shook her head and stomped a tiny foot.

"You is not even saying goodbye. You is just sending Topsy away." An enormous tear slid down Topsy's nose and splashed onto the floor. "Topsy was to stay to the end. You promised."

Draco looked at her, his eyes flickering for a moment before they turned flint-like and his expression hardened. "It's not an option now. Topsy, you have an order from your master."

Topsy didn't move. She kept staring up at Draco, and several more tears splashed onto the floor.

"Topsy, go now." His voice was cold and firm, and Hermione felt the magic in the air.

Topsy's eyes widened with horror, and she reached towards him. "No! Please. Master Draco—"

She vanished before she'd finished speaking.

Draco stared down at the empty space for a moment before turning away. He sighed and suddenly looked so exhausted Hermione thought he might just fall backwards.

She was at a loss. Topsy's expression of desperate horror felt branded into her eyes.

"You should have let her say goodbye," she finally said.

Draco nodded dully. "I don't know how to."

He sighed and rolled his jaw. "You can tell her I'm sorry when you see her again."

He seemed to regard the matter closed.

Hermione felt a growing sort of hysterical rage. "She helped raise you. If she thought she was going to be with you until the end, you should have at least given her a chance to say goodbye. You can't—you can't just use people like they're tools for getting what you want and force them away if their emotions inconvenience you."

Draco looked at her sharply, irritation visible in his silver eyes. "My entire life is comprised of emotional fallout." He looked feral. "Sometimes—I don't have the capacity to handle any more of it."

Hermione pressed her lips together, but they twisted. "Is that what you're going to do to me too—when it's my turn to go?"

Draco's eyes glinted. "No. Although it would be fitting. We were never much for goodbyes, as I recall."

She looked down and fidgeted with her hands. "You should have let her say goodbye. A few more minutes wouldn't have hurt. Now she's going to feel—"

"I'm aware of how it feels to lose someone without saying goodbye, Granger!" His knuckles were white and his jaw clenched as he snarled the words.

It was like being kicked in the stomach. She felt herself pale.

Draco's eyes burned as he glared at her with all his bitter rage. Then he blinked, and the emotions vanished behind his occlumency walls.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. Just—tell her I'm sorry," he said in a clipped voice.

Hermione swallowed bitterly as she nodded. She looked down at her hands, trying to think of something else to talk about.

"I didn't know you were in contact with Ginny," she finally said.

Draco shrugged and appeared relieved by the change of subject. "Not much. I used to visit on occasion, mainly to ensure she hadn't tried to run off." He raised an eyebrow. "She tried to cut my throat with a steak knife when I told her the Order had lost." He gave Hermione a pointed look. "Shockingly enough, it was rather difficult to make her believe I was keeping her locked in a safe house for her protection."

Hermione's eyes dropped away. She hadn't considered how fraught a situation it would have been for Draco to be the one informing Ginny that the war had been lost and her entire family killed. Or how he would have ever managed to convince her that he was trustworthy.

"Once the Dark Lord restricted me from leaving Britain without permission, we primarily used a scroll with a protean charm for occasional communication. Topsy was with her, helping her care for James until you were assigned to me. Ginny was aware that you'd finally been found, and that the plan was for you to join her. I sent her updates from time to time about your memory loss and what condition you were in, so she'd know what to expect. So... she's—aware that you've become pregnant."

Draco looked down and straightened the cufflinks on his shirt.

Hermione studied him for a moment. "What?"

Draco looked up from his sleeve, and his expression closed. "Well, she was informed of the context in which you were being sent here to the manor, unfortunately she—she assumed I had greater ability to subvert instructions and protect you than I did. She only realised that it wasn't the case when I sent word that you were pregnant." His jaw twitched minutely. "Suffice to say, the begrudging tolerance she'd developed up to that point has permanently gone now."

He cleared his throat. "I hadn't anticipated the Dark Lord knowing about you when I was trying to get you out of Europe. Aside from the safehouse in Denmark, most of the escape routes in place weren't feasible. I used Kreacher to establish a secondary portkey route that Ginny could use, but it wasn't completed until the end of April." He cocked his head to the side. "Muggle aeroplanes were an idea I had, but the Muggle Prime Minister has been collaborating closely with the Ministry. Polyjuicing you as a Muggle was an option, but not once you were pregnant, and there were variables I wouldn't have been able to control for in the Muggle world..."

He abruptly seemed to realise he was rambling and cut himself off. "So—portkeys were the best I could do."

Hermione stared up at him.

"I have to say, you've ended up being quite expensive, Granger."

There was a reason why international portkey travel was restricted. Intercontinental portkey displacement could drop a Wizard into outer-space if incorrectly calculated. There was elaborate and specialized expertise necessary for intercontinental portkey creation, to the extent that most were government sponsored and owned in order to be affordable.

Hermione knew because the Order had pursued the idea of obtaining a portkey to Australia or Canada in order to evacuate the children and refugees. Legally purchased, it would have used an eighth of Harry's vault. On the black market, the price would have easily been double or triple.

"It won't be as untraceable as the route with Severus—" Draco was saying. He'd caught her hand in his, and one of his fingers slipped along her inner-wrist and twitched at the manacle locked there, "—you should use the extra time to regain more weight and build up your stamina."

She furrowed her eyebrows as she stared up at him. "How will you get the manacles off without Severus?"

Draco gave a dry laugh. "Removing them was never really an obstacle. The difficulty has always been getting you safely out of Europe immediately afterwards. There are plenty of Death Eaters who will do anything they're told once you find the right pressure point."

Hermione nodded stiffly. "How long—until Ginny comes?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows and then quirked one up as he calculated. "The house-elves will have to apparate to the safe-house by a series of jumps since they can't use portkeys. It takes more than a week to apparate to the safe house. Kreacher will escort Ginny back and show her the route. It's a series of concealed portkeys rather than one. The margin for error is smaller when the distance is reduced. She'll probably arrive in three weeks, depending on how she handles portkey travel."

More time , whispered Hermione's desperate, greedy heart, but the instant it occurred to her, the guilt struck her.

Now that she was no longer primarily dreading him, the reality of Severus' death was slowly washing over her.

Severus, her mentor. Her colleague. One of the few people she had regarded as having truly known her. He'd been chained to the war even longer than Hermione and Draco. She'd often wondered what the reason was for his switch in allegiance.

Whatever it had been, the secret died with him.

Draco went and dropped into the chair.

"Did you—know Severus well?" she asked.

He looked up at her. His eyes were cool grey, but a thin smile played at the corner of his mouth. "No. He didn't like me."

Hermione looked down. "I'm sorry."

"When he wasn't giving me orders, he spent most of his time telling me that I didn't deserve to have someone like you care about me; that you were worth ten of me." He raised an eyebrow. "When it wasn't Severus saying it, it was Ginny; although she placed the number somewhat higher."

Draco's availability abruptly ended with Severus' death. He was called away less than an hour later. Hermione didn't see him until he arrived briefly the next afternoon in order to introduce Hermione to Topsy's replacement.

Bobbin was a younger elf. Hermione wasn't sure how old any of the elves were, but Topsy had easily been older than Kreacher, and Bobbin seemed to be about the age Dobby had been. As Hermione studied her, she realised she'd seen her before. Bobbin was the elf Astoria had sent when Hermione had first arrived at the manor.

Bobbin gave a low curtsy. "Bobbin will be doing her best."

"Tell Bobbin anything you want. She's aware of the restrictions you have." Draco's mind was clearly elsewhere. He walked away without a word.

Hermione didn't see Draco again for more than a day.

She forced herself to eat even though it made her stress nausea worse.

She started working out again.

A longer, harder journey. Multiple portkeys while pregnant.

The pregnancy guide had included a long section explaining the risks of displacement transport during pregnancy. Portkeys were preferable to apparition, but either form tended to make witches violently ill and could cause contractions or premature labour. A potion to settle the stomach and a dose of Calming Draught beforehand were strongly recommended if the use of a portkey was necessary.

Hermione had no idea how she'd handle portkeying. In a worst case scenario, repeatedly portkeying could send her into premature labour.

If she lost the baby in the process of escaping without Draco, she thought she would probably die.

It might make a difference if she were less physically fragile.

She started with basic lunges and crunches. She couldn't push herself off the floor to do a push-up, but she made herself begin doing regular repetitions of everything she could manage.

Three weeks. She had three weeks to come up with something better than Draco's new plan.

She just needed to get his Dark Mark off. If she could get it off, there would be numerous methods of escape available to them.

If they killed Voldemort, the Dark Mark would vanish. Potentially so would the only existing mechanism for removing the manacles. The manacles needed the Dark Marks to activate the release mechanism; without marked Death Eaters, everyone manacled might wait years before a way of overriding or recreating Voldemort's Dark Mark was invented.

It might save Draco though. However, Hermione had no idea how to go about it. Draco refused to discuss any ideas that endangered her or ran the risk of his cover being blown before her manacles were removed.

She didn't even know where Voldemort's castle was.

If she could just get Draco's mark off.

The anniversary celebration came, and the manor sat silent. Hermione spent the day reading, gnawing her fingernails to the quick, and doing exercise repetitions when she felt so anxious she thought she might start panicking. Draco had left the previous afternoon and not returned, that was all Bobbin knew.

Lucius had been back to the manor, apparently no worse off for having murdered Astoria.

Hermione knew because early in the morning she saw him standing in the path outside her window, staring up at the North Wing.

She'd ducked quickly out of sight.

The day of the anniversary passed without event for Hermione. Her room felt claustrophobic, as though she were going to suffocate while waiting there.

It was the middle of the night when Draco abruptly appeared in the room next to her door.

He stalked across the room and nearly collapsed on top of her as he wrapped his arms around her waist and dropped his forehead on her shoulder.

Hermione's spine bowed slightly as she held him up. The spent dark magic hanging off him was almost enough to make her gag.

"Are you alright? What's wrong? Has something happened?" she asked, her voice frantic as she ran her fingers over him trying to find an injury.

"Mmmfine." His voice was muffled in her robes. "I'm just tired."

He lifted his head and straightened as he stared down at her. "It was a long day."

"Sit down." She pulled him over to the bed, and he sat heavily on the edge of it. She studied him. He looked frayed. "What happened?"

He stared up at her, his expression was drained but there was a sort of cold triumph in his eyes. "The Dark Lord didn't take news regarding Romania well and over-exerted himself yesterday. He failed to appear at today's celebration." Draco tilted his head to the side, and the corner of his mouth twisted up into a smirk. "There's blood in the water. If anyone had doubts that he's weak—it's all but confirmed now. He's facing the end—even he knows it."

Hermione studied him. The light in her room was dim but he seemed ghastly pale, as though he'd been drained of colour. "But—?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Well—I'm his supposed successor. I had to fill both roles in his absence." The triumph in his expression faded into exhaustion. "It was a few more Killing Curses than I'd expected."

He suddenly looked young. A flicker of boyish vulnerability appeared for a moment. "I don't know—"

He cut himself off and was silent for several seconds.

"I'll be fine. I'm just tired," he finally said.

Hermione tangled her fingers in his hair. "Oh, Draco."

She wondered sometimes if there would be an eventual point when the Heart of Isis would fail. Surely it couldn't function indefinitely. It was already absorbing all the dark magic that should have been seeping out of Draco's runes, that combined with everything else Draco regularly did—

Hermione banished the thought. He had a far more immediate fate to escape before she needed to worry about Dark Magic corrosion killing him.

She brushed her fingers against his cheek. His skin was icy cold. In the moonlight, with his pale hair, skin, and eyes, he almost seemed like a ghost she was clinging to.

She was magicless. She had no spells or healing to offer.

"Go to sleep. You should sleep," she said. "You'll feel better if you can rest."

He gave a nod and slumped down.

She ran her fingers through his hair, twisting it around her fingers and watching it slip free. She traced along his knuckles, and then rubbed her hands against his, trying to impart some warmth from wherever it had leeched out of him. His hands spasmed from time to time when he moved his sleep.

He had such long fingers. In another life, he could have been a healer or a musician. He would have had the perfect hands for it.

Just another thing Voldemort ruined.

She sat beside him watching him sleep, feeling him grow slowly warmer.

He jerked abruptly awake, snatching his fingers away from hers and gripping his left forearm as he sat up. He pressed a kiss against her forehead and left without a word.

Hermione didn't see him again for two days. She read the Daily Prophet's recap of the anniversary celebration. Predictably Voldemort's absence was barely mentioned and heavily excused. There was more time devoted to Astoria's failure to appear.

Draco had killed seventy-five prisoners over the course of the day. Speeches and entertainment and then he was called up to kill traitors and resistance fighters. It had happened in three sets. Twenty-five prisoners all lined up for him to execute. Again. And Again.

It was an unbelievable quantity of killing curses.

The revolution in Romania was dismissed as a minor, local uprising, not related to Voldemort's regime at all.

Hermione read the paper through twice and then went back to her books, back to her exercise repetitions. While she was forcing herself to do any unbearable quantity of crunches on the floor, she refined and perfected the theory of the potion until it was flawless.

In another life, if she could have become a researcher, inventing the theory would have been a distinguishing success. Like the twelve uses of dragon's blood, even if four were entirely theory-based, the deepened understanding of magical theory would have been notable in its own right.

But Hermione didn't care about a theoretical potion. She needed a real one with ingredients she could actually obtain.

She had no idea how to get hold of phoenix tears.

Fawkes had vanished after Dumbledore's funeral at Hogwarts and never been seen again. Phoenix weren't even native to Europe.

The only two known domesticated phoenix in the last century were Fawkes and Sparky, the mascot of the New Zealand Quidditch team. Domestication had been more common a few hundred years before, but whatever the art of reliably earning a phoenix's loyalty was, it had been lost to history.

She lay in the middle of the floor, panting and thinking while she caught her breath. Her abdominals and legs were burning.

If Draco tried to run with her, they'd be hunted down. Voldemort could find him through the Dark Mark. They'd be hunted from refuge to refuge, and the travel would be more and more difficult for her as the pregnancy progressed. Assuming she didn't eventually miscarry from the stress of living on the run, there would later be a baby they were trying to flee with.

There was no place to run to. There would be few Wizarding countries powerful enough to deter Voldemort's pursuit that wouldn't immediately arrest Draco themselves. Draco might be collared, but he was one of the most dangerous Dark Wizards in history, and that fact had heavily emphasized in recent months.

It was as Lucius had said. Draco was Voldemort's hunting dog. He could utilise Draco better if he weren't so afraid of Draco usurping him.

"Why can't you travel alone now? Why are you restricted but not anyone else?" she'd asked Draco during one of the days before Severus had been killed.

He'd sighed and glanced away. "The Dark Lord began receiving reports that I was privately visiting the homes of Death Eaters and powerful allies. He assumed I was attempting to garner support in order to depose him. Leaving Britain again without express permission will be open treason, without exception."

"I travelled all over Europe. Death Eaters and allies with certain—reputations..."

Her throat had tightened. "It was because you were looking for me."

He'd just nodded.

Their attempts to hold onto each other had carved their hope for escape into a shard so narrow she sometimes wondered if she was imagining its existence.

No. She could save him, she was certain there was some way to do it, she just needed to figure out what it was. She'd never been a very good chess player. Even when she'd had occlumency, she'd never been able to stay detached about using people. That was where she and Draco diverged.

If she wanted to save Draco, she needed to be more ruthless. As ruthless as he was.

She sank back into thought, pacing in slow circles and geometric patterns around her room, until she felt an almost indescribable sensation occur in her lower abdomen. In some ways, it was not an actual sensation but a feeling that something had occurred.

Fluttering.

She froze and stared down at her stomach. There was the beginning of a small swell between the jut of her hip bones.

She almost forgot sometimes that she was pregnant. The fact felt too overwhelming to process in light of all the more immediate concerns she had. When focused on the immediate future, a pregnancy felt more like a medical diagnosis that she had to account for than a baby.

She had never planned to have children. When she'd been in school, motherhood had been an eventual goal so far removed from the present she'd barely contemplated it. Children, someday; after she'd graduated, and had a job, and found someone she'd consider a partner.

Then the war came, and having children then had felt almost criminal to Hermione.

Ginny had seen James as a promise and a beacon of hope, but to Hermione a child in a war was someone vulnerable; someone entirely helpless to protect themselves from the incalculable pain that existed. Selfish. Not worth the danger.

Get married. Have children.

She'd stopped expecting to ever have those things years ago when she'd kept secretively using more and more dark magic. She'd coldly smothered the idea when she gave her word to be a Death Eater's willing war prize. It was little more than fantasy by the time she'd become complicit in war crimes and eventually volunteered to coordinate and manage them.

She had meant it when she told Draco about the world she wanted but never expected to have a part in.

She didn't have any idea how to be a mother. None of the decisions she'd made in her life had entertained the idea of children. She wasn't sure if wanting to have a child wasn't just her desperate selfishness rearing its head.

"Poor little healer with no one to take care of. No one who needs you or wants you. You can't bear being alone. You don't know how to function. You need someone to love; you'll do anything for the people that let you love them."

Her jaw trembled as she looked down.

Maybe Draco had been right. Maybe that was what she was like. She'd always obstinately attached herself to those she'd thought might need her. Maybe she just wanted to keep the baby so she wouldn't be alone.

She pressed her fingers against her abdomen and stood unmoving for several seconds until she felt another flutter, quick as a heartbeat and then gone again.

"I'll take care of you," she whispered. "I'll do everything I can to be a good mum. There's a potion I can make when you're older. Then—then I'll be able to go outside with you sometimes. You won't be trapped with me. When you grow up and want to go, I'll let you go, I promise."

The doorknob abruptly rattled and then went still. Hermione started violently with surprise and then stood, pressing her hands against her chest as her heart pounded, staring at the door.

Nothing else happened.

She waited and waited, but her world had fallen silent again.

She crossed the room on her toes and rested her ear against the door.

Silent.

She couldn't hear even the faintest sound through the door, but she knew Draco had warded it.

Someone could be shouting on the other side, and she wouldn't know. The door didn't move again as she rested her hands against the wood and strained to hear.

It could be Lucius.

It was possible he was unwilling to wait six months for Draco to remarry and hoped by killing off the 'Mudblood whore,' he might accelerate the process.

Hermione stepped nervously away from the door but then hesitated. The way the door had shaken, it was almost as though someone had fallen against it.

She bit her lip and stepped back, pressing her ear more closely to the crack between the door and the frame.

She shouldn't.

She shouldn't.

Draco would tell her not to.

Her hand wrapped slowly around the knob, and she turned it as silently as she could, cracking the door open. She peered out, and her heart stopped.

Draco was lying face down on the floor. She flung the door open, rapidly glanced up and down the hall, and knelt down, dragging him into her room. She kicked the door shut as she rolled him onto his back and pressed her fingers against his pulse.

He was unconscious.

He was freezing cold. He was going into shock. His robes were shiny and smelled of rot. There were darkened silvery smears on his face. He was still breathing. She checked his eyes and found the pupils unevenly dilated.

She ran her hands over his shoulders and touched his face gently. "Draco? Draco...what happened to you?"

She started muttering curses under her breath. She was burning to have her magic back. The manacles around her wrists grew hot as she seethed over her impotence, kneeling over him, trying to guess what had been done. She ran her fingers along his arms and hands and felt the rigid knots and tearing caused by cruciatus. She could feel his heart racing in his chest.

"Bobbin!" she called sharply.

The elf popped into the room and gave a squeak of horror when her eyes landed on Draco.

"Who's Draco's healer?" Hermione asked. The elf stared blankly at Hermione. "Who does he call when he comes back hurt?"

Bobbin looked down at her hands. "Bobbin is not knowing. Bobbin is mostly being in the kitchens and cleaning. The Master is not calling Bobbin when he is being hurt. Only Topsy or Kreacher."

Hermione looked down in frustration and drew a deep breath before looking back up. "Do you know where he keeps his medical supplies? Healing potions and things like that?"

Bobbin brightened and nodded eagerly.

"Good," Hermione said in a tight voice. "Bring me pain relief potions then. Every variety you have. And any other medical supplies you have access to. Bring them all here so I know what I have to work with."

Bobbin vanished with a loud pop, and Draco twitched.

Hermione looked down at him.

He was dazedly staring up towards her, his eyes were unfocused, without any signs of recognition.

"Draco?"

He blinked. "Granger?"

He looked entirely bewildered.

"Draco—" she touched him gently on the cheek and held her voice steady. Calming. "What did he do to you? How long were you crucio'd?"

He furrowed his eyebrows and squinted. "Where are we?"

He kept blinking as though he were trying to see in the dark.

Hermione's throat tightened. "We're—we're in my room. I think you must have apparated and passed out just outside my door."

His expression twisted. His pupils were blown wide. He shook his head, and a low groan escaped him. "I didn't mean to come here."

Hermione's eyes started burning, and she brushed his forehead lightly with her fingertips.

"I know—" Her throat caught slightly.

Draco twitched at the sound, and his eyebrows knitted together. "Are you alright? I can't—Are you breathing?"

He reached up blindly in the direction of her voice, and his hand grazed her cheek.

Hermione caught his hand in hers and pressed her face into his palm, kissing it. "I'm fine. I'm a healer, remember? It's not the first time you've collapsed into my arms."

She cleared her throat and forced herself to speak firmly. "Now, I need you to answer my questions. Draco, what did he do? Tell me, what did he do to you?"

Draco was silent for a moment and then sighed. "He says I'm at fault me for the spreading insurgency—if I were more competent, I'd be containing it. He decided I was due to offer proof of loyalty. A few hours of legilimency, then—it occurred to him that I'm an occlumens." He snorted. "He had—someone crucio me while he checked again."

He swallowed. "Fortunately he was tired by then. It didn't last so long the second time." A twisted smile ghosted across his lips. "As a reward for proving my continued loyalty, I've been given the rest of the week off, so—at least there's that."

His attempt to sound reassuring and sarcastic made it worse.

Hermione's hands began shaking as she fought off a sense of hysteria. Just breathe. Just breathe. You can't panic right now, he'll hurt himself more if he thinks you're going to have a seizure.

Draco squinted and turned his head, as though he were trying to glance around her room. "It's not night yet, is it? I don't think I can see." He pressed the back of his hand against his eyes. "That's new."

Hermione started going through Draco's robes, burning her fingertips as she kept pulling out weapons concealed in the dozens pockets lining his robes. Finally her hand closed around a familiar leather case, and she pulled it out.

She flipped open the healing kit and jerked out the vial of Calming Draught. She bit the cork out with her teeth, tilting Draco's head up onto her lap as she held the vial to his lips.

"Draught of Peace. It will slow your heart rate and ease the way your muscles are spasming."

She waited, running her fingers through his hair and talking to him so he'd stay calm and lucid. She felt the potion take effect as his body relaxed onto her lap.

She picked up his right arm and pulled his wand out, slipping its handle into his left hand, and holding it in place so that his spasming fingers wouldn't drop it.

"Draco," she kept her voice carefully steady. "I need you to cast a diagnostic for me. Can you try? I'll help with the wand motion, but it has to be your magic."

It was a diagnostic targeted at his brain and nervous system, and it took six tries before the spell would hold.

She studied it quietly for several minutes. "The legilimency strained your optic nerves, that's why your eyes aren't working. It's not permanent. You just need to rest so it can heal. Your—your nerve damage from the torture is—" her jaw trembled, and she swallowed. "He really shouldn't keep torturing you."

Draco snorted and started to reply, but his entire body spasmed. He didn't make a sound but pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white.

There was a pop and Bobbin appeared, surrounded by potions and medical supplies.

Hermione looked up at the elf. "Can you levitate him onto the bed for me? He's too heavy for me to lift. And take his clothes off, his robes are filthy."

"Bobbin can." The elf snapped her fingers and floated Draco carefully over towards the bed.

Hermione went over and started sorting through all the supplies. They were all labeled, many of them in a sharp, spiky script she knew had been Severus'.

She selected four potions and went back to Draco. Bobbin had removed his clothes, cleaned Draco's face, and tucked him into the bed.

Hermione leaned over him, studying his eyes and taking note of all the physical symptoms she could detect. He was ghastly pale, and his chest kept hitching as he tried to breathe in a way that wasn't painful. She rested a hand against his forehead.

"You should have had a pain relief potion with you," she said after a moment. "You were the one who told me not to apparate after legilimency without taking a pain relief potion first. You always had one for me."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

She looked down and unstoppered one of the vials she'd brought over, pressing it into his hand. He downed it with a grimace.

She handed him the next potion. "I should have included one in your healing kit. I ran out of space. I should have put in a pain potion instead of Murtlap Essence."

Draco blinked and she could tell he was trying to force his eyes to focus on her as she handed him the third potion.

She picked up his empty hand and pressed it against her cheek. "You already know what I look like, rest your eyes. Your head will hurt less if you keep them closed."

He obstinately narrowed them, trying to make out her face for a moment longer before obeying.

She watched as some of the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth slowly faded and his breathing gradually evened.

When she was sure the potions had taken effect, she moved on. "Who's your healer? Who treats you after he tortures you? You need to call them. You're not going to be able to move for weeks without treatment."

Draco's face remained neutral, but his fingers twitched. Hermione felt her chest tighten after he failed to answer for several seconds.

"Draco—"

"I deal with it myself unless it's life-threatening," he finally said, the words were so low they were almost under his breath. He didn't open his eyes. "Severus used to help occasionally—when it was something I didn't know how to heal—but otherwise—it's my job."

Hermione stared at him in horror. Draco cracked an eye open and squinted at her before snorting.

He raised one eyebrow and closed his eyes again, his expression tightening. "You may recall you once put a rather rare stone into my heart. It may not show in diagnostics, but I have to avoid healers as much as I can. If the Dark Lord began receiving repeated reports that I'm physically pristine despite having had Dark Runes carved into my back for three years, he'd have more than a few questions. I'd probably end up with my heart cut out. When it's something life-threatening, I call a healer and obliviate them afterwards, but half the healers in England would be addled at this point if I called and obliviated one every time I was crucio'd."

Hermione felt as though he'd gutted her. "I didn't—I didn't realise."

"It's fine, Granger." He didn't open his eyes but still waved her off with his free hand. The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I've been told several times now that I have a natural talent for healing."

Her jaw kept trembling, and she ground her teeth together for a moment before she slipped his wand into his fingers. "Can—can you do the spell for me then?"

He muttered the spells while she guided his fingers, tapping across the pressure points of his right hand and up his forearm. His fingers spasmed repeatedly as she helped him send the mild vibrations into the drawn muscles, easing the tension.

His fingers finally fell open after several minutes, and she lay his wand aside. She picked up his right hand and began trying to fix all the damage. Her fingers began cramping, and she ignored it and kept working until his hand stopped twitching and would lay still.

She picked up the last potion she'd brought over and poured a small amount of the embrocation onto her palm. Starting at the ball of his thumb, she began rubbing it in gently, working down to his wrist and forearm and then up to his shoulders. The potion was warm and made her skin tingle as she massaged it into his skin, trying to repair all the rigid knots and torn muscles.

When she looked up after finishing both arms, Draco was asleep, his eyebrows tightly furrowed.

She studied him for several seconds before reaching out and brushing her fingertip lightly between his eyes, trying to banish the tension.

Without Draco to cast the spells, trying to massage away the knots and tremors took longer. She continued anyway.

Without him awake, she could safely cry while she worked.

He slept for nearly forty-eight hours. Hermione stayed with him almost the entire time. His expression relaxed when she was in bed beside him, talking to him quietly about anything that came to mind, running her fingers through his hair and working on his muscle damage. She nearly depleted his entire supply of embrocation potions.

When she became too restless to sit beside him, she would quietly pace. She looked out the window the next morning and spotted Lucius walking the length of the North Wing as though he were trying to measure it in paces. He looked up, and their eyes met.

Hermione's blood ran cold. She met his gaze for only a moment before shrinking back from sight.

Everytime Draco woke, Hermione checked his eyes and had him perform basic healing spells for her. He kept dozing until Bobbin came to report that Lucius was at Draco's door and threatening to break it down if he didn't see Draco.

Draco forced himself up. "How long have I been here? I was only given three days off. Bobbin, bring me a full set of robes."

Hermione tried to hold him back. "Draco, wait. Your eyes still haven't recovered. You still have half a day. You need to rest for as long as possible."

He rolled his eyes and stood up stiffly as Bobbin popped back in with a pile of robes. "That's what I keep pain relief for."

He dressed and made his way over to all the potions Bobbin had brought. He squinted as he held them a few inches from his face, trying to read the labels. He knocked back five of them in quick succession, ignoring Hermione's objections that certain types of pain relief shouldn't be combined.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm well-versed in pain relief. I can almost guarantee it won't be the thing that kills me."

He blinked repeatedly and shook his head.

Hermione could tell he still couldn't see reliably. "Be careful, Draco."

He smiled briefly as he met her eyes. "I'll be fine."

She still caught the tensed, braced expression on his face the split second before he apparated.

Bobbin came a few hours later and took away all the medical supplies. Master Draco was fine, she said while avoiding Hermione's eyes, he just wanted to inventory which potions Hermione had used.

Hermione was left alone to occupy herself in her cage, worrying and wondering what was happening beyond her bedroom door.