Chapter 1: Reasons
Chapter Text
Reasons
Her hair was the first thing that Draco noticed about her.
Her golden brown locks seemed a bit dull in the dim lighting of the room. It had grown since the first time he had seen her. Though it was still as untamed as he remembered, curls draped over the pillow in a wild nest of ringlets.
He had always wondered how her hair felt when it was in its prime; back during their time at Hogwarts. He let his curiosity get the best of him at the moment and lifted a few curls into his hand. The brittle strands slipped through his fingers, coarse and soft as sand. He wondered if it would still feel the same after a good wash and brushing.
He chuckled darkly at his train of thought. The upkeep of her hair was probably the least of her worries.
The low beeping of the monitors proved that she was alive even though she looked the very image of death. There was a respirator attached to her that forced her chest to move in a way that looked like a sick parody of breathing. She had many tubes and wires that were assisting in her artificial existence, making her appear even more frail in the small bed. If it wasn’t for her hair, Draco probably wouldn’t have even recognized her.
She didn’t look like Hermione Granger anymore.
She didn’t look like Hogwarts' very own Golden Girl, the Brightest Witch of her Age. She didn’t look like the revered member of the Golden Trio that was constantly featured in the Daily Prophet. There was nothing that resembled a brave and strong Gryffindor, a soldier of the Order, in the person that was in front of him.
She looked vulnerable…. And weak. So very, very weak.
He had stumbled upon her by accident the first time he saw her several months back. The war was still active during the time, and Draco had suffered a serious injury while on one of his assigned Death Eater missions. He only came to this safe house because it was the closest to him at the time. He only wanted to be healed quickly and to be back on his merry way.
It was barely a glimpse through a closing door, but Draco Malfoy was nothing if not observant. In the three seconds it took for one of the healers to close the door to the room that contained her, he registered the individual that was hooked up to monitors and machines on the small bed. It wasn’t the first time that the deranged healers that were assigned to this safe house used people as guinea pigs for their research, so Draco initially didn’t pay it no mind.
But then the healers started to ask him weird questions about his time at Hogwarts. The questions ranged from many different topics, as if to throw him off to the core reason for them in the first place. But Draco wasn’t a fool. He knew this had something to do with the Order; specifically the Golden Trio. Draco was the only one in the Dark Lord’s army who knew them personally. He also knew this line of questioning had everything to do with that one room they all seemed so intent on keeping a secret. It was irritation more than curiosity that motivated him to investigate what they were all up to.
He didn’t recognize her at first. The Brightest Witch of Her Age was reduced to nothing but skin and bone and was completely unresponsive to outside stimulus. Her unruly curls tugged at his memory and caused him to wonder. It was when he read the chart that was next to her bed that it all sunk in for him. The person in front of him was Hermione Granger. Death Eaters had captured one third of the infamous Golden Trio. The Dark Lord had a member of the Order; an important member of the Order, as his prisoner.
A quick scan of her charts showed that she had been there for quite some time. Draco was shocked that he hadn’t been made aware of this at all.
Surely, Voldemort would’ve made an example out of her. He had one of the key members of the resistance as his prisoner. A Mudblood, nonetheless. Why wasn’t he parading her around for the world to see? Wouldn’t this have been a way to convince the masses that he was going to win the war? Wouldn’t her torture be a way to keep the other Mudbloods in line? She was the most important one of their kind, after all. Wouldn’t she have been the bargaining chip used in getting Harry Potter to abide by the Dark Lord’s demands?
Speaking of Potter, why hadn’t he heard anything from his side as well? Did the Order even care that she was missing? Did they assume her to be dead? Surely, Draco would’ve heard about it if they did. Hermione Granger would’ve been the perfect martyr for them. The Golden Girl, one third of the Golden Trio, and a Mudblood. They would’ve used her death to gain even more sympathy for their cause. Every life that the Order had lost so far was announced to the world.
They sure made a spectacle of Ron Weasley’s death.
And yet, Draco hadn’t heard a peep about Hermione Granger.
Not that any of this even mattered to him at the time. He had more pressing concerns to deal with. The war was almost at its end. Many lives were lost from both sides, and the Dark Lord was becoming more and more unstable with his moods. Draco had lost count of how many times he and his mother were subjected to a Cruciatus torture session at Voldemort’s hands for even the slightest of offenses. The dark mark on Draco’s arm tingled at the memory of his mother’s screams.
The only thing that Draco was concerned about at that time was the survival of his mother, and himself. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the witch who was laying on the bed in front of him. When he walked out of the room that first time he saw her, he had no intentions of ever returning.
He was not Hermione Granger’s hero. That was Potter’s job.
So why am I here now?
He wished that he had a good answer for that.
The war had ended three months prior. The Dark Lord was defeated and Harry Potter was now the wizarding world’s prized hero. The Boy Who Lived was now The Boy Who Won. But at what cost? So many lives were lost. Fear and sadness were still felt by many. The wounds left behind from this war would be felt for generations to come. Though, Draco guessed this outcome was better than whatever fate the world would’ve been dealt had Voldemort won.
He couldn’t give a rat’s arse either way. He didn’t have any reason left to fight – any reason to continue in whatever world Harry Potter’s victory brought. Draco had lost his mother to this war. Her life was taken by the very same person who she was fighting for.
The Dark Lord had ordered her death after she failed her last mission. Draco’s own father carried out the task of administering the killing curse that took her life. Lucius Malfoy was one of The Dark Lord’s most loyal Death Eaters, his right hand man. He didn’t even blink before killing his own wife – the mother of his only child. In fact, he seemed glad to finally be rid of such a burden. Draco was angry. Revenge was all that fueled him now – all that guided him.
It was only after the war was over that Draco had heard anything about Hermione Granger.
The Order had believed that she was dead after being missing for almost two years. They held a memorial for all of their fallen members shortly after Potter defeated Voldemort. Granger was featured alongside the Weasel and the many other lives their side lost. To the world, Hermione Granger was remembered as everything that she once was. The Brightest Witch of Her Age, the Golden Girl – a brave soldier in the fight against the dark side. She was mourned as a war hero.
And here she was, laying in front of him, very much alive.
Draco had returned to this safe house about three months ago in his quest to locate his father once The Dark Lord was defeated. He believed that this would be the first place that Lucius Malfoy would go. The world believed that Hermione Granger was dead. Lucius, and many other high ranking Death Eaters, knew that she wasn’t. They knew she was here. She would’ve been the best way for any of them to get a pardon for their crimes.
If they wanted a pardon, that was.
Draco had heard that his father was leading a group of Death Eaters to rebel in The Dark Lord’s memory. Hermione Granger would’ve made the perfect negotiating tool for their other demands.
And as he predicted, many of them had certainly tried to come for her. After making swift work of the small number of healers that were still at this safe house, Draco made camp in one of the rooms and lied in waiting for his father. Any time a Death Eater had tried to come for Hermione Granger, he made swift work of them as well. He had taken 11 lives in the three months he had been there. None of those deaths eased the pain that was left by his mother’s passing.
He wanted them all to burn. He needed to face his father.
He hardly slept anymore, never more than three hours at a time. Every time he closed his eyes he saw nothing but death. His mother’s screams echoed in his mind whether he was asleep or not, but mostly in his dreams. His body ached from the intensive training he put himself through to prepare himself for when he faced his father, and yet he still couldn’t find the much needed rest that he needed.
In the last three months, the nightmares had become so intense that it was getting harder and harder to discern reality from memory. So instead of finding sleep, Draco started to wander aimlessly through the safe house at night. His restless pacing inevitably led him here, to her room.
Draco silently crossed the room and lowered himself to sit on the bed, as he’d done many times before, and just stared at her. The first time he did this he felt nothing but hate and envy for the pitiful frail creature that was once the brave and bright Hermione Granger. He hated that even in her supposed death, she was still remembered and cherished by so many. She was revered. She was mourned. Her face was plastered in The Daily Prophet every other day, keeping her memory very much alive.
Narcissa Malfoy wasn’t mentioned at all in The Daily Prophet. No one even spoke his mother’s name - or even knew of her many sacrifices. And if they were to speak her name, she would be remembered as everything she wasn’t. An evil and loyal Death Eater.
He hated Granger because of this.
She wasn’t even dead, and yet she was given more than his mother was ever given. Even the Death Eater’s kept Hermione Granger in their memory, even if their reasons for it weren’t good. None of them spared a thought towards his mother anymore.
He was jealous that Granger was so important – so needed by everyone, even in her disgustingly weak state. He was even jealous that she could find rest so easily now when it continued to relentlessly evade him.
He had initially vowed that once his quest for revenge was over, he would walk out of the door and forget she ever existed. Even if she was remembered by many, he would make sure to be the one person who didn’t keep her memory alive. He would erase her existence completely from his life, just as many people have done for his mother. In fact, he would’ve started on this new quest to forget about Hermione Granger that very moment and continued with attempting to find sleep, if not for the fear of the lingering terrors that waited for him if he did.
So he stayed…
And he stared…
And he seethed….
Until he remembered that there was absolutely nothing peaceful about her unnatural slumber. Nothing at all. With fingers known to cause death and pain, Draco gently touched her temple, noting the steady flickering of her eyes behind closed lids.
She was dreaming, and had been dreaming for a very long time. The monitor above her flickered frantically with brainwave activity, measuring and detailing by minutes, hours, days… years.
She was trapped in an altered reality created in her mind, brought on by powerful Legillimency. The unrelenting demand on her brain interfered with her body’s normal functions, thus the need of the respirator.
He knew this was the work of The Dark Lord. There were only a small handful of people in the world who had the ability to do this curse. It was the consequence Voldemort gave to the people who tried to defend their mind from his intrusions. No one was skilled enough to block his Legillimens – and even though The Dark Lord knew this, he still took offense when people tried. So he would reward their efforts with trapping them in their own minds, in whatever sick reality he chose to create for them.
He would intrude on their past traumas and make them relive those moments over and over again. He would have them in a constant state of fear and pain, make them wish for death, grant them that wish in their mind, just to bring them back and start it all over again.
Everything would feel real to this person. Every smell, every taste, every broken bone, every death they went through felt as if it were happening to them in real life. Because to them, this was real life. They wouldn’t have the slightest clue that it was all in their head. To them, this was their new reality.
Draco knew this because he was subjected to this curse when he tried to block his mind from The Dark Lord one time. It was shortly after his mother’s passing. Voldemort wanted to infiltrate Draco’s mind to see where his loyalties were. Draco didn’t want him to see the many ways he pictured his father to be dead.
It was a mistake that Draco regretted until this very day.
He remembered the grin on his father’s face right before Voldemort completely altered his mind. One moment, Draco was kneeled before The Dark Lord with a wand pointed at him, the next moment he was in the courtyard watching his mother get tortured before dying over and over again. She would scream Draco’s name, his father would point his wand at her, and she would fall lifelessly to the ground. Over and over again.
The only thing that changed in these scenarios was the way that Draco would get tortured before dying himself, just to be brought back to witness it again over and over. One scenario, he would get all his bones crushed, feeling the pain of each one, before his skull was eventually crushed as well. In another scenario, he was stabbed multiple times until his heart gave out. One time he was thrown into a pit of fire to be burned alive. Draco endured this for what felt like months.
When The Dark Lord decided that Draco finally had enough and broke the curse, he realized that he had in fact only been under for about five minutes. Months had not passed, like how he felt in his mind. He was still kneeling in front of The Dark Lord, with his father grinning beside him.
Draco was completely terrified. He spent his time after that learning everything he could about that curse. He made sure that if it were to ever happen to him again, he would be able to break free from it.
And now, months later, it’s the memories from that curse that plagued his mind when he tried to find sleep. It had been three months since Voldemort had died, and he still had power over Draco. It made him sick to his stomach to think about.
He didn’t have the slightest idea what scenarios were going on in Granger’s mind at the moment, but he doubted it was anything pleasant. And to think, with Draco feeling like he endured that torture for months after only being under the curse for five minutes, he could only imagine how long Granger felt like she was dealing with her torment. Was it decades? Centuries? Milleniums?
It was then, that Draco couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit of peace knowing that she was fighting monsters in her sleep too. He used these thoughts of his as the reason why he continued to come to her room. He came, and he stared, and he meditated until the visions in his head surrendered to the steady beeps and whirs of the machines. It became far more therapeutic than any of the sedative potions that he found around the safe house.
Of course, that didn’t mean he owed her anything. She was never aware of his presence and didn’t have to be for him to take what he needed from her. He had no problem taking what he needed or wanted from anyone. He was his own master now – and until he was able to finally face his father, the world would bend to his will. Justice and mercy, so long denied him, were now his.
Nothing stood between him and his revenge anymore. He got rid of every single person who stood in his way of achieving it. There was no one left who was alive in this safe house… except her.
Draco couldn’t summon any single feeling of emotion for Granger. He couldn’t feel anything anymore. All he felt was his revenge. But for some reason, he had these invisible chains that were holding him, guiding him to her room, demanding something of him he didn’t understand.
She was as good as dead. Corpses couldn’t provide her with the care she needed. All he had to do was walk away and she would eventually slip into eternal slumber, a far more peaceful rest than the one she found now. He didn’t need her to be alive for his mission. As long as they thought she was alive, it worked all the same.
Yet, he lingered as he often did. His lingering would then turn into providing the basic level of care he knew to provide. Using his wand to change her bed pans, turn her body every now and then to avoid bed sores, a small healing charm here and there when he notices a bruise start to form.
He didn’t know why he was doing this, why he felt the need to. She was a burden, an irritating burden at that. He didn’t owe her anything. In fact, she owed him now that he was stuck as her… what? Her healer?
“What do you want from me?” His voice echoed in the darkness, deep and cold. Of course there was no reply. He didn’t expect one, but felt all the more frustrated because of it. She was becoming one more thing to keep him from focusing solely on his revenge.
He hated her.
Draco took his wand out from his sleeve and placed the tip of it at her temple. After muttering a few words, he shattered the complicated curse with surprising ease. Her brainwaves fluctuated wildly for a moment before sinking into a steady, even flow.
Draco had always been a fast learner. He knew he could’ve broken the curse that she was under months ago. He didn’t think too long about why he hadn’t.
What did it feel like to be trapped in an altered reality for almost two years? Did she know it wasn’t real by now?
He didn’t care.
He had to put an end to this once and for all.
Starting with the electrode attached to her right temple, he methodically unplugged all the wires until all the monitors save one fell silent and blank. Muggles and their inventions. They were always so creative. When the last wire was unplugged and fell from his fingers, he sat back and listened to the steady beat of her heart on the only machine he kept plugged in, waiting for the little blip to stress or flat line.
Surely, by now her body had forgotten how to function on its own. He would end her existence swiftly and painlessly. Thus, making his life a whole lot easier.
The deathly silence dragged on for so long that he jumped when heard the sound of her breathing in sharply.
Draco stared at Granger with wide eyes as he watched her choke on the respirator. His hands took on a mind of their own as he pulled the tube free. He followed that action by removing the rest of the tubes and IVs from her body. He didn’t even use his wand, even when he found himself wrapping a bandage on her puncture wounds from the IVs.
That was…. shocking.
She shocked him, which was a surprise in itself. Nothing shocked him anymore. Her breathing calmed considerably by the time he was done playing the role of her healer once again. Her appearance was that of a corpse but even still she struggled to live.
Some people just don’t know how to die.
Potter must’ve invented some type of immortality potion and had given her some, being The Boy Who Lived and all that.
Too bad he didn’t give some to the Weasel, as well.
Pulling a blanket off the bed, Draco wrapped it securely around her frail body and lifted her into his arms. Just like that, Draco had thrown a wrench into his well calculated plan of revenge. He couldn’t keep her here now – now that he had unplugged and unhooked everything that was once keeping her alive. He hadn’t had the slightest clue what went where and didn’t want to even try. He had to bring her somewhere where she could be cared for – by people who weren't him.
Limp as a rag doll, she folded into his embrace and he felt he could snap her in two with one hand. Draco frowned down at her. Perhaps it would be better to just kill her now instead of letting her struggle. They were currently somewhere in the outskirts of Russia, which was obviously very far from London. He knew he couldn’t trust her care in the hands of anyone other than Potter or the Ministry, his efforts would’ve gone to waste. But he didn’t have a portkey on him, and he could only Apparate so far without alerting people of his movements.
He hissed in annoyance as he quickly sifted through his options. He carried her into the next room and laid her on one of the exam tables. If he was going to have to hole up somewhere for a while, he was going to need supplies. And if she happened to die while he was putting them together… so be it.
Bandages, food, potions, muggle medicine, a few articles of clothing and an extra blanket later, the stubborn Gryffindor witch was still alive. He even walked as slowly as possible and took the long way around the safe house to gather his materials. Hell, he even used his hands to pack everything into his small, magically extended pouch – as opposed to using his wand. But clearly, she had no intention of relinquishing her white-knuckled grip on life.
Deciding he had dawdled long enough, Draco placed his pouch in his pocket and secured his wand before he scooped her back up in his arms. He watched her steady breathing with narrowed eyes as he made his way out of the safe house.
Even now, he should just walk away and let the forest claim her. She would need extensive care if she were to make it. Having been fed intravenously for nearly two years, it was unlikely she would be able to tolerate solid food and it could be months before she was travel ready. He let out another hiss in annoyance.
After that, she would have to go through months of both physical and mental therapy. Neither of those were even guaranteed to yield results. For all he knew, she could end up unable to move and mind crazy from Voldemort’s curse. What kind of life would that be? He should just put her out of her misery now before it gets out of hand.
And yet… he couldn’t.
He knew he couldn’t.
She had chosen to fight for her life.
Even when he tried to take that choice away from her just moments before, her spirit had fought against him. Even after nearly two years of living in Voldemort’s alternate reality of what could only consist of pain and torture, she had chosen to continue.
Whether she was weakened or not, Hermione Granger was still a stubborn chit. But nonetheless, in Draco’s eyes, she had earned her right to at least try to give living her life another go, however hard her life would be from now on. Who was he to get in between Granger and whatever fate lay in wait for her?
Draco made his way to the Apparation point, before he was brought to a sudden stand still. He watched her with widening eyes as she moved slightly in his arms. Brown eyes fluttered open, dull and empty. Draco held his breath. Her eyes flickered across his face before slipping closed once more – and he released his breath in relief. He wasn’t exactly ready to deal with a panicked Granger just yet.
Then again, would she even know the difference between reality and dreams at this point? Would she recognize him? Fear him? Did she even know who she was anymore?
How the hell did I get myself into this bloody mess?
Growling deep in his throat, Draco seriously started to question his own sanity.
“Why couldn’t you just die, Granger?”
He stared at her for a few more seconds before he Disapparated them both from the safe house.
Chapter Text
Dreams
Hermione felt so very warm. At least, she thought she did. She couldn’t be certain if it was genuine warmth or another inducement of the dreamscape she was forever trapped in.
There were memories of laughter and smiles, blue eyes, soft red hair… They contrasted sharply with everything else and she clung to them, knowing in some distant part of her mind and heart they were the only things she could trust, the only things that felt real.
Because everything else was too horrible to be real.
There were faces of people she knew well, but their words were not the same, their expressions false. And there were enemies, so many enemies. She watched her loved ones die before her so many times that she didn’t know if she could even save them anymore. She felt herself die so many times, and yet it all was always just as painful as the first time. She was so far beyond exhaustion that she could no longer feel her own body move sometimes, and yet it stayed in constant motion. It felt as though she never slept, but perhaps she had and just couldn’t remember.
A part of her knew this wasn’t real, be it instinct or just a nagging suspicion. It was just the way that her mind worked. She questioned everything. And even though she could feel herself dying, and experience her loved ones dying, she still wondered if this was reality or a figment of her imagination – because she was always brought right back.
She wondered if this actually was real and that she was just traveling through time. Was there a Time Turner somewhere that she needed to find? To fix? Did that explain her returning after death? Her wand worked, she was able to do magic. Surely, this meant that this was reality, right?
And then that other place she escaped to when it became too much, the place with sunshine, and books, and blue eyes with soft red hair. That place had to be a dream, right? She wasn’t able to use her wand there. There was no magic there. But she was able to escape from her horrors there.
She only ever returned to the reality with all the battles when she wanted to try to change its ending again – leaving again when the pain became too much. She spent a lot of time in her happy place, instead. She wondered if this happy place was just another way that her mind tried to protect itself from her harsh reality.
Or was this all just one very bad dream?
She hoped she would wake from it soon.
The food she ate left her empty. The water she drank left her thirsty. The warmth she sought was insubstantial and fleeting because the growing chill was on the inside and she didn’t know how to ward it off.
When she first discovered that she had no physical limitations, a strange sense of confidence overtook her and she fought with a ferocity that would startle all who knew her.
It was all meaningless at the end, though. Her enemies always won. Her loved ones always died. She always died.
But Merlin, did she try.
Eventually, she became exhausted from it all. How long had it been? Years? Hermione didn’t know anymore. And she didn’t know if she had it in her to fight anymore, as well.
She spent most of her time in the happy place.
She wanted to look into those blue eyes again, feel that soft red hair, hear him tell her that everything was going to be all right – that she was safe, because she was with him. She wanted to hear his laugh ring like crystal bells across the lake water. She wanted to feel his touch on her skin as he hugged her. She wanted to feel alive, to feel like this place – the happy place, was real.
But she knew that it wasn’t. Because in the other reality, she watched him die so many, many times. And a part of her knew that, out of everything else, that fact was true. She knew he wasn’t alive, that he couldn’t be alive… she had known for quite some time now.
And as more time continued to pass between her jumping between these two realities, she began to wonder if there was anything left of her to save.
Was she even alive anymore? Was this some type of purgatory?
Wouldn’t she know if she died – really died, though?
Different versions of her own voice spoke to her from within her own mind. Sometimes the voice was kind and strong, telling her to hold on, to believe that someone would come save her. Other times the voice was soft and persuasive, telling her she was alone and must fight alone if she ever wanted to be free. She didn’t know what part of herself to believe or if she should believe either of them at all.
It wasn’t real.
None of this was real.
Perhaps even she wasn’t real.
Sometimes she was tempted to leave her happy place and go back to that other reality just so she could wave her white flag – to die repeatedly. She wondered how many deaths it would take for it to all be over. Was someone keeping track somewhere? If this was purgatory, was she supposed to experience death a certain number of times before she was able to pass on fully?
She just wanted to finally end the confusion, fear and pain once and for all. But that was when the kind version of her voice became the loudest, and it prevented her from acting on those thoughts.
Every day was the same and even though she was in the happy place, in the arms of her former lover, she always felt like she was running. From what or toward what, she didn’t know.
And then one day it all just stopped.
She felt like she finally reached the end of her endurance and the world shattered before her eyes as darkness swept over her. She tried to fight it at first, fearing what it could mean. But after what felt like years and years of this state that she was in, the darkness beckoned so powerfully that she was helpless to resist.
Sinking into it, Hermione let out a smile.
Finally… I can rest…
Just when the town came into sight, it started to rain. Seriously pissed, Draco walked through the town and into the building once he finally reached his destination – too exhausted to Apparate inside.
After a full day of travel, only Apparating a few distances at a time to avoid detection, he finally made it to his family’s chateau in France. It was a home that his mother inherited, an heirloom of the Black family. This was always his mother’s escape plan for them – since his father didn’t know of its existence. And the only other people in the world from the Black family who knew of it were all dead now.
“Master Draco!” The house elf of the chateau, Pip, appeared in front of Draco once he was fully inside. “It’s been so long!” It was then that Pip realized that Draco was carrying someone in his arms. Pip’s expression grew nervous. “How can I be of service?”
“Blankets and soup.” Draco said after about a minute of silence. He couldn’t recall the last time he had an actual conversation with someone else. It sort of took him by surprise. “Bring it to the guest room at the end of the hall.”
“Yes, Master Draco.” Pip said before disappearing with a pop. Draco made it to the guest room before Pip reappeared with the said blankets. Pip disappeared once again shortly after to prepare the bowl of soup.
Draco placed the shivering burden he had in his arms in the bed before he set to unwrapping the blanket he had wrapped around her. The thickness of the blanket hadn’t protected her from the rain and he scowled at the thin hospital gown clinging to her scrawny frame.
Nothing but trouble.
Without a care for modesty, he peeled the wet material off her body and dried her with another blanket before tucking her into the futon and piling the rest of the dry blankets on top.
Pip returned once more with a bit of bread and some hot broth. With some effort, Draco managed to get a bit of broth between the witch’s chattering teeth, but no more than a few sips. She probably couldn’t have tolerated much more than that, so he finished the broth off with the bread himself before discarding his own sopping wet clothes in an untidy pile and crawling under the blankets beside her. They both needed warmth and he decided to let their body heat work in their favor.
Draco nearly yelped when his skin came in contact with ice.
No wonder she was shivering so badly. She was as cold as a corpse.
“I’ve put too much work into you for you to die now.” He growled at the unconscious witch, wrapping himself around her freezing body. The hot broth had helped to take some of the chill out of his own bones, but he wasn’t sure it was going to be enough now that he had an ice cube in his arms.
Glaring at the wall, he listened to her sporadic whimpers and tried to reorganize and firm his plans in mind.
What the hell was he doing?
And how far was he willing to go with this?
He wasn’t a patient man. He had waited too long for retribution and now was finally strong enough to take it. He knew his father probably wasn’t coming to the safe house any time soon – he hadn’t sent someone to retrieve Hermione in weeks. Lucius probably realized that it was a suicide mission after none of the Death Eaters he sent returned back to him. But that didn’t mean that Draco still couldn’t go locate him – find him himself, wherever he was hiding.
He debated on just leaving her here at the chateau in the care of Pip. But what the hell did a bloody house elf know about the care that Hermione would require? Wouldn’t she just die anyways? Then all of this work would’ve been for nothing. He was better off leaving her out in the forest.
He let out another annoyed sound at the failed idea.
He debated on taking her to wizarding London, to Potter, the very next day. He was close enough to Apparate there by tomorrow. He could just drop her off at the entrance to the Ministry and be on his merry way. But that plan came with it’s own complications. Draco was classified as a missing wizard – wanted for his crimes and connections to The Dark Lord. He couldn’t risk going to wizarding London now, even with Hermione as a possible pardon token.
His revenge meant everything to him. It was his only reason for living. He couldn’t jeopardize his chance at it by waltzing right into the Ministry’s arms without full assurances that they wouldn’t just throw him into Azkaban – Hermione or not. Hell, they might even blame him for her condition – think that he was the one who captured and tortured her like this.
No, that plan didn’t work. She would have to be better – healed a bit more, before he brought her back to wizarding London. If they saw that he had taken the time to take care of her, surely, they wouldn’t blame him for her condition, right?
He debated on just leaving her at a wizarding hospital in France, but even that came with complications. He didn’t know the people at the hospital – more so, where their loyalties were placed. There were many pureblood elitist individuals who still revered The Dark Lord for his vision. For all he knew, that hospital could be run by an entire staff of purebloods with those elitist ideologies. He could be throwing Hermione right into the lion’s den if he brought her to it. No, that didn’t work. She needed to go back to wizarding London. That was the only place he knew she would be safe – with Potter.
The witch in his arms whimpered again and he reflexively held her closer. In just a matter of weeks, he could’ve tracked his father down and finally achieved his goal for revenge. But now he had this burden of a witch to deal with.
No, patience was definitely not his best quality.
Whether he liked it or not, he knew what he had to do. He had made the mistake of taking responsibility for her life. And now he had to see this through – but only to a point. He would only care for her until she was past the point of dying and then he would drop her off to Potter. Then, he would try his best to leave immediately after without being caught.
What happened to her after he dropped her off was none of his concern.
Notes:
Thank you for reading!
Chapter Text
Illusions
Silver eyes fluttered open in confusion. The midday sun that was spilling through the window told him that he had slept a great deal longer than he had planned – or was generally capable of.
Turning away from the blinding light, Draco found his vision full of feathered brown hair that looked almost golden from the sun’s reflection. The witch slept peacefully with her head pillowed on his chest, breathing steadily and finally regaining some warmth. Though, her skin was still cold to the touch.
He realized that he could just place a warming spell on her and be done with it. He didn’t think too long about why he hadn’t done it then – or why he wasn’t doing it now.
Trailing his hand down her side, he counted every protruding rib. She shouldn’t have survived the night… she shouldn’t have survived the very moment he unplugged all of her machines. But he realized that he didn’t expect anything less from the stubborn, Gryffindor witch. If there was anything that he could remember from their shared time at Hogwarts, it was that Hermione Granger was a swotty little people pleaser who knew almost everything and always got the results she wanted – by any means necessary.
O for Overachiever, if anything else.
Draco chuckled to himself. If only that version of Hermione Granger could see her now.
Draco guessed that this familiarity he had with her played a part in the actions that led him to this point. Hermione wasn’t a stranger to him – she wasn’t just the martyr for the Order that she was for so many people. He actually knew her. He spoke to her. He shared classes with her. And though their interactions with each other weren’t always pleasant, she punched him in the face for Salazar’s sake, he still shared a portion of his life with her. They had essentially grown up together – they all had. Potter, as well, even though their lives were now completely different.
He wondered if he would’ve thought twice about saving her life if she was still the brave Hermione Granger, with all her same qualities and all, the only difference being that she was a stranger to him. Just another face in the crowd. No one of importance.
He wondered if he would be in this bloody mess now if that had been the case.
Carefully sliding out from under her, he tucked the blankets firmly around her body. It had been a long time since he had shared a bed with another person – let alone a witch . He was too busy to bother with carnal desires. He had plenty of other things to worry about. But still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he had finally slept through the night, after months of failing to do so. Perhaps he was just weary from travel and overuse of his magic with the many Apparations.
Deciding on this assumption, Draco turned away to grab his wand. With a quick swipe of his hand, he emptied the contents of his magically extended pouch in search of some clothes. The set that he was wearing when they arrived wasn’t where he last placed them. He assumed that Pip came in at some point and gathered their clothes to add to the wash.
Once he grabbed a black sweater, a pair of black trunks and black trousers from the pouch, he stopped to stare at Hermione in the blankets again. The hospital gown that she had been wearing the day before was worthless, too thin to give the witch warmth even when it was dry. He let out a sigh of annoyance.
His mother hadn’t kept any of her clothing here – but he was sure that he had clothes of his own that he outgrew lying about the chateau. He would ask Pip to dress her in something when she was done with the wash. The last thing he wanted was to have a hysterical Granger on his hands if she woke up to find herself naked as she was – let alone sharing a bed with him.
He chuckled again to himself.
What the fuck am I doing?
Throwing on his clothes, Draco counted out his galleons. He made sure to grab as much as he could from the Malfoy vaults before The Dark Lord fell. And while there was an endless supply still left in the vaults, he could never get them now. Still, he had more than enough in his possession to sustain them both for several months if need be – not that the witch would require much in her current state.
With one last glance at Hermione, he set out to find Pip.
Compared to the many other estates his family had owned throughout his life, this chateau wasn’t as big or grand at all. In fact, it was quite small, consisting of only three stories. The top story had three bedrooms and the middle story had a kitchen, and a receiving room. The bottom floor was Pip’s quarters.
He found Pip in the kitchen. She had stopped whatever she was doing when she heard him enter.
“Hello Master Draco, did you sleep well?” Pip asked. Draco nodded his reply. “Good, and what of the young lady?”
“She’s still asleep.” Draco answered. “I need you to get some food that will be easy on the stomach. She hasn’t eaten solid food in a long time.”
Pip accepted the galleons that Draco handed her with a nod. “I will go into town to get some things right away.”
“I also need you to dress her, too.” Draco stated. He raised an eyebrow in thought. “Come to think of it, she’s in need of a bath as well. Would you be able to assist her with bathing?”
Pip nodded. “Of course. Though… she might be a bit heavy for Pip.”
“That’s understandable.” Draco stated. “I can help with transporting her. I just need you to assist with the bathing and dressing.”
“Of course, Master Draco.”
Draco nodded his thanks before he turned to see the meal Pip had finished preparing before he entered the kitchen. There was a plate that had what looked like a club turkey sandwich and chips. He assumed that was made for him, since the other option was a bowl of soup. There were two glasses of tea as well. Draco nodded his thanks to Pip once more before he brought the items to the guest room.
Draco hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he finished eating the food with relish. Setting his empty tea cup down, he set to the task of feeding the sleeping witch.
Propping her up against his chest, Draco tucked the blanket around her again both to keep her warm and to catch any broth she might cough up. He rolled his eyes at his predicament. Who ever would’ve thought that he’d find himself playing healer to such a pathetic being?
Let this be considered my one good deed in this life.
He scowled and carefully lifted a spoonful to blow on before guiding it to her mouth. It was easy enough to get the liquid into her mouth, but she wouldn’t swallow. Dropping the spoon into the bowl with a huff, he gently massaged her throat and she slowly, painfully, swallowed the broth.
It was the beginning of a long, tedious process that he would repeat three times a day for the next two weeks. And all too frequently, they both ended up wearing more than what she consumed. But he found that her stubbornness was beginning to rub off on him since he continued to keep at it. He had already invested too much time and energy into her to just let her die now. She was his new challenge. An exercise in patience, if you will.
Pip helped with changing the sheets frequently and bathing the witch when her body was unable to control its functions, but Draco was adamant about feeding her himself. He wanted to be certain she was getting enough nutrients in her system to finally nourish herself back to health. The sooner she got better – the sooner she was out of here.
By their second week in the chateau, she started to swallow without encouragement and sometimes she moved in her slumber, a finger twitch here, a shudder there. She was dreaming again, although this time all on her own, but he couldn’t imagine it to be anything pleasant. Memories from Voldemort’s curse probably still lingered in her mind – it was her reality for nearly two years, after all.
Pip dressed her in his old clothes and while they were too small for him, they still looked massive on her. She was all skin and bones, still not nourished enough to gain back the healthy weight that she lost. Each night when he held her close, to share each other’s warmth he told himself, he traced the length of her side and back in search of some sign of weight gain.
In the beginning of their third week, he woke up to find dull, brown eyes staring straight into his. There was something strange and unnerving about her stare, nothing at all like the Hermione Granger he once knew. But he didn’t have much time to think about it further since it only lasted for a moment. Her eyes slipped closed and did not open again until hours later.
She said nothing and gave no real sign that she was aware, but throughout the week her eyes opened more frequently and she was swallowing so much broth that he decided to start her on soft food. The faster she gained weight, the stronger she would get, the sooner he could put this all behind him.
Pip was a natural with this step. She constantly mashed up apples, rice, and just about anything she could get her hands on so that he could feed the witch. The first few attempts ended rather messily, but eventually Hermione started to accept the soft food and ever so slowly began to show signs of slight weight gain. There were days where Draco found himself wondering if it was okay to leave Hermione in Pip’s care now. He always came up with some reason why that wouldn’t work.
Draco spent much of his time training while she slept. He refused to allow himself to get rusty. He worked hard to prepare himself to face his father. Though, during some days while he was training outdoors, he found himself considering an escape. What if he just walked away – right now? He was already outside. Why not just leave her there for good? Never to return? Yet, his feet always brought him back, sometimes sooner than he planned.
He never considered himself a healer. If the war never happened, Draco would’ve probably found himself taking the Auror route. He always preferred the action. Though, he still was knowledgeable in some healing techniques. And he had always been stellar with potions. He had brewed a few for Hermione in the time that they were at the chateau to help speed up her healing.
Watching her progress under the care of his hands and potions filled him with a strange sense of accomplishment and pride. No one would’ve ever expected him to be capable of caring for an invalid. He really was such a fast learner.
Draco slept near her every night. His sleep had improved drastically – in fact, he was having the best sleep of his life. He was no longer plagued with insomnia and his nightmares, though still present every now and then, weren’t as frequent anymore.
Though, he didn’t know if he could say the same for her.
Was she free of her constant fear and pain – now that he broke the curse from her mind? He wondered if she was still having nightmares, or if they were all now replaced with happy dreams. Did she even know what happiness was anymore?
These thoughts made him wonder what was to come of Hermione Granger’s mental state after all of this. Her mind was her most important trait, her identity. He wondered how much of it – if any, was left after Voldemort’s curse. He had only been focusing on the damage that was done to her physically, but what if her brain was shredded beyond repair?
Would she even be grateful for everything Draco had done for her if she was now forced to live without her precious mind?
He tried not to think too long about that.
He didn’t care about her future, after all.
It was salty, so salty that it made her nose burn, but for the first time in as long as she could remember, her hunger was finally satiated. She didn’t know where she was or where the warm food that trickled down her throat came from, but she partook of it greedily until no more was offered.
There was only darkness now. No more trees, no more faces, no more enemies. At times she felt certain she wasn’t alone, but she had learned to distrust everything that her senses told her. If she hadn’t been so exhausted of her own existence, she would’ve panicked in the dark void that held her now, but it only brought welcomed relief.
Sometimes images would flicker through her mind, memories or dreams… she couldn’t be certain. Perhaps she was still asleep, still trapped in that twisted world of unreality only now it had taken a bizarre turn. Things were different.
Maybe whoever was keeping track of her deaths assumed that she finally had enough? Was she ready to pass on now – to finally leave the purgatory and join Ron in the afterlife, the real Ron?
She could enjoy that fantasy for a bit.
Warmth often surrounded her from all sides, her thirst and her hunger abated without her ever consciously touching food or drink, but she could feel it and taste it as it slid down her raw throat.
Sometimes invisible fingers trailed across her skin, rough and calloused but gentle in their touch, and she would move, but not on her own accord. It was like she was floating at times, wrapped in strength and warmth that was as foreign to her as the light of day had become.
She could feel things, like a soft vibration within her own chest. As time passed, she realized it was her own heartbeat, her own breath. In the world she had existed in before the darkness, she couldn't sense such things. There was a dull aching that spread throughout her body, weakness that she never experienced within the realm of her dreams. It only ever seemed to fade when her mind would shut down and she decided this must be the difference between awareness and slumber.
Time couldn’t be measured in the darkness anymore than it could in the dreamscape, but there always seemed to be new things to notice or experience. She was forever reaching for something, but she couldn’t be certain what.
Now there was a heartbeat outside of her own, strong and steady against her ear. For the first time since the chaos took over her mind, Hermione felt like she truly was not alone. She could never feel any warmth from the version of Ron that was in her happy place, let alone his heartbeat. That meant that this person – with the strong and healthy heartbeat, had to be real, right?
The senses she once believed she could never trust were sending her all sorts of strange signals and only because they were different and more intense than anything she had known before, she decided to test them.
Using the heartbeat beneath her ear as her focus, she traced an image of her own body within her mind and felt her fingers flex in response. There was something soft beneath them – like fabric. She tried to move her fingers in exploration, but her body was weak and unable to comply beyond a spastic twitch.
She breathed deeply and decided to focus on the mixture of scents that swept through her. Beneath the cover of soap was something sharp and… dark – it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. An image of a storm came to mind, dark clouds, fierce winds, shadows. Intense, unbridled power… that was what she smelled.
She didn’t have any time to summon any feelings of fear before the gentle, calloused touch she’d grown used to trailed up her back. It felt very intimate. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been touched in such a way, but it was soothing just the same.
Hermione relaxed into the warmth, listening to the strong heartbeat that was not her own, and slipped back into the relief of oblivion.
Soon.
He would be leaving soon.
The witch’s recovery was steady enough that he could leave her in Pip’s care if he wanted to. Her appetite was growing, new flesh and fat forming on her bones – and she was awake more and more often. He had fulfilled whatever responsibility demanded of him.
And yet….
And yet….
Draco scowled at the ceiling. He was sleeping better these days and couldn’t recall a time when he had ever felt so rested. It was becoming a weakness – this dependency he was forming to her. Rather, to the warmth she gave him when he laid next to her. The soft sounds of her steady breaths lulled him to sleep every night. She was weakening him by making him need her presence.
And yet… he never felt more strong. Never had his thoughts been so clear.
An entire month had been wasted on the witch he held in his arms. He tried to push her away at night, stuffing a barrier between them, a way to wean himself off of her. And yet… every morning he woke as he did now – with her head on his chest and his arms wrapped securely around her.
Did she reach for him, or did he reach for her?
He didn’t know. He didn’t care – he shouldn’t care.
Maybe he just needed to get away from her for a while and clear his head, regain focus. He would leave plenty of galleons with Pip, just in case he didn’t return – which was probably what would happen if he left. He was tired of waiting for his revenge. What if someone else got to his father before him? It wasn’t as if the man was without his fair share of enemies.
He felt the anger start to consume him.
No… he would never allow that to happen. It had to be him.
Draco would be the one who would kill Lucius Malfoy.
Small fingers flexed against his shirt, but Draco didn’t pay any mind as he laid out his plans. He had long since grown used to her fidgeting in her sleep, but when the curious digits trailed up to his neck, he stilled instantly. They lingered briefly before inching up to hesitantly trace his jaw.
Looking down the length of his nose, he could see her eyes were open and her brows were furrowed in concentration. He felt a smirk form on his face. She hadn’t looked more like the Hermione Granger he knew than in that moment. The smirk fell from his face as her hand started to travel higher to his face.
She hadn’t moved this much before, and he wasn’t pleased with the direction she was taking. He grabbed her wrist to pull it away when it reached his nose and felt her jump in surprise. Her brown eyes were wide on her face now. With vague fascination, he watched her lips try to form words, but little more than a breath whispered through.
Releasing her wrist, Draco pushed himself up and she grasped the front of his shirt to steady herself at the unexpected movement. Picking up the cup of water beside him, he lifted it to her lips only to have her flinch away. Her brows furrowed again and she raised a shaking hand to touch the cup and trace along its wide opening before deciding she wanted a taste. She drank greedily from the cup.
When she had enough, he pulled it away and she leaned weakly against him. After she regained her breath, she once more tried to form words and he caught the faintest of sounds whispering from her lips.
“Is this real?”
Was this just another trick of her mind or was this real?
The surface she lay on moved suddenly and Hermione clutched frantically at it to keep from falling further into the abyss, but a band of strength was wrapped around her, holding her steady.
Whoever this person was, they had offered her water. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she tried to speak. The cup was nearly empty by the time her thirst was satiated and she felt slightly out of breath. Clinging once more to the solid warmth that held her, she forced all hope and desperation into her words.
“Is this real?”
The answering silence stretched into the darkness, wilting her hope that this person of her own imagining could even respond.
“Why should you believe me?”
Her breath escaped her with relief at the deep, resonating voice that answered. The accent sounded a bit familiar, though she couldn’t quite recognize who the voice belonged to. But she knew it was distinctly male, smooth and rich, yet lacking emotion.
Nothing he said could be taken for the truth, as his words implied, but if he truly were nonexistent, would he not have tried to convince her at least one way or another?
Her world tilted again and the warm body of the voice pulled away. Frantically she grasped at his shirt to keep him near. “P-Please, don’t go!”
He ignored her panic and forced her fingers to release their hold before pulling away. “I’m getting breakfast.”
Without him beside her, Hermione curled into herself and clutched at the softness that surrounded her like blankets. Her sole companion in the dark void had abandoned her and she was alone again, lost and scared. She replayed his words, his voice, his touch, again and again to imagine his presence to be with her.
Why wasn’t he back? If he was a figment of her imagination, couldn’t she summon him at will, as she did with Ron in her happy place?
Tentatively, she reached out, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Something covered her, keeping her warm, and softness dwelled beneath her body and head. It was a bed of sorts, she was certain, and when she reached just a bit further, she found the edge. The dark void had dimensions… perhaps it wasn’t a void, after all.
“What are you doing?”
The voice startled her and she nearly missed the edge of annoyance threading it.
“Y-You…. You came back.” She whispered in surprise.
There was an answering grunt and the near silent sound of footsteps approaching her. She tried to picture him, walking across the floor, carrying a tray of food. She could smell chicken broth and it made her mouth water, but no matter the strength of her hunger, the absent strength of her body was far, far worse. Never had she felt so weak before, so helpless. Not even within the twisted world of fear and pain she endured before this never ending darkness had she ever felt so weak.
Large, strong hands grasped her shoulders and lifted her up then pulled her back to lean against solid warmth. Before she could fully process her new position, something nudged against her lips and she obediently opened her mouth. She swallowed every bite of the broth with fever.
Once she realized the broth was done, Hermione finally built up the courage to ease her confusion.
“Why are you doing this?” She asked the man. She felt him go still against her.
“Would you rather die?” He retorted before shoving what felt like rice into her mouth with a little more force than necessary. She annoyed him, she realized with bemusement – and he didn’t give her a useful answer.
“I’m not… dead already?”
There was a soft snort in her ear. “What do you think?”
Hermione sighed in defeat. “I think… that you don’t know. You’re just as confused as I am.”
There was no reply for several breaths before his answer came. “Why?”
Her heart clenched as her hope faded. She should’ve known from the start. Perhaps the darkness gave her relief from the persistence of battle and pain, but it was still a prison without a key.
“Because you’re not real.” She whispered. “You’re a figment of my imagination. You can only know what I already know.”
She heard what sounded like a chuckle before the bowl or plate that was holding the rice was placed on a hard surface.
“Tell me,” She heard him say after a few beats of silence. “What makes you think that I’m a figment of your imagination? Have you imagined this before?”
A distinct note of curiosity was laced in his deep voice. Even if he was just a fabrication of her fractured mind, she found herself answering him all the same.
“You’re not real…. because you feel real.”
Draco of all people knew what Voldemort’s curse could do to the mind, how easily it could tear you to pieces until you were nothing more than a mere shell of who you once were. He had it done to him, watched it be done to others. He studied the curse and learned how to break it. But how to salvage what was left of the victim’s mind was outside of his understanding.
Living in that altered reality for nearly two years… What would that do to a person?
This was a problem.
All his hopes of leaving were shot to pieces as soon as she opened her mouth to question his very existence. She even questioned her own. Leaving her with Pip was out of the question. If she was to have any chance of recovery, he had to take her back to wizarding London – back to Potter.
I should have left you to die.
Draco scowled at his own thoughts. The longer he stayed with the witch, the more his conscience picked at him. He couldn’t even think about killing her now without getting a twinge in his chest like someone was poking him with a fork.
She was a serious burden, incapable of caring for herself, not even knowing if she or anything was real. She seemed more like an impostor of Hermione Granger than the actual person. He wanted to get rid of her – end her sad excuse of an existence once and for all. But the mere thought of hurting her in such a pathetic state was no better than kicking a wounded kitten.
“You can ponder your existence later.” He growled. Laying her back down on the futon, he pulled the covers over her shoulders. Training would do him some good right about now. He definitely had some steam he needed to blow off.
She reached for him when he pulled away. He caught her searching hand and tucked it back under the covers.
“Sleep.” He stated. He watched her slowly nod her head.
“But when I wake…” She whispered, closing her eyes. “Can there be light?”
Draco’s brows furrowed in confusion as he watched her sink back into slumber.
What the bloody hell was she on about now?
Shaking his head, he swept up his wand and strode out of the house to begin his training without disturbance.
Why couldn’t anything ever go as planned? Was he asking for too much?
Or were all witches just insane?
Drawing his wand, he swung it viciously through the air at the makeshift opponents he summoned. He suddenly wished there actually was a real opponent in front of him that he could vent his frustrations on.
First, the annoying witch believes herself to be dead.
Swing.
Then she states that he is not real, because he feels real. Whatever the bloody hell that meant.
Swing.
And what was that rubbish about the light? The morning sun practically beamed through that window with blinding intensity.
His wand halted in mid-swing.
He could still feel the soft touch of her fingers trailing along his jaw as if she were searching for something. When he came back with their breakfast, he had watched her do the same with the bed, to her immediate surroundings.
Not once did her brown eyes look into his… because they couldn’t.
Hermione Granger was blind.
Notes:
I had written these three chapters before I published this story on here. Now I will be working on the rest in real time. Thank you for reading this far!
Chapter 4: Mercy
Chapter Text
Mercy
Hermione knew he was there. She could feel his eyes on her – watching, thinking. His emotions, subtle as they might be, were almost tangible. He was puzzling over something, which seemed an odd thing for a figment of her imagination to do.
It crossed her mind that a simple Lumos could help her get rid of the darkness around her, to at least see this person’s face. But she didn’t know where her wand was, and she was far too tired to even try with any magic – pained even. Judging from the physical weakness that permeated her limbs, it was likely her magic was nearly drained to begin with.
She must’ve slept because she had been mulling over their brief conversation in his absence and then there was nothing. She couldn’t remember ever sleeping before the dark void claimed her, which made her wonder all the more if this was reality. It felt too real.
“You didn’t bring the light.” She whispered against the pillow she cuddled.
Draco had been watching her sleep for almost an hour, sometimes murmuring, sometimes peaceful. There were two options left to him now in the light of his discoveries. He could return her to wizarding London – or kill her.
Killing her would be the easiest solution, but he couldn’t bring himself so far as to touch her with even the faintest of sinister intention. Too many nights he had held her in his arms – and she had clung to him as if he were the only thing standing between her and oblivion.
In truth, he was.
It had been a long time since anyone looked to him for hope or protection. He had failed the last person he was supposed to protect, and he would never forgive himself for not being able to save his mother. But after her passing, he had become an angel of death, not deliverance.
He was sure that Hermione wouldn’t cling to him so fervently if she knew who he was…
So he had decided to go with the other option of returning her to wizarding London, since he seemed incapable of killing her. But she was far from being travel ready. He would give her another two weeks to put on weight before setting out. Waiting for her atrophied muscles to recover enough for her to move under her own strength would take too long, so he would have to carry her the entire way.
It was a small price to pay to finally extract himself from this situation. Two more weeks would also give him enough time to consider a suitable means of compensation for his time spent and the many services he provided to Hermione Granger.
A pardon for his crimes wouldn’t be enough.
He needed more.
She owed him her life.
When her eyes fluttered open to stare blankly in his general direction, he braced himself for another bizarre conversation and he wasn’t entirely disappointed.
“You didn’t bring the light.”
“It had a prior engagement.” He groused and her brows furrowed in confusion before a faint smile curled her lips.
“Of course… pretty understandable.”
So she still understood jokes. She seemed amused, even. How quaint. Draco scowled, wondering if she could at least sense his annoyance if she couldn’t see it.
“Do… do you have a name?” She asked him.
“Do your delusions usually have a name?”
Her thin, graceful brows dipped again. “Delusions… don’t call themselves delusions.”
His lips twitched. Of course if Hermione Granger was ever going to be a fruit basket, she would be the most logical fruit basket.
“Call me Altair.” He said before grinning to himself. Even though he hadn’t given her his real name, he still gave her the name of a constellation. Would she be able to connect the dots?
“Altair.” It was just a whisper upon her lips, so full of hope and desperation. Like it was the beacon of light in her life. A shiver tiptoed down his spine.
He wondered if she would’ve said his own name like that… had he given it.
“And you?” He asked. He needed to play the role of the stranger now. He also wanted to see how much of her mind was addled.
Her small hand curled in the blanket. “Hermione.”
“What do you remember, Hermione ?” Draco tested out her name with his lips. He never referred to her by her first name before. But since it was all she offered, he couldn’t go calling her Granger now, could he?
She seemed startled by his question and made no move to answer for several minutes. “Battles.” She whispered finally. “So many battles.”
He expected as much, but he needed her to explain further. Maybe if he understood the nature of the illusion she was trapped in, he could convince her of the reality.
He also wanted to know how the bloody hell she even ended up in that safe house in the first place.
“Who did you fight?”
“Everyone.” She closed her eyes out of reflux. “Everywhere.”
“No, before that.”
Her eyes snapped open in surprise and shifted as if trying to locate him. “Before?”
“Before the endless battles. Before things started to not feel real.”
Her brows furrowed pensively. “There are faces…”
Draco leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Merlin’s beard, this was going to take forever.
But it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. “Describe them.”
Hermione sighed. Why was her figment so curious? Shouldn’t he already know the answer to his questions? He had her mind, after all.
Although, talking to him might help make some sense out of this nonsense.
Considering the face that most often came to her dreams, a wistful smile curved her lips. “Red hair, blue eyes…” She loved his blue eyes, so full of mischief and determination. He always knew what to say to make her laugh – to cheer her up. Whenever she felt down or thought of giving up, she would always remember that sparkle in his blue eyes.
An icy chill swept over her from the direction of Altair’s voice. “A Weasley?” His voice was deeper now, darker even. But she didn’t pay it any mind. He was a figment of her imagination, after all. He wouldn't be able to hurt her.
She blinked as she felt her eyes grow moist at the thought of Ron and his family. “Yes, a Weasley. Ron Weasley.” She whispered, a single tear made its way down her cheek. “I remember Ron.”
“You were attacked by Ron Weasley?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Merlin, no! He would never…. he would never hurt me!” The tears were flowing more now.
Draco scoffed at her.
Of course she would remember the Weasel. She didn’t even know if she existed or not, if anything was real or not, but she remembered her gross little boyfriend.
Draco glowered at the girl weeping silently into the pillow, mourning the loss of her lover.
“Stop crying.” He snapped and she cringed at his harsh tone, but the tears didn’t abate. Snorting in disgust, Draco left her to her frivolous display of emotion.
He didn’t know why her tears were bothering him so much. So what if she cried for the Weasel? He was her lover at some point. It should be expected of her to shed some tears for him.
But that red headed git wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming to get her. In fact, he would never be the one to save her ever again. He was dead. So why did she still say his name with so much love and hope, as if he would come and save her? As if she needed him to come save her?
Does she realize that she would be as good as dead right now if it wasn’t for me?
The sky darkened with an approaching storm, an uneasy breeze tossing through the treetops as he stepped out onto the porch. The static tension building in the air skittered across his skin, promising a tumultuous night.
Already he was feeling restless – pent up emotions boiling beneath the surface and he could make no sense of them. This wasn’t the anger and hatred he used to fuel his quest for revenge. Those were simple, familiar emotions. These were not.
Draco sunk down onto the porch and leaned against a post, reveling in the charged atmosphere of the oncoming storm. The wind played teasingly with his long bangs and he did nothing to stop it.
Soon, I will have my revenge and then… and then…
Platinum brows furrowed together.
He realized then that this was the reason why he was so bothered by the witch’s tears. Her little display of emotion reminded him that outside of the little bubble that they had at the chateau, Hermione Granger had a life that she could go back to. She had people that she missed. People who missed her. Once she left his care, she would have a future waiting for her with people to welcome her back with open arms.
Draco had never really given much thought to what would happen after he killed his father. Suppose that he came out of that fight victorious, where would he go from there? What would he do? He had everything planned up until that point – the after . It was like his life was in reverse – where he could see the light all throughout the tunnel, but only darkness waited at the end of it.
Tilting his head back, he stared blankly at the dark sky.
He wondered why Hermione didn’t seem to fear the darkness. Surely, the sudden onset of blindness would be terrifying to experience. Especially after waking up from the fear and torture that came with Voldemort’s curse. To be as weak as she was, and at the mercy of a complete stranger who she couldn’t even see.
And yet, she didn’t seem to be all that bothered by it. She seemed to be taking her pain in stride. Or maybe, she was just being her typical stubborn, Gryffindor self and was putting on a show – trying to prove that she was strong in her own way. That she had all the answers. That it would always work out for her, at the end of the day. That even if everything else was of hers was broken, her spirit was still intact.
Draco rolled his eyes.
He would give her an O for Overdoing It .
“You’re cold.” She whispered. “Why are you so cold?”
He always waited until she was fast asleep before he crawled into bed beside her, not wanting even a half-crazy blind witch to know he craved warmth. Either she had only been resting or the ice brush of his skin had shocked her awake.
Instead of pulling away, she wrapped her scrawny arms around him and snuggled closer to his chest. He was on the verge of pushing her away before she spoke again.
“Is it raining?”
Draco closed his eyes and suppressed a shiver as her warm breath fanned across his skin. His shirt had been soaked through when the clouds broke apart, and he had abandoned it in the corner of the room before getting into the bed.
Merlin, have I always been this starved for the touch of another?
Maybe he should look into getting a dog.
“Hm.”
Hermione smiled. “I can hear it. Did you get wet?”
“Hm.”
She jumped when thunder cracked sharply and his arms swept around her on their own merit.
“You should be more careful, Altair.” She murmured. “You could get sick.”
Draco opened his eyes before rolling them at the ceiling.
She thinks I’m a delusion and yet she’s worried about my well being… how mad is she?
“I won’t be able to take care of you if you do.”
Draco felt himself go still at her whispered words. What could she have meant by that? Did she believe that he was real? No longer a delusion? Was her concern for him genuine?
She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew who I truly was.
“I can take care of myself.” He said, irritation sharpening his tone.
“Altair… likes to be alone?”
Draco never really thought about that before. He was used to being alone; suffered alone, trained alone, fought alone. It was a fact of his life – just the way things were. Especially after the death of his mother.
When he continued to remain silent, Hermione’s hand slipped up to curve around his neck, her thumb brushing against his pulse to reassure herself that he was still there. She was beginning to doubt herself, doubt what she believed to only be an illusion. The darkness continued to linger, but everything felt so real, especially Altair.
There were no battles now, no more fear and pain, only Altair and the dark void. And everything felt more real to her than the entire time she spent in the dreamscape.
She desperately wanted to believe that the person who held her so gently was real. His pulse beat out a steady rhythm beneath her thumb. It calmed her. It made her feel okay. Like how she felt with her version of Ron in her happy place, except this was different. She had always been on alert in her happy place, always feeling like she was on the run. Here, she felt so exhausted, but she was able to rest. She was weak, but she was okay. She was surrounded by darkness, but she knew she would be okay.
She didn’t want to accept that this was just another one of her delusions. Another figment of her imagination.
She was so fucking tired of fighting with her own mind.
If only this was real… if only she could believe…
“Altair?” She whispered, not knowing if he was even listening to her anymore. “Thank… thank you.”
Draco’s eyes slipped closed in resignation.
Don’t thank me, you idiot.
He remained silent, hoping she would believe he was asleep, and eventually her breathing evened out into slumber.
Only then, did he pull her closer and bury his face in her curly hair.
Stupid little idiot.
Chapter Text
What Happens Now?
Hermione clung tightly to Draco’s shoulders as he lifted her out of the soft futon that she had been lying on.
“Where are we going?” She asked him.
“Outside.”
It was one of those senseless whims he seldom indulged – but he’d given it much thought, since her whispered words kept him awake most of the night. He didn’t understand her gratitude. After all, he was just a delusion created from her curse abused mind, wasn’t he?
But he had to remind himself that he had underestimated her before. Her body had refused to die against all odds – why should her mind be any different? It made him wonder if there actually was something salvageable from her big brain after all.
And since he currently had nothing better to do with his time, he decided to satisfy his curiosity.
A change would be good for her. And since he felt the ridiculous need to remain close by, it would be good for him too. He couldn’t stand being indoors for too long – it drove him crazy. He enjoyed the fresh air. He could only imagine how it must feel for her; being indoors, surrounded by darkness, with a lack of stimulation.
Her arms, though thin and bony, locked tightly around his neck, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her out of the house. The storm passed over before morning, leaving everything smelling fresh – the sun shining bright in the sky.
Pip had just finished setting the blanket that Draco had asked her to bring out, before she disappeared with a pop. He set Hermione down gently on it, into a seated position.
Curious confusion infused her features as she took in her new surroundings. Small hands glided over the blanket and snapped back in surprise when she encountered something beyond it. Thin brows furrowed before she placed her hand back on the new texture, brushing her fingers along it before plucking a bit of it from the ground.
Cupping it in her hands, she brought it to her face and breathed deeply. Draco felt his heart jump when her eyes suddenly snapped open in delight. “Altair, it’s grass!” She exclaimed. Her eyes looked directly up to his own, as if she could truly see him.
“I suppose it is.”
She gave him a wide smile. “It.. It smells so real!”
Draco swallowed against the lump in his throat.
She confused him to no end. How could she still be so guileless after all that had been done to her? How could she be so bloody okay with everything? How could she find the time to be excited about something as meaningless as grass for Merlin’s sake?
Draco had been plagued with nightmares of memories from the five minutes he was under that same curse. He still finds himself fighting those demons even now, until this day – even with her warmth by his side.
The Dark Lord always had control over his life. He always feared Voldemort – even in his death, he plagued his mind. Subjecting him to that curse only tightened the noose that was already placed around his neck. A way to remind him of his control, even after he took all that Draco had loved and cared for in the world away from him.
Draco thought he was finally free of him now that he was dead. He was disgusted with himself for that not being the case.
But here she was – blind, weak, and certainly a bit addled in the mind. And yet, she wants to discuss the grass. Like she hadn’t just survived trauma. Like she hadn’t been fighting in a bloody war. Like she wasn’t currently at the mercy of someone she didn’t even know.
Draco watched as her hand slipped back into the grass within reach. Though she had been able to hold herself up in her seated position, he knew it wouldn’t last long. Her spindly arms were starting to shake from the strain, but she seemed to ignore it. He caught her shoulders before she could fall on her face — seating himself behind her. He pulled her back to rest against his chest, to use him for support.
Hermione turned her face up towards the warm sky. She hadn’t felt anything so pleasant and intense for a long time. Her skin tingled with the touch of the breeze, the fresh fragrance of the grass still tickled her nose and the soft rustle of leaves sang a familiar song. Her senses were almost overwhelmed and her heart sped with a joy foreign to her. Even if this all was the intricate flavors of a delusion, she reveled in it with delight.
Her only wish was to see the face of the person who had given her this small piece of heaven.
Draco absently rubbed his hands up and down her arms as she reclined against him. Something about her presence calmed him. The boiling rage in his blood quelled to a simmer when she was near. He wondered if it was because he lacked any normal human connection in his life, or if it was her. Was it because she was so weak? She didn’t pose a threat to him. Was that why he was able to ease off when he was around her?
The sound of her soft sigh caused him to look down at her. Her eyes were closed, and she had a small smile on her lips. She seemed content to be in his presence too, as it seems.
He didn’t want to disrupt her peace, he truly didn’t – but the questions in his head were eating at him. He wanted to know the why, when, how, where, and what’s, that led Hermione Granger to her current predicament. He wanted to know how bad and ugly it all got for her. How the Brightest Witch of Her Age was brought down so low – that she had now amounted to…. this?
“Hermione.”
“Yes?” She murmured.
“Do you remember how you were captured?”
Hermione stiffened. “Captured?” She echoed.
She didn’t know what to make of his question. Such things had never been discussed within the dreamscape. What was going on? Was this another trick? Another deception?
Was it… real? Was Altair real?
Was he… the enemy?
“The memory is a bit fuzzy.” She said, wary – for the first time, of the person who held her. At least in the dreamscape, in the midst of those many battles, it was clear to her who the enemy was. And she, even if it was all in her head, was able to defend herself against them to a degree. In this reality, she was completely helpless.
She was weak.
If this was all real, she could be in a lot of trouble.
“I don’t know if I remember all of the details.” She wasn’t going to make this easy for them… for Voldemort. If they insisted on playing with her mind, so be it. Let them try to break her to pieces. Whatever new tactic this was, it wouldn’t work.
The Order’s secrets would never leave her lips.
Draco frowned. There wasn’t anything suspicious about her answer. But the alert tension threading her frame warned him that she wasn’t being entirely truthful. Could he blame her? She had no real reason to trust him. Especially since she thought he was a delusion.
“What’s the last thing that you remember before the Legilimency?”
Hermione’s eyes snapped open in alarm.
How much does he know? Is he one of their high ranking officials? Who is he?!
With what little strength she had, she surged out of his arms only to collapse when she tried to catch herself. Unlike within the dreamscape, her strength abandoned her in this dark world. She was helpless to run, helpless to fight. Panic swept over her.
Her violent reaction startled him. He was sure that if her muscles had not been so atrophied, he would’ve had a hard chase on his hands. As it was, she barely made it to the edge of the blanket. Her fear was palpable – he could almost taste it on his tongue. He grabbed her shoulders and lifted her up.
“Let me go!” She demanded. He winced as sharp nails raked across his hand. Whatever this new scenario was, he’s had quite enough of it.
Pushing her down onto her back, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them beside her head. Her unseeing eyes glared up at him as she struggled feebly against his hold and it made him angry. He resisted the urge to give her a good slam against the ground. He knew that would do more harm than good.
“Stop it.” He growled.
“I’m not telling you anything! I refuse!” She hissed, no longer the little lamb he had taken in. She was very much the Hermione Granger that he knew from before at this moment. What the hell was bringing this on? Was she having a mental breakdown?
“What’s the harm in telling me anything?” He challenged, his voice just as loud as hers. “Aren’t I just an illusion? A figment of your imagination?”
Her eyes reflected nothing but malice. For him . She directed that malice at him . Draco felt himself tightening his hold on her wrist.
He was fuming.
“Do you think that I’m a fool ?” She snapped at him. “You’re here because he created you! Manifested you into my mind! Another sad attempt to get what he couldn’t himself! Well, you can tell Voldemort that it won’t work! It will never work! He’ll just have to kill me instead!”
Draco stared at her with wide eyes.
What?
She thought that she was still trapped in Voldemort’s curse.
She thought that this was all just one of the scenarios that Voldemort planted in her mind. Another form of torture, another sick game of his. To what? Make her feel safe after all the torment? Make her trust him? Share all of her secrets?
Is that what The Dark Lord wanted from her? The Order’s secrets? That would’ve been too easy. No one could defend themselves against Voldemort’s Legilimency. Surely, he would’ve gotten what he needed from her mind – seen her entire life play out. Why was she acting like that didn’t happen?
And why was this all pissing him off ?
“He’s dead, Hermione.” He told her. “Voldemort is dead. The war is over-”
“Oh shut up!” She screamed. “Just stop! Stop with all of the lies! You are wasting your time!”
“I am not lying to you!” Draco screamed back at her. “He’s fucking dead! The Order won the war! This isn’t another one of his altered realities. This is real, Hermione! I’m real. You’re real. Everything you’re feeling is real. He’s not bloody here anymore!”
She scoffed. “Why should I believe you?” She hissed at him.
She threw his own words from the other day right back in his face. Defenseless as she was, Hermione Granger was still the same stubborn, swotty, Gryffindor witch that she always was. She just thought that she knew everything. She thought that she had all of the answers.
Suddenly, it became very important to prove her wrong.
Draco pulled at her wrist and brought her hands to his face. He dragged her hands across his face and down to his neck.
“This is real, Hermione. What you’re feeling is real .” He continued to drag her hands across him, guiding them back up his face and through his hair. “Think hard about your time in that altered reality – when you were fighting those battles. What were you able to feel that wasn’t either fear or pain? You had a wand, but did you truly feel the shape of it in your hand? Any person that you tried to save, could you really feel them when you tried to touch them? Any object around you, even your own body, were you truly able to feel anything? Anything else other than the fear and pain?”
Hermione felt her eyes get wider as her hands went through his hair. She could feel every soft strand as it slipped through her fingers. She realized that she could feel everything. She could feel the dimensions of his face. She could feel the grass. She could feel the blankets that were usually wrapped around her. She could feel the bed she laid on at night. She could feel the food she ate in her mouth. She could feel him.
She could feel it all.
Altair is right…. I couldn’t feel this in that other world….
“And how about when they tried to touch you ? Your loved ones?” She heard him ask before she felt his light touch feather down her cheek. “Could you feel them? If they tried to hug you, could you feel its warmth? The strength of it? If you had closed your eyes, would you even know that they were hugging you?”
“No…” She whispered as his finger curved under her chin to lift it higher. She could feel her cheeks flush as a single tear escaped her eye. “This…. I’m… real?” She felt more tears slide down her face as a choked sob escaped her lips. “What’s… what’s wrong with me, then? Are you sure? Are you positive that… that I’m real? This is… real?”
Draco didn’t know what it would feel like to finally prove Hermione Granger – the Golden Girl, wrong, but he didn’t expect it to feel like this. His chest was aching as he stared down at her while she cried. He thought he would feel victorious – but it felt nothing close to it. All he wanted to do was to turn back time; to go back to when she looked so peaceful and content just moments before.
But he couldn’t. And now he watched as stared at him with teary, doe eyes and a pretty blush and he felt like he had just shattered her whole world.
“This is real.” He murmured. He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. “ This is real.”
Draco didn’t know what truly possessed him to kiss her. He initially had just wanted to tempt her senses – give her more proof and data for her to work with. For her to believe that he was telling the truth. He knew that’s how her mind worked.
But instead of tempting her senses, he found himself to be tempted. Her lips were so soft and pliant. He was suddenly compelled by her; completely under her spell. He found himself leaning in to deepen the kiss.
The soft pressure of her hand against his chest was her only way to communicate her resistance. Another man probably wouldn’t have paid any mind to the feeble attempt to push him away. In reality, he could do whatever he wanted with her. The world thought that she was dead. They were alone at his chateau. She was too weak to stop him. No one else was here to stop him. No one would even care… except her.
But Draco was not that kind of man. People may see him as a heartless, ruthless, filthy Death Eater – but he knew that he wasn’t evil. He would never take advantage of a helpless woman. He would never hurt Hermione, despite what she may think of him – the real him, not Altair. He saved her. He’s been helping her to gain back her strength. Hurting her now would only serve to sever any little bit of trust she might’ve had for him.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back to see that her eyes were pinched shut. There was a disturbed crease in her brow and another glistening tear slipped down her cheek. Draco stared at the tear before brushing it away with a slow stroke of his thumb.
Leaning his forehead against hers, he willed her to open her eyes even if she couldn’t see him – but they remained closed.
“You’ve been under a mind curse for one year, ten months and twenty-three days. Your body was surviving on machines and tubes. I found you. I broke you free from that curse myself. Hermione, tell me who captured you.”
She panted softly and Draco wondered if she was left breathless from the kiss or if she was about to have a panic attack.
“Antonin Dolohov…” She whispered suddenly and he blinked in surprise that she had answered. “A… A Death Eater.”
“How?”
Hermione swallowed softly. She wished that he would back away. His body pressed along every inch of hers, saturating her with his warmth. His kiss had shattered the remnants of doubts that she had and her entire world had once more been torn asunder.
The facts now stared at her in the face. She was alone with a man who she didn’t know, who she couldn’t see, and who knew more than he should.
He had told her that she had been surviving as a vegetable for nearly two years. That explained how her body was feeling, why she was so weak. But if he found her in that state, that means that she had been much worse than she was now. She was probably completely comatose when he found her.
He had nourished her to this point.
She was alive because of him. A complete stranger had dedicated his time and efforts into saving her life. He had attended to her needs faithfully and without complaint. Each night she slept in his arms, breathing in his scent, feeling sheltered and protected. And his kiss… his kiss had been the first thing to touch her wounded heart since she had lost Ron.
She was a soldier of the Order. She knew she should never be quick to trust anyone… but how much of a soldier was she now? Was she still even considered a witch? Her body was useless, her magic was non-responsive, her eyes….
Draco watched as her brown eyes snapped open and shifted around, unfocused. “Why is everything dark? Why can’t I see?”
“You’re blind.”
“Blind?” She had a panicked expression on her face. “H-How?”
“I don’t know.” Draco responded. “But I think it could’ve been the result of being under that mind curse for nearly two years. That’s an excessive amount of time… the strain of it could’ve damaged a lot of things. Or it could’ve just been a biological reaction to the curse. Some muggle condition you might’ve inherited from your parents. Or it could’ve just had something to do with the path that the curse took through your eyes when it was being administered. I don’t know for certain.”
She remained silent for several minutes.
“Some muggle condition….” She repeated to him in a whisper. “You… you know who I am.”
Fuck.
“Yes.”
“Did you fight in the war? What’s your allegiance?"
Draco rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this – not now.
“My allegiance is to myself.” He said, ignoring her other question. It was as close to the truth as anything. “How were you captured, Hermione?”
Her lips drew into a thin obstinate line. He could see the many questions that were probably circling through her mind in her expression. “Why did you help me? What do you want ?”
I wish I had an answer for that.
She was hardening against him. Deciding a change of tactics was in order, Draco sat up and before she could even take a breath – he swept her back into his arms.
Hermione clutched at his shirt for stability. She wasn’t liking her new position any more than the previous one. Draped across his lap and wrapped tightly in his arms, she was forced to rest her head against his shoulder in a mockery of comfort.
“Hermione.” His voice resonated with a low growl and she knew his patience was wearing thin. “Tell me how you were captured.”
“I… I was on a mission.” She whispered. She decided that she would satisfy his curiosity just a little bit without giving anything of importance away. Regardless if the war was truly over or not, she would protect Harry at all cost. “They were in need of a healer, so I volunteered to go. We hadn’t even made it to our intended destination before the mission proved to be an ambush.”
“You’re a healer?” She heard him ask.
Hermione tilted her face up towards the sound of his voice, wishing desperately to see his face. She had read extensively on the Study of Body Language and had become quite good at reading people. Humans didn’t know how much they gave away with even the slightest of movements. But without the ability to see, she had to rely solely on the faint changes in his voice to know what he was feeling and she wasn’t so adept at that.
She couldn’t be certain if he was surprised, confused, or pretending to be both.
“You… didn’t know?” She asked. He obviously knew that she was a member of the Order and that whoever had captured her must’ve done so for that reason. Was it possible that was the extent of his knowledge of her? That he didn’t know her personally – but only knew her as Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s muggleborn friend?
“No.” He grunted. “How many people ambushed you?”
“I don’t… know. At least five?” She murmured, fingers curling in his shirt. Altair said his allegiance was to himself, so perhaps he wasn’t a Death Eater. But then, how could he have found her? If what he said was true, and she was kept under for nearly two years, then she must’ve been kept in a secure location.
Secure enough that Harry couldn’t find her.
“Who was with you?”
“I fought Dolohov myself.” She said, pointedly ignoring his question. She wasn’t going to give him any specifics of the mission. “I think…. I think I was hit on my head. Because everything suddenly went dark.” She lied.
She remembered fighting Dolohov. She remembered the moment she turned to see Ron get attacked with the killing curse. She remembered running after him, trying to save him – before she got hit with a Cruciatus. She remembered watching his body fall to the ground while her own body was struck with pain. She remembered looking into his blue eyes while they stared lifelessly back at her.
She remembered being transported to Voldemort afterwards…..
She remembered it all.
But she wouldn’t tell Altair any of this.
“All I…” She began as tears began to form in her eyes again. “All I remember after that are the endless battles. I was alone… but then I wasn’t. My comrades were dead…” She swallowed. “But then they weren’t. I tried to go home… I tried to fight… I tried to make it all stop-”
“You couldn’t.”
“Everything kept getting turned around; new people were attacking me, people I haven’t seen before, people from my past, they were everywhere. Pain…. There was so much pain and…” She sobbed. “And so much…”
“That’s enough.” Draco murmured. He slipped a hand into her hair and pressed her head against his shoulder.
He knew she wasn’t telling him everything. Dolohov didn’t possess the knowledge or skill to administer that curse. She had to have met with Voldemort at some point. He knew there was a large part of the story that she wasn’t sharing.
But she shared enough for him to be able to piece most of it together. Judging from the timeline, and the names she had mentioned, he deduced that she must’ve been taken during the mission that took Ron Weasley’s life. Draco knew that the Weasel was killed in an ambush mission that Dolohov led.
Draco also knew that he was supposed to be on that mission with Dolohov as well… before he got pulled to do a recon mission with Greyback at the last minute. He wondered if Hermione could even suspect that the person who was comforting her through her tears at this very moment – could also have easily been the person who captured her as well.
Would you trust me even less?
Do I even deserve your trust?
“A-Altair?”
He jolted, taking a split second to realize she was speaking to him. “Hm?”
“What happens now?”
He let out a sigh. “Try to get some rest, Hermione.” She didn’t argue with him, likely too exhausted to try. She had exerted a lot of her energy today. After a few minutes of silence, Draco shifted to lay her sleeping form down on the blanket.
Draping his arm over his raised knee, he stared at her pale, drawn features. Despite her prevailing weakness, there was still a stubborn Gryffindor in there. None of the answers she gave betrayed any knowledge of the Order and instead of surrendering to her fear, she struggled against it.
The fact that she became a healer didn’t surprise him as much as he thought it would. Given her big brain and inherent magic control, he assumed she would make a good healer. She always seemed to bail Potter and the Weasel out of whatever mess they got themselves into during their days at Hogwarts. She might as well help them escape certain death too, he supposed.
Draco could only imagine how many times she probably saved their lives in one way or another. They were lucky to have someone like her in their corner. She was smart, brave and loyal to the very end. She was also sensible, patient – and possessed a level of stubbornness that was like a will of steel more so than one of fire. He thought about what type of traits she’d pass down to whatever children she brought into the world. Draco chuckled to himself as he pictured a bunch of swotty, know it all brats with frizzy, unkempt hair.
“What happens now?”
He had been wondering that for some time. His short-term plan was to drop her off near the Ministry and then hunt down and kill his father. It was what would happen afterwards that troubled him. So long he had been training and dreaming of the day when he would avenge his mother’s death. Voldemort’s demise finally gave him the opportunity to go after his revenge. He had never bothered to consider where he would go or what he would do when all was said and done.
He had no one left. He had no friends – no family.
He was the last remaining Malfoy. Though he despised his father to his core, he still held nothing but pride and respect for the Malfoy name. He came from an ancient line of powerful wizards; a family that made history. Was that history going to die with him?
Hermione sighed softly in her sleep and his eyes roved over her finely boned features to linger on her lips. He could still taste her, feel her on his lips. Even in her current state, it was obvious to Draco that Hermione had grown to become a beautiful woman. She wasn’t that weird girl from Hogwarts anymore. He was certain that once she was healed, she would have plenty of suitors lined at her door waiting for her hand. Blind or not, she was still the Hermione Granger, after all.
He wondered of her muggle parents. Did they still believe her to be alive? Did they stop looking for her? Was she mourned by them? He wondered if they knew of her many accomplishments – how great she was, how great so many people thought she was. She was a part of history. He wondered if they knew how much she had sacrificed for the wizarding world.
Draco brushed his fingers across her lips, feeling the soft pink flesh beneath his calloused touch.
I could keep her and no one would know… no one would care.
He jerked back at the alien thought, wide eyes staring down at the oblivious witch.
She’s a burden, an obstacle between me and my revenge! She’s an invalid, and probably still delusional… and helpless…
His gaze trailed down her body, seemingly more frail dressed in his own larger clothing. Proper care would take care of that. She was already filling out under his tending. His hand settled on the softness of her flat stomach, large enough to span more than half of the width of her waist.
She was the Golden Girl, the Brightest Witch of Her Age. Even if she was born from muggles, he couldn’t think of a single pureblood witch or wizard alive who could rival her mind. Her magic was strong even if she currently wasn’t. The children she bore would be powerful and well respected.
Draco looked up at her serene face set in slumber.
What if….?
Notes:
Ackk I know! I know! Don't worry, there will be more explanations in the next chapter! Thank you for reading so far!
Chapter 6: Deception
Chapter Text
Deception
The soapy washcloth brushed up and down her back and Hermione sighed. She didn’t know how many days had passed since she first became aware of her surroundings, but she was happy to finally have a bath while conscious enough to enjoy it.
Altair had introduced her to the house elf named Pip and brusquely informed her that Pip would be assisting her with her bath. Pip didn’t speak much to her, but would communicate well enough through gentle nudges and touches that she found reassuring in her dark prison.
There was little reason to doubt Altair now. She no longer believed she was in an altered reality. Though part of her wished she was. She couldn’t fully grasp the idea that she was blind now.
To never see again…
Feeling tears prickle down her face, she quickly brushed them away, not wanting to feel weaker than she already did. How was she able to live like this? Even if she had the strength to walk on her own, which she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to see ever again. Could she still heal anyone? Would she still be able to do magic?
All of her training, her hard work, the blood and sweat she shed to gain the respect of her peers had been stripped away. She didn’t feel like a valuable asset to a team anymore.
Altair should have left her to die.
Why didn’t he?
It should’ve alarmed her more how little she knew of her savior. There was an arrogance about him that seemed familiar; an absolute confidence in one’s skills and place in the world. When he told her to do something, he expected her to do so immediately and without complaint. Everything he said was spoken like a command, even when phrased as a question, but he was surprisingly patient when she asked for clarification.
Yet he was never physically harsh with her. Even during their little conflict the other day, he hadn’t hurt her. She suffered the acute impression that her wariness of trusting him irritated him. It was a hitch in his voice that he couldn’t quite disguise. Either she was putting a crimp in his plans or he honestly longed for her trust.
While he expected answers from her, he was not very forthcoming himself and that worried her. It was like he didn’t want her to know anything about him beyond how he treated her. That didn’t give her much to work with in the matter of trust.
She believed him when he said the war was over and that his allegiance was to himself, but that knowledge wasn’t all that comforting either. A man loyal only to himself knew nothing about the care of others. All of his reasons were selfish ones and that included all the time and effort he put into saving and caring for her.
It made her worried about his motives – his true motives.
If Altair meant ill towards her, she had decided it must be because of who she was. The war might’ve been over, but that didn’t mean that she was free from danger. What if he was planning to sell her off to the highest bidder? And what if Harry wasn’t the highest bidder? His allegiance was only to himself; he didn’t care about where she would end up. She would have to be on her guard against him and try to discern what his real purpose for helping her was.
The fact that he knew who she was only left her to wonder about him more. He had to know of her friendship with Harry. If Harry won against Voldemort, that must’ve meant that he was working in the Ministry now. The world was good again. Why didn’t Altair bring her to Harry the very moment that he found her? Or why hadn’t he just brought her to St. Mungos to be treated by healers? Why had he taken it upon himself to care for her instead?
She would hear the sounds of him training nearby whenever he brought her outside. She could smell and feel his unbridled power whenever she laid next to him at night. A man like him must get pretty antsy sitting around all day caring for someone in her condition. To have freed her from a mind curse of that level, he must’ve been pretty skilled with magic himself and she wondered what he did with his time before her. Surely, he had better things to do? Did he even want to care for her? Did he plan on ever bringing her to Harry?
She had every intention of asking him these questions that day of their conflict, but something had made her change her mind. It was in the deliberate way he picked her up and carried her, a change in his step, an alertness in his aura not present before. He had the mark of a man who had made a serious, life-altering decision and held every intention of following it through.
It was frightening because she knew, on some instinctive level, that it involved her too.
A gentle tug on her hair told her to tilt her hair back so that Pip could wash it. The clothes she had been wearing had been taken away to be washed while she soaked. She didn’t know what she was to wear once she was done bathing and while she hadn’t been overly conscious of Altair’s presence in the house before, she was now.
Hermione bit her lip at the memory of his kiss. While it was meant to prove a point, she worried about whether he desired to kiss her again. While there was a distinct change in his presence around her, he didn’t touch her any differently. He was still gentle, still respectful in his own gruff way.
If only she had her sight, she might be able to see what he was truly thinking.
Two small hands squeezed her shoulders. “The bath is over now, Miss.” She heard the elf say.
Hermione gave her a smile. “Thank you so much, Pip. I wish that I could pay you back for your kindness.”
“There is no need, Miss.” Pip responded with. “Now, let us try that same movement from before.” Hermione nodded before she grabbed onto the elf’s shoulders with all her might. With the help of what felt like magic and Pip’s arms leading her, Hermione lifted herself out of the small basin and onto the floor.
“Brilliant!” Pip squeaked as she dried Hermione off with a towel. “So much progress!”
Hermione gave the elf a small smile even though she didn’t fully share her enthusiasm. Her legs and arms still felt limp and useless. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to get out of that basin all on her own – without the help of Pip’s magic.
“May I go outside to dry my hair in the sun?” Hermione asked once Pip wrapped what felt like a blanket securely around her.
“Of course, Miss.” Pip responded with. Before Hermione could ask Pip how she intended to move her, she heard her disappear with the sound of a pop and was left alone on the floor.
Pip could help lever her out of the tub with her magic, but to make the distance to the porch was another matter. She should’ve expected as much and waited patiently for the near silent steps of her companion. If not for her other senses straining to compensate for her loss of sight, she never would’ve been able to hear him move. The man was silent as the grave.
Hearing the faint whisper of movement, she pulled the blanket tighter around her, feeling considerably more vulnerable than she should. Had she not been sleeping beside this man for many days? Hadn’t she just slept in his arms the night prior? For once it didn’t matter what she could or could not see. Feeling the weight of his eyes upon her made her cheeks warm.
“A-Altair? Is that you?” It was impossible to mistake him for another, but she needed to break the silence, to draw his attention away from whatever made him stare at her so intensely.
“Yes.” He said before he took the last few steps and swept her up.
Hermione squeaked and latched onto his neck with a death grip. In her panic she barely noticed him shaking until a soft chuckle broke free. Her face flamed with embarrassment and she loosened the grip around his neck. She secured the blanket tightly around her body.
Draco was seriously tempted to tell her that she didn’t have anything he hadn’t already seen just to see how far her blush would go, but decided it wouldn’t score him too many points in the trust department.
“I didn’t see anything.” He assured her and it was true. She had already been plastered against him by the time her blanket had slipped. Though, he wouldn’t have minded if he did happen to catch a peak. Regardless of her current condition, he had to admit to feeling some attraction towards her. She was pretty, especially with a blush dusting her pale cheeks. And he was a man, after all.
Draco swallowed, shifting her in his arms to head out the door. This really wasn’t the time to be entertaining those kinds of thoughts. He had more pressing concerns to deal with – such as coming up with a fool proof plan on how to deliver her to wizarding London once she was healed more.
Stepping out onto the porch, he gently set her down and arranged the blanket more securely around her to prevent a chill before sitting behind her. It wasn’t exactly cold, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He had an invested interest in her health now.
Pulling out the comb Pip had purchased a couple of weeks prior for this purpose, Draco set to ridding Hermione’s freshly washed hair of tangles and knots with surprising efficiency. It was a task he personally chose to do as opposed to having Pip handle it. He was always curious about Hermione’s hair – and he found that it felt much nicer now than it did the first time he felt it.
Hermione didn’t say a word of protest and he took special care not to tug too hard. Her hair had been shorter, almost shoulder length, when they were at Hogwarts. It was now half way down her back. He wondered if she actually preferred her hair shorter and if it had only grown as a result of her capture. He doubted any of those healers at the safe house would’ve taken it upon themselves to trim her hair.
Draco’s mind went back to his plan of what to do with Hermione once she was healed. He knew what he had to do. He knew he had to bring her back to wizarding London.
But now, he knew something else – he knew what he wanted from her. What she owed him. The price for saving her life.
But he did need her to trust him enough before he was able to act on his plans.
“Hermione.”
“Yes, Altair?”
“I’m taking you back to London.” He stated. “To the Ministry.”
Her head snapped up and she turned to look over her shoulder at him, as if she could see. “To… To Harry?”
“Hm.” He murmured, hating the tiny little twist he felt in his chest at the longing in her voice when she spoke Potter’s name.
Her eyes glimmered with restrained tears and she dived into him, hugging him tightly. “Oh, Altair! Thank you! Thank you for everything!” She mumbled into his shirt.
Draco stiffened, mildly uncomfortable with her gratitude and affection. She wouldn’t be quite eager to thank him if she knew who he truly was… or what he was about to do. Finally she pulled away enough to look up at him and for a moment he honestly believed she could see him.
“When? When will you take me home?”
“Next week. You need to be stronger.”
“Is it far?”
“About a day’s travel.”
Hermione tilted her head slightly, trying to hear what he wasn’t saying. There was the faintest tinge of annoyance in his voice, but that was almost always there as if her mere presence was a source of agitation for him. But she also believed he wasn’t the sort of man to put up with an inconvenience like her without reason.
“Altair, why are you helping me?” She asked tentatively. She had asked him the same question before but he had ignored her in favor of getting answers for his own questions.
Before, Draco wouldn’t have had an answer to that question. Now he had something solid to fall upon, but he certainly couldn’t tell her that.
“I want a favor from you.”
Her expression blanked out and she sat up a little straighter. Of course he wouldn’t have helped her out of the goodness of his heart. Precious few people would. But at least he was being honest with her – she could appreciate that.
“I owe you my life.” She conceded softly. “But… I will not betray anyone for you.”
A small smile curled his lips at her quiet resolve. “I know.”
Hermione tilted her head again, listening to the even cadence of his voice. “Then… what is this favor?”
Draco smirked. “One favor of my choice when I choose it. It may be in a few weeks or even a few months, maybe even next year.” He absently placed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Because of this, I want to cement this deal…. with an Unbreakable Vow.”
“An Unbreakable Vow?” She blinked. “You… don’t trust my word?”
“I don’t want others to be able to interfere.” He stated. “I will not ask you to betray anyone in any way, but some might not approve of what I ask. You owe me this, Hermione. I have sacrificed valuable time to help you.”
Hermione shivered at the underlying threat in his voice. What could she possibly give him that was valuable enough to warrant an Unbreakable Vow? He assured her that it wouldn’t involve betraying anyone, so the oath would be void if he ended up asking her something even along those lines.
But to owe a man she didn’t know, couldn’t see, so much….
She would’ve died if it wasn’t for Altair. She had accepted her death, welcomed it even, the very moment she witnessed Ron fall from the killing curse. She knew that she was going to die after she had faced Voldemort and was placed under that mind curse.
But Altair had found her. He had broken her free from the mind curse. He had taken the time and effort needed to bring her to this point.
He saved her.
Indeed, she owed him her life.
“I’ll… I’ll make the vow.”
Hermione shivered and tried to press closer to Altair’s warmth. True to his word, they had set out on their journey to wizarding London.
She was feeling increasingly insecure the further and further they moved from the familiarity of the house and Pip. Hermione was forced to confront the abject fear of being well and truly helpless. Every time Altair left her side, even for a moment, panic seized her in a suffocating vice and she would cling to him when he returned.
Every sound made her jump and only in the shelter of his arms did she feel safe from the new world she couldn’t see. It only served to remind her that her career as a witch would take a hit. What would become of her once she returned to London?
Shortly before their departure, she had made the Unbreakable Vow guaranteeing Altair his favor. Though nothing about his manner changed, she could sense he was eminently pleased and on some level that made her happy. He had done so much for her – this made her feel like she was repaying him for his generosity.
“Not much further.” He said, shifting her weight on his back.
They had been alternating between Apparating and walking while he held her. It had been raining for an hour and both of them were soaked to the bone. Hermione’s shivering was becoming more violent by the minute and the last thing he wanted was to keep her out in this mess anymore than he already had.
They were less than ten miles from the Ministry now but he could sense three powerful signatures moving rapidly in their direction. He had intentionally Apparated to this location without the proper clearance knowing it would alert someone from the Ministry. He had to do this quickly, before he could be seen as well.
Dropping to the soggy ground of the alley, he kneeled to ease Hermione off his back.
“A-Are we h-here?” She chattered, slumping gracelessly to the ground.
“A patrol is coming this way and will find you soon.” Draco said, propping her up against the brick wall. She was getting better at sitting up under her own strength, but the muscles in her legs were still too atrophied to function. “I have to leave you here.”
Her eyes widened in terror and she grabbed his shirt with startling strength. “W-W-Wait!”
He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her trembling lips. Even while soaking wet with her hair all in her face, she was still so pretty.
“I’ll be back to claim my favor. Wait for me, Hermione.”
“B-But I-” In a second, Hermione found herself grasping at nothing before she realized he had Disapparated.
She felt herself start to cry as the cold, merciless rain continued to pour down upon her – blending with her tears of fear and abandonment. She tried to call out for him, but her voice failed her and she knew then he truly was gone.
Pressing against the brick wall, she frantically tried to isolate one sound from another, to form some picture of her location. The driving rain resounded loudly in her ears like a drum beating the earth over and over again. It would be comforting if not for the fact that it shielded all other sounds.
She jerked her face towards the tiniest sound of footsteps, unseeing eyes seeking the source and hoping, praying it was Altair coming back for her. But she knew better. Angling her face away, she concentrated on listening for more movement, knowing that whoever found her would think her to be peering in the wrong direction. After a few tense moments, there was a near inaudible thump and the earth vibrated with the impact.
“W-Who’s th-there?!” She demanded. There was a sharp intake of breath then rapid footsteps coming closer. “S-Stay away!” She cried, trying to push herself back.
Strong hands seized her shoulders and she struck out in panic. Her wrists were swiftly caught and a firm arm swept around her to hold her still.
“Hermione?!”
She froze as fresh tears spilled from her wide, sightless eyes.
She knew that voice…. She knew it well.
“H-Harry, is… is that y-you?”
She felt his arms wrap tightly around her in a hug. She inhaled his familiar scent as she started to sob in his arms. “Merlin, Hermione, where have you been?”
Hermione collapsed against him, clutching frantically at his shirt.
Home.
She was home.
Chapter Text
Home
Harry paced anxiously in the hallway outside of Hermione’s room at St. Mungos.
When he and the other two Aurors set out that evening, the last person he had expected to encounter was the witch who they all believed to be dead. It was a trick, he was certain of it. Someone had to be playing a mean trick on him. Because how could any of this be real?
Two years ago, both Hermione and Ron had departed on a standard rescue mission and never returned.
When a team (that included Harry) was dispatched to find out what was causing the delay, they found only the remnants of a fierce battle and the body of Ron… frozen and alone in the open field. Harry had been physically sick for weeks after he saw the body of his dear friend.
Hermione was nowhere to be found. The only evidence of her being there was her wand – which was split in half and left near Ron’s body.
It was a message.
Harry’s two closest friends – his best friends , both taken from him at the very same time.
The war had already taken so much from him. He was at the verge of giving up prior to that day. He didn’t know how much more of it all he could take.
How many more people did they have to lose before it wasn’t worth it anymore? What kind of a world would be left behind if he did win? What if there was no one left? No one for him to share the victory with?
But seeing Ron that day… and seeing Hermione’s split wand next to his body….
It gave Harry all the motivation that he needed to continue.
He was out for blood after that. He promised that he would win the war by any means necessary. He was going to kill Voldemort, with his own bare hands if he had to. He vowed that all of the lives that were lost for this cause would not be in vain.
They had searched endlessly for Hermione.
Harry hadn’t given up on looking for her. Even after Kingsley had urged him to stop. The Order had tried to convince him that they should announce her death the same as they did with Ron’s. They wanted to mourn her, honor her and let the world see Voldemort for who he truly was – an evil fucking bastard.
But Harry couldn’t do it.
He had not seen her body with his own eyes. Her death wasn’t real for him – like Ron’s was. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somewhere out there… alone, waiting for someone to come find her. And if they announced her death to the world, it would make it final. No one would continue to look for her. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel if she had ever given up on him if he had been in a similar situation. He couldn’t imagine giving up on her.
And yet… I did give up on her.
It wasn’t until they won the war; until after he killed Voldemort, that he finally came to terms with her death.
He had assumed that if she had escaped and was in hiding, surely she would’ve come back home once The Daily Prophet announced their victory. He also assumed that if she hadn’t escaped, whoever was holding her prisoner would’ve made her pay for Voldemort’s life… with her own. It was the only outcome that explained why she wasn’t back yet, he would tell himself. There was no possible way that she could still be alive somewhere.
And so, he finally allowed himself to grieve for her as he had for Ron. He mourned their deaths. They held a memorial for them all.
He realized that the lives of his two best friends was the price he had to pay for world peace.
And now, two years later, he still grieved for the both of them.
He would see them often in his dreams. He found himself quoting Hermione’s odd facts whenever something troubled him or remembering a stupid joke of Ron’s whenever he needed cheering up. The Daily Prophet kept the memories of all the fallen Order members alive every now and again – and he would watch the moving pictures of his friends for what felt like hours.
There were times when he could’ve sworn he saw their faces in a crowd – and would chase after them, only to come to terms with the fact that he was probably losing his mind.
Ginny had done her best to assure him that wasn’t the case. She told him that she found herself passing food to both Ron and Fred’s sides of the dinner table a few times after assuming they were there.
“It’s all a normal part of grieving.” She would constantly say to him. Having lost two of her brothers to the war, he knew she understood how he felt. He was grateful for her.
But now, even after he carried Hermione to St. Mungos himself, he still feared this was all a bittersweet dream. Another illusion of his – the face of his dear friend in the crowd. She had felt so real in his arms, and she had clung to him so tightly.
He had been so sure of her death.
He didn’t know what to believe anymore.
The door slid open and he turned swiftly on his heel to see Kingsley and Ginny step out of the room. Ginny slid the door closed, looked up at Harry and gave him a small smile.
“She’s sleeping.” The red headed witch told him.
Ginny had trained under Hermione to become a healer during the war and took the reins after she went missing. She had found her passion in healing, and she decided to continue with it even after the war ended by taking a job at St. Mungos.
Harry breathed out some of his tension. “Is it really her?”
“It’s her.” Kingsley stated. As the new Minister of Magic, he wanted to be able to confirm Hermione’s return with his own eyes. “We should let her rest. I suggest you go home and do the same, Harry.”
“But I have a mission-”
Kingsley waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve already been replaced. I know you want to be here for Hermione and I think she would want the same. Come by my office tomorrow and we’ll try to make sense of all this.”
“Sure.” Harry responded as Kingsley turned and made his way down the hall.
“You can stay with her for a little while.” Ginny said once they were alone. “If you want.”
“Is she going to be alright?”
“She’s… very weak.” She let out a sigh. “She’s malnourished and her muscles are severely atrophied. Other than that, there are no serious injuries that we can see.”
Harry frowned as a memory came back to him.
“Hermione, why won’t you look at me?”
“I… I can’t, Harry.”
“What about her eyes, Ginny?” He asked. He watched as Ginny hesitated before she glanced away. It was enough of an answer for him. “Is it… permanent?”
“We don’t know.” She let out another sigh. “Kingsley didn’t want us to overtax her tonight so we will do more tests tomorrow. I can’t promise you anything, Harry. Let’s just be happy that she’s here… that she’s alive.”
He looked past her at the darkened room. “I’ll just stay for a few minutes.”
Ginny smiled at him. “Of course.” She gave him a small hug before walking away down the hall.
For a moment all he could do was stand just inside the door, staring at the small form under the blankets. She had been so frail when he picked her up. All of his questions fell silent when he had felt her shivering in his arms. His only thought then was to get her to St. Mungos.
Striding silently across the room, Harry lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Her face hadn’t changed much, though it was now thinner from the lack of nutrition. Where could she have been this entire time? What happened that day two years ago? How did she find her way back?
Clearly, she couldn’t have done it alone. Ginny had confirmed that Hermione was incapable of fully moving her body. He was certain that she couldn’t have navigated her way to that alley while blind, as well. Someone had Apparated her there. Someone had left her directly in his path to be found.
That magic signature he felt in the air hadn’t been hers.
So many unknowns, but for the first time in two years he felt at peace knowing that Hermione’s wellbeing wasn’t unknown anymore. She was here. She was alive. She was safe. And he was going to make sure it stayed that way.
He would not fail her again.
She whimpered softly and pale brown eyes blinked open in confusion. “Altair?”
Harry’s brows dipped at the unfamiliar name. “Hermione?”
“Harry… it’s you.” She turned towards his voice and a small smile curled her lips. “I wasn’t dreaming?”
“No, you weren’t.” He enfolded his friend’s hand in his. “You’re at St. Mungos. You’re back home, Hermione.”
Her eyelids fluttered and she turned her face into the soft pillow. “Will you stay?”
“If you want me to.”
Hermione’s fingers curled around his. “Please stay.”
The rain forced Draco to seek a few moments of warmth inside a bottle of firewhiskey. He seldom drank, preferring to keep his senses sharp and alert, but there was something to be said for a few drinks to ease the chills.
By now, Hermione would be warm and dry, perhaps tucked under several blankets at St. Mungos with friends gathered about her. If he retained even the slightest doubt that her presence might’ve been overlooked in that alley, he would’ve remained to make sure it wasn’t. Those magic signatures had been moving fast though and he couldn’t spare another second.
She would be well cared for in his absence and that eased whatever concern he might harbor for the frail little witch.
They could do so much for her.
So much more than he could do.
He took another long sip of his firewhiskey. This outcome was good for him. It would allow him to focus on more pressing concerns. Already he had a lead on his father’s current activities and the last thing he needed was a distraction. His blood was already simmering with anticipation of the hunt.
This would be the last time that he would go looking for his father.
After this, Draco would kill him.
Before, his thirst for vengeance had been pure. There was nothing beyond it; only that one goal, that one purpose to put all of his soul into. Now, for the first time, he could see beyond the goal, beyond death. He left London to free himself of distracting attachments and now found himself with a reason to return, a reason to survive.
He wondered what his dreams would entertain him with tonight in Hermione’s absence. Would there be more blood and death? Or would his mind take pity on him for once and instead linger on the memory of her soft body curled around his own?
He took another sip of his firewhiskey. Hermione might already know who Altair truly was by now. They must’ve told her the true identity of the man who saved her and cared for her. Would she still reach for him as she had done when he left her in that alley? Could she picture both Altair and Draco as one and the same? Did she still trust him?
It didn’t matter to him.
Hermione was his.
She belonged to him.
She would probably be angry once she found out, perhaps even scared. But he knew that wouldn’t last long. Unbreakable Vow or not, he would win her over. Given the right amount of time and patience, anything could be possible.
Of course, he had to deal with the fact that Hermione Granger wasn’t like any of the other witches he wooed with his charm. Her image of him, as Draco Malfoy not Altair , was already set in stone – and it wasn’t a good one. He would have to work hard to right the wrongs of his past self.
He also had to deal with the matter of Ron Weasley.
Draco scowled. It was obvious to him that she still held feelings for the Weasel. It didn’t help Draco at all that he was dead either. It was hard to compete with a ghost. He couldn’t change what she thought of the red headed git. He was forever cemented in the perfect image she created of him in her mind.
He finished the rest of his firewhiskey in one long swig.
He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But he had to remind himself that he had a few things working in his favor, as well. Hermione had developed quite an attachment for Altair. After he kissed her that one day, he was sure that she wouldn’t get near him again. But Hermione still allowed him to hold her close every night. In fact, she was the one who searched for him most nights, wrapping herself tightly in his arms.
Smirking at the memory, Draco filled his cup with the last of the bottle.
That was what he yearned for. He wanted her trust and loyalty. He didn’t want her fear. He wanted her warmth. He wanted her love. He wanted everything about her.
He wanted her .
But he knew that when he returned to London for her, she wouldn’t be as welcoming of him as she once was.
He shrugged before taking another long swig of the firewhiskey. He never was one to turn down a worthy challenge and this one would certainly prove interesting. For once, Draco had something more than the death of Lucius Malfoy to look forward to.
Draco raised his cup and smirked. “To Hermione.”
Notes:
I don't know if you guys can tell, but I have a lot of fun writing unhinged characters. So please excuse my extremely unhinged Draco Malfoy LOL
Thank you for reading this far!!
Chapter 8: Secrets
Chapter Text
Secrets
Harry leaned against the wall inside of Kingsley’s office – eyes closed and arms crossed, appearing far more indifferent than he felt. He hadn’t followed Kingsley’s advice to go home and get some sleep the previous night. Nothing short of an all out attack against the Ministry would have pulled him from his best friend’s room at St. Mungos.
Now he had an uncomfortable kink in his neck. But it had been well worth it when he was able to see her wake up that morning. This time he didn’t even have to speak for her to know he was there. The hole in his chest left by her presumed death was slowly beginning to heal.
He didn’t know what to think anymore. She was alive, yes, and words couldn’t describe how he felt about that. But with the shock of finding her alive again beginning to wear off, he was left wondering what life held in store for her now. Would she ever be okay?
“Is there a reason why we’ve been waiting this long?” Harry opened his eyes to watch as Theodore Nott tilted his head back in one of the Minister’s spare chairs. Theo met Harry’s gaze before rolling his eyes at him. “It would probably help if someone would care to mention why I’ve been summoned here in the first place.”
Harry didn’t have an answer as to why Theo or Blaise Zabini were there. He knew why Ginny was there, she was the head healer in charge of Hermione’s care. And it was logical that Harry was there, since he was Hermione’s closest friend and had been the one to find her. But he hadn’t quite figured out why the two Slytherins were summoned here by Kingsley.
Once the war had ended, many of the Slytherins from his year were given pardons. It was only right, since their only crimes had been that they were related to Death Eaters – not that they were Death Eaters. None of them assisted Voldemort with his crimes, none of them bore the Dark Mark.
The only Slytherin from Harry’s year that he knew was guilty of both of those crimes was Draco Malfoy.
But he was nowhere to be found.
But even if the pardoned Slytherins weren’t Death Eaters themselves, it didn’t stop the world from treating them like they were Death Eaters. Harry had witnessed the many looks some of them got in the streets, the way people talked about and treated them. He had read the many hit pieces written about them in The Daily Prophet.
Harry had tried his best to lift the stain from their reputations. Most of them had their own family members sitting in cells in Azkaban. He knew how it felt to be without family. He couldn’t imagine how lonely it must feel to have the world be against you – while not being able to turn to your own family for support.
He befriended the Slytherins who were open to his friendship and made sure to be seen out and about with them. He helped them get jobs, some of them even in the Ministry. And now, after a few months and a few pictures of them with Harry in The Daily Prophet, they were slowly being accepted back into society.
Very, very slowly.
He assumed that there could be a number of reasons for the two Slytherins' presence inside of Kingsley’s office. One being that they both worked in the Ministry.
Theo in particular had been training under Kingsley as an apprentice and thus was often privy to Ministry matters. Theo was also one of the few people who had shared with Harry that he believed Hermione was probably still alive. He told him that he believed the Death Eaters would’ve made a show of her dead body at some point. Harry hadn’t listened to him since he was finally beginning to accept and grieve her death.
Blaise, on the other hand, hadn’t even shared an interest in matters that concerned Hermione Granger. Even now, the man had his nose buried in a copy of The Daily Prophet and seemed entirely disinterested with the whole affair, not that he even knew what it was about.
Ginny and Harry were the only people in the room who knew Hermione was alive.
“You’ll just have to wait like the rest of us.” Ginny said as she scowled at Theo. “Another five minutes isn’t going to kill you.”
Ginny hadn’t particularly warmed to the pardoned Slytherins the way that Harry had. She didn’t share his views on the matter. She believed that the bond one shares with their family members was too strong. She could never picture turning on another Weasley, let alone not sharing their views. She couldn’t accept that the pardoned Slytherins were any different than their Death Eater family members.
Harry let out a sigh.
She didn’t realize that it was different for her. She came from a great family with good morals. He knew it would take her time to understand that those who were raised in different households – worse households, could be different. The wounds she had from Ron, Fred and the other dead Order members were still painful for her. He knew she would come around once she healed.
“It is unlike Kingsley to keep anyone waiting this long.” Blaise said, finally speaking for the first time as he flipped a page.
Ginny shifted subtly in her seat, trying to hide the annoyance from her features. Harry glanced at her briefly before he turned to Kingsley’s door as it swung open. Kingsley and Percy Weasley both walked into the office.
“It’s about time.” Theo grumbled.
“Patience is a virtue.” Kingsley said matter-of-factly. Moving around his desk, he sunk into his chair. “Now, I’m sure some of you are wondering why I’ve called you here.”
“I sure am.” Ginny muttered under her breath before she glanced at the two Slytherins.
“We’ve come across a bit of shocking news yesterday.” Kingsley stated. He spared a glance at Harry before continuing. “Hermione Granger is alive and well. Harry found her at an Apparation point about ten miles away from the Ministry.”
Dead silence shrouded the room. Theo glanced over at Blaise who returned his confused gaze. They probably were wondering the same thing that Harry was wondering – what the bloody hell were they doing there?
“Is she… okay?” Theo asked once the silence dragged on too long.
“Where had she been this whole time?” Blaise asked after him.
Kingsley sat up in his chair before flipping open a file on his desk. “I’ll address the matter of her health first. She is severely underweight and I have reason to believe that she was even more so before she was returned to us.”
“Returned?” Blaise echoed, tucking his copy of The Daily Prophet away.
“Her muscles are seriously atrophied and she can barely sit up under her own power. Her magic is also very depleted. She couldn’t have made it this far on her own.” Kingsley said.
“Do you expect her to make a full recovery?” Harry asked.
“Given a proper diet and physical therapy, she should be back on her feet within a few months. Her eyes are another matter entirely.”
The subtle tilt of his brows was the only outward sign of Theo’s confusion. “What’s wrong with her eyes?”
Kingsley leaned back in his chair. “It appears that she might be blind.”
“Blind?” Blaise echoed. “Like… permanently blind?”
“I’ll be honest, I haven’t seen damage this extensive.” Kingsley stated. “Her optical nerves look like they’ve melted under massive strain. But it isn’t hopeless. With repetitive healing sessions, we may be able to restore some if not all of the nerves. But the chances of her regaining her sight in any capacity is very low.”
Harry swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He had to remind himself that very low was better than no chance at all . But it still gave him a cause to worry.
“Is she lucid?” Theo asked as if it was of mild interest to him.
“Very, and she shared a pretty interesting story.” Kingsley stated. “It seems the mission she set out on two years ago with Ron Weasley had been a setup. An ambush, of sorts.”
Harry watched as both Ginny and Percy shifted uncomfortably at the mention of their brother. They all knew that mission had to have been a setup. It seemed too organized to be coincidental. He just didn’t understand what they wanted with Hermione. Why had they kept her alive and not Ron?
“What did they want with her?” Ginny asked finally.
“Who took her?” Blaise asked at the same time.
“We don’t know all of the names of the Death Eaters that were there that day, but we know that Antonin Dolohov was one of them.” Kingsley answered. “As for why they took Hermione, we couldn’t get a clear answer from her. It seems that the topic is still a bit raw for her at the moment. She did, however, mention that Voldemort had tried to enter her mind in hopes of gaining information on Harry and the Order.”
“Voldemort?” Harry echoed with wide eyes.
“Hermione Granger met with Voldemort and… survived?” Theo asked with a confused frown.
“It seems so.” Kingsley stated. “She also mentioned that it was Voldemort himself who had cast a mind curse on her that trapped her in an altered reality within her own mind. We assume that the damage to her eyes is the result of this curse.”
“How can a mind curse cause damage to the eyes?” Blaise asked with a raised eyebrow.
“We would have to do more research on this particular mind curse to have a better answer for that.” Kingsley responded with. “The length of time under the curse could also play a part in this. From what Hermione has told me, she was trapped under this particular mind curse for nearly two years.”
Silence filled the room once again.
Percy cleared his throat before he finally spoke for the first time. “Obviously, the mind curse was made with the intent to cause psychological harm. She mentioned that she didn’t even realize she was trapped in her own mind for the majority of her time under the curse. There was no way for her to discern what was real or not and she couldn’t break free. She’s lucky that she didn’t suffer brain damage as well.”
“How did she escape?” Harry asked through his stunned silence.
Kingsley sighed. “Now that is the interesting part. Hermione mentioned that a man she only knows as Altair saved her. She couldn’t give me any details about the rescue itself since she was most likely in a coma at the time. This Altair told her only that he had broken her free from the mind curse. He took care of her until she was strong enough to survive the journey back to London and then he left her to be found by Harry and two other Aurors.”
Everyone turned their heads to glance at Harry.
“Whoever he was, he was gone by the time we arrived.” Harry said to their silent question.
“I take it that you have a theory on who this guy is?” Theo asked once he turned his attention back to Kingsley. “I’m trying to figure out how Blaise and I play into this.”
“Actually, we do.” Kingsley gestured to Percy who handed him the bundle of cloth in his hands. Kingsley unfolded a jumper that obviously looked to belong to a man. They all stared in shocked silence as they realized what they were looking at.“This is what Hermione was wearing underneath a blanket when Harry brought her in.”
“Is that… a Slytherin quidditch jumper?” Blaise asked, both confusion and shock laced in his words.
“That’s the jumper from our 5th year at Hogwarts.” Theo stated with widened eyes. “Do we know this person?”
“Think of the name this person gave.” Kingsley stated then. “Altair is the name of the brightest star in the constellation Aquila.”
The room fell into another bout of silence.
“I don’t understand.” Harry finally breathed. “Why would Malfoy leave clues on his identity if he kept it secret even from her?”
Ginny scoffed. “I’m having a hard time believing that Draco Malfoy had anything to do with any of this.”
“I have to agree.” Blaise stated.
“Is this his way of getting a pardon?” Theo asked before anyone could answer any other question. “Surely, he would’ve stuck around after dropping her off for that.”
“I’m inclined to agree with all of you.” Kingsley said. “However, the evidence seems to suggest otherwise. The first fact being that he had the opportunity. Being a Death Eater himself, he would have been able to infiltrate whatever location she was being kept at and extract her with ease. If we were to go by the story that was shared to Hermione, she was being kept in a very remote Death Eater safe house.”
“Secondly,” Percy began once Kingsley was finished. “Where else would she have gotten this Slytherin quidditch jumper? Given that the two of you were the only other Slytherins who played quidditch that year who also had ties to Death Eaters, we brought you in to gauge your reactions.”
Both of the Slytherins shifted uncomfortably at the mention of their familial ties to Death Eaters.
“And lastly,” Kingsley spoke again. “The name he gave Hermione was in reference to a star. What other person can you think of that is a Death Eater or has ties to one, played quidditch for House Slytherin during the 1995/1996 school year at Hogwarts, and is named after a star or constellation?"
Everyone except Ginny and Harry looked at each other in confusion. Harry was completely speechless. Ginny had a permanent scowl resting on her face.
“I refuse to believe that Draco Malfoy found the time in his busy schedule of being a filthy, disgusting fucking Death Eater to go about saving Hermione’s life.” The red headed witch spat out. The two Slytherins turned to her with frowns on their faces.
“We can’t ignore the facts, Ginny.” Kingsley stated, deciding to ignore her outburst. “I don’t know what could possibly motivate Draco to do something this benevolent , but we can’t discount the possibility that it was him.” Kingsley leaned forward on his desk. “Especially since this Altair person intends to come back.”
“ Come back ?” Harry demanded stiffly with a frown of his own.
Kingsley met his stare. “Hermione said she promised him a favor for saving her life and that he told her he would return to claim it one day.”
“What kind of favor?” Theo asked with a raised eyebrow.
“She doesn’t know but she refused to give him anything that would require her to betray anyone and he agreed to those terms.” Percy stated. “Hermione believes he will come back.”
Ginny chuckled darkly. “So much for benevolence.”
“I don’t understand.” Blaise shook his head. “Assuming that this Altair person is Draco, why would he risk returning to London? Is he that excited to see what the inside of his cell at Azkaban looks like? Surely, he understands that if he comes back, we would never let him leave?”
“Unless he has no reason to leave.” Percy said matter-of-factly.
“But he would go to Azkaban, wouldn’t he?” Theo asked. “Unless…. this is grounds for a pardon?”
“I don’t have a clear answer for that at the moment.” Kingsley said before he leaned back in his chair. “But until we know for certain who Altair is, I don’t want anyone to breathe a word of this to Hermione. It’s clear she’s already formed an attachment to him and the last thing we need is to stress her out before we can even start her healing sessions.”
“Surely, you don’t plan on ever letting him get near Hermione.” Ginny exclaimed. She stood up from her chair. “Or near anyone for that matter. Regardless if he’s this Altair person or not, he belongs in Azkaban!”
“Ginny, maybe it might be time for you to check on-”
“No, I need you to answer me! Tell me you plan on arresting that fucking Death Eater the second you get the chance!” She was practically shouting now.
Harry walked over to Ginny and placed a hand at her shoulder. She turned to him with an angry stare. He could feel her shaking under his palm.
Theo stood from his chair as well. “I think I’ve had just about enough of this shit.” He said before he walked out of Kingsley’s office. Blaise nodded before following Theo out as well.
Percy cleared his throat before he turned to face his sister. “We’re going to place Hermione under Ministry guard, just to be safe.” He assured her. “We will assign Aurors to watch her on rotating shifts. I understand your concern, Ginny. I don’t know what he wants with her either and it makes me nervous too. But I don’t think he wants her dead . He wouldn’t have bothered with her care if he did, nor would he have brought her back to London.”
“He isn’t to be trusted!” Ginny spat out. “Let her stay at the Burrow. Our family can watch her. I’ll personally keep an eye out on–”
“I’d like to see her gain several more pounds and more movement in her legs before we move her from St. Mungos.” Kingsley stated before cutting her off. “While I don’t doubt your abilities as a healer, I’m sure the Burrow doesn’t have the needed supplies to aid in her recovery.” He turned his attention to Harry. “I will place you in charge of her security, Harry. You can choose the Aurors you feel are trustworthy enough for the task of watching her. I’m sure that will satisfy everyone for now.”
Harry watched Ginny as she turned to him. He saw the tears forming in her eyes before she nodded at him.
Harry gave a nod of his head as well before turning back to Kingsley. “I would like to see Hermione again… if she’s up to it.”
“I’ll walk you there.” Ginny offered.
“Fine by me.” Kingsley stated before he turned back to the files at his desk. Harry and Ginny both took their leave out of Kingsley’s office.
They walked in silence for a bit towards St. Mungos before Harry turned to face Ginny again.
“I… I can’t believe any of this. In fact, I don’t think I believe it at all.” He admitted to her. He felt his pace slow just a bit. “I know you probably don’t want to discuss this entire situation, but still…. Can you believe it? That it would actually be him ?” He chuckled darkly to himself. “What are the odds? That out of everyone in the entire world, Draco fucking Malfoy was the one to save Hermione?”
Ginny turned to him with a frown. “You’re the one who felt the magic signature, Harry. You tell me if you believe it was him.”
Harry turned back to look at the road ahead of him with a shake of his head. “I don’t know.”
Hermione turned her face to where she knew Harry was sitting. He had been unusually quiet ever since he had entered her room at St. Mungos.
“Is something wrong, Harry?”
Harry blinked. “Nothing is wrong.” He answered. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Her brow creased faintly and he silently cursed himself for trying to be too accommodating too quickly. If she didn’t think he was hiding something before, she certainly did now.
“I’m… a little thirsty.” She finally said.
Relieved that she didn’t intend to pursue the matter, Harry filled a cup with the pitcher of water on the side table. Guiding her hand to the cup, he let her take it and watched silently as she drank half the contents. He sat back down in the chair near her bed.
He decided that now was a better time than any to ask her about the person who saved her.
“Hermione… tell me about Altair.”
Cradling her cup in both hands, Hermione smiled shyly. “What do you want to know?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t want to beat around the bush. “Did he take advantage of you?”
He watched as Hermione went still. To his horror, her cheeks flushed bright red.
“Hermione!” He exclaimed as he stood from his seat.
“No!” She said quickly, pressing a hand against her cheek to cool the heat. “No, never!”
Harry pulled the cup from her hand and set it back on the side table before reaching to grasp her shoulders. “Listen to me, Hermione. If he did anything to you, anything at all-”
“Harry, you don’t understand.” She clenched her fingers in his shirt. “Altair was only kind and gentle with me. He had every opportunity to hurt me if he truly wanted to. Instead, he took care of me. He brought me home.”
Her blind eyes stared into his, pleading for him to understand.
“Hermione.” He soothed her gently. “I know you feel like you owe a debt to this man, but that wouldn’t excuse any bad actions. You were alone with him for quite some time and in your condition-”
“We weren’t alone.” She interrupted. “Not… not really.”
Harry blinked. Kingsley hadn’t mentioned another person being involved. “You weren’t?”
Hermione shook her head slowly. “There was a house elf named Pip who made our food and helped me bathe and dress. I was sad that Altair was the type of person to have a house elf working in their home. But Pip was very kind to me.”
Harry struggled against the feeling of reassurance her words gave him – not wanting to believe that Draco Malfoy could be capable of even a speck of chivalry. Though he still couldn’t quite grasp the idea of Altair being Draco – deep down, he knew that it was true. There were too many coincidences and in their world, coincidences were few.
He stirred from his thoughts when her small hand slipped up to cup his cheek.
“Harry, why are you asking me these things about Altair?”
He let out a sigh. “I just find it strange that this Altair ran away so quickly after bringing you here. His actions were noble, weren’t they? Why would he run?”
Hermione’s brows dipped into a frown as she brought her hand back. “I think he had somewhere to be. He was always so restless and I… I think I was keeping him from something important.”
“And he never took advantage of you?” Harry asked her once again. “He never hurt you?” Despite the evidence, he just couldn’t reconcile the actions of this man. Kind and gentle were not the words to describe Malfoy. Cold and ruthless were far more accurate and Harry knew that Hermione would agree if she knew of Altair’s true identity. It made him angry that he couldn’t tell her who her savior truly was.
Hermione tilted her head as she tried to hear what Harry wasn’t saying. It was understandable that Harry would be worried about her. Especially since he believed that she had been dead this entire time. But she didn’t understand his attitude towards Altair. She was alive because of Altair. She was home because of him.
“Hermione?”
The worry in his voice, in his repetitive questions, seemed deeper. It seemed like there was another purpose behind it. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the hint of hostility in Harry’s tone while they discussed the man who saved her life. Could it be possible that Harry knew who Altair was? Did he not approve of him? Or was it something else entirely?
Either way, Hermione thought it was best that Harry didn’t know about the kiss or the fact that she slept in Altair’s arms every night.
“He didn’t harm me in any way.” She said softly, firmly.
Harry studied her silently for a moment before reluctantly accepting her answer. “Did he tell you anything about himself? Anything at all?”
Hermione shook her head and leaned back against the pillows. “I know that he is a wizard. A strong one to have taken me from that safe house. And he knew who I was. When I asked him about his allegiance, he said it was to himself.” Hermione pressed her lips together. “Do you… do you think that he could be a… criminal?”
“It could be possible.” Harry said, his voice even and unreadable.
“I just.. don’t understand.” Hermione plucked at her blanket. “He could’ve hurt me. He could’ve sold me to the highest bidder or just left me for dead. Why would he save me? Why trouble himself with bringing me back to London if he was… an enemy?”
“I don’t know.”
She placed her hands on her lap before interlocking her fingers together. “I’m… I’m grateful for him.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. Harry could admit that for whatever reasons that remained unknown, and for certain they were as selfish as they could be, Malfoy had done right by Hermione. Without his help, she would’ve been forever lost to them.
“I’m grateful for him too, Hermione.”
Even if he is a traitor.
Chapter Text
Fortitude
When Altair first took her away from the familiar comfort of his home, Hermione had been terrified. Every sound, every sensation was different and unknown. There was still so much that she was trying to place into her memory and recognize by means other than her sight.
But now, she was slowly getting over the fear of her predicament. And the experience wasn’t quite so terrifying when she knew Harry was watching over her. After all, he wasn’t a stranger.
It was a beautiful day and the staff at St. Mungos had given Harry permission to take her out into the hospital’s courtyard. A small smile curled Hermione’s lips as she remembered the tender care her best friend had taken in helping her into the wheelchair and placing a blanket around her. He scarcely left her side ever since finding her in that alley and she could feel the mixed anxiety/relief rolling off him in waves.
Lifting her head up towards the warmth of the sun, Hermione closed her eyes on instinct alone and breathed in the crisp morning air. The London air still smelled the same as it did in her memories, but now she could detect numerous scents hidden in the breeze. Since she had little else to do, she took her time in pulling them apart as she let her thoughts run wild.
No one had spoken word of it, not Kingsley, not the Weasleys, not even Harry, but she knew it was on everyone’s mind. What was to come of Hermione Granger now? If she didn’t find a way to navigate through her new life, her career as a witch was essentially over. She knew it would be a long road just to recover a semblance of strength through the physical therapy she had already begun. But without her sight, how would she be able to cast any spells accurately?
Pity.
She loathed the word but she knew it was bound to be her constant companion now. She knew it would take the place of the respect she had rightfully earned. She wanted to cry, to scream into a pillow. More than that, she wanted everyone to stop treating her like she was broken.
If they did, maybe she would stop thinking she was.
“Hermione?”
She jerked at hearing Harry’s voice so close when she never sensed his approach. A hand grasped her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Harry decided on saying. He wasn’t sure how to broach what could be a sensitive topic.
He had been sitting on a bench a distance away to give Hermione some space while still being close enough to keep an eye on her. Numerous expressions slipped across her face unguarded when she didn’t realize she was being watched. For a moment she appeared torn between sorrow and anger. Harry couldn’t help being curious about her thoughts, especially when he still had so many questions for her.
“Is it time to go back in?” She asked in a small, assured voice.
He smiled though he knew she couldn’t see. “No, we can stay a bit longer… if you wish.”
She nodded, long curls falling forward to cover her sightless eyes. Harry wasn’t used to seeing her hair this long, or this unkempt. He made a mental note to ask Ginny about having someone see to it. The Hermione Granger he knew would’ve refused to allow anyone to see her in such an untended state.
“Harry?” The sound of his name jolted him from his thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Have you… has anyone… found him?” Her unseeing eyes were planted towards the ground. Harry noticed she had her hands fisted in her lap.
He raised an eyebrow. “Who? Altair?”
“No.” Hermione answered in a tone low enough to be a whisper. “That day – Our… our protocol after not receiving word from a team on a mission is that we go looking for them. Did that happen? Did anyone…?” Harry watched as a tear slid down her face. She was crying now. “Was he found? Did anyone find him? Is he still alone out there? Where is–” Harry placed his arm around her shoulder, cutting her off mid sentence.
“We found him, Hermione.” He answered her.
“When?”
“Not even five days after receiving no word from you both – we found him. We brought him home.”
She let out a choked sigh of relief. “Th-Thank goodness.” He grabbed her towards himself in a hug as she cried into his chest. “All this time, I… didn’t know.”
He couldn’t imagine how that must’ve felt. Harry knew what the unknown could do to someone, he didn’t know the true nature of Hermione’s wellbeing for two years. But she knew what happened to Ron – she was there for it.
To witness something like that, and to not know if his body was ever recovered – if he was ever brought back home to be buried with his family. To assume that he was still alone in that clearing in the woods this whole time… that would’ve shattered Harry’s heart.
“You don’t have to worry about that.” Harry assured her. “We held a funeral for him. He’s resting right beside Fred.”
She tightened her hold on his shirt. “I’m… I’m glad.”
“And you know what?” Harry asked. “We even made sure to put that Chudley Cannons blanket that he was constantly yakking about beside him as well.” He let out a chuckle. “You know he couldn’t stand to be apart from that stupid thing for too long.” Hermione let out something that sounded like a hiccup.
“He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.” She responded with. Harry could hear the smile in her voice.
He gave her a smile of his own. It felt good to know that she was still thinking of Ron. Especially since thoughts of Ron constantly crossed his own mind. It reminded Harry that he wasn’t alone in this – that this grief wasn’t exclusive to only the Weasleys. It reminded him that his dear friend was still missed and cherished by others as well.
“Can I… go see him one of these days?” He heard her ask.
“Of course.”
“When I’m a bit… better on my feet, I suppose.”
“Whenever you want, Hermione.” Harry stated. “Just give me the word.”
“You’re doing great, Hermione. Just five more.”
Hermione grit her teeth against the pain flaring up and down her body and pushed with all her waning strength. Her arms trembled like grass in a storm as they extended above her, forcing weights off the pedestal once more.
It didn’t matter that it was the lowest weight the exercise bench had – two measly pounds . And it didn’t matter that each repetition lit trails of fire through every muscle in her upper torso. The only thing that mattered to her in that single moment was that she was going to do two more lifts than the day before. Each day she would do more because she needed to be strong. She wanted to prove to everyone that Hermione Granger wasn’t broken.
But mostly, she wanted to prove it to herself.
The weights dropped with a resounding clank and Hermione laid panting on the bench, certain her muscles had turned into limp noodles. Hearing a soft scratching, she turned her head to the right where she knew the healer, Miriam, was standing, making notes on her progress.
“I know it doesn’t seem like much now.” Miriam stated. “But this is only your third day with physical therapy and already you were able to increase the repetition. Not a lot of people can do that, Hermione.”
“I still… have a long way… to go.” Hermione puffed.
“I’m sure you’ll make it there faster than you think.” Miriam replied with. “I’ll let you rest for a bit before we start working on your legs, okay?” Hermione nodded and listened to the healer’s steps move away, but not out of the room.
Already her muscles screamed for pushing them beyond their abilities – but she didn’t want to give up. Hermione knew that the pain would only get worse before it would get better. And after years spent under that mind curse, she was no stranger to pain. It would take more than pain to break her resolve.
Slowly her breathing eased in her chest and as she often did when left in silence, she thought of him.
How long did Altair spend taking care of her – time he could’ve spent in his own pursuits? Was it weeks? Months?
“I’ll be back to claim my favor.”
He would.
She knew he would.
And when he did, she wanted to be standing on her own two feet. She wanted to be on equal ground with this faceless man who frightened, comforted and excited her in ways she didn’t think could be possible for her anymore.
She wanted to prove to him that his efforts hadn’t been wasted. That she was worth saving. That even in darkness she could be strong.
She reminded herself that if she gave up now, Voldemort would win – and she would never allow that to happen. He may have destroyed her sight, but her spirit remained. Her will, her mind, no matter how torn and tattered they were, they remained hers alone. She was going to take her life back one brutal step at a time.
Miriam returned shortly and helped Hermione to sit up on the bench, handing her a bottle. “Ready for more?”
Hermione swallowed a large gulp of water and nodded sharply. Miriam helped her down onto the floor mat and situated herself beside Hermione’s right leg.
“You don’t have much strength or mobility in your legs yet, so I’ll move them for you at first to loosen up the muscles. If we push too hard or too quickly, we can do some serious damage.”
“I know.” Hermione said.
Miriam hesitated and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I wasn’t trying to patronize you. I know you were once an amazing healer.”
‘Were once’… past tense…
A small smile softened the look of set determination on Hermione’s face. “I’m just glad it’s you today and not Janet.” Hermione said. She decided not to dwell on the fact that Miriam referred to her status as a healer in the past tense.
Miriam snorted, wrapping her hands around Hermione’s leg, one just below the inside of her knee and the other on her ankle. “It’s a wonder that woman has lasted this long. You would think one of the patients would’ve hexed her to oblivion, if not one of the staff.”
Hermione chuckled to avoid hissing at the pain flooding through her muscles as Miriam gently lifted and bent her leg. In a few moments it became difficult to breath and Miriam abandoned the leg to work on the other for a few short repetitions. By the time she was done, Hermione was panting heavily, her hair damp with sweat.
“This is worse than I thought.” Miriam murmured as Hermione heard the scratching of quill to paper once again.
“Two years.” Hermione gasped. “Long time.”
“Don’t worry about it at all.” Miriam stated before slowly lifting her leg again once Hermione caught her breath. “I assume it would take a lot more than that to keep a witch like Hermione Granger down.”
Hermione gave her another small smile. “I hope so.”
Notes:
Sorry for the short chapter! The next chapter will be kind of long so I needed an in between. Thank you for reading this far!
Chapter 10: Vengeance
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Vengeance
Draco sat up in the bed with a sharp gasp, wand in hand before he was even fully conscious of his own actions. Silver eyes scoured the darkness for threats as sweat trickled down the sides of his face – his chest heaving with harsh, panting breaths.
It took him several minutes to relax his tense muscles after confirming that he was alone in the small rented room, just as he had been the last two times he jolted awake. Slumping back onto bed, Draco glared at the dark ceiling as if it were to blame for the monsters that stalked him in his dreams.
How long had it been since he was last able to sleep peacefully through the night?
Two months.
Two months since he left her against a brick wall in the pouring rain crying out for him to stay. Two months since he last held her soft body against him. Two nightmare-ridden months since he last shared her gentle warmth and breathed the sweet scent that clung to her skin.
Draco had been used to the cold. His life had consisted of many cold and dark things for as long as he could remember. The cold was a beacon for him. It guided him, motivated him, reminded him of who he was – what he deserved. Those who have hands that are used to bring death and destruction are bound to always be alone – always be cold.
He never expected anything else for himself. He knew what the consequences of his actions would be, and he accepted them in stride. He didn’t ask for more, he didn’t strive for more. A life of cold solitary was a price he was willing to pay for what he had done, and what his revenge would bring him to do.
He never knew that Hermione Granger would be the thing that would change it all for him.
He knew about warmth now. He knew what it felt like to be wrapped in it, to be consumed by it. He allowed the warmth to lift the fear and pain from his heart and had it lull him to sleep at night. He knew that warmth existed now, and that it existed for him. And now he wondered how he ever lived so long without it? And how was he supposed to welcome back the cold when he knew how good it felt to be warm?
That woman was a plague, a siren calling him to his demise. He knew that no good could come from anything that distracted his focus so completely.
And yet… It was her absence that drove him back to the madness that governed his existence.
With a frustrated groan, Draco threw the blankets aside and stalked to the window. For weeks he had been steadily stalking his father’s movements and finally, finally , he had found him. He had no doubt that Lucius was aware of how close Draco was despite his precautions to hide his presence, and yet neither of them had tried to approach the other.
Lucius was clearly waiting for him to make the first move and Draco wasn’t sure what held him back now. This was the moment he had dreamed of, what he had been waiting and training so hard for. He had shed blood and all attachments to get here and now he hesitated.
Why?
Regardless of what happens now, she will never look at me the same way again. She will never look at me as Altair now that she knows that I’m Draco.
So what’s a little more blood on my hands?
Snorting at his reflection, Draco turned away from the window and waved his wand to pack up his few provisions, trying not to think about what really bothered him. Before Hermione, the path had been clear right up until the moment he ripped the life from his father’s body. Before Hermione, it didn’t matter if he died in the process. In fact, that death called to him. He didn’t have anything else to live for. He would’ve been okay with having his time in this world come to an end.
But now he realized that if he did die, he would never see her again. He would never be able to taste those sweet lips on his own. He would never feel the warmth of having her cling to him as if he were her sacred sanctuary.
Her sightless eyes had sparked the tiniest seed of a dream that men like him were not privileged to entertain. Warmth. Family. A future. Things that didn’t belong to a former Death Eater waited for him in the security of wizarding London.
She gave him something worth living for.
Her vulnerable strength and innocent trust awakened something in him that only got stronger the longer he stayed apart from her. Each passing day forced him to face the fact that he wanted her. He wanted to be warm again, to find rest from his demons, to be seen once more as a savior and not a harbinger of death.
Placing his pouch in his pocket and slipping his wand in his sleeve, Draco stalked to the door and ripped it open. No more waiting. No more hesitating. His father had already destroyed the one thing in the world that meant anything to him, and now he was going to make sure that another would remain out of his reach. As long as Lucius remained alive, Draco knew that Hermione wouldn’t be safe from him.
You’ve already tainted everything with your poison, father. But you’ll never have the chance to touch her.
Disappearing into the night as if he were a part of it, Draco embraced the hatred and anger his father had cultivated in him. What had once been a raw, burning heat was now cold and calculated – carefully tended to serve as his strength and not his weakness. Draco had no illusions about what awaited him in this battle. Lucius would not hold back. His father would do everything in his power to make sure that Draco met the same fate as his mother. Draco counted on that, and planned to meet him at the same level.
The path of revenge had filled him with black loathing for the man he once idolized and longed to become. Those few memories of the love he once held for his father as a child were buried deep within a mountain of pain, waiting to be unearthed and bring him to his knees.
But now a small light glowed upon the top of that mountain. Brown with speckles of gold, soothing and warm, holding the all encompassing darkness at bay with surprising ease. His new beacon. His escape path.
His happy place.
Hermione let out a small gasp as her foot got stuck on something in her path. Before she could fall forward, she felt arms wrap around her to hold her steady.
“You okay?” Harry asked once she regained her posture.
Letting out a sigh, she forced herself to relax in his arms. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” He assured her. Shifting her in his arms, they continued to walk through the field towards the Burrow.
Kingsley had finally released Hermione into the Weasley’s care with the assurance that someone would bring her in every day for her therapy and eye treatments. She could now stand for short periods of time, but walking was another matter entirely. She could still only muster a few steps on her own before she needed the assistance of another. The road to recovery was still a long one, but her release from the hospital was a large milestone.
Being able to come back to the Burrow was a dream of hers. She longed for it during her time in the dreamscape. But now, she wasn’t so sure. The warmth she expected to feel from Molly, Arthur, Ginny, George, Charlie, Bill, and Percy didn’t compare to how it felt in her fantasies. Though the love they had for one another was still there, something had changed between them. It felt like there was a secret that held them slightly at bay, one that they wouldn’t share with Hermione.
Hermione had tried to ask them about this so many times and was constantly met with a wall. Nothing is wrong, Hermione. We aren’t keeping anything from you, Hermione. It’s only the shock of seeing you again, Hermione. She had even tried to ask Harry about this multiple times and even he sang the same tune.
Hermione knew that time changed people. Two years was a long time. Two years mixed with war, fear, pain, and loss was an even longer time. She didn’t expect to be greeted by the same exact people from before. She knew they would be a bit different.
But she never expected them to treat her differently.
“You want to take a break?” Harry asked after he observed Hermione’s legs start to shake. He waited for the nod of her head before he conjured her wheelchair with the wave of his wand and helped her to sit on it.
Round the clock, an Auror team had been stationed in the immediate vicinity of his best friend. As well as the constant stream of the Weasleys and himself always at her side, Hermione was as safe as a person could be.
But that still didn’t put Harry at ease. Kingsley had told him that the team he set up to investigate Hermione’s return had confirmed that it had indeed been Draco Malfoy who had saved her and brought her back to London. They had found hair follicles left on the jumper she was wearing that matched his DNA.
Harry didn’t know what unsettled him more; the fact that his best friend had been at the mercy of a known Death Eater, or the fact that he actually had been a gentleman with her. It just didn’t fit with what he knew of Malfoy and his personality. There was also the unshakeable uncertainty that Malfoy wanted something from Hermione. This unknown favor she had promised him continued to hover like a dark cloud over his thoughts.
What could Hermione give that Malfoy would ever want?
Without a means to track Malfoy’s movements, things had quieted back down since Hermione’s return. The Daily Prophet still published articles with their theories and speculations, but the overall focus had shifted mostly to her recovery. Hermione tenaciously continued with her therapy and eye treatments.
Day by day, Hermione started to laugh and smile more, and he could tell that her uncertainty towards the future was slipping into content patience. It appeared to all as if the only scars from her ordeal to remain were those on her body, but Harry knew how deceiving appearances were, especially with Hermione Granger.
“We’re here.” Harry said once they reached the door of the Burrow. He saw Hermione’s hands clench the sides of her wheelchair, but she gave no other outward sign of trepidation.
“Welcome home, Hermione.” Molly said once she answered the door for them. She briefly placed her hand on Hermione’s and gave Harry a nod before turning around. “Come now, I have the table set with lunch.”
“I’m… not rather hungry at the moment.” Hermione murmured in a low voice. Molly turned around to face them again, giving Harry a confused look.
Harry gave her an understanding smile. “We had a meal right before coming here.”
“Don’t you bother yourselves, then.” Molly said as she placed her hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “If you start to feel hungry later, just give me a shout.”
“Of course.” Hermione said with a small smile.
Harry started to push the wheelchair forward. “I’ll bring her to the room to rest.”
The Burrow was empty except for Molly, Hermione and Harry. It was the middle of a work day, after all. Sliding open the door to the spare room they set up for Hermione, Harry walked them both in and helped her into the bed.
“Don’t hesitate to call for assistance if you need it.” Harry stated as he puffed the pillows behind her. “There’s a bell right here if you need anything.” He guided her hand over to the nightstand and to the string they set up with magic that would cause bells to ring in whatever room it sensed someone to be in.
“Thank you, Harry.” She whispered. He gave her hand a small squeeze.
“I’ll be gone for a few hours, but Molly and the Aurors assigned to this shift will be here.” Harry mentioned as he stepped around the bed and towards the door. “I’ll come by to check on you after work. Is there anything you need right now?”
Hermione shook her head with another small smile. “I promise I won’t go anywhere.”
Harry blinked before shaking his own head at her teasing. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Once he left her alone to acclimate to her new surroundings, Hermione sunk into her pillows and sighed. She hadn’t really thought this far ahead, though she knew she obviously wouldn’t be staying in St. Mungos forever.
While she was a bit worried about being at the Burrow, she was still grateful to the Weasleys for taking her in. She had no family of her own to turn to. She knew her parents were out of the question since she wiped her existence from their memories. She only had Harry and the Weasleys now.
It was comforting to know that Harry would always be near unless he was away on his Auror missions. While she still felt that he was also hiding something from her, he still treated her the same as he always had. He wasn’t standoffish with her, didn’t walk on ice when talking to her, didn’t keep her slightly at bay. His absences made her feel all the more isolated in the dark void that surrounded her.
She was sad that she felt like this. Sad that she could ever view the Weasleys as anything but a family of her own. Sad that she thinked too hard about their actions now, and listened too closely to their words.
While it had been two years for them, the time apart felt much longer to Hermione. She lost track of time while under the mind curse. Her memories from before the dreamscape felt so far away that every word and action her loved ones said to her now painted over the pictures she had created of them in her mind. Creating new people with new personalities and new experiences.
And she hated that.
She hated that she could still feel so alone when surrounded by the people she loved so dearly. She hated that she could allow a few interactions to change her perception on her loved ones, on a family she was going to join herself one day through Ron. She hated that Voldemort could have an effect on her future like this.
Hermione didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt the tears slide down her face. She raised her hands to her cheeks before the sobs choked out of her.
She was so sick of crying. Sick of feeling weak. Sick of the darkness that surrounded her. Sick of feeling like she was giving Voldemort power over her life.
She was home now. She was safe. She was slowly making it through her recovery. She was trying so hard.
What more did she have to do to feel normal again?
‘A-Altair? What happens now?’
‘Try to get some rest, Hermione.’
Turning her face into the pillow, Hermione obeyed the gentle command of her memory.
She woke two hours later with a loud scream, visions of blood and death dancing across her blind eyes.
Draco jolted to awareness when a piercing scream shattered the night to pieces. The hoarse burning in his throat told him it was his own. Waves of agony ripped through him with each gasping breath and he dropped his gaze to the steel driven through his body, pinning him to the tree.
It appeared that his father had resorted to theatrics in their final moments. Draco stared at the sword that Lucius decided to wield against him. It pierced right through him and into the tree, it was the only thing that was keeping him on his feet.
His eyelids felt heavy as he tried to fight the exhaustion of his impending death.
Dazedly, he raised his hand to grasp the hilt and stared blankly at the blood dripping from his fingers. His entire arm was coated with it, but he couldn’t feel any pain that would accompany such a tremendous loss of blood aside from the one searing straight through his body.
Looking up from the crimson liquid, Draco locked eyes with cold, lifeless ones that matched his own in color, as empty in death as they had been in life. The hazy confusion washed away at the sight of the bloody gash torn through Lucius’s chest and Draco’s hand twitched.
He could still remember the feel of ripping through flesh with a dagger he conjured once he saw Lucius drop his wand mid battle in favor of a sword. A bloody sword, for Salazar’s sake. Their final moments resulted in a battle of steel as if they were knights in the Renaissance period, and not wizards in the 20th century. The gaping wound on Lucius' chest confirmed something that Draco had always wondered.
Lucius Malfoy did have a heart, after all. A physical one, at least.
Even in death, his father’s eyes were mocking him, satisfied that he would not be alone in defeat. With his own blood steadily leaking from his body, Draco’s awareness slipped towards a welcomed darkness that knew no pain or guilt.
His mother had been avenged.
The past could rest and now, so could he.
‘P-Please, don’t go!’
His eyes snapped open in alarm at the panicked cry. Frantically he searched the moonlit glade but found he was alone. The voice was only a ghost of a memory. The darkness started calling him back and he lacked the strength or will to resist.
‘W-W-Wait!’
His eyes snapped open again. He could see her face now. He watched the memory of her play out in his head. She was so close, but yet so far.
“Wouldn’t you rather… I die?” He whispered to the phantom in his head. The only answer he received was the memory of tears glistening in sightless brown eyes.
“Stop crying.” Stiff fingers curled tightly around the hilt of the sword.
‘Y-You…. You came back.’
The other hand joined the first. “I hate it when you cry.” He hissed.
An unwilling scream of anger and pain tore from his throat as he yanked the sword free with one harsh pull. Without the steel to hold him up, he collapsed to the ground in a pool of his own blood, just three feet from his father’s corpse.
Silver eyes so much like his own stared back vacantly, taunting his weakness and failure. Lucius had seen in the heat of battle that something had taken root in Draco's soul, a possession pushing him beyond the hatred and rage of vengeance.
“Could it be, my son, that you have found another reason for you to continue your sad excuse of a life? Tell me, so I can take that from you, as well.”
Such a cruel irony that the two of them would fall together, side by side, a family in death as they couldn’t be in life. Draco had always expected this eventuality, but a small part of him refused to surrender so easily despite the peace death offered that was so closely at hand.
He could see his mother’s hand reaching for him. He wanted to reach for it too. It had been so long since he felt her embrace.
‘Why did you help me? What do you want?’
Coldness seeped through him, numbing his body and mind.
“Hermione,” He whispered, his sight fading as his heavy eyelids finally closed over his eyes. “When I wake… can there be light?”
Notes:
I thought about writing the full battle in detail (I even wrote most of it out) before I realized that I don't care for the Lucius in this story enough to give him ANY attention.
So I hope you all enjoyed the aftermath of the battle instead. Thank you once again for reading this far!!
Chapter 11: Hope
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hope
Ginny brushed her fingers through Hermione’s hair as she slept with her head pillowed on her lap, fingers gently clutching the fabric of Ginny’s robes.
Ginny had heard that Hermione woke up screaming earlier that day. The Aurors informed her that they had triple checked the wards and investigated the area around the Burrow for anything or anyone suspicious. It turned out that the enemy who had caused Hermione’s outburst wasn’t on the property, but inside Hermione’s head where no one else could go.
Her mother, Molly, quickly came to Hermione’s side after her outburst. Harry and Ginny arrived shortly after. They ate their dinner in her room. After a couple hours of soothing words and touches, Hermione finally succumbed to a more peaceful rest. Ginny and Harry remained perched on her bed as they watched their friend sleep.
“Did this happen at St. Mungos?” Harry asked quietly.
“Yes.” Ginny replied, eyes staring off at nothing.
“What do you suppose she sees?”
Tilting her head to look back down at Hermione, Ginny sighed. “I don’t know.”
They remained in silence for a few more moments before Ginny frowned and spoke again.
“She calls out for him, did you know? She calls out for… for this Altair in her sleep.”
Harry stiffened and slowly turned to look at Ginny. He couldn’t miss the malice that was laced in her words. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction either.
“She doesn’t know who he is, Ginny. She only knows him as the man who saved her life.”
“But we know who he is!” Ginny exclaimed in a loud whisper. “And we could protect her by telling her exactly who Altair is. Don’t you think we’re doing more harm than good by keeping her in the dark? Her attachment to him has only gotten worse!”
Harry let out a sigh and forced himself to relax. “Trust me, Ginny. I completely agree with you.”
It was hard for him to not inform Hermione of Altair’s true identity. He could tell that Hermione suspected that they were all keeping a secret from her, and he hated that he felt like he was lying to his best friend. A lie by omission was still a lie. And he didn’t make a habit of lying to others.
He also found it even more difficult to keep this secret from her after hearing that Hermione had been calling out for Altair in her sleep. She rarely talked about Altair – about Malfoy, to him anymore. So it was hard for him to gauge what her feelings about him were. He had hoped that after some time, Hermione would forget about Malfoy all together. Hearing this only proved to Harry that she still cherished Altair as her savior, and it was all their fault.
Harry knew that Hermione wouldn’t view Altair the same if she knew that he was Draco Malfoy, that he was a Death Eater.
“We should tell her, Harry.” Ginny whispered while staring at him. She wore an expression that reflected her grief over this whole situation. Harry knew this bothered Ginny just as much as it bothered him.
“You know that we can’t.”
“But it makes no sense-”
“Kingsley has his reasons for all of this.” Harry stated, cutting her off. “And I can see where he’s coming from to a certain degree. She’s recovering well, and quite quickly. And her eye treatments are painful enough as it is. Imagine the added stress that information like this would cause her.”
“That’s rubbish and you know it.” Ginny said with a frown. “This stupid decision of his is the reason why it would cause her any more stress. We’ve allowed her attachment for him to grow. If we had told her from the very beginning, she would’ve gotten over Altair by now.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“And neither do you.” She spit back at him.
Harry let out another sigh. “I don’t want to fight with you, Ginny.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and watched as the frown slowly fell from her face. “Especially not about this. Kingsley is the Minister of Magic. We can’t go against his decisions. We’re all still recovering from the war and having former members of the Order challenge a decision that the Minister of Magic made would only cause more confusion for everyone.”
“It would only cause confusion if you were the one to challenge Kingsley, not me.” Ginny gave him a small smirk. “We’re not all held to the same standards as the hero who is The Boy Who Won, you know.”
Harry chuckled at her teasing. “I truly despise that name. I’m not a boy.”
“Well you’re still everyone’s hero.” She smiled at him before leaning into his shoulder. “Including mine.”
Harry smiled back at her before wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Then that’s the only good thing to ever come from that name.”
“Hmm.” Ginny responded as she tucked herself closer in his comforting embrace. She sighed as she rubbed her hand over Hermione’s hair. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”
“We don’t know. We lost all traces of him once we ventured out of London.”
Slender ginger brows drew with obvious displeasure before smoothing apart. “Do you think he would really come back? For this favor he’s asked of her?”
“She believes that he will.” Harry stated as he looked down at Hermione’s sleeping form. “I’m inclined to take her word for it.”
“I sincerely hope that he doesn’t.” Ginny responded with. “For her sake, and for my own. I don’t know what I would do if I saw him get within an inch of her.”
“The Aurors will make sure of that not happening.” He assured her before meeting her gaze. “So promise me that you won’t be taking matters into your own hands, Ginny. I don’t want to have to arrest you.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll try.” She said as she leaned closer to his chest. “But… I can’t promise anything.”
Harry didn’t have a response to that.
Because truly, neither could he.
‘You’re not real.’
‘You’re a figment of my imagination.’
‘You’re not real…. because you feel real.’
The torturous shudders of pain that was wracking his body felt very real. Draco let out a painful groan. He burned from the inside out like someone was cauterizing every vessel with a hot iron.
Cracking his eyes open, a blurred image of grays and blues greeted his sight, dark and distorted like the rest of the world around him. He let out a chuckle.
“You didn’t bring the light.” He murmured, eyes slipping closed so that he could see her face again within his own mind. His body hurt too much for him to focus on anything else.
“Grandpa, he’s awake!”
Draco winced at the exclamation spoken too loudly and too close to his throbbing ears.
“Not so loud, Peter.” A patient, gravelly voice chastised.
There was a quiet shuffling before Draco felt a hand slip under his head and gently tilt it up. The rim of a goblet touched his parched lips and he greedily accepted the offering, soothing at least the fire within his throat.
“Don’t try to move or you will tear open your wounds again.” The voice advised. “I had quite a time stitching you up and I’d hate to see my handy work go to waste.”
Draco grunted and grimaced at the resulting swell of pain it inflicted. “Why is it so… hot?” He whispered.
“Hmm, yes.” The voice sounded like it belonged to an old man. “You’ve been running a fever for several days now.”
A cool cloth was placed across Draco’s forehead. He nearly sighed at the instant relief it brought, one more pain edged away. Within his muddled thinking, it took him a while to grasp what the man had just told him.
Several days…
“How long?”
“Hmm?”
Draco mentally snarled with irritation. “How. Long?” He grated out between clenched teeth.
“Well…” There was a sound of water swishing around in a bowl before the cloth on his forehead was removed and replaced with another. “My grandson and I stumbled upon you and your… companion about three days ago. We were out scavenging for medicinal herbs.”
Draco reflected that he sounded entirely too happy about that.
“God must favor you, boy.” The old man stated. “I am not an actual doctor, but I am the closest thing to one in a ten mile radius. I’ve patched my fair share of broken bodies, but I must say yours was a bit of a challenge. I honestly didn’t think you’d make it.”
Draco’s lip twitched at the irony of the man’s words.
After everything that I’ve done, I’m sure that I’m not favored by any God…
“You’re not out of the woods yet, but you seem awfully determined to live. She must be one special lady.”
Platinum brows dipped into a frown. “Who?”
“This Hermione that you keep calling out for in your sleep.” The old man responded with. “I’ve seen able men die from much smaller wounds than this. She must really be something for you to fight this hard to live.”
Draco laid in silence for several minutes while the man checked over and re-patched his wounds. The comforting smell of herbs perfumed the air, reminding him of the nights he spent in her soft embrace. He thought of her pretty eyes, full of so much hope and trust in him.
“She is.” He whispered long after the old man left his side.
-x-
Draco stared pensively at the small wooden box on the nightstand beside him, his eyes no longer hazed over with fever and confusion.
It had been a week since the old man, Gerald, deemed it safe enough to move him to another room that was smaller than the one he was in previously. His wound tore open in the process and infection set in, putting him back into a delirious state for several more days. When he woke once more with his senses about him, he was resting on a soft bed in Gerald’s home and the small box containing his father’s ashes was on the nightstand beside him.
It hadn’t occurred to Draco to ask what happened to Lucius’ body until a few days after his first waking. Their battle had taken place in a remote clearing in the middle of nowhere Poland. The nearest city or village was miles and miles away. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be around, for anyone to find him – let alone for that person to be English. Now he wondered what the procedures were wherever he was. Did the muggles have any officers here? Did Gerald already make a report to them? Was their battle now a crime scene?
After questioning Gerald thoroughly, Draco found out that even though the old man was a muggle, his daughter was actually a witch. His family fled from England when the war broke out and made a home here in the middle of nowhere Poland. To Draco’s utter luck, Gerald had recognized his father’s Death Eater robes and came to his own conclusions. He had no doubt recognized the similar features that Lucius and Draco shared. He assumed that Draco had made a tough decision to battle his own father over his choices as a Death Eater, a battle of Good vs. Evil.
Oh, how wrong he was…
Draco couldn’t believe the amount of luck he received. He was sure that he had met his demise out there in those woods. Instead, he was found by someone. A man who spoke English and knew how to patch up his wounds. A muggle who knew of the wizarding world and didn’t report the incident to the authorities given the fact that his father was a Death Eater.
Draco wondered if there actually was a God somewhere who favored him.
The God of Death, probably.
Gerald didn’t suspect that Draco had also been a Death Eater.
Draco didn’t inform him of the fact either.
Instead, Draco spent his days staring at the box on the nightstand, unbearably numb. Gerald burned Lucius’ body instead of leaving it to decompose and rot in the woods. He thought that Draco would appreciate having his father’s ashes.
He thought wrong.
The ashes only brought him confusion. If not for the constant pain of his injuries, he would’ve believed this all to be some strange dream. All of his nightmares, his pain, his betrayals, his sacrifices, they all had led him to this point… and he felt nothing. There was no peace, no satisfaction, just an intense sense of loss. It took him days to define the emptiness and its source.
His revenge had been the one thing that guided him.
And now, he no longer had that.
Sinking back against the pillows propping him up, Draco pulled his gaze away from the box and met the curious stare of Gerald’s grandson. The eight year old flushed at being caught staring and quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the foul concoction his grandfather was mixing.
Draco tried not to grimace, knowing the pungent goo would soon be slathered across his body. Recently, none of Gerald’s remedies smelled or tasted pleasant, but their potency was incentive enough to brave the horror.
He was seriously missing Hermione’s scent and he couldn’t help but wonder if she ever made her own medicines and potions, being a healer and all. Those thoughts then led to him wondering how she spent her days now, and how she would spend them with him when he returned for her. To come home every day to her pretty eyes and sweet smile, to wake up with her warmth in his arms…
I wonder if she thinks of me… if she’s still waiting for me….
It had been months since he last saw her, and it would be a good deal longer before he was healed enough to travel to her. He needed to be at full strength before returning to wizarding London, knowing what would await him there.
Punishment was for certain, he was classified as a missing wizard – a Death Eater, after all. And with the Order running the Ministry, he knew they weren’t going to be lenient with him – let alone accept him for Hermione. There were a million of other wizards that they would accept to be with Hermione before he would ever be considered.
Draco stiffened.
What if she was already dating someone?
Enough time had passed for her to recover from her injuries. And whether she was blind or not, she was still Hermione Granger. Her reputation and her beauty would be enough for any man to pursue her. Hell, it was more than enough for Draco to want to pursue her. He wondered how many eligible wizards have already approached her by now? And did she give any of them the time of day?
Draco clenched his fists at the thought of another man touching her, holding her, kissing her. Even though his father was supposed to be the last life he would to take, he was more than willing to kill anyone who tainted those sweet lips that belonged only to him.
I need to heal faster.
In answer to his thoughts, Gerald and his grandson appeared beside him and the uncomfortable process of changing his bandages began. This time, Draco didn’t complain. The old man could cover him head to toe in grease if it made him heal any faster than he already was.
“How long do you suppose this will take?” Draco asked as Gerald poked and prodded the large wound on his abdomen.
“The infection is gone and the skin is knitting nicely.” Gerald stated. “But the internal tissue will remain tender and susceptible to further damage for some time. I’d say you have about another few weeks or so before this one heals up well enough for you to become fully active again.”
Draco scowled darkly at the prognosis. That would put him at a month at the very least before he could return to London. Hermione would be fully recovered by then.
And able to go on dates.
He growled.
Gerald chuckled, wrapping fresh white linen around him. “I’m sure she’s waiting for you, young man. Women never forget a face like yours.”
“She’s blind.” Draco blurted before he could stop himself. Gerald looked equally startled at his admittance, but only shook his head at the glare Draco shot him, daring him to comment.
Gerald carefully knotted the bandages. “I knew she was special, then.” He murmured.
“What do you mean?”
Sitting back in his chair, the old man wiped his hands on a cloth. “The blind can see things that others can’t, hear the things that are hidden behind false expressions. This girl of yours probably knows more about you than you think.”
Draco’s brows dipped into a frown before he glanced away with a scoff. “Senile old man.” He muttered under his breath.
Gerald chuckled again. “Most days anyway.” He said, gathering up his supplies to carry them back to the table.
Draco watched the old man from the corner of his eye until he realized the grandson, Peter, was still sitting beside his bed, staring at him. Those big, worshipping eyes of his made Draco want to fidget.
“Is there a problem?” Draco asked the boy. Usually the eight year old kept his distance, but today he was undeterred.
“My mum is blind, too.” Peter said with a small tilt of his head. “At least, she says she is. I’m not so certain since she always seems to know when I’m doing something I shouldn’t.”
The corner of Draco’s mouth lifted to a grin. “All mothers seem to know when their sons are up to no good. It’s just their thing, I suppose.”
Peter nodded his head sagely. “Creepy, isn’t it? Sometimes I’m not even in the same room and she just knows." The boy shivered as if his mother were some otherworldly being that should be feared. “One time I tried to sneak an extra cupcake after dessert. I didn’t even get to take a bite before it turned into a spider in my hands! A spider! How gross! My mum hexed the cupcake or something. She wasn’t even in the kitchen!”
Draco tilted his head at the boy. “Your mother can still use magic?”
“Unfortunately.” Peter said with a sigh. He then proceeded to tell Draco about all of the other times his mother caught him doing things he wasn’t supposed to.
Draco listened intently, nodding at the appropriate times, and storing whatever bit of information he could get about the blind witch’s magic use. It seemed that the boy’s mother was able to do quite a lot of spells, and even used her wand as a way to sense her surroundings. Draco couldn’t hide the shock from his face when the boy mentioned a story in which his mother Disapparated them both away from a coyote that was chasing them. He was truly and utterly impressed.
It made Draco excited to see what Hermione would be capable of.
He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear this, about the abilities a blind witch could possess. He hated to admit it, but a part of him was worried about Hermione’s future. He didn’t know if she would ever truly recover her magic use. He didn’t know how much the loss of her sight would affect things for her. But now that he knew of the possibilities, he intended to do more research on it all for her. If a regular blind witch was capable of all of these things, he knew that the Brightest Witch of Her Age would be capable of so much more.
Draco listened with half an ear as the boy started to ramble on about his own latest adventures. He enjoyed watching the excitement that took over the boy's words and expressions.
It made him silently wonder what it would be like to have a kid of his own. It was unlikely that any child of his would be this chatty, but he secretly hoped they would be. He would love to spend an entire day listening to his own child’s stories and theories. Being an only child with no siblings of his own, he had a rather lonely childhood himself and would constantly do things to get his own father’s attention.
Draco chuckled to himself at the thought.
I’m sure that I’ve got your attention now, father.
Notes:
It will be a while until I update this story again, since I won't have much free time in the next coming days. But I will certainly try my best to update it when I can.
Thank you for any comments/kudos that you have given my story! I appreciate any and all feedback! It makes me that much more excited to see this story through
Pages Navigation
Eva (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sun 24 Aug 2025 10:31PM UTC
Comment Actions
jackie (Guest) on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Aug 2025 09:50PM UTC
Comment Actions
eastcrowned on Chapter 2 Sat 16 Aug 2025 02:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 2 Sat 16 Aug 2025 01:48AM UTC
Comment Actions
chapsticklover23 on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 03:51AM UTC
Comment Actions
eastcrowned on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 04:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
omg (Guest) on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 04:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
eastcrowned on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 04:23AM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 06:01AM UTC
Comment Actions
eastcrowned on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 06:02AM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 4 Sat 16 Aug 2025 07:58PM UTC
Comment Actions
my shayla (Guest) on Chapter 4 Sat 16 Aug 2025 08:25PM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 5 Thu 21 Aug 2025 11:27AM UTC
Comment Actions
wtffffff (Guest) on Chapter 5 Thu 21 Aug 2025 12:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
eastcrowned on Chapter 5 Fri 22 Aug 2025 03:17AM UTC
Comment Actions
chapsticklover23 on Chapter 5 Thu 21 Aug 2025 02:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
chapsticklover23 on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 02:39AM UTC
Comment Actions
eastcrowned on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 02:53AM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 03:11AM UTC
Comment Actions
lucia42 on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 03:54AM UTC
Comment Actions
Resentful_Spinster on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 11:48AM UTC
Comment Actions
eastcrowned on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 02:36PM UTC
Comment Actions
whewww (Guest) on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 01:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 02:33AM UTC
Comment Actions
Resentful_Spinster on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 07:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 8 Sun 24 Aug 2025 05:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
mairio on Chapter 9 Sun 31 Aug 2025 08:13AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation