His expression was cold and closed, but his eyes burned.
Hermione reached out and touched his face, tilting his head back. She pressed a kiss on his forehead.
“I'll take you up on that shower.” She pulled the flat sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself as she gathered her clothes off the floor. She could feel Draco's gaze as she crossed the room.
The bathroom had an enormous claw foot tub that Hermione gazed longingly at before stepping into the shower. The unmistakable scent of sex hung around her, and she still had traces of blood on her from the previous day. Not all of it was hers. She could feel it in her hair as she started to wash it.
She scrubbed herself rapidly from head to toe before stepping out and drying off. She glanced in the mirror. The bathroom was brightly, almost starkly lit. Designed for women who applied make-up meticulously and wanted to be able to inspect their every pore. Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, clutching the towel against herself.
Grimmauld Place's poor lighting was much kinder to her. She barely recognised the person in the reflection.
As she was staring, Draco came and stood at the door. He'd pulled a pair of trousers on.
“You're right, I do look like a corpse,” she said after another moment.
The hollows of his cheeks flushed, and his eyes dropped to the floor. “You should eat more.”
She shrugged. “It's stress. It's not like they don't feed me. I'll eat again when I can sleep again.” She looked over at him with a critical eye. “You're not exactly sporting a healthy body weight yourself.”
He looked down at himself and then back up at her, arching an eyebrow. “Who do you think causes my stress? You are a nightmare to worry about.”
She glanced away, her throat tightening slightly as she started to scourgify her clothes. “I — do actually have a foraging partner now.”
“The Patil who lost her foot. The one you trained.”
Hermione looked up and stared at him in the mirror. “How did you know?”
He met her eyes coolly. “I pay attention to any reports regarding the Order's healers. You are remarkably invisible, but Patil is a familiar face in the Resistance. Friendly. And quite talkative. Small details here and there. They add up.” He was expressionless. “I'm a legilimens. I'm often the one who pulls that information out.”
Hermione's throat tightened. “Why did you train me then? If you knew?”
He gave a thin smile and tilted his head to the side. “When did that start, mid-October? You still went alone too, to maintain your cover. I wanted you to live. After I died, I wanted you to still be alive. I could have just demanded you have a partner. It wouldn't have been unreasonable, given my terms. But Shacklebolt or Moody won't meet my terms once I'm gone.” His expression grew vicious. “As you said yourself: if they sold you once, what would stop them from doing it again? Who knows, maybe the second time around they'd have advertised it.”
There was a tearing sensation in Hermione's stomach, and she looked away. “They're not — they're not monsters. They have so few options. They have to work with what they have. They're the ones keeping the Resistance alive. It's their calculated choices that have carried us this far. They can't prioritise me over everyone else. I don't want them to.”
“I don't care about the Resistance,” he said sneering.
“Well, I do.” Hermione didn't waver. She met his eyes as she said it. “I care about all of them. I will always care about them.”
“They don't even know who you are.” His tone was venomous. “You're a faceless figure in their pain. They love their nurses, the hospice healers, Pomfrey, Patil. The ones who hover once they're out of danger. They don't even know that you're the one who's saved them again and again. Or anything else you've done.”
Hermione shrugged and pulled her clothes on. She was not accustomed to being naked, not around anyone. Once her shirt and trousers were on, she began braiding her hair with practiced ease.
Draco remained standing in the doorway. She could almost feel the resentment radiating from him as he watched her prepare to leave.
“I didn't do anything I've done because I expected to be seen as heroic.” She scoffed. “I don't require laurels. When this war is over—,” she looked away as she caught new sections of hair and laced them into her braids, “—if the Order wins…” She swallowed. “If we win, there's a good chance that Kingsley, Moody and I could all eventually be convicted of war crimes.”
She met Draco's eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “I will never be a hero. I knew that when I chose to train as a healer. That's never been the reason for any of my choices.”
She finished one braid and started on the other.
“Potter is worth that much to you?”
The corner of her mouth quirked. “It's more than that. Harry is my best friend, but the war is bigger than Harry or anyone else.”
Her hands stilled, and she stood silent for a moment.
“I want—,” she started and then paused and drew a short breath. “I want the next Muggle-born witch with stars in her eyes to come into a world that welcomes her. A world where she doesn't have to constantly re-earn her right to be there and isn't treated like wanting to exist is stealing something from someone else. Where she'll get to grow up and graduate. Get any job she wants, get married and have children, and grow old with someone. I didn't—,” her voice broke off briefly. “I — won't get to have any of those things. I want to make the world I wanted to live in.”
Chapter End Notes
At peace by saekaku.
Together by heidiM.
It felt as though their souls were touching by jaxx in a box.
Flashback 30
March 2003
Hermione apparated to Grimmauld Place. Her protean charm bracelet had not burned for the entire day; she assumed it meant that she was not urgently required anywhere.
“Hail the conquering hero!” Angelina shouted as Hermione hurried past the sitting room. Hermione paused awkwardly while Angelina jumped up from her seat, and Angelina, Katie, Parvati, Susan, Neville, Dean and Seamus all crowded around, patting Hermione admiringly on the shoulders.
”I can't believe you went on a mission again.”
“I nearly slapped Fred when I found out he went without me.”
“Fuckin' unbelievable the lot of you got Ron back.”
“Moody and Kingsley are pissed,” Neville said, giving her a serious look. “Kingsley spent ten minutes yelling at Remus when he came to report about the mission.”
Hermione nodded, cringing inwardly. “I need to go report. Where is he?”
“War room.”
Hermione nodded. “Alright. Thanks everyone. It was—,” she grasped for something positive sounding to say, “—quite a thrill being in the field again. I'm just glad we got Ron back.”
Kingsley was standing over a table covered with scrolls. Hermione stopped at the door and waited for him to look up.
“You're back then?”
“I'm back. I needed some recovery time.”
“Will I finally get a version of events that doesn't involve a deathtrap in which everyone but the intended victims somehow died?” Kingsley looked up, and Hermione could see the rage in his expression. He whipped his wand out and cast a privacy charm over the room.
Hermione stepped in and pushed the door shut behind her, leaning back against the frame. “I couldn't send word. I didn't know the location or anything else concrete. Harry didn't tell me why he was taking me from Grimmauld Place until we were at the Tonks house. I think he suspected I might warn you. I was only given fifteen minutes to get my healing kit. You were gone. Moody was gone. There wasn't anyone to warn who wouldn't have just wanted to come too.”