Draco gave a long sigh and stared across the room for a minute before he spoke. “If you die, Granger, I'm done. I won't continue this. I'm tired.”
Hermione twisted her wrist enough to catch his hand. “Draco, don't—”
He looked down at her. His expression was closed, but she could see the whole war in his eyes. “I mean it. I won't kill them — but I will be done. You're my terms of service. The contract is void if you die.”
She shook her head. “There is a life for you on the other side of the war; don't — don't reduce your world to me.”
He quirked an eyebrow, and his upper lip curled. “Yours hardly seems larger. Or are there post-war plans you've forgotten to mention?”
Hermione swallowed and looked away. “Do as I say, not as I do.”
Draco gave a low laugh, and they lapsed into a silence as empty as the future.
“You — you could become a healer,” she said after a minute.
A smile ghosted in the corner of his mouth. “I hadn't considered that.”
Hermione gave a faint smile. “You should. If you went somewhere else, you could be a very good healer — although your bedside manner could use improvement.”
“It would be something to balance out that death toll of mine,” he said without looking at her.
Her hold on his hand tightened. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's not your fault.”
His eyes flickered away. “Maybe once. I believe I own it now.”
Hermione felt her stomach twist. “You are so much more than what the war has made you into.” Her voice shook slightly.
He still didn't look at her.
“You are,” she said, studying his face carefully. “Just like I am. There is more to both of us — it's just — just waiting to get out.” Hermione traced her fingers along his. “Someday — someday — we'll leave all this behind. The two of us — I think we could.”
His fingers entwined with hers tightened just a little.
She didn't know what else to say. She felt her eyes droop.
Draco brushed a hand against her cheek. “Sleep. You still have a few hours before you can move. Once the bones are regrown, there are restoratives I'm supposed to give you. You're not going anywhere for at least more twelve hours. I received precise instructions to ensure I'll know if you try to leave or apparate prematurely.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Twelve hours is excessive.”
“It is the bare minimum, as you well know.”
Hermione's mouth twitched and Draco snorted. “You are a manipulative little liar. Don't expect me to trust you.”
Hermione's eyes slid shut, and she suddenly gripped his hand tighter. “Don't — leave me alone in this house.”
“I won't.”
Chapter End Notes
"I will kill every last one of them" by _knar.m_
"Raze the order" by enselius.
Flashback 33
May 2003
When Hermione woke, Draco was still beside her. He had a large stack of books he was cross-referencing. Hermione blinked and narrowed her eyes to read the titles and found he was researching Gringotts regulations and inheritance law.
“What are you doing?” she asked after a minute.
His eyes flicked up from the page he was on.
“Rodolphus Lestrange was found decoratively strung up in a number of pieces while traveling through Bulgaria.”
Hermione swallowed. Gabrielle. It had her fingerprints all over it. Gabrielle's methods had grown increasingly ruthless and extreme in recent months.
“It was the reason for my summons,” Draco said as he snapped the book closed. “The Dark Lord is incensed by the audacity of the assassination and — curiously enough — intensely concerned about who will have access to the Lestrange vault now.”
Hermione froze, and her eyes widened. “Do you think—”
He gave a short nod. “The Lestranges would be an obvious choice to entrust with a horcrux. If my father was chosen, Bellatrix and her husband were equally likely. Old families with heirlooms and excellent security. Bellatrix transferred her inheritance as a Black into the Lestrange vault. Aside from Andromeda's daughter, who's currently a wanted criminal, I'm the last with Black blood. There are no more Lestranges unless a bastard crawls out of the woodwork. I believe that by blood and technicality, I may be able to access the vault.”
Hermione's mind raced. “Bribe the goblins. They're highly possessive of anything goblin-made. If you agree to give them some of the Black or Lestrange heirlooms that are goblin-made, they'll cover up that you were ever there. That's how we got access to some of the vaults.”
Draco's eyes glittered. “Useful.”
He flicked his wand and summoned several vials from across the room. “Can you move?”
Hermione lifted her arm and tilted her chin downwards to look at her chest. At some point while she was asleep, Draco had banished the exoskeletal cast. The sheets were pulled carefully up to her regrown collarbones. Her fingers caught the fabric, but she hesitated and glanced up at him. “Is it bad?”
He shrugged, but his eyes were fastened on her face. “It's minor.”
Hermione tensed her jaw slightly as she pulled the sheet back and stared at her chest.
It looked as though a tiny bomb had exploded from her sternum. The scarring was concentrated in the dead centre of her chest and then spattered in tinier scars up toward her shoulders and down over the tops of her breasts.
She could feel Draco's eyes on her although he didn't move. She blinked hard as she studied it.
She swallowed slowly.
The scarring was quite minor considering the injury. She was hardly disfigured. It wouldn't have any lifelong consequences. With time, it would fade. She knew she could treat it so that it would fade.
She was very lucky. A few scars were nothing compared to the injuries other people in the Resistance would carry for life.
It was fine. She would just wear shirts with a high neckline.
She swallowed again and looked up at Draco, who was still watching her carefully. She forced a smile. “How — how many vials of Dittany did you use on me to manage this?” She dropped the sheet and pressed her hands against it.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Still not as many as you've used on me.”
She gave a wry smile. “Your scars are prettier than mine.”
He snorted audibly. “I had a better healer.”
Hermione gave a low laugh, but it caught in her lungs. She tried to breathe but instead coughed violently until she spat several blood clots into her hand.
Draco was immediately beside her. He slid his hand behind her head, and there was a vial at her lips. “This is to clear your lungs.”
Hermione's instinctive reaction was to pull away and inspect the potion in order to verify it, but she trusted Draco was paranoid enough for both of them. She parted her lips and swallowed it. The smothering, catching sensation in her lungs vanished.
Draco muttered a spell, and she felt the blood on her hand disappear.
Draco summoned several other potions. Hermione eyed them and mentally catalogued each one. Pain relief. Strengtheners. Potions for lung tissue. Potions to help the tendons and ligaments bond with the new bones. Some were somewhat redundant. Draco was exhaustively, obsessively thorough.
She swallowed every potion without a murmur, gagging down several.
He kissed the top of her head. “Are you hungry?”
She snorted. “Not after eight potions. Although water would be appreciated. Do you have my wand? I think — I was holding it when I was apparated, wasn't I? I can't — entirely recall.”