Trussed

Hermione didn't know how she'd gotten to this point in her life. She didn't know how long her panic attack had lasted, or how long Draco had been holding her. She didn't know why she was allowing her rapist to comfort her, or why it was comforting at all to have him stroking her hair.

As her breath evened out and exhaustion fell over her in waves, she let her body sink into him.

Draco wasn't sure what to do. Watching Lavender raped to death by the viscous werewolf had been horrific. He knew it had been even worse for Hermione, whom he assumed had been overwhelmed with grief at the death of her friend.

But when she's broken down and clutched at him, chest heaving with sobs as she panicked with fear in her eyes, he felt as if a shift had occurred. He wondered what she was feeling having been shown what she'd avoided by belonging to him.

He also hadn't been prepared for his own crushing relief at that fact. Watching the scene had been terrible, the guilt at being a silent bystander weighing on him like an avalanche. But beneath, a genuine sweet comfort that it wasn't Hermione beneath the wolf.

As she sunk into slumber in his arms, he looked down upon her tear streaked face and examined his feelings. He pictured her underneath Greyback, bloody and screaming, and almost went blind with rage. He trembled with the force of it, a roar bubbling up in his throat.

Hermione stirred gently, snuggling her forehead into his chest and he froze. He tightened his grip around her and when a tear rolled down the bridge of his nose he blinked in surprise.

What was happening to him?

***

Luna watched as Harry beat the green punching bag in the center of the basement, sweat dripping from his ebony locks. It was so late that one could call it early and when she'd woken to find him gone she'd assumed he'd be down here.

She knew he'd been dreaming about Ginny. Or more specifically, Ginny’s death. She knew he still blamed himself even though his rational brain knew it wasn't his fault.

But Luna also knew that the heart was often stronger than the brain, and Harry would likely carry this guilt for the rest of his life. Which was the driving force behind his desperate need to get Hermione back.

They'd been training for a month, harder than ever before. What was left of the Order had rounded up every ally possible to launch one final full out assault on Voldemort. If they failed, that would be the end.

Luna knew that this time, Harry wouldn't give up until he prevailed or died. Died for real this time.

Her heart clenched at the thought. She loved Harry, and she could feel that he loved her, on some level. But she knew he was seeking solace in her, comfort, the feeling of being loved as opposed to genuinely loving. She was okay with that. Their passionate trysts made him happy, distracted him for a little while, and she was glad to be able to give that to him.

He sunk to his knees, out of breath, and ran both hands through his hair. She slowly moved towards him, all languid limbs and catlike grace. She admired the slickness of his skin as her eyes roamed down his chiseled chest.

“Oh, Luna,” he heaved, forcing a small smile. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” She reached down and gently squeezed his arm. “Let’s get you into the shower. I'll make breakfast.” Harry’s smile became genuine, and he stood. She always knew what he needed. He didn't want to go back to bed and try to sleep. Instead of trying to force him, she was making sure he at least ate before starting his day.

He kissed the top of her blonde head. “Thank you,” he whispered.