Covered in Crimson

The next morning dawned cold but clear. The snow had finally stopped a couple of hours before they’d retired for the night, and there was a thick, crusty blanket over the landscape as far as the eye could see. Draco awoke first and dashed into the small adjacent bathroom for fear of his severely strained bladder bursting. He ached with relief. When he turned on the tap to wash his hands, he was pleasantly surprised to find the water nicely warm. He’d almost forgotten about the breakthrough they’d had with the furnace the night before. He couldn’t wait to take a shower, but figured he should check on Hermione first.

Tugging on his jeans and jumper, he made his way to the other bedroom’s door and listened with his ear pressed tight to the wood for any sound of movement. When he heard light rustling, he assumed she was awake and knocked.

“Granger, it’s me. Are you up?” he called.

A faint and tired hum of acknowledgment filtered through the heavy oak, but enough that he took it as an invitation to enter.

“Whoa! What’s wrong, Granger? You look like shit,” he observed.

“Didn’t sleep well,” she whispered.

“Miss me?” he teased.

“Did too much yesterday.”

He immediately regretted his joshing; his chest felt hot and tight. “Are you alright?” he asked, worry evident in his tone.

“Um.”

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“Not sure.”

“I don’t believe you. Something’s happened. What is it?” he pressed.

“Since when do you know me that well?”

“Since three days and nights of close contact, Granger. I may be a rotten git, but I’m an observant one. So 'fess up. What’s wrong?” he demanded again.

She sighed. It had been too much to hope that she could keep this from him, she concluded. “I started bleeding again.”

He didn’t speak, but his wide eyes and frantic swallowing told the story of his anxiety at hearing this news.

“It’s not a lot, but it started late yesterday afternoon, after I’d walked a little. I think I probably just overdid it a bit,” she stated, trying to allay his fears.

“Are you sure it’s from the injury? Could it be your, um, monthlies?” he grasped at straws, flushing brightly at bringing up yet another terribly intimate topic with the woman.

“No, it’s from the injury. Wrong week for my period. Different kind of blood,” she stated quietly, but didn’t elaborate further.

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. I really am. Is there anything I can do for you?” he pleaded.

“No, I think I’ll be alright. I should just try not to push it today. Stay flat as much as possible. It really wasn’t that much bleeding, Draco. I’m sure it’ll be okay. Don’t worry,” she urged him. She smiled slightly, trying to show a lack of concern.

“I came in here to see if you wanted to get in the shower. The water’s warm. Do you think that might help?” he wondered.

“I don’t know. It would certainly feel nice, but I’m concerned about staying upright in the shower. It wouldn’t do to keel over all alone in there,” she stated the obvious.

“No, I suppose that would be bad.”

“Right.”

“If you want, I could help you,” he offered before he even realized what had come out of his mouth.

She laughed. “Yeah, right. Like I want you holding up my naked body while I try to shower.”

“I didn’t really mean that the way it sounded.”

“How else could you mean it?”

“Um, I guess, I, um, don’t know. I just want to do something to help,” he finished in a rush.

“The sentiment is appreciated, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before. Several times, in fact,” he added, digging a deeper hole with each spoken syllable.

“You don’t have to remind me, Draco. I know,” she affirmed. “And just how many times have you seen me naked, anyway?”

“Four,” he answered, too quickly for her comfort.

“Geez, are you keeping track?” she accused.

“Well, not specifically, but it’s all been very recent, so it’s, um, easy to remember.”

“Yeah, so what’s one more time?” she scoffed.

“Right,” he answered, taking her remark at face value.

“Draco!”

“What?”

“You are such a… a… bloke!” she concluded.

“Um, yeah.”

“Oh, Draco,” she breathed, a sudden thought hitting her. “That’s a very normal male reaction. Maybe the potion is almost worn off,” she suggested hopefully.

“Wow. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“How are you feeling otherwise? Any headaches, muscles hurting, shakes, chills?”

“No, I actually feel pretty good this morning,” he observed.

“No desire to chop me up into little pieces and feed me to the giants?”

“No, not a one.”

“No burning need to assault me or beat me up?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

“Well, okay, then,” she finished.

“’Okay’ what?”

“I wasn’t agreeing to anything, just noting the lack of symptoms this morning. They’re really just about gone, from what you’ve described. It’s starting to feel like I’m a little safer around you.”

“Granger, I think it’s fair to say that it’s been nearly three days since I did anything remotely close to harming you.”

“I’ll acknowledge that, Draco. But three days of simple human kindness doesn’t necessarily make up for years of trying to kill me.”

“Yes, well, five of those years have apparently been spent under the influence of potions and spells that are no longer in my system, and I don’t recall trying to kill you in the first five years of Hogwarts,” he noted.

“You do have a point there. I guess it really was only after you were ‘under the influence’ that you went from a simple git to a… something else.”

“How many boys from age eleven to sixteen don’t have a fair amount of git in them?” he pressed.

“Another fair point, I’ll grant you,” she answered, amused at the reasonably astute observation.

“So, do you want my help or not?”

“With what?”

“Don’t be dense, Granger. Getting into the shower,” he reminded her.

“Oh, that.” She paused for a moment, considering her options. She desperately wanted a hot shower; it had, after all, been at least a week since she’d had one. Malfoy was correct in that he had already seen her naked, and had tended to her injuries at least twice without causing any further harm. There was the issue of basic dignity and privacy, but they had shared so many ridiculously intimate things already that it had seemed a pointless argument.

“Fine, but there will be guidelines,” she announced.

“Fine, what?”

“Now who’s being thick? Helping me into the shower, you daft git.”

“So you’ve decided I’m trustworthy after all?” he prompted.

“Well, more trustworthy than you were a few days ago, certainly.”

“So what do you want me to do, and not do,” he urged her to continue.

“Carry me into the bathroom, where I’ll get undressed. I’ll wrap a towel around myself. Then, you can start the shower and get me into the shower stall. You’ll stay outside the shower, but in the bathroom just in case I need you. When I’m done, you’ll hand me back my clothes and I’ll get dressed. Then, you can carry me back to the sofa.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She seemed surprised that he hadn’t wanted to debate any of her demands.

“Yeah, okay. What do you expect me to argue about?” He smirked.

“Well, fine, then. Let’s get it over with.”

He shrugged and moved to the side of the bed to lift her, a now-familiar act. He carried her to the bathroom where he gave her a moment’s privacy to undress and wrap herself in the dingy bath towel. When she called out that she was done, he reentered the bathroom and turned on the taps in the shower, regulating the temperature so that she wouldn’t be scalded.

“Water’s just right. Shall I get you in now?”

She nodded her agreement and tugged the towel more tightly around her torso as he wrapped his arms around her barely covered thighs and unclothed shoulders. He set her gently into the shower stall and closed the curtain.

She handed the towel out to him and braced herself against the wall. The tile was cool, but much less so since the furnace had spread warmth throughout the small cottage. She angled the showerhead to that she was under the spray without having to move away from the relative safety of the wall, and thoroughly wet her matted hair. Without shampoo, it could only get so clean, but it would undoubtedly be better than its current state. She rubbed, scrubbed, cleaned, and rinsed her body as well as she could and then rested for a few moments under the soothing pulse of the hot water, thinking that she’d felt better than she had in a long time. She took inventory of the bruises that were finally beginning to change from livid purple to sickly green. She supposed that constituted healing.

Outside the shower stall, Draco was stunned to find that the light shone through the plastic curtain in such a way that it silhouetted Granger’s every shape and move. He tried to look away, but was drawn to the vision inexorably. It seemed that he was just a bloke, after all. He deliberately covered his eyes with his hands, finally intent on keeping his promise.

He was shaken from his stupor when he heard her call for her towel and clothes. He handed them to her through the side of the curtain and waited until she indicated she was finished. He swept the curtain open and lifted her into his arms without a word, taking her to the sofa and settling her in place.

“Thanks,” she said. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Guess not,” he mumbled. “My turn,” he announced as he dashed away to his own bathroom.

He desperately fought against the urge to slam the door shut in his haste to get to the refuge of the private space down the hall. He was breathing heavily, surprised at the visceral reaction he was having. He’d only seen her silhouette through a curtain, and he had become quickly and painfully aroused. This is not good, he thought.

Draco stripped off his clothes and headed into the bathroom, turning on the taps. What he needed was a cold shower. What he wanted was a good wank. It was still a toss-up which option would win.

As the image of her female form flashed once more through his brain, the “bloke” part of Draco grabbed control. The warm water sluiced in waves over his body as he stepped under the spray. He was beginning to feel a desperation that he hadn’t felt in more years than he could remember, a need to come just for the joy of it.

He took his penis in hand and was relieved to find that it was no longer sore and tender. That he hadn’t even thought about that in the last three days was testament to how asexual he’d been since their arrival, with the notable exception of his dream-induced orgasm. Experimentally, he stroked up and down, allowing the feeling to wash over him much as the water was doing. His erection responded, thickening and lengthening further under his firm touch. The visions behind his tightly closed eyes were of lovely, lush breasts and creamy thighs. There was no blood, no gore, no violence driving him on. His grip tightened and he tugged faster and harder, imagining a warm, wet mouth where his hand and the water now played. It wouldn’t take much more, he knew, and he rolled his testicles lightly with one hand while rapidly stroking with the other to gain more friction against the ridge under his glans. A half dozen more tugs and he was coming, a glorious release that was more satisfying than he could have possibly described; he tried with minimal success to suppress the deep groan that echoed in his chest. Thick, white spurts of semen fell over his hand and into the drain. He slumped against the tiled wall, thoroughly spent and strangely calm. His breathing slowly returned to a normal pace and rhythm.

Draco knew he had just had a major breakthrough, without being able to pinpoint exactly what it was; his brain was too fogged from his intense orgasm to process much rational thought. There had been nothing but raw, normal, sexual need in his response. Maybe he was finally free of whatever had consumed him for so long. He refused to think about that it had been the image of Granger that had spurred his initial reaction. It was purely incidental, he told himself. She was, after all, the only female that registered in his brain right now, having been so isolated together.

When his knees regained their ability to support his weight, Draco stood under the soothing spray of the shower head and scrubbed his hair and body. The contrast between this and the last shower that he had taken was stark. He resolved to never again step under a spray of frigid liquid, even if he needed to douse an arousal. Fuck it, he thought, what’s the use in that? He turned off the tap, dried off quickly, and pulled on his borrowed jeans and jumper once again. He walked out of the bedroom feeling loose and relaxed, and a smile lit his face. He was almost unrecognizable as the young man who’d landed angry and bloody in the same room just a few days earlier.

Hermione noticed the difference when he joined her in the sitting room. “Feel good?” she asked.

He almost choked on his reply. “What?” Did the bint have the ability to see through walls or something?

“The shower. Was the water still hot?”

“Oh, yeah. It was fine.” For some reason, he was hesitant to meet her eyes, afraid she’d see the truth of his earlier activity somehow. His cheeks reddened slightly with embarrassment at the thought, an odd reaction for someone who’d had such public and graphic sex so many times. Then again, his memory of those events was spotty at best.

“Must have been,” she noted.

“Huh?”

“Still hot. Your cheeks are flushed. You have to be careful not to scald yourself, with skin as fair as yours, I’d imagine.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s just too bad you couldn’t have found a razor.”

He shrugged, not wanting to engage in much conversation at the moment. Maybe I should have stayed in the bedroom for awhile. Let the afterglow wear off, he mused. Having had little experience with the sexual etiquette of self-pleasuring while holed up with a former enemy, he felt at a distinct disadvantage in how to handle the situation.

He was saved from further humiliation on that account by something that shocked and frightened them both. Someone was knocking on the front door. Their eyes met, and Draco rose from the seat he’d taken to stand between Hermione and the door. There was little either could do to protect themselves, but it was also possible that their visitor was not a threat. The only way to find out was to open the door, so he did.

“Draco?” a tall, thin, dark-haired man inquired. A woman who was vaguely familiar stood beside him. She had purple hair.

Hermione immediately recognized Ted and Nymphadora Tonks, and called out to them in greeting. “Ted! Tonks! We’re so happy to see you!”

“We?” Tonks echoed.

“Yes, Draco and me, obviously.”

“Draco Malfoy, I am Nymphadora Tonks, Ministry Auror, and under the authority awarded to me by the Wizengamot, you are under arrest for murder, rape, and multiple uses of Unforgiveable Curses,” she announced.

He stood there, looking a bit stunned but not moving or resisting her effort to magically bind his wrists.

“Tonks, wait a minute. There’s more to this story than you know,” Hermione urged.

“I know plenty, Hermione. And for now, I’d rather be safe than sorry. So Draco is officially in custody until my superiors tell me otherwise,” she retorted.

“But I’m one of his victims, and I say he’s not at fault,” Hermione argued.

“That will ultimately be for the Wizengamot to decide, but for now, we’ll be doing this by the book,” Tonks resolved.

“Well, before you take us anywhere, please fill us in on what’s going on out there. We’ve been stuck here for almost four days with no news. What’s happening? And how and why did we end up here?” Hermione pressed.

Draco was completely quiet, watching the by-play between Hermione and the woman he guessed was his only cousin. Wow, how weird, he thought. The man beside her – his uncle by marriage, he assumed – had only said his name when he’d opened the door, and had since been silent. He hoped that they’d have some answers for them. This not knowing was driving him insane.

“Before we get into any of that, do either of you need any medical attention?” Tonks asked, abrupt and professional in her manner.

Draco shook his head to indicate that he was not in immediate need.

Hermione was reluctant to speak bluntly, but answered Tonks with a nod.

“Should we move to a more private spot?” she asked.

“Yeah. That would be appropriate,” Hermione acknowledged. Her next move flabbergasted everyone else in the room: she lifted her arms, inviting Draco to lift her and move her to the bedroom.

He gulped and raised his magically bound hands, indicating that he was not in a position to help at the moment.

“Oh, Draco, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Forget it, Granger. Not a problem.”

She turned back to Tonks and stared between her and Draco pointedly. “Release his hands. I need his help.”

“Hermione, my dad can help you, or I can levitate you. You don’t need Draco to move you,” she reminded her.

“But I want him to help me. I trust that he won’t drop me. I hate being levitated. No offense, Ted, but I’d really rather that Draco help me.”

“Granger, what are you playing at? Just drop it. Let one of them help you,” Draco urged.

“Yeah, Hermione, what’s going on here? I was told that you were attacked and sexually assaulted by him. Why are you defending him so vehemently?”

“Well, that’s only partially true. Draco attacked me, but it was really him. He’s been drugged and spelled, so it’s not his responsibility,” she stated with conviction. “Since we got here, he’s done nothing but take care of me, and I won’t have you treating him like a criminal.”

Finally, Ted Tonks spoke up. “Hermione, I’ve been aware for several weeks that Draco has been under the influence of compulsions and Imperius potions, and we recognize the legal implications of that. But we can’t take the chance that the antidote hasn’t worked,” he explained.

“What antidote?” Draco insisted, his eyes wide and shocked.

“The one your mother had been feeding you for about a week prior to your… adventure here,” Ted clarified.

“She’s alive? She’s really alive?” he pleaded, hope and fear warring for equal footing in his voice.

“Yes, Draco, she’s alive. She’s just fine, as is your father,” Tonks interjected.

“Look, we obvious have a lot to discuss, but I’d like to make sure that Hermione’s medical needs are addressed before we get into anything else, so can we please table this for ten minutes?” Tonks’ eyes bored into each of the room’s occupants in turn.

“Fine, but only if you release Draco’s bonds,” Hermione stubbornly insisted. “I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re pigheaded, Hermione?” Tonks huffed. She turned to Draco. “I’ll release you, but only to get her cooperation. One funny move, and I’ll hex you into next Tuesday, got it?”

“In spades. I promise I’ll behave,” Draco vowed. He breathed a little easier as he felt the magical restraints fall away from his wrists.

“Now, will you please pick her up and move her somewhere so that I can do some healing?” Tonks whined.

“No problem,” he answered. To Granger, he confirmed, “Your room?”

“That’ll be fine,” she agreed.

When he had settled her onto the bed, Tonks joined them and instructed him to wait in the sitting room. “My father is also armed, so don’t try anything,” she warned once again.

“I told you I’d behave, and I will. Chill, Cousin Nymphadora,” he teased, a hint of a smirk appearing on his face.

Her eyes widened, and she commented, “So you do know who I am?”

“Thanks to Granger, yes. She’s filled me in on quite a bit in our time together.”

“Apparently. Well, get out for now. We’ll talk more in a few minutes when I’m done here.”

When Draco departed, closing the door behind him, Tonks turned her attention to Hermione. “Where are you hurt? What do you need me to do?” she asked, all business but not without compassion.

“I need you to give Draco a break. He’s been through as much hell as I have, maybe more. So quit it with the hard-ass attitude, Tonks,” Hermione scolded.

Tonks rolled her eyes, and her hair turned bright orange, a sure sign of annoyance. “Look, I have to be sure he’s not going to flip out on us. My aunt has been very clear about what’s happened to him, and I feel for him, but you know I have a job to do, too.”

“I get that, but he is your only cousin. Lighten up a little, and you’ll get more cooperation from him. Trust me on this. I’ve come to know him pretty well in the last four days.”

“Fine,” she sighed with exasperation, “I’ll back off – a little – but for now will you please let me heal you? What’s wrong?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, both with a little pain and a bit of embarrassment. “I have a pretty bad tear in my vagina. It’s been bleeding off and on. And I think I might have a bruised or broken rib because it hurts when I take deep breaths. The rest is just simple cuts and bruises,” she answered, playing down the extent of those wounds.

Tonks’ lips tightened, but she held her tongue. “Let’s get the sweats off so I can repair the damage and stop the bleeding.”

Hermione followed the Auror’s orders and gingerly shifted to remove the sweats. She was now doubly glad to have had that shower. “I think the bleeding has stopped again for now.”

“Hermione, you need to open your legs. I can’t fix what I can’t see,” Tonks prodded.

Reluctantly, Hermione raised her knees and opened them, allowing Tonks the view she needed to locate the wound and seal it.

“The gauze was a good idea. I’m sure that went a long way to stop the bleeding,” she commented.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied. She figured it probably wasn’t a good idea to say much about how it got there.

“The wound seems to have sealed for the most part. There’s just a small section that appears to be reopened. You probably were moving around too much.” Tonks used her wand to cast sterilizing and wound-mending spells, and added a pain reducer for good measure. “There. That should feel better. Now let me see about the rib.”

Tonks quickly, efficiently, and clinically tended to all of the wounds that were visible or that Hermione was able to describe. It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes later that she completed her work. “Is there… anything you want to talk about?”

“No. I’ll deal with that later. There’s too much else to get through right now.” Hermione swung her legs over the bed and stood, muscles shaking slightly but feeling much better than she had in over a week since her capture.

“Let’s go, then. There is a lot to tell,” Tonks agreed and turned to follow Hermione back to the sitting room.

Draco looked up immediately when the two women reentered the room. “Are you alright?” he asked, concern evident in his expression.

“Yes, Draco, I’m fine. No need to worry.” She smiled slightly to put him at ease.

“Good. I’m glad.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

“So what have you two been talking about?” Hermione inquired.

“Uncle Ted was telling me that this cottage belonged to his parents. They used it many years ago for hunting trips and weekend getaways.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at his use of the honorific “uncle” but refrained from pointing it out. “Really? So how did we end up here?”

“He hasn’t gone that far yet. There are other pieces of news that are more important for now, anyway.” Draco nodded at his newly-discovered relative and encouraged him to resume his account.

“Yes, well, as I was just starting to tell Draco, the reason it took us so long to get to you is that the final battle broke out just as you were sent here. It’s been going on for days, but the resolution was reached a few hours ago. We got here as soon as we were able. Our presence here should be enough of a clue that the Light side has prevailed. Voldemort is dead. Harry is in rough shape, but we feel certain he’ll survive. Most of the Death Eaters have been captured or died in the final battle, but there is a handful on the run. We feel confident they’ll be rounded up in short order.”

“My parents?” Draco interrupted.

“Lucius and Narcissa are both fine. There is some astonishing news to tell you about your parents’ involvement in the war, and I’d normally leave it to them to share with you, but you need to understand the fundamentals for now,” Ted informed him.

“Where has my mother been all this time?” Draco interjected again.

“She’s been splitting her time between Hogwarts and our home for the last two years, working for the Light side along with your father. She’s been under heavy glamours and notice-me-not spells so that she blends into the woodwork. I’ve known about her defection since six months before her supposed death, but your father’s role was deeply under cover, and I only learned of that about a month ago. Lucius has been providing us with key information for nearly three years now, and his assistance has been pivotal in securing our victory. That has been confirmed by Albus.”

Hermione, having seen Narcissa at the Tonks’ home was not at all surprised with that news, but was thoroughly astounded about Lucius’ involvement. She had to know. “Is Lucius the one who was feeding clues to me about the identity and location of the last couple of Horcruxes?”

“He is.”

“Good Merlin above,” she breathed. She turned to look at Draco, who’d gone white as a ghost. “Are you okay?”

“I, uh, guess so. This is just a lot to take in,” he admitted.

“There’s more, if you want to hear it,” Ted offered.

“Of course!” Hermione answered for them.

“Quite some time ago, your parents began to suspect that you had been drugged or Imperiused and they began to investigate what might have been the source and method of your control. Through a series of odd events, they concluded that you had been fed chocolate truffles that were infused with powerful potions, possibly for as long as five years,” he told them, not missing the look that passed between the two young people. “Have you reached a similar conclusion?”

“Yes, just yesterday in fact. Draco has had a great deal of difficulty remembering things that have happened in the last few years, and we’ve had to slowly reconstruct key events,” Hermione confirmed.

“That’s not surprising. Another element of his control was apparently powerful memory charms and pain hexes. They were designed to make you forget the horrible things you did, and experience excruciating headaches if you tried to recall them. A disincentive, if you will,” Ted told Draco. “Your mother worked on an antidote to the potions for nearly two years. It took that long to decipher and deconstruct exactly what was in the potions and then build effective countermeasures that would address every potion element. It was all-consuming. Your mother thought of and worked on nothing else for all that time.”

Draco had to know for certain. He asked what he’d come to suspect through clenched teeth. “Was it Bella?”

“Yes,” Tonks confirmed. She shared a look with her father. “We’ll let your parents tell you more about that when you are reunited in the next day or so.”

Draco felt the weight of the betrayal settle heavily on his shoulders. He dropped his face into his hands, feeling them tremble with an equal measure of anger and relief.

Hermione saw his distress and felt deep sadness for the young wizard’s trials. She knelt beside his chair and touched his knee, drawing his attention. She whispered, “We knew this, Draco. It’s not your fault; it never was.”

He avoided her eyes, but briefly squeezed the hand that she’d rested on the chair’s arm. “I know, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less,” he whispered back.

When their private moment was done, Hermione moved back to the sofa and sat beside Tonks, refusing to answer the question she saw burning in her friend’s eyes. This was between the two of them, and it would stay that way.

To divert their attention as much as to gain more information, Hermione repeated her earlier question. “How did we end up here?”

“Narcissa knew that what they were doing was obviously very dangerous, and she anticipated that either she and Lucius, or you, Draco, would have need of a safe place to hide out for at least a few weeks. I offered this cottage as a safe house, and we set up several safeguards to ensure that someone could survive here for a short time,” Ted answered.

“So you left the food, the wood, kept the electricity turned on? All of that on the off chance that it might be needed?” Hermione prodded, incredulous.

“Yes. We felt that it was more likely than not that someone in the family might have need of refuge before this was all done. I wish we could have done more, but we ran out of time.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question. How did we get here?” Hermione pressed.

“Ah, that. Yes, well, when Narcissa finally perfected the antidote, she knew that it wouldn’t be an instantaneous cure. Since Draco had been consuming the potions for so long, it would take several doses to remove it from your system. She went back to Malfoy Manor under heavy disguise and replaced the tainted truffles with her own version that she filled with the antidote. She made sure you had a steady supply of them, and even kept a trace of the addictive agent in them to ensure that you would keep eating the adaptation that would remove the original poisons from your blood and tissues.”

“Wait. Is she one of the women who were feeding those of us who were captured about a week ago?”

“Yes, she and Andy were looking out for you as best they could. They were both under at least four different glamour spells to keep their identities secret. Only Lucius knew who they really were. The problem was that the house was crawling with Death Eaters, and Draco was still not responding to the antidote. She was… very upset about what happened to you, Hermione, but they had to get you out of there immediately. The Dark Lord was on his way, and the danger to both of you was well beyond the risk of sending you away, even considering what…”

“What I did to her,” Draco interjected, sounding bitter and disgusted.

“Yes, even that,” Ted concluded with a deep sigh.

“Look, Draco, your mother knew that you’d had six doses of the antidote. She and Dumbledore had calculated that it would be enough. She hoped that your behavior would start to moderate, at least, and that you might be aware enough to listen to reason. She and your father created a Portkey that sent you here with Hermione because she didn’t think that either of you would survive a confrontation with Voldemort, and she thought that you might stand a fighting chance of surviving here together. She had faith that you would come out of your Imperius soon enough to help Hermione; she prayed that the good and gentle son she once knew would reemerge when the chips were down,” Tonks shared.

“It seems she was right,” Hermione murmured.

“What was that?” Ted asked.

“It was a little dicey when we first got here. I was unconscious for several hours. Draco’s instinct, though, was to take care of me. He cleaned me up, treated my wounds as well as he was able, helped me to get dressed, even cooked for me. The whole time, he was fighting blinding headaches and nasty withdrawal symptoms. His first concern has been my welfare. I want that known,” Hermione stated firmly.

“Hermione, it’s, uh, natural after awhile to feel some kinship with someone who’s been your only source for care, even if that attention is not entirely wanted. It’s called ‘Stockholm Syndrome,’ where captives begin to identify with their capt…”

“Tonks, I know what Stockholm Syndrome is; I’m not an idiot. That’s not what I’m talking about in the least. Draco and I are not about to enter into some lifelong relationship or dependency. We both know very well that he and I are like oil and water on numerous levels. I just recognize that he was not in command of his own actions. When that control was regained, his true nature began to reassert itself. And it seems clear that he’s not a bad guy. I just want what’s fair, and sending him off to Azkaban wouldn’t be justice, it would be scapegoating. I won’t stand for that.”

“Granger, I appreciate the sentiment, but even I can’t excuse what I’ve done. Why should anyone else?”

“Because you’re always so hard on yourself. You can’t take responsibility for things that you’ve had no control over. It’s just foolish.”

“Look who’s calling the kettle black, Hermione. The two of you are cut from the same cloth on that account,” Tonks needled.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, and realizing she had no cogent argument, shut it again.

“Fine. Whatever. So what happens now?” Hermione asked.

“Well, we need to close the house down again, and then get the two of you back to London.”

Draco and Hermione shared an amused glance, both thinking about the fact that they’d only just figured out how to turn the furnace on and it would be mothballed again momentarily. Draco shrugged, then offered his help. “What can I do?”

“Oh, nothing,” Ted replied. “I can get everything handled with my wand in a minute or two. Just gather up anything you want to take with you.”

“Just the clothes I’m wearing,” Hermione indicated.

“Do you want the trainers I found?” Draco asked her.

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably not a bad idea,” she agreed.

He retrieved them from the bedroom and handed them to her while Ted and Tonks made their way through the house, using a combination of wand flicks and switch flips to return the cottage to its original condition. By the time her footwear was tied, they had completed their tasks and the small group was ready to leave.

As Ted was reaching for the door handle, it appeared they’d need to leave the building to Apparate. Draco spoke as they moved toward the exit, “Could I please have just a minute alone, with Hermione?”

Tonks looked at the young woman, seeking her assent. She nodded, and Ted and Tonks stepped onto the porch to await their two charges.

Hermione’s knees suddenly felt a little shaky and she sat on the sofa. Draco moved near her, but didn’t sit beside her on the furniture; he knelt on the floor at her feet and took one of her hands in his.

He was clearly struggling with what he wanted to say, and made two attempts to vocalize before he was able to form real words. “Granger, Hermione, I can’t begin to tell you how badly I feel about what I did to you. I know you said you thought you might be able to forgive me someday, but I know I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I know you don’t like me, or trust me, and that’s to be expected. I just want you to know that I’ve come to respect you and your strength, and the good heart that obviously beats in you. How I could ever have considered purposely stopping that heart makes me sick. I’m not a good man, and I don’t know what will become of me when we leave here, but I hope that someday, when you think of what happened, that you’ll remember that I tried to do what was right in the end.”

There was a trail of silent tears running down Hermione’s cheeks as she listened to his wrenching apology. She squeezed his hand tightly and composed herself before she replied. “You’re wrong on two accounts, Draco. First, I know I will forgive you because I know the truth of what happened. And second, you are a good man. If not in this moment, you will become one because of the horrors that were done to you. I don’t know if our paths will ever cross again, but I want to thank you for being brave enough to stay. You could have left me to die, but you didn’t. For that, I will always be grateful.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek lightly. They both stood, and she wrapped her arms around his neck in an approximation of a hug. He returned it, and they stood together for a moment, great sobs wracking the young man’s chest. She whispered in his ear, “Goodbye, Draco. I’ve already forgiven you.”

She released him, and walked out the door with him closely following, the enormous lump in his throat growing larger.