Chapter Text
The sterile smell of the hospital hit Hermione first, long before the rest of her senses caught up with her. Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy as lead, and the ceiling above her seemed to spin slowly, blurring into an endless swirl of white. She blinked several times, trying to dispel the haze that clouded her vision and regain a semblance of clarity.
Slowly, she became aware of the dull ache that seemed to spread through her entire body. But what struck her more than the pain was a profound sense of emptiness she felt from within.
Her magic.
Her heart raced at the thought, a pang of panic surging through her. Instinctively, she tried to reach for her wand on the bedside table, but the small effort made her body feel heavier. A soft groan escaped her lips as she shifted.
"Hermione?" a familiar voice broke through the fog of her consciousness.
She turned her head, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her neck. Her gaze fell on Harry, who was seated beside her bed. His eyes were rimmed with fatigue, yet despite his exhaustion, there was a look of relief on his face.
"Harry," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper, raw and unsteady.
Harry’s eyes widened with disbelief. "You’re awake," he breathed, quickly reaching for her hand as though afraid she might slip away again. His fingers closed around hers, and she could see unshed tears glistening in his eyes.
She swallowed hard, trying to push through the dryness of her throat. "My magic… is it—"
Harry’s expression faltered, and the light in his eyes dimmed. He leaned forward, his hand shifting from hers to rest gently on her arm. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the overwhelming numbness that consumed her.
“Astoria gave you enough Nullis Elixir to wipe out three wizards,” he said softly. “Your body and your magical core... they’re going to need time to recover."
His words hit her like a physical blow, sinking deep into her chest and leaving her breathless. The hollow ache inside her, the absence of her magic, suddenly felt like a gaping void. She’d known something was wrong the moment she awoke, but to hear it confirmed was like having the ground ripped out from under her.
"How long?" she managed to ask, her voice trembling slightly with the effort.
"We don’t know," Harry replied, his tone careful, as though he were trying not to overwhelm her further. "Your condition was critical when we found you. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a while."
"How long?" she asked, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to process the weight of what he was saying.
"Three," he said, the word heavy in the air between them. "Three weeks."
Slowly, she exhaled, the breath catching in her throat as the chaos of her thoughts threatened to spiral out of control. Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to steady herself in her bed, uncomfortable.
"How did you..." Her voice wavered again, but this time, she forced herself to continue, to push through the fog. "How did you find me?"
Harry leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Draco," he said, the name falling from his lips as though it held all the answers. "He contacted Daphne and asked where Astoria might’ve taken you. He was the first person who noticed something was wrong... the first to see through her polyjuice act."
Her thoughts were a tangled mess, swirling with confusion and exhaustion, but amidst the chaos, a small flicker of comfort surfaced. Draco had noticed.
Hermione's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of her memory. "Where did she keep us?" she asked, the need to understand every detail overpowering her fear of finding out.
Harry reached out a hesitant hand towards her, his touch tentative. "Hermione," he began softly, his voice laced with worry, "you've just woken up. You need to rest, and I don't want to upset you.”
“I’ve been resting for three weeks, Harry,” she countered, her voice firmer this time. She met his gaze, but the exhaustion of her recovery slowed her movements. "I want to know what happened. I need to."
Harry hesitated. He avoided Hermione's gaze, his eyes fixed on a distant point on the wall. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
"Please, Harry," she whispered, a slight tremor running through her.
Harry let out a slow breath, his eyes lowering to the floor. “The Greengrasses had another property on the West coast of France, near Nantes,” he said, his voice gentle. He paused, silently debating how much more to reveal. “That’s also where Margaux was kidnapped from.”
At the mention of Margaux, Hermione felt as if a fist had clenched around her heart. The memory of the basement came rushing back—cold, dark, and filled with terror. Margaux’s lifeless body flashed before her mind, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out the image. But it lingered.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand rested gently on her arm, offering comfort in the only way he could.
Hermione took a deep breath, her chest tight with grief. She blinked back the tears, determined not to let them fall. "No... it’s okay," she whispered, her voice fragile, as if speaking any louder would shatter what little hold she had over her emotions.
"None of this is okay, Hermione," Harry responded, his voice thick with emotion as he reached out to gently tuck her hair behind her ears. "We've all been worried sick about you."
That was when Hermione’s barriers finally broke, and the tears she had been holding back for so long began to flow. She tried to stop them, to regain control, but it was too late. The dam had burst. Her shoulders trembled as she buried her face in her hands, her sobs coming in jagged, uneven breaths. All the grief, all the fear, everything she had tried to control, spilled out in those tears.
Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Instead, he just sat there, his hand still resting gently on her arm, offering her silent support as she cried. There were no words that could fix this, no comfort that could make everything better. But in that moment, his presence was enough.
For twenty long minutes, Hermione cried, releasing everything that had been bottled up inside. The tears streamed down her cheeks, her chest heaving with each painful sob. Slowly, the intensity faded, leaving only soft sniffles and the occasional hiccup as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
Finally, she felt the quiet settle around them, the heavy sadness lifting just enough for her to breathe a little easier. Harry, ever patient, waited until her breathing evened out before speaking, his voice gentle, though tinged with a hint of amusement.
"You know…" he began, as though testing the waters to see if she was ready for something lighter. "Draco’s become an absolute menace at the office while you’ve been recovering."
A soft, almost surprised chuckle escaped her, a welcome sound in the stillness. She rubbed her eyes, sniffling as she tried to compose herself. "Really?" she asked, her voice shaky.
Harry nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Really. You should see him sulking around like an absolute prat. It’s very reminiscent of Hogwarts Draco."
This time, Hermione’s laughter came more freely, though it hurt—her stomach muscles protesting at the sudden movement. Still, it felt good to laugh. "I’ll make sure to tell him to behave next time I see him," she said, a small playful smile gracing her lips.
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "You know," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "I’ve been working with the guy for over five years, and I can safely say that none of us can keep him in line like you do."
Hermione grinned, a brief flash of her old self showing through. "That’s because he lives in constant fear that I might sucker punch him in the face again."
Harry snorted, his laughter bubbling up again as he looked at her.. "He’s going to be happy to see you’re awake," he said softly.
"You think?" Hermione asked, her voice laced with uncertainty, a knot of nerves twisting in her stomach.
Harry, sensing her unease, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "He hasn’t left your side, Hermione. When he’s not here, he’s working. And when he’s not working, he’s right here, by your bed.”
Hermione looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of the hospital blanket between her fingers. "I’m nervous to see him," she admitted softly. "It feels different now. Everything feels… different."
"Hey," Harry said, his voice firm but kind, drawing her gaze back to him. "You and Draco are a team. If you were able to talk to him normally then, you’re more than capable of handling it now."
Hermione stayed quiet, but her mind wandered back to the moment in their office—the confession Draco had made. His words still echoed in her ears, the raw vulnerability in his voice. It was only minutes later that her world had been torn apart by Astoria. That memory felt like a lifetime ago, yet it was still so vivid.
Harry watched her closely, his smile widening as if he could sense where her thoughts had gone. A knowing look flickered in his eyes. "Hermione," he said with a soft chuckle, "you should’ve seen his memory in the Pensieve from that night we went out as a team in the Leaky Cauldron."
Her brows creased slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "What do you mean?"
Harry cocked his head, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Are you being serious right now? You don't know what I'm talking about?"
“Spit it out, Harry,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of you the entire night,” he said, a glint in his eyes.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, a wave of disbelief washing over her. Had it been that obvious in Draco's Pensieve that he was interested in her? How had she missed the signs for so long? And how had she taken so long to question whether she felt the same way?
“I think it’s safe to say he fancies you, Hermione,” Harry continued, interrupting her train of thought. “Or at the very least, he cares deeply for you.”
Hermione blinked. "Really?" she whispered.
"Really," Harry confirmed, shaking his head with amusement. "He was practically enthralled by your presence. I mean, I didn't even need to go into the Pensieve to see it. The way he looked at you... He might as well have had 'I like Hermione Granger' written across his forehead that night."
She let out a small laugh, the sound surprisingly genuine. The tension in her shoulders eased, the muscles relaxing slightly. The knot of nervousness in her stomach hadn't completely disappeared, but it felt a little less heavy.
Harry gave her a small smile, his expression sincere and reassuring. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Hermione. We’ve all missed you.”
His words were simple, yet there was so much comfort in them, in knowing that she didn’t have to be anything other than who she was—damaged, exhausted, unsure—but still herself.
She returned his smile, her eyes softening with gratitude. “Thank you, Harry. For everything.”
He squeezed her hand gently, as if to say no thanks were necessary. "Always."
There was a quiet creak as the door to her hospital room opened, the sound barely audible in the peaceful quiet. Draco slid in without looking in their direction, his movements slow and gentle. He closed the door with a soft click, as if he were afraid to break the silence, afraid to wake her.
“Well, well, well. Speak of the devil,” Harry said, grinning.
Draco whirled around, startled by Harry’s voice, his body reacting almost instinctively. Then he saw Hermione. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his expression a mixture of disbelief and relief.
Harry stood, giving Draco a friendly clap on the shoulder as he passed him on the way out. "I’ll leave you two to talk," he said with a knowing glance. "Take care of her, Malfoy."
Draco didn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed on Hermione, his eyes searching hers, as Harry slipped out and closed the door behind him. His expression was unreadable, but the air crackled with unspoken emotions.
"You’re… awake," Draco said, his voice rough, tinged with surprise, as if he hadn't fully believed it until this moment.
Hermione gave a small, faint smile, her heart pounding in her chest. "I am," she whispered.
Draco hesitated, his eyes roaming over her face. He seemed almost afraid to move closer to her, as if she were something precious and fragile that might break.
“You can sit down next to me if you like,” she offered gently.
His eyes widened slightly at her words, and after a brief pause, he moved slowly toward her bedside, his movements gentle. His eyes traced the delicate lines of her face, searching for any sign of lingering pain, any indication of how she was truly feeling, as he sat next to her.
“How long…” Draco began, his voice trailing off as if he was unsure of how to ask. “How long have you been awake?”
"About half an hour," Hermione responded.
Draco swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away for a moment before it returned to hers. Hermione studied his face, noticing the exhaustion etched into his features, the dark circles under his eyes, and the deepening lines of worry that hadn't been there before.
“You look exhausted,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence between them.
Draco let out a short, dry laugh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ve been working a lot,” he replied. After a brief pause, he continued, his voice quieter now. “And… I’ve been worried about you.”
Hermione's chest tightened at his words. “Well, I’m sure you look better than I do,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
Draco’s lips curved into a real smile, and for a fleeting moment, the weariness in his eyes softened. “That’s not much of a fair competition now, is it?” he said.
She let out a soft laugh. “No, I suppose it’s not,” she agreed, her voice gentle, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Her curiosity, however, was stronger than her apprehension. “What have you been working on?” she asked.
Draco looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as if gauging whether she truly wanted to know. “Are you sure you want to talk about it?” he asked, understanding the weight of what he was about to say.
Hermione considered it for a moment, her heart pounding against her ribs, anticipation swirling within her. Finally, she nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. “Yeah, I think I would,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Draco held her gaze for a few seconds longer, his eyes locked on hers. He was searching her face, looking for any hint of fear, any flicker of hesitation. “I’ve been building the case against Astoria,” he began slowly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “We’ve got enough to put her in Azkaban for life. Kidnapping, murder, magical assault, conspiracy to commit harm, attempted murder, unlawful use of magic, theft, violation of magical rights...” He paused for a breath. “The list goes on.”
Hermione's eyes widened as he rattled off the charges, her pulse quickening with each one. She looked at him, her heart torn between gratitude and disbelief at how far things had spiraled. “All of that…” she whispered, stunned. “And we were right in the middle of it.”
Draco’s expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing. "I’ve also got Belby behind bars," he continued, "for production and distribution of illegal potions, endangering magical society, fraud, blackmail, and conspiracy to commit harm."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up, a sudden clarity illuminating the situation, the fog of confusion dissipating. "So he was the one making and selling the Nullis Elixir then? All this time?"
Draco nodded grimly, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. Blaise and Theo found his potion lab last week. It was hidden deep in Albania. Turns out, Astoria had both bought it from him and stole more from the Department of Magical Evidence once Belby cut back production while under investigation."
Hermione sat back, taking it all in. She shook her head, her voice still tinged with disbelief. "I can’t believe none of us saw it coming."
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of his guilt evident in his expression. "I didn’t either. Not until it was too late."
"Well," she said, her tone softening just slightly, "I think we can consider your debts to me cleared off after quite literally saving my life."
Draco let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor behind it. "I don’t know. I’m the reason you ended up in this mess in the first place."
"No, Draco," she corrected firmly. "Astoria is."
He swallowed hard, looking away, his emotions visible in the tightness of his jaw. "Hermione, I still can’t sleep knowing that Astoria was seconds away from kill—" His voice faltered, unable to finish the sentence. The thought of it seemed to choke him.
Hermione met his eyes, and without a second thought, she reached for his hand resting on his lap, holding it firmly. His touch was warm, yet she could feel the tension in his fingers, the unspoken apology he carried with him.
"Well, I’m safe now, aren’t I?" she said, her voice steady.
Draco’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. He nodded slightly, his voice too choked to form words. Instead, he squeezed her hand in silent gratitude, letting the weight of her words settle between them.
They stayed like that in silence for a while, their hands still clasped together, the quiet between them comfortable and unforced. Hermione's eyes drifted to the bedside table, taking in the small mountain of gifts—chocolates, books, sugar quills—each item a token of concern from those who had visited. One particular book caught her eye, a familiar worn-out copy of The Winter's Tale .
With a soft smile, she picked it up, gently flicking through its well-worn pages. "My parents used to read this to me when I was a kid," she murmured, her voice touched with nostalgia.
Draco looked at her, and something in his expression shifted. "Of course, they would read Shakespeare to you," he said lightly, trying to mask his discomfort. "What age were you? Five?"
"I was seven, actually," she corrected, still absorbed in the memory. "It’s where they got my name from."
“I figured,” Draco said.
Her head turned sharply, forgetting the state she was in as a dull pain shot through her, but her curiosity overrode the discomfort. “You’ve read it?” she asked, surprised.
“I, uh… I was in the middle of reading it, yeah,” he replied, his tone suddenly unsure.
The realization slowly dawned on her. "Draco," she started, her voice soft, "were you reading this to me?"
For the first time, Draco didn’t have a sarcastic remark or a deflection ready. His usual defenses fell away, and a faint blush crept across his pale cheeks. He didn’t deny it; he didn’t need to. His silence, and the sudden pink in his face, said everything.
She felt a swell of emotions as the weight of his gesture settled in. The thought of Draco spending hours reading to her, just as her parents once had, made her tear up, and the small void inside her, hollow since her parents had forgotten her, felt a little more whole.
“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand tightly.
“Right.” Draco stood abruptly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment, his gaze darting away from hers. He moved to the far end of the room, where more gifts were stacked. He picked up a colorful bottle and held it up with a grin. “I reckon it’s time for some celebrations.”
She shook her head hesitantly. “Oh, I’m not sure I should be drinking anything alcoholic,” she replied.
“It’s non-alcoholic,” he assured her, a slight tenderness in his tone as he placed the bottle carefully beside her.
Turning his attention to the two "Get Well Soon" mugs on the table, he attempted to cast a transfiguration spell. With a flick of his wand, nothing happened. He frowned, furrowing his brow, and tried again—still no success.
“I promise I’ve been practicing my transfiguration,” he muttered, his embarrassment clear.
As he struggled, Hermione couldn’t help but laugh—a genuine, full-bodied laugh that filled the room.
“Do you remember when I almost arrested you on my first day as an Auror?” she asked, trying to catch her breath through the laughter, her sides aching with joy.
“I thought we agreed to never talk about my transfiguration failures again,” he replied, fighting a smile as memories of that chaotic day in the alleyway flashed through his mind. He paused, his gaze softening as it settled on her. “You know something?”
“What?” Hermione asked, finally catching her breath.
“I think I knew from that moment I saw you in the alleyway,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race.
“Knew what?” she inquired, curiosity piqued.
“That it was you,” he said, his voice dropping. “It was always going to be you.”
Her breath hitched, a small, involuntary gasp leaving her mouth. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’ve missed you, Hermione,” he started, his voice rough with emotion, the words a raw confession of his feelings. “I’ve missed everything about you since you’ve been gone. I’ve missed your smile, the way it lights up a room, I’ve missed how you twirl your hair when you’re nervous, I’ve missed how you can keep up with me, beat for beat, in arguments, in conversations, in life. And I’ve missed how you make me laugh.” The intimacy of the moment was palpable, the air thick with unspoken emotions.
Her breathing stopped. “Draco, I—” she began, her thoughts tumbling over one another.
He cut her off, a flicker of anxiety crossing his features, as if he feared she might pull away. “No. You don’t have to say anything right now. I’m sorry for—”
“Oh, Draco, for the love of Merlin, will you shut up?” she interrupted him.
His eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face, and he nodded slowly, a hint of apprehension lingering as he fell silent, hanging on her every word.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you since, um, since I had a conversation with someone important to me,” she began, the weight of her admission pressing heavily in the air. Her mind drifted briefly to Margaux and the regrets that had lingered since their talk—the urgency of confronting her feelings.
Draco watched her intently, as if he had forgotten how to breathe, his gaze unwavering and filled with anticipation. The silence stretched between them.
“I care about you, Draco Malfoy,” she finally said, the words tumbling from her lips with an unexpected clarity. “I think I’ve cared about you for a while.”
Draco’s expression shifted, his surprise morphing into disbelief. He blinked as if her words had been a spell that momentarily rendered him speechless.
“Really?” he breathed, the intensity of his gaze sharpening. “You—”
“Yes, really,” she interjected gently, feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable under his scrutiny.
Draco’s eyes burned into hers, his gaze unwavering, his expression vulnerable. “As… more than just colleagues,” he said, the words hesitant.
She smiled, a warm smile that reached her eyes, and nodded shyly.
Draco shot up from his chair, a wide, genuine grin spreading across his face. “We are definitely celebrating then,” he declared, determination fueling him as he attempted once more to transfigure the mugs into champagne flutes.
“Oh, forget about the glasses, Draco,” she laughed, her amusement bubbling over.
“You’re right,” he admitted, a playful sigh escaping him as he resigned himself to his fate. With a satisfying pop, he opened the non-alcoholic champagne, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. He poured them both a mug, handing hers to her with a grin that seemed to brighten the dim space around them.
“To you, for making it against all odds,” he toasted, raising his mug high with a sparkle in his eye.
“To us,” she echoed, her heart swelling with warmth as their mugs clinked together in a cheerful chorus.
She took a sip, savoring the sweet, bubbly taste that danced on her tongue, and as she met his gaze over the rim of her mug, she felt a rush of hope that maybe things might not be so bad after all.