Author's Note: Quite a lot of you guessed that Draco would save Hermione by marrying her so that she could become a Black… except Draco is a Malfoy. So that would not work. Still, I love that your minds went there. Now, on to your (last) chapter!

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"What on earth do you mean preserve them?" Hermione demanded shrilly. "How is that possible? It had to have been-" she wracked her brain a moment, attempting to assemble some sort of timeline. This was difficult due to her lightheadedness. "-ages…"

"Less than you might think," Draco contradicted grimly.

Unsure if she would be able to stand without help any longer, she pressed her back against the expanse of stone wall to prop herself up. "I need you to tell me what you know."

"I don't know anything for sure," he insisted, the furrow of his brow deepening as he watched her struggle. Reaching out, he took hold of her elbow and looped it through the crook of his arm. Together, the two of them leaned against the wall beside the nearest chest tomb.

"Then tell me what you think you know."

After a moment's hesitation, he began, "Well, as you saw, there are three main chambers here: this crypt, the altar room... and the small chamber which I presume you and I both came in through."

She nodded distastefully as she recalled her gruesome entry. "The one full of skeletons."

"Yes - and as we saw, the crypt is for storing the dead, while the altar room was for… er, sacrifices…"

Hermione inwardly flinched as she recollected that the tabletop had been just the right length for a human body to lay across. Quietly, she pressed, "Human sacrifices?"

"I suspect so." Her horror must have been plain on her face because he hastily added, "I am not the one responsible for all this, Hermione."

Hermione…

She was never going to get used to that. The way her name rolled off his tongue was exquisite. Like they hadn't parted under less-than-gracious circumstances. Like she hadn't run away. Like they had some significant history beyond one of enmity and a one-night stand. Like she mattered to him. Like he might just…

No.

She could not afford to think of such things right now. "I know you didn't. Please continue."

He looked at her for a long moment as if he knew bits of what had just transpired in her mind. The rest came out of his mouth in a rush; perhaps he was eager to simply get it over with. "What I suspect is that the skeletons in the first chamber are the discarded remains of those once sacrificed."

Hermione had not considered that angle before. Shifting uneasily, she slowly sank down the wall. The rough stone was abrasive against her back, even through her sweatshirt. Draco attempted to hoist her back up by the elbow, but both her weight and her will were too heavy. Their arms disconnected where they had been looped together and she was soon seated on the stone floor, legs splayed out in front of her. Draco now stood awkwardly, as if he no longer knew quite what to do with himself now that he wasn't physically supporting her.

Her shoeless feet were numb from cold so that she could barely feel them any longer, her socks slightly damp from walking on the chilly dirt paths. Inadvertently, Hermione shivered - an act which used more energy than she was prepared for. She was rewarded with another bout of lightheadedness.

"Are you cold?"

Hermione looked up at her companion's concerned expression. "It's very cold in here."

"Why didn't you say earlier?" Draco hissed, dropping to a squatting position right in front of where she was sprawled. Lifting his wand, he cast a warming charm over her.

Her shivering ceased immediately, but she felt more drained than ever. Looking up at him, Hermione found he was very close to her face. "Maybe you shouldn't have done that."

Looking down at his wand in his fist, he queried, "Why not?"

"Because I think my energy is being used to power your spells down here."

Eyes hardening, Draco snuffed out his lumos and shifted forward to be even closer. Hermione could now make out each of his pale eyelashes in the watery glow from the chandelier-like structure above. "If that's the case, it's amazing you're still alive."

"I don't really want to think about that." A headache had begun to percolate in her forehead, and his proximity was not helping.

"We've got to get you out of here. Even if I'm not using magic now, I'll probably have to, to get us back out."

The implication was clear: Draco was trying not to kill her in his efforts to save her. Hermione's heart began to hurt - something she did not think had anything to do with the danger she was currently in.

Willing a surge of effort to course through her, she tried to push back up against the wall and stand, but failed. A second failed attempt frustrated her, so she briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she found Draco holding out his hand.

She took the offer, and he yanked her back to her feet. The change in altitude nearly made her lose her balance again, given how her headache was stabbing into her cortex. "If we got here in the first place, there's definitely got to be a way back into that first chamber… and if we both got into here through there in the first place, it's got to be able to let us back out. Right?"

"That makes sense," she faintly agreed, turning her attention as best she could to the opposite wall. "Since this is a passage grave, it would make sense to leave this room from the opposite side we entered it from. That was what we did in the altar room, if you recall."

Draco glanced from her to the other end of the room, then back. "It's far."

"I know."

He slung one of her arms across his shoulders for support. "Better get started then."

A healthy and able Hermione would likely have protested this display of familiarity - especially without asking permission - but for right now, it was just nice to have someone to lean on. Especially when that someone was…

No.

Slowly, Draco began the painstaking process of leading the two of them toward the far wall, like some kind of injured four-legged beast. By the time he had managed to get her to the middle of the long room, they were both stumbling more and more. Hermione wished she could support herself, or that he could cast a weightless charm without her potentially blacking-out - she abhorred feeling so helpless. They were both doing their best to ignore the mummified remains of the Blacks that lined the walls as they made their progress toward the back. It seemed to take forever.

"Just leave me here and check," she finally pleaded. "This room is so long, and what if I'm wrong? What if there's no exit there?"

"I am not doing that," he growled in a tone that brooked no argument.

She sighed; she didn't have the energy to bicker anyway. "Fine. But tell me something… if you're right about the mummies-" she glanced sidelong at the nearest chest tomb, "-what do you think preserved them before I arrived? None of those skeletons in the first chamber had any... flesh... left on them. They had to have been down here for awhile before I got here…"

Heaving her back up higher against his side where she had slipped, Draco answered, "My aunt-" He cut himself off, then began again. "Bellatrix… she came to this place. She told me once, back when she was living with us."

Alarm bells went off in Hermione's head at just the mention of the crazed witch's name. "And you only just thought to mention this now?"

"Honestly, everything that insane woman said or did was questionable. I could never tell what was true and what was only a projection of her warped imagination." Here, Draco's face twisted briefly into an expression of disgust. "But if what she bragged about was true, any sacrifices - unwitting or otherwise - get trapped inside."

Just like I did, Hermione internally struggled. It was difficult to think of one's self as a sacrifice.

He prompted, "You recall the tree outside? The one on top of the cairn? Well, it's imbued with Dark magic which, according to her, is cursed to purloin those sacrifices of everything but their bones."

Frowning, Hermione tried to recall if she had seen any skeletons belonging to small animals or the like, but could not recall any. "To what end?"

"For use as energy," he explained, taking a couple seconds' break to catch his breath before continuing toward the wall. "To preserve this place: the altar room, and especially the crypt and those entombed here.

"And since I'm not of Black blood, it's draining me," she interpreted.

He nodded. They were nearly three-quarters of the way across the room by now, and Hermione was doing her best not to imagine her flesh and organs being siphoned off her skeleton. Head spinning and heart thumping despite her best efforts, she could not help a glance backward over her shoulder at the crystal-topped tomb encasing the mummy that had so startled her earlier.

A wild thought entered her mind. "That body... that's not… her, is it?"

"Who?"

"Bellatrix."

Turning to follow her gaze, Draco looked toward the chest tomb in question, then back to Hermione. Very slowly, he said, "Hermione, Bellatrix was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. You were there, we both saw it happen."

He paused, re-adjusting his grasp around her waist. Hermione swallowed drily. You're not thinking clearly, she chided herself. Of course he's right. Molly killed Bellatrix years ago, in the Great Hall. Frazzled, she tried her best not to begin hyperventilating, focusing her remaining energies instead on the struggle in front of her. She could not afford to lose her mind now.

"It's likely she's been down here before though," Draco went on. "Or helped maintain it at some point. She often went on and on about family history…"

She forced herself to look forward again, the wall drawing ever-nearer. "So… there is no other purpose for this place other than to preserve the legacy of the Blacks?"

"Right. An homage to their greatness."

Hermione felt sick to her stomach. Would pureblood mania haunt her the rest of her life? She peered upward, only to be confronted with an expression of concern on Draco's face. Concern that was very clearly directed at her. A dark thought blipped into her mind, and she had to wonder if these would be her last thoughts, here in this forsaken tomb with him.

Finally, they reached the end of the gallery-like crypt. The lambency of the entryway was well behind now, leaving them in semi-darkness.

For a long moment, Draco only stared at the wall before them, until Hermione prompted, "You'll need to cast another revealing spell, just like before."

Without looking her in the eye, he continued to regard the wall. He was breathing heavier than usual; Hermione thought he might be trying to catch his breath from hauling her across the room. "I know, but I'm not about to kill you, Granger."

"I'm going to die if you don't," she spat.

Taking a deep breath, he shifted her weight so that she was leaning on him more, and freed his hand to lift his wand. "Aparecium."

White spots erupted along the edges of her vision, and Hermione's head began to spin just like it had all those months ago when she had indulged in too much hookah. At the same time, silvery moon-like carvings sparkled into existence on the wall before them. Like moonlight made into liquid, the carvings shaped themselves into glowing depictions of the phases of the moon. A moment later, that same pale light formed an arched cut-out surrounding the carvings. With a loud boom, the doorway scraped inward before the whole thing dissolved away entirely.

"It worked." Draco sounded like he could not quite believe it as he stared ahead into the yawning darkness before them.

"You need to cast diagnostic spells," Hermione muttered weakly.

Head whipping around to look at her, he snarled, "I am not doing that. Look at you - doubtful whether or not you'll even survive me getting us out of here."

Considering the situation, she again did not argue; his words sounded as if they had come from yards away, despite that she could still feel his heat beside her. "How are we going to see without a lumos?"

He grit his teeth, "We'll just… have to."

After they stepped into the passage however, the portal to the crypt resealed itself, leaving them in total blackness. The darkness and silence were overwhelming, terrifying. She gripped him tighter, and thought she noticed that he mirrored her move.

"Draco, just… do it."

The few seconds without a response from him must have been enough for him to consider all angles of the request. "Lumos."

The light was a mercy, humanizing somehow. The white spots clouded over her vision, and she slumped even harder against Draco. Vaguely, she registered him half-carrying her through the tunnel, but was unaware of the passage of time. The journey seemed to take both an eternity and no time at all. On occasion, she recognized Draco speaking to her, but her brain was unable to process what he might be saying. All of her remaining energy seemed to be leaking out of her - something she had not expected to be able to feel - like an open wound around her eyes, at her fingertips, and emanating from her heart.

At some point, they stopped. Hermione vaguely registered Draco saying something, along with the milky light of a patronus - but she was beyond recognizing this, either. She felt the crunch of something beneath her stockinged feet and glanced downward, her head lolling forward. Were those bones? It was difficult to tell, as her vision was almost completely obscured. She could not make out the words of the patronus either, but it sounded like it spoke in a woman's voice.

The sound of an Aparecium made it through to her brain once, twice… thrice… that was Draco, she recognized, and his voice was growing louder, even shrill… several attempts later, he was yelling but the wall remained put, dark and anchored…

...Hermione thought she saw, from the corner of her eye, the swish of black cloth like a curtain or a veil, beckoning her to check behind it...

...He was shaking her, entreating her to retain her consciousness…

...A flash of red splashed through her vision, along with words she could not understand… perhaps of another language…?

…Hermione felt sleepy… weightless… was this dying? It wasn't so bad…

...The black veil was taunting her now, fluttering tantalizingly...

...And suddenly, her vision was filled with moonlight and the scent of the outside world was rushing over her like new life… she was free.

But was it real…?

That was the last she remembered.

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"You're sure you're alright, Granger?"

Hermione managed a wan smile. It was the third time Oona had asked, in as many minutes. Bill answered for her, "Of course she isn't. But she will be, that's what matters."

Oona harrumphed and refilled Hermione's cup with water. That first glass after she had been revived had been incredible, like breathing again after being underwater for a few seconds too long. She had gulped down several glasses as fast as she could without making herself sick, and was now nursing her cup while taking in her surroundings. Having regained some of her faculties, Hermione discovered herself wrapped up in a large quilt in the ornate chair by Oona's desk under their site pavilion.

For the past several minutes, the old witch had been fussing over her like a mother hen. "You should have some hot stew, too. You never had dinner before being sucked into that madness."

Hermione took note of the fact that Oona was still wearing the same dusty clothing from yesterday, and that her gray hair was sticking out in several directions, coming loose from its plait. She looked nearly as exhausted as Hermione felt, how they must all feel. None of them had gotten any sleep, with only Bill appearing as awake as ever as he sat beside her in a camp chair, simply watching.

"Stew sounds delicious," she admitted, her stomach rumbling at the mere mention of food.

Only seconds later, Oona was heading toward the tripod over the fire outside the pavilion with a bowl and began scooping some of the past evening's meal out of the large cauldron hanging there.

"You're covered in a fair bit of blood," Bill observed, claiming Hermione's attention for the moment. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

She shook her head. "It's all old blood. I cut my hand… I think. But I might have healed it."

Shifting her cup from hand to hand, she looked down at her palms, just to confirm. With a shiver of remembrance, Hermione forced her gaze upward and out from the pavilion. Though the sun had not yet made its grand entrance to announce the morning, a general haze of light indicated that this was imminent. The uninspiring landscape of sedges and sorrel was unchanged from the previous day's monotony - but compared to the ever-present gloom of the underground passages, it was nirvana.

"Malfoy was pretty grisly when he brought you out," said Bill quietly. "He had to perform blood magic to unseal the door. Slashed right into his forearm. He was dripping all over the place when the two of you reappeared. We healed him of course, but he was pretty shaken up. Oona offered him a Calming Draught, and he actually took it."

Her eyes then fell to the cairn with the twisted tree growing out of the top and the granite slab over the entrance; it was hard to digest that her week of transcribing had almost led to such an ugly end. In front of the structure stood Draco and Seamus, likely bickering over something that had to do with the site, if all their gesturing and motioning were anything to go by. They were just far enough away that Hermione could not hear what they were saying.

"Wouldn't let us look at you, at first. He seemed to be convinced he had killed you."

She turned her gaze on Bill. "What?"

"Malfoy. He was very protective of you. Probably a damn good thing, too - I'm not sure I'd have thought to use my own blood in a situation like that. That curse is a piece of work."

Hermione was spared responding by Oona bustling back over with a bowl full of beef stew. "Eat this, you'll need it to restore energy. Likely you took some damage to your magical core, if the curse Malfoy told us about is true - and that sort of corrosion takes time and energy to heal. I've got some potion here that will help, but it won't be pleasant on an empty stomach."

"What kind of potion?" Hermione queried, eyeing the vial Oona set down on the edge of the claw-footed desk.

"The last of the Magareste from the first aid kit, for healing internal magic… which usually only Weasley needs, as he doesn't follow instructions and puts himself in unnecessary danger."

"Ah, Oona, you sure know how to compliment a bloke," Bill answered with a crooked grin, propping his dirty boots up on the desk.

"Mind my astrolabe, you animal!"

Accepting the bowl and a spoon, Hermione looked down into it at the carrots, potatoes and shreds of beef; her stomach gave a mighty rumble, so she tucked in.

"What I don't get," Bill cut in, having taken his boots off the furniture when Oona had swatted at them, "was why it was only Hermione that was sucked in. Even if the crypt's purpose was for stasis magic, why her?"

"Probably because I'm Muggle-born," she rasped out in-between spoonfuls.

"There might be something to that, unfortunately," Oona mused, still eyeing Bill suspiciously, like he might endanger her astrolabe again. "If it was Granger, Finnegan, and you, Weasley… what's Finnegan's blood status?"

"He comes from magic on his mother's side. I asked," Bill confirmed.

Hermione's eye again caught side of Draco conferring with Seamus back at the worksite. Distracted, she nearly missed her mouth with the spoon and forced herself to focus. She turned her attention back to Bill, who seemed to have noticed her transgression, and grinned. She could not help the subsequent blush that she felt heating her cheeks.

Not wishing to pursue any line of questioning pertaining to Draco, she commented, "I didn't realize the Black family was Irish."

"Once upon a time, yes," said Oona. She stretched out her arm across the claw-footed desk to pick up a scroll. "This lineage report Weasley fetched from the Ministry has got a full history. The Blacks anglicized their surname at some point back in the 1400s. Have you finished with that stew?"

Hermione looked down to find an empty bowl. When had that happened?

"Take this, then." Oona pushed the vial of potion toward her.

Reaching out, Hermione grasped the small container. The potion inside was clear, and in the not-quite-morning light, it sparkled slightly. She uncorked it anddowned it all before she set the empty glass back onto the desk. Closing her eyes, she focused on her body. If she tuned out everything that was happening all around her, she could detect something within her ribcage, just below her heart, swelling and heating. Like a knitting project that had raveled, she swore she felt something untangling and winding back into wholeness.

"Odd feeling, isn't it?" Bill prompted.

Placing a hand over the base of her sternum, Hermione rubbed at the area. "Spectacularly."

"That'll be your core magic."

But Hermione was not listening to another word, because her eye had caught the approach of Seamus and Draco from the worksite. Seamus looked exhausted, his sandy hair tousled and sticking up in the back; meanwhile, the only outward sign of tiredness from Draco were the purple stains of fatigue under his eyes.

"Sorry, ma'am," Seamus apologized, addressing Oona, "but there's one last thing. Looks as if Malfoy's sealed the place back up with some Irish I've taught him, but I'm no expert. I want to be sure we've done it right…"

"Of course," Oona agreed, rising wearily from her seat. "You've been invaluable, Finnegan."

Clapping a hand to Hermione's shoulder, the Irishman remarked, "You're looking a sight better, Hermione."

Bill laughed. "She looks like something we once found in a cave in Scotland!"

Hermione shoved Bill's arm playfully. Though Seamus laughed, he also contradicted, "I doubt that. She's got to be the best looking artifact you've ever dug up."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Draco cut in, speaking for the first time.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Easy, Malfoy. You may find this hard to fathom, but Hermione and I have been friends a long time. She knows I'm just messing around."

Oona quirked an eyebrow at the lot of them, then gestured outward to the great tree in the distance. "Shall we?"

With a last look backward at Hermione, followed by an enigmatic appraisal of Draco, Seamus led the old witch back to the worksite. Despite her exhaustion, Oona's wand was already at the ready.

Hermione turned back to look inquiringly at Draco. What was that about?

Before she could say anything, however, he turned to her, facing her completely and turning half of his back to Bill, as if to shut him out. "You should be resting. Let them handle all this. I'll take you home."

Eyebrows rising in surprise, Hermione finally gathered the courage to look directly into Draco's face. He was standing beside her, and there was a rigidity to his upper body and neck that imparted how stressed he still was. Eyes boring into hers, he seemed to be trying to communicate… something.

What?

Her heart did a flip, and she looked away.

"I think that's a very good idea," Bill cut in, standing. Hermione met his eyes now, and found them smiling back at her, as if confirming that he understood Draco's intentions. Which, of course, was impossible - at least, so Hermione told herself. "The sooner you can get some sleep, Hermione, the better. Even with a healthy dose of Magareste, it's going to take your body a few days to heal from core damage."

"That's settled then," Draco deduced, though Hermione thought he sounded a touch surprised that he had not needed to argue the point. He stepped forward and held out his arm to her.

She gazed up at him, questioning what his motives could be - could they really be so innocent? Was he just trying to get a glimpse of where she lived?

"What's your address?"

Hesitantly - and because she really was still too exhausted to pull it all apart - she gave it to him. A moment later, before she could even wave good-bye to Bill or take leave of Oona or Seamus, she felt the pull of Apparition behind her navel… and she was standing in front of the door to her flat.

Wavering a bit on the spot, Hermione righted her balance and stared at the keyhole. Closing her eyes, she did not look up at Draco when she said, "Thank you for bringing me home."

"I'll see you inside, if that's alright with you," he drawled, his tone indicating that he was clearly ready to argue if necessary.

Holding her breath for a moment, she opened her eyes to look up at him, and released it. His gray eyes were intense, watching her. "I… haven't cleaned up. I wasn't expecting visitors… and it's a studio flat, it's… small."

He snorted. "Really, Granger? Now you're just stalling."

She had nothing to say, because they both knew it was true.

"If you really don't want me to come in, I am not going to force the issue. But you should also know that I don't plan to drop by for tea and biscuits later this week. If you send me away now, I'm not coming back."

"Right," she said, plucking up her nerve. "Right, I suppose you had better come in then."

Dismantling her wards took longer than usual, and left her physically drained. Still, Hermione got them inside and took to re-warding the flat directly - a post-War habit she had never dropped.

Once she had finally finished, she sank down onto her worn couch; the arm was shredded from where Crookshanks had repeatedly sharpened his claws on it, back when the cat had been alive. Her sentimental side had never allowed herself to fix it - but now, seeing Malfoy looking at it, along with all her other belongings, made her feel a sense of inferiority. She knew what sort of circles he moved in. Everything about her space seemed to scream that it was the wrong place for him to be, from her overflowing bookcase to the stacks of books on the floor, the pile of shoes tossed into the corner (including some trainers with mud still dried onto the bottoms), or worst of all, the hamper of dirty laundry sitting out in the open, (thankfully with no knickers sitting directly on top). His eyes flickered from the half-drunk cup of coffee, so old there was a milky film on top, to the faded curtains hanging over the window above her kitchen sink, and finally, to the unmade bed with the quilt falling off the side, tattered on the edges from years of use.

"I, er, don't spend much time here," she stammered, mortified that Draco appeared to be looking around her messy flat in interest. "I'm usually away, working. I probably only spend a week of every month at home…"

"I'm not judging your flat, Granger," he insisted. Eyeing the kitchen counter, where a few potion-splashed spellbooks were still open and not put away, he amended, "Not much, anyway."

She could feel her face heating again. "Well… thanks for seeing me home… and for helping me out of that place."

"You'd have done the same for me," he insisted.

But Hermione was not sure. She would have loved to say that she would have, but supposed she was just grateful that they would never have to find out now.

"Well, I appreciate it anyway. Can I make you some tea?"

He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Come on, let me help you into bed."

She glanced down at her front, where her sweatshirt was still covered in dried blood. "Actually, I think I'd like to wash up a bit first. I have been in some dirty places in my line of work, but I don't think I've ever felt this filthy."

He seated himself on her threadbare couch. "Then I'll wait until you're done."

She took a deep breath, and supposed there was no sense in arguing with him. Nodding, she ambled toward the trunk at the foot of her bed to retrieve some fresh pyjamas. Taking care to choose the least embarrassing set she could find, she still tucked them under her arm as if this could hide them away before glancing at him once more and making her way into her tiny bathroom.

Once the door had shut behind her, blocking out the view of Draco eyeing the contents of her bookshelf with interest, she stared at the handle. Just for good measure, she locked the door. Even knowing he could unlock it again with a spell, it made her feel better to state that there was a barrier between them that she was not ready to dismantle. Having secured a modicum of privacy, she turned back to the task at hand.

Her first look in the mirror nearly made her scream.

The bun she had started the evening wearing had once contained her curls, but in all the excitement since, her frizzy mass of hair had exploded into something alarming, and had stuck to the back of her neck with cold sweat. At one point, she vaguely recalled wiping her bloodied hand across her face and jeans, the smears of which had dried and were now brown. The front of her sweatshirt, against which she had held her bleeding hand to staunch the flow of blood, was going to need to be burned.

Feeling dismayed, she inwardly groaned. I do look like something that's been discovered inside a cave!

Cringing at the idea that this was how she had looked when Draco had been reunited with her at long last, she supposed there was nothing she could do about it at this point. True, she had not had any idea of seeing him before today. But now that she had, there was no use denying that some hidden ember had been stoked within her. He had, quite literally, saved her life - and she had to wonder if it was the first time… and he had been so insistent that he take her home…

I don't plan to drop by for tea and biscuits later this week. If you send me away now, I'm not coming back.

His meaning had been plain.

Pushing that dangerous thought into the back of her mind, she peeled her clothes off and set them in a heap on the floor for later disposal. When she stepped into the shower, it felt like a breath of new life - like the water could wash away any and all dark magic residue from the last twenty-four hours.

She took longer than was strictly polite, but it was hard work scrubbing her curls down with shampoo - twice - and conditioner, and then making sure her body was good as new. Or at least as much as it could be - it was not easy work scouring away the dust, the stink, the blood… all the horrible things she had felt while trapped underground had seemed to leave some kind of trace: bitterness, loathing, oppugnation. The impression of nearly dying could not be lifted away, no matter that she had scrubbed away at least one thin layer of skin.

Every so often, she paused in her ablutions, straining to hear if there was life on the other side of the bathroom door. What was Draco up to out there? Would he remain on the couch the whole time? Stick around, but look through her things? She hoped not, though she had little to hide. Or worse, would he decide that it was best to depart after all, giving her a taste of what she had done to him on their last encounter? He had said he would stay… but would he, really?

Even this thought could not entice her to hurry much, exhausted as she was. Once she had finally finished, she toweled herself off and dressed as quickly as her debilitated body would allow. Wrapping her hair up in the towel, she emerged with a great cloud of steam.

The sun had fully risen now - and Draco was still seated on her couch, a book from her shelf in his hands.

Shutting it, he placed it cover-down on his lap and tilted an eyebrow at her. He appeared to be taking in the sight of her in her flannel pyjamas, making her even more self-conscious. "Feel better?"

"Look," she blurted out, nervously twisting her hands around the end of the towel in her hair. "I know it's-" she glanced at the clock, "half-seven, and neither of us has got any sleep… and I've had my magic and life force drained by zombies-"

"They were hardly zombies," he scoffed.

"-And I know we should talk about what… happened… all those months ago. But I'm just not equal to that conversation right now. I know we need to have it… I want to have it…"

"I agree."

She stared, fingers still twisting the end of the towel. "You do?"

He nodded. "You need your rest. Discussing any of that right now won't do any good."

Her heart sank. "Does that mean you still aren't coming by later in the week for tea and biscuits?"

To her surprise, he chuckled as he rose from the couch, setting the book aside on the coffee table. "Come, let's get you into bed. I'll still be here when you wake."

Heart leaping again, she nearly allowed for a smile before another thought occurred: "Won't your fiancée mind if you spend the day at another woman's flat?"

"Hardly." Cocking an eyebrow, a small grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Astoria is gay."

Hermione stared. "What?"

"She's gay. Our engagement is a matter of convenience. Both of our parents were nagging us to get married, and she and I get on well enough." He raised his other eyebrow at the expression that must have been on her face because he added, "No need to look so shocked. It's an arranged marriage, not an announcement that I've taken up hippogriff breeding."

"So…" she struggled, "you're… marrying a gay woman, as a matter of convenience? And everyone… you, your family… you're all okay with that?"

"It's not as if I announced Astoria's preferences to my mother and father. In any event, I suspect they hardly matter to them." He looked at her more earnestly now, "Besides, the one time I wanted to give a serious relationship a shot, the woman left. As I was getting us breakfast, as it happens."

"That was your attempt at a relationship?" she demanded incredulously, releasing the end of her towel. She had twisted it so much that it furiously began to unwind and she had to catch it when it fell from her head entirely. "A one-night stand?"

"Well, it didn't exactly happen at night, did it?"

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she effused, "It's an expression, Draco!"

"I know." He faltered, sobering as the snarky expression fell from his lips. "You're right. I don't mean to make light of the situation."

She began absentmindedly combing her fingers through her curls, a post-shower habit to keep them from becoming bushier than she would like. "I wasn't in any state of mind for… for a relationship at that point in my life," she stammered. Then, more quietly, she added, "But once I thought I might be, I read about your engagement in the paper."

"I see." He stood awkwardly by her coffee table a moment longer before finally seeming to muster up the courage to come out from behind it. Approaching her, he gestured to her bed. "Come on, let's get you some sleep."

Glancing over at her bed, she realized he must have made it for her, because the pillows were fluffed and the quilt was pulled up. Shaking her head, she murmured, "Thank you."

He said nothing, but only waved his wand so that the corner turned down, ready for her to climb in. Somewhat begrudgingly, at least in her mind, she sank down onto the mattress. It felt like blessed repose was beckoning, and yet, she could not bear to close her eyes despite that her eyelids had grown so, so heavy...

Draco was shutting the blinds with another wave of his wand, and she asked, "So what now?"

"Shh, we can discuss it all, as much as you like, once you've had some sleep."

"But what about Astoria?" She was under the covers by now and sleep was imminent...

"She's vacationing in Malta with her lover, Jacqueline. She'll hardly spare a thought about me - and even if she knew, she wouldn't say anything." After a pause, wherein Hermione struggled to stay awake, he added, "That crypt did make me realize one thing: the farce of my engagement is just perpetuating all of the same bullshit pureblood supremacy that I saw there… and, Hermione... I still-"

She was asleep before she could hear the end of his thought.

.

.

A persistent tapping sound was what woke her, though at first, Hermione could not figure out what it was. When she finally did crack open her eyes, she saw Draco letting an owl in through the window, along with a few weak rays of sunlight. Accepting the letter the bird carried, he glanced over in her direction, to find her awake. The owl took back off through the open window.

"You're up," he stated, almost as if he could not believe it.

Slowly sitting up - an act which felt similarly stiff to the time she had been roused from petrification back in her second year at Hogwarts - she rubbed her eyes and croaked, "What time is it?"

"Nearly supper time," he answered softly. Holding up the delivered missive, he explained, "It's from Weasley. Your colleagues must be checking in on you."

"You're still here," she blurted, ignoring the unopened letter. "Why?"

"I told you I would be." Gesturing to a small tray by her bedside, where a few stuffed crepes and a dish of fresh raspberries appeared to be sitting inside a stasis bubble by a French Press of coffee, he added, "Besides, I needed to find a way to finally get you that breakfast I promised."

She stared at the crepes for a long moment, then slowly tilted her gaze back up to him.

"If you're wondering how I managed to get breakfast without splinching myself on your wards, the answer is house elves. You can lecture me later."

"I wasn't… that wasn't what I-" She sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to the coffee table. He appeared to have got quite a way through the book he had lifted from her shelf, if the coaster he was using for a bookmark were any indicator. "I just... why? Why would you stay when I left the last time?"

Shaking his head, he made his way toward her and sank down onto the furthest edge of her bed, as if still trying to gauge whether she really wanted him in such close proximity. "Because I said I would."

It took everything she had in that moment, bruised and battered as she was, not to second-guess herself and allow her ego to fail her. Hermione reached for his hand. He let her take it, and brushed his thumb over her palm. The gesture gave her hope. Smiling, she squeezed his hand back and scooted forward on the bed to be nearer to him. It was all the encouragement he needed to meet her halfway, lean over, and press his lips to her cheek. Turning her head, she lightly kissed the corner of his mouth before pulling away; she did not want to get in too deep before she knew where she stood with him - but this was a start.

She looked up at him. "Where do we go from here?"

"Not sure. Nothing is set in stone," he reminded her, cupping a few fingers under her chin and running his thumb over her cheek. A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "But I'm looking forward to the possibilities."

This time around, so was she.

Fin.

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Author's Note: Well, friends, that's all there is to this tale. Thank you for sticking with me and reading to the end. I can only say that I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please drop a review in that box down there, to let me know.

Alpha love, in great quantities, are due to both sarenia and Witches-Britches - without whom, this story would be total bollocks. For realsies.

Until next time.