The war was like an abyss that wanted everything and was never satisfied. There was always more required. Another life. An additional measure of blood. Be better. Smarter. More ruthless. Quicker. More cunning. Accept a second portion of pain.
It was never enough.
Hermione had gone to Eleos and Panacea. She'd lain herself prostrate at the feet of Athena. She'd built prayer towers. She'd sacrificed almost every piece of herself that she had to offer.
Never enough.
Draco had walked straight to the altar of Ares.
Never enough.
Nothing was ever enough. The war always wanted more.
What will you give? What will you give to win?
Hermione swallowed. “Draco — what do you expect me to do?”
He gave a sigh that sounded like a hiss. “I don't want you in this fucking war.” The rage in his voice was raw. “All I do is worry about what will happen to you if I fail to meet all requirements.”
She drew a sharp breath and stepped towards him, reaching for his hand. “The Order is not like the Death Eaters. Draco—”
His expression turned vicious before she could touch him.
“I am aware of the difference.” He sneered. “Do you imagine it's somehow more reassuring to know you'd just volunteer?”
Hermione stepped back and glared at him, her shoulders rigid. “I am not a possession you can put away somewhere, Draco. I've spent years training in order to contribute to the Resistance. You can't ask me to stop or leave because it worries you. You agreed — you swore you wouldn't interfere with my aid to the Order. You can't try to guilt me into passivity either.”
He glared at her. “You have no idea what would happen if you're caught. If—”
“I do know,” she snapped, cutting him off. Her throat was tight, and her chest felt compressed until she could barely breathe. “What do you think I do with all
Draco's expression remained cold.
Hermione turned away. She felt so drained she wanted to sink into a corner so she wouldn't have to keep standing. She'd been so worried waiting for him to return to England. She'd reached her limit. She could feel her occlumency walls wavering; like a dam, her exhaustion threatened to break apart.
You're losing. You're losing. You haven't saved anyone. Draco. Harry. Ron. Ginny. The Order. The Resistance.
You want too much.
Her shoulders shook. She wanted to go back to her potion cabinet and find something that would make the war stop feeling like death by a thousand cuts.
She pressed her lips together, and her jaw trembled. “I think I need to go. I'm too tired to have this argument tonight.”
She wanted to just vanish. She was so tired of begging him not to die. She swallowed. Even her saliva tasted bitter. “I'll report to Moody about your father. Do you need me to heal you at all?”
Draco's hand shot out, and he gripped her wrist. “Don't. Don't go. I don't know when I'll be able to call you again.”
She wavered. “Draco — I'm so tired — I don't want to fight—”
He pulled her closer. “Just stay with me. Just stay.”
She gave a small nod and dropped her head against his chest. He slid an arm around her waist and apparated. They reappeared in his suite in the Savoy.
He laid her on the bed and pulled off her shoes. He sat on the edge, running his fingers along her arm until she was half-asleep.
He stood. “I need to shower and eat. I'll come back.”
Hermione reached out and caught his hand. “I was afraid you'd die abroad, and all I'd have was your note.” Her voice was thick. “You're always in danger, and I can never ask you to stop.”
He ran his thumb across the back of her hand. “I would if I could. You know that. I'd run with you and never look back.”
“I know—” Her voice broke. She was too tired to keep her emotions at bay. She gave a low sob. “Don't die, Draco. You can't leave me behind.”
He sank back down onto the bed beside her and didn't leave until she stopped crying and fell asleep.
When the bed shifted, she woke to find him on the far side of the bed, his hair slightly damp. It had been hours since they'd arrived; more sleep than she'd had since he'd left.
She shifted across the bed and into his arms, resting her forehead against his bare chest, tracing her fingers along his torso until he caught her hand and then rolled her under him. He studied her eyes but didn't move again until she lifted her head and kissed him.