Hermione's throat tightened. “It would have killed me if you'd sent me away, and I'd found out later you'd died because I'd asked you to save Ginny. I would never have gotten over it. Not ever. I would do it all again,” she said. “Every second. I would do it all again to save you.”
There was a resounding silence.
Draco stares at her, a mixture of shock and rage sweeping across his face. “You didn't save me,” he said when he finally seemed capable of speaking at all. “You just put us in hell for two years.”
It was like being punched.
She felt herself pale as the blood rushed from her head. Her entire body curled inward.
Draco's hold on her hand tightened, his expression instantly regretful. “Wait — I didn't—”
She dipped her head down and tried to breathe “I tried to come back.” Her voice shook. “I really did.”
“I know. I didn't mean—”
She looked away. “You shouldn't have assumed that l'd be willing to lose you. Did you think I don't feel things as much as you? That I cared less because I had other obligations? You shouldn't have thought I cared less, I did everything I could to keep you safe. You don't know all the things I did to keep you safe.”
“I just—”
“I promised — every time you asked, I promised I was yours always. There aren't any exemptions or expiration dates on always.”
A crushing pain in her head woke her the next morning. Her fingers were still entwined with Draco's in the centre of the bed. He was asleep, but his features were tense.
Finding him in bed with her was familiar. There weren't any conflicting memories in seeing him asleep.
When he was close, it felt like slipping into the past. It was as natural and instinctive as breathing to touch him, to be near him. She felt as though she couldn't be close enough to him.
It was mostly the in-between distances that she'd abruptly find herself back in a moment in which he was looming over her and forcing his way into her mind; when he'd closed in on her and gripped her by the arm as he apparated her; when he'd said something so cruel it blindsided her.
But when he was close, he was Draco. He was hers.
He'd been vulnerable with her. He loved her, even though he never expected them to be anything but doomed. He'd loved her all the same.
She was cold, and wanted to move closer, but she was afraid he might wake if she shifted. She stayed where she was and looked at him.
“I'm going to take care of you,” she mouthed the words silently. “I'm going to find a way to take care of you.”
She felt it the instant he woke. Tension shot through his entire body as soon as he was conscious. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at her.
His eyes immediately narrowed. “Are you alright?”
She twitched her shoulder. “My head. It's always worse after a good day.”
He let go of her hand and touched her forehead. “You're feverish again.”
She didn't expend the effort of moving her head in acknowledgment.
“Can you eat?”
Hermione's stomach twisted, roiling at the thought. “Maybe later.”
His eyebrows knit together and he looked visibly worried. “I'm required in Belgium today. I'll be back tomorrow. Stay in bed.”
He stood up, still studying her.
Hermione stirred and lifted her head. “You said you'd get me books.”
There was a flash of irritation in his eyes, his lips thinned. “Tomorrow.”
“No. You said today. I can still read.” She tried to sit up. “Otherwise I'll just lie here, worrying.”
He sighed through his teeth. “Fine. Stop getting up. I'll have Topsy bring you books, quills, and parchment after you've eaten.”
Hermione lay back down and pulled her arms more tightly against her body as she huddled, trying to feel warmer.
She swallowed. “I — just need the books. I can't touch quills so — there's not much use for parchment.”
The muscles in Draco's jaw rippled. “Right,” he said, as he came around the bed. “Just the books then.”
He conjured an extra blanket and draped it over her. “Tell Topsy if you want anything. I'll be back tomorrow.”
“Be careful, Draco. Don't — don't—” her voice failed, and she was quiet.
“You have to come back,” she finally said.
“I will.”
Once he was gone, Hermione slumped more limply into the bed. She felt as though her skull was about to crack open.
She felt miserably nauseous, but Draco had said Topsy wouldn't bring her books until she'd eaten. She didn't know if it would count if she vomited everything back up.
At midday she managed to keep a potion and a small cup of broth down. Topsy delivered a stack of books and a folio of handwritten pages that Hermione recognised as Draco's handwriting; all his notes from his attempts to remove the Dark Mark.
Topsy propped Hermione up with pillows so she could lie on her side and read.
Hermione tried to review the notes clinically and not think about the fact that Draco had been experimenting on unwilling subjects that had all died in the process.
They were all Death Eaters, and several had helped to torture Narcissa.