Her hand and leg had healed fully, and the baby was still a bright golden light. The light made her head ache.
“I need to call a mind healer,” Draco said when she sat up wincing.
Hermione shook her head. “No. It's not worth the risk. I'm fine. It's just a headache. I'm not having a seizure. It's fine, the memories are probably just — a bit murky now. It's not as though a healer would actually be able to do anything about it. The damage is already done.”
His expression tightened.
She looked up at him, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. “Do you have it? Are they really Phoenix tears?”
Draco withdrew a vial of silvery liquid from his robes and handed it to her.
“There's an analytic spell, to confirm they're really tears,” she said, her voice tight and nervous as she turned it over in her hand. “They might not work. If they're really that old. There's no research on preserving tears more than a few years.”
Draco cast the spell.
Hermione's vision doubled, but she squinted through it and studied it carefully.
It was a vial of pure tears. The reading was perfect; the efficiency was still exact. They had been perfectly preserved.
There were enough. She could tell just by looking at the irregular size of the vial that there were at least fifteen tears.
She stared down at the vial in her hands for several seconds, trying to absorb the reality of what she held. Her stomach was fluttering, and she felt breathless.
She could do it. Draco was going to live.
She was going to save him.
“We'll need to do everything in the drawing room,” she finally said. “There's so much magic already there that new spell signatures will be lost. Is everything ready? Did you contact Ginny?”
Draco nodded slowly. “She's aware of what we're going to attempt. The elves have everything ready. My — my mother intends to stay. She doesn't want to leave my father.”
Hermione studied his face for a moment before standing and reaching out for him. The room swam. Draco caught her by the elbow.
She held his robes until she found her bearings again. She drew a deep breath before forcing a smile. “I never ate breakfast. I should probably take a few potions.”
Her stomach rebelled, but she forced herself to keep down a strengthening potion and a nutritional potion long enough for her body to absorb them. Her head stopped feeling cracked and hollow.
She stood up again and walked slowly around the room. Her calf was still sore, but her hand was fully healed. She bent and unfurled her fingers to check their dexterity. A Calming Draught would help manage her tremors once she needed to do spellwork.
Her vision slowly stopped doubling.
As long as the lights weren't too bright, she'd be alright.
Draco stood watching her. His expression was closed, but his eyes were pensive and worried. “Granger, you—”
“We're going to do this, Draco,” she said, cutting him off. “If it were me, would it even be a question?”
He reluctantly shook his head.
“I can do this. I'll be fine. Once we escape, I can recover for as long as I need to. After I save you.”
She went over to the doorway and walked through without hesitation.
Lucius was still in the cage in the drawing room.
Hermione's stomach curdled as she entered the room for the third time that day.
“Bobbin,” said Draco, his tone still vicious.
The elf appeared at the entrance of the drawing room.
“Bring everything here, and get the horse ready.”
Hermione chewed nervously on her lip. “Once my manacles are off, how long do you think we'll safely have until it's noticed?”
“I doubt you'll have more than half an hour,” Lucius said.
Hermione nodded. “That's about what I thought. So, twenty minutes to get the Dark Mark off, and then a few extra minutes to leave. It — it might take longer than twenty minutes, but that's the best time I've gotten in practice. We need to do as much as possible before my manacles are removed. We'll have to brew the potion beforehand.”
She looked at Lucius. “In order for this to work, everyone has to believe that Draco has died, that we all died. Can you do that?”
He glowered at her. “Easily. Assuming that my wand is returned.”
She nodded and turned away. The elves had brought in a large table that extended across nearly the length of the room. On one half, there were potion supplies laid out. On the other end, healing supplies: bandages, dozens of vials of Blood-Replenishing potion, Essence of Dittany, eye wateringly expensive pain relief, and several spools of acromantula silk. Hermione arranged it all carefully.
There was a smaller table nearby with a pile of wands and a satchel on it.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Her satchel. She reached out and opened it. It was still packed with all her alchemy and potion supplies, as well as a full assortment of healing potions and supplies.
“You kept it,” she said as her fingers ran across the waxed canvas.
“It was useful,” said Draco in a dry voice. He watched her intently as she inspected the contents.