Draco sighed. His hand slid possessively around Hermione's waist, holding her as tightly as she was holding Aurore.
Life on the island was idyllic, like something from a fairytale. Gradually, it lasted long enough that Hermione began to tentatively trust it. The only disruption to their hidden world was the regular arrival of the news, which Draco, Hermione, and Ginny would read in the evening when James and Aurore were in bed.
Hermione's panic attacks slowly became a thing of the past.
When Aurore was weaned, Draco and Hermione glamoured their appearances and very cautiously left the island in order to take Hermione to a mind-healer to find out what had happened to her brain.
According to the mind-healer, there was so much anomalous magical activity in Hermione's mind it was difficult to determine everything that had occurred. The memory structure was so precariously maintained there was little to be done. The healer strongly advised a low-stress environment and as little magical interference in her brain as possible for the rest of her life. There were a few mild potions she could take for her anxiety, but there were too many conflicting sources of Magic permanently present for there to be any easy solutions. The damage had been exacerbated by her ongoing use of Dark Magic prior to her injury.
Draco was quiet for a long time during their return trip.
“The Heart of Isis generally works by proximity, doesn't it?” he finally asked.
Hermione was staring out the window of the train, and she closed her eyes, cringing. This was a conversation she had hoped to never have with him, hoping it was detail he'd miss.
After a minute she nodded slowly. “Yes. For minor amounts of Dark Magic temporary proximity is sufficient.”
“And for larger quantities? Say — repeatedly casting spells to analyse and deconstruct Dark Magic And even casting the curses themselves in order to determine a method of reversal, how much Dark Magic would that be, in your expert opinion?” His voice was deceptively casual.
Hermione leaned away, crossing her feet as she kept staring out the window. “It would depend.”
There was a heavy pause, and Hermione looked down, adjusting the hem of her shirt so that it would lay flat. She could feel Draco's gaze boring into her.
She cleared her throat. “It could accumulate quickly if an individual was required to do it frequently because there were so many new curses that required analysis and they didn't have the time or resources to perform regular purification rituals.”
She could see Draco nod from the corner of her eye.
“Where did you keep the Heart of Isis before you used it on me?”
Her throat tightened. “Under my bed sometimes, but — usually I had it on a chain around my neck. It was—” she swallowed, “it was hidden inside a protective amulet that I used to wear.”
“What happened to the amulet?”
“Well,” she twitched her shoulder, her voice dismissive, “I had to break it, in order to access the heart. So I threw the pieces away afterwards.”
Draco was silent for several minutes.
“I wish you'd told me,” he finally said, his voice muted.
Hermione's mouth pressed into a wistful smile. “Neither of us were much good at asking for help. I don't think either of us made many choices with the expectation we'd survive the war long enough to regret them.”
Hermione turned to look at him. He was staring blankly across the train compartment, his gaze faraway. It was the expression he wore when he was replaying the past, trying to place what he could have done differently.
She reached out and took his hand, entwining their fingers. “If I could change the past, I'd save you every time.”
His expression didn't brighten or change. She rested against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Let's love each other forever, Draco.”
She felt him kiss the top of her head.
“Alright.”
Hermione shattered a flagon of potion when a piercing scream tore through the house, followed by another.
The entire war rushed over her like a flood at the blood-curdling sound. She snatched up her wand and a nearby knife and raced through the house, nearly colliding with Draco and Ginny as they all burst into the room, wands drawn, and found Aurore with James pinned beneath her as she walloped him over the head with hardbound book while screaming with incandescent rage.
Hermione's knees nearly gave out with shock and relief as she put the knife down on a shelf and stumbled across the room. Her chest was spasming as she struggled to breathe.
Aurore whacked James across the head one final time as Hermione dragged her off and carried her into a corner while Ginny picked up a howling James and hugged him.
“What. Happened?” Draco's voice was deadly.
“He ripped it!” Aurore was shrieking. Her face was white with rage. “He ripped my new book!”
Hermione and Draco froze and stared at one another, eyes wide with disbelief. Draco was as pale as Aurore, and his fingers were spasming around his wand.