When Draco awoke the next morning, he was met with the distinct feeling that something was wrong.
It was a day like any other, and he was wrapped around a still-snoozing Hermione, who was fully clothed from the night before. She was snoring lightly, and Draco smiled at her sleeping form. The anxiety continued to gnaw at his stomach, though, for reasons Draco could not understand. He was here, with her. They were safe.
Still, the anxiety chewed at him.
Hermione came out of sleep slowly, sighing as she rolled in his arms so that she was facing him, eyes still fully shut. Draco's heart was hammering in his chest and she seemed to hear it, as her eyes snapped open to his. "Are you okay?" she asked immediately, all evidence of sleep disappearing.
Draco nodded quickly. "Fine," he replied.
She frowned up at him. Her fingers rose to lightly graze his cheek. "Tell me," she soothed.
"I just have a bad feeling," Draco admitted quietly.
"Astoria?" she asked.
"I've owled her twice and haven't heard back—I don't know, maybe."
Hermione stroked his face gently. "Nothing bad is going to happen, Draco."
Draco nodded into her hand. "Right. I know."
"Come here," she murmured, opening her arms for him. Draco obliged, and pressing into her. She wrapped her arms around him protectively. "You're mine."
"Yours," he agreed.
He should've felt better—he always did in her embrace. But not now, not this time. The anxiety gnawed at him to the point of restlessness, and he pulled away from her, swinging his legs over the bed.
"Draco?" Hermione asked.
"I'm sorry, I can't just sit here," he explained, padding towards the bathroom, hoping that a long, hot shower would ease his anxiety. Hermione followed with a small frown on her face, discarding her clothes as she walked. Draco was already in the shower by the time she pulled the curtain aside, stepping inside with him.
They washed separately and in silence. When Draco was done, he stood under the shower for much longer than necessary, and Hermione wrapped her arms around his wet back, holding onto him.
When they were finished, they dressed and made their way out of the bedroom. "Do you want to eat?" Hermione asked him softly.
Draco shook his head. "No," he replied, heading to her living room and setting himself down on the couch.
He was waiting—he just wasn't sure for what.
Hermione sat beside him, worrying her lower lip. "Draco—" she began.
She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Hermione looked up sharply.
Draco's stomach dropped, and he knew. "That's for me," he said quietly.
"No," Hermione replied. "No," she repeated more forcefully.
"Hermione—"
"No!" she cried.
Draco kissed her temple before he rose, resigned, and walked towards the door of the flat. Swinging the door open, he was met with two unfamiliar Aurors. "Draco Malfoy?" one asked.
Draco nodded. "That's me," he replied.
"You are under arrest for fraud and embezzlement," the other Auror stated.
Draco gulped.
They were taking him—
They were—
He was—
He felt his wrists being forced behind his back, and then they were bound tightly together with magic.
"Stop this!" Hermione shouted fiercely.
The Aurors were rough with him, dragging him from Hermione's flat, dragging him as he stumbled down the hall. Hermione was right behind them. "Draco!" she cried, "Draco! Stop!"
Halfway down the hallway, Draco felt the tell-tale pull behind his navel, and he was spinning, and spinning. He landed roughly, collapsing to the ground. One of the Aurors dragged him up roughly by the collar.
Instantly, he knew where he was. He could feel it all around him—cloying, dark, gnawing at him.
"This way," said an Auror, shoving him forward.
Draco stumbled again, rolling his ankle. He cried out in pain. The Auror shoved him forward again.
It wasn't a long walk before he saw the tunnel—a tunnel he had never wanted to see again. Draco balked at the opening, digging in his heels as panic filled him. The Auror pushed again, and Draco was forced into the tunnel. Black spots appeared in his vision and his breathing became labored. The Aurors all but dragged him through the tunnel. Draco regained some awareness as a light appeared at the end of the tunnel, though he knew it wouldn't last.
The Aurors dragged him into the room where he'd be processed. "Draco Malfoy, sir," stated one of the Aurors.
It was all so familiar. They took his fingerprints and his picture. They forced him to strip down to nothing and searched him thoroughly for weapons. Finally, he was issued a uniform—a long sleeve shirt and a pair of trousers, both white with thick gray stripes. He was ordered to dress, and he did so hurriedly, eager to be clothed and out of the clinical light of processing and the prying eyes that existed there.
What was to come, of course, was worse. He was forced out of the light and into another tunnel. A door was unlocked at the end of the tunnel, and he was pushed through it. What was waiting for him on the other side was more darkness, and rows upon rows of bars. Prisoners rushed forward to see who was being led down the hall.
"Oi! Another Malfoy! Would you look at that!"
"Always knew he'd end up here like here like the rest of us."
"He's mighty sweet looking, don't cha think?"
Draco closed his eyes, hoping to drown out the voices as he was pushed further and further down the hall. They reached the end, and Draco was roughly shoved into an empty cell. Draco fell to his knees, and he felt a shot of pain as they connected with the concrete. Behind him, the bars slammed closed. Still on his knees, Draco turned and crawled towards the bars, pushing and pulling at them pitifully, hoping that he wasn't locked in here, that he wasn't trapped, that he wasn't—
The door, of course, was locked.
With a whimper, Draco crawled into the farthest corner of his cell and curled protectively around himself.
They aren't taking you
You're free
Draco felt tears leaking from his eyes. They had taken him, he wasn't free. "Hermione," he sobbed quietly, wanting her desperately.
Had it just been hours ago that she'd been curled up in his arms? Since she'd held him in the shower?
It felt so long ago.
He tried to occlude, but without his magic it was even more pointless than usual. Hermione had his wand.
Hermione.
I love you
Draco shivered against the concrete floor, pulling his knees into his chest.
His tears dried, and he found himself staring blankly at the wall for what seemed like hours—there were no windows in his cell, so he couldn't be completely sure.
The side on which he was lying began to ache, and his skull pulsed with every breath. His back hurt from lying in such a position for so long. He heard scuttering and clicking on the other side of his cell, and he instantly knew it was cockroaches—Azkaban was littered with them.
A meal was delivered to him at one point—a stale hunk of bread and thin-looking soup. Draco ignored it, and found himself thinking about Ginny Weasley's shepherd's pie.
Draco's eyelids were growing heavy with exhaustion and sleep, just as the door of his cell creaked open. Instantly, his eyes shot open, and he sat up.
"Malfoy, visitor," the guard said gruffly. Draco stood on uneasy feet, and the guard grabbed his arm, dragging him from the cell and down the hallway. On the right, there was a door. "You have 20 minutes," he said before pushing him through the door and slamming it shut behind him.
"Draco!"
Hermione
Draco rushed to the table. "Hermione. Are you all right?" he asked. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face splotchy, and her curls tangled and unkempt. He desperately wanted to reach out to her and smooth them.
She reached for him instantly.
"No!" he shouted, and she pulled back, startled. "There's a barrier in the middle. It will hurt you," he explained.
Hermione nodded. "Draco," she said softly, "Are you okay?"
Draco shook his head. "I don't want to be here, Hermione," he said quietly, dread and panic building inside of him. "I can't be here."
"I'm going to get you out, Draco. I'm going to get you out. I promise you," Hermione said. Her fingers reached for him, and she pulled back with a grimace.
"How are you going to do that?" he asked grimly.
"Harry and I are going to see Kingsley as soon as I leave here. I would've gone to him first, but I needed to see you," she said desperately.
"Potter?" Draco asked solemnly.
"I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of here, Draco. Having Harry only helps," Hermione replied, unapologetic.
Draco nodded in resignation. "I'm scared," he admitted.
Hermione softened. "I know you are, but I'm going to get you out of here. You're mine, remember?"
"Yours," he agreed, his fingers itching for her.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Hermione murmured to him. "It's going to be all right, Draco. I will make sure of it."
"Hermione—"
"Do you trust me?" she asked.
"You know I do," Draco replied heartily.
"Then just believe in me," she urged. "You know me. You know I won't rest until you're free."
Unwittingly, Draco felt himself smile. "I know, Hermione. I know."
The door behind him opened. "Malfoy! Time's up!" the guard called.
"What? That wasn't 20 minutes!" Hermione protested.
Draco was dragged roughly from his seat and steered back towards the door.
"Draco!" she called.
For a moment, Draco fought against the guard, turning to face her.
"Just hang on, okay?" she said pleadingly. "Just remember—" she took a deep breath. "Just remember that I love you, okay?"
He was shoved through the door so hard his face slammed into the wall opposite of the door, the bruise below his eye and on his cheek protesting in pain.
Just remember—
The guard took him by the nape of his neck, and pushed him back down the hall, and into his cell.
Just remember that I love you
Three meals, delivered daily: Burnt toast and porridge for breakfast, overcooked rice for lunch, and stale bread and broth for dinner. This was how Draco kept track of the days.
Five days.
Five days since he'd last seen Hermione, when she'd promised so earnestly that she would get him out. Five days since he'd last held her, last kissed her. Five days since he'd slept—he found he couldn't—not here, not without her. Six days since he'd last eaten.
The days ticked by slowly as Draco sat curled up in the corner of his cell, keeping track of the meals that arrived daily before they disappeared, untouched, hours later. On the third day, the cockroaches had become accustomed to Draco's presence, and began to skitter over the meals that arrived.
He watched them, his eyes more used to the darkness now, as they fed happily on the food he refused as he resisted the urge to vomit.
Five days.
It was cold in the prison, and Draco refused to use the filthy blanket and cot that his cell was outfitted with, so he simply sat in the corner, shivering. His arse was numb from sitting on it. His side was numb from where he laid on it.
Just remember—
Five days.
It was very quiet here. He suspected that they'd all been subdued by some charm or spell, or residual Dementor magic. The prisoners only roused when a new body was brought in. They'd make a few comments before growing tired and crawling back to their cots.
A cockroach crawled across his face and Draco dry-heaved violently.
Five fucking days.
On the sixth day, breakfast arrived, and it was then that Draco felt the tears leak from his eyes. She wasn't coming for him. Holding back his sobs, Draco cried into his knees.
Just remember that I love you
Draco was confused when lunch never arrived. His sense of time was slightly disoriented, but the meals had been consistent for five days now, and he was certain it was past the time for his lunch to arrive. Maybe they'd noticed he wasn't eating and had decided to stop wasting food on him.
He was going to starve to death.
Draco panicked. He buried his face in his knees and tried to control his breathing.
In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. It was Hermione, soothing him.
The door of his cell clanged open. "Malfoy!" called the guard.
Draco lifted his head slightly to peer at the guard. "What?" he croaked. His voice sounded strange.
The guard didn't answer but walked into his cell, grabbing him roughly by the arm, yanking him up. There was a loud pop and Draco shouted in pain, but the guard ignored him, once more dragging him down the hall. Maybe Hermione was back?
A light appeared, and the guard dragged him more quickly. They reached the light, and the guard shoved him. "You're free to go," he said coldly. Draco fell to his knees once more, his eyes burning from the light—
"Draco!"
Hermione.
He looked up, squinting, and he could vaguely make out the shape of Hermione, who hovered just above him.
"Is he okay?" came Potter's voice.
Her hands were unbuttoning his shirt, and she was yanking it off. "They've been dragging him around, Harry. Look at his shoulder—it might be dislocated! He's covered in bruises!"
Hermione sobbed, and Draco reached for her even though he couldn't see her. He blinked slowly and the room came into focus as he squinted against the light. Hermione kneeled before him, staring at his shoulder. Potter loomed above them, watching them with an odd look in his eye.
"Hermione," Draco said quietly, touching her face.
"You're free," she whispered to him. "I won't let them take you."
Draco nodded. "I know. I know."
Hermione stood, helping him stand up. His muscles ached—it had been so long since he had stood upright. "I have your clothes," she said, shoving a bag into his hand. "Change."
Draco took the bag from her and went into an adjacent room, changing quickly despite the excruciating pain in his shoulder, discarding his prison outfit on the floor. After so many days of inactivity, Draco returned to Hermione, exhausted. She seemed to sense it and wrapped an arm around his waist. He leaned into her gratefully.
"Come on, I want you off this island, right now," she said fiercely.
Draco nodded weakly. He was so fucking tired.
He was fine until they were outside. It was there that the residual dark magic swarmed him—curl up and die, it screamed—and he sagged against Hermione, too tired to move. "Harry, help!" she cried.
Draco felt as Potter looped his bad shoulder around his own. "Fuck, what is going on, Hermione?"
"This isn't a normal island, Harry. He can't stand it—he hates it. It eats at him and he's already so weak—"
Draco was mostly unconscious until they reached the ferry, where his mind instantly cleared. He exhaled a deep breath, breathing in the salty ocean air. "Hermione," he breathed.
"It's okay, I'm here." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. "We're going to go home, okay?"
Draco nodded against her, still weak.
"I've got you," she murmured.
Draco glanced around wearily. The deck was familiar—it was the same ferry he had ridden every time he came to see his father. Hermione wrapped around him—also familiar. Potter, leaning against the rail of the ferry; Now, that was unfamiliar.
"Potter," he croaked, "what are you doing here?"
Potter's eyes met his. "She wouldn't stop until she got you out," he replied, unhelpfully.
Draco furrowed his brow. "That—that doesn't answer the question."
Potter sighed, kicking the railing. "I used every bit of clout I have, every last bit of influence—to get you out of Azkaban, Malfoy."
"Why?" Draco asked, looking from Potter to Hermione.
"I, like you, don't like seeing Hermione cry," Potter replied. "And she annoyed me into it."
I love you
"Thank you, Potter—you didn't—you shouldn't—"
Potter held up a hand. "I didn't have a choice. You know her," Potter said, motioning to Hermione, who was still clinging to him tightly, trembling slightly.
Draco pulled her closer. "I'm okay," he murmured. "Sweetheart, I'm okay."
"They took you from me!" she cried. "You're mine."
"Yours," he agreed, "yours."
Potter observed with a detached expression.
Draco was exhausted, and the journey from Azkaban felt longer than usual as the waves slapped lazily against the sides of the ferry. The rocking motion of the ferry churned his empty stomach, and Draco became violently nauseous. Summoning his remaining strength, Draco pulled himself from Hermione's arms to lean over the railing, heaving violently. When he was done, he leaned heavily against the railing of the ferry, enjoying the feeling of the salty water splashing on his skin. Hermione was behind him, her fingers lightly stroking his back. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.
Draco nodded. "I think—I think I should sit down."
Hermione quickly summoned a chair in front of the railing, and Draco eased his exhausted body into the chair. Hermione, clearly unwilling to lose contact with him, slid down beside him and rested her head on Draco's lap. Idly, Draco ran his fingers through her tangled curls, smoothing them against her forehead.
They remained in this position until the ferry docked, and Hermione stood up, grasping for his hand. "Harry," she called. "Help me get him to the dock, then I can apparate us to my flat."
Potter obliged, pulling Draco up by his bad shoulder, making him hiss with pain. "Sorry," Potter apologized, once more looping Draco's shoulder around his neck.
With some considerable difficulty, Hermione and Potter managed to get him back on dry land. Draco felt his eyelids flicker—he was so, so tired—
"I'm going to apparate us now," Hermione said to him softly. "We're almost there, Draco."
The spin of apparition was too much for Draco, and landed solidly on his hands and knees, jostling his injured shoulder and making him cry out. "Fuck!"
Hermione was on her knees beside him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I was aiming for the couch! Here," she pulled him up by his good arm, and steered him toward the couch. "Lay down. I want to look at your shoulder." Draco obliged, not having the energy to fight her. Using her wand, Hermione cut his jumper from him, Draco's eyes flashed to hers in confusion. "I don't want you to move it anymore until I look at," she explained.
Dazedly, Draco nodded.
Gently, Hermione pried the shirt from his body, before her fingers were gliding over the skin of his injured shoulder. "It's dislocated," she confirmed. "I can fix it. It'll be quick, but it's going to hurt a lot," she said apologetically.
"Just do it," Draco said hoarsely.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, taking her wand and tapping it against his shoulder. In an instant, Draco felt the bones of his shoulder grinding together, and he was afraid his shoulder would snap from its socket. Blinding pain seared through him, and his vision whited out. Distantly, Draco could hear himself crying out. It was over as soon as it started, and the jarring pain of his shoulder disappeared, replaced with a dull ache. "I'm sorry," Hermione repeated, her fingers gently massaging his shoulder.
"It's all right, Hermione. It feels better already," Draco said, smiling weakly at her.
"Are you okay?" she asked once more.
"I'm okay, Hermione," Draco assured her. "I'm just exhausted."
"What do you need?" Hermione asked urgently. "Tell me what you need."
"A bath, some food," he said, his stomach rumbling as if on cue. "You," Draco continued, taking her fingers from his shoulder and bringing them to his lips, kissing the tip of each finger lightly.
"A bath," she agreed. "I'll go run one for you." She returned after a few minutes, having changed into a fluffy bath robe. "Do you need help?"
Draco shook his head, slowly rising from the couch, his limbs creaking in protest. He took a few steps before he stumbled slightly, and Hermione darted to him, wrapping a thin arm around his back. They made it to the bathroom, where Hermione had filled the tub with steaming hot water. Sighing at the sight of the water, he hurriedly undid the button of his trousers, sliding them down his legs, boxers in tow. He slipped into the water gratefully, groaning as the hot water eased his tense muscles.
"Make room," Hermione said, removing her robe and tapping lightly at his shoulder. Draco shifted forward in the tub, making room for her behind him. She slid into the tub behind him, and reaching forward, she pulled his shoulders back towards her, so he could rest his head on her chest, her knees on either side of him.
Draco relaxed against her, his eyes fluttering shut as she gently stroked her fingers through his hair. "Thank you," he said. "For coming for me."
Hermione wrapped her arms around his chest, pulling him close. "Of course I came for you," she said fiercely. "I couldn't just leave you in that place," she spat.
"Still, thank you," Draco replied.
Hermione pressed a kiss to his temple.
I love you
Just remember—
Draco hadn't said it back, there hadn't been time before he had been thrown roughly into a wall. His eyes shot open at his realization. "Hermione," he said softly.
"Hmm?" she asked absently, once more stroking his hair.
Draco turned his head to look at her. "I love you."
Hermione stilled her ministrations. "Draco, you don't—just because I—"
"No," he interrupted. "I love you."
"Draco, I—"
"Stop being stubborn and let me tell you that I love you, Hermione."
"I just don't want you to say it because I did," Hermione said softly.
"Hermione, I'm not," he said, taking her fingers in his own. "I love you. I've known it since before—I just wasn't sure if it was too soon to tell you."
Draco felt Hermione nod against him. "I've knew, too. I just—I needed you to know it. I needed there to be something for you to hang on to. That place eats at your magic, Draco. There's so much dark magic there—I felt it this time. You warned me and I didn't feel it the first time, but every time I went back, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. I don't ever want you to go there again," she said fiercely.
"That may not be up to you, Hermione," he reminded her gently.
"If you go back, I'm afraid it will kill you. It revels in Dark magic, but you aren't Dark magic, Draco, so it feeds on you—it corrodes your magic."
Draco turned to look at her once more. "You think it's sentient—like Hogwarts?"
Hermione nodded her head. "But it's cruel, unlike Hogwarts."
"So bloody brilliant, you are." Draco sighed. "Now what?" he asked.
"We have a meeting with Kingsley first thing Monday morning," she replied.
"Great," Draco said miserably.
"Draco, he's the reason you're not still in Azkaban," Hermione chided. "They still have charges against you—you're out only on his word. You have to meet with him if you have any hope of being pardoned by the Wizengamot."
Draco sighed. "I know, Hermione. I know."
"And I'll be with you," she reminded him.
"The idea of going to the Ministry—" he began, before he cut himself off.
"I know," Hermione replied.
"Everyone will know," Draco murmured.
"Good. I want them to know."
"They will judge you, Hermione. They will talk about you," he warned.
"I don't care what they say about me," Hermione countered quickly.
"I'm lucky to have you on my side," Draco sighed.
"Of course I'm on your side—you're mine."
They stayed in the bath until the water began to chill and the pads of their fingers were fully wrinkled. Feeling rejuvenated by the bath, Draco stepped out first, helping her step from the tub. When he let go of Hermione's hand, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. "I missed you," she said sadly into the damp skin of his neck. "You can't go back there because I'd miss you too much."
"Oh, Hermione. I missed you, too. So much."
"I won't let you go back," she promised.
"I know, I know," Draco said, stroking her wet back. "Come on, Hermione, let's get some clothes on—we're dripping all over the floor."
She nodded and reluctantly pulled away from him, grabbing a towel for herself and handing Draco one as well. "I need to feed you," she said determinedly. "When was the last time you ate?"
"The Potter's," Draco replied softly.
Hermione stared up at him, horrified. "No wonder you were so weak," she said angrily as she toweled herself off.
Draco said nothing, but followed her to the bedroom with his towel slung low on his hips.
Discarding her towel on the floor, Hermione dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of plain cotton knickers and oversized t-shirt that Draco realized belonged to him. "What would you like?" she asked, hands on her hips.
Draco grimaced. "I honestly don't have much of an appetite, Hermione."
"You need to eat," she replied, her tone indicating that this would be an argument he would not win.
"I don't know. Nothing too heavy," he replied.
She smiled at him. "I know just the thing," she said before leaving him alone in the bedroom.
Her absence grated at him, so Draco quickly pulled on a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt before going to find Hermione in the kitchen. She was standing over the stove, staring at a pot of water. Draco went over to where she stood and hopped onto the counter closest to her.
"You're supposed to be resting," she chastised.
Draco shrugged. "I'm not quite ready to let you out of my sight just yet." Hermione's eyes flickered to his, and she pressed a comforting hand to his thigh.
When the water began to boil, Hermione added some shells of pasta. When they were cooked, she drained the pasta and returned them to the pot. She added what appeared to be an obscene amount of butter and then a sprinkle of cheese that appeared to be from a tube. Seemingly satisfied, she poured the concoction into a bowl and presented it to Draco, standing before him between his parted knees. "Here," she said with a small smile.
"What on earth have you made?" he asked, taking the bowl from her.
"A classic. Now, I know you grew up insanely wealthy, so I'm sure your parents never had to resort to such a plebian dish—and this might be a bit too much for your delicate sensibilities—"
"I love you, but I will hex you—"
"Noodles and butter, with just a little bit of parmesan. It's comfort food," she said with a little shrug. "My mom always made it for me when I was sick," she added softly.
"I'm sure it's delightful," he murmured to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead.
Hermione scoffed. "It's just noodles and butter, Draco."
Draco had hardly taken two bites when Hermione's Floo roared to life. "Oh, what now?" Hermione grumbled, rolling her eyes and heading towards the Floo, which she hastily unlocked.
Immediately, Potter appeared. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were bright. He instantly sought out Hermione. "I'm sorry to bother you—I'm sure you two want some time alone, but this is important."
"What, Harry?" Hermione asked, exasperated.
"I know who it was," Potter said tightly.
Hermione instantly brightened. "Who?" she asked.
Potter's eyes shot to Draco, and then back to Hermione. "It was Ron. Ron had him thrown in Azkaban.