Out of Time

Chapter 52

He seems to need a hug and Hermione wriggles closer to him to wrap her arms around him. Draco rests his face in the crook of her neck, and through her hands on his back, she feels his breathing stutter. His torso tightens, closing in on itself, and she slowly rubs his back.

"It's okay to be upset right now. You can let it come. We've been through a lot, hm?"

She's just rambling words in a soothing tone, because her hunch is correct. His fingers clench in the hair at the base of his neck.

In the Prefect Bath, she'd hugged him from behind, but sitting here in the grass, inspiration strikes. He wants to take care of her and he needs something to focus on. She crawls forward and positions herself between his knees, so he's bracketing her the way she'd once done for him. She untangles his hands from his hair and wraps them around herself, hugging hers atop his. Draco folds in around her as if making a cocoon to keep her in. His face presses back into her neck, where it meets her shoulder.

"I couldn't stop it. I couldn't do anything. And you were just there on the floor, and I couldn't help you either."

Hermione's glad he can't see her face, because this is one thing she'd been trying to avoid thinking of, at any cost. But her tension and his are all wrapped up together anyway, and she focuses on deep breathing. If he can feel her breathe, he'll match it with his own. It's good for both of them.

"This hasn't happened to me in a long time. A long, long time. Fuck. I can't -"

"Just breathe. It's okay to need a minute. It's okay to need more than that. Just breathe in and out."

She needs more than a minute herself, but won't say so. He's been obsessively caring for her since they arrived here, and she can do the same for him now. She's not sure she's doing any good yet anyway, as his voice chokes in his throat.

"I told you that you'd never have to defend yourself again. That if you did, I'd failed you. And now - fuck, Hermione, your arm, and -"

Hermione can't look at her arm. It's kept bandaged, even though the skin is closed over. Fleur's optimistic that a consistent wrap of dittany and Charlie's regular burn cream will reduce the scarring, but she isn't so sure. It'll all come down to whether the blade was a magical one or the regular sort. Or what if it was goblin-made and was imbibed with something they don't understand? But there's nothing she - or Fleur - can do about that from here, and the wound is closed. She just can't stand to see the scar it left behind.

But Draco's talking, and if he's talking, he's breathing. He's also crying, shoulders wracking around her own and pooling moisture on her neck. But that's okay. She's crying, too.

The front door of the cottage opens and she watches Harry exit. He's followed by Ron, who's carrying a tray. They do not, as she hopes, veer towards the tent, but angle right towards her and Draco.

Once they're close enough to see her expression, she deliberately lets it harden in warning. She has no desire to see or speak to Ron, and makes no effort to hide this hostility. Staying subtle about it, she gives Harry a slow shake of her head once back and forth.

No.

He halts, tugging Ron back towards the house. Irritating her all over again, they sit on the front porch where there are two chairs and a small table. They're not directly facing Hermione and Draco and they're certainly nowhere near close enough to see them well (much less overhear them), but it still vexes her.

What she wouldn't give for true privacy, with no one else around. At all. How long has it been?

"Tell me something good, now," she whispers to him, when he begins to quiet at last.