Hermione was the first to stir the next morning. She and Draco had shifted during the course of the night, she was lying on her back and he was curled around her, holding her tightly in his sleep.
As she grew more aware, she realised that at some point one of his hands had slipped up her shirt and was wrapped possessively around her breast. Every time she moved, even slightly, he squeezed and palmed it gently. She stared up at the ceiling.
The touch brought back memories of bonding with him, and she felt her nipples growing hard when his fingers brushed over her.
She bit back a moan. She could feel him prodding against her hip and there was a part of her that wasn't to climb on top of him and snog him into compliance. But she was certain that, if she moved, if she woke him by trying anything, he'd flee as soon as he was conscious. Warm and wet as she was increasingly growing, she wanted him to stay and actually talk to her even more than she wanted to attend the needs of the heretofore unknown wanton sex kitten that he was apparently capable of awakening within her.
He was still deeply asleep.
She wasn't surprised. After the time he spent in prison, the magic he'd used to break himself free, not to mentioned dying and dragging himself back, she was amazed he hadn't been forced into a bed by the healers too.
Maybe they'd just been afraid to.
She wanted him rested. Part of their conflict, she was sure, was brought on by how over-exhausted they'd both been.
She lay quietly and tried to think of something to occupy her mind. She glanced around the room and her eyes landed on a book on the bedside table. Her arm was mostly free; she slid it over and snagged the book gently. It was the Veela text she'd been reading. Draco or Harry must have brought it up for her.
Resting it precariously on her sternum above Draco's hand she flipped to her place and started reading; trying to ignore the way his thumb swiped gently over her nipple every time she turned a page.
By the time he started to wake, hours later, she had read all the way through the book once and was making good progress on a second run. Her wrist was cramping slightly from the odd angle she was holding it and she felt nearly cross eyed from reading the text so closely.
She was also in a state of nearly agonizing arousal.
She had paused many times while reading, forced to bite her lip and flex her legs and toes in an attempt to distract her mind from the growing need that was coiling up tighter and tighter inside her from Draco's persistent and unconscious ministrations.
Even his steady breathing, brushing lightly on her skin was starting to make her tingle. She didn't think she could possibly feel more tense with arousal.
When he suddenly shifted, she couldn't stop the quiet moan from escape her lips. His breathing suddenly caught and she could feel his whole body freeze as he came awake.
She shut the book and put it back onto the bedside table.
She could feel him slowly realizing where he was and where his hands were. He stayed frozen for several seconds, apparently completely at loss about what to do next.
"Did you sleep well?" she eventually asked.
"How—did I get here?" he asked, finally sliding his hand away.
"You fell asleep in that chair. I moved you."
She could feel him getting annoyed with her and despite her resolution not to care about it, she found she couldn't.
"And before you get angry with me, well, don't. I don't think I can handle you being angry with me right now," she said before he could speak.
He subsided from his irritation and stayed there frozen. She turned her head enough to look at him. They were pressed closely together, the narrow bed leaving little space for him to get away unless he climbed over her.
She stared into his grey eyes. They had that same terrified expression that he'd had when she told him she was in love with him. Like he was bracing himself for it to end up being a cruel trick.
She laid her hand on his cheek lightly. She'd thought of so many things she wanted to say to him when he'd been asleep, but she was afraid if she said any of them he'd run away again. She was overcome with a terrifying sense that she might get another chance to convince him after this.
"Draco, please don't ask me to give up on this," she said, her voice a low intense whisper. "Please take this risk for me. You've dragged yourself through so much pain by telling yourself you're doing it for my sake, but you've never actually given me any say in it. I need you to let me be an equal in this. If you believe in me at all, give me this."
"Granger..." his voice was shaking, and he was growing paler and paler before her eyes.
She placed her fingers lightly over his lips, just the barest touch. She was still so aroused it was ridiculous.
She wanted to swoon just from touching his mouth.
Ugh. Sweet Morgana, how on earth had Draco Malfoy turned her into a witch who contemplated swooning? If the heat in her body weren't so busy currently being elsewhere, she was sure she'd be blushing scarlet. Never mind her about anxiety over sex; that had apparently vanished the instant Draco bit her in his bedroom.
She'd always been able to appreciate an attractive looking man, but going from conceding that Draco Malfoy was attractive to considering him positively edible was a dramatic jump for her. He had such long fingers. She'd always thought his hands were unjustly attractive. His eyes were always so intense when he looked at her. His hair was sexily tousled from sleep. How unfair was that?
She wanted to kiss him and then have sex with him without having a mating imperative smothering her mind. As good as the sex had been at bonding, she was much more interested in knowing what it would be like with human Draco and real, coherent her. She imagined it would be slower, a more gradual, intense burn. She was sure, based on the way Draco stared at her, he would make it last ages in all the best ways. He was obstinate and exacting like that. The thought made her skin tingle.
She steeled herself. Having sex would not resolve the issues they were dealing with.
Pulling her fingers away, she wanted to kiss him but she didn't allow herself that either.
"I'm hungry," she announced. "You should go make me breakfast."
Then she rolled away in order to give him space to get out of the bed.
He stood slowly without saying anything and left the room.
She watched him go. Her heart was racing. She wasn't sure if she was doing this right. She'd always been rubbish at relationships.
It wasn't as though there was any room to doubt his feelings toward her. She'd read carefully through the sections on bonding to make sure she understood the theories on it. They were unanimous.
He was in love with her and he would never stop. Short of Hermione turning into the sun, his life couldn't revolve around her more. Everything for him began and ended with being irrevocably attached to her. In his mind she was the entire point of everything.
It had been sobering. Slightly terrifying.
It was a staggering thought and burden to be so significant to someone. To be so relied upon. But it bolstered her theory that somewhere in his skewed way of thinking he'd convinced himself that this must be best for her. This wasn't an attempt to simply protect himself from getting hurt, he was somehow doing it for her sake.
So if she wanted to change his mind she would have to convince him that it was for her. Even if she made his desire to give in unbearable, he wouldn't, unless he finally believed it was something she really wanted. Which meant convincing him that she wasn't just trying to love him out of guilt. She had to find a way to make him see that her feelings were legitimate.
They were both habitually suspicious of each other. He had spent so long pretending that he loathed her when he was actually head over heels for her, it probably wasn't a stretch for him to imagine that, for some absurd reason, she might do the reverse to him.
She sighed. The lying really had to stop. She had to be entirely honest with him, so that he would believe her about the things that mattered. She needed to convince him to do the same for her.
He eventually returned with toast, and eggs—of some kind. She stared at them suspiciously.
"I told you, I only make soup." He muttered, staring at the floor after her silence had exceeded the bounds of politeness.
"Maybe you could try porridge tomorrow," she said at length, taking a bite of the toast. She didn't say anything to him while she ate, but she could feel his eyes on her.
"Granger, what are you doing?"
She glanced up at him. He was staring at her warily, as though he expected her to jump him. She arched her eyebrows at him as she finished chewing.
She could pretend she didn't know what he was talking about, but it would be pointless. He was a Slytherin, he would always be better at being sneaky and suspicious than her. Fortunately her plan didn't require tricking him at all.
Honesty: that was the name of the game.
"I'm trying to change you mind," she said.
"By ordering me to make you breakfast?" he asked raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"No. I was just hungry. You kept fondling me for hours after I woke and at that point the options were ordering you out of bed or jumping your bones."
He choked and turned bright red but she continued blandly.
"And I was sure that having sex would just make whatever the problem is between us worse. So—breakfast." She shrugged.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep here," he said at last.
"Oh, where were you planning to sleep?"
He hesitated for a split second and she smirked inwardly. He had no idea what the floor plan was for any of the upstairs. He probably had barely gone anywhere but her room and the kitchen.
"Across the hall," he said at last, his tone smooth and self-assured.
"Really? In the room Sirius used to keep Buckbeak in? That's an odd choice." She couldn't hide the smile that crept across her face.
He hissed and his entire body went rigid. His expression growing venomous. "Fine. I wasn't planning to sleep there, I wasn't planning to sleep at all. Because every time I even close my eyes I see you on on the verge of dying in front of me. In Diagon Alley. Or the Burke house. Or in the Ministry, either from Runcorn or when you suddenly turned grey and started going into shock. I can't—stop—seeing it."
His voice was hoarse and he was growing pale again.
Hermione stared at him steadily. "Draco, you saved me all of those times.0
"They wouldn't have happened if I hadn't done this to you," he said, his expression furious.
She shrugged and ate another bite of toast while he stood seething.
"Well—most of them. But Runcorn would still have wanted me dead." She eyed him pointedly. "If you hadn't bitten me, I'm sure he would have followed through with his other plan to kill me in order to destroy and discredit my work. And—if it hadn't been you—it probably would have been even worse. He said it was supposed to happen before the WRA was enacted, so he probably intended to hire a werewolf or a pack of werewolves to rape and maul me to death. You mostly likely would have already died by then. And capable as I may be, I doubt I could fight off more than a few werewolves all by myself."
Draco was staring at her in horror. The thought had apparently not occurred to him.
"All in all, I think my chances of survival are now higher in the long run," she said quietly.
He deflated and looked exhausted again. His eyes were overtly strained.
"You can conjure a bed and sleep here, I won't bother you," she said, giving him a small smile.
He stared at her, his expression doubtful. "What are you doing?"
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm not doing anything. I don't have a sneaky plot or grand scheme. I'm just doing what you wanted. You don't want us to be anything romantic, so that's what I'm doing. You already know that this is not what I want. But, I'm not going to try to force you to change your mind or do something you don't want to."
She shrugged. "It's not like I could anyway. Even if I pulled all my clothes off and seduced you, I might manage to have sex with you once, but then you'd probably never come near me again. At least this way, if I'm doing what you want, you're here and I can be with you. It's not going to be very satisfying for anyone, but at least you won't leave."
He was staring at her like a caged animal. Before he could say anything, they heard the bang of the front door.
"I hope you're all decent up there!" Harry shouted from the foyer. "I brought Healer Abasi to check on Hermione."
Draco retreated to the corner and looked suddenly worried.
Harry bustled in with an armful of potions. He had clearly decided that the best way to deal with whatever was going on between Hermione and Draco was to ignore it and let them sort it out themselves. He didn't comment on the tension in the room. He fussed over Hermione for a bit, seeming to be taking in her appearance with a somewhat worried expression, but after kissing her on the cheek he walked right back out the door.
Healer Abasi was in civilian clothes rather than the lime green healer robes she was used to seeing him in.
"Miss Granger, you're looking better today. The grey is gone, although you're still worryingly pale."
Hermione had no idea what she looked like. She hadn't bothered to look in a mirror since she'd had Ginny's clothes resized the day before.
"I'm feeling better," she said.
He nodded. "Probably because you're back with your bond-mate. The magic of the bond is shared between you, although considerably more of it's in him than you. Proximity stabilises things, which is vital especially at the beginning. You've been staying close to her?"
The question was directed at Draco, who nodded tersely.
"Good. Good." Abasi nodded again and then performed the longest and most complicated diagnostic charm Hermione had ever seen. A shimmer of magic rose up from her and he began inspecting it.
"It's too bad, I didn't realise they had separated you during the trial or I would have said something. It was a terrible thing to do to a new bond. I'm sure you started noticing the side effects even before you injured yourself."
Hermione gnawed at her lip, glancing at Draco surreptitiously as she nodded. "I was mostly tired, but then it started aching. I wasn't sure if it was because of the separation or because they were hurting Draco. I only just started reading about bonding a day ago and I only had one book."
"Granted, Veela bonding isn't my specialty. But as I understand it, it's much harder for the human; the change is more dramatic, especially in your case given the quantity of magic involved in manifesting a full-blooded Veela, not to mention the fragile condition you were in at the time following Miss Parkinson's attempt to murder you. The Veela is just tapping into something that was already there. But for you, the bond forces all your magic to restructure itself fundamentally. You should have had weeks of high proximity to stabilise and allow your magic to rebalance before drawing on it. With your separation and what happened in the Wizengamot, you were easily able to over-exert your magic reserves because your body hadn't adapted and realised that it was your magic. When you'd cast a spell, your system would try purging the unfamiliar magic, trying to reach for something familiar. So you used it all up rapidly. Once you did, trying to pull more was like gardening in fresh soil; you tugged a little too hard after that and it tore your magic out by the roots."
He handed her a potion and watched the colours in the diagnostic shift slightly as she swallowed it.
He drew a deep breath and manipulated the diagnostic again. "The trouble is that your injury isn't something we can fix. Physical injuries or spell damage we can usually repair, but what you did was injure what we call your magic wellspring. We don't even understand precisely how it works, and we can't do anything externally to affect it. This kind of injury is usually only seen in wizarding folk with very low levels of magic, but it's rare even then, since they usually lack the magical ability to do something that would exhaust their magic so much. Normally, the cases involve an accidental use of a dark artifact."
He sat back and met Hermione's eyes. "Fortunately, in your case, you didn't use all that magic or you would have died, even with the added protection that bonding provides. But this injury is severe, and there's nothing we can do but stabilise you and hope that if you rest and don't try any magic, it will eventually be able to repair itself."
Hermione nodded. "It felt almost as if I were bleeding internally afterward. I could feel it tainting my magic."
"Yes. That's what others have described. It's like internal bleeding but, unlike blood, magic isn't constantly moving through you. As long as you're not drawing on it, you shouldn't have to worry that it will continue to hemorrhage the way it did when you were trying to duel."
Abasi suddenly hesitated and his expression grew gentle and serious. "Generally, when it's survived," he said slowly, "an injury to the wellspring this severe causes a permanent loss of magic for the individual. But—I'm hopeful that it will not be the case for you. You're unique because the magic isn't just yours. You can transfuse it to aid in the healing. That should make a difference. If the theories on wellsprings are correct, in time you should be able to recover fully."
Hermione felt her stomach plummet.
She had suspected there might be that chance. Even in the moment when she'd torn it out as she'd tried to reach Draco. But hearing it from a healer made it real.
Healer Abasi glanced towards Draco. "I don't know if there was a concern that it would hurt or overexert her, but this is actually the only circumstance in which I would recommend sex to aid in recovery. Frequently. Biting her each time."
Hermione's face suddenly felt as though it was about to burst into flames. Draco stared wide eyed at Abasi and turned so pale Hermione thought he might faint.
Healer Abasi didn't seem to realise the bomb he'd dropped and continued examining the diagnostic while handing Hermione several new and awful tasting potions to swallow.
Hermione was silent for several minutes and then drew a deep breath.
"Healer Abasi," she said in a low voice, hoping Draco wasn't paying attention, but feeling unable to keep herself from asking her question all the same. "After Draco got hit with the Killing Curse yesterday, it—it changed the bond. I—" her voice grew tight and strained, "I felt him—die. And even after he came back, it still feels like the moment when it hit him. Do you have any idea—will that ever fade? Or—is it always be like that—now?"
Abasi looked up at her sadly. "I'm not sure. Aside from full-blooded Veela I don't believe there are any other bond-mates that can survive a Killing Curse. However, from what I understand of it, trauma can become associated with the bond when something distressing is passed through. The bond doesn't retain anything, but in your case, you can't stop reliving the trauma each time you reach out. The best I can advise is to you give yourself time and opportunity, eventually it won't be the only thing you associate with it."
Hermione nodded. She'd suspected that might be the answer, based on what she could find in the book she'd read.
"Well, that's all I can do." Abasi rested his hands on his knees before standing. "Take one of these restorative potions every twelve hours and a strengthener every six. Absolutely no magic. Eat regularly. Sleep. And have sex." He looked up at Draco. "It will be vital for rebalancing her magic and probably help her recover from the trauma she associates with the bond."
Healer Abasi stood to leave and Harry followed him, giving Hermione a wan, awkwardly encouraging smile as he left.
Hermione listened to their retreating footsteps and then the click of the door.
The silence was deafening.
At length she finally spoke. "I don't suppose friends with benefits was what you had in mind."
Draco did not appear to find the joke funny at all.
"I'm going to make you lunch," he announced before fleeing.
She sat back in bed resignedly.
He would come back. Given the way he'd grown progressively whiter and whiter as Abasi had been treating her, she suspected that he hadn't realised the injury might be long-term.
He would do anything required of him to fix her, but he'd have to come to terms with it first. She imagined, given how desperately he loved her, that being told he needed to bite her repeatedly when he was convinced their relationship was doomed was pushing him beyond his limits.
She was so bored, she felt as though her brain were trying to scratch its way out of her head. She wasn't ready to try coming to terms with the idea she might never use magic again.
She picked up the Veela book from the bedside table. She had nothing better to do. She might as well memorise it.