I hope our story has a happier ending

and now I see daylight

They both collapse as they land on the grass.

Dobby's gone again in an instant; Draco can only hope it's to get his mother.

He moves to Hermione's side, looking her up and down for any further injury caused by the abrupt departure.

She's unconscious, the fresh wound on her arm yet to coagulate; she's not on the brink of death, or anything, but definitely needs immediate medical attention.

He's not sure where they are, but since it was Hermione's idea he can only hope it's safe—can only hope there's help on the other side of the front door.

Draco scoops her up in his arms, staggering toward the door desperately. Before he can knock, it's thrown open; wards must've been set off when Dobby apparated them onto the property.

Before him can only be a Weasley, but one he's never seen before: long hair and an earring confirm what the scarring of his face suggests—this must be Bill.

(Hermione and Harry were right about him being hot, he thinks.)

Bill's wand is pointed at his face before he can say anything.

"Please," he begs. "Please, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I swear I'm on your side—I've been an informant for the Order for almost two years, ask McGonagall. And even if you don't believe me, just—please, Hermione needs help. That's all that matters—please help her." His voice breaks as he tries to stress the importance of the situation.

Bill's eyes go wide as he registers Hermione's limp form, held tight to Draco's chest. "How do I know that's really her and not a Death Eater you've imperiused?"

There are footsteps, and then Fleur appears at his shoulder, her wand also at the ready. "Mon dieu—Draco, 'ow are ou 'ere?"

"You know Malfoy?" Bill narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "You trust him?"

Fleur cocks her head to the side, mind moving a million miles an hour. " 'e was kind to me when not many were. I always believed zat 'e was a good person, despite evidence others provided to ze contrary. But—it 'as been years. And I know 'e is a confirmed Death Eater."

"Please," Draco repeats, begging now. "Please, you have to help her. Floo McGonagall, or Harry, or Sirius and Remus—anyone, I don't care, but she needs help. She was tortured for hours and hours."

Bill turns to Fleur, an unspoken conversation passing between them.

"Worst case scenario, it would be better to 'eal 'er and be wrong than ze alternative," Fleur decides aloud. "Draco, 'and over both of your wands—I will do what I can to 'elp, and we will send for McGonagall once 'ermione is stable."

"Thank you—merlin, thank you," he whispers, almost overcome with relief. He allows Bill to summon his wand from the pocket of his robes, Hermione's own still being at the Manor.

He hurriedly follows Fleur into the cottage, through to the guest room where he gently lays Hermione on the bed.

"Cedric!" Fleur calls through the house. "I need you!"

He rushes into the room seconds later, eyes going wide at the side of Hermione's pallid form. "Fuck."

"Less standing, more 'ealing," Fleur commands. "You've always been better at magic like zis than me."

"Of course. Can you grab a few pain relief potions while I start on the spells?"

She goes to fetch them, leaving the rest of them alone, Bill's wand still out and his gaze trained on Draco.