DRAGON'S HEARTSTRINGS || dramione | harry potter

Chapter Thirty-One

Hermione did not remember how they got back home. All she could tell for sure was the firmness of his body on hers, the feeling of his presence right next to her, and the rest didn't matter, all that was important to her was that he was there, safe, sound, and free.

They were free.

Voldemort was dead.

This still didn't seem real.

Hermione didn't want to think about it. The fact that she was alive and that she had Draco by her side was miracle in itself, and she felt the need to be grateful for it, even with a brain that wanted nothing more but to turn off.

She only gathered herself back into her consciousness when Draco somehow brought her into the bathroom without her knowledge, and the sound of the water filling the enormous bathtub made her blink back into reality. Draco's soothing arms were caressing her, softly checking for injuries. Upon noticing how out of it she was, he put his hand on her cheek, making her focus on him.

"Hey," he whispered. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, not understanding his words.

"No," she answered at last. "I think I'm in shock." This diagnosis was true, but just as the words themselves it felt very distant from Hermione.

Draco nodded as if a state of shock was to be expected after an experience like that. And perhaps it was.

"I'll help you out of your clothes and you will wash up, okay?" he asked.

Hermione grabbed his forearms instinctively. "Will you wash too?"

He watched her for a few seconds, then nodded. He was laced with ashes and his pale skin now seemed gray; Hermione knew she looked similarly disheveled.

Draco slowly took off her clothes and steadily helped her into the bathtub – he was a complete opposite of her trembling frame. She didn't know why she was trembling, why she couldn't speak more than a few words, why all of this was so hard for her to understand – but the thing about shock was that it made everything senseless.

Draco rushed to undress himself and lowered himself into the bathtub right next to Hermione who entangled herself in his arms the moment she felt the warmth of his body – and he hugged her tightly, lovingly, tenderly while she snuggled into his chest.

He washed her body with nice smelling soap, never once letting his hands wander into other territories. Hermione was glad he was taking action because she knew she was inadequate right now. He didn't ask her anything because she wouldn't be able to answer, and the little words he did speak were soothing, simple, vulnerable as if he were addressing a child. The things she got through in the last few days brought Hermione back to tabula rasa – a complete emptiness that was numbing as well as relieving.

When they were both clean, Draco dried her up with a towel and, taking her hand in his, took her to the bed, put his softest shirt on her and encouraged her to sleep which Hermione agreed to do only with him by her side.

She sank into sleep as heavily as a ship is put into the ocean for the first time ever since being built. She twitched and kicked in her sleep, fighting the drowsiness despite how exhausted she was. She dreamt of fire, of Nagini's venom running in her veins, of Voldemort's red eyes.

She woke up screaming but Draco was there to soothe her.

"Shh, it's alright, you're safe, I'm right here," he said, calming her down and kissing her forehead. When she fell asleep again, it felt light and soft, and she didn't have any nightmares.

Draco's sleeping face was the first thing she saw upon waking up, and it was the best view she could imagine. Feeling her stir up, he opened his eyes, sensitive to the slightest of movements emanating from her.