"It is not enough

to say love in Arabic.

You must say

be the thing that buries me."

— Hala Alyan

"Damn," Hermione hissed, clutching her arm. Immediately, Draco was on her, his eyes and hands frantically searching her body. "I'm fine, I'm fine he just got my arm."

Perhaps it was the shock or adrenaline, or both, but the pain was dulled and distant. She felt like she wasn't in her body as she watched the yellow acid bubble and fester as it ate at her flesh. Draco gritted his teeth, worry etched into his expression as the acid continued its slow burn despite his incantations.

Before she could get a word out, he apparated them to the infirmary at headquarters.

Vaguely, Hermione took note that the infirmary wasn't full. She blinked as the world turned hazy like an opium dream with her mind floating in the far distance. She didn't even notice the healer on duty who immediately approached.

"What happened?" the healer asked, running diagnostic charms as Draco lifted her to an empty cot. Anthony Goldstein, her mind finally supplied.

"She got hit with acid from a lizard-hybrid creature." Anthony slowed down the spread with a spell Draco did not recognize. He tried applying dittany, but it only burned, causing Hermione to whimper. Draco glared at the flustered healer as he wiped his brow, cursing under his breath as he tried different potions and spells. However, they did nothing to stop the acid from spreading.

Hermione was getting pale, blinking in and out of consciousness. "The only options we have are to cut a part of her arm off or to use the Phoenix tears we have on reserve, but I would need authorization — "

"Do it," Draco snarled.

"I – I can send a request to Moody — "

"I don't give one fuck about what authorization she needs."

"Draco... "

"Granger," he said, knuckles clenched. "If you think I will let you lose a part of your arm, you're wrong."

He gave her a dark look, which kept her silent.

Suddenly she started spasming, the acid spreading more rapidly, breaking free of Anthony's charm.

"Hermione," Draco breathed. "Get those fucking tears now," he snapped at Goldstein.

The look on his face was enough to make Goldstein blanch and seconds later, he returned with a bottle. Steadily he dropped two tears. The acid stopped spreading and Goldstein worked silently to address the wound, which was now responsive to the normal healing spells and potions.

"Better?" Draco asked, eyes still tense.

"Yes," she mustered, her arm now numbing. She silently accepted the pain potion and blood replenishing potion from Anthony and gave him silent thanks before he left.

"Rest," Draco said sternly, glowering when she rolled her eyes and settled further into her cot. The adrenaline from the mission left her, the ache hitting her with full force.

"About the information we learned..." she mumbled, stubbornly trying to fight the drowsiness from the potions. "I... I should get the report..."

Draco brushed her hair out of her face. He spoke again, his tone half exasperation, half amusement. "Rest."

The warmth of his touch called to her. She gave in.

***

Hermione blinked, feeling warmth around her. Gaining her senses, she found herself still in the infirmary, the pre-dawn light creeping beneath the privacy curtains. She moved slightly but paused at the weight of a small blond head snuggled into her chest. She turned her head, noticing another blond head by her arm along with a large hand wrapped around her own.

She did not remember when Scorpius had arrived but during her sleep, she had thought she heard hushed voices. She assumed the little boy had convinced Watson again to bring him over when she and Draco didn't come home.

Her gaze lingered towards Draco, his face pinched in his sleep from where his head rested on the edge of the cot. He shifted slightly on the bedside chair, but did not release the tight hold of her hand. After seeing his memories, touch had been the thing he had been denied and scarred from. It was a form of connection he never had, that had traumatized him but at the same time, it was still something he craved. There was something grounding about touch, flesh against flesh, warmth shared between two bodies. It was a language in itself. But she had seen how in his past, touch had become associated with scars — punishment — if the canvas of scars on his body was an attestation to that. Being touched with gentleness, being able to reach out was foreign to him. But here he was — and she too — finding a grounding comfort and a need to be close through physical contact.

This was not lost to Scorpius either. It had not gone unnoticed to her the way in which the boy unconsciously reached for her when he stepped down for breakfast, leaned closer when she read to him, or sometimes held her a little tighter when he was in one of his moods after bath time. Although he had always had Draco, and for a time Narcissa, he was never held by his mother, never experienced a mother's touch. The thought stirred something inside of her and had made her make sure to never let go until he initiated it..

But with Draco, touch was even more complex. When they touched, she could see the brewing conflict in his eyes. They had treaded carefully, slowing down when things became too intimate. She let him set the pace, but when things got too heated he pulled away abruptly as if he had burned her. And when she looked at him, she saw his desire for her, felt it in the way his fingers dug into her flesh and the way his mouth tasted her. But there was also fear.

"Mini..." the little boy on her chest mumbled. Hermione tried to keep him comfortable and coax him back to sleep but he rubbed his bleary eyes with small fists, turning his cheek so his chin propped him up on her chest.

"You can go back to sleep, love," Hermione whispered, stroking his head. She suppressed a small wince when she adjusted her arm. It was feeling better but continued to slightly burn.

"Mini?" Scorpius eyes looked at her earnestly, fisting her shirt. He glanced at his sleeping father.

"Yes?"

"You okay, Mini?" Scorpius looked at her with a serious and scared expression. Despite being a happy boy, the war had not left him untouched. He had lost so much, seen so much but still held so much kindness, innocence, and softness in him that she vowed to always protect. She squeezed him tightly.

"Yes, I'm feeling better now. Thanks to your father."

Both of them looked at Draco's sleeping form. Scorpius reached out and stroked his father's head, sadness in his eyes that looked too old on a boy so young.

"When you go away before, Mini, daddy was sad too..." the boy said quietly before looking at her. "Mini make daddy and Scorpius happy."

Hermione's chest tightened and she blinked back tears. She was overwhelmed by the emotions that bubbled inside of her. "You make me so happy too. Both of you."

She pressed a kiss on his nose and he giggled softly before burrowing back into her neck.

"Now, let's get some sleep." She felt him nod before his breathing evened out.

The next time Hermione fully woke, so was the entire infirmary. From behind the curtain, she could hear murmuring, bottles clinking together, and the squeak of carts moving. Thankfully, lately the infirmary hadn't been too full, most of the severely wounded occupants recovered and distributed to the safehouses. Kingsley and Moody had decided to pull back their missions to focus on the snake hunt and preparing their plans to make their final blow on Voldemort. It had been a hard decision deciding where to put their efforts along with scaling back their rescue missions. There had been disagreements, many feeling restless and wanting to go after the Death Eaters. But they had to be patient. They had to be smart.

"How are you feeling?" Draco's eyes narrowed in concentration as he ran a diagnostic charm, giving her a potion before she could even respond.

"Aching, but much better," she said, wincing at the bitter after taste of the potion.

Draco nodded stoically, scrutinizing the results as Scorpius sat up beside her. He watched the intricate glowing lights with intrigue as he absentmindedly played with her hair.

"Thank you," she said, once he was satisfied with the results and finished making sure she was settled comfortably as much as the cot would allow. "I'm glad I got to keep my entire arm."

Her lips quirked, knowing he expected a challenge regarding the phoenix tears. He relaxed, hard eyes finally softening when he looked at her.

"Anytime, Granger."

Scorpius had begun chattering for a moment before he was distracted by sounds coming from outside the curtains.

" — Mr. Shacklebolt sir, Draco Malfoy insisted I use the tears despite the protocol — "

Hermione only caught a flash of Draco's face before he exited the curtains.

Even though they kept their voices low, she could hear the cold timber of Draco's voice. Kingsley's smooth tone quieted the heated argument that ensued when Anthony decided to imply Draco had coerced him before it was silent. Not too long after, the curtains opened revealing a stone faced Draco, a red faced Anthony Goldstein, and a slightly amused Kinglsey.

"Hermione," Kingsley greeted kindly. "I'm glad you're doing well thanks to Mr. Malfoy's... decisive thinking."

She knew him well enough and when he winked, she knew he didn't mind the break in protocol.

"I'm glad too," Hermione replied, glancing at Draco who stood like a sentry by her bedside. Kingsley raised a brow.

"And hello again, Scorpius," Kingsley said warmly at the boy who clutched her closer and hid behind her hair.

Anthony cleared his throat. "I'll change the bandages..."

Anthony fidgeted under Draco's scrutiny, quickly changing the bandages with deft hands. Regardless of his conflict with Draco, she didn't take his hesitation with the phoenix tears personally. She knew the protocols but did not deny that she was a little happy it wasn't followed.

"I'll leave you to rest," Kingsley said when Anthony was done. His eyes flickered to Draco looming behind her. "I'm sure Mr. Malfoy will ensure you get proper rest. We'll discuss your findings tomorrow. I can't reveal much now but we've solidified more funding and allies. We're getting close and we need all the information on that snake so that we can end this once and for all."

It wasn't long after Kingsley and Anthony left before they were visited by a red-head. To Hermione's relief it was George. She didn't have the energy to deal with Ginny or Ron after how they had reacted to her and Draco at the meeting.

"Hello, hello," George grinned, popping his head in despite the twin looks of guardedness on both the Malfoy's faces.

"George," Hermione said, puzzled. She hadn't spoken to him in a while but he had been one of the only ones who hadn't negatively reacted to her and Draco. His compassion and understanding had been some of the things she had always admired about George. Despite his knack for pranks and jokes, there was a maturity and empathy to him that had only grown after the death of his brother.

"Glad to see you're doing good and that bloke gave you the phoenix tears." There was a sincerity underlying his usually humorous tone.

"I am too," she smiled. Just then, Scorpius gingerly crawled fully onto her lap, sitting facing outward like a little wall between her and George. She almost missed Draco's smirk.

To her surprise, George bent to the boy's eye level, not discouraged by his squinted eyes and crossed arms.

"Hello there, I'm George." He offered his hand but Scorpius only stared at it. As if expecting the reaction, George twisted his hand then opened it again revealing animal shaped bubbles floating above his palm. Scorpius could not hide his surprise and fascination despite trying to smother it with a frown.

"Like monkey..." Scorpius mumbled, pursing his lips before giving in and popping one of the bubbles.

"Monkey?" George asked quizzically.

Hermione grinned. "He has a book with a monkey named George in it."

Scorpius gave a little giggle when more bubbles appeared from George's palms. George's eyes softened.

Soon after, Scorpius had warmed enough to George such that they sat side by side on the floor while George performed magic tricks like he used in Hogwarts. Something in her stirred recognizing the little magical tricks he played, having last seen them performed in Hogwarts. With his brother.

As if feeling her stare, George glanced at her and shared a look, something melancholic but also peaceful in his eyes.

George played with Scorpius for a while longer and Hermione couldn't help but feel glad to see the two differing parts of her life coming together without conflict.

Draco had remained silent but gave George cordial looks. He continued to hover, however, fluffing her pillow when she shifted and Hermione couldn't help but grin.

"What was that?" he asked, catching the mutter under her breath.

"I said Pansy was right." She looked up fondly at his narrowed eyes. He waited for her to continue. "You can be quite the overbearing mother hen."

Draco bristled, starting to protest but she tugged at his collar and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek. When she pulled back, his cheekbones were slightly tinged as she caught his murmurings about Pansy being a terrible influence. Despite his complaints, he settled beside her and pulled her closer. She pretended not to notice the ghost of a smile on his lips.

***

She found him a few meters outside the safehouse wards in the small clearing where a river ran through. Wordlessly, Hermione approached, eyes trained on Draco's back. Despite the fact that he remained facing the river, the almost imperceptible slight turn of his head told her that he knew she was there.

"How's your arm doing?"

"Better."

Hermione continued her way to him then stopped, noticing what she had thought were wildflowers in the distance as actually butterflies scattered on the ground. "What happened here?"

"I found them like this. I assume that they attempted to drink nectar from those jessamine flowers. The nectar is poisonous and can cause paralysis."

When she reached his side, she caught sight of his closed face in calm concentration. Sunlight escaped from the canopy of leaves and touched his face. She paused, observing the way the light fell on his cheekbones, framing the sharp cut of his jaw. The contrast between the man she saw in the pensieve and the man who now stood before her was almost startling. There was a peacefulness in his repose, his complexion warmer. He looked more alive.

They lulled into silence and Hermione watched curiously, just then noticing his palms cupped together. His lips murmured an incantation that was lost to the breeze. And then, his palms unfurled. To her surprise, a blue butterfly lay on his palm. She noticed, however, one of its wings crooked — likely broken from its fall. A silvery sheen encompassed it as it began to tentatively stretch and slowly beat its wings until, finally, it took flight.

As if hearing her thoughts, he dropped his palms and opened his eyes. "Black family magic." Hermione blinked up at him, questions on the tip of her tongue. "Bellatrix taught it to me when the Dark Lord started living with us."

"I've never come across magic like that. Is it dark magic?"

"It incorporates it but no, it's not purely dark. It is based on the balance of light and dark, spells and methods passed on from generation to generation. Bellatrix liked to use it, but she was always fond of using it for darker purposes." His expression went grave for a moment no doubt recalling images of his aunt. Hermione did not have to tap into his thoughts, having felt first hand the witch's magic and seen the carnage she had left in the aftermath. "Magic is neither good nor evil — it is shaped by the intent and will of the wielder."

Hermione pondered his words. "There is so much undiscovered in magic, so much likely passed on from generation to generation that we don't get taught at Hogwarts. Even between cultures it's different. I've read accounts of tribal people having their own methods of magic."

"I can teach you."

Hermione startled, unsure if she heard him correctly. "Pardon?"

"I can teach you," he repeated, fully facing her now. "Only if you want of course. But I doubt you would pass on the opportunity to stuff more things into that brain of yours."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him but the edge of his lips merely lifted.

Hermione pursed her lips. "A muggleborn learning pureblood family magic developed by the Black family line, a line ever notorious for their purity... "

"Even more reason to do it," he smirked.

"Alright. Teach me."

Silently, he came behind her. Hermione suppressed a shiver when the hard planes of his chest brushed her back. She turned her head slightly when his head dipped to her ear while a hand laced with hers and raised it.

"The Blacks have always believed that magic was inherent in our blood, hence planting this obsession with blood purity." A small hand steadied her lower back. "But it's clear that it has nothing to do with purity. Power lies dormant in our blood, pure or not. Knowing this, it is a matter of calling on to that pull and awakening the power that already exists within you." The ghost of his lips brushed her ear.

"Concentrate," he chided gently. Hermione faced forward rigidly, cheeks heating. She swore she could hear the smile in his voice. "Like all things, we are all connected — you and the river, the grass beneath you. You and me. Close your eyes and reach for those strings that link us all together."

She took deep breaths, calming her erratic heartbeat. She drew her awareness inward until she found that glowing ember within her that she had always identified as her magical core. Slowly, she expanded her awareness to her surroundings.

"Focus on calling on to that magic and channeling it like a flow — not forcing it but redirecting it. Magic — power — simultaneously belongs and doesn't belong to us. We can wield it for a moment, borrowing it like the energy we consume. But in the end, it must be released, given back so the cycle continues."

The words floated through her. They made sense. Voldemort was obsessed with power, refusing to relinquish his hold on it. And it corrupted him. There was a power in being able to surrender power, to not be controlled by it. It belonged to nature. Just as we lived, we died. We borrowed and we gave back to the world and energy around us. It was the same with magic.

She concentrated and slowly she felt a vibrant hum all around her. It was like reaching out and something calling back to her in greeting. She could feel something on her fingertips, like pulling on delicate strings — the vibrations of the forest on her fingertips.

"Do you feel it?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"You know the story of Prometheus, the bringer of light. His gift to us was fire — energy. Life. In each of us, in our blood, is that flame."

He twisted the hand he held upwards and she felt him place something soft on her palm like a petal. She repeated the incantation he whispered in her ear, directing the warmth she felt to her fingers and concentrating on one frail string that faintly glowed.