Late into the night, the last glow of the embers painted the room in dull shades of orange and gold, the shadows shifting with every soft crackle. Ginny lay tangled in the sheets, drifting in and out of uneasy sleep. A strange heaviness pressed at her ribs, the kind that made her chest feel tight for no reason she could name. Something in the air felt wrong, too still, too thick, as if the room itself knew what was coming.
The fire answered before she could.
The flames shot upward without warning, flaring bright enough to burn away the darkness, casting a violent green light that made her heart jolt. It wasn't natural. It wasn't ordinary. It was a warning.
Draco's voice broke through the night.
"Blaise, get to St. Mungo's. Now."
Ginny shot upright, fully awake, heat rushing to her face as her ears struggled to keep up. Draco never sounded like that. Not frantic. Not desperate. Not terrified. She barely had time to steady herself before the next words hit her with brutal force.
"Hermione… she tried to overdose."
Everything inside Ginny froze. Her breath. Her thoughts. Her heartbeat. Even the world around her seemed to stop moving.
No. No, she did not hear that. Her mind rejected it instantly, refused it, fought it. But Blaise was already out of bed, grabbing his wand, his shoes, anything he could reach, because he had heard it too. And he had believed it.
Ginny's hands flew to her mouth. The room twisted around her, tilting sharply, as if her body could no longer tell which way was up.
"No," she whispered. The word barely made it out of her throat. "No. No, that's wrong. That's not right."
She needed Draco to come back through the flames and say it differently, say it clearer, say anything that was not that. Her head buzzed with panic. Her limbs trembled. The world blurred at the edges.
Her Hermione.
Her best friend.
Her sister in everything but blood.
Ginny screamed. The sound tore out of her, raw and shaking, pulled straight from a place she didn't even know existed. "No. No, not Hermione." Her legs gave out as she grabbed for Blaise, nails digging into his arms, her breaths coming too fast to keep up with. "She wouldn't. Blaise, she wouldn't. She would never…"
He caught her at once. His arms wrapped around her, fierce and unsteady, pulling her into him as if he could shield her from the truth, as if holding her tight enough would make it disappear.
"Love, breathe," he whispered into her hair, but she heard the tremor in his voice. He was trying to sound calm. He was failing.
Ginny's sobs ripped through her chest, sharp and painful. "I can't breathe," she gasped, choking on the air that refused to settle in her lungs. "Blaise, I can't. I can't."
He pulled her face into his hands, his forehead touching hers, his eyes locked on hers with a desperation that matched her own. "Look at me. Breathe in. Now out. Stay with me."
She tried. She tried so hard her ribs hurt. Her breaths came in harsh, ragged pulls, her body shaking from the effort. Panic clutched her throat, squeezing, tightening, refusing to let go.
He pressed a hand over her heart, steady and firm, his touch anchoring her to the ground. "Feel this," he murmured. "Right here. Stay with me."
She squeezed her eyes shut and counted the seconds between each inhale, and slowly, very slowly, the edges of her vision steadied. The worst of the storm receded, but the terror remained. It lived in the space under her ribs now, a nauseating weight that would not leave.
Hermione.
Her Hermione.
The name echoed like a prayer and a curse all at once.
When Ginny finally calmed enough to breathe, her face was still wet, streaked with tears that wouldn't stop, her hands trembling so badly she could barely wipe them away.
"I need to go with you," she whispered, her voice cracked and wrecked. "Blaise, please, I need to be there."
But he was already shaking his head, firm and immediate. "No, love. You can't. You need to stay here. You are in no condition to—"
"Do not tell me that!" she screamed, the sound jagged and desperate. It ripped from her throat like pain made into noise, and Blaise flinched at the force of it. "I need to see her. I need to see her. I need to—"
"Ginny." His voice cut through hers, sharp and strained. He stepped forward and grabbed her arms, holding her as if she were slipping through his fingers. His eyes were wild, torn between fear for Hermione and fear for her. "Listen to me. I need you to trust me right now. I will go. I will stay with her. But you cannot come."
She shook her head so violently her hair whipped around her face. Tears poured again, new and hot. Her breath turned shallow, hitching, threatening to spiral back into the panic that had nearly flattened her. "No. No, Blaise. Do not leave me like this. Please. Please, I cannot just sit here while she is—"
"I will not let you see her like that, Ginny."
The words fell like a stone, heavy and final. She felt them land in her chest, felt the way they hollowed her out. Something inside her cracked, and whatever strength she had left gave way.
She broke.
Her knees buckled, her hands clawing at his shirt as she collapsed against him. Silent sobs tore through her body, sharp enough to bruise. She shook so hard she could barely get the words out. "Please. Please make sure she is okay," she begged, her voice small and shivering, almost childlike. "Please. I cannot lose her. Please."
Blaise held her so tightly she could barely breathe. His jaw clenched, the muscles in it twitching with the effort it took not to shatter. "I will," he said, and his voice was rough, scraped raw. "I will take care of everything. I swear it."
She nodded because she had nothing else. Nothing but him. Nothing but the promise in his voice.
His lips found her forehead in one last kiss, lingering there in a way that felt like goodbye, like a blessing, like a plea. He stayed there for a heartbeat, then another, then pulled away with a suddenness that made her reach for him again.
And then he was stepping into the green flames.
And then he was gone.
The room fell still.
The silence after he vanished felt like someone had locked her inside a cold, airless box. Ginny sank to the edge of the bed, her knees finally giving out completely, her arms wrapping around herself because there was no one left to hold her.
Hermione tried to kill herself.
The words looped over and over in her mind, but they refused to settle, refused to make sense. It was like trying to fit the world back into place after it had cracked down the middle.
Hermione.
Her Hermione.
A sound tore from her chest, low and broken and so full of pain that she surprised herself. She bent forward, gasping for breath, clutching fistfuls of the sheets as if they could tether her to something real. She rocked, trying to find steadiness in a moment where everything had gone violently, impossibly wrong.
What if she doesn't make it.
What if Blaise does not come back.
What if I lose both of them tonight.
The questions gnawed at her until she felt sick, until her fingers went numb from how tightly she gripped the bedding. Time blurred. Every minute felt like an hour. Every hour felt like a lifetime. She stared at the bedroom door until her eyes burned, willing it to open, willing Blaise to walk through it, willing her life not to be falling apart.
But deep in her gut, beneath the fear and the grief and the hollow ache in her chest, she knew.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
~~~~~~
The sharp scent of antiseptic burned Blaise's nose as he stood in the dim corridor of St. Mungo's, the sterile air heavy with tension. The hospital felt alive in the worst way, humming with hurried footsteps, soft cries, and the low murmur of healers moving from room to room. But none of it mattered. None of it even reached him. The world narrowed to a single point as he took in the sight before him.
Draco Malfoy, the man who could stare down a council of elders without flinching, the man who had weathered war and rebuilt his life from nothing, was collapsing in on himself.
He sat hunched over in a chair, his body curled forward like someone had carved out his insides and left him empty. His hands were clenched in his hair, gripping so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His shoulders shook. His breath hitched. He made no attempt to hide it. Pride had no place here. This was grief in its truest form, stripped of ceremony, stripped of ego.
Blaise had never seen him like this before.
Not during the trials. Not during the war. Not even when they buried his parents. This was worse. This was something that settled under the skin and stayed there, heavy and suffocating.
A lump rose in Blaise's throat, hot and painful, as if his body was trying to hold him still so he would not fall apart too. He took a slow step forward. The sound of his own heartbeat felt loud, sharp, intrusive. He wanted to say something. He needed to say something. But what words could possibly matter now. What comfort could he offer a man whose entire world was inside a hospital room fighting for her life.
Draco had killed for Hermione.
Not in the abstract way people spoke after a heartbreak. Not in some poetic metaphor. Blaise had seen it. He had been there. He remembered the forest, the cold bite of the night air, the way Draco had moved with a fury that bordered on inhuman. He remembered the wet sound of blade meeting flesh, the final scream as Greyback collapsed. Draco had not hesitated. Not once. He had done it for her, for the woman who looked at him like he was worth saving.
Love had driven him then.
And now, that same love had gutted him.
The thought hit Blaise like a blow. Love was not gentle. It was not soft. It was a force that could turn a man into a weapon. It could make him powerful enough to topple anything in his path. But it could also destroy him. Strip him bare. Leave him in a corridor with nothing left but hope slipping like sand between his fingers.
Blaise drew in a breath that did nothing to steady him. He stepped close enough that Draco could hear him without lifting his head.
Blaise swallowed hard, suddenly unsure if he could do this. Draco was unraveling in front of him, and he felt completely powerless to stop it.
"What if she doesn't make it?" Draco's voice barely rose above a breath, but the pain in it made Blaise's stomach twist. His friend, his brother in everything except blood, looked at him like he expected an answer, like Blaise had some secret truth that could change the course of fate.
But Blaise was not a god. He was just a man standing inside a nightmare, watching the world threaten to rip apart someone he cared for.
"She's strong," Blaise said, though the words felt small and useless in the face of Draco's despair. "You know that. She's a fighter."
Draco let out a broken laugh, the sound hollow. He dragged a shaky hand down his face, fingers trembling. "A fighter," he repeated, the bitterness in his voice sharp enough to cut. "She wasn't fighting, Blaise. She gave up. And I did not see it. I should have known she was struggling." His voice cracked at the end, and he pressed both hands over his eyes as if he could hold back the next wave of pain by sheer force of will.
Blaise sat down beside him, elbows resting heavily on his knees. "You didn't fail her," he murmured. "Loving someone doesn't make you a mind reader. You can't fix every wound before it forms."
Draco exhaled a long, ragged breath. His hands fell to his lap, fingers curling into fists until his knuckles blanched. His nails dug into his palms, sharp enough to draw blood if he pushed any harder.
"But what if my love wasn't enough to save her," he whispered. The words were raw, scraped down to nerve and bone. "What if she still felt alone. What if she still felt unwanted. What if she thought I would be better off without her."
The agony in his voice hit Blaise straight in the chest.
He knew that fear. He knew it too well.
He thought of Ginny. Of her tearful face. Her shaking hands clutching his shirt as she begged him to make sure Hermione was okay. He had spent so long believing that love was something he could control, something he could shape with charm and confidence and power. But here, in this hallway, watching Draco fall apart, Blaise understood the truth.
Love was not strategy. Love was not control.
Love was madness.
It was the ache that made a man kill without hesitation. It was the terror that made him collapse in a hospital corridor, praying to gods he did not even believe in. It was a thing that lifted and destroyed in the same breath.
"Love is everything," Blaise said quietly, his voice steady despite the tightness in his throat. "It makes you stay when it hurts. It makes you fight when you feel like you are already bleeding out. It keeps you here. It keeps you trying."
Draco's breath stuttered in his chest. His whole body trembled.
"I just want her to be okay," he whispered, his voice breaking apart. "I can't lose her. I can't imagine waking up without her. I can't imagine telling her parents that I let this happen. I can't imagine a world where she is not in it."
Blaise clenched his jaw. The knot in his throat tightened.
"She is still here," he said. "She is still fighting. And as long as she is here, you don't stop. You don't quit on her, Draco. You sit here and you hold yourself together in whatever way you can, and when she wakes up, you tell her everything you were too afraid to say before. You show her. Every day. Every moment."
Draco stared at him, eyes swollen and full of something Blaise had never seen in him before. Not fear. Something deeper. Something close to surrender.
Then Draco nodded, slow and shaky, like a man piecing himself back together one breath at a time.
"I need to be better for her," he said, voice steadier now. "I need to make sure she never feels that alone again. I need to be the man she thought she loved."
"You can be," Blaise said. "And you will."
They sat in silence after that, side by side, the quiet heavy with their heartbreak and their hope. Two men bound by love, by the fear of losing the women who had remade them, by the truth that life could change in a single breath.
And in that quiet, Blaise made a vow.
When he returned home, he would go straight to Ginny. He would not wait for the next fight or the next crisis or the next moment when it felt convenient to open his heart. He would hold her close. He would whisper every truth he had been too afraid to speak. He would show her the depth of what he felt.
Because tonight had taught him something he had never allowed himself to admit.
Love that stays silent becomes love that withers.
~~~~~~
Blaise arrived home in the dead of night, his body moving on instinct alone. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the grief and fear from the hospital had seeped into his bones. The house was quiet, lit only by the soft, warm glow of a single lamp. Shadows stretched along the walls in long, uneven shapes, and the silence felt thick, like it had been holding its breath for hours.
And then he saw her.
Ginny was pacing across the living room with restless energy, her fingers tangled in her hair, her feet tracing the same path over and over again. She looked like she had been carved out of worry, all sharp edges and trembling breaths.
The moment her eyes landed on him, everything inside her seemed to give way. She stumbled forward before she even realized she was moving. The relief in her face was so intense it almost looked like pain.
She collided into him with a force that knocked his breath loose, her arms wrapping around his neck, her body shaking against his.
"Oh, gods, Blaise," she gasped, her voice breaking as she buried her face against his skin. She clung to him like a lifeline, her whole body trembling, the fear she had been trying to hold back finally tearing free.
He held her just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressing firmly against her spine as if he could steady her heart with the warmth of his palm. He could feel it in her every breath, in the cracked sound of her voice, in the frantic grip she had on him. She had been terrified. Truly terrified.
"She's okay, amore mio," he whispered into her hair, his voice low and steady. He ran a slow, soothing hand along the curve of her back, feeling the hitch of every breath she struggled through. "Hermione is stable. The Healers are confident she will wake up soon."
Ginny jerked her head back, her hands gripping his shoulders so tightly he could feel her nails through his shirt. Her eyes were wide and shining, her tears catching the lamp light like stars caught in a storm.
"You swear?" she rasped. Her voice sounded scraped raw, as if she had been screaming inside her own mind for hours. "Blaise, please. Tell me the truth. She is really okay?"
"I swear," he said, cupping her cheek, letting his thumb brush away the tear that slid down. "She is strong, love. She is going to pull through."
Ginny's breath tore out of her chest, sharp and shaking, as if she had been holding it the entire time he had been gone. Her knees seemed to soften under her, her entire body folding closer to him as the terror that had gripped her began to crack at the edges.
"I was so scared," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I kept trying to think of something else, anything else, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. I saw her and I just…" She broke off, shaking her head hard, refusing to finish the sentence.
"I know," Blaise murmured. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding himself in the shape of her. "I was too."
She pressed even closer, curling her fingers into the fabric over his chest as if she needed something to anchor herself. She stayed like that for a long while, her breath warm against him, still uneven but slowly settling.
"Theo and Pansy," she whispered. "Were they at the hospital?"
Blaise nodded, pulling her a little tighter. "Yeah. They left only to pack a few things. They are moving into Hermione's cottage so she will not wake up alone."
Ginny exhaled in a shudder, her forehead resting against his chest. "Good. She needs them. She needs somewhere that feels safe again. Somewhere that feels like her."
"She will have that," Blaise said, lowering his lips to the top of her head in a faint, lingering kiss. "We will make sure of it."
For a long moment, she simply held on. The exhaustion of the night hung off her like a cloak, heavy and worn. Her entire body trembled with the remnants of fear that refused to let go. She had spent hours imagining the worst, trapped inside the kind of panic that grows teeth and digs in deeper each time you try to pull away.
But now the words were finally real. Hermione was alive. Hermione would wake up. Hermione still had a chance.
And the weight that had been crushing Ginny's chest finally loosened, little by little, with every breath she took in his arms.
She looked up at him, and for the first time since their marriage, something loosened inside her. Something she had kept buried for months, locked behind excuses and old scars and the quiet fear that she would never feel anything real again. She had spent so many nights convincing herself that she did not love him and that she might never get there. She had clung to that belief because it felt safer than hoping, safer than trying to love someone who had already given her everything.
But here, wrapped in his arms after the worst night of her life, his steady warmth holding her together, his voice still thick with the echo of Hermione's hospital room, she felt the truth rise in her chest like a tide she could not fight.
It was not gratitude alone. It was not relief alone. It was something deeper, something with roots, something that had been quietly growing between them long before she had ever dared acknowledge it.
The word slipped out before she even knew it was coming, soft and aching.
"Thank you so much for being there with her, love."
It hung in the air between them, gentle but weighty, like a fragile glass thing she had finally dared to place in his hands.
Blaise froze.
Only for a heartbeat. A barely-there pause that would have gone unnoticed by anyone who did not know him. But she felt it. She felt the shift in him as if the ground beneath them had stirred. His breath caught. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on her waist. The meaning of the word settled in him with a force that stole the air from his lungs.
Love.
She had never called him that with any real emotion behind it. Not once. Not like this.
A slow, tender smile softened his features. Not triumphant. Not smug. Just full. Full of warmth, full of quiet awe, full of the devotion he had been carrying alone for far too long.
"Anytime, my love," he murmured.
His voice was deep, steady, full of something she had never heard from him in quite this way before. He cupped her face with a gentle palm, leaning in to kiss her. The kiss was slow and reverent, a soft brush at first, then deeper, as if he was memorizing the exact moment she had finally offered him her heart.
There was no hunger in it. No desperate edge. It felt like a vow.
When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers for a brief moment before brushing his thumb over her cheek.
"Come on. Let's get you to bed," he said, his voice quiet, warm. He laced their fingers together and guided her toward the bedroom. "You need rest. I'll tell you everything in the morning."
She hesitated, her grip tightening on his hand.
"What if something happens?" she whispered. "What if she wakes up alone?"
"She won't," he said gently, running his thumb along the back of her hand. "Draco is with her. And we're here. She will not be alone."
She nodded, even though fear still lingered under her ribs. He helped her sit at the edge of the bed, and the moment she sank into the mattress, her body sagged, all the tension draining from her limbs. She felt wrung out, hollowed by the night, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Still, she held his hand like it was the only steady thing left in the world.
He noticed. He always noticed.
He tucked the blankets around her, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders with a tenderness that made her eyes sting. There was no pressure in his touch, no need to hear anything in return. He was simply there. Present. Steady. The one constant in a world that had felt unbearably fragile just hours ago.
And as she looked up at him, her breath soft and unsteady, she realized there was no going back from this moment. Something had shifted between them, quiet but irreversible.
She had let him in. And he was holding her as though he would never let her fall again.
As she watched him move, something shifted inside her, a quiet click that felt almost like recognition. She had been so sure she understood what love was supposed to feel like. She had chased the kind that burned fast and bright, the kind that swept you off your feet, the kind that left you breathless. She thought love had to arrive with a roar.
But maybe she had misunderstood it entirely.
Maybe love was not a storm. Maybe it was a steady warmth that kept creeping closer, inch by inch, without her ever noticing. Maybe it was the way Blaise held her when she fell apart. Maybe it was the way he had knelt beside Draco in that cold hospital hallway. Maybe it was the way he had kissed her earlier, slow and patient, without asking for anything more.
Maybe love was this.
Blaise.
She felt it as he moved around the room, quiet and careful, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace settling over her. It washed over her then, soft and certain. He had been there all along, steady and loyal, waiting for her to finally see what had been growing between them.
He climbed into bed beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. She hesitated for a moment, her breath catching in her throat, before reaching out. Her fingers rested lightly against his chest, unsure at first, then relaxing against the smooth fabric of his shirt.
He glanced down at her touch, eyes widening with a soft, startled tenderness. She had never been the one to reach for him first. She had always held herself back, always chosen caution over vulnerability. But tonight something inside her had shifted. Tonight, she reached.
Her gaze lifted to his face. The patience in his eyes nearly undid her. The quiet hope. The love she had refused to acknowledge until now.
"I didn't know," she whispered, her voice trembling with honesty she had never allowed herself to speak. "I didn't know how much I needed you until tonight."
Blaise inhaled sharply, his throat tightening as something raw flickered across his features. He took her hand in his, holding it with a care that made her chest ache. He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against them, his voice low and certain.
"I've always been here," he murmured. "And I always will be."
The words settled inside her like warmth spreading through chilled veins. A single tear slipped down her cheek, but this time it carried no fear. It was something gentler. It was acceptance. It was realization.
Maybe she had been falling in love with him for months without understanding what the feeling was. Maybe she had been trying so hard to protect her heart that she had missed the way he had given her his without hesitation.
She moved closer to him, curling into the space beneath his arm. Her head rested over his heart, the steady beat a comfort she had never realized she craved. The rhythm lulled her, grounding her, telling her she was safe.
Loved.
Wanted.
As sleep pulled at her, she let go of the last bit of fear she had been clutching. Her voice came out soft, barely more than a breath, but it held the truth of everything inside her.
"I love you."
For a moment, she thought he might not have heard her. The words were so quiet. But his arms tightened around her instantly, his breath catching in a way she felt more than heard. His hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer, as if the moment itself was something sacred.
He kissed the top of her hair, slow and reverent, and she felt the shape of his smile against her.
"I love you too, doll," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you know."
And for the first time, it felt like the beginning of something real. Something steady. Something theirs.
~~~~~~
A sharp, insistent knocking shattered the fragile quiet of the night, jolting them from a sleep laced with exhaustion and unease. Draco stirred first, blinking away the haze of half-formed dreams as his fingers instinctively sought his wand, a reflex carved into him by years of war. The knocking came again, more urgent this time, a discordant intrusion in the hush of their secluded world.
With a questioning glance at Hermione, he rose, muscles tense with apprehension. He moved toward the door with silent precision, wand poised. Hermione followed closely, her own grip tightening around her wand.
"Who in Merlin's name could be knocking at this ungodly hour?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He shook his head, a sliver of unease threading through his features. "Stay behind me, love," he murmured, his voice steady despite the disquiet gnawing at his gut.
He cracked the door open just enough to see, and relief rushed through him like a sudden exhale. Standing in the moonlit doorway were Pansy, Blaise, and Theo, their expressions etched with concern.
Pansy rolled her eyes, though the flicker of worry in her gaze betrayed her. "For Salazar's sake, you two look like you've just seen a Dementor."
Blaise smirked, though his usual dry amusement was softened by something more genuine. "Apologies for disturbing your beauty sleep, but we thought it was time for a little intervention, wouldn't you agree?"
Theo, the quietest of the trio, surprised them both with an uncharacteristically broad grin. "Figured we shouldn't let you lovebirds hoard all the trauma. Sharing is caring."
Draco exhaled, a mixture of exasperation and gratitude in his voice. "You lot have impeccable timing, as always," he muttered, stepping aside. "Come in. But next time, send a bloody owl first."
A faint smile tugged at Hermione's lips, the first in what felt like days. As she stepped back to let them inside, she arched a brow. "It's good to see you all. But why exactly are you here?"
Pansy shrugged, her bravado wavering just enough to reveal something more genuine. "News travels fast, Granger," she said, voice softer than usual. "We heard. And we were worried."
Blaise nodded, his gaze flickering between Draco and Hermione. "We've all danced with our own demons," he admitted gruffly. "And sometimes, the only way to keep from drowning is to let someone pull you back."
Pansy reached out, squeezing Hermione's hand—an offering of solidarity, no words needed. "Like it or not, you're family now. And we protect our own."
What a charming little band of the emotionally maimed.
The pre-dawn gloom gradually gave way to the golden glow of morning, casting long streaks of light across the cottage floor. The hours passed in a strange, comforting rhythm—clinking teacups, murmured reassurances, laughter that bubbled up unexpectedly between the cracks of old wounds.
Memories unfurled like old parchment—mischief made and secrets whispered, battles fought and scars left unseen. Their shared history wove itself into something unbreakable, a tether binding them not just as survivors, but as something more: a family forged in war and tempered in love.
As the sun climbed higher, stretching its light into forgotten corners, Hermione felt a shift. The weight that had threatened to consume her felt just a little lighter, steadied by the hands that held her up. They weren't alone in their darkness.
And together, they'd find their way back to the light.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
~~~~~~
She arrived at Hermione's cottage the moment Draco sent word that it was alright. The second she stepped over the threshold, something tight in her chest loosened, just a little. The cottage felt lived-in and gentle, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of St. Mungo's. The air carried the scent of dried lavender and chamomile, the natural perfume Hermione's enchanted herbs released when someone walked through the kitchen. The familiar creak of the wooden floors sounded almost welcoming, a soft reminder that this home had always been a place where they could breathe.
Her eyes went straight to the sofa.
Hermione was curled up beneath a thick knitted blanket, her body small and fragile inside the soft folds. She looked better than she had in the hospital, less breakable, but the weariness in her eyes was still there. It hung just behind her gaze, like a shadow she could not shake off.
"Hello, my love," Ginny said quietly as she stepped deeper into the room.
Hermione looked up, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. "Hello, Gin." Her voice had strength again, but the sadness beneath it was unmistakable.
Ginny lifted the bag she was carrying, offering it like a peace offering. "I brought your favorite movies and a completely irresponsible amount of popcorn. I thought we could have a movie night. Just like old times." She tried to keep her tone light, hopeful, steady. Hermione needed something soft, something easy, something familiar to cling to.
Before Hermione could reply, Crookshanks wandered in from the hallway with his slow, dignified steps, his golden eyes alert. The moment he recognized Ginny, his ears perked, and in a heartbeat he bounded toward her with surprising speed for his age. He pressed himself against her legs, purring as if she were the only person who mattered in that moment.
"Hello, old man," she murmured, scooping him up in her arms. He headbutted her chin with a soft insistence, his purring growing louder, vibrating through her chest. She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Have you been keeping my best girl company?"
Crookshanks meowed in what could only be described as agreement, kneading at her sleeve with heavy paws. Ginny smiled despite herself, rubbing behind his ears before setting him beside Hermione. He curled up against her feet, watchful and protective.
Ginny settled on the sofa, turning toward Hermione as she placed the bag of movies on the table. The playful edge in her voice softened.
"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly. "And please don't give me some polished answer. You can tell me the truth."
Hermione hesitated. Her hand drifted through Crookshanks' fur, her touch slow and absent. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm better. I think." She swallowed, eyes fixed on her lap. "But everything still feels strange. Like I'm here, but not fully here. Like I'm floating through it instead of living it."
Ginny felt something twist painfully inside her. She reached for Hermione's hand and held it firmly between both of hers.
"That makes sense," she said gently. "You have been through hell. This is not something you can walk away from in a day. It's going to take time." She stroked her thumb over Hermione's knuckles, grounding both of them. "But you're not alone. You have Draco. You have Theo and Pansy. And you have me. Always."
Hermione nodded slowly. "I thought coming home would fix it," she whispered. "I thought being here again would make me feel like myself. But I don't feel fixed. I don't feel normal."
Ginny squeezed her hand tighter. "You don't need to be normal right now. And you don't need to be fixed. Healing isn't a straight line. Some days you'll feel like you're moving forward. Others you'll feel stuck or lost. That doesn't mean you aren't getting better. You came home. You let us bring you back. That is already something brave."
Hermione looked up at her then, really looked at her, and Ginny saw it. A flicker of something real. A tiny crack in the wall Hermione had been holding up.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "For being here. For everything."
Ginny smiled softly. "Of course. You would do the same for me."
Wanting to lighten the mood if only for a moment, she reached into the bag and pulled out a familiar case.
"Right," she said with a grin. "We need something absolutely mindless. Nothing tragic. Nothing emotional. Just comfort. How about Pride and Prejudice?" She wiggled the case playfully. "You can swoon over Mr. Darcy while I inhale popcorn."
Hermione let out a small laugh, the first genuine one Ginny had heard from her since the hospital. "That sounds perfect."
Ginny slid the DVD into the player and settled beside her, letting Hermione lean gently against her shoulder. Crookshanks stretched himself across both their laps and purred so loudly that it filled the room.
The weight that had been pressing down on the cottage all this time did not disappear completely, but for the first time in days, it eased. The air felt lighter. The silence felt softer.
And the two of them, wrapped in blankets, purring cat, and a familiar film, finally felt a small sliver of peace begin to settle.
~~~~~~
She stepped into the Manor, and for the first time in a long while, the familiar warmth of home did nothing to soften the raw edges inside her. The day clung to her like a second skin, heavy and suffocating. She had held herself together for Hermione, forced a steady voice and a brave face, but now that she was here, the cracks she had been hiding so carefully began to split open.
Blaise was on the couch in the dimly lit living room. He had a book open in one hand and a half-finished glass of scotch beside him. He looked relaxed in that effortless way he always did, sharp and composed even in soft lighting. But the moment he heard the door close and saw her standing there, his expression changed. His eyes sharpened, reading every detail on her face before she could even speak.
"How was it, my love?" His voice was gentle, steady, but there was an undercurrent of concern he did not bother to hide.
The moment the words reached her, something inside her broke. Everything she had been holding in, all the fear that had carved itself into her chest, all the helplessness she had swallowed down for hours, surged to the surface. Her breath hitched, her throat tightened, and before she could stop herself, a sob tore free.
Blaise crossed the room in an instant. His arms wrapped around her before she even realized she was falling into him. "Hey, baby," he murmured, his voice low against her hair. His hands moved slowly over her back, steady and warm, grounding her as her body shook with each breath she struggled to take. "Come here. Tell me what happened."
She buried her face in his chest, gripping his shirt with trembling fingers, like she needed him to hold her together because she could not do it alone. For a long moment, she could not speak. Only the sound of her uneven breaths filled the room. Finally, after forcing back a fresh wave of tears, she managed to choke out the words.
"She is suffering," she whispered, her voice thin and trembling. "She is hurting so much, Blaise, and I do not know how to help her. I do not know how to make any of it better."
His arms tightened around her in a way that told her exactly how deeply her pain affected him. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he held himself still as if he knew one wrong move might make her crumble even more.
"You do not have to save her," he whispered, pressing a slow kiss to her temple. "You are already doing the most important thing. You are there with her. You are showing up. You are giving her a reason to keep breathing. That is what she needs."
She shook her head against him, her voice muffled and broken. "It does not feel like enough. It feels like she is drowning and I am standing on the shore doing nothing."
Blaise drew in a slow breath and pulled back just enough to take her face in his hands. His touch was careful, his thumbs brushing over the wet trails on her cheeks. His eyes held hers with a steady sort of strength she desperately needed.
"I know it feels like that," he said softly. "But healing is slow. It is confusing. It is painful. Hermione has to find her own strength again, and she will. And when she does, it will be because she had people like you beside her. People who refused to let her fall."
Ginny swallowed hard, trying to absorb his words, trying to let them settle somewhere inside her grief and worry. She hated how powerless she felt, how all the love she had was not enough to erase Hermione's pain. But maybe he was right. Maybe love was not about fixing the darkness. Maybe it was about walking someone through it, step by aching step.
"I just wish I could do more," she whispered, her voice barely there.
Blaise lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You are doing so much already," he said with quiet certainty. "You are exactly who she needs right now. Do not question that."
She leaned into his touch, letting the warmth of his hands calm her trembling. The storm inside her was still there, but he was steadying her, grounding her, offering her a place to rest.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice rough from crying. "You always know what to say."
A faint smile touched his lips as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there, letting her feel his presence fully. "That is what I am here for," he said softly. "Always."
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, holding onto whatever strength they could find in the quiet. His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek, and she focused on it, letting it soothe the shaking inside her.
Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes tired and red, but softened by something warm. "I do not know what I would do without you."
Blaise let out a small chuckle. He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek. "Good thing you will never have to find out," he said, with a teasing softness that made her heart ache.
She managed a small laugh, thin and worn at the edges, but real enough that it eased some of the tightness in her chest. It felt strange to laugh after a day like this. Strange, but necessary. A small flicker of light in a place that had been swallowed by shadows for far too long.
"Come on," he said softly, threading his fingers through hers as he guided her toward the couch. "Sit with me for a bit. You need to breathe."
She let him lead her, grateful for the steady warmth of his hand. They sank into the cushions together, her body moving almost on instinct until she found the familiar pocket of space against his side. Her head rested on his shoulder, and the moment she settled there, a deep sigh slipped out of her. The kind of breath that came from somewhere far beneath the ribcage, from a place that had been aching all day.
The quiet wrapped around them like a blanket. Not empty. Not cold. Just comfortable. His arm slid around her, holding her close, and the exhaustion she had been holding off finally began to seep through her bones.
"I just want her to be happy again," Ginny whispered, her voice so soft she hardly recognized it. "I want Hermione to feel like herself again."
He rested his cheek against her hair, his hand moving in slow, steady strokes along her arm. "She will be," he murmured, the confidence in his voice gentle rather than forced. "She has people who love her. She has you. She is not doing this alone."
Ginny let her eyes drift closed, leaning further into him until she could feel the rhythm of his breathing under her cheek. For the first time all day, she allowed herself to believe him. Maybe only for this moment, but it was enough.
He held her like she was something precious, something worth protecting. And in that quiet space, in the soft glow of the living room, the fear that had clawed at her for hours loosened its hold just a little.
She let out a small breath, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. "Stay like this for a bit," she murmured.
"I am not going anywhere," Blaise said softly, his arm tightening around her.
And for a little while, the world outside their living room felt far away. Only the rise and fall of his breathing remained, steady and sure, anchoring her in place while her heart slowly learned how to beat without breaking.