“Harry, what’s happening?” A voice asked loudly, but distantly.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Weasley. The healers won’t let us in – they say her parents won’t allow visitors,” Harry replied in a tired voice.

“Her parents are in there? I never saw them come in,” Mr. Weasley replied in a surprised but enthusiastic voice.

Hermione shifted in the soft, unfamiliar bed. An aching, tugging sensation around her middle pulling her from the weightlessness of darkness. Someone close shushed her soothingly followed by a cool hand swiping across her forehead.

She swallowed once, then twice. Her eyes squeezing shut then trying to open but her lids felt so heavy. Air whistled down her throat in an uncomfortable way that reminded her of when she’d had the flu as a child – raw and almost sore.

At the sound of Harry’s voice she tried to move, tried to get up, but the same cool hands pressed her back down onto the bed.

“Ah-ah, darling,” a kind voice said.

The voice was familiar, beloved, and she tried harder to open her eyes.

“Mum?” Hermione finally rasped.

There was a harmony of soft chuckles – one soprano and one baritone. Finally, she was able to open her eyes.

“As much as I see you as a daughter, Hermione – no,” Narcissa said softly.

Narcissa perched on her bedside, glamorous midnight blue robes spilling off her shoulders with daggered sleeves that were pushed back and out of the way to expose the smooth pale skin of her forearms. Her blonde hair was swept back into a low chignon, but uncharacteristically a few stray pieces had fallen loose around her face.

At the foot of her bed stood Lucius, tall and grand as ever in his usual elegant black robes. No sign of the battle they’d been in evident on his person, though in its place were telltale signs of distress. Like Narcissa, his usually smooth hair was mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it. The lines around his eyes deepened and creased in worry.

At the sight of him tears pricked then overflowed, each gulp of air sending a shock of pain through her chest.

“Lucius,” she cried. “Lucius, I’m so sorry.”

Lucius’ pale eyebrows rose. In a swirl of robes, he came to the other side of her bed, reaching to place one of her cold hands between his warm ones.

“Whatever are you sorry for, sweet girl?” he asked in a gentle voice.

Gently Narcissa brushed away Hermione’s tears with her thumbs, stroking her hair in a maternal way that made the tears flow faster.

“The – the prophecy. Your mission,” she hiccupped.

Lucius gave a gentle smile, adjusting his robes so he could sit beside her legs on the bed and squeezed her hand.

“Ah, but it was not my mission,” he said softly, trying to warm her hand now. “It was Bellatrix’s. The Dark Lord is pleased with me, thanks to you. To say he is pleased with you is an understatement.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed together, her mind moved slowly and she struggled to understand.

“Your warning allowed myself and the majority of his inner circle to escape without capture. The failure of retrieving the prophecy, unfortunately, has fallen upon Bellatrix. As well as her decision to try to hurt you.”

Her heart quickened as she remembered the flying curses, the jet of red light that barely missed her head.

“How… how did he know?” she asked softly while Narcissa took out a handkerchief and wiped her face tenderly.

“The Dark Lord looked through my memories. He is most displeased with Bellatrix. Not to mention Dolohov, who cursed you.”

She shifted at the name, agony tearing through her chest as she did so, pulling a gasp from her. Both Malfoys paled, immediately moving to try to help her settle once more against the pillows. Two sets of hands smoothing her hair, stroking her cheeks and arms in comfort.

“You shouldn’t move too much, darling,” Narcissa said after Hermione was settled. “The healers said the curse, though slightly weakened in power due to it being cast wordlessly, had done significant damage to your body. The majority of your ribs and sternum had to be regrown.”

Hermione nodded, her breath moving through her gritted teeth in small gasps.

“Please let us see her,” Harry’s voice slipped beneath the door, pleading with someone. “We just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” a crisp female voice replied. “Her parents insisted on no visitors for the time being.”

Hermione looked back and forth between Narcissa and Lucius whose faces bore no reaction to the voices.

“My parents are here?” she asked.

A sad expression crossed Narcissa’s face and she smoothed the covers around Hermione.

“No, darling, they’re not. But we are here acting in their stead. Your parents named us your magical guardians for matters such as these. Rest assured, that paperwork is confidential and only seen by those who we have the utmost trust in as we are one of the largest benefactors of St. Mungos.”

Hermione blinked in surprise and couldn’t deny the small relief in knowing her parents weren’t here to witness this. She wasn’t sure how they would react or if they would even understand. The idea of having to explain anything to them was exhausting.

“When… when did they do that?”

“I spoke to them before you came to stay with us for the summer, the day we picked you up via the floo.” She looked to Lucius for a moment then back to Hermione. “I explained in very simple terms that tensions were… brewing within the magical world and I could not guarantee that there would not be a time where you may be caught in the crossfire given your friendship with Mr. Potter.”

Hermione took a slow, shallow breath to try to calm herself.

“I hope we did not overstep, darling,” Narcissa said quickly, appearing a little insecure.

“We see you as our own,” Lucius said. “And wish to ensure you are given the very best care. Your parents were very receptive to the idea and seemed appreciative. I have spoken with your father a few times since you’ve been here but…” His voice trailed off.

Hermione thought she understood why.

“I’m sure they’re grateful to not have to deal with this inconvenience given how busy they are,” she said in a small voice.

She could remember when she’d broken her arm on her bike when she was five. It was right before her magic began to make itself known and though her parents had been worried, even at five she could remember feeling a sense of anxiety at pulling them away from the practice. There was a very vivid memory of an almost annoyed expression on her mother’s face as she tried to move patients around to accommodate the “inconvenience” as she’d put it.

The Malfoy’s faces darkened at Hermione’s words, at the bitterness that lingered around the edges.

“You saved me,” Lucius said, his fingertips touching her cheek. “If not for you I would surely be in Azkaban now. You put your wellbeing, your safety aside to ensure I got out – to ensure we didn’t ruin your cover. It is a privilege to be your magical guardian, Hermione.”

Narcissa nodded emphatically at these words, grasping one of her hands.

Once more, tears collected into the corners of Hermione’s eyes and through the pain of her chest, she could feel warmth there. Gratitude for these two people who by all accounts should hate her.

She couldn’t put into words how much it meant to her for them to be here, for the love and care they obviously felt. For the way they seemed to cling to her the way she desperately wanted to cling to them. For the comfort and kindness. Words didn’t feel like enough, but for the time being she merely smiled, taking a slow breath before finally saying:

“Thank you.”