Manacled

Hermione felt as though she’d been struck sharply in the head; as though she were mildly concussed and it explained the surreal world she abruptly found herself in. She stared wordlessly at Angelina, who gave Hermione an encouraging smile. “You aren’t out there so you probably don’t see it. I know things were dark for awhile, but it’s always darkest before the dawn, and I’m pretty sure, we’re at dawn now.”

Hermione swallowed hard as she struggled against the temptation to scream. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears and a migraine rapidly manifesting.

They weren’t winning.

They were surviving.

“For the record, you are not allowed to sell them or give them to anyone else.”

Hermione’s hands stilled, and her eyes darted guiltily up to Draco’s face. His eyes were locked on hers, and the silver in them glittered.

“Is that clear, Granger?” His tone was ice.

She gave a begrudging nod.

“I will expect you to wear them every time you forage. I will look for them.”

She tensed and swallowed hard with irritation. “Fine.”

His expression softened marginally. “Well, this has been delightful. I cannot even remember how many times I’ve wished I could spend Christmas Eve getting lectured on how to read a diagnostic charm.” He smiled insincerely. Hermione said nothing.

The next week when Draco apparated into the shack, he and Hermione both paused and stared at each other.

“I have a Christmas present for you,” she said after a minute. “Well, it’s not really. But I suppose contextually it is.”

She pulled out the small leather case and held it out to him.

“It’s—it’s an emergency healing kit. I give them to all my friends.”