him, putting all the words he couldn’t say into the kiss; how much he wanted this, how sorry it was that this wasn’t real, how he would give anything to be able to stay and make this his. When they parted, Draco snuggled back down onto Harry’s chest, and Harry let the sound of Draco’s even breathing send him off to sleep, wishing with all his heart that he could do it every night.

The first thing Harry became aware of was the smell; disinfectant and lemons. Then he heard the tell-tale subtle beeping and he knew exactly where he was. He’d been hurt on the job many times only to awaken again to the sounds of medical observation charms and the scent of freshly scrubbed rooms in St Mungos.

He didn’t open his eyes straight away—he wanted to stay in the dream he’d been having for as long as he could. Eventually though, he knew he’d have to face reality and he slowly blinked his eyes open, taking in the familiar view of a hospital room ceiling above him. He swallowed his disappointment and lifted his right hand to scrub at his face—his left was encased in something warm, and he wondered if he’d done enough damage to warrant a stronger healing charm on it. He didn’t look; he knew he’d be okay eventually, and he didn’t need to see whatever had been done to him.

“Harry, thank goodness you’re finally awake!”

Harry turned to find Hermione sitting on his right, holding his glasses out to him. He took them, and she came further into focus. Her hair was longer again, pulled back in a messy plait, and she looked tired. Books and parchment covered her lap, tucked down the sides of her chair and spread across the bottom of his bed.

“What are you doing here, you’re meant to be on honeymoon.”

She snorted quietly. “Please, you’ve been unconscious for a week, did you really think Ron and I wouldn’te back to be with you?”

“A week?”

Hermione nodded. “Ron and I got a message from Kingsley four days ago. I’ve been researching ever since, but we couldn’t find a way to wake you.” She frowned. “I actually haven’t been of much use, to be honest.”

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“You triggered a spell, a really old one. Malfoy managed to get you here, but nobody could work out why you weren’t waking up.”

Harry started at the name and tried to sit up. “Draco? Is he okay?”

Hermione gave him a speculative look, and nodded her head at the other side of the bed. Harry looked over, and found Draco sitting next to him. He was fast asleep, his head resting on the bed next to Harry’s hip, his right hand curled tightly around Harry’s left.

“He did all of the work, all I’ve done is sit here reading thesepletely useless books.” Hermione snapped the one on her lap shut, startling Harry. “When he hasn’t been here, he’s been in the Ministry library, trying to work out where you went and how we could bring you back.”

“Where I went?” Harry was confused; he’d been here in the hospital, hadn’t he?

Hermione nodded. “It was the spell, Harry. It’s very old, so old there aren’t many mentions o

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