Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.
A/N: Written for the luvlikerocketz Halloween gift exchange, for alexajohnson.

Hermione balanced the tea tray in one hand and stripped the protective wards off the bedroom with the other. The door opened with a quiet click. Inside, curtains were drawn against the light, and she paused to give her eyes a chance to adjust. The general disarray made her sigh. The rug was rumpled and covered in hair. The ugly Louis XV chair was on its side again.

Perhaps it was time to get rid of that chair, Hermione considered. She had lost count of the number of times Draco had knocked it over by now, and she'd never liked the thing anyway.

She eased the tray onto the bedside table. Pulling her wand, she cast an air-freshening charm, chasing away the familiar smell of fear and sweat and the ranker odor underneath it all—the scent of the wolf.

Just another full moon morning at Malfoy Manor.

"Draco?" Hermione smoothed his grey-blond hair, tangled and stiff with perspiration, back off his forehead and evaluated his pallor in the gloom. As always, his hollow cheeks and the lines of strain around his mouth made her heart ache. Draco had such dark circles under his eyes; it looked like someone had punched him in the face. "It's over, love. Wake up and talk to me."

He shifted, a muffled groan pulled from his throat when his overtaxed muscles protested. Hermione fluttered around the bed, trying to smooth the blankets he had haphazardly pulled over his body when he dragged himself to bed at dawn. Unhappy, she noted how visible his ribs were under the whiteness of his skin. Draco all but stopped eating during the days leading up to his transformation, and the results were obvious.

Hermione curled one leg under her body and sat on the edge of the bed. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss over his heart, lingering to feel the slow thud of his heartbeat. His skin was cool and clammy under her lips. It struck Hermione again how incredible and horrible lycanthropy was, that the thin envelope of human skin could be torn asunder every month to set free the beast underneath only to rebuild itself when the monster retreated at dawn. She felt Draco's long fingers in her hair and sat up.

"Hermione." Draco's eyes were dull with exhaustion and half-closed. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself." He licked his dry lips, and Hermione quickly poured a cup of tea and helped him take a sip. Draco lay back against the pillow with a sigh. "How was it this month?" Hermione asked. "Any better?" She made frequent adjustments to Draco's Wolfsbane potion, tweaking ingredients in constant search of a combination that would make him more comfortable. "I added an infusion of dittany this time."

"It was all right." He hesitated. Something she couldn't decipher, some new anxiety, flashed in his grey eyes and then was carefully hidden. "I had strange dreams," he said finally.

"What kind of dreams?" She caught his hand, wandering restlessly over the duvet, and held it tight.

A faint blush tinged his cheekbones. "I dreamed I came back," he said, using the euphemism they had adopted for when he returned to his true form every month, "and you were gone."

"Well." Hermione leaned in and kissed him. "That was a very silly dream, wasn't it? I was right outside the door all night, just like I always am."

"And I wonder why, just like always." He met her eyes directly, too tired to mince words. "You don't have to waste your life away with me, you know. You could leave, reclaim a little of the respectability you lost when you married a man who's a werewolf, a Death Eater, iand/i a Malfoy." His mouth twisted in distaste. "I'm sure Weasley would love to have you back."

She sat back, surprised. She had seen Draco angry after the full moon, seen him depressed, seen him bitter, but she'd never seen him insecure. Not about their relationship, at any rate. "That must have been some dream, Draco."

"I just wonder why you stay with me sometimes, that's all." Draco was both defensive and resigned, as if he expected her to fly to the wardrobe and pack her bags now that he had put the idea of leaving into her head.

"Hmm." Hermione wound a lock of her hair around one finger, pretending to be thoughtful. "So you'd leave me if our positions were reversed? Get fed up with me shedding frizzy wolf hair on the rug and cast me off?"

"No." For an instant, his face was filled with stark devotion, and Hermione immediately regretted teasing him. "I'd never leave you, no matter what."

"That's your answer then." She kissed him again, this time teasing the corners of his mouth with her tongue until he responded. After a few moments, she leaned back and beamed at the rosy flush in his cheeks and dark glow in his eyes. "You never have to worry." She rose. "Why don't I draw you a bath? You'll feel better when you're clean, and you can spend the rest of the day relaxing in bed."

"With you?" He yawned. "Didn't you mean to say 'relaxing in bed with you'?"

Hermione smiled and opened the curtains with a flick of her wand. "But somehow we never 'relax' much when we're in bed together, do we?"

"Sounds like a perfect end to a hellish night to me. Hermione," he called her name abruptly and she paused in the bathroom doorway to face him again. "You really could do better than me."

Draco sat on the edge of the bed, frail body unselfconsciously exposed to her gaze, and Hermione felt a bolt of tenderness pierce her heart. A sunbeam illuminated the self-inflicted claw marks that crisscrossed his chest and highlighted the old scar on his thigh—the one that had started it all. He caught her gaze wandering a little to the left of his thigh and smiled his first real smile in days.

"There's no one better than you, Draco." She held his gaze with her own, willing him to feel the truth of her words. "Not for me." Hermione ducked into the bathroom, but she heard him hum softly as he shuffled after her.

Another month had begun.