Tears streamed down Hermione’s cheeks as she read his words. She couldn’t recall ever receiving praise or kind words from the taciturn man, let alone his normally vicious written remarks, so she was caught off guard by his unambiguous reassurance. She folded the paper back together and clutched the blankets to her chest as she sobbed with relief. She wasn’t a freak. She wasn’t broken. He had seen and recognized and satisfied the desires that had plagued her for so long and rather than shaming her for them, he had validated them. Hermione took a calming breath and smiled at the ceiling. He accepted and desired her. And, if her incredibly hazy memory served, he’d even washed and – she gingerly pressed her neck and confirmed no tenderness – healed her before tucking her into bed. But why had he brought her back to her home? She considered going to search for him and thank him, but without a portkey she wouldn’t know where to find him. No, better to gratefully accept the provided potions and consider how to face the man in the morning when she was feeling a bit less vulnerable. 