The girls stood at lineup, whispering to each other as they leant against the railing waiting for their assignments. It was already ten minutes after seven and Mr. Malfoy hadn't appeared. They hadn't seen him all day in fact; not for their legilimency sessions, not at meals, not even at the bar. He'd had the Gala the night before so perhaps he was hungover, but that had never stopped him from showing his face before. In fact drunk or hungover had been his default state for years.
"Should I knock?" Leanna asked the others, stepping forward.
They all exchanged glances and shrugs and finally Claire nodded.
"Mr. Malfoy?" Leanna knocked weakly. There was a bit of shuffling behind the door. "Mr. Malfoy...it's nearly quarter past."
The door swung open and Draco stepped out in his black pajama pants and nothing else, feet bare, hair a dull mess, unshaven, his eyes red, but it was unclear if he was high or had been crying.
"Sorry girls," he said, his voice low and gravelly, as if he hadn't spoken in years. "I...hang on..."
He disappeared again and came back with his black ledger, flipping through the pages.
"Wait," Sarah said, heading for the stairs. "Hermione's not here."
Draco froze, his finger still on the page and squeezed his eyes shut. After a deep breath he shook his head.
"It's fine. Come back. She's...she won't be here...it's fine." He looked up then, his face suddenly hard and angry. "You know damn well no one is coming for her. And quit looking at each other. You all are shit at occlumency and I know you've been gossiping."
The girls stared, eyes wide, nervous at the bitter resignation in his voice, the defeated look on his face. Still they stood in their line, awaiting their assignments. Never looking up, he listed the girls who had appointments and wished the other girls a good night.
"Mr. Malfoy," Claire said, "can we do anything for you?"
He looked up at them, his little birds that he'd trapped in their cages for so long that they no longer realized they were imprisoned. No matter what he told himself or others about how he cared for them or wanted to save them, he still held them hostage, unable to leave the mansion, selling them off to strangers and friends, making a profit off of their bodies. And here they stood, eyes wide with worry, wanting to help him; the one man who didn't deserve it.
"No," he said, before closing the door on them all.
Hermione didn't leave her room. She'd become close with the elves that brought her potions and messages and they'd agreed to bring her food, books, anything she asked for a few of them visibly upset at seeing her so withdrawn. She knew Draco wouldn't stop them from helping her. He'd already knocked on her door once the day after the Gala asking if they could talk, but she'd never responded, only stood silently on the other side, her forehead resting against the door, knowing he was less than an inch away. Still, she kept the barrier up. If she saw his face she would crumble. It wasn't until she'd been sequestered away for three days that healer Moonstone came knocking, her voice low and soothing.
"Hermione, may I come in, dear? I've spoken to..." she trailed off and Hermione watched the closed door of her room, wondering what she'd say next. The silence was awkward, too long, and finally Moonstone sighed. "I only want to make sure you're alright. May I check your...injuries? I'm alone."
The bruise was hideous, dark purple and blood red, a splotchy half moon around the front of her neck. Her cheeks and eyelids were dotted with spidery broken vessels, the white of her left eye filled with blood. Moonstone's expression was grim as she rummaged through her small bag of potions and balms. She was able to clean the blood from her eye with her wand and reduce the bruise to a pink crescent that would fade before the next morning. Still it hurt to swallow and she needed pain potions to sleep.
She'd wanted to be stone faced and strong, to hide her heartbreak behind indignant rage, but feeling Moonstone's gentle touch had broken the dam and she collapsed in the older woman's arms, allowing a maternal touch that she'd not felt in nearly a decade. It was like fresh water and cool air and sunshine all in one, conjuring memories of falling asleep in her mother's lap, or the touch of her cool hand to her forehead when she ran a fever. The release of emotion, tension, just feeling the witch's warm arms and smelling the powdery, flowery fragrance of her perfume was the first time she'd felt clean in days.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she said, stroking Hermione's hair.
"It's fine. It's...not your fault." Her voice was hoarse and weak, even three days later, gravelly with disuse.
"Well of course it isn't," Moonstone said, her voice suddenly sharp and strong. "Nor is it any of yours. I know exactly whose fault it is and he's gotten a piece of my mind. Lucky I didn't call the Council," she said, clucking her tongue. "And even beyond that, the fact that he wouldn't heal you himself when he's perfectly capable..."
Hermione held up a hand and shook her head.
"He tried but I wouldn't let him near me," she said, standing up and retying her robe closed, headed back towards her bed. "And it isn't entirely his fault either. It's my fault for indulging him when he was drunk...for letting our...agreement get out of hand..."
She could hardly believe she was saying the words aloud. All her life she'd admonished women who refused to challenge their abusers, their attackers. All her life she'd refused to allow victims to shoulder blame for their suffering, and yet here she was, doing it herself. She remembered a crying, black eyed woman crying in her living room...you have no idea what you'd do until you're forced to do it.
Perhaps she didn't want to believe the truth. Perhaps she didn't want to say it out loud: that Draco had hurt her, had kept hurting her when she'd begged him to stop, that he'd let their little game of Domination spiral out of control but that he'd still made her come, still made her wet with his filthy language and rough treatment. Perhaps she didn't want to admit that what hurt her most was that she now had to stay away from him, that she was on her own in this prison, that she could no longer expect him to find her under the stars or in the library, that he would no longer leave dirty books outside her room, or send her notes with descriptions of the things he'd dreamt of doing to her. She didn't want to admit that it was over. She didn't want to admit that it shouldn't have started in the first place.
Once Moonstone was satisfied that she'd done all she could, she gave Hermione a powerful, pain potion laced with poppy and a kiss on the forehead. The tenderness brought tears to her eyes and she turned away to keep from sobbing.
"I know you're hurting, petal. And it feels like curling up and disappearing is the best course of action. But you can't hide away in here forever Hermione," she said, heading for the door. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that he's torturing himself for what he did. I know that isn't good enough...I know it doesn't fix what he did...but...he was certainly navigating new ground with you, sweetheart...he was bound to stumble."
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked. "New ground."
Moonstone looked at her as if the answer were as simple as 2 + 2 then shook her head and dropped her daily potions on the vanity.
"He cares very much for you," she said plainly.
"I thought he cared for all of the girls," Hermione said, feeling petty and childish. She wasn't supposed to care at all, particularly after what he'd done; and yet hearing the healer say it out loud had caused her heart to flutter.
"Of course dear, but he isn't quite used to having some care for him so deeply in return."
Moonstone left and Hermione made her way over to the vanity for her potions, only then finding the tightly rolled scroll tucked among them.
Draco was half-conscious on his sofa, his pensieve floating in front of him, crystal vials scattered on the cushions and the floor as he relit his joint, taking a deep drag. In the past few days he'd taken to relieving his nights with Hermione: the first time he kissed her, the first time he'd felt her beneath him, on top of him, the way she would look him in the eye as she came, as if wanting him to experience it with her. But it wasn't just the sex he wanted to remember. He looked back at the times that he'd shown her a book she'd never read, watching her face light up with anticipation. He watched the first time she'd touched the tattoo on his arm, tracing the outlines with her fingertips, raising goosebumps on his skin or how she listened, rapt, as he told her the mythology of the constellations she didn't know, Orion the Hunter, Perseus and Andromeda, the life of King Cepheus. He watched the fuzzy drunken nights that she'd gotten him to bed safely, stroking his hair, telling him that everything would be OK, humming silly songs, holding his hand until he fell asleep.
Reassuring him that she'd always be there.
They'd sworn it would only be sex. That there was nothing else they could give. No. Actually, that was what he'd sworn. She'd just been willing to accept it.
He pulled the memories back and searched for another vial; the night that he'd hurt her, the night that she'd looked at him with genuine fear in her eyes, not letting him touch her afterwards. His heart raced as he watched it unfold, anger and fear and regret bubbling in his stomach.
You ruined it.
"Well well, if it isn't the crown prince of debauchery himself," Lucius said, coughing.
He was standing behind Draco, having come into the suite without knocking, no one warning Draco he was here...just...appearing like the terrifying ghoul he was. Normally he would enjoy pestering his father with jokes and barbs, digging deep under his skin; but today he wasn't in the mood. Today he just felt like levitating him out the window.
"Father," he said, not turning around. In fact he picked up the cigarette and took another hit, holding the smoke until his lungs felt like they were filled with shards of glass. But it wasn't enough. He could still feel.
"I heard you made a spectacle of yourself at the Archlight Gala," Lucius said, rounding the couch to stand in front of him, unwilling to be ignored.
"Yes, I'm sure you did. I saw the flashbulbs going off all night. I wish that I'd been told I was going to be the night's entertainment, I would have prepared better material, made sure to drop your name."
Draco licked his fingertips and pinched off the end of his cigarette before standing and stretching, making a dramatic show of his slovenly state, barefoot and unshaven, still in his sleeping clothes at four in the afternoon.
"I've come for my money, or at least an update as to how much of it has been recouped."
"At our last lovely visit you told me I had until May fifteenth. To what do I owe this change of the rules?"
"I made those rules before I knew you were fucking Ms. Granger yourself, keeping her safe and happy in the lap of luxury when she should be rotting in prison with the rest of the mudbloods."
Draco breathed in slowly, holding it in his lungs before exhaling on a count of four like Hermione had taught him. She said it was a relaxation method Hannah had taught her, to keep from flying off the handle and getting herself in trouble or to keep from strangling his father.
And Trevor.
"Ahhh, it all comes into focus. I should have known you'd send in a spy. No chance you'd actually trust your only son to pay his debts."
"Seems I was right to do so," Lucius said, helping himself to an inordinately large glass of Elf Vodka, a bottle that had cost Draco nearly fifty galleons.
"A wizard has to get off every once in a while. You made no such stipulation that I wasn't to touch her," Draco said, finally getting up from the sofa and moving to his desk where the ledgers, money pouches and his wand were under a charmed lock.
"I've never told you to keep your cock out of crup either, as I thought it went without saying."
Because he was a bit drunk and more than a bit high his aim was off and so his Everte Statum missed its target, exploding against the wall behind Lucius' head, leaving a spidering black smudge in the paint. Lucius pulled his own wand and the two men stood in silence, their weapons trained at each others' throats.
"I will give you the money," Draco growled through a clenched jaw. "I will give you the full amount today, plus any amount you ask in interest. I couldn't give less of a toss about the money. But after that she is of no concern to you. Neither of us are, and you have no say in what we do or where we go."
"You would do that to your mother? Your mother who cries herself to sleep, wandering the halls looking into your old bedroom, which hasn't been touched since you left? Are you so starved for physical affection that you'd trade away your family, your name for a mudblood whore?"
Lucius easily ducked Draco's Stupefy and countered with one of his own, knocking his only son back against the bookcases before he slid down to the floor. It took a few moments for him to get his bearings after he came to and when he looked up, his father was standing over him, his familiar, deadly sneer pulling at the corners of his lips, like a window into Draco's childhood.
"I allowed you to keep her here because I thought you would have the decency to see her punished for her crimes. To have her work off her debt in pain and humiliation like she would have in prison, to make sure she regretted crossing her superiors...as an example to the other rebels out there who think they're going to make a difference in the world."
He spat the last words out as if suggesting swimming in shit.
"Yeah, well, don't worry," Draco said, working his jaw as he shook his head clear. "By now she's regretting coming here well enough."
Lucius was quiet for a long time and when Draco looked up again, his smile was even more cruel and twisted.
"Ahhh, you weak minded little fool," he said, tucking his wand away and walking towards the open drawer of the desk, pulling a black velvet bag of narrow gold bricks from inside, each one worth five hundred galleons. "Trevor says that you fancy yourself some sort of big dangerous player in the wizarding underworld. But I see that one good fuck and you fall apart like a schoolboy. What happened? Did you profess your love and she laughed in your face? Proposed marriage after a particularly choice blow job?" Lucius laughed at his son crumpled on the ground as he tucked the shrunken bag of money into his robes. "You always were a delicate flower, but this is rich. Let me guess, you showed her the poems you wrote about her eyes back at school...is that what drove her from your bed?"
"Yeah," Draco said, not looking up, his eyes stinging with tears that he absolutely would not reveal. "Something like that. Congrats. You've got your son all figured out."
"Let it be a lesson to you Draco," his father said, chucking him under the chin with the head of his walking stick. It was hard to believe, but his voice was a bit softer...a bit more paternal than only a minute before. "She's your weak spot. Make her suffer. Make her suffer for making you suffer. She won't dare to do it again. I know how you've felt about her your entire life, Draco, no matter how well you tried to hide it. Don't let her find the crack in your armor...it will be your undoing."
Draco nearly laughed, still hunched over on the floor amongst the fallen books and splintered wood as his father left with his money. The fatherly advice was too little too late. He was already undone.
If she were stronger, she would have torn the scroll to pieces. If she were Hermione from ten years ago she would have thrown it into the fireplace before reading a single word. Instead she carefully peeled off the M seal pressed into shining black wax and ran her fingertip over the stylized curves of the monogram. During her time at the Dragon she'd amassed a little collection of trinkets and knickknacks, all stored up in the top drawer of the table beside her bed. As she placed the little circle of embossed wax in the drawer now, she realized they were all from Draco. The copy of Hogwarts A History, the black cuffs and collar he'd given her for Christmas, small diamond earrings he'd given to each girl at Easter, a quill made from the tail feather of an Argus Pheasant and all of the notes and cards and gift tags from the holidays including a ridiculous erotic drawing that had made the both of them laugh for nearly fifteen minutes. "Apparently your cock is triple jointed, sir," she'd said as they examined the seductive portrait Draco had attempted to render. He'd told her later that the greatest noise in the world was hearing her gasping with laughter.
She sat on the bed with the parchment, her body starting to feel warm and loose from the pain potion. The effects had started to open her heart as well, a bit of the stubborn anger she'd felt for the last few days beginning to fade as she looked down at Malfoy's familiar narrow, slanted script. What shocked her was his use of her actual name.
Hermione,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. All day, every day all that goes on in my head is I'm sorry. There's no excuse for what I did. I told you from the beginning that I was ruined. I ruin everything good, everything that might make me happy or sane. I should never have come to your room those months ago, never should have let you kneel at my feet. I never should have touched you.
I never should have brought you here when I knew something like this would happen.
I know you don't want to see me right now. I know that we'll never have what we had again. You're right not to trust me.
But you were helping me. I told you a thousand times that I didn't need your help. I told you that I didn't need anybody, that I could take care of myself. It was always a lie Hermione.
I need you.
Tell me. Just tell me how to fix it. Tell me what to do. I need you.
Draco
She dropped the letter and wiped at her eyes, leaning on her chin to look out the window at the spring sunlight dappling the courtyard. Sarah and Leanna were outside with their tea, giggling about something and Hermione felt an ache in her throat. The girls had been through cycles of compassion, hatred, friendliness, iciness with Hermione and at this point she had no idea where she stood with any of them, but she was so very tired of being alone. If she thought she was lonely before, wandering the halls and rooms of the mansion, it was nothing compared to hiding in her room. A tear fell from her cheek and blurred the word need in Draco's letter. While she'd read it her heart had been pounding with a sort of terrified anticipation that had left her like a deflating balloon when she got to the end. Of course it felt good to hear him voice his guilt, to hear him apologize, even as it dripped with self pity. It felt good to hear him finally admit that he needed her, something she'd known for months. But as she'd read the words she'd found herself hoping he'd admit to something else.
Something she never thought she wanted to hear.
A bit after noon she heard a small knock on the middle of her door...a knock she recognized as Fawn the house elf.
"Miss Gr—Hermione?" The elf whispered, correcting herself. "I came to see what you were wanting for lunch miss. There's a shepherds pie and lemon tarts if you like..."
Hermione pulled herself out of bed, tucking the letter from Draco into the drawer beside her bed. Walking to the door she pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail and wiped her face dry, breathing deep to compose herself. Opening the door she forced a friendly smile for Fawn.
"It's OK. You don't have to bring it up to me. I think today I'll go downstairs for lunch."