Saturday, May 2, 1998
It's hot in this part of the castle. Like the energy leaving the bodies burns through the air before dissipating.
Several Death Eaters pass, yelling at me to follow, saying they've seen Potter come this way. I tell them I'm on my own mission.
It's true.
I saw her hair whipping through the corridors as the students gathered in the Great Hall. I was close enough to see Weasley's freckles for a moment.
It was foolish of me to think that she wouldn't be here for this. For the end of it.
If Potter fails... I'll try to get to her first. Presuming she's not dead already. The thought digs into my side. I'll try to end up with her, try to keep her from entering the pool of people to be sold. I need to find her, keep her in sight. And if the Dark Lord drops Potter, I'll take her then. Steal her like a diamond necklace in the night.
I turn a hallway, look both ways to make sure it's empty, and start north.
"Draco."
I spin and Blaise steps out from a hidden place behind a statue. He holds his wand at an angle, like he's not going to trust me.
"What are you still doing here?" I ask. He left with Pansy and Daphne.
"Where are you going?" he asks instead.
"I'm on my own mission."
"Under whose orders?"
I stare at him. Is it worth it to lie? What if this is our last conversation?
He nods at my silence, and says, "Where's Vin and Greg?"
"Somewhere downstairs."
"And you?" He steps toward me. "You're alright?"
"I'm walking, aren't I?" I look him over. He doesn't have a spot of dirt or blood on him. And if I checked his wand, not a spell would have been cast. A survivor. "What are you still doing here?" I ask again.
"Pansy tried to come back for you. I told her I'd go instead if she promised to stay put."
I squint my eyes at him. "And to find me, you've been waiting for me to pass through this corridor?"
"No," he says, pocketing his wand. "I've been following Hermione Granger. Knew you'd come along."
Ice in my chest. I blink at him, wondering if it's worth the effort. We'll all be dead soon, won't we? So, I nod at him. "Where did you last see her?"
He frowns at me.
"Leave with me, Draco."
"You found her?"
"Daphne and Pansy are at the Hogwarts Express platform. We're going to wait for the dust to settle and figure out what to do—"
"Tell me—"
"You can't do this—"
"Watch me."
He steps into me and grabs my shoulders. "She's not yours to keep safe!" He shakes me. "Look around you, Draco! There are bigger things happening. She is not looking for you!"
I feel a crack forming between my eyes. Like a sliver in a dam, holding too much pressure for too long.
"If you're not going to help me—"
"She must have a cunt of gold if you really can't see—"
My shoulders snap, jerking out of his hands. He stumbles back and my wand is in his face before he rights himself.
He stares down the end of my wand.
"You've made promises to each other then?" he confirms for himself, nodding. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
I blink at him, my fingers tightening on my wand. "We've made no promises. We... There is no 'we."
He stares at me. "This isn't a game for you though? Not a bit of fun before settling down with Pansy?"
Something wet rolls down my face. I pray that it's blood. "No," I say. "This... hasn't been fun for me." I lower my wand. "It's one-sided. She's not looking for me."
He just nods. And I don't have to ask again.
"I saw her and Weasley moving toward the second floor girls' bathroom," he says.
I jerk my head as a goodbye. I take off down the hall.
"Draco."
I spin back for him.
"I have 10,000. Probably more if we sell the vineyard." He shrugs. "It's yours."
I swallow and nod at him. "If I don't find you at the end, tell Pansy you never saw me."
I spin on my heel before I can thank him or say something meaningful about our friendship or beg him to come with me.
~*~
Saturday, February 26, 2000
I stay well after midnight the next day in Australia.
I head to Sweet Tooth in the morning to post a notice that the shop is closed for a week, and before I leave I place a few protective enchantments to keep any unsavory characters away.
Monica locks herself in the bathroom when the memory of an eight-year-old breaking her wrist pops through the haze and swarms her mind unbidden, with no other memories of her daughter to accompany it.
Wendell sits next to the bathroom door, whispering through the wood, and Dr. Flanders and I take a break to make lunch.
We haven't introduced magic yet. So, we can't open the door.
Dr. Flanders says we should save any magic for when they have grasped the first ten years. Only introduce them to Hogwarts and wizardry when they chronologically were introduced to it.
It's brilliant, really. But I just want to make a fucking pot of tea. And I don't know what these knobs and dials are for on this oven.
I couldn't tell the British Ministry exactly when I'd be coming back, so I have to go to the Australian Ministry for a Portkey. It's almost dawn when I finally find the statue outside of the Opera House, and follow the stairs down into the hidden Ministry.
I land on the moors outside the Manor in a bright sunset, and the time change hits me like a Bludger. I stumble for a moment, and once I can tell the difference between the ground and the sky, I start the trek up the stone path to the Manor.
To Hermione.
But first... Pepper-Up Potion. And a wash.
Once I'm fully awake again, I wander to the library, like a kite being reeled in.
She's deep in the stacks, nose stuck in an old volume that looks like it will fall apart in her fingers.
Her hair is down. And her dress is smooth and light against her waist and hips.
I can see them in her, more clearly now. Her mother's eyes. Her father's chin. Monica's graceful movements with Wendell's jerky thoughts pulling his body in all directions.
It seems unfair that she hasn't seen them in two and a half years, and I made dinner for them hours ago.
She turns her long neck and finds me watching her. I smirk.
"Didn't your mother ever teach you it isn't polite to stare?" She grins back at me.
"She tried," I say. "But she also told me to enjoy the beautiful things in life, so I find it a very difficult contradiction."
She blushes, and I take a moment to drink her in.
Hermione Granger in the Malfoy library, radiantly happy.
"Interesting finds?"
"Mm-hmm. In fact, I'm almost positive that if I'd had access to the Malfoy library over the past ten years, Voldemort wouldn't have had a chance."
She smiles down at the book in her hands, and I gravitate closer to her. "Well, the next time a dark wizard comes along, I'll make sure you have everything you need. What are you reading now?"
I stand just behind her, looking down over her shoulder. And I can see a hint of her breasts in the dress. She's answering me, but I'm focused on the scent of her after so many days without her. Feels like months.
I brush her hair off her shoulder, steadying myself on her hip. My cheek rests against hers. And I think we could read like this. Maybe in the bath or in the window seat. She could huff when she was done reading a page and had to wait for me to finish.
She shivers. And my hand rubs against her hip, now thinking of other things we could do in the bath or the window seat.
She mumbles something about the book. Something about research and the best way to do things. And I watch her fingers tighten on the book.
I wonder how much time we have before dinner.
And then I realize I don't care.
I press my lips along her neck, and she leans back into me, tilting her head for me. I trail my fingers down her arms, slipping over her elbow. My eyes slide over the Table of Contents, and I flip to the next page for her.
"Why don't you read me the Preface?"
Maybe I'll quiz her on it later with my tongue inside of her. She'd fucking love that. I'll give her House points and only let her come when she reaches one hundred.
She takes a deep breath and reads, her voice washing over me. I hold her waist, rubbing against her hipbones. She pauses, and I tell her to continue.
I sprinkle light kisses on her neck, and slide my hand up her ribs until I'm almost at her breast. She stutters, and stops whatever she was reading about the portraits at Beauxbatons.
"What did the portraits have to say, Granger?"
I watch her nipples tighten through her thin dress. I wonder if my voice turns her on like hers does to me.
A small sound presses through her throat, and she continues, "Um...'tales of young Nicolas and his adventures at school. But some of them had seen him since. Some of them"—I cup her left breast ignoring her aching nipple, and gather the fabric of her dress up her thigh—"Some of them had seen Nicolas Flamel and his w-wife as recently as 1798, putting the Fl-flamels at around four-hundred-years-old."
I'm under her dress, inching towards her knickers and she can't focus on the Flamels any longer. My fingers dance across her and she moans when I nip at her neck. I run my other hand over her breast, rolling her nipple over her dress.
"Four-hundred-years-old is very old, isn't it, Granger?" I prompt her. And when she agrees and gasps, I dip into her knickers and slide my fingers through her. Already soaked. Her neck is tilted open to me, and I see that my love bites have faded since I last saw her. I pluck at her nipple and sigh, "What else does it say," setting to work on marking her again.
"I – I can't, Draco. Please."
Neither can I. I slip a finger inside of her, shaking at how tight she still is. My cock twitches against her backside, and I pull her close as she leans back against me, head on my shoulder. I fuck her with one finger until she moans. My other hand slips under her dress, reaching across her chest to get inside her bra. My wrist twists until I can thumb at her clit.
"Oh, god. Draco."
I love the way she says that.
I slip another finger inside of her and she trembles. Her hips jerk, and she rubs against my cock, so tight against me I think I can feel myself slipping in between her cheeks.
Would she let me fuck her like this? Just pull her dress up and shove aside her knickers and then I'd be inside of her. I'll tell her it's just like at Cornerstone, just lean forward on the stacks there, Granger.
She drops the book, and her hands try to grab for something. My wrists, my neck. She's groaning so beautifully every time I push my fingers inside.
"Put your hands on the shelves," I whisper against her jaw. And when she obeys a fever runs through my chest, shivering down to my cock.
She likes the way my fingers shift inside of her with it, and I like the way her arse pushes against me.
My hips push back, rubbing my cock just right. Even with my trousers still on I'm sure I'll come soon.
If I get her off first, maybe she'll let me just slip inside like this.
I look up to see her hands squeezing the wooden shelves, and I close my eyes, grunting, "Fuck." Her hips push back, slamming herself onto my fingers. "I've wanted this... Wanted this every time I saw you in the Hogwarts library."
Wanted her to want me as much as she wanted those books.
Her cunt contracts on my fingers, and she moans, "Please, Draco."
I hold onto her hip with one hand, the other still inside of her, twisting on her clit and pulling her against me. She's moving too fast. Fucking herself on me, teasing my cock with her perfect arse, and her perfect moans.
I can't wait to be inside of her, so I hold her still as I thrust against her backside, thumbing her clit and watching her hands on the shelves.
I hear a crack, and I wonder if she's broken the shelves. The thought is just enough to make me come. I feel the tipping point—
"Mippy is telling you that dinner is ready."
My brain needs a few seconds to catch up, but my cock immediately knows what's happened, backing off.
She's stiff as a board, and I slip my fingers out of her, and say, "Thank you, Mippy. We'll be there shortly."
A crack as she disappears.
She laughs and I drop my sweating forehead onto her neck.
"Fuck."
She cackles.
There must be a spell to keep House Elves from doing that. Someone must have thought of it.
She slips out of my grasp, and I steady myself on the shelf to my left. She turns and kisses me.
"Give me a moment," I say.
She blinks at me and slides her hand down my chest. "Do you want me to..."
I grab her wrist and say, "No, I'm... I really don't want to come with Mippy's voice in my head."
She giggles, and kisses my lips again.
When I finally make it to the dinner table, Mother gives me a disapproving eyebrow. And I glare back at her.
Probably forced the poor elf to interrupt.
Mippy can't make eye contact with me for the rest of dinner.
I count down the minutes before we're standing from the table, saying our goodbyes. I lead her through the entrance hall, and up the stairs, taking her hand. She stops a few times, and I remember she's never been up this way. I let her look out over the pond and the peacocks.
When we reach my door, I'm struck with a sudden fear. Is my room clean enough? When did Mippy last change the sheets? Have I hidden away anything I don't want her to see?
I look down at her, bracing myself before opening the door for her.
She steps inside, looks around briefly, and laughs.
I frown. "What?"
She smiles at me and says, "It's just all very predictable. I love it."
I look around as she steps inside, and realize that yes, the green and silver were maybe a bit too childish.
She wanders, and I trail close behind her, watching her face, watching her fingers. They mark the things she's interested in. She looks carefully at my bookcase, and I knew there was something I wanted to clean up for her. I should have slipped in more nonfiction and biographies and theoretical magic.
She smiles at my books, and I wonder if she's teasing me.
When she peeks into the bathroom suite, her eyes sparkle, and I wonder about that bath...
She finds my closet, and thumbs through my cloaks and trousers while I lean in the doorway.
"We need to get you into some oranges and pinks." She winks.
She teases me, but maybe it's a joke I'm in on.
She moves to the drawers, and it hits me that, yes, there was something I needed to hide. The knickers from our first time could be explained maybe. Even the Prophet pictures could be shrugged off. But the pictures of us in the alley that Father's spies took would be harder to justify.
She looks to me and I must be incredibly open for her to read in my face that she needs to step away from the drawers.
She presses herself against me, hands sliding up and into my hair. She kisses me and I pull her close. She slips into my mouth and I slip down to grab her backside.
"I like your bedroom, Draco." Reassuring me. And it's such a relief that she can read me. That I don't need these walls. That she and I could possibly understand each other with our eyes for the next forever.
I kiss her, smiling, but she pulls back and looks down at her shoes.
"I have a surprise for you."
"Oh, really," I say, thinking of all the surprises I have in store for her once we get on the mattress. How many hours I'll spend on her.
"Yes, I think... I think you'll like it."
I smile. You silly witch. Of course, I will.
"When do I get my surprise," I say, squeezing at her.
"You'll need to, um... give me some space," she mumbles, and I smile and release her. I move to the bed, sitting on the edge.
She unzips her dress, and I already like my surprise.
I watch as the shoulders drop and reveal a green bra. Slytherin green.
I feel my throat dry as the dress drops to the floor. Green knickers too.
These are new. These are just for me. I know Hermione Granger would never in her life purposefully buy green underthings for herself.
She looks nervous, like she's unsure I like her in this. So, I stand and take charge. "Get on the bed."
She smiles, proud of herself, biting her lip as she passes me, and my eyes drop to backside to find... very little.
These Muggles. They know what they're doing.
Her cheeks are perfectly framed with just a scrap of green fabric disappearing between them. The witch literally makes my knees weak as I grab for the bedpost.
She crawls across my bed, her arse in the air, long legs dragging along the comforter. I watch the muscles in her thighs, the dip of the knickers against her cunt, the cheeks that I want to bite into.
She stops in the center of the bed. "Like this?"
I look up and she's turned over her shoulder, and I know I have to have her on all fours in my bed one day, turning her head to watch me as I fuck her.
"Lay down," I tell her. And she obeys. And I wonder if one day she'll let me tell her exactly what to do. If she'd give me one night of pulling her wrists above her head and giving her instructions to obey.
She presses her knees together as I take my things off. I hesitate with my trousers, and decide to keep them on for now.
I crawl up to her, kissing her knees as she watches me. They fall open and I kiss up to her knickers. Fuck. I want to fuck her with these on.
I kiss her over them. And her head falls back. My lips press against her, promising things to her, and I drag my tongue over the green lace, pressing hard against her clit.
"Fuck... Draco."
And maybe making her talk about the Giant Squid was the wrong thing. If she curses while I eat her out, that's worth everything.
"Say it again."
She says my name, and while I love it, I wait for her to say "fuck" again.
I smile and kiss her cunt. She moans and says, "Oh, fuck."
A chorus of fucks when I pull her knickers aside and lap at her. I twitch in my trousers. She grabs at my hair, and I twist my arm under her thigh, pressing her open. She tastes just as perfect as before.
She bucks against me and my tongue slides further inside of her.
"Oh, fuck, Draco."
I move to her clit, pressing quick firm strokes, and the noises she keens ring in my ears. She pulls my face into her, jerking her hips against me, and my own hips shift against the mattress, searching for something warm and wet.
She releases my head, and I suck in air, watching her fingers twist in the comforter.
I want to feel her come. I want to memorize the way her muscles grip me.
"Let me know when you're close."
I dip my head back to her, and she watches me for as long as she can before her head falls back. Her hips jump at me again, and I push her thighs down.
"I think... I think I'm ... Draco."
I look up at her and she's got her hands on her breasts, rubbing herself. That fucking green bra.
I groan and it shakes her. "Fuck," she grunts.
Merlin, I love that.
Two of my fingers slide inside of her, opening her, and she sighs for more. I latch onto her clit and suck.
Her thighs try to close on my head. Her walls flutter around my fingers, and then clench as she cries out.
I work her down, slow pumping of my fingers, light lapping of my tongue.
When she opens her eyes again, she looks down and says, "Fuck."
Vixen.
I kiss up her stomach, kissing her breasts through the bra, but I stop when I reach for her lips.
Pansy hated this. She made me wipe my mouth or even brush my teeth before I could kiss her again.
"Can I kiss you like this?"
I watch her hesitate, and when she agrees, I know she's unsure so I smile and wipe my mouth before kissing her skin again. My body leans heavily on her, my hips pressing into her. She reaches for my buckle, and I just can't believe she's mine.
Then she rolls us over, and I laugh at our elbows and knees. She kisses my mouth and I press my tongue to hers, wondering if she tastes herself.
She kisses down my neck and chest, pausing over my nipples, testing to see if I like it. I grin at her and she frowns, like she's trying to find the right spell.
Her eyes flicker back to mine, wide and questioning as she kisses my stomach, and I'm trying to figure out what it is she's doing when her tongue slides against my abdomen.
She couldn't...
Air leaves me. I watch her as she continues lower.
She... She wouldn't want to.
She blinks up at me and her hands move to my buttons, lips inching below my bellybutton. I jump up, grabbing her wrists.
"You don't have to." My voice is hoarse from swallowing her down, and I wonder if she thinks we need to be even. That's not...
"You don't want me to?" She's confused, asking me to clarify why I wouldn't want her mouth on me.
And I have no fucking clue why I wouldn't. Or how I could explain to her how badly I want it. So badly that I can't guarantee I wouldn't hurt her. That I wouldn't thrust into her throat and pour into her, fisting her hair so she couldn't move.
The way I want it isn't the way she should do the first time.
I've said nothing, so she kisses my stomach again, and continues to unbutton me. I fall back and stare at my ceiling as she slides my trousers down, and I try not to think of how many times I've stared up at this ceiling thinking of her lips around my cock.
I feel my pulse between my legs, and I press my eyes together, prepared to hold back, prepared to keep my hands to myself.
When she hasn't touched me, I open my eyes to see her staring down at the bulge in my trunks, like waiting for it to reveal its true intentions.
I sit up again, hands on her shoulders. "We don't—There's so many things I want to do tonight. Every night. We can try that later."
She nods, visibly relieved, blushing at her failure. I kiss her deeply, convincing her that I want her. I think of something else, something she can accomplish.
Something we can utilize this bed for.
"Can we do something else instead?" I ask, and she nods.
I take off my trousers and trunks fully, and watch as her eyes jump to my cock, as if imagining how blow jobs actually work.
I'll teach you one day, love.
We take her knickers and heels off, but once she reaches for her bra I stop her. "No, I never want you to take that off."
She smiles. And I lay on top of her, bringing her legs around me before spinning us until she's on top.
"Can we try like this?" I ask through her wild curls falling over us.
She sits up, looking confused. "I... don't know how to..."
"Let's figure it out."
I help her sit over me, and guide myself into her. She closes her eyes to concentrate on taking me, and I watch my cock slip inside of her.
Oh, Merlin.
Her in that green bra, sinking down me. Of all the fantasies I've had in this bed, I don't think that was imagined.
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting to bottom out inside of her as her walls clench around me.
Of all the fantasies I've had in this bed, coming after two seconds was not imagined either.
She starts to move, and I have to watch. She lifts up, trying to find a good way to do this, and I almost help her but then she's flipping her hair over her shoulder and I definitely remember that part from my fantasies.
I grab her hips, and just lay back and watch her figure it out. Watch Hermione Granger solve a problem.
It's fascinating and exhilarating.
I reach up for her breast when she gets the hang of it, and she leans down on me, changing the angle. She bucks against me, and I take a moment to breathe.
She continues with that thought, jerking her hips into mine, and I'm groaning as I rub at her tits and let her fuck me.
She falls to her elbows, hips moving in a quick pace, her hair everywhere. And I find I don't have to help her at all.
I hold her hips as she searches for her own pleasure, using me. Her face is open and lips panting air.
She ruts against me, little moans pouring out of her, and I let her fuck me, just like I've always imagined. Taking control and knowing exactly what to do.
She goes faster, fucking herself on my cock. And my hips jump, meeting hers.
"Granger, yes," I whine. "Oh, fuck yes."
I hold her hip and bring my other hand to her clit. She gasps, and I continue to press up into her. Her thighs open wider, and she drops lower, moaning. I rub at her clit, feeling her flutter.
She grabs my face and kisses me, her curls in my mouth as we press our tongues together. Her hips keep snapping in small movements, searching for her climax.
She pulls up tall, and I get to watch her run her hand through her hair, panting hard in a green bra.
I get to pretend it's the Slytherin dormitories, and she's snuck in to fuck me.
She rolls her hips, bringing her hands to her breasts.
Goddess. She's so powerful like this. I'm just a side note in this story. She rides me, beginning to bounce on me, her tits jiggling, her thighs trembling. And I grab her hips and do my best to keep up. Try to touch her. Try to fuck her.
But she barely needs me as her hips slam down on me, using me to get off, trusting me to do the same.
Her cunt contracts, and her jaw drops open in a silent scream. She can't move as her body bends in bliss.
I roll us, feeling her walls holding me, and then I'm fucking her into the mattress, my face in her hair, her thighs around my hips.
"Fucking fuck," I groan into her neck, my hips pounding her, and it's so much better than my desk at work. Her cunt flutters, still going, and I don't want it to stop for her. I'll keep this pace forever if it means she's still coming.
Then her hands run into my hair, fingers gripping me as she yells out, honey dripping out of her between us, and I bite her neck to keep from screaming. She screams. And I'm grunting something into her, my hips fucking her, snapping deep. I feel her clamp down on me, and I come with a yell, her walls pulling at me in waves.
It feels like it lasts forever, pouring into her, breathing air from her. She moans into my ear and scratches at my back, and it feels like she comes again.
"I can't... oh, my god. I can't breathe."
I pull back and watch as she pants, staring into my eyes. Her walls pull at me and her eyelids flutter. She's beautiful and blissed and breathless.
She moans for me to come back to her when I slide out. I chuckle, and kiss at her chest, and whisper into her skin, "You're the most perfect thing in the world."
I turn us over, laying on my back with her in my arms. She rests for a moment, and then tugs her bra off, tossing it away. She presses her naked body along mine, throwing her leg over my thigh and dropping her head onto my chest.
"I'm coming back," she says. "For the bed."
"Just the bed?"
"And your mother, of course. The bed. And your mother."
"And the library."
"And the library. The bed, your mother, and the library."
I smile at the ceiling.
I never imagined this part. Never fantasized about her staying the night.
I trail my fingers up her arm, rounding her shoulder and back down, steering clear of the white scars on her forearm spelling a word I don't use any more. "My mother was very glad to have you over."
She hums, "I'm very glad to be friends with her again. I missed her."
I swallow, thinking of her without a mother for so long. And mine instructed to stay away. I confess, "That was my fault, I'm afraid. I told her to stay away from you. After your visit to Azkaban. After she miscalculated her control over my father." I feel her stiffen in my arms. "I'm sorry. I told her not to contact you again."
"Oh," she says. "I'm actually quite glad to hear that. She's the closest thing I feel I have to a mother. So, I'm glad to hear she hadn't given up on me."
Another stab to my chest. I hold her closer. "I'm sorry." She kisses my arm, accepting my apology. But I can't think of anything but Monica Wilkins sobbing in the bathroom, thinking there was a girl out there who needed her. "Have you ever gone down to Australia?"
"To... to see my parents?" I nod. "No. No, I don't... I don't really think I'd want to see them if they didn't remember me. If I had to pretend to be someone else."
I swallow, praying that Dr. Flanders has made progress. I slide my fingers across her arm, lulling her to sleep. "Have you looked into counter-curses?"
"A little bit," she says. "There's not been any success with reversing memory charms that deep. Removing an event is easy. You can recover it over time. But removing a person... It's too many events."
Exactly. Exactly as Dr. Flanders described. It seemed she had just never taken the next step to speak to a specialist. Probably too afraid of failure.
A calm happiness pours over me, suddenly very proud that I've done this for her. The beginning steps she couldn't take, I took for her.
"I'm sorry you had to do that." I don't elaborate.
"I know." She's drifting off to sleep, but I have to finish. I have to get it out.
My hand strokes down her arm as I say, "And I'm sorry I was on that mission. The one at your house."
"It's fine," she mumbles.
Sweet relief burns over me. I shouldn't have apologized while she was asleep, but I had to.
I part my lips, about to confess. To say: I was there to save you. I was there to save them.
"You wouldn't have hurt them," she hums. "I saw it on your face."
I guess that's enough. That she knows deep down that I wouldn't have hurt them.
She tumbles into sleep. And I stare at the ceiling, running my fingers over her arm.
I listen to her breathe.
I feel her air across my skin.
I saw it on your face.
I frown at the ceiling.
You wouldn't have hurt them. I saw it on your face.
Was she there? My chest tightens. Was she that close to danger that day?
Under Potter's Invisibility Cloak maybe?
No. Greyback would have scented them.
I almost rustle her to ask. To clarify.
But she was confused. She had to ask me why my blood was on her walls. She saw something on my face that day?
My eyes dance over my canopy curtains, wisping down from the tall bedposts. Wisping like memories.
My skin hardens. A chill running across the planes, tingling my face, tightening my toes. The muscles in my throat solidify, like choking on poured concrete.
It was impossible.
I saw it on your face.
I think back to the way I ran for her, desperate. The way I blasted open her bedroom door, searching every inch of the space for signs of her. The weight of the marble in my pocket, ready to take us away.
I saw it on your face.
I drag in a breath through a closed airway. The weight of her is too heavy on me. I peel myself from her, looking anywhere but the body in bed as I find my boxers.
It wouldn't be the first time she and Potter broke into the Ministry.
There's heat behind my eyes, sprouting forward into a pinch. A flush on my skin of embarrassment.
There was a time when she stopped asking me about that day. When it seemed like she dropped it. And there was a turning point where she wanted me again.
Where was it?
Something to do with werewolves.
Anything you need.
I need a map. Or a chart of this betrayal. Some kind of graph of her decisions over the past six months to spot the moment she decided to infiltrate my mind and steal things that don't belong to her.
It would spike in certain places, wouldn't it?
Meeting with Lucius behind my back.
Etiquette lessons.
She's still taking those lessons, I know. Still lying to me.
Another spike.
And suddenly I think of everything else locked away in the Ministry cabinets. And my mind floods with everything I wished I could lose when they pulled the wisps from my head.
What had she seen?
I sit at the foot of the bed, my trunks back on. I feel the weight of another person on the bed behind me. Haven't shared a bed with someone like this. Haven't trusted myself to sleep next to someone for years in fear that secrets would pour out of me in my dreams.
And she worked her way inside, slithering through the cracks.
The bed moves. The sheets slide.
"What are you doing?"
I breathe deep into this acid.
"Did Potter help you?"
But, of course he did. I just need to hear her say it.
"What?"
"Potter helped you get to the memories?"
She pauses too long. She tries confusion.
"It's just like Hogwarts, isn't it? You and Potter running around under an Invisibility Cloak, doing whatever the fuck you want, while the rest of us have to play by the rules."
"Draco. I'm ... I'm sorry—"
"Do you know how difficult it was for me to release those memories to the Wizengamot, Granger?" I hiss. "You know how hard I work to keep people out of my mind."
I think of Severus, standing over me as I try to keep my mind from flying into fragments after the Headmaster died.
Did she see that too?
Who I am kidding. She saw everything.
"I wanted to know you. I wanted to understand you." Her voice trembles. "I needed to know why your blood was on my living room walls."
"I told you why. You asked and I told you."
"Never the whole truth. You always leave something out."
I stand. A fire twisting through me. "Who says you're entitled to the whole truth?" I spit at her. She's sitting up in my bed, holding a sheet to her.
"I don't know how to apologize for this," she whispers.
I ignore her attempt at apology. "Which ones."
"What?"
"Which ones did you watch? Or did you grab some popcorn and play them all?"
"No. Just two. The one at my house. And the night the Snatchers brought us to Malfoy Manor."
I can hear her screaming. It echoes up through our chimneys, crawling like smoke from the drawing room below.
"Why?" I hiss at her, and her eyes are wet.
Good.
"I needed to know why you saved us. I needed to understand—"
"Why do you keep using that word!" My feet carry me to her, like I'll find answers if I can just breathe the same air as her. "I didn't save you, Granger. I did nothing. You were screaming on my drawing room floor and I stood there."
"That's not how I saw it."
She saw. She saw me weak for her. Saw me turn to the fireplace and crumble into a pile of bricks as she screamed.
"Oh, I'm so glad we both have seen these memories so now we can debate them."
"You did your best, Draco. You tried to help us then, and you would have helped me if there was an Auction. That's all I wanted to know about."
Did my best. Running around Hogwarts looking for her. Building castles in my mind to hide her in.
I remember this feeling. It hasn't sizzled me in such a long time, too wrapped up in her scent and her body, too grateful to be in her presence.
Like the wind could blow in either direction and I could fuck her or kill her.
"When you told me about the Auction for the first time," she says, "you told me you'd sell me for a profit. But your father told me something completely different."
Of course, he did. If Lucius hadn't gotten involved we could have continued to orbit each other. Bookstores and bar stools. Just shallow enough to keep me satiated.
Maybe Father saw this coming. Maybe he knew we'd end here, with her naked in my bed, explaining why she didn't trust me enough.
I turn to the balcony windows.
"So, I had to know! And I could tell he was right. You would have saved me."
I spin to her. "There's that word again." Saved. "You think I would have saved you at that Auction, Granger? You think I gathered all available funds, reached out to all relatives and contacts, so that I could set you free? Sent you running with a stolen wand? The room we passed on the way to mine? The first door? That was your room." I feel like dragging her in there. Just grabbing a chunk of her hair and shoving her inside so she can feel what it would have been like. "You were never getting out of here." I smirk at her, laughing at her. "I don't know why I bothered lying about recognizing you that night. You were always going to end up a prisoner in Malfoy Manor."
"So, you're telling me that belonging to you would have been the same as any other Death Eater?" she reasons, and I think of Rowle and Dolohov. "I would have served your dinner and been your entertainment at parties. Crucio'd when I disobeyed – at best. Passed around like a whore?"
We could have split her down the middle. In more ways than one!
I look away from her.
"I've had plenty of time to think on this, Draco, so let me know when to stop—"
"Stop."
She presses on. "You would have saved me. It wouldn't have been freedom, but it would have been the best you could have done—"
The best I could have done. Far, far from it.
"Do you think I would have been able to keep away from you?" I sneer at her. "That you would have lived out your days here and remained untouched."
"Yes." So quick and honest. "Don't try to scare me, Draco. I know what kind of person you truly are."
"Ah, yes. You've seen the worst of me, haven't you, Granger." I walk away from the bed. She has no fucking clue what the past five years have been like inside my head. "Just needed to tip a memory into a basin and it's like we've known each other forever."
"I'm sorry, Draco. I'm sorry. I didn't think I had another choice. I wanted to know you. I wanted to understand you—"
Hypocritical bitch. "Then ASK, Hermione. Don't take!" I'm screaming.
Her name is foreign on my tongue. And I feel a sense of brutal satisfaction that we both hear it aloud for the first time as a bastardized endearment.
A tear falls down her left check, and I look down to the carpets to keep from reaching for her.
What happens now.
She apologized. I don't accept.
We're... finished, I guess.
"I'd like for you to leave." She doesn't move, so I clarify, "Get out."
I head to my bathroom suite. I can't watch her get dressed.
I lean my forehead on the door. I can hear her slipping out of the sheets and for a moment I wonder if she's coming for me. If she'll wait me out.
My bedroom door closes.
My chest contracts.
Finished, I guess.
But she probably doesn't know her way out. I should probably—only gentlemanly to walk her out. And kiss her goodbye with a promise for tomorrow—
I'm out the bathroom suite and racing to the hallway, throwing my bedroom door open as a crack! bounces through the corridor, shattering the silence and rumpling the portraits.
I stumble to the place she just stood with Mippy, before the little elf vanished her. I stand in my trunks, sucking in air, figuring out what it is I am chasing. What I'm apologizing for. What I'm running through hallways for.
Is it worth it? If she doesn't trust me. If I never allow her to trust me.
It's not enough. Nothing I've done has been. Always just short of the mark.
I turn back to my room, and my eyes land on a door. Unmarked. Innocuous. The faintest hint of a Notice-Me-Not Charm that only I know to look for.
And I could tell he was right. You would have saved me.
Save her. Like an angel. Like Potter.
What was a mattress and a bookshelf compared to freedom. Compared to fighting, instead of running through a castle, hoping to catch a glimpse of brown curls.
My fingers twitch and the door opens, swinging wide.
What were two wingback chairs in front of a fireplace compared to pulling my wand on Bellatrix, cursing her in the back while the blade pulled across her unmarked skin?
What was a renovation, paid in favors and gold, knocking down the wall between suites and opening the first bedroom into a living area with bookshelves upon bookshelves, compared to That's not Harry Potter. His eyes are too close together.
What were cream bed curtains, falling down over a canopy bed as large as my own, feather pillows, heavy satin sheets, compared to cursing Greyback, Yaxley, and Dolohov in the back as they crawled into her home.
A laugh bubbles out of me as I look around the suite. What the fuck was all of this? How would this have made her forget she was a captive, made her forget her friends were likely dead.
Like she hadn't already read every book on these fucking shelves—
Like a sword cutting through their spines, each book is bisected, tops falling off and pages fluttering to the ground.
The wingback chairs explode open. Why would I provide two? What company did I expect her to entertain? What a mockery.
The armoire catches fire, burning the clothes I prepared for her arrival. The curtains around her bed sizzle with blue electricity before catching periwinkle flames and turning her bed into a pyre.
I stand, burning in the destruction.
Like anything would have been enough.
I should have run to Dumbledore. Just before sixth year, when I'd been given the task. I should have committed myself to the Order.
It still wouldn't have been enough.
The flames glint off a reflective surface deep within the room, shining mirrors and brass back at me.
And I hate Severus Snape for doing this to me. For giving me the option to keep her hidden, to keep her safe—
You would have saved me.
I shake my head, glaring at the jewelry box on her bedside table. I had thought it was a fitting home for it.
I stretch my hand for my wand, and it clatters through my bedroom, into the hallway, and slides into my outstretched fingers.
I wave my hand and quiet the room. Smoke and fluttering pages remain.
I point my wand at the jewelry box, summoning it forward to the ground in front of me. It's the only thing in this room that deserves to go.
"Diffindo!"
It bounces once.
I snarl, "Bombarda!"
It spins on itself, mocking me, top still closed.
"Incendio! Deletrius!"
What did Severus do. Almost like it wasn't the first time someone had tried to destroy it.
I send it against the wall. Not a dent in its side.
I freeze it, heat it.
My blood is thundering. This fucking box ruining my life for five years, mocking me. Keeping her locked away like a pretty cream room in a manor. Can't touch her in her box. Won't be able to hurt her in her box.
Keep her in her box and she won't hurt you.
"Avada Kedavra."
It explodes in a shower of mirrors and brass and blue velvet. Something slices my cheek, blood mixing with the slide of tears down my face. It smokes. And quiets.
I stare at the hole in the ground, waiting. Waiting for something to feel different. Better.
A scrap of blue velvet flutters from the ceiling, sliding down to fall over my shoulder. I pluck it off my skin and run my fingers over it as I walk a wide circle around the blasted carpet, stepping on glass and brass in my bare feet, my blood mixing into the book pages and blue velvet.
I gather the remains, pulling the glass out of my feet, piling the brass and hinges, holding the fabric in trembling fingers.
And I piece it back together.
~*~
Saturday, May 2, 1998 - later
Second floor girls' bathroom. Second floor girls' bathroom.
I skid around corners. There are spiders as large as four-posters crawling down corridors. Ghosts glistening through walls on horseback.
I take the stairs down two at a time. I can hear voices, hers interspersed like a drum beat.
"But how did you get in there? You need to speak Parseltongue!"
Potter.
"He did! Show him, Ron!"
I peek around the corner and she's standing there, staring at Weasley like he cured Dragon Pox. They're holding bones in their arms.
"I had to have a few goes to get it right," Weasley crows, "but, we got there in the end."
"He was amazing!" She smiles brightly at him. "Amazing!"
I watch as they regroup. I watch her eyes rove over Weasley, drinking him in like she's just realized how thirsty she is.
I remember her on my drawing room floor. She's much recovered. No lasting damage. I wonder if the scar is still there. If she was able to heal the skin in time.
They run off. All three of them, like they're not about to die. And maybe they won't.
I check both directions, and follow.
An explosion to my left blows me off my feet. I land on my side, trying to remember how to breathe and I can hear several new battles beginning around me. I lie there, mentally examining my ribs.
I pull myself up to my feet and watch as the fighters move away.
I'm alone again.
A gurgling to my right.
"Malfoy."
I turn to find Rowle on his back, blood coming up from his lungs, reaching out with wide fingers for his wand inches away.
"Malfoy. Help."
He's got a gash in his side, probably from the explosion. It's an easy fix. A basic skin-knitting charm to get him on his feet again.
"My wand..."
I watch as he stretches, tearing the delicate flesh above his hip.
He coughs, and I see blood bubble out of him.
"Just need my wand."
Cold sweat across my arms. I step towards him, and pull my wand up to aim at his wound. It's a simple twist and twirl motion.
"Thank you," he gasps, and waits for me to cast.
We could have split her down the middle. In more ways than one!
I smile as my wand presses into him, and he howls. I kneel on his chest, digging the wood into his wound, and whisper a slicing charm, watching his eyes bulge as I split him down the middle.
I stand tall, step over him, kick his wand down the stones, and watch him as he gasps and gurgles, making sure I'm the last thing he sees.
I wipe my wand on his robes, and continue following the bounce of curls through the castle.