Chapter Three – And rejections come in twos
Hermione lifted her cup with trembling hands as she sipped at the cocoa. She hadn't told the others what she'd seen. She'd made up a believable story of the torture that he'd committed and the crimes that he'd witnessed. Yes, that was believable. Much more so than it would be if she'd told them that she'd found memories of Draco Malfoy sleeping with Blaise, and enjoying it. Being a very willing and in-depth lover.
She could almost taste him.
Hermione shuddered a little and curled into her chair deeper, her eyes staring unseeingly at the fire that crackled merrily in the fireplace. The flames were dancing, intricately, intoxicatingly – much like her and Draco… like Draco and Blaise. A shiver coursed through her again. She couldn't help it. That much… lust. Well, she'd never had anything like that before. It'd overwhelmed her, to say the least. She bit her lip nervously, almost jumping and spilling her drink as Remus's hand gently touched her shoulder. "Hermione?" He sounded worried, she noted in a slightly dazed manner as she glanced up at him. It was well past four AM. Remus looked worn too, his clothing wrinkled, as though he'd tried sleeping in them before finally coming to get her.
"Remus." She wasn't trying to be a smart ass, but she had to admit that her comment sounded a little off-coloured as she made it. It was more that her thought process was too thoroughly blocked by her earlier visions to process anything beyond simple things – names and places.
"Coming to bed soon?" His voice was so hopeful. Hermione knew how he hated to sleep alone. She looked down at her cocoa before nodding and standing on unsteady feet. Her body seemed to shake and wobble as she stood, leaning against the chair for balance as she smiled at him weakly.
"Yeah." She set her cocoa down, deciding that the house elf could take care of it for the time being. She hated leaving things for them, but she knew that she really didn't have the mental energy to do anything beyond moving to the bedroom and passing out.
In the bedroom, Remus gently coerced her into sex, the soft touches and mumbled words making things a little better. But at the end of it all, when he pulled her close and tightly gripped her as he came… she couldn't help but wonder, disgustingly, in the back of her mind… what would it have been like if that had been Malfoy?
Draco lazily flipped the hair clip over, watching the lamplight flicker over it as it fell back into his palm. He'd looked over it closely, very closely, tracing the patterns with his eyes as he lounged in his rooms, or Blaise's, or at the dinner table, when he was forced into making an appearance. The clip went with him where ever he was – it didn't matter where, or who was around. When his father inquired about his marriage, Draco replied calmly that if they could find the girl, he'd gladly marry her and create at least ten little Malfoy's to keep them busy.
There'd been no luck in finding her. Though Draco acted as though he couldn't care either way, he did. He wanted to find that girl. He knew that her name wasn't really Ellie, so what was it? Alexandra? London? Lydia? Something exotic, he thought to himself. Something… dangerous. Oh she was dangerous and he knew it all right. He wasn't going to lie to himself at all about her.
But she was a cat, and he was a wolf. They naturally chased each other. Draco flipped the barrette into the air again, watching it calmly as it fell into his palm with a little sound.
And the wolf always won.
"There's been reports of some suspicious movement around a small suburb…" the recorder droned on in his pompous way as Voldemort tapped the arm of the chair he was sitting in with his nails, which in Draco's opinion, were grotesquely long. Voldemort waved his hand in a dismissive air, glaring as the man backed down.
"Does anyone have anything interesting to tell me?" His voice was a low growl in the room which was now deathly quiet. After the few seconds of ice-cold silence, a shuffling of parchment and chairs began, the council like setting suddenly rushing about and falling over themselves like school children to find something interesting to tell the dark lord. Anything to catch his attention. This was how they competed for places of honor, Draco knew. He couldn't stand them. Groveling, whining, their tail's between their legs. Draco thought it rather disgusting, all in all, but life was as it was: Voldemort held the power. If you wanted power, you kissed ass.
Draco never kissed ass unless he had to. Unless those nice Malfoy survival instincts set in.
"Draco, have you found that damn girl yet?" Voldemort's icy glare turned to him, which caused all the others in the room to freeze like deer in the headlight. Draco looked loftily over to Voldemort. He was sitting on the side of the room, his one leg flipped over the arm of the wooden chair he was in. His fingers traced over the barrette in his pocket idly for a second before he shrugged. He was playing dangerously, he knew, but he was suffering a hell of a hang over, and wasn't in a good enough mood to care. He was too valuable to kill off, he knew. The most Voldemort would do was a few good crucios, and they were almost bearable by now. Not that he enjoyed it or anything, but hey, you did get used to them after a while.
"Not yet, my lord." His voice was disinterested and a little airy.
Voldemort growled in the back of his throat at Draco, his eyes narrowed to small slits as he spoke lowly and threateningly, "You will find someone, Draco. That's an order, do you understand?"
Draco looked from his lap to Voldemort as he stood, brazenly shrugging as he stepped away a little. "I'd best get to looking, then, yes?" He turned from Voldemort and started to walk out.
He hadn't really expected to get away with it, so the familiar cold voice, the pain chasing up his spine as it brought him to his knees was nothing he hadn't expected. The thing that he really hadn't expected though, was the memory that came flashing back at him. Her eyes.
"MALFOY!" The shriek that rang through the Hogwarts courtyard was enough to send the birds in their tower a good mile away fluttering out of their roosts to screech with it. Draco leaned casually against the wall as he looked over, flipping the pale blonde hair from his eyes, revealing the fair complexion and slightly sharp features that hid under it. His robe swayed a bit in the wind as he watched her come storming out of the main school area into the center of the courtyard.
It was Granger, the little mudblood wench. He was wondering how long it would take her to figure out that it was he who had jinxed her books to lose their text the minute she opened them. It had been surprisingly effective, and easy, too. Which had made it an immediate favorite of his.
She was a storm, or at least that's how he remembered it. Her hair splayed around her shoulders, grown out and still slightly frizzy, her eyes flashing and her fists clenched at her sides. She radiated the anger and frustration. Oh, he knew that she'd looked for the counter for hours, days, perhaps. He'd done it last Friday. Poor Granger. No books for her over the weekend. Well, that's what she got for leaving them in the Head's Common room, now wasn't it?
She'd come up to him, and tried to slap him. He'd caught her wrist, effortless, in his memory, though he'd almost missed it in reality. She was screaming at him, that much he knew. But in his memory of it, in the excruciating pain that flashed through him and prompted him, he could only think of her eyes. Honey coated chocolate. His thoughts were not on how she'd yelled and kicked him, almost preventing him from having any children, though a slight turn to the left kept that part of him safe. He didn't ponder on how she was crying at him almost. How her helplessness had made him feel so… wonderful? How he'd so easily fed off the sense of power that she gave him. Those were unfavorable memories, and they didn't really flatter him in the least. So he chose not to remember them at this point in time, at least.
When the pain let up, Draco sucked in a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. His lungs felt like they'd been drained of all air, and were now painfully being re-inflated. In all reality, that probably wasn't far from the truth. Draco didn't let himself scream. He simply exhaled until he couldn't any more. His father had gotten a scream, once, when he was younger. After that little experience, after how weak it'd made him feel, how pathetic and low… well, that never happened again. He never intended for it to, either. Draco was not the type of person to let things like that occur more than they absolutely had to. So with stiff resolution, Draco rose, leaning heavily on the wall as he continued walking. By the time he made it to Blaise's room, his legs were shaking so badly that they would barely hold him. He was leaning against the door frame, smiling weakly and faintly at Blaise's surprised expression before he fell forward, his palms sliding against the carpet in an excruciating jolt of pain before he hurled.
"Evening, sunshine." Draco commented in a bitter tone before he slumped down, watching with half a mind as Blaise cleaned up his mess and helped him in calmly.
Hermione stretched out in the bed, her eyes staring up at the ceiling of her and Remus's room while she listened silently to the sound of water coming from the shower. She hadn't slept well the past few nights, but that was nothing new. She'd taken to staying up late and staring at the fire with a cup of tea or cocoa, which ever seemed easiest to get a hold of at the moment. She gave a soft sigh and pulled the blanket up a little more, tucking it under her chin, fluffing it forward enough to cover her chin and lips. She'd been chewing on her bottom lip – her nervous habit at its best. She had never been able to stop that, really. She'd switched from nails to her lip, and, well, she had to have some sort of nervous tic. She could taste the faint metallic tang of blood. It was a common taste for her these days, and something that she dearly wished would stop. But no matter how many times she told herself she would stop… well, it just never worked out the way she wanted it to. Something else would come back, and on her lip she would work again, worrying away at it as her brain raced to find something to distract her from it all. From this life that she lived, or tried to.
The memories from Draco had seared into her so completely, that she couldn't forget them. She had tried everything. And by everything, well, she had done everything. She'd even gotten a little tipsy one evening and pushed Remus up against a wall on her way to the bedroom. Sad, angry sex, pungent alcohol breath, and a breakdown at the end for the finishing touch. Even that hadn't helped. If anything, she was more awkward around Remus now. She avoided him throughout the day, burying herself in her books, swamping herself in Latin and Greek and finding spells, brushing them up, rewriting them. Surviving another day. Fall into bed, barely able to think, and hopefully she wouldn't dream of anything.
Last night she'd woke up in a cold sweat, her cheeks flushed, cold air attacking the sweat on her, shivers coursing up and down her as she tried to regain her sense of place. How real it was to her – maybe that's what scared her. Kissed so hard she couldn't breathe, her eyes closed and the blood singing in her ears as she tried to be closer and closer to Blaise – she wanted to be as close as possible to him, because if she couldn't be close to him, who could she be? Who would want her? And she woke up feeling like no one would want her, so insecure. Was that how Draco felt?
She didn't want to admit that she felt sorry for him sometimes. That she wondered, sometimes, if he was really as bad as they had always thought. But she refused to budge. She might pity him, but he was a horrible person who deserved every bit he got. And that was that.
Out. That was her one thought as she pulled on her clothes, rushing suddenly. Out, before Remus notices. Before her keeper pulls in her leash and her senses. Before anyone notices. Out, out, out where people won't look at her like that, won't look with pity and notice the bags under her eyes, out.
Soon, she was out. She didn't sign out, which she would regret later, but she had to get out. Had to. There was just no other way for her to survive. The house was closing in, and it all smelt like Blaise and felt like Draco and made noises that Hermione didn't want to think about. When she was free, more free than she'd been in a few weeks, she broke down and cried. Cried because she didn't know what to do. She couldn't make it better, or could she? She didn't know. She didn't know, and lord, what she'd do for an answer. For a fix all. Even though Hermione Granger didn't believe in fix alls. They were silly and childish. But lord, how she wanted one.
So she sat on the curb and cried, leaning against the mailbox post, her arms crossed and her face buried. Her shoulders were hunched and shaking. And the small suburbia muggles looked on with wary wonder, and crossed the street.
You just couldn't tell these days.
Draco glared at Goyle as the still rather dull bulk of a man made his way around the neighborhood. He was weaving about on the sidewalk. Low profile my ass, Draco thought to himself as he watched people stop and stare at him. Though Goyle had earned some respect in his time under the service of the dark lord, he'd never really made an outstanding name for himself. He'd been sent to check out this little suburb as a sort of default. Usually, Crabbe would be accompanying him. As punishment though, it was now Draco's little duty to keep track of Goyle and make sure there were no wizards stirring up rebellion in this area. Though Draco could see why they'd choose the area, he didn't see how any of them would be able to stand it.
Maybe it had something to do with surviving, he thought to himself a little viciously as he kicked at an abandoned pop can.
He hadn't forgotten what the flash of memory had brought at him. At first, he hadn't believed it. It couldn't have been Hermione Granger who he'd been dancing with. She'd never been overly graceful, and to top it off, he knew her body didn't look like that. But he'd also never really checked all that intently, had he? Of course not. Not that it mattered. He wasn't likely to see her again, and that was what was driving him crazy. Not only would he have to find a new woman to marry, well, there'd be other things. But he knew in all rationality that he wouldn't have been able to marry her in the first place. Once people found out who she really was, well, it was well known that she was a mudblood. The fact that she was wanted dead would matter little. If she was pureblood, well, Draco would get what he wanted. Even if few in the court held any like for him, he did have the power to do generally what he wanted.
Goyle peered at the report he was holding and pointed a thick finger at the paper, jabbing at a piece that had been highlighted. The area where disturbances had been reported. Where muggles thought they'd seen some rather strange things happening, and various other events that had piqued Voldemort's interest. Though this was a punishment job for Draco, it was still a somewhat needed one, in the least. They had to make sure that people weren't really up to anything in the first place. If they were, well, it could be troublesome.
The wizards in this new order were well aware that rebellious groups still lived on. They had no insiders in the group though, since they were almost as cruel as Voldemort's own when it came to letting people in. They'd lost a few people due to that, and Draco had been almost impressed. He'd recognized Granger's handiwork on the last one that they'd sent in. The spell was very much her style, and very good, he hated to admit.
But he would admit it, because it was just in his head. It wasn't like he had to talk to anybody about how he could appreciate the spells or something like that. Draco brushed some hair from his eyes, the flash of irritation at his current job passing before he looked to Goyle, his face once again blank. "Fine. You take that way. Try not to look too obvious, please?" His voice was a little more than exasperated. Goyle was not known for his finesse when it came to these matters, and that happened to be something that Draco rather wanted in this operation. But he had little choice as to whom he was working with, this time at least. Draco was more used to doing things solo and not having to depend on others. He hated depending on others.
Goyle nodded, actually seeming to take the words in, though Draco knew that the only thing Goyle was now thinking about was getting this over with so he could eat something. Goyle's mind was always on food of some sort.
As Draco stalked off, muttering curses about Goyle, he couldn't help but let his thoughts drift back lazily to Granger. He liked the irony of his mother's statement – the one about Granger being intelligent. If she was so intelligent, what the hell had she been doing there in the middle of Voldemort's lair? Draco knew in his gut that he should tell someone about what had been happening, but in a selfish way, he liked having the secret. He hadn't even told Blaise anything about her. Blaise also hadn't asked, but that was how he was. Blaise didn't ask in a very interested way unless it involved him personally, and he knew it didn't, so he let Draco be. The subject was also delicate because of how they were with each other.
Draco was thankful for the privacy. He felt like his mind was a play area for almost every senior member of Voldemort's group. He'd caught his father testing at him earlier yesterday, and he'd thought he'd felt traces of his mother there too. He hated it when people tried to pry in his brain. It was his, dammit.
He made an annoyed sound as he kicked at an empty pop can. Filthy muggles, he thought to himself distantly as he walked along. They couldn't even pick up after themselves, could they? Had to leave their trash and waste all around as though they were the superior beings – as though they had some right to do this type of thing to the world. Well, they didn't.
So involved in his thoughts, Draco didn't notice the small gasp from the shabby looking blob sitting on the curb. Pale grey eyes flashed up as he stared out from under his lashes. Granger. Wasn't this just wonderful, he thought to himself?
She had clearly realized who he was and was now scrambling away from him, trying to stand but her legs just kept giving out a little each time, making her running steps away from him more like tiptoes. He fingered his wand under his jacket. He'd donned a jacket of his father's that appeared muggle enough to let him get around without being noticed. He thought it rather flattering, himself. For something that resembled muggles, at least.
"Wee little Granger, all alone?" Draco watched coolly as she fumbled about in her own pockets searching for her wand, he guessed. He snorted at her in disdain. "And without her wand. What a shame." He felt like a wild animal on the prowl. When she took off, her legs finally in working order, he was after her just as quickly. He could feel his blood pounding in his ears, the sound of his feet hitting the pavement the only thing he could concentrate on. Slap, slap, slap, pause for the jump over the curb, slap, slap – she was trying to make it across someone's front yard, dodging around a corner when he lunged at her. Draco had enough skill to manage a successful tackle. She was on the ground in seconds, Draco on her as she withered under him, whimpering. Like a flower in the desert heat.
She screamed after a moment, as though actually realizing what was going on. Draco slapped her hard across her mouth, his face remaining plain and emotionless as he watched her. Her lip was bleeding. He dipped a fingertip in the blood and raised it to his eyes to examine as he commented caustically, "So this is what mudbloods look like on the inside." He wiped it off on her shirt, still sitting on her chest. It didn't occur to him how strange it would look to any passerby. Draco was too busy wanting answers to care.
"You were at the ball, Miss Langt" He stated the fact coldly and blankly. Her look of surprise gave him a rather large amount of satisfaction.
She was shaking her head, squirming still. Poor little Granger, he thought to himself. And what's she doing out of hiding, hm? She knew it was a big, bad world out here, where only tough wizards, like himself, survived.
Draco pulled out her hair clip and flashed it to her. Hermione's eyes widened at that, her mouth opened in a small little 'o' as she stared for a second. Honey swirled in chocolate. That seemed to thoroughly set her off though and she retaliated immediately. She was kicking and clawing at him, before she hissed brutally, her eyes narrowed to slits, "How's Blaise, Draco? Sat on him lately? Or maybe you've finally found a little wifey to put up with your little fetishes."
Draco hadn't expected that. What the – how did she know about that? Such venom, from Granger? In his stunned moment, she squirmed harder and managed to wiggle out from under him. She crawled away from him some, crouching, looking like a cornered animal. There were pieces of grass sticking to her in places, flyaway hairs raising in the faint wind. Her shirt was torn a bit, and he could see just the first hint of a pale curve of breast. Buttermilk. Chocolate, honey, buttermilk. Goyle would be proud.
Draco's eyes flicked up as he righted himself, pulling his wand out on her.
Hermione flinched at the sight of the wand. She'd been careless. She'd run out without taking her own, and here she was, faced with a death eater in return for all her brains. She bared her teeth at him, using it as something to try and make herself feel braver than she was at the moment. She'd read in books that animals would try to puff out and make themselves seem bigger than they really were to intimidate predators. Though Hermione was no animal, she could at least make herself appear as threatening as possible. It was her last resort.
Draco's gaze narrowed on her for a moment. What was she playing at? She was left losing, he knew. It would only take two words and he would end it all. And anything else she'd happened to figure out would be just as dead as her. "I was sort of hoping you'd be my 'wifey,' Granger. But I think I just decided that you'd be much more useful dead." His words were as cold as steel, his eyes flashing a little at her. Of course she wouldn't realize the truth in the statements. But he'd only wanted to marry her when he was being forced to marry, and that was before he realized who she really was. It seemed like ages ago that he'd had that curious little memory that sparked this all.
Hermione was frantically trying not to remember certain somethings that were trying to work their way into her mind. She could see a bit of his collar bone from beneath his shirt which was askew. His words didn't even throw her off course. Dead, so be it. Everyone in the Order knew this was their fate sooner or later. She was sorry for Remus though. She'd never been what he needed, and in the last few days… it'd just been worse, she knew.
"He tastes like cinnamon," Hermione commented quietly as she straightened herself out. If she was to die, she was going to do it standing, not crouching and growling like a caged animal. She brushed herself off as she looked up to him. Draco seemed to be thinking about something. Hermione felt strangely calm. She wondered absently if this was how kamikazes felt. Did they get this calm, smooth feeling? As though life was in slow motion? Draco's wand was still pointed at her, the tip aimed solidly at her midsection.
"How do you know that?" He was staring at her intently, his question little more than a whisper. Blaise did taste like cinnamon. A pleasant little trace of a taste due to the boy always nibbling on cinnamon sticks when he was nervous. He had them in his tea, and often in various other foods. Draco always associated cinnamon with Blaise.
Hermione gave a little ironic smile as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was provoking him, she knew. Maybe part of her wanted to die? Wanted to end it right here and now? "He likes your noises, the ones you make when he takes off your pants and –" She was cut off abruptly by Draco's scream.
"Stop it!" He was so thrown off by this all. He didn't know how to deal with someone knowing these things. Not even Blaise would discuss those things with him. His cheeks were tinged with a little red, the colour creeping up his face. How could this little mudblood whore know anything about him? Those were not memories he wore on his sleeves in the first place – he had to hide them from everyone anyways. He guarded them more fastidiously than any other memory of his, save maybe the ones that linked to her. She was his little secret.
Hermione was taking a dirty little pleasure in seeing Draco distraught. His tousled hair made him look bewildered and confused. She was quiet and slow as she continued on. "Come on, Malfoy. Do it already."
Draco's hand had started to tremble.
Hermione's mouth felt sick. Like it was coated in something unpleasant. She hadn't ever talked like that before – said things that were even remotely sexual. Even when Remus caught her in a good mood, she never did more than whimper. Never said the words. Good little girls like Hermione didn't say things like 'fuck me.' He'd gotten a 'please' out of her, once. But this was a different feeling. The words weren't inspired by lust or want – but instead by malice and hate… and perhaps a bit of disgust? Hermione had never been that curious about other people's sex lives. Maybe it was jealousy.
"C'mon… Dracy." That was what Pansy had called him, when they'd been dating in school. If you wanted to call it dating, that is. It was more like her hanging on him and him occasionally sleeping with her.
Draco closed his eyes at that name. He hadn't heard that in ages. Not since Pansy got killed. He still wasn't sure who had killed her, but he would send flowers to the person, if he could. Hell, he'd gladly give them a farm and some cows. He couldn't stand Pansy. And that would've been who he'd have ended up marrying if things had all worked out. Sometimes, Draco liked it when things didn't work out.
"Go home, Granger. Go home." Draco's words came out between teeth that were gnashed together tightly. His fist was clenched at his side, his other holding his wand, still pointing at Hermione. He didn't know why he was doing this. But he couldn't kill her. A year or two ago, hell, a week ago, he would've easily done it. Would've done it without pausing. Would've done something at least, instead of just standing around and waiting for her to run. Instead of telling her to run; wanting her to escape.
Hermione's eyebrows raised, her body still tensed as she looked at him. Go home? What the bloody hell was Malfoy on, she wondered to herself. Was he so low as to kill her in the back? When she turned and tried to 'go home?' Was he really that pathetic? She gave a small, Malfoy-worthy sneer and retorted sharply, "Being a real man there, Malfoy." She took the dig because she didn't know what else to do. It was natural to her, to get at him when she could. And since she didn't know how to deal with her present situation, she naturally went back to something that was comfortable and habitual: insulting him.
Draco forced his shaky arm to lower, his wand pointing at the ground after a pause. He was breathing sharply through his nose, his eyes narrowed at her. "You have no idea, Granger."
She had no wand. He could walk away from this. Go find Goyle. Go report. Go jump off a very large building and try to fly. He shook his head a little, tossing a few pieces of hair from stormy eyes that seemed more shadowed than Hermione had ever remembered them being. Something about the way he looked at her unnerved her. It was a look of utter hate, she knew. But something in it had changed. And that made her uneasy. Hermione took a wary step backwards, her body instinctively curling up a bit more, her back arching to make herself smaller.
Draco looked at her, and bowed in a graceful sweeping manner, his legs only a little stiff. "Miss Langt," he commented, all the confusion and bitterness that he felt seeping into his words.
Then he turned. And he walked away.
Hermione's jaw dropped a little as she watched him. You have no idea, Granger. What was that supposed to mean, she wondered? And the bow? Hermione stood up straight, her legs trembling now that her fear was subsiding. She had to get back, she knew. She had to think. Maybe that would help.
A/N: There's chapter three; everyone be appeased. Four is only partially done, as school is trying to eat me alive I think. I have a three day weekend, so perhaps I'll get plenty done. Not to mention the fact that I'm going on a beach trip. A two hour car ride time for Sketchy to write. Praise Allah. Thank you everyone who has reviewed -- it's been kinda shitty here, and the reviews really make my day. Hope everyone's well and enjoying the fic! And if anyone would be my beta, that would be nifteh... my current one is rather busy and so this is only partially beta-ed. I'm sorry for any horrible mistakes. Sketchy -- 10/12/06
