Today feels like a drink wine and stare at pictures of Joe Biden kind of day. Unfortunately, I'm at work so I can only do the second thing. My boss did give me a great tip for day drinking, but I feel like she'd be suspicious if I walked around with a Sprite bottle all day. By the way, that's the tip - white wine in a Sprite bottle. I take no responsibility for anyone getting drunk at noon!
Chapter 3
To protect you.
Draco couldn't understand why she felt compelled to protect him. "You were forced into your situation," she continued. "That's why I didn't tell anyone. You didn't deserve to be in further trouble."
Disturbed by her ability to compartmentalize, he merely nodded. "What do you see more - Bellatrix or me?" he wondered.
"Her," she replied, holding out her glass in a silent request for a refill. "Bellatrix I knew could do some real damage."
Laughing, he sat down beside her, sarcastically thanking her. "I'm a lover, not a fighter, Granger. You should know that by now," he remarked. Rolling her eyes, Hermione snorted. "I've never wanted to hurt you."
"No?" she asked. "Not even when the Chamber of Secrets was opened?"
Though his cheeks reddened, his gray eyes were filled with curiosity. "How did you know about that?" he inquired. Blushing, she mumbled something about having her ways.
"You know, that cut never quite healed," she said. "Big scar on my leg, thanks to you. I've always wondered why you did that."
"Better than the alternative," he muttered, draining the contents of his glass.
Brow furrowed in confusion, she handed him her empty glass and stood. "You should really eat something," she said as she moved toward the door.
"So should you," he called after her as the door closed behind her. Alone, he stewed in booze and his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he saw her capture all over again. Somehow, the Golden Trio had gotten the Sword of Gryffindor and his aunt was hellbent on discovering how. It belonged in her vault, she had insisted, and she demanded to know how it came to be in their possession. Hermione, bleeding and sobbing from knife cuts and several rounds of the Cruciatus Curse, had no answers. She was given to him to "coax" out the answers. He knew what it meant, but couldn't do it. He wouldn't hurt her. Instead, he cut her leg to make it look like he had committed the despicable act they thought would work.
He remembered how she shook in his arms, dreading what would happen to her. Taking her to an empty guest bedroom, he had placed her on the bed and warded the room against intruders. "Rip the button off of your pants," he instructed. Curled in a fetal position, she stared at him fearfully. "I have no intentions of doing to you what they want me to do to you. I just need to make it look like I did. Do it, or they kill us both."
Her hands shook as she pulled the button loose from her dirty jeans and handed it to him. Pointing his wand at her leg, he cut a quarter inch laceration that bled into the fabric of her pants to make it look like he had taken her virginity. Lifting the wards, he told her to scream. It was hoarse, but effective. "I'm so sorry, Granger," he murmured, sitting beside her. He placed his hand over the wounds on her arm and leg, hoping to stop the bleeding. Letting go of her leg, he pulled out his wand. "I have to plant some memories, just in case my aunt checks. Please...just don't hate me for this."
Blood was smeared on her clothes and face before she was returned to the main drawing room and Bellatrix Lestrange. Draco had watched her the whole time, rebuking his mother's comfort, as his aunt scoured her memories to no avail. It wasn't until Harry Potter and Ron Weasley broke out of the dungeons and escaped with Hermione that he breathed.
Putting down his glass, he left his room. Once in the hall, he pounded on her door. Hermione stared at him with wide eyes when the door opened. "Um, long time no see?" she muttered.
"Look, I just need to know that we're okay," he said hurriedly. "I want to know that we can get along here. I don't expect your forgiveness for what's been done, but if there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable-"
"Draco," she interrupted, "just stop for a minute. I've told you already that I'm okay with...this, with being colleagues. I appreciate the drinks. I just...we were never friends. I don't know that now is the time to start."
Hanging his head, he mumbled a good night and returned to his rooms. That night, he stared at the ceiling until the sun came up the next morning. Exhausted and disoriented, he spent the morning lessons in a daze. When noon rolled around, he received a surprise visitor.
"Staying in here all day, not teaching the kids anything?" Neville asked, leaning against the door frame. Draco looked up briefly, frowned, and resumed his reading. "Is this about Hermione? She told me about last night. You really think she'd forgive you and be your friend after everything you did?"
"It's not what you think," he mumbled, closing the textbook.
Neville snorted. "You should still be in Azkaban," he muttered. "Why Hermione felt the need to protect you I'll never know."
"I didn't hurt her," Draco insisted. "I'd never hurt her. I did what I had to do to save the both of us. She told you about that night, right? What if I told you it didn't happen the way she thought it did?"
Dark brows furrowed as Neville moved into the room, taking a seat in front of the desk. "What does that mean?" he asked.
Taking a deep breath, Draco finally told his side of the story. "I couldn't do it," he said. "For all the animosity between us all those years, when I finally had the chance to hurt her, I couldn't. I didn't want to. I made her think I raped her, Neville. For five years, she's walked around with memories of me doing something so vile and disgusting to her, and I understand why she hates me."
"Tell her the truth," Neville advised. Snorting, the blond shook his head. "She might believe you, and even if she doesn't, at least you've gotten it off your chest. Eventually she'll come around to believing you."
"And if she doesn't?" Draco wondered. "I was trying to protect her by planting those memories. What if I can't reverse them? What if she never believes me?"
Sighing, Neville shrugged. "Then she doesn't," he replied. "At least you know she'll know the truth. I think she'll believe it though."
Reluctantly, Draco agreed, hoping to all the gods that Neville Longbottom was right.
