CHAPTER FOUR: Truth Hurts

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I know! I know! The last chapter was awful! But honestly, do you want them to be all happy all the time? There is a reason for her being all grr and it will be explained. Patience, my witches in training. Patience. Just keep in mind this is story is rated M and it deals with language, sexual situation, and overall kinkiness. Warning you here, yet again, because you can never warn someone enough.

Oh! And! I just became a US citizen last week! So, I find myself wishing you all a happy memorial day. Enjoy.

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She knew she was dreaming but she didn't care. His lips were making their way up her bare legs, tickling her beneath the water. She laughed and threw her head back as his hand slid up under her shirt and clawed into her ribs, dragging along the lines of her bones.

She called out his name and suddenly awoke, mortified to find her legs spread wide open under the sheets and her panties practically soaked through. Dear God, she could still feel his hands on her and her ribs were starting to pink up as though somebody really had clawed their way across her torso. Had she done it to herself in her sleep? No. This was different. If she could see herself in his eyes, he could force himself into her dreams.

She opened her bedside table and pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote, You bastard. I know what you're doing. Don't start something in our dreams unless you can finish it in real life.

She folded it up and set it down on her vanity table, saving it for next she saw an owl.

"Hermione, dear!" her mother called from below. "Come down to dinner!"

"Just going to take a shower first, mum!" she shouted down the stairs.

Her mother looked down at her father who stared at the mashed potatoes with deep desire. "Another one?" he groaned. "Did she develop some sort of germ phobia or something at that school?"

Mrs. Granger laughed and sat down on the table. "Go ahead, Marcus," she said. "She won't mind if you start."

Mr. Granger waited for his wife to take the first bite but she never did. She had decided to wait and so, as part of some sort of secret marital vow he'd somehow inherited, it meant he was to wait as well. He crossed his arms like a petulant child and slid forward into his chair. Ten minutes later, Hermione came running down the stairs. Her parents eyed her suspiciously then dug into their now cold dinner.

"Something you want to tell us, dear?" Mrs. Granger asked over the rim of her reading glasses, reminding Hermione of Dumbledore when he spoke to Harry.

She shook her head and slid down into the chair, staring firmly at the pumpkin centerpiece. "Just worried about my exams, as always."

They seemed to believe it and went on with their food. A few minutes later, a memory struck Mr. Granger and he gave a jump in his seat. "Oh! 'Mione! You're going to love this!" he shouted, flinging mashed potatoes at the wall. "How'd you like to take a trip with us to Italy for New Years?"

She gulped and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't," she whispered. "I've made plans."

They dropped their forks and turned to her. "What sort of plans?"

Hermione sighed deeply and pushed her plate aside. She knew they wouldn't be hungry after she told them the truth. "Alright… Mom. Dad. We need to talk…"

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1 Hour Later

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"HE'S A WHAT?!" shouted Mr. Granger, pacing before his wife who sat frozen and staring on the living room couch.

They'd let her speak her peace but they only seemed worried that Draco was a werewolf, not necessarily that she was. "You do get that I'm one too, right?"

"I'm going to kill him," mumbled Mrs. Granger.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "You can't kill him, Mom. He's a good guy. It was an accident. We're ok. I'm ok." She felt like she was repeating some sort of mantra. Why did the others automatically jump to blame Draco? No wonder he ended up on the dark side. Everyone put him there since he was born. Maybe it was just the Malfoy name that struck fear into the world.

"You love him?" accused Mr. Granger.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, her eyes tired from lack of proper sleep. "I do, Dad. And he loves me, and we've been invited to his mother's house for Christmas dinner so I would appreciate it if you were civil about it."

"I refuse," said Mrs. Granger and the others turned towards her.

"To be civil or to go?"

"Both."

Mr. Granger gave a sharp laugh, relieved he didn't have to say it himself.

"Mum, don't be ridiculous. I have always respected your wishes but this is important to me. The next full moon is on Christmas Eve. I have to be with him or it can get very dangerous. Now, you can either come with me or you can stay here but I'm going to that dinner, mother," she said with stern finality and stormed up the stairs to her room.

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Draco awoke with similarly wet sheets and rushed to the bathroom to shower. The last thing he needed was his mother or one of the Order walking in. Grimmauld Place had certainly changed since last he'd been there. The walls had wallpaper. The tables had tablecloths. And yes, Alastor Moody's globs of hair were brushed back into a ponytail. He'd grown a beard that was neatly trimmed and gray in all the right places and he even wore clean robes to dinner.

Draco was impressed but there was something strange going on. Everyone seemed to look from Alastor to Narcissa to him all through the awkwardly silent dinner and it was starting to irk like chafing track shorts.

"Is something going on here I should know?" Draco asked through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, dear," said Narcissa with a devious grin. Draco knew that grin well. He owned that grin.

"Right," he allowed, not wanting to push the issue. He had too much on his mind to really care. Knowing his mother, she'd probably just thrown away all his baby things or given away the Manor to some underprivileged cult or something equally insignificant to him.

"So… how's Hermione?" asked Tonks, sitting beside Lupin. Both had large, goofy smiles on their faces which Draco recognized as gestures of love. He'd sported a similar smile not a month prior and everyone at the Gryffindor table was equally as annoyed and disgusted. They were holding hands under the table, no doubt. Draco wasn't sure how they could do this, how they could be so sappy when Hermione had told him what Tonks had wanted her to do.

Draco gulped down his barely bearably dry corn bread and answered, "With her parents."

Narcissa snorted. "I know where she is. I want to know how she is."

"She's fine," he grumbled through gritted teeth.

"Right," echoed Narcissa, not wanting to delve into this mess further. Whatever was going on between them, it was probably Draco's fault and he should apologize. They all knew it. Draco knew it. There was no point in giving advice by this point.

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A few minutes later, Hermione heard her father's reluctant shuffle up the steps. He paused before her door and knocked twice, softly. "Sweetheart, open up."

She got up off her bed and pulled open the door. "Yes?" she said, haughtily. He shot her a look and she dropped the attitude instantly. "Sorry, Dad."

"Well, you should tell your boy we'll be going over for dinner. But only Christmas dinner! We're not staying over," he specified. Hermione smirked and nodded. "And lose the smirk, young lady. I'd like to see the grin on him because you certainly didn't get it from Harry and Ron, or from us."

She smiled brighter because of course she got it from him and she began to wonder what other little traits they'd be able to pick up on.

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Draco received Hermione's letter near dawn. They'd both stayed awake without knowing and Hermione decided she was going to send the owl before she lost her nerve. She didn't want the dream version. She wanted the real Draco, in body as much as mind. And, she was willing to forget everything if it meant having him one more night.

Their second day back home, they kept looking up the stairs or through hallways, expecting to see the other. Then, as soon as they sat down to read or talk with family, the lust would drive their minds astray. And, their families had learned that talking about their lives back at Hogwarts was a deadly subject indeed.

They were in hell. It'd been two days away from Hogwarts and they were already there.

"Fine," Draco muttered to himself, reading over the note. It was the first note she'd left for him in days. He couldn't even remember what her voice sounded like in his head, only the feeling he got when she was near. "If that's the way you want it, you're on."

He rifled through his bags and found the Orb of St. Anthony. He closed his eyes, whispered her name, and, as though a compass had been activated in his heart, he knew exactly where she was. He smirked to himself and grabbed his cloak off the back of his chair. He mounted his broom and closed his eyes again, letting his inner compass guide him.

Hermione's house wasn't far from Grimmauld Place but he had to be very careful not to get noticed. It was the dead of night and he could barely see in front of him, which served him well except he kept dodging buildings. Damn skyscrapers everywhere.

He reached the two-story house in the distance. It was the same as almost every other house on the block and hidden behind two tall ash trees. He landed on one of the upper branches and looked into the window. A couple was asleep and he knew it had to be her parents. He flew off towards the next tree and surely enough, there was Hermione sitting up against her pale wood headboard, a wand and book in hand.

He leaned off into the window precariously and tapped twice on the glass. She noticed him but just rolled her eyes and flipped the page in her book. He tapped again but lost his balance and came crashing down three branches, landing right on his crotch. He yowled into his fist, cursing softly. A dog barked in the distance and Crookshanks pressed his already flat nose up to the glass a floor below. Draco sneered at him and attempted to climb up the few branches.

He called for his broom and floated up to her window yet again. She stood there, frozen, her eyes buggy. She gulped and unlatched the window, pulling it open. She extended a hand out for him, helping him step inside. He jumped into the room and wrapped his arms around her tighter and tighter till he was sure she understood.

Her arms lingered by his side until she couldn't stand it anymore and hugged him back. "I've missed you," she whispered, trembling under the cold of his skin. Flying at this time of night, at his usual reckless speeds, she was surprised his skin hadn't turned to ice.

"I'm sorry," he said but she just scoffed, her breath visible before her.

She reached over and closed the doors behind him, still caught in his tight embrace. "You don't even know what you're apologizing for, Draco."

He shook his head. "I don't care. Whatever it is, I'll never do it again. Just don't send me away tonight, 'Mione."

She wanted to cry because she knew it couldn't work like that, as much as she liked. "You will do it again, Draco. You will because you don't understand how much you scared me."

He pulled away and sat her down on the bed, kneeling down before her. He took both her hands in his and begged her with his eyes. She cringed and looked away.

"Tell me what I did, Hermione."

It took her a moment to speak. She sniffed, trying to steady herself, and answered so softly that he barely heard it. "You left, Draco."

He furrowed his brow and dropped his hands. "What? When?"

"That night, Draco. You left me."

"To go flying? Is that why?"

She shook her head again, sending her gentle curls flying across her face. "When you went to sleep, Draco," she growled, playing tug-of-war with herself. She'd told herself he had to be punished, that he had to feel what she felt before it sunk in how much it tore at her insides. "I brought you to your room, helped you change, and you went to bed. And no matter what I did, no matter how hard I struck you or shook you or called your name, you wouldn't wake. Do you know terrified I was? And then, all of it was gone, replaced by an anger I couldn't control…"

He stood up and stepped back, eyes wide and distant. "I—I can't—I didn't—"

She reached for his hand and gripped it tightly, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed. "And then, you just wake up like it never happened. I didn't tell the others. I knew pixie dust was probably to blame but it still hurt, Draco. It hurt like hell."

"I didn't realize…" he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to having someone there, waiting for me to wake up. There was never anyone—Forgive me?"

She shut her eyes and pulled him towards the bed, spinning them around so she fell atop him, her hands on the collar of his cloak. "Tell me you love me," she growled from that deep, lustful place in their chests they often ventured to.

"I love you," he said and smirked sadly. He still couldn't believe that something as small and insignificant as pixie dust had caused her so much pain, that he didn't even notice it was pain and not anger that had driven her away. "Of course I love you."

She pulled the cloak back and threw it into a corner. He ran his chilly hands through her hair and smiled as bravely as he could. She still wanted him but the lust had gone from his eyes. All he kept thinking was how he couldn't hear her cries, hadn't been able to feel her hands on him trying to wake him. He imagined her on a bed, bleeding, dying, and being unable to wake her. He couldn't even imagine it. Things like that he only saw in his deepest nightmares.

He understood.

She crushed her lips to his. She knew he wasn't completely willing but she didn't care. She ripped his shirt off, not bothering with buttons, and threw it behind her. She slid up and pushed her books off the bed, giving Draco a very direct visual down her flimsy pajama top. She thought it might entice him but nothing. He just continued to stare at her with the same wide, pained eyes.

He slid back up the bed so his feet weren't dangling off the edge. She straddled him, tearing at his belt. "Say it again," she whispered, this time desperate to hear his voice.

"I fucking love you," he answered, watching in horror as she slid his pants down to his ankles and finally off towards the floor. He wanted to tell her to stop but he felt like any denial was a hit to her fragile heart.

He rested, naked under her, his eyes pleading her to stop. His hands reached down to her back, clawing into her, but it only made her go kisses go faster, sloppier down his chest. Just as her lips drew near his cock, he pulled her down atop her and rolled them so he'd be on top, in control.

"Stop it," he whispered sadly. "Don't do this, not like this."

"This is why you came here, right? You wanted me, wanted my body. You made it very clear in our dreams. Just take me already!" she shouted.

He covered her mouth with his hand and brought the sheets up over them. "I would never just take you like that, Hermione. We're not like this. We don't just have meaningless make-up sex, not when you're obviously not over this."

"Draco—" she began but he just covered her mouth again.

"I love you," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, understand? Not anymore, not again, not until you get tired of seeing this gorgeous face every day. And I don't care how many times I have to say it or how long it takes for you to get it. I love you, and I'm sorry."

She started to sob and buried her face in his chest. He settled down beside her and wrapped his arms around waist, keeping her warm as she cried. It took her an hour to stop crying and three to fall asleep. He couldn't. He only stood up from the bed to lock the door to her room. He didn't sleep all day and he didn't care.

Then sun made her skin glow an olive shade, her cheeks flush. He watched in awe, feeling the magnetism he'd felt the first time he saw her naked on the base of that shower, bleeding. She needed him, more and more each day, and he was starting to wonder if he had the right to hurt her so. He'd made her dependent on him, made her ache for him every second they were apart.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as her father started to knock on the door, calling her name. She stirred and caressed his cheek in mid-slumber. He pulled away slowly and slipped on his pants. There was no point in looking for his shirt. It was in shreds and he didn't have his wand, just another stupid thing he did for impulsive, animal love.

He walked up to the door and, without fear, he greeted Mr. Granger with a devilish grin.

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Sorry but Draco is starting to starting to believe he's hazardous to her health, which means that yes, he'll try to slowly separate himself from her. The proposals and all that fun stuff don't come for a bit. First they have to reach the Weasleys'. But, I promise it'll come soon.

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Reviews are better than Draco's raunchy dreams. (And no, he had no idea he could do it.)