Won Won. Lav Lav. She had hated those pet names since their inception. Now she detested them. Won Won and Lav Lav were having a baby. Won Won and Lav Lav were engaged. Lav Lav had the ring on her finger, the ring – that atrocious ring – that had been picked out for Hermione.
No one will want you. The words cut deep. Ron was inebriated when he had said those words, but her classmates back in primary school had not been when they uttered similar insults. Ron had never met her muggle classmates, never had a chance for their thoughts to invade him, he had come to the same conclusion on his own. Scientifically speaking, replicability was a necessary trait of proving fact. It was fact now. No one would want her.
They'll only want your fame or the reward money. Hadn't she already seen that? Every time her picture or name was printed in the Daily Prophet, a slew of marriage proposals came in the post the next morning. At first it had only been ten, she had only been clinging to Harry's fame. Then she had come into her own as trial after trial was conducted and her prominence in Harry's victory was made evident. Every time she appeared in print, she would get dozens of proposals. As large as those number were, they paled in comparison to the amount of proposals she had received after the Daily Prophet announce that she, Ron and Harry had received a reward of almost half a million gallons each for their services to the Wizarding World. There had been nearly a hundred. None of them repeats. Most witches would feel desired for having received over a hundred marriage proposals before the age of twenty. But Hermione had Ron to remind her, they only wanted her fame and fortune.
Her head spun and her heels stuck in the stone floor. Hermione had felt graceful, powerful as she had walked into the ball. Now she was disoriented and broken, akin to her usual state after a cruciatius. Merlin, she had a usual state for the aftermath of a cruciatus curse. What had her life become? She slumped against the large doors that opened to the castle's grounds, suddenly overwhelmed not only by the events of tonight, but also by the events of the entire past year.
"Not here." A firm, warm pressure wrapped around her waist, pulling her back into a standing position. She tried to focus on the intruder, but the watery film of unknown tears prevented her. The person guided her through the castle with that warm arm around her waist.
Step. Step. Slope. Slope. Climb climb climb. I'd be able to steer myself if my boyfriendhadn't gotten another girl pregnant. Despite the person's adept guidance, she fumbled and tripped, sometimes because of her shoes, others because of her long dress, and still others for no reason at all. The sounds of the party had died out, or at least she could no longer hear them. Another stumble nearly forced her to her hands and knees, that arm the only thing keeping her vertical.
"Shhh. Granger," The arm righted her and pulled her into a muscular chest, the accompanying voice whispered into her ear, "I'm going to carry you the rest of the way, understand? We aren't that far, but if we don't hurry we might run into someone." She silently nodded her head, biting her lip to keep a sob from escaping. She couldn't steer. She couldn't walk.
The body crouched down a bit and swooped her off her feet. One strong arm supported her upper back, the other held under her knees. Hermione wrapped her arms around the man's – it must be a man to have the strength to deadlift her – neck. He shifted his supports to allow her to cling to him, drawing strength from the darkly sweet smell of his skin and comfort from his hair as it lightly swished against her ear. She could feel him propelling them through the castle, but her eyes were still creating too many tears for her to see where they were going. Of all the places to find out it had to be at the first ball thrown after the war? Fred was dead. The first night I was having fun since…since…since fourth, maybe even third year. Insufferable bitch! Pull. Climb. Stumble. Push. Step step.
The chill washed over her when she was carried through one of Hogwarts' false walls. She hoped it wasn't her rooms, the last thing she wanted was to sleep in a room shared with that bint. A quick turn to the left. That would be towards the Gryffindor rooms. No one else will want you. No no. Not my dorm. She lives there. She'll be there. The baby will be there. Audrey was killed before they could round up all the Death Eaters. She had always been so nice.
"Sh…" The hand wrapped to cup her hip, muting her sobs and pulling away from the staircase and turning to walk in the opposite direction, "Don't worry, sweetheart, you can stay here tonight. As long as you need." Down. Down. Down. Down. Umphf.
The couch she sat on was firm underneath her, not as firm as his chest, but firm nonetheless. The couch shifted beside her as her guide sat beside her. She let gravity lean her towards him until she rested her cheek against his shoulder. She heard a muttered Incendio and the room warmed, but she still shivered, chilled to her bone by her boyfriend's – ex boyfriend's – cruel words.
"Now?" Her voice cracked.
"Now." The floodgates opened. The man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, allowing her to bury her face in the crook of his neck for the second time that night. "I know, sweetheart, I know. It's alright, 'mione. He never deserved you, princess, just breathe." The voice caressed her trying, and failing, to soothe her. The sobs wracked her body and her tears soaked through the shirt. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione wondered where her make-up was, on her face or on his shirt. He looped his arms around her legs and pulled them up across his lap, cradling her like a small child and making the position all the more comfortable. "It's ok, sweetheart. You'll be alright. We'll get you through this. Promise." He rocked the two of them softly.
She had pledged to herself on the very first day of classes that she would not be a victim. That she would not dwell on what she lost. That she would think of the future she had gained. But didn't that future require Ron? They had fought the war together, they had won the war together. He had been a fixture in her life for eight years. He had been a romantic infatuation for three. They might only have been officially dating for a few months, but they belonged together. Everyone said so. There were columns in the Prophet that gave frequent updates on their relationship. She had followed her own advice and focused on her future. A future with a redheaded girl and a brunette boy with blue eyes, with Christmases at the burrow, with Ron. Why didn't she just say yes? Instead of sobbing she would still be at the ball, dancing with her fiancé. She had found her voice, "I should've said yes. I would've been happy with Ron. And his family would've been happy. And those gossip mongers would be thrilled. The proposals would stop. I could've finished school, gotten married after graduation, had a family. I might never find my parents, Ron was all I ha-" the tears had picked up and her voice deteriorated into a puddle.
"'Mione," The man pulled away from her and softly wiped the tears from her eyes, "Look at me." She blinked, and blinked, and blinked. Her vision slowly cleared. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was cradling her in a room that looked like a smaller version of the Slytherin Dungeon Harry and – Harry and the other one – had described during their second year. "You are so much better than him. In every way." His sharp grey eyes bore into her soft brown ones, "You're smarter, you're more attractive, you're kinder. Pick any positive attribute and I promise you surpass him. You will do better than him, someone who will take care of you and make you better, not hold you back. I promise. You would not have been happy with him. At best you would have been bored, at worst, the Brown bint would have reared her ugly head later." She started crying again, tucking her head into Draco's chest. He rested his chin on the crown of her head. She started blubbering about being alone, "You deserve so much better sweetheart. You don't need him. You aren't alone. We will take care of you. Just think, a little bit of pain now will let you find someone you really belong with."
"Ginny will leave me. He's her brother. And Fay and Lavender have been best friends since before Hogwarts. So I've lost her too." She worried. She didn't care that she had only been non-hostile with Draco a few months, the words flew from her mouth, "And Harry, poor Harry! He'll be caught in the middle! But he'll side with Ginny. They're engaged! I could've just gone along with Ginny! Wedding planning and dress shopping and then baby clothes and…"
"Hermione," Draco chuckled, but she felt it more than she heard it, "If your friends desert you that easily, they aren't your friends. Plus, Theo and Blaise had taken quite a liking to you, so I doubt they would let me ditch you, even if I wanted to."
"Draco!" a voice yelled from the top of the stairs, drawing closer, "You seen Granger? Potter thinks she's in here." Blaise let his voice quiet, "Hey Granger, how you holding up?"
"I could be better." Hermione let out a watery chuckle, pulling away from his friend. Blaise's perpetual smile did wonderful things for her nerves just then. Her tears slowed to a stop and her nose stopped her dripping. She had always been an ugly crier.
"Sorry, Hermione, that was a show for the group in the common room." Theo appeared behind Blaise, "Don't want anyone bothering you, I'd imagine." A grateful smile tugged at her lips. Her Slytherins, seizing the chance to be heroes.
Draco pulled one arm away from her, but tightened the other's grasp around her shoulders. She was suddenly acutely aware she was sitting on his lap in a dark room, "We'll take care of you, Granger. We take care of our own in Slytherin House." Hermione, despite her shock and grief, nodded. "Blaise, where's Weasley?" Outside the common room with Harry. Perfect. At least he wasn't inthe common room. "Granger, do you want to see Potter?" Hermione paused and deliberated, but ultimately shook her head. "Get rid of them both. Do what you need." Blaise was off, climbing up the dungeon-like stairs. "Theo, go contain the media. I want a total black out. I'm talking third-year-Greengrass-pregnancy level black out." Theo gave his friend a mock salute and jogged up the stairs, leaving Hermione alone with Draco once again.
Theo and Blaise were quite the pair, Hermione had come to learn in the past two months. They were a quieter, more cerebral version of the Weasley twins. This quickly endeared them to Hermione. That night, their casual kindness was exactly what she had needed to quiet her tears. Hermione had calmed enough to take in her surroundings while Draco barked his orders. The smaller common room was grand to say the least. There was a large, black marble fireplace against the wall they were facing. The floor was a dark hardwood and the walls were painted dark green. A small, but grand, chandelier hung from the ceiling above them with dozens of candles lighting the room. She couldn't tell if the chandelier or the large windows with a view mimicking the lake gave the common room its greenish tint. Hermione and Draco were sitting on the room's only sofa. It was black with a low back. On either side of the couch forming a semicircle with the sofa around the fireplace were two white, button-tufted arm chairs with tall backs. There was a small work area in the corner, with two large, stately, mahogany desks with white chairs pushed in. The two walls adjacent to the fireplace wall had doors on them, two on one, and one on the other.
"'Minee, sweetheart," They were alone again, "I'm going to run you a bath. You're going to soak for a bit, try to calm yourself and then you'll go to bed. You can have my bed, I'll sleep out here." She tried to protest. He didn't need to give up his bed because her boyfriend was an arse. "Hermione, I know you can take care of yourself, butplease let someone help just this once. This has been a shock to you and you need help. Please let me help you." His eyes drilled into hers once again, imploring her to listen. They were barely a foot apart. Hermione hesitated, but his face left no room for argument, so she nodded. And kept nodding. And nodding. Until she couldn't lift her head and simply rested her chin on her chest, letting the tears come once more. "Come on, Princess."
She was airborne. He had rewrapped his arms around her to cradle Hermione's small frame and simply lifted her up. After some maneuvering, he managed to shift her so her legs crossed around his waist and he arms around his neck. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, staring at his neck. His arm supported her underneath her bum, the other stayed free to open the lone door on his wall. She protested that she could walk on her own, but she settled when he did not respond. He carried her into a smaller room, a bedroom. It had the same wood floor and green walls as the common area. A desk, in a similar style but smaller size than the pair in the common room, stood in the corner by the door. A large, dark wood wardrobe stood by the far wall. A nightstand with the same coloring was beside the wardrobe and on top of it rested a black candelabra, bathing the room in a soft glow. The bed beside the nightstand did not have four posters or curtains; why would it in a private room? The bed was made of dark wood, with a green blanket pulled over light grey sheets. Four pillows rested against the headboard, the back two were covered in grey pillowcases and the front two in green slips. They didn't share rooms. How unsurprising. Draco sat her on a bed and crossed the room to another door. The sound of water rushing reached her ears. Draco returned to sit beside her and she let her head fall to rest on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her closer and turning his head so his nose rested on her hair, it smelt like cinnamon, with his lips just a whisper away from her temple.
For the first time since the incident, as she would forever call Ron and Lavender's revelation, Hermione had no tears in her eyes. Her sobbing had stopped and her head was clearing, "Why are you doing this?"
"I told you." He chuckled, his breath ghosting over her ear and his body shaking merrily. "In Slytherin, we take care of our own. It's something we learn very early on in the House: you take care of each other because every other house, and even some of the professors, are hoping you fail. You might not have been sorted into the house back in first year, but we'll take care of you. We take care of our own."
Yesterday, she would have argued that under no circumstances whatsoever was she to be considered an honorary Slytherin. Yesterday, she would have insisted Draco Malfoy was the least comforting person on the planet. Yesterday she thought the Slytherin stairs descended to one large room with three four poster beds rather than an intimate, albeit dark, common room with private bedrooms with attached bathrooms. "Thank you." Loud mouth, buck tooth, frizzy haired know it all. She wouldn't continue her argument that she wasn't one of them; she needed them. She had no one except these Slytherins and Ron had made it clear she would have no one else ever again.
Draco settled her into the bathroom, showing her where she could find towels and soap and the like. "There are tshirts in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, help yourself to whatever you need. If you need anything, I'll be in the common room, or call an elf if you prefer." But he knew full well she would never prefer to call an elf. He quickly changed into pajamas of his own, green and white checkered flannel pants. For Hermione's benefit, he threw on a grey long-sleeved quidditch tee and ducked out of the room.
He sat in front of the fired, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. How could the Weasel do that to her? The question ran through his mind again and again. She was the Gryffindor Princess, the image of all that was good and kind and desirable. She had always represented everything that was unattainable to Slytherins, they had never been a bunch to trust or love unconditionally like she could. And now, because of the Weasel's selfishness she had been relegated to the Slytherin dungeons. Draco would have to remember to give the Weasel a good punch in the nose next time he saw he. Maybe a slug-vomiting charm for good measure. Draco glared into the fire, watching the flames, letting their violence coax his own violence towards the Weasel. He was only pulled from his plotting by the clack clack of dress shoes on the stone stairs.
Theo collapsed into an armchair, unknotting his bowtie. Blaise fell into the other, conjuring a bag of ice to rest on his right hand.
"Where are we?" Draco asked his two best friends, sitting around the still-burning fireplace. Blaise grimaced, but had completed his task. The media had been contained. Nott slipped them a story about Pansy Parkinson having run away to muggle New York city and shunning magic, that she even married a muggle. He convinced them that Pansy's story was more newsworthy than Hermione's, using minimal magic, at least, that's what they would tell Hermione.
"Can I, um, may I join?" A voice came timidly from the doorway to Draco's room.
"Of course." Nott nodded before either of the others could, "I'll call for some tea?"
Draco shifted as the small witched settled beside him, curling into his side without a second thought. She had selected a quidditch t-shirt that matched his own and fell just above her knees. It appeared sizes too big on her, but Draco still thought the green and grey shirt did her well. Her wet hair was pulled into a loose bun, secured at the nape of her neck. The wetness of her hear was slowly seeping into his own shirt, but he didn't mind. Draco draped a single arm over the back of the couch. If she leaned back, it would easily wrap around her.
Tea arrived and Blaise served the group, asking how Hermione took hers, but knowing how the others took there's. Hermione sipped slowly at her tea and hoped it would calm her into sleep. "Thank you." Hermione's voice croaked a bit, the only sign of her earlier meltdown, "Thank you for inviting me into your home. I promise I won't be a burden and I'll be out tomorrow, I just – I just can't be in that room tonight." Her voice quieted after it cracked.
Draco's brow furrowed and Blaise looked almost angry, leaving Theo, the best natured of the trio, to speak, "Hermione, you are not a burden. You are our friend. You can stay here as long as you like." She wrinkled her nose, not believing.
Draco felt a pang in his chest. The Golden Trio were lauded throughout the wizarding world as the exemplar of friendship and mutual support, but Hermione could not grasp the idea that she was someone to be protected and cared for. Evidently the male members of the Trio weren't as selfless as the world would believe.
"Granger, really, it's nice to have another person staying here who isn't all gloom and doom." Blaise chuckled, "Draco here almost overpowered us."
"That's nice, Blaise, but I don't know if I'll have more than doom and gloom to offer for a while." She muttered to her tea cup.
"Well then." Blaise set his cup down clumsily, unaccustomed to using his right hand, "I guess we'll just have to fix you up nice and quick then."
A pause in the conversation ensued, but Hermione could not bring herself to respond. She had been a right mess when she had looked at herself in the mirror. Half her hair had fallen out of her up do, her makeup was smeared down her cheek and somehow across her forehead, and her dress had a sizeable rip from her trek upstairs. Silently, she sipped at her tea, doing her best to ignore the worried glances all three boys tried to hide from her. Theo and Blaise did their best to distract Hermione, talking about Quidditch and poking fun at the Gryffindor team. Hermione would offer them a watery smile now and again; she appreciated their attempts, but nothing would improve her foul mood. Until Theo asked about Blaise's icepack, which had slipped from his hand for the umpteenth time.
"Well," Blaise cast a worried look at Hermione, "Our uninvited guests didn't seem to want to leave. Well one of them was, but Potter kept him there, apparently, he dragged the other one here against his will. He, not Potter, the other one, started shouting nonsense, so I punched him." Blaise had the conscience to look bashful. Theo and Draco looked at one another then to Hermione, waiting for the tears to come again.
A very indelicate snort tore from Hermione as she broke down in hysterical giggles. Tears came, but they seemed to be happy tears; the boys were unsure and looked on in surprise. The girl pulled her knees into her chest and practically rolled around on the sofa, flicking tears away as she went. Finally, she calmed and clutched at her sides, "Ron always did have a hard head."
"Reckon I broke his nose." Blaise said in a faraway voice, still confused by the sudden shift in mood. "Heard Potter refuse to fix it, too."
Hermione excused herself to bed soon after that. Draco followed her to show her the few charms of his room, where extra blankets were, where his books were, and how to use something very similar to a muggle alarm clock. Just as he was leaving, Hermione found her voice, "I guess Hell froze over." Draco didn't have a response to that. When he had made that declaration, he had truly believed it. He left and she sat in the middle of Draco Malfoy's bed, toying with a small dragon figurine he had on his desk.
It was small enough to fit in her closed fist, although the tail stuck out a bit. The silver body was intricately carved, showing each scale and ridge along its back and wings, which were tucked into its sides. Hermione turned it around in her palm, admiring what must be goblin-made trinket. She turned it to face her and the eyes opened. The silver peeled away to reveal rubies where eyes would be. Neither she nor the animated figurine moved while the two stared at each other. Minutes ticked by, Hermione barely blinked as she waited for the dragon to make its next move. A toy turning into a real dragon and killing her would be par for the course for the year she had been having.
Nearly thirty minutes later, Hermione gave up her staring contest. Gingerly crawling off the bed, doing her best not to jostle the creature, Hermione crossed the room back to the desk. Slowly, ever so slowly, she opened a desk drawer, dropped the creature in, and slammed the door shut. She watched the drawer for a moment, half expecting it to erupt into a blaze of fire. Another ten minutes of staring at the drawer passed before Hermione climbed back into bed.
The darkly sweet smell she had smelt earlier in the evening enveloped her. It must be Malfoy's smell Hermione realized. She breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her heartrate slowed bit by bit and the day ran away from her. Almost like chocolate, but not quite. Raspberry chocolate, maybe? Hermione pondered that smell until she drifted off to sleep.
xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox
"He broke her." Draco raked his hand across his face. The three Slytherins had remained in the common room after Hermione had left for bed. "I've never seen her cry like that." He'd never seen anyone cry like that.
"Draco," Theo sighed, pressing his thumb and pointer finger into his eye sockets, "It's not like you've known her all that well."
But Draco did know Hermione that well. He had watched her be tortured on the floor of his home. It had been the first room he had updated. She had screamed, but she never caved, never begged, and never cried. Bellatrix Lestrange had done her worst on the girl sleeping in his bed, but the girl had never cracked. But one insolent, testosterone fueled teenager had reduced her to tears with only a few choice words. "He broke her." Draco repeated aloud.
The three boys sat in silence. Blaise had set about heeling his hand and Theo had found a book. Draco watched the flames, jealous that Blaise had had the chance to punch the Weasel before he had. At eleven, Blaise entered his room, muttering about needing a shower to get the Astoria off of him. At one, Theo set down his now finished book and left the common area. Draco stood and reached his arms over his head to stretch. With a flick of his wand, the narrow couch transformed into a bed a bit too large for the room. Draco couldn't bring himself to care as he flopped himself into his new bed.
