Chapter Nine
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N:This chapter was inspired by the poem 'A Girl' by Ezra Pound. And if you readers read any of my other fics, then you are well aware that I adore Ezra Pound, and take any chance I can to quote him. And I briefly mention the idea of a 'thrall' in this chapter. I'm not sure where I read it first, but there are a few authors playing with this idea. So I won't credit it to anyone.
A Girl
The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast
-Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are
Moss you are
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are
And all this is folly to the world.
Ezra Pound
The air was faintly dim; it had become cool and musky all at once. The wind blew as restlessly as the thoughts in Hermione's head, but smelt much sweeter.
Of orchids and sap.
Her reflections flittered about behind her eyes and proceeded out her ears.
Her heart still as a dead mouse in a morning frost, Hermione sat and picked at the grass by her side.
The blades of grass stained her fingers green. The dandelion milk smelt sweet and left her sticky, she was astutely aware of everything around her, and yet of nothing at all.
Where had Draco gone, but more importantly would he return? Did it matter? No, it mattered how he would return. She had tipped the glass of milk, but not only had she spilt its contents, she had also shattered it. He was hurting. The pain had been painted across his face in fat streaks.
Oh how little he knew! How miniscule his pain was. Misery found in her little admittance. Misery more to come. He couldn't handle the prick, how on earth would Draco take the stab?
Hermione had near finished her story. There was so little to confess now. But when she finished, she would send the papers to him, regardless of whether he came back to her or not. He deserved to know. And he would be the first one she told it to.
It was so simple. Just run in and grab it. It was so simple when he was downstairs. It was so simple, that it was dangerous. Hermione's fingers clutched the stone wall tightly, her knuckles milky white with uneasiness. It was all there behind his door. The plans, the names, the dates…
She could run. She would have to. There would only be two minutes for her to manage to get off the grounds. Two short minutes for her escape in the midst of deatheaters. So she needed that information, and she needed it now.
If she chose to leave it, who knew how much longer she would have to act. How much longer she would have to bribe and spread about.
Zabini suspected. Ever since he had visited her in the dungeon, he had taken an immediate interest in her. He wanted her, and they both knew it, just as Lucius Malfoy knew. But he wanted her for her cunning, for her devious qualities. Zabini must have known just how much information Hermione had smuggled in the past week and a bit. But why did he choose to keep it a secret? Perhaps he considered her to be no threat.
Perhaps he chose to use it against Malfoy later so that he could claim her?
Hermione shuddered and leant against the wall. Malfoy was driving her slowly insane. He thought he was using her? No…silly man. Little did he know that with every nighttime visit to his room Hermione managed to gain another morsel of info
With every kiss, touch, seemingly innocent enough, Hermione was pulling owls from his pockets. But his power kept him blinded so foolishly; what could a weak mudblood do to him? He assumed he had her under his thrall. Her weak demeanor, her soft touch and voice, he though she was falling for him. He thought his kindness and attention towards her, his magic had her finally submissive. Well, Hermione was too stubborn in her hate to wither away for a man like him. His arrogance would only be his death.
Hermione flew around the corner and pushed his door open. Seconds, mere seconds. She ran to his large mahogany desk and grabbed all of the papers in her view; the detail plans sat so innocently. She folded them crudely and stuffed them in her cloak. Heart pounding she quickly made her exit, making sure to leave his door as she had found it. So that he would not suspect immediately.
Walking quickly down the halls, her shoes making soft clicking sounds, Hermione walked to where she would hide in the meantime. Glancing at her watch she saw she had three minutes to get to her spot.
At exactly nine o'clock Malfoy would lower his wards in order to allow the deatheaters entrance for a massive meeting. At nine o'clock Hermione needed to make her escape. She needed to run two hundred meters in two minutes to get past Manor grounds. Either she escaped or else she was dead. Hundreds of deatheaters, Voldemort himself would be in attendance in a short time. If she was caught, there was no escape, and all had been in vain
Lucius would not dare to tell Voldemort that Hermione had stolen the information. He would lie; he would claim he killed her. Perhaps he would attempt to convince Voldemort to change the plans. But Hermione knew Malfoy would not put himself in danger by admitting his foolish mistake. While loyal to Voldemort, he was still most loyal to himself.
Down the stairs and out the door Hermione stood outside on a small veranda. She looked straight ahead into the field of tree's two hundred meters away. That was her destination. The cool wind blew against her skin. A spring rain sent was just barely noticeable in the distance. Rolling clouds moved across the pink sky.
Hermione's eyes flew back to her watch. A minute.
People were calling one another not so far off. Nurses' yelling it was time for nightly tea. They lived in a separate world.
Hermione's mind paced. Perhaps it was better this way. To allow Draco to come to the realizations on his own. To understand what she had said and not to have only heard it. It was so much more than what she said. It was what her words had meant.
Never before had Hermione opened up to another person about the most troubling times in her life. And tonight she had. No matter what anger may have been raging through her words, it was simple to see that it was an offering. She had offered herself wholly to Draco with those words. And he had walked away from her outstretched arms.
Pulling herself off the grass, Hermione decided to retire to the library. She could hardly go into Draco's room now. And she refused to sleep with any other. So she would go to her books. Books rarely betrayed her.
The library was warm and empty. Hermione sat down in her favorite chair with a book and an apple. She sighed and looked at the large green ball resting in her fingers. Its weight was perfect. There was something so oddly comforting about it. Perhaps because it was the same weight of Draco's hand in her own.
She closed her eyes and imagined him before her. She could smell his sent; feel his nimble fingers along her collar bone.
Why did she act as though he had died? He was very much alive and probably no more than fifteen minuets away from her. But that inexplicable sense of loss still remained. Unshaken in its own belief.
Hermione frowned and placed her apple down on the table. She picked up the book in its place. The book was far heavier.
Draco threw the apple from one hand to the other. Enjoying the weight of it in his fingers; something about it was just right. The apple was beautiful, large and green, blemish free.
What was that silly muggle story? Eve and the apple.
He leant back against the apple tree and stared out into the field. He knew Hermione was still out there somewhere behind the stalks of wheat.
Probably on the soft grass.
Probably tearing at her hair for the things she had said.
But there was nothing he could do to help. Confusion and anger rattled his body. He could not understand how Hermione had gotten into a predicament that would have required her to sleep with his father. And that was the nagging thought.
Had it been a necessity? Was it a matter of survival, or was it something else. The idea bothered him severely. For it made him question why Hermione would have told him that. Of all of the other things she could have divulged, why did she find it necessary to share that truth? What did it mean to her? Was there something so significant about it that she felt it would destroy her?
And why had she said she 'slept' with his father? He had not raped her. So it must have been willing. The thought sickened him. The image of their bodies in his head was vile. He wanted only his hands upon her skin; only his lips were allowed to claim her own…
Did it come from her mouth only because it was connected to him? Did she suspect that that was what Draco had wanted to hear? For he had not desired to have known something of that nature. Her voice had broken, accusation rang through her tears. Hermione had been fighting back. Her words had been fighting words. She had meant to hurt him by saying it. And hurt him she had. Hermione had damned them both with those words.
He watched her shape rise from nowhere out far. She was returning inside.
Draco bit into the apple loudly; the juices ran down the sides of his mouth to his chin. He wiped it away with his hand and tore his eyes from Hermione's retreating form.
It was hard to believe that a righteous God had damned everyone just because a woman ate an apple.
She couldn't read. The same sentence had run past her eyes three times already and yet Hermione had not taken in its meaning. She wanted to desperately run to Draco, to find him and see what was wrong. But why should she have extended herself to him if he wasn't willing to return it. But she should read. But she couldn't concentrate. Bloody hell.
He had left her. It was clear. All of his talk, of how he would be there for her, how he was ready to listen, how she meant so much to him. All complete lies. He had lied to her. Why should Hermione have deluded herself? Draco was not interested in her, he only wanted to know. Well now he knew, and he could print that story whatever way he wanted. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it all.
Hermione threw her book angrily across the room. It hit the wall and slid down to fall open on its face. The spine now broken.
So he knew now, but what did it matter? He still didn't know everything. In fact Draco felt as though he knew Hermione even less now. Because no longer were thoughts of what happened plaguing his mind, they were thoughts of how.
She repulsed him. There was still that issue too. Hermione disgusted him. He couldn't take her back knowing she was soiled now. He had concluded for whatever reason it had happened, it had at least happened willingly. She was filthy, forever tainted for giving herself up like that. And to a man like his father.
The reason did not matter. Draco had always assumed Hermione was stubborn, he had always assumed she would prefer death to ridicule and selling her body. What had caused her weakness? Perhaps he had overestimated her, what made Hermione stronger than any other girl? Why was she so special?
Oh he knew.
The fact that she had done it was what made her stronger. Rather than accept death, Hermione twisted her way out of where she was. When they had found her in that forest, bloody and torn, her shirt full of papers, nobody had bothered to ask how those papers made it there. Nobody had asked what she had done.
Hermione had come back with information that had helped them win the war. Her personal sacrifice was why they were all still alive. She was the reason for everything. She was the reason for the warmth in his chest, for the tears in his eyes, for the tremble in his hands when he saw her.
It may have taken a while. But Draco believed his mind to be at rest.
Hermione sighed and lay down on the grass. It itched and bothered her bare skin, but she ignored it. Her body felt on wire. Every single nerve cell was screaming at her. Every fingertip on fire, her body wanted her to react. But her brain could not handle it.
The library had suffocated her. It was probably the only time in her life that she found the library to be utterly boring. The walls had begun to close in on her and force her out. So Hermione had returned to her wide expanse.
And now she lay, and cried silently. Greif could find no other manifestation. So utterly hopeless, Hermione felt like she had truly lost him. What was left to her now?
She heard a soft crunching heading towards her, but she ignored it as she did the grass. Her heartbeat quickened, and her eyes fluttered. Hallucinations were nature's cruelty.
Draco sat down next to Hermione. In the dark, in the bare moonlight he could still see that she had cried. Rather, he could still feel her tears in the air.
Hermione turned to look at him. His posture was faintly insolent, his smile no longer frequent. But he was there, beside her.
"Do you hate me?" Hermione asked softly.
"No"
"Would you ever?"
"Goodness no" Draco smiled.
"Draco, I'm glad you didn't leave. I thought you would. In fact I thought you already had" Hermione said rolling to her side. She placed her hand out on the grass, his hand covered hers protectively.
"I needed to figure things out for myself, but I never intended to really leave you" he replied honestly.
"I suppose I still disgust you" Hermione sighed sadly. He probably thought her vile for what she had told him. Would his perception change when he realized why she had done it?
"No, how could you? Hermione…" he picked up her hand and gently held it in his own. Realizing the weight of her hand was reminiscent of the apple he had held earlier. It was the perfect weight. Light, but heavy enough for him to know it was there. The skin just as soft, smooth and blemish free. But in his mind flashed an image of an old hand covered in sunspots, held in his own. Elegant still, with a single gold band on the ring finger. He held that hand too.
"I don't know everything. And I never may, but what you did for me, for us all, will always matter more than what you suffered to get to there. That should only matter to you, which is your justice, not mine or anyone else's to have". His hand moved along her bare arm, softly stroking her skin, "You are a beautiful smart woman, and you did the right thing"
"Draco, you know what I was writing earlier?" she asked looking up unsurely.
He frowned at her; she looked hesitant "Yeah?"
"I'll want you to read it. When I'm done naturally, but you'll have to read it first…" Hermione said "Because I'm writing it for you"
"I'll read it, of course, is this a novel?" he asked still moving his fingers along her arm. Gently running them along her visible veins, causing the hairs to stand on end.
"It might be" Hermione smiled, thinking that it was a brilliant idea.
Draco moved his hand away from her arm and placed it in her hair. He stroked it down, smoothing the locks. Then his hands slid over her face. He wanted to memorize the moment; he wanted to memorize Hermione as she was right now. For there was a draft heading to his heart.
"Did you feel it?" Hermione asked placing her hand on his chest.
"Yeah, what do you think it was?" he asked in surprise.
"I think its life" she replied vaguely.
"Life?" he asked in confusion.
"It's my answer for what has no explanation" Hermione admitted with a laugh.
Draco's eyebrows rose in interest "Well, it sounds like a bloody good reason to me" he grinned. Hermione rose slowly to her knees. She placed her hands on his chest and stared at his face intently. How was it that he had helped her? How could it have been that this boy saved her from herself?
"What secrets do you hold Draco?" she asked gently.
"Perhaps I will write a book for you too?" he said seriously "Then you can know"
"Won't you tell me?" she asked.
"What would you like to know?"
"Did you even have to do something that you're not particularly proud of…but you did it for a good cause?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah…I left Pansy…" Draco said softly, his eyes had clouded over "During the final battle I left her to die. I loved her…she was the sister I never had. She had always been there for me, regardless of what was occurring in my life. Regardless of her devotion to Voldemort, she was still more devoted to me. She risked her life to become a spy for the Order for me. So that she could be near me…" he blinked tears away. Hermione reached up with her hands and brushed the stray tears from his cheeks, "She was cursed, bleeding, she cried for me to get her. And I wanted to. I wanted nothing more than to run to her and sweep her away to help. But I couldn't…Potter needed me. It was either help Potter kill Voldemort, or save Pansy. I sacrificed her for everyone else. Some days I still regret it. Some days I don't"
"Do you forgive yourself for her death, does it still hurt?" Hermione asked gently.
Draco looked up sorrowfully, tears still leaked from his eyes, but his voice remained even "I have now much less to care about".
Hermione leaned forward and gently kissed his lips. First his bottom lip, then his top. She kissed the trails of tears down his cheeks. She had never seen a man cry so dejectedly, it broke her heart. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist. "You know I've never told anyone that before" he whispered with closed eyes.
"I'm glad you told me" Hermione replied still kissing him gently "And I hope that someday you will have more to care about".
She moved out of his grip and lay herself down on the grass. Draco opened his eyes and smiled at her. A gentle wind blew again, shifting the few clouds in the sky further west.
He lay back as well, silently, for words were all spent now. His arm pressed against Hermione's like bricks, her head at level with his chin. He let his fingers graze her wrist gently. He was going to help her rebuild her walls.
A/N 2: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter even though it was short. But that was just the way it turned out. I didn't want to connect it with the next chapter, because it would have been rather vile. But...yes...I got a PM as to whether this would end happily...I have no comment. But, by the by, I suck at writing really happy endings...so...I don't know what to tell you all. We'll see eh? Perhaps it depends on how many reviews I get?
