Chapter 9: Positively Putrid

Three days into her cycle, Hermione was feeling perfectly wretched. Coming off the contraceptive potions she'd been taking was causing her body to react with far more aggressiveness than her usual cycle did. She'd been curled up in bed for most of that time, with Harry and Ron both looking in on her occasionally and Kreacher plying her with several pots of Louts Mango, Red Raspberry Leaf and Chasteberry tea and with re-filled hot water bottles every hour on the hour.

Harry had sat with her for almost an hour that morning, informing her that he and Ginny had discussed the idea of agreeing to the matches they'd been given and had decided to forgo the incentives they'd been offered in favour of bartering a new match between the two of them. The Ministry – which was still sucking up to Harry in a huge way – had agreed to negotiate that he and Ginny would be given the same Galleon amount they'd each been offered for their Ministry Match, minus the additional incentives for job prospects, if they agreed to have a child as soon as possible.

They'd been trying already to get pregnant since Harry and Ginny had signed their contract the previous evening. He'd said that while he and Astoria had both been offered significant options for their match, they'd agreed they didn't want to breed. Apparently Astoria was a lovely girl in Ginny's year who knew how much Ginny loved Harry and vice versa. She also was reportedly betrothed to a French wizard who had objected to her having a child out of wedlock with a third-party, even if it was to be with the Boy Who Lived – Twice.

As she exited the bathroom after a long, relaxing soak in the tub, Hermione found herself in need of her slippers. She wanted to go to the kitchen for an afternoon snack, but there was no way she was going down there without her slippers to keep her feet warm and clean. The problem was that she'd left them in Ron's room. He'd come around a little after their fight, looking in on her suffering a few times and even coming in to snuggle her at one point when she'd been highly emotional and had started crying at the sight of him.

Sighing to herself over having to deal with him when she'd just gotten out of the tub, Hermione steeled herself against his moodiness. He'd gotten annoyed at her earlier in the day when they'd somehow talked their way around to the fact that they would both be shagging other people and having children with others and he'd stormed out.

Pushing open the door immediately after knocking and not waiting for a reply, Hermione was already calling out to him without thinking.

"Ron, did I leave my slippers in…" Hermione's words died right there on her tongue.

"Hermione, no, don't!" Harry's voice came from behind her where he was hurrying out of his room across the landing from Ron's.

But Hermione was barely aware of Harry's interruption. She was too focused on the sight before her. More precisely, the sight of a very naked Pansy Parkinson straddling a very naked Ron Weasley, his hands gripping her naked hips tightly and lifting her, encouraging her to bounce on his cock, which Hermione could see was imbedded deep inside Parkinson. On some psychological level, Hermione knew the pair must've been excessively drunk because they didn't even stop fucking despite their audience. But that mattered little in that moment. All Hermione was able to process was that her boyfriend was wildly shagging another woman, and both of them had even looked over at her with expressions of pleasure on their faces. All without ceasing their gyrating.

"Ah, shoot!" Hermione heard Harry curse behind her. She only really knew he was there because he was trying desperately to pull her out of the doorway and away from the horrifying scene.

The emotions that swept through Hermione were a combination of explosive rage, unbridled violence, and pure heartbreak – all of them heightened thanks to the fact that she was smack dab in the middle of the worst PMS of her life. Which Hermione supposed would have to be the defence she would use in court if she was put on trial when all the furniture in Ron's room suddenly burst into flames, quickly engulfing the shagging couple, who had begun to shriek and shout in surprise and pain.

Though she knew she had just cast the spells non-verbally and without the actual intent to do so, Hermione made no move to alleviate the predicament as everything in Ron's room began to burn, the flames licking hungrily at the curtains and engulfing the bed. In fact, Hermione found herself simply turning away from the scene as her boyfriend and his lover suffered several burns in the process of trying to rescue enough clothing to cover themselves while Harry began waving his wand to put out the flames.

She trudged out of the room with her heart in her proverbial shoes since she was still slipper-less. She didn't even feel the cold when she reached the kitchen and Kreacher came padding over towards her looking concerned by her fraught expression.

"Here you is, Miss," he said, patting her knee gently when Hermione dropped into a seat at the kitchen table. The elf pressed a cup of tea into her hands before returning with a plate of chocolate biscuits he'd clearly just finished baking. They were even still warm. On a deep psychological level, Hermione knew that the cookies tasted like heaven and that the way the chocolate chips melted onto her tongue was divine, but in her current emotionally traumatized and utterly devastated state Hermione was barely aware of the difference between the biscuits and cardboard.

By force of habit she put it in her mouth and chewed, washing it down with gulps of tea, but Hermione was on auto-pilot. Ron had been right there in the house, drunk and shagging that pug-nosed little tart! He had the nerve to lose his temper with her over the predicament they were in and over the notion of her needing to shag Malfoy and he was going to bring that sloppy whore into the house he shared with his girlfriend and fuck her stupid?

Dimly she was aware of the shouts coming from upstairs as Harry and Ron tried to fight the flames she had produced, accompanied by the cacophony of sound Parkinson was making as she shrieked. Hermione didn't really care if it was in pain or terror. All she knew was fury and heartbreak. It swept through her system like ice through her veins, simultaneously numbing her yet boiling her blood.

Vainly Hermione tried to talk herself out of her foul temper. It wasn't as though she hadn't known that in order to meet the terms of the contract he had signed, Ron needed to shag Pansy. It wasn't as though their relationship hadn't been on the rocks and doomed to failure now that they were both legally obligated to shag other people for the purpose of reproduction. It wasn't as though she hadn't been simultaneously planning for and dreading her own sexual escapades with Draco Malfoy.

But none of those facts made it any less a bitter pill to swallow, nor any less heartbreaking and horrifying to walk in on the man she loved rutting against the woman she hated more than almost any other on the planet. In her mind's eye Hermione could see them both eyeing her, pleasure written on their faces as they both looked at her, still shagging madly. Hermione hated herself for the way her mind wouldn't let the image go.

She also hated the way the little voices in her head began to whisper about how Ron had never shagged her with such vigour and how he'd never seemed so interested in shagging her as he'd looked to be in shagging Parkinson. The torture of the information tormented Hermione as she washed down the last of the biscuits Kreacher kept pressing on her, attempting to distract her.

Vaguely she knew the elf was muttering things to her, trying to gain her attention, trying to dab at the tears of fury that were trickling down her face.

"What the hell was that, Hermione?" Ronald roared, stumbling into the kitchen some time later in smouldering robes. He had some nasty looking burns on his hands and forearms.

"Knock it off, mate," Harry tried to intervene, clearly not wanting to risk the row and possible violence about to unfold in his kitchen. Parkinson was sobbing softly as she followed both men into the kitchen, her body barely hidden, holding her extremities aloft and shaking with the pain at the several nasty burns that had licked at her flesh.

Hermione lifted her head slowly to meet the blood-shot gaze of her former lover and she felt an ugly hateful fury blossom with her.

"Don't you dare!" Hermione warned him, her voice low, cold and dangerous.

"You set me on fucking fire, woman!" Ron shouted at her, clearly too drunk to pick up on the fact that he was flirting with disaster to be further provoking the emotionally distressed witch.

"Ron, don't," Harry warned, eyeing Hermione like she might cause another spontaneous combustion and destroy his house.

"If only you'd charred to a crisp," Hermione snarled back at Ron, coming to her feet so quickly that Kreacher had to stumble back from her and snatch her dropped tea cup out of the air before it could shatter on the stone floor.

"What's your bloody problem?" Ron demanded, his voice a little slurred. Hermione didn't doubt that the bastard was drunk off his arse, but it mattered little to her.

"My problem is that your very presence is offensive to me. Get out of my sight before another catastrophe befalls you Ronald Weasley. Or so help me you'll burn until the flesh melt right off your bones!"

"Hermione, please!" Harry tried to intervene again, clearly fearing more for Ron's life than anything else when he saw the manic glint in her brown eyes.

"Don't defend him Harry. He dragged that slut into this house without even having the decency to warn me. He did this to us! He tore us apart! Like the childish, pathetic, vindictive arse that he is, he lashed out at me and got himself in this mess with that pug-faced whore. He didn't for a second stop to consider my feelings and he had the indecency to smirk at me when I walked in on them! He's lucky he still has a fucking face!"

Hermione fumed and she groped inside her pocket for her wand, meaning to curse the pair of them. Harry saw her plan before she could enact it.

"Kreacher, get Hermione out of here. Take her somewhere safe until she's back in control of herself," he commanded of the elderly house elf. Kreacher had no choice but to obey him and Hermione shrieked with fury when his bony little hand clamped tightly around her wand arm and they both disapparated with a crack.

"You is needing to be calm now, Miss," Kreacher told her when they landed wherever he had taken her.

"I'm going to kill that bastard!" Hermione shouted, losing her grip on reason and rationality as her mind tormented her with images of her lover with another and her heart cracked and shattered inside her chest, causing her whole body to throb painfully. To make matters worse her PMS cramps kicked into an even higher gear than they'd been in before, her stomach cramping so severely that Hermione fell to her knees on the floor of the bedroom she'd been transported to, clutching her stomach as the agony over took her.

"Let Kreacher take care of everything Miss. Kreacher will fetch the Master. Kreacher will help Miss," the elf muttered, using magic to transport Hermione onto the bed before pulling a Calming Draught out of his pillow-slip uniform and prying her jaws apart despite the way she gritted her teeth, screaming through them in agony. He poured the potion into her mouth and clamped his hand over her mouth until she swallowed it.

Hermione had no idea where she was or even why any of it mattered. All she knew was pain as she drifted into delirium.

~O~

When she opened her eyes again, Hermione was uncomfortably aware of the fact that there was someone leaning over her staring intently at her face.

"Are you awake?" he asked in a curious voice as though he was uncertain but also mildly intrigued.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, her voice cracking.

She knew she was laying on her back on what she suspected must be a bed, but she had no idea where she was or even what day it was. She was also alarmed to find herself staring into the stormy grey eyes of Draco Malfoy from less than a foot away.

"You are awake," he said, sounding amused now, "Do you know where you are?"

"Why are you leaning over me like this?" Hermione demanded, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Checking to make sure you're still alive," he informed her and Hermione felt a momentary panic seize her, "Now answer my questions. Do you know where you are?"

"No," Hermione admitted, "Though since you're here I can only assume it must be somewhere close to hell."

"My, aren't those claws sharp this morning?" he smirked, looking wickedly amused by her words as he leant back a little as though he was aware of the way she'd begun trying to press herself further back into the mattress to get away from him.

"What are you doing here? Where am I?" Hermione wanted to know.

"You're at Malfoy Manor. Kreacher brought you here and fetched me from down the hall. He said you set Potter's house on fire and started screaming. He also said you needed Pain Relief potions and something to make you sleep so that you wouldn't 'set the ginger master on fire again'," Malfoy informed her, "I've been drugging you for two days now."

"You took care of me?" Hermione asked, alarmed.

"No, I just drugged you. The elves took care of everything else. Are you in pain?"

"I'm getting a headache," Hermione informed him, clutching her head as she tried to understand what was going on, "Why did Kreacher bring me here?"

"He said Potter told him to bring you somewhere safe until you calmed down. I hear you set Weasley on fire?"

"It wasn't entirely on purpose," Hermione told him when she noticed his expression of approval and amusement, "I walked in on him drunk and shagging that pug-nosed whore. PMS combined with blind violent rage might've resulted in spontaneous combustion of everything in his bedroom…"

"Including the happy couple, I hear," Malfoy smirked and Hermione was surprised when she felt an answering smirk grace her lips for a moment, appreciating that rather than scolding her for her behaviour he looked as though he approved. It was a rather odd change from the reactions she'd come to expect of others in such situations and she idly noticed the difference between people like Harry and people like Malfoy.

"Were they badly injured? I was too furious to really examine their injuries," Hermione asked, feeling a bit guilty, though not enough to think about apologising.

"Pansy needed some of the Burn Gel they usually use only for victims of Dragon attacks, so yes," Malfoy told her, "Though I expect they're fine by now after the healers saw to them."

"So much for seeing them suffer," Hermione muttered grumpily, sitting up slowly in the bed and realising she was in what appeared to be a bedroom, "Is there as reason you're in bed with me?"

"This is my bed, and it's morning. So yes, there is. This is where I sleep," he told her and Hermione kind of wanted to punch him for sounding so chipper. As he pulled back further from her so she could prop herself up against the headboard, Hermione noticed idly that he was shirtless, and that his blonde hair was rumpled as though he'd woken recently.

"You've been sleeping next to me for two days?" Hermione asked, unsure exactly how she felt about that.

"Technically you were in a potion induced state of unconsciousness for your own safety and wellbeing," Malfoy corrected her, "But yes. I've been drugging you to keep you out of it. Every time you started to wake up you'd scream and clutch your stomach and your chest. I had the healers examine you last night when I couldn't get you to stop."

Hermione didn't think she'd ever felt so embarrassed in all her life. And that included the time that she'd forgotten to lock the bathroom door whilst she'd been soaking in the tub and Harry had accidentally walked in on her, dropping the robe he'd been wearing before he realised she was there.

"If I'd known life would turn out like this, I don't think I'd have fought so hard to survive the war," Hermione muttered, sliding right back down in the bed and placing a pillow over her head, wondering how hard it would be to will herself into a coma to avoid the disaster that had become her life.

"I'm not that bad, you know?" Malfoy laughed and Hermione found herself enjoying the sound of his amusement. If he'd been Harry, Ron, or anyone else she ordinarily associated she'd be being berated and scolded for her emotional outburst, and probably be being asked invasive questions about her state of well-being and metal status. Instead Malfoy just seemed kind of amused.

"Maybe," she agreed with his assertion, "But the idea of having to shag you makes me nauseas, and after the past few days and everything that's happened, I think it might've been easier not to make it through the war."

"Do you need a shrink?" he asked seriously and Hermione knew that the way she was talking was probably alarming.

"No," she sighed, lifting the pillow enough to glance at him for a minute, "I just feel wretched."

"That's what you get for loving a git, I suppose," Malfoy nodded and Hermione glanced at him again. He'd stretched out on his stomach beside her on the bed, his arms wrapped around his pillow and his face pointed towards her. He didn't seem at all uncomfortable by the idea of having her seeing him shirtless and Hermione tried to keep her eyes focused on his face rather than his bared back.

"A mistake I won't be making again," Hermione said seriously, frowning at the mention of Ron once more before realising she was going to have to work on getting over him, "So, how come you just let me stay in your bed?"

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders, "Figured I might as well get used to sharing the bed with you. Thought it might be easier if you were unconscious for most of it, but I've since learned that even unconscious you have a penchant for hitting me."

"I hit you?" Hermione asked, lifting her head to look at him across the pillows.

"Three times," he nodded, "The first one I thought you must've woken up and realised where you were, but then you muttered something about cheating bastards and passed out again."

"Oh Merlin," Hermione groaned, rolling over and pressing her face into the pillow once more so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. Especially since he looked wickedly amused by the entire situation.

"I take it you're feeling better and not in agonizing pain anymore?" he asked her.

"Nothing unmanageable," Hermione answered, her voice muffled by the pillow, which she vaguely notice smelled like apples and the cologne he wore.

"Does that mean you'll get out of bed today?" he asked her, "Do you want breakfast?"

Hermione kind of wanted to roll over and pretend it was all a terrible nightmare she was having, but she suspected that wasn't an option.

"I suppose that might be nice," she sighed, thinking about going back to sleep despite spending the past two days sedated.

"Flibbet!" Draco called out before a house elf appeared with a crack.

"How can Flibbet be of service, master?" a young elf asked, looking eager to please.

"Could you prepare some breakfast for Granger and I?" Draco asked the bat-eared creature.

"Of course, master! Was there something particular you would like, Miss?" the elf said, turning to Hermione with hopeful eyes. Hermione suspected the elf must already know what Draco liked.

"Could I have some bacon with toast, a side of scrambled eggs and a few hash brown please Flibbet?" Hermione asked politely, smiling at the cheerful creature despite her bad mood and despite having woken up in bed with Malfoy.

"Right away Miss!" Flibbet promised, looking delighted before he disappeared again, no doubt to prepare their breakfast.

Hermione opened her mouth when he was gone, intent on asking Malfoy why he was being so accommodating after her little breakdown, but before she could, there was another crack in the air before Krecher appeared and hurried over to the side of the bed.

"Miss, you is awake!" he cried, looking very happy indeed by that prospect, "Kreacher has been worried about you Miss. Kreacher brought you more tea and those vitamins the healers gave you."

The elf presented a tea tray which did indeed contain a pot of tea and a little plate with the vitamins and things that the doctor had told her to take.

"Thank you Kreacher. I'm terribly sorry to have worried you. I didn't mean to lose my head like that," Hermione apologised to him sincerely, feeling bad about her outburst and the fact that elf had been forced to take care of her.

"Kreacher lives to serve, Miss," Kreacher assured her, pouring the tea from the pot into a cup for her when she didn't immediately do so herself. The elf glanced at her when she picked it up, looking a little bit furtive.

"Kreacher doesn't mean to presume the Miss's habits, but is this supposing to be like this, Miss?"

Hermione flinched back minutely when the elf reached hesitantly for something at chest level and she glanced down to see what he was talking about. A blush flooded to her cheeks when she noticed that she was still wearing the same robe she'd donned after climbing out of the bath days ago. The one she'd been wearing when she went in search of her slippers. And it had dipped very suggestively towards revealing her assets to the room at large.

In fact, in the days since she'd been brought there and kept sedated, it seemed her robe had fallen open to reveal that she wore only knickers and a satin brasserie underneath. Hermione wanted to die.