A/N: Hurray! You didn't have to wait too long for this chapter, I hope. Couple of things you should know: This chapter has a lot of Hermione's POV so I'm excited about that. The song selection refers to the very last section and this is Draco's theme song. LISTEN TO IT PLEASE! It brings a lot of context. There are six more chapters left to this story.
Special thank you to A. Deca for the multitude of sweet reviews and to Glitterboden, whose review inspired me to finish this chapter today. (I literally wrote it in the span of a few hours).
As well, thank you to all of my lovely reviewers: Venetiangrl92, A. Deca, Talis Ruadair, HarryPGinnyW4eva, megs100, glitterboden, fanyi, vaneesa85, Cinna16, Skizzy16, reader204, TwinzLover, buttercup, HP-Princess1, and xenaz3.
Some of you might loathe this chapter. SORRY!
Song Selection for this Chapter: From the Hips by Cursive
Chapter Ten: From the Hips
It had been his screams that had woken her.
At first, she had been entirely too disoriented to understand what was going on. Was someone in pain? Was someone dying? Was that someone her? She had shot straight up, sitting in an awkward position as she was still trapped in all of her blankets. She reached out to something, anything, whatever it was that was emitting such horrendously painful noises. But that something was out of her grasp, which made everything worse, especially because she couldn't see anything.
Eventually, her eyes adjusted and she realized that it wasn't her that was screaming or anything in her apartment at all. It was coming from outside.
All at once, her heart began to pound and Hermione could barely think, but to reach for her wand and to wrench the door open. To be honest, opening the door took more time than she was proud of, but that was all irrelevant. Malfoy was being mutilated – who else could it be besides Malfoy?
The Death Eaters that were still around, still on the run, and they'd probably found her and by proxy had found him. And now they were killing him because...well, because he was a Malfoy, she assumed. And when they were through with him, they were definitely going to get to her. And tear her to little pieces, just like Bellatrix Lestrange had promised when the witch had tortured her on Malfoy's drawing room floor.
And Malfoy had watched.
Would he have just watched if he'd ingested veela blood then? Or would he have jumped in to save her like she was about to jump in and save him right now? She cringed. It had been years since she'd practiced her dueling, which was fucking stupid of her she now realized, but she'd have to take them on. It was for Malfoy, after all. It didn't matter that he'd watched her get tortured when he was practically a kid. She had to save him now.
She had to do something, she just didn't know what.
His screams got louder and she began to hyperventilate. When her name fell from his lips, she finally wrenched open the door, ready to attack whatever the fuck was out there, ready to save him from the monsters. Fuck making plans, she'd go on adrenaline or die trying! It was really all one needed. It was what had kept Harry alive all these years, wasn't it? Quick thinking, quick thinking, all she needed was some quick thinking –
Except there was absolutely no one in the hallway except for Malfoy, writhing and screaming on the floor. She was panting, wildly staring around. They must have been invisible and torturing him in that fashion. Yeah, they must have turned invisible when they'd saw her door open. Surely that would explain why he was still screaming, right?
She squinted down the hallway, trying to get her eyes to focus, which seemed to be a rather fruitless task in itself, until eventually she realized that there really was no one there. Her poorly cast detection spells had only confirmed that much. There really was... no one else there but them. Her and a screaming Malfoy. Where the fuck had he learned to scream so loud?
She quickly knelt down next to him, attempting to figure out what the hell might be wrong with him, but all he did was thrash. He even hit her in the head with one of his flailing arms, and fuck did that hurt like a bitch. She wasn't going to admit that it brought tears to her eyes. That would just be...undignified.
After all, she was meant to be helping him.
After all, she ought to have thought of a body binding jinx when she'd seen him flailing around like that. What had she expected? That an unconscious person wouldn't accidently hit her poor aching head while suffering from whatever it was? She was getting too old, too rusty. She was still waking up. What if someone actually had been torturing him? What if she'd come too late and he'd died?
She didn't want to think of something like that, especially considering that he was still screaming. She didn't know what to do. It had been too many years since she'd heard this kind of screaming – and she realized she had heard this kind of screaming before, many times. Hell, she'd lived it, breathed it, and endured it for days.
Everyone had been plagued by nightmares after the war. It had been commonplace, almost.
But that had been years ago and the war was long gone. Sure, she was still visited by nightmares occasionally, but it was never like this anymore. It was never like the unadulterated violence it had once been, attempts to physically slash the offending images away from one's mind. It had taken a lot of therapy and grieving for her to get past it all. Maybe Malfoy just hadn't had the chance.
So she did what she knew how to do, what she'd done for Ron all those years ago when he'd woken up sobbing for his missing family members – both dead and alive. Mrs. Weasley never had been the same, after all. Neither had George. She attempted to push Draco's arms down until he quieted, and pulled his head into her lap. It did work for a while.
It worked until he muttered, "Blaise."
And then he was mostly silent. Sweating, writhing, jerking once in a while, but mostly silent. She stroked his blond hair away from his face. He looked positively tortured and her heart almost broke. What could she do for him? This kind of suffering didn't just go away on its own. There was nothing she could do but sit here. And she planned to sit here until it was over. Until he was lucid enough to take inside.
Well, at least, that had been the plan until he'd started screaming again.
Only, it wasn't any kind of screaming. It was almost like he was awake. His eyes weren't quite open, but she sometimes caught a flash of his silver blue eyes. It almost scared her. If he hadn't been yelling so clearly, she would've been positive that he was having a seizure. Eventually, the struggling became so intense that she was forced to back away or become injured herself.
She didn't have the strength to hold him down physically as he was much stronger than herself and she knew she couldn't use magic on him now. This wasn't just any kind of dream, of course. She knew that if she attempted to bind him with magic, he might choke on his own tongue and suffocate to death. She couldn't stupefy him because he was unconscious, and that could cause brain damage. She couldn't even cushion the floor where he lay because he was thrashing all over the place and she could easily miss.
She couldn't do anything for him, and it made her want to cry.
He thrashed and struggled against bindings that were only in his mind and his screams got to such a loud and agonized pitch that she actually did begin to cry. It was hard to watch and she couldn't even do anything! That was perhaps the worst part, being helpless. Unable to even soothe his hair back from his flushed face. She wasn't one to sit idly by, but what could she do?
She had been wrong about one thing, though. It hadn't been the worst part at all, not being able to do anything. The worst part came when he suddenly stopped, shuddered, and opened his eyes. She rushed towards him, but he only stiffened. It was natural, of course, to be afraid after such an experience. But he had to know that she was only there to help him. If he didn't know, she was going to tell him. She was going to make sure that he knew.
That was until she caught sight of his eyes, glazed over and unfocused. Either he was disoriented or he was still asleep, but neither suited her purposes. She tried to assess his injuries, but he grabbed her wrist when she made the mistake of touching his shoulder. He gripped it so hard that she heard her bones cracking together and she was sure to have a bruise. A very large bruise.
Tears sprung to her eyes and she tried to gently pull his fingers off her wrist. He didn't know what he was doing. He'd never do this to her if he was awake. He wasn't even staring at her, he was focused somewhere off in the distance in the opposite direction. His grip tightened even further and she had the sense not to wrench herself out of his grasp. Not only would that not have worked, it would've hurt like hell.
"Draco," she said as calmly as she could manage, but even she could tell her voice was strained. "Draco, please... let go. Let go of me, Draco."
He muttered something unintelligible and she had to lean closer to attempt to make out what he was saying. It was no use. She could barely make sense of what he was trying to tell her – if he was even trying to tell her anything – and the grip he had on her was starting to become unbearable. She made the mistake of trying to pull out of his grasp, but he only tightened his grip even further, if that was possible. She felt like he'd crush her bones in his hands if she didn't do something quick.
That was not an easy injury to repair!
"Leave..."
She was really straining now, attempting to pull her arm out of his grasp without any regard of whether this was hurting him or distressing him further. Yeah, she cared that he was suffering, but she sure as hell didn't want her wrist crushed into dust. It hurt, by gods did it hurt, and it seemed like there was nothing she could do about it at the moment, except for struggle.
"Leave."
Was he frothing at the mouth? That was a bit creepy. Perhaps he was having a seizure! Gods, that wasn't good. What did one do with people having seizures? Protect the head... well, how the fuck was she supposed to protect his head if he was hell bent on crushing her hand right off her body? And he wasn't convulsing, so perhaps it wasn't a seizure after all.
"LEAVE!" he shouted, startling her and making her stop struggling all together.
Spittle from his mouth hit her in the face, but she didn't even cringe – couldn't even cringe, because she was shocked. His eyes were still glazed over and unfocused, but he was staring in her direction now. It wasn't exactly right at her, but it startled her nonetheless. A shiver wracked her body as his pale eyes literally glared at her, like she was some kind of vermin. And for a moment, she felt like she was that silly little mudblood walking throughout Hogwarts, but clearly didn't deserve to because her parents were muggles. He was that guy all over again.
"LEAVE!" he shouted again, his eyes narrowing as if he was in pain.
She was still in shock, wondering what the hell was going on. This wasn't any kind of dream she'd encountered before. When she weakly jerked her hand away from him once more at a last ditch attempt, he actually let go before curling up away from her into a tight little ball. He began to rock back and forth, sobbing like there was no tomorrow. Like someone had died.
When she made to console him, stroke his back despite the pain that resonated through her entire arm, he stiffened, cringed, and then began to shout again. "LEAVE! Just fucking, LEAVE! LEAVE!"
On and on it went until she was forced to listen, just hoping that it would somehow ease his suffering. She hoped it did, because this was all she could do for him now. He clearly didn't want her there. So, she got up, walked gingerly back towards her apartment and slammed the door shut behind her so that he knew she'd listened to him.
It didn't work.
He resumed screaming in pain like someone was torturing him into oblivion. And there wasn't anything she could bloody do about it besides sit here like a useless piece of rotting wood. He didn't want her help, didn't want her to soothe his troubles away. No one had ever rejected her like this before. Everyone kept her around because she was useful at helping. He was the first, the only one that had...
His screams only escalated and she felt some of her sanity slip away from her like it was a silk sheet, too flimsy to hold itself up against her. She curled up in her blankets and covered her ears. She didn't want to listen to him but couldn't just silence the door in case he actually changed his mind and needed her again. She considered cracking open the door, just so she could watch him to make sure that he wasn't hurting herself, but every time she considered it, it was as if he knew she what she was doing and started shouting at her to LEAVE!
Eventually, it stopped, and she thought he might have lost his voice. Perhaps now she ought to go out and see what was going on? But she couldn't. She couldn't even really muster up the energy to sit up anymore, because really – what good would she be anyway? Her wrist throbbed, but she had no inclination to even heal it.
It seemed like hours had passed when she heard him groan and shuffle again. Shell shocked, she bounded up and pressed her ear to the door. Was he going to start up again? Was he going to scream? Would he scream at her for opening the door? She felt trapped in her own skin, too afraid to even breathe. Was he awake? Would he reject her again if she just opened the door and hugged the life out of him?
She heard him get up, shuffle his feet, and groan. Her hands trembled and her wrist felt like it was on fire as she made to open the door and slip out. For a moment, she stood there frozen. She couldn't hear him and wanted to ask just to make sure he was there. But fuck, she was afraid.
"Draco?" she finally called to him with what little courage she had left. "Draco, are you there?"
No response.
Maybe he had passed out? She wouldn't have been surprised. He would've been in a lot of pain, thrashing around on the floor like that. Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could heal whatever bruises he had given himself, if he was too sore to do it himself. She called him again, but heard nothing in response.
Maybe that was what forced her to wrench open the door and burst into the hallway to make sure he was okay. Maybe she just wanted to see him. Maybe she had half a mind to drag him into her apartment to assess his injuries and take care of him. Maybe she actually liked him.
But none of that mattered now, because he wasn't even there.
/
She skipped going to work that day. It was wrong of her, but she hadn't taken a sick day in a while and felt like she deserved one. After all, she was still rather shell shocked and startled with what had happened the night before. She hadn't managed to sleep even a wink after she'd discovered he'd wandered off. She had half a mind to write to him, just to make sure he was alright, but something stopped her.
Maybe it was the way he had told her to leave.
Nevertheless, the experience had probably been far more traumatic for him than it had been for her. She wasn't going to hold petty grudges, even though he really had hurt her wrist. It had turned several shades of purple by morning and had been so swollen she had been forced to heal it and put ice on it. But she didn't mind. No, he hadn't known what he was doing. He had been unconscious.
Hermione couldn't bring herself to move away from the door that day. She was afraid that if she went away for even a second, she'd miss him coming – if he even wanted to come see her anymore. Why would he want to, anyway? She hadn't been able to do anything for him! He must think she was absolutely incompetent. It made her nervous.
So, she stayed there, wrapped up in a multitude of blankets and uneasily dozing against the wall. She wondered if she ought to leave the door open, just in case he wanted to actually come inside, but she knew he was probably angry at her for not waking him up. How could she have, though? Who knew. She was meant to be the smartest witch of her age and she couldn't even deal with a bloody nightmare.
It was a catastrophe.
It was really late in the night when she finally heard his familiar footsteps. She'd grown accustomed to listening for them over the past few weeks. It had been lucky too. She had been just about to force herself to get up and feed herself as she hadn't eaten all day, had barely moved, in fact, just in case she'd miss him coming.
"Draco?" she called out to him, tentative. What if he didn't want to talk? What if he was still angry with her? But in all honesty, what could she have done? That thought gave her a smidgeon of confidence, enough to call out to him again. "Draco, is that you?"
For a moment, all was silent. She had a feeling he didn't want to talk to her and was afraid for a split second that he wouldn't. What would she do then? What could she do then? She couldn't force him to talk. If he didn't want to talk, then he certainly didn't want to come inside. She couldn't force him to come inside, could she? She couldn't tell him to leave, either, because of the veela blood. She wouldn't make him suffer just because she was embarrassed. It was obvious that he was suffering enough.
"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly after a moment too long.
That was enough to relieve her, though, and she sighed. She untangled herself from the wall, smiling slightly. He was going to stay. It didn't matter that he didn't want to come inside and see her face – he was staying. And that was good enough for her. She made herself more comfortable and noted his silence.
For a moment, it was a very awkward silence. She knew what was on both of their minds, but what could she do about it? How was she supposed to bring up what had happened without offending him and making him run away like he had yesterday? She wasn't going to be a bitch and bring it up. She just couldn't do that to him, even though she burned to know what it was that was plaguing him.
So, she figured she'd do the next best thing. "Did you... did you have a bad day at work?" she asked, hating herself for sounding so unsure.
His response was almost immediate. "Yeah," he said, sarcastically. "Bad day at work." The sigh that followed was so morose that she began to shake.
A serious blush spread over her face. How could she be so... idiotic? Of course he didn't want to talk about it! Of course he didn't want to bring something like that up. It was obvious he was embarrassed about it, but he should know that she understood. Of course she understood. She'd had horrid dreams before too, and she'd had to go see a mind healer to deal with him. He needn't be ashamed, least of all in front of her.
She wanted to show him that, wanted to make sure that he actually understood she didn't despise him for hurting her or anything like that. So she pressed on, hoping that this conversation would, at least, help him recuperate.
"What happened? Do you want to talk about it?" It was vague enough. If he wanted to speak about it, he could do so now. But he didn't have to. He could rant about anything really. She prided herself on being non-confrontational.
"Sure, sweetheart, if you insist." His voice was suddenly so kind that her heart began to pound. Maybe he'd understood her offer. Maybe she ought to just open the door now and hug him like nothing else mattered. She sure as hell was happy enough to do so, relieved that he'd forgiven her. "My best friend isn't very relenting, you know. He can be a slave driver when he wants to be." His sigh was so wistful, she wondered if she could do anything about it.
It was obvious he wanted to talk now, so she made herself sit up straight so she could focus. "I'm sure it's very... difficult," she offered. She didn't know what to say, but he needed to know that she was willing to listen to anything he wanted to talk about. If that made him get over his awkwardness, then it was alright with her.
"Oh, of course! I'm not used to all of this, none of it at all. But I'm glad you had made me have this experience. I'm thankful for it, learning a lot and making something of myself... what's the word..."
"Enjoyable?" she guessed. His voice sounded like silk and she wondered whether or not he even knew he was doing it.
"Gratifying," he responded, instead. She shivered. The way he said it was almost like he wanted to make her understand what true gratification was. She imagined his breath against her ear as he said it and couldn't help but blush like a fool. Surely he knew what he was doing. "Electrifying."
"Is it? Really?" She hoped she didn't sound as breathless as she felt. Fuck! She was supposed to be helpful not idiotic!
"It is. In fact, just today I finalized the guest list for that party we're going to be having." He sounded so pleased with himself that she couldn't help but smile for him. He'd progressed so much since she'd first met him. It was amazing, really. "It's going to be so brilliant seeing all the hard work I've been putting in paying off. All because of you."
That startled her. What could he possibly mean? "Because of me?"
"Because of you," he insisted. "I wouldn't have done any of it without you, Hermione." The way he said her name was like sin. She briefly wondered what it would feel like it taste it off his lips, but had to shake that thought out of her head, because he was talking again.
"I would... really appreciate it if you came, you know," Draco muttered, suddenly so heart wrenchingly insecure that she had to literally stop herself from interrupting him. "It's very daunting, stepping up into something as large as the company my father left me."
"I don't know..."
It was one thing to want to help him, and she did – she really wanted to help him. It was clear to her now that he was suffering from something and that it was her duty to help him get past it. Who would she be if she'd let him just suffer like that? She wasn't that kind of person. But then again, if she went to this party with him, it'd be like suicide. She'd be announcing to the entire Wizarding World that she was dating him. Ex Death Eater, playboy, and pureblood. What would people say?
"Please? I don't think I could do it without you..." he said, sounding like he was going to crack under the strain of the weight that was undoubtedly on his shoulders.
And that partially made up her mind. Perhaps this was his way of telling her that he was forgiving her for not being able to help him enough. Maybe this was a sign that he wasn't just out to screw her because of some veela blood he'd ingested. She could get past it all if it was going to help him get better. And if she had to ruin her reputation to do it, well... maybe that was just the price to pay. She wouldn't regret it.
So, firming her resolve, she told him, "I'll think about it."
And Hermione thought things might just be getting better.
/
While Hermione was clearly recuperating from what she had done to him, Draco was in quite a predicament. Unfortunately for him, that predicament was dark, dirty, and stank like something was rotting. Maybe it was him that was rotting, he could certainly feel the stab of pain and neglect inside and out. He could feel the hatred taking root inside of him like nothing else he'd felt in a long time. It wasn't going to go away.
There was no way this was going to go away by itself.
Hermione Granger had successfully ruined his life. And what had he to show for it except for a couple of bruises, a sore throat, and his damaged pride? Nothing. That was the problem. He had nothing from her. She hadn't given him anything in the weeks that he'd pursued her. And why? Because he was a Malfoy? Well, fuck her. She ought to know that Malfoys' were better than anyone else anyhow. Especially better than her, the know nothing at all, goody two shoes, annoying fucking bint –
"So, how are you?" she asked him, sweeter than she had any right to. He hated her for it.
"Fantastic," he cooed back. "And yourself?"
His own voice sickened him. She didn't deserve any more of his efforts, but there really was nothing else that he could do. Regardless of what his mind was telling him, regardless of all the hatred that was stored in his chest, his body still wanted her like it wanted nothing else. He still craved her. He still sickened if he was away from her too long.
It was better than before, of course. He could be away from her for quite a few hours before his body realized that she wasn't there anymore. But he was ready to move past this now. He was ready to be done with her. He knew now that she was just like every other stupid bint he'd encountered, so he could treat her like one. All it took were a few nice words and she'd be in the palm of his hand. Then he could rid his body of her like a plague.
She deserved to be discarded like she had discarded him.
"I'm alright," she said quietly, and for a split second he wondered if she were telling him the truth. She didn't sound alright. But he had to forcibly remind himself that he didn't care, and she didn't actually care about him. No, she never had and never could. Cold hearted bitch that she was, she just was entranced. "What's the dress code for your party?"
"Anything you want it to be, sweetheart," he said out of reflex.
"Draco!"
"Hermione," he purred, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when she actually giggled. "It's formal," he added, when she didn't press on.
She prattled on about something else, but he wasn't paying attention anymore. She was actually deciding to come, then. She was actually giving in like any other woman would, like all other women before her had. She was no better than them. In fact, she was worse. They'd wanted him for his money, his power, even his special brand of debauchery. She just wanted to hurt him.
And now that he was going to be rid of her, he was glad. He was glad that when she would finally realize that she'd been used just as thoroughly as she'd used him. She'd be just as broken as he was. Fucking bitch, she deserved it, deserved it for what she'd done to him all these weeks. She still didn't have the decency to open the door, did she? No. He wasn't going to be forgiving.
When he finally had her in his bed, he'd make the bitch pay. Even though it made his skin crawl, he knew it had to be done. She deserved it. She deserved it! It was all he could think of for hours as she talked about one thing or another. It was all he could think of until she decided she was going to sleep.
"Goodnight, love," he said cheerily.
She didn't correct him, even though just a couple days ago she would've reprimanded him, would've told him they clearly didn't have that kind of relationship. And that just firmed his resolve. She wasn't Hermione Granger. She was that bitch she-devil that had left him to fend for himself.
Yeah, he was going to be happy to be rid of her.
/
It was almost like Hermione was floating on a cloud. She felt free these days and didn't know the exact reason. She smiled without abandon and more often, just because she felt like it. She said hello to strangers and goodbye to her fellow workers. She went to work without complaint or grumbling to herself. She whistled while she worked, sang while she showered, and danced while she cooked.
It was almost like she was an entirely different person. Or at least, she was now a person people hadn't seen for a very long time.
And it was true. For people who knew her well, even though those people were quite few and in between, it was almost like Hermione was back to the teenage girl she'd been in her Hogwarts years. She was somehow optimistic, still bossy in that insufferable way of course, but cheerily so. She wasn't tired of her life anymore. In fact, the argument could be made that she was actually happy.
Ginny thought she'd finally gotten laid.
Hermione had playfully slapped her for that. Ginny had been shocked – no reprimand? No scowl? Something really was up.
Unbeknownst to them all, they weren't quite off the mark. Something was up and it was quite simple really. Hermione Granger was rather happy. She hadn't known that that was what had been missing from her life, but once it had resurfaced, she'd been shocked that she hadn't noticed it before. Happiness? Really? That's all it took to feel like you were floating on a bed of fluffy clouds?
Not that one could actually float on real clouds, of course. They were made entirely of water. One would simply sink through, so the concept of cloud floating was entirely moot. But Hermione couldn't care less. Hell, if she wanted, she could magic a fluffy white cloud made of cotton. What would the realists say then, huh?
She couldn't help but grin at the littlest of things and it wasn't too difficult to imagine why either. For anyone that knew - and it was really only her and the other person involved - they'd know that Draco Malfoy had just upturned her spirits.
To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure why.
It wasn't because he was entirely too cute for his own good, or the fact that he was playful, kind, and insanely nice. It wasn't even that he was so attractive that she could stare at him for hours, or that his intelligence was something that most people took for granted. He was more than she'd given him credit for. He was... different.
Maybe it was the fact that he had forgiven her. Perhaps that was the reason that she couldn't stop smiling when he was around. No one, ever, had ever given forgiveness that freely. Not even her parents had given her that kind of a gift. And wasn't that their jobs? It wasn't his, no definitely not his. He had every reason to be mad at her. He had every reason to just walk away and be rude. But he hadn't.
And she just couldn't help but smile at him for that.
Of course, she didn't push him too far, because it seemed like he was still kind of embarrassed for his whole nightmare episode, but that would soon be in the past. She was confident about it. Soon, they'd never even have to talk about it ever again. And when he was ready, they could be done with the whole talking behind doors thing. It was really getting old, after all, and she was tired. One couldn't truly have a civilized conversation if they couldn't even make proper eye contact. She just hoped he was ready for it sooner rather than later.
But most of all, she was happy because she felt like she was actually helping him. Every day it was almost like he was lighter and happier – at least, that's what their conversations felt like. They talked about everything and anything. He didn't hide his opinions like he used to when he was afraid to disagree with her. She almost fell in love with his quirks, his easy words, his quick retorts.
It also helped that he was unfailingly sweet.
Every morning, she would open the door to head to work and hope to Merlin that he was still there, waiting for her. It would be a nice excuse to bump into him, wouldn't it? But she supposed that that was still too much to ask. After all, he was probably still recuperating from that traumatic experience. She probably would've just ran away in general. At least he still made the effort to see her. She was glad for it.
Instead of finding him there, she'd find a present of some sort. One day it would be a beautiful bouquet of flowers, another day it might be a box of chocolates. Hermione soon had a pile of presents sitting next to where she slept in front of her door, just so she could stare at it before she fell asleep. It was unfailingly nice. It was strange for her. She'd never behaved like this before.
But she supposed she didn't mind. She was allowed this one indulgence, she told herself. Just this once... After all, everything that she, Ron, and Harry had gone through in their school years had robbed her of her teenage tendencies. She hadn't had the opportunity to truly fantasize after a random crush like all the other teenage girls had.
No, Gilderoy Lockhart did not bloody count.
Maybe she was going too far in her need to get her teenage hormones out of her system, or maybe she was far too blinded by her emotions to realize how creepy she was actually behaving, but her favourite gift that he'd left behind for her was his blanket.
Now, she wasn't exactly stupid. Of course she knew that he hadn't actually left his blanket behind for her. He'd probably had slept in a little too late and had had to rush off to work like a mad man. But she'd taken it nonetheless instead of folding it up and leaving it there for him like she normally would have. She didn't exactly know why she'd done it and didn't really want to question herself about it, either.
All she knew was that it was rather comforting, having it here with her. She was aware how stalkerish it was to do it, but she couldn't help it. She wrapped it around herself when she slept and sometimes smelled it. It did faintly smell of him and his cologne, which she'd always thought was attractive. Somehow, she couldn't find it in herself to be ashamed of her actions.
Maybe she just didn't bloody care. All she knew was that he'd left it there and sure hadn't asked for it back yet, so in her mind it was hers to keep. Nonetheless, if he ever asked her about it, she'd deny it like there was no tomorrow. There was no way she'd let him catch her like this, no matter how deliriously happy he made her.
He'd think she was crazy!
Nonetheless, she was happy. Insanely so. Things were going well, somehow. She couldn't wait to see where things would take her.
Welcome to my life, Malfoy, she thought before falling asleep.
/
One day, Draco had finally had enough of being sweet to his tormentor.
It wasn't that it was difficult or anything. He'd been around women nearly all his life, so wooing them was almost like second nature to him. It wasn't all that difficult to leave little gifts outside her door for her or say the right things at the right time. In fact, it was all too bloody easy. He could physically feel her falling for him – his body could sense that the prey was close to being captured – and it disgusted him all the further.
It disgusted him because it was too easy.
She was meant to be difficult and a bitch, not a bitch and as easy as any other slag! He could find that anywhere, he could literally get that anytime he wanted. Hell, he could pick a girl off the street and woo her to her knees if he was so inclined! Where had his Granger gone? Where was his Granger now?
He had to remind himself that it didn't matter, that even his Granger had rejected him thousands of times. Even his Granger didn't actually want him. He just needed to be rid of her and move on with his life. Then everything could be normal. Then he could return to his debauchery and never work a day in his life. Yeah, it would be easy.
But in the meanwhile, he was bloody bored of the easiness.
Draco had always had the tendency to become bored rather easily. In fact, some would say that it was his defining characteristic. Before Granger had landed and ruined his entire bloody life, Draco had been involved with several girls at one time over a long period. The girls knew it, so it wasn't all that big of a deal, but he'd been discrete about it anyway. It had helped eased his sense of boredom.
And now that he was confined with the snake in lion's clothes, and had been for weeks, that boredom had risen to a level that was practically unmanageable. Hell, if he didn't occupy himself with something substantial soon, he was probably going to burst! And not even in the good way. It was rather unfortunate that Granger was such a bitch, really. He was sure he'd have been happy taking up her time if she hadn't been so... reluctant.
Or if she hadn't chewed him up, spit him out, trampled over the pieces, and then lit him on fire, only to watch him burn into charred little pieces. Oh yeah, and then pissed all over his ashes!
That bloody bitch.
It was with this mentality that he returned to the club. Entering his old haunt gave him some sense of uneasiness now, as if his body knew he ought not to be there, but he pushed it aside. Granger clearly didn't want him, so it was only fitting that he go find someone who actually did until he could be rid of her. And that time was going to come soon. Yeah, he was going to be rid of her very soon.
Nevertheless, he shivered when he felt the mysterious air envelope him, surround him with its smoky feel. It was always a special kind of feeling, walking into the room where the walls were lined with mirrors and women. Usually, it was an air of superiority, one that allowed a man to feel empowered, respected, important. Today, Draco only felt a sense of foreboding, like he really ought not to be here, ought not to consider what he was about to do. His body told him his place was back with Granger. His mind told his body to shut the bloody fuck up.
He took his usual seat in the back where no one could really see him. His face was hotter than usual and he couldn't think of a reason why that should be so, so he ignored it. Come to think of it, he was getting really good at that, ignoring things that didn't have explanations. Even ignoring things that did have explanations. It was getting too easy now and Draco despised that.
Eventually, someone got him a drink. He didn't really remember drinking it.
All he did was sit there and breathe in his surroundings. It was still early in the evening, so there weren't too many people there. If Draco wasn't mistaken, it was also a week day, meaning the crowd of patrons was thin. But that didn't matter, no, not at all, because that meant no bodies would obstruct his view of the women. No matter the fact that his body felt it was wrong to stare as such a lewd scene, that's what he'd come here for, hadn't he? And that's probably what he would get, too.
After all, these women were free with their bodies, giving in to whatever pleasure they so desired. They were never forced, no; he didn't really know anyone in the club's members who was into that. Why would they be? There was a woman here for everyone, a woman who liked just what you liked and wanted to do. Draco just needed to be free, free like they were.
They were dancing in the smoke filled room, the women, that is. On some level, Draco realized that they must enjoy dancing to move like that. They were lithe, graceful, and bloody lewd if any description was needed. They didn't need men to move like that because they had each other to grind upon, to caress. And for some reason, that made it all the sexier.
And all the more wrong.
He must have watched for hours, how they moved and their pretty painted faces. They couldn't naturally look like that, of course. There was nothing natural about them. But in their movements was a kind of dignity normal women just couldn't possess. Other women couldn't move like that, and Draco had had plenty of relations with other women to know that this was true. If there was a reason he always ended up back here, it was probably because of that.
They were different. They were like him.
He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when a wraith like girl sauntered over to him. He didn't need to say anything to her; she just knew what he wanted. How? He didn't know. But she just began to move, solely for him. It was entrancing to watch, especially because he didn't recognize her. Perhaps she was new here. Whoever she was, she was a perfect addition to this place.
The girl, because she was a girl, was thin. Almost too thin, Draco could see her bones as she writhed before him. Usually, Draco wouldn't go for something like that as they looked far too fragile to do anything substantial with, but as she moved he could see her body was knotted with lean muscles. Over her stomach, her arms, even her bare legs. She was scantily clad enough that he could see all that and more.
Her skin was dark, coffee coloured, and her hair was blacker than either of the Patil twins. Her eyes were the colour of chocolate, delicious pools of melted chocolate, and her lips had been painted a ruby red. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but she was nothing like Granger. In fact, she was the perfect opposite of Granger.
Maybe that was why Draco chose her and took her into one of the back rooms.
His stomach was knotted, sure that she'd shake off his hold on her and run away. He waited for her to reject him as he leaded her to his usual room in the back. He waited, but nothing came. She only followed silently, keeping up with his quick steps. He wondered why she'd chosen him. He wondered if she even knew who he was. It didn't matter, either way, but he wondered nonetheless.
When they reached the room, he splayed her on the bed and didn't bother turning on the lights. What good would it do? He was nervous enough being in a room with a girl that was not Hermione Granger. It was a death sentence on its own, he didn't need to see it happen. She lay there willingly though, and he followed, placing himself between her legs.
As he kissed her awkwardly, doing his best not to cringe, he felt like a damned teenager. But he supposed his fear of being in this situation was warranted, because already he could feel the dull pains spreading throughout his body. His body didn't want this girl, his body wanted Granger. Granger, who was probably sitting in her flat and waiting for him. Perhaps if he left now he could make it there in time to have dinner with her like he'd been having for the past few weeks. He could blame Blaise for making him late, even though he hadn't been in to work for a few days now.
She doesn't want you, his mind whispered to him. Don't be a fool.
So he pressed his tongue into her mouth and stroked hers with his. She seemed to like that and she seemed surprised that he'd snapped out of whatever awkwardness that was stopping him. It wasn't to last, though. When her hands found their way to her back, he once again froze up and grimaced. She stopped. He wondered if she was confused. He wondered if she was regretting coming in here with him.
She doesn't want you. She left you there to die.
That was true. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked. He hoped his voice was smooth.
"Carmen," she replied. He voice wasn't sultry. It wasn't purposely sexy. She sure as hell wasn't cooing at him like she should've been, like how all the other girls would have done in her place. For some reason, that made him feel better. She was normal and she was with him. That must mean something. "Nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy."
"How do you know my name?" he asked.
"Everyone knows your name," she responded. He could hear the smile in her voice even though he couldn't see it. Her statement made him feel better. It was true. Everyone here knew his name.
"Why did you choose me, then?"
He felt her shrug under him and for a second he was worried. She was normal, she had chosen him, and she didn't have a reason. What was she playing at? Surely she wanted something. Surely this meeting meant something, whether it was money or pleasure or company. Or maybe an invite to his highly publicized party. There had to be some reason. Something. Even Granger had reasons. How could this one not?
"You seemed sad and lonely. I thought that I would join you," she said slowly, as if he would misinterpret her. Perhaps he would have. He had a notoriously short attention span, after all. Everyone knew that.
But this was something that was unmistakeable.
Her statement was almost therapeutic, kind of like a balm to his soul. This stranger cared. Sure, it was probably her job to care about the patrons of this place, but he didn't mind paying. Granger hadn't cared. Hell, she didn't even want him. She'd left him there to suffer. She had let him suffer. All alone. Somehow, though, it was alright because there were people not like her. There were people like this Carmen. And as long as that was a reality, he would never drown.
So, he began to kiss down her neck with fervor, one that he hadn't felt in months. It was what he needed. She was what he needed. Fuck Granger. He didn't need her. He didn't need her. And this time, as he told himself that lie, he actually believed it to be true.
She arched into him and before he knew it, their clothes were gone. He hadn't known when it had happened; all he could hear was Carmen moaning under him. Her legs wrapped around him and he realized they were bloody long. Her hands were in his hair and her breasts were pushed up against his chest, rubbing as they moved together.
He wanted her. She knew that, could probably feel it. But his body felt betrayed. His body still wanted Granger and he just couldn't understand why. The veela blood could just burn in hell. After this, maybe he'd even go veela hunting. But right now, just for this goddamn moment, he needed to endure the pain somehow.
She doesn't want you. She doesn't need you. She left you there to suffocate.
And she had, hadn't she? She'd done that to him. So he was going to do it to her now. He was going to leave her there while he was with another woman, and it would all be fantastically alright in the end. As he pressed himself into her he realized, this was exactly what he was made for. He was at his best when he was this filthy. The pain ceased to matter because this was who he was. And Draco Malfoy never shied away from the truth. No, he embraced it with every pounding stroke.
It didn't even matter that the girl below him was shouting, orgasming, or foaming at the mouth. He wouldn't have noticed and wouldn't have cared, either way. Everything was balanced now. His mind was calm and frantic at the same time. He began to thrust faster as he was taken into abandon. There was no more room for mistakes now, no doubts.
Except, she doesn't want me.
And that only made him pound all the harder. It was easy after a few minutes because the pain was pushed into the back of his mind. Perhaps it was because his nerves were being pleasurably stimulated and his body could no longer feel pain. Or perhaps the pain had just turned into pleasure. Whatever the case, it was all gone. He wondered if this is what it felt like for girls when they lost their virginity.
She'll never want you, Draco.
He could faintly hear Carmen scream her orgasm. Was it her first? Second? Third? Was it even an orgasm? Sure it was. He could feel her repeatedly clenching around him. Her body quivered under him and he managed to press his mouth over her breast and suck. He imagined how Hermione would react to the news. He imagined how Hermione would arch when he'd do this to her later.
But she'll never want you.
He could only last so long. Eventually, he had to call out her name, even though she was the she-devil, and empty himself into the girl that was below him. It was unfair, of course, but the girl had the good sense not to say anything or even to be offended. No, that was her job, after all. Instead, she just held him and they panted together. He just hoped it was gratifying.
As Carmen fell asleep next to him, he realized he'd actually defeated the veela blood. It had hurt like hell to do it, but it didn't matter. He was mostly numb now. Somewhere in his mind he knew his body was actually shaking in pain, but somehow he just couldn't feel it. It was obvious though. She didn't want him and he had just proven to himself that he didn't need her, either.
That made him smirk.
Goodbye, Hermione Granger, he thought, and good Riddance.
A/N: DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNNN! I know you're probably going to stab me in my sleep for this... But that's a risk I'm willing to take. Let me know what you thought about it! Here's your usual spoiler:
"Leave!" she shouted when he wouldn't listen to her. "I don't want to see your face here ever again, and I swear if I do, I will apply for a restraining order!"
Unsigned Reviews:
Fanyi: Because you have your Private Messaging disabled, I'm going to leave this here for you. I'm glad you're enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it! I do try my best to come up with as original an idea to write as possible, and I've never seen this happen before, so I'm glad you like it. I only hope, though, that my now sporadic update schedule isn't too sparse. I'm not proud of the last break I took. Thank you for the well wishes! They were very kind of you. :)
Buttercup: I think you were one of the few that actually liked Draco's change, so that's positive! To answer your question, (And this is a question a lot of people ask me) I don't think Draco and Hermione have the kind of relationship where he can just offer her a job. She's independent and is too proud for such things and he can barely manage to get to work himself, you know? As well, considering that they're still in the stage where they're speaking through doors to each other, I don't think they're in that kind of a trustworthy position, you know? I don't know if I managed to write this in, but Hermione actually feels like she needs to do her job because no one else will – who else will take care of the poor defenceless animals besides her? Hope this helps!