Author's Note: Wow. I actually have time to update! (What? Physics formative? What is that? Is it due tomorrow? What?) Anyway, there will almost definitely (WOO!) be another chapter today, it's already half finished. It's already halfway because it was originally going to be part of this chapter, believe it or not (my recommendation is to believe it). But then it was waaay too long (or not... maybe I should have kept it as one chapter...) so I decided to leave it on a cliffy (kinda) and then have another one waiting :) Anyway, please enjoy!
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Disclaimer: Yadda yadda I don't own Harry Potter. Or Draco. Or Bones. Or Jem. :'C
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The sound of music filled number 12 Grimmauld Place for the first time in what must have been decades. It filled the house with a melancholy so deep that it made Hermione's heart wrench as she sat alone in the kitchen, toying with a cup of tea that had long lost its warmth. The rest of the Order had left the house, and Harry had taken Hermione aside quietly, asked her if she had wanted to come with them; they were visiting one of the safe houses to update and check on the people within. They were also going to find Narcissa's body. She had refused, saying that she had a headache, that she was fine staying here. Reluctantly, Harry had left her alone in the house with Draco.
Draco...
She hadn't seen him all day, and she was getting a little worried, though she knew he was in the house somewhere. One could not simply assuage the bond many months spent alone together had contrived, and she missed his closeness. She knew he would be hurting over Narcissa's death, and she had given him space, the day to grieve. But it was evening now, and she thought she might go and find him.
Then the music began. Faint, lilting, sad. Despondent, almost. Soft notes fell like velvety petals from a dying rose, beautiful and not. Hermione sat, her eyes closed, just listening to it. And suddenly, the meaning became clear to her. The song Draco played told of the life of his mother. The good and the bad, the happy and sad. Hermione stood up abruptly and went to find him.
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The music compelled her closer, enticing her up the stairs while she observed the thin lines cut through the fine coating of dust upon the banister When she reached the top, Hermione walked quickly to the music room, her feet moving nearly without her volition. "Draco? Draco I..." She stopped. He sat with his back to her, fingers still working upon the instrument held so delicately in his hands. Hermione walked closer to him, then around him so she could see his face. Tears had worn a light trail down the sides of his face, but they were long dry. His face now only held a deeply set expression, of misery and resignation. "Draco?"
The spell broke, and the music subsided. "Yes?" That one word held so much agony that she propelled herself into his arms. Draco stiffened, then pushed her away, setting the guitar aside before gathering her close again. He rested his head in the curve of her neck, closing his eyes and burying his face into her hair. Don't you dare cry again, Draco. Not in front of her. She would think you weak, a coward, more so than you already are. You can never show her. He pressed his lips together tightly and drew away, watching her face. "Yes, Granger?"
"I... I just came to see who was playing."
His lips quirked slightly at the lie. "Granger, even I know we're alone in this house. Why the pretence?"
She flushed. "Well, it was really beautiful. Your mother was a great witch. I'm so sorry Draco." Draco's slight smile instantly vanished, and his face became hard.
"You and me both." He said, standing. Draco held out his hand, and she accepted, letting him pull her up to a standing position. He still towered above her, but she felt safe and secure with him. Suddenly, his lips were on hers, his breath swift and hot on her skin. His tongue teased at the crease of her lips, and she obliged, opening her mouth so he could explore the treasure she kept within. "Granger..." His voice was like hot fudge on ice-cream to her: she melted more into his embrace, and as his hands ghosted up her sides underneath her shirt, she couldn't help but let a little shudder of pleasure run through her. "Granger, you are so beautiful. You are so lovely. You know how much I love you." He growled softly as he reached the gentle swell of her breasts, and she let another shudder through her body. Draco slowly pushed her shirt over her head, then reached around her back to undo her bra strap. Once that was done, he stopped to watch her. Hermione, feeling a little shy, covered her modesty but Draco stopped her, his gaze locked onto hers. "Don't do that."
"Why not?!"
He smoothed her unruly curls out of her eyes. "Because you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. There is no need at all to be ashamed, though if it makes you feel better, I can stop staring at how lovely you are." Hermione blushed. Then his lips were on hers again, and suddenly she found her back up against the wall behind the piano. Her arms were locked around his neck, and his hands were cupping her breasts gently. His kisses trailed fire down her neck, and she let out little gasps of pleasure. He growled again, and when he caught her nipple gently between his teeth, she let out a long, loud moan that made Draco's eyes dart up to hers. "Has no-one ever done that to you before?"
Hermione panted, frowning slightly. "Uh, no."
Draco was shocked. "What?! Not even Weaselbee?! I thought the two of you were... at school... hmm." He started kissing her again. Suddenly Hermione could taste salt, and Draco wasn't holding her any more. He was clutching at her like a drowning man to a lifesaver, his fingers digging into her waist as he buried his face into her shoulder. He shuddered as sobs wracked through his body, and Hermione backed him up, sinking down onto the piano stool.
You fool! A voice in his mind shouted at Draco as he cried into her. You let her see this. This weak and unworthy part of you. You don't deserve her! Draco ignored it for now: he was too preoccupied with his shattered heart. "My mother..." he whispered, his voice muffled and shaky against her shoulder. "Mother..." He was holding Hermione so tightly that she struggled to breathe.
"Draco-" He released her instantly, pushing away and scrambling to his feet, his expression wild.
"Merlin... what have I done?" he moaned, running his hands through his pale blonde hair, his face ashen and his gray eyes taking her half-dressed form in. "I... I... don't... don't do that... I shouldn't have- don't comfort me-" Draco turned abruptly on his heel and fled from the room, leaving a shocked and hurt Hermione reeling in his wake.
He thundered down the stairs, gripping the banister with white knuckles as he slipped and stumbled in his haste to get away from Hermione. Shame and anger at himself flushed his pale cheeks as he barrelled through the empty hallways, and he skidded to a halt in front of his door, wrenching the handle and kicking it shut behind him. Slowly, he fell back against the door, sliding down to land in a tangle of neatly folded limbs at the bottom.
I am so weak! I can't even control myself around her, let alone my emotions. I can't believe what I did! That is inexcusable. I shouldn't have left her... She doesn't deserve a mess like this. Granger deserves better than this.
Hermione sat on the stool, picking up the guitar that had been leaning solemnly against the piano. She tried to make music as Draco had done, but the magic seemed to have been lost from it when he had set it down.
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The next morning, everyone huddled around the table. Draco sat as far away as he could from Hermione, staring moodily into his mug and snapping at anyone who got too close to him. Nobody really blamed him, after all, his only real remaining loved one had died only hours ago. Nobody except Hermione really cared much either, because so many loved ones had died during this war that a single death almost wasn't important any more. Hermione stole glances at him from across the table, but he did not look at her once.
The silence around the table was thick and heavy; last night had been a catastrophe. The Order members had visited one of the safe houses, and they had been ambushed. Badly.
The people inside were long dead. The people- the remains, the corpses- were inundated with flies, maggots writhing and slithering in and out of the rotting flesh, the smell already permeating the room their bodies were piled in. The visiting Order members had gagged, turning to each other in horror-
And that's when the Death Eaters had struck. The Order had barely escaped with their lives, and many had sustained horrible injuries. The strain of these showed on the faces of the people around the table, and eventually, most eyes came to rest upon Draco. He could feel their eyes burning into him, but he tried to ignore them, his gaze boring holes into the dregs of coffee at the bottom of his mug.
Weasley- of course it would be Weasel!- spoke first. "So." Draco wondered distractedly how one word could be so filled with malicious pleasure, but he also remembered how it was possible: only a few years ago, he had been using hurtful words strung together with a dilute version of the same sadism. "So, Malfoy. Did you know about the attack last night?" The kitchen's atmosphere dropped even further in degrees, and everything was still as Draco lifted his gaze to match Ron's. He paused, considering the maniacal fire in the other man's eyes.
"No." He said slowly. The word rang through the still silence, even though it was said quietly. When no-one spoke, he continued, ignoring Ron's triumphant smile. "I know I've only been here a day, but honestly. Have I given you reason to mistrust me?" He was met with pointed glares, and he flushed slightly. "A-apart from our school days. So far there has been nothing I have done wrong. I brought Hermione back to you, safe and sound and entirely unhurt. My mother-" he choked. "-my mother, she never gave you reason to doubt her. I haven't done anything to destroy or hurt anything or anyone in this house during my stay." Draco cast his gray-eyed gaze around the table at the stony faces. "I have given you no reason to suspect me."
"Ah," The flames danced in his icy blue stare. "But there are still the conditions you were staying here under, Malfoy. If you don't comply, we can, ah, torture that information out of you."
His smile was so dark that it made Draco ponder how a third of the Golden Trio had become so cold.
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"So, what do you know of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's knowledge of the safe houses?"
Draco licked his dry lips, which did little to help because his mouth was dry also. He clasped his hands together on the dark wood. "I can't tell you that." He said quietly, raising his gaze to Moody's. The grizzled old Auror sighed.
"Have you seen this kind of thing before?" Moody said, changing the subject abruptly. There were just the five of them in the room; Moody, Weasel, Scarhead, Granger and himself. Moody was holding a strange device in his hands.
"I... no. What is-"
"Miss Granger, over there," he gestured towards Hermione, who was watching the scene unfold with horror-filled eyes. "Showed me how to use these Muggle contraptions. This here device has been used since medieval times, it's called a thumbscrew. You're a smart man, I'm sure you can figure out what it does. Scary to think how much pain can be inflicted upon one without a curse to do so. But, being wizards... we can use both. Now," his gaze returned to Draco's over the thumbscrew. "What do you know about You-Know-Who's knowledge of us?"
Draco felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck, sending a shudder down his spine which he suppressed. "I can't tell you."
"I didn't really want to do this, you know." Moody started undoing the screws, his eyes still locked on Draco's. "But I have to do it for my people and all the innocents out there. They depend on us to keep them safe, though they may not know it."
"I honestly can't tell you-"
"You leave me no choice." The thumbscrew was brought over Draco's own thumbs, and as he struggled to get out of the chair, ropes suddenly appeared out of nowhere and bound him to the chair. "Thank you, Weasley. You can take it from here. I'll do the questioning."
A knife flipped out of its shell into Moody's hand, and Draco blanched, remembering a night, so long ago now, when his father had-
"Am I not one of your people then?!" Draco yelled, still struggling against the ropes that were so tightly encasing him to the chair. "Do I not count?!"
The knife flashed downwards.
"No, you don't."
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Author's Note: Woo! Exciting! Draco was an idiot with Hermione. But anyway. I hope you all enjoyed! Please do favourite and follow if you haven't already and you enjoyed what you read! :) Also, please leave me a review! They are always really appreciated and I do love hearing what you guys have to say about what happens in each chapter :) Also, if you want to ask questions about anything feel free to PM me :) Thanks for reading!
~Chongy