Breaking Heaven
Chapter 9
October 19th
After Brockington
I hadn't been wrong about how easy it would be to weasel past my explanation of how exactly I'd been able to procure the tickets. I just told Ginny over brunch at our favorite cafe that a co-worker had given them to me for half the price when she found out she had to unexpectedly travel to America to see a sick relative. Ginny had sworn up and down she'd pay me back as soon as she could, but I brushed her off easily amid her excitement.
"Who are you going to give the third ticket to?" she asks, giving me a weary look that tells me exactly her mind is jumping to. She thinks I might offer it to Ron, to see if I can coax him back to me. My heart stings at the thought, but not as much as I thought it would. Even after only two weeks, it seems my heart is adjusting to the massive rip he'd torn through it. The idea unsettles me, but I also find it easy to accept for the time being while I have an important duty to fulfill. It will make tonight far less difficult.
I haven't heard from Ron since our split, nor from Harry since our meeting with McGonagall. I'd expected something to come from them at some point, as we've never gone this long without speaking in some manner since secondary school. But Ron is hurt and upset, and Harry is furious with me for the possibility of my having a role in letting Malfoy out of Brockington. And while I resent the notion, I can understand where their hurt feelings come from.
"Do you think Eugenia is available?" I ask, referring to the pretty blue-lipped girl from our last trip to Boneyard. "She seems the most tolerable out of the bunch who was with us last time."
Ginny nods enthusiastically, her shining red hair bobbing in its ponytail. "Yes, she's by far my favorite Harpie. But don't tell the other girls," she adds hastily, giving a small laugh. "I'm sure she'll shit her pants when we tell her."
Eugenia does, indeed, shit her pants with excitement when Ginny calls her on speaker phone.
She lets out a shriek so loudly I'm almost certain the speaker is permanently damaged. She quickly begins rattling off outfit and makeup options that make my head spin, and promises she'll come help us get ready for the night. Ginny gives me Eugenia's number to punch into my phone so I can send her the address to my flat, and we make plans meet to get ready for, "like, the most MEGA-AWESOME night ever!"
Ginny and I part ways after brunch, but she promises to be at my flat at 7pm with snacks while we get ready. She gives me a last, gleeful squeal as she hugs me, making me laugh in delight at how happy this makes her. While I may have ulterior motives for inviting her tonight, I'm glad something I'm so fucking nervous about can make her light up so much.
The afternoon passes slowly, and my anxiety is at an all-time high by 3pm. I pace my flat nearly a hundred times, bouncing my hands off my thighs as I do. My brain is moving far too fast, and at one point I'm nearly dizzy. Not working has left me a nervous wreck without something to expend my energy and frenetic mind on. I'd already gone for a rare jog shortly after arriving home from brunch, but I'm still buzzing with energy.
My mind jumps to the small red box hidden in the back of my sock drawer, tucked away in case of emergency. It's a shameful little box, something I'd kept hidden from Ron in fear he wouldn't understand, especially given what his job all entails. While Ron understands the theory of anxiety, it's not something he can fully grasp. He doesn't understand why I can't just snap myself out of it when it all becomes too much. But, luckily, Fred and George Weasley aren't as straight laced as their brother. So when I'd found them smoking pot in the Weasley family's upstairs bathroom, I'd been intrigued. I'd read enough studies to be well aware of the medicinal effects of marijuana, but the idea of practicing the act myself had been a distant thought. Shortly after me hacking out a lung and their laughter and coaching, I realized the buzzing energy always zipping about in my brain and slowed to soft, lazy waves. Smiling at the end of the night when Ron commented on what a good mood I was in, the twins had pressed the small red box into my purse on the way out the door with the promise to help me restock it whenever I needed it.
Reminding myself it's hardly the most outrageous law I'd end up breaking through the course of the coming months, I allow my pacing to lead me into the bedroom and to the offending drawer. The box is small, about the size a notecard and only a few inches deep, but hidden inside are the things I'm most ashamed of. I pull the box out of the drawer and head to my bed, lifting the lid as I go. There's still a mostly full bowl inside from when I'd hastily had to throw the pipe in the box and throw open a window when Ron had announced he was coming over to "help me" after a particularly stressful day at work, not knowing he was interrupting the one thing that would actually manage to calm me down.
I force myself not to look at the necklace also tucked inside. The glint of the large gold "L" on the band makes my stomach turn, and my heart grow soft. How strange that one of the most romantic, sincere gestures I've ever received in my life is in the form of a torture trophy. Just the thought sends my anxiety skyrocketing, and so I will myself to reach for the pipe with shaking hands.
It never takes me much, maybe three good pulls, and I'm there. I've never pushed it hard, because I've never used it as a recreational thing. It's purely to control my anxiety, so I consider it medicinal. That being said, when the first wave of warmths begin to settle over me I can't help but left off a little smile. There we go. Tucking the lighter and pipe away in the box to be safely hidden away again, I head into my bathroom intent on starting a warm bubble bath to let my mild high mellow sufficiently.
Between the weed and the bath, I manage to get to my bed and sleep like the dead for several hours. By the time I wake up it's already 6:50pm, giving me just enough time to get myself dressed since I had slipped between my sheets bare naked in a fit of freedom. Indeed, I'm just slipping an oversized sweater over a pair of leggings when the bell to my flat rings. Ginny knows where I hide my spare key, so if she's ringing the bell I can only assume she's got an arm full of god knows what.
Just as I suspected, Ginny is laden down with arms of clothing and bags of makeup and hair products. She gives me a sheepish look, but Eugenia stands behind her beaming.
"She made me help her carry all of this," Ginny says by way of apology, striding past me and heading to my bedroom.
"Yes, yes," Eugenia says with a huff. "We all know how tough and tomboy you like to act, Ginerva Weasley. But deep down, you're just as girly as the rest of us." She steps past me as well, setting down grocery bags of snacks on the small island in our kitchen. She pulls out a bag of grapes, some cheese, several bars of chocolate, and three bottles of my favorite wine.
"Thank god," I sigh, heading for the cupboard that holds my stemware. "I was hoping by snacks she meant wine."
"Indeed," Eugenia laughs, accepting the large plate I pulled out the adjacent cupboard for her. "Ginny said you're not much of a party girl, so we have to get you liquored up before you change your mind about tonight's adventure."
I purse my lips and shake my head as I start cranking on the corkscrew, eager to get to the sweet, crisp white wine inside. "Ginny has a really big mouth."
"Go ahead and open two, Gena," Ginny shouts from the bedroom. "Hermione's sour puss attitude is going to need them all!"
While I'm a bit put out by Ginny's statement, she ends up being right about the wine. Half an hour later and one bottle down, I'm finally feeling a bit more willing to let her and Eugenia have a stab at my hair and makeup. My small vanity, which normally holds just a hairbrush and a few small beauty items, is now littered with all sorts of makeup and terrifying instruments of torture. Eugenia informs us the theme of the night at Boneyard is "Devils in Paradise" so she insists we need dark, dramatic looks. Ginny agrees to tame my hair into some semblance of ringlet curls, and Eugenia decides I'll need something called a "smokey eye." I don't even bother complaining, instead letting them work and chatter while I drink my wine to keep my thoughts from racing again.
I don't recognize the girl in the mirror staring back at me nearly an hour later. Ginny manages to curl my hair with Eugenia's straightener, resulting in long curls that kiss down my back with the extra length. Eugenia had cleverly brought gift wrap ribbons, which Ginny has also curled and mixed in with my hair. Eugenia is stellar with the makeup, adding cateye wings to make my eyes appear wider, with a swipe of a bright white liner near my bottom lashes to make them larger. Beneath that she'd smudge emerald green shadow, and my cheeks shimmer with a platinum highlight that I'm sure can be seen from a mile away. I'd vehemently protested the fake lashes she'd tried to stick on, instead letting her smear on layers of mascara I'm dreading have to wash off. Her final addition was the rub of dark red lipstick, nearly black against my powdered skin.
The outfit is my own selection, and I'm eager to surprise them as I've only revealed the color to them so far. I'd purchased the dress a long time again on a whim when it had gone on sale at a store I pass nearly every weekend on my walks around town. I'd had visions of wearing it to dinner some night at a fancy restaurant with Ron, maybe even on our honeymoon. Or maybe at Harry and Ginny's wedding. But no such opportunity has come up, and it's been sitting in my closet for months collecting dust. Eugenia and Ginny both clap with delight when I pull it out, Eugenia insisting it's perfect and Ginny demanding I immediately go put it on while she finishes Eugenia's hair.
The material of the dress is soft, like butter as it slides over my skin. The feel of it makes my nipples harden as the fabric smooths by, but the dress is low cut in front and even lower cut in back, making it impossible to wear a bra. The sleeves are cut along the length with occasional bands of glittering silver gems that hold the two sides together, ending at a sparkling cuff at my wrist. The dress hugs my torso and falls just above my knees in a flare, providing enough coverage that I don't feel like my ass is going to fall out the bottom by any stretch of the imagination. The fabric clings enough I have to be careful about my underwear selection, which means I'm wearing a red lace thong to hide my panty lines.
My stomach and thighs are thicker than I'd like from days spent inactive at my desk or in sessions. Ron always made me feel like I was enough, telling me I was shaped like a real woman. I feel a spike of pain in my heart when I remember how good he was at making me feel grounded and valued. His view of me was what gave me the courage to buy such a revealing dress. The dress is a color Ron abhors, a dark emerald green, but I'd bought it anyway in the hopes I'd manage to finally win him over. The color matches my skin tone wonderfully, and it goes perfectly with my most comfortable nude heels. It's an outfit I'd been dying to show off to him. But somehow, it feels like tonight is the night I was meant to debut it.
Ginny and Eugenia ooh and aah appropriately for me as I step out of the bathroom, then quickly scramble into their own outfits. They've each selected an ensemble on each polar end of my own. Ginny's in a pair of comfortable leggings with a simple red top with gold flats while Eugenia's sparkling silver dress barely covers her ass and her heels are sky high. It's fascinating to me that two women with the same muscled, athletic build would chose to display themselves so differently. Ginny has left her own hair now and natural and wears simple makeup, while Eugenia's is curled more dramatically than mine and teased within an inch of its life, and her makeup is as dramatic as her personality. Eugenia is cracking horrible, racy jokes making Ginny laugh, and it's the first time I think it might actually be possible for me to have a good time tonight.
We're out the door by 8:30pm, and Ginny already has a cab waiting for us as we exit my building. Climbing into the back seat, it suddenly dawns on me that I may need to ask Ginny an important question.
"Ginny?" I inquire casually as I pull the safety belt across my chest to click in beside me. "Does Harry know where we're going tonight?"
Ginny does her best to look nonchalant as she slides in the opposite door and says, "I told him I was taking you out again to blow off steam. He didn't ask me where, he was too busy asking how you were doing after the split with Ron. I didn't think I needed to elaborate. I'm staying with you tonight, by the way," she adds with a sly smile. "I intend to get well and truly shitfaced tonight, and I don't want to have to listen to the lecture when I get home."
I'm not exactly sure how this statement makes me feel. While I'm relieved Harry doesn't know where we're going tonight, I'm not sure how I feel about the fact I'm making Ginny lie to Harry. True, she doesn't know Boneyard is Death Eater territory, but she can definitely tell Harry isn't happy with her going there and would do his best to dissuade her. She assumes it's because of the club atmosphere, but I know better. And if Harry finds out I invited her there, our friendship may be in even more trouble than it already is.
There's also the matter of breaking it to Ginny I may not even be coming back to my flat with her tonight if Malfoy decides to make an appearance. The idea sends currents of electricity shooting down my spine, sensations of both apprehension and...excitement making my toes curl. It's highly possible I'll see Malfoy tonight for the first time since everything came crashing down around me. I'm not sure if I'm going to play the grateful card to lure him into a false sense of security...or slap him right across his smug little face.
The entryway to Boneyard is dark as we pass through the doors, the doorman marking our hands with a gold inked stamp as he tears off a portion of our tickets before handing them back to us along with a few gold raffle-type tickets. I tuck mine into the small wrist wallet I've brought with me tonight, then check to make sure my flat keys and phone are still safely stowed inside. After a few steps in darkness we reach another doorman, who pulls back a thick velvet curtain to allow us into Boneyard's transformed interior.
The lights are lower than before, broken up by beams of red and orange light that casts a devilish tint to the entire space. The large bar that dominates the central space is also lit up in red and orange, and the workers behind it are dressed in racy clothing with dark red masks. Behind the bar is the flashing lights of the dance floor, and the sunken tables around the bar for those who wish to indulge in special service are covered in brilliant displays of liquor available for pouring by one of the delightful waitresses dressed in outfits that could easily be called lingerie. I notice tonight the balconies of what are obviously the VIP booths, each accessed by small spiral staircases manned by burly looking bouncers. I wonder exactly who you have to be to get a VIP table at a VIP event, and decide I don't want to know.
"Table service is supposed to be outrageous tonight," Eugenia yells over the music, eyeing the disgusting displays of wealth happening at the booths we'd been in the last time we were here. "But we can use these tickets at the bar! Let's get some drinks!"
It takes us a while to make our way to the front of the line of people anxious to grab a drink as well. I'm surprised by the number of people here tonight, easily more than were present last week. It's amazing how an "exclusive" event can draw such a crowd. For how much these tickets were supposedly going for, this place can stay running for at least a year on tonight's profits alone.
Eugenia orders us each a "Devil's Elixir" shot that tastes like cinnamon and cream on the way down. She then hands me a dangerous looking hurricane glass full of some sort of blue drink with a strawberry and a bit of whipped cream floating on top of it. She gives the bartender six of the four small golden drink tickets we were each given at the door.
Ginny doesn't even question the drink Eugenia hands her, instead just taking a blind sip as she makes her way to the only unoccupied cocktail table near the outskirts of the bar area of the club. I'm not sure if it's because Eugenia knows her drink order so well or if Ginny just trusts her teammate, but it makes me miss that easy way of being with someone who knows you so well. It makes me miss Harry, and even more it makes me miss Ron.
"This place is insane," Eugenia yells as she turns to look around her. "How is it possible it's even more busy than on a normal night?"
"Can you believe this is them limiting the ticket sales?" Ginny asks with a grin. "These guys sure know how to do business."
Just beyond us a bunch of guys crack up laughing as a tall, blonde, and brawn guy comes sauntering over with a cocky grin on his face. He slams an arm down on the table and glances toward Eugenia with what I'm sure he thinks is his most charming grin.
"Are you ladies heading to the dance floor?" he asks while his friends hoot in the background. "I'd love the chance to try it out with you."
Eugenia rolls her eyes as she brings her glass to her lips where she can supervise it appropriately as she tells him, "Just as soon as I drink enough to tolerate slobs like you."
Her caution with her drink reminds me to be careful with my own, and I place my hand casually over the top while I observe their interaction to be sure no one slips in anything without my noticing. I can see Ginny out of the corner of my eye doing the same.
"You're a funny one, sweet cheeks," the man says, leaning over to give her ass a little smack. "I'll grab you when you get out there."
My jaw drops as he walks away, but Eugenia merely rolls her eyes at us in a way that says she's used to this kind of behavior and it no longer phases her. I'm horrified at the idea that this is a common occurrence for her, but Ginny's the one who jumps in with snarled, "You oughta have thrown your drink in his face."
"And waste perfectly good alcohol on him?" she says with a huff. "Hardly. Let them think what they want, I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."
"This happens often?" I ask, fury rising in my blood. I snap around, locating the back of the horrible man's head as he moves away from us. "That is absolutely appalling."
"Men are disgusting," she says gruffly. "It's infuriating to let them get away with it, but this isn't the place to take up that particular cross."
"It's not right," I assert. "The fact this is so...normal for you—"
"I'm a big girl," Eugenia reassures me. "Trust me, I've ripped the balls off my fair share of Neanderthals when I think it will actually make a difference."
I'm still fuming when Ginny runs back to the bar once more to grab us each another round. Upon her return Eugenia ensures the topic is changed, and we're feeling decidedly light on our feet halfway through the drinks she brought us. No other over eager men approach us, although a pair of girls ask to share our small table with us for a moment while they take a breather from dancing.
"Actually," Ginny says with a smile as she finishes her drink, "I think it's time we hit the dance floor ourselves, ladies."
Eugenia agrees full heartedly as she slams down the rest of her own drink, but I fiddle with my straw nervously. We've been here for nearly two hours by now, but there's no sign of Malfoy. I thought maybe I'd feel when he was nearby, like all those months together would somehow have given me a supernatural sixth sense that would tell me when he was watching me. But I haven't felt anything, and I'm torn between worry and relief at the idea that Zabini could have been wrong about tonight.
The dance floor is packed as we make our way into the crowd, the bass pounding in my chest as the music pours over everyone. There's a live DJ tonight, who's deck is lit up with phantom flames that cast an eerie shadow over everyone. Some members of the crowd have taken the theme literally, wearing devil horns and masks, while others have dressed in their best night club attire like the three of us. I'm content to stop near the edge, but Eugenia keeps pulling my hand until we're nearly in the center, then turns to give me a sly grin as she begins moving her hips to the music. I can hear Ginny give a laugh as she too begins to dance, and suddenly nothing else matters anymore inside the cloud of sexual tension, music, and alcohol.
It doesn't take me long to enter the trance I always hit when dancing, the music taking over for my brain and telling my body what to do. It's almost better than the weed, the ability the music has to make me feel lighter and less out of control. It's strange how having my brain no longer in control makes me feel in control.
I'm aware of the fact I'm practically ignoring my friends, but after our last time out together they understand how I am when I hit my zone. So they dance together, laughing and yelling comments to each other and nearby patrons. I smile at them every so often to let them know I'm aware of them, but for the most part I'm on my own.
That is, until a warm pair of hands brush my hips suggestively. I jump, slowing my movements as the hands' grips becomes more firm, and I feel the rub of another body behind mine. It appears I have a partner again. I'm annoyed at first, as a partner is the last thing I want right now when I'm trying to keep calm and in my happy place. But I'm in luck, because just like the last time it seems I have a partner that actually knows how to dance with another person, not just bump and grind on them with dancing as an excuse to try to dry hump a stranger. And with that sly, dark part of me reminding me I have no reason not to enjoy another person's company now, I relax into my partner and let them join me in my oblivion. My partner grows more bold, stepping closer until our bodies are completely touching. I feel their breath against my neck, my hair pulled to the side in an attempt to keep myself cool two songs ago. A nose suddenly runs along my neck, sending shivers down my spine as lips come to my ear and growl, "What in the fuck are you doing here, Granger?"
Ice runs down my spine at that voice, the one that's haunted my dreams for weeks. I'd let my guard down, assuming if he hadn't made his presence known by now he wasn't going to at all. But here he is, his body pressed against mine as the blood sings in my veins, calling to him in a way I've been trying to quell for months. I'd been in denial, but after our brief time apart the way I respond to him is undeniable. I spin around, and in the dim lights of the club I finally come face to face with him.
My hands are trapped between us as I turn, and I instinctively brace myself on his chest. His shirt is soft and thin beneath my fingers, the body underneath hard and still too thin. The smell of him encapsulates me, making my head swim as every moment in Brockington comes racing back to me. I clutch at the fabric without thinking, and my knees going weak as I look into his eyes. They're the same brilliant silver I remember from our sessions, moving like quicksilver now in the dancing lights surrounding us. His eyes are hard and questioning, almost accusing as they stare into mine.
"I said," he growls again over the music, sliding his hands up my arms to grasp my wrists, "What the bloody fuck are you doing here?"
I shake my head ever so slightly, forcing my brain to recover from the shock. He's here, standing right in front of me. And I was so busy trying to prepare myself for his arrival that I never saw him coming. I force myself to take a deep breath, reminding myself of just what I'm supposed to be doing tonight. Convincing Malfoy that I'm ripe for the picking, that I'm the link inside the NCA they've been looking for. That I'm his. But it's impossible to think like that right now, not when I'm overcome with relief to see him.
"I should be asking you the same question," I yell, glancing around us to see if anyone is listening. "Should you really be out in public like this?"
Malfoy gives me a devious smile, tightening his hold on my wrists and pulling upward, bringing my hands to cup around his neck. His hair is soft beneath my fingers, and I have to resist the urge to card them through his tresses. He brings his hands back down to my hips, pulling my pelvis against his again and swirling them around, bringing us back into the beat of the music. I suddenly realize we'd been standing still, staring at each other amid a sea of writhing bodies. He brings his lips to my ear, his breath tickling the small hairs there again as he asks, "Miss me, Granger?"
"I've been worried about you," I hiss, suddenly realizing as I say them how terrifyingly true the words are. I have been worried about him since McGonagall told me he'd broken out of Brockington. I'm worried he'll be caught, that he'll end up back in that horrible place with people who did horrible things to him. And it would have been worse than the first time. Because he's embarrassed them, and they'd want to take revenge.
"Worried I'd stay missing?" he asks with a snarl, gripping me tightly enough it's just this side of painful. "Worried they'd fail to stick me back in that godforsaken place again?"
I shake my head, rising up on my tiptoes to get my own lips to his ears as I say vehemently, "No. Worried something would happen to you, that you'd be hurt if they tried to catch you again."
"You haven't answered my question," he presses, his movements growing slower. "Why are you here?"
And just like that, it's time to lie.
"I got these tickets in my mailbox this morning." The words almost come out too fast, I've practiced them a hundred times today. The lie feels thick like slime on my tongue, nearly making me gag. "I thought maybe they were from you. That you wanted me to come tonight."
"They weren't," he says flatly. I'm not sure if he believes me or not, but he goes on. "I'm surprised your Fiance let you come to the Death Eater den without him trailing along behind. Or is he standing in the shadows, waiting to pounce when you have me unaware?"
This is what he thinks, but he was still willing to risk it to speak with me. He's either crazier than anyone thought, or he has an excellent escape plan. The mention of Ron burns, but I see my moment and I seize it. "Ron has no say in what I do anymore," I spit, taking a step away from Malfoy give myself a bit of space and looking away from him so the burning sting in my eyes doesn't show. "So no, this isn't a trap if that's what you're asking.
Malfoy takes a step back too, and reaches between us to put a finger beneath my chin. He presses upward, forcing me to look him in the eyes again. His silver eyes are dancing still, but this time they're dancing of their own accord, not just from the lights. "The man you proclaim to love is gone? What on earth did he do to deserve your wrath?"
My face must give me away, because suddenly his expression hardens.
"It wasn't your idea." It's not a question, but a statement. And as much as I know this is what he wanted, he doesn't seem happy about it right now.
"It seems some people at Brockington believe I may have assisted you in your escape." I glance toward Ginny and Eugenia, who I can tell are studiously ignoring us. They've noticed I have a new friend, then, and they're giving us a bit of space. "Ron saw enough evidence to also believe it."
Malfoy shakes his head, pulling me up against him again. "I'd heard Brockington suspended you," he says softly into my ear, so low I almost can't hear him over the pounding of the music. "But I didn't know about the rest."
A burly man suddenly siddles up next to us, grabbing Malfoy by the shoulder. He jerks Malfoy away from me just a bit, and my hands fall away from his shoulders and back down to his chest. He puts his lips to Malfoy's ear, saying something with intensity and, if I'm reading his body language correctly, a bit of concern. Malfoy shrugs his shoulder at the man but nods, and when he turns back to me his eyes are blazing even brighter than before.
He pulls me up tight against him again, and my hands are pinned between us once more. The muscles beneath his shirt shift and I have to resist the urge to run my hands across the entire breadth of him just to feel more. He moves me to dance with him again, our bodies moving in sync together to the bass pounding through our bodies. Whatever the man must have wanted from Malfoy, he's paying the man no heed. He's here, with me, and my brain is still spinning while my heart is racing. I'm acutely aware the is the closest we've ever been, even on that last day. He tips his head to run his nose along my cheek before bringing his lips to my ear again.
"Finish this song with me," he says in a deep voice. "Then leave with me."
I pull back, startled. His eyes give me a forceful, demanding look as I feel myself shudder. I'd known this was a possibility tonight, that he'd try to spirit me away in one fashion or another. It was Zabini had planned for, what this entire mission was hinged on. That he would take me with him, rather than leaving me behind as a phantom in his past. But I'd hoped, really against all logic, that tonight would be a simple reunion and maybe some other night we would meet again. And I'm frightened. Not because I have to go with him, but because I want to. Something about him calls to some part of me that is hidden under years of self-coaching and ridicule. I've denied it for a long time, but this...this mission McGonagall has given me somehow feels like permission to indulge that part of me I've refused to ever acknowledge. The part of me that seems to fit perfectly within the darkness Draco Malfoy himself exudes so exquisitely.
I brace myself, then nod and say, "Okay."
The word brings with it a rush of relief, and a whisper of freedom. And the look on Malfoy's face says it's not what he thought I was going to say. When he'd made a similar demand several weeks ago, I'd responded very differently. This almost feels like a redo, like I can retrace the moment things started to fall apart to that specific moment in that cold, metal room we'd built our tentative trust within. It's like a puzzle piece, the one you search and search for that you need to have to move on to the rest of it, has slid into place.
I can feel his body relax into me, his movements becoming more languid at my words. As if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders and he can relax finally. This is a very different man than the one I saw in Brockington. He's still Malfoy, but he's somewhat less restrained than he was in there, even during the times when it felt like he was being an open book with me. Like he's finally letting me see parts of him no one else ever has. Or maybe I'm just finally paying attention to him.
His hands move to my back, the tips of his fingers tracing my bare spine where my dress exposes the skin there. Up and down he runs them, tracing four vertebrae over and over again. My skin sings beneath his touch, my whole body almost vibrating. His scent is almost overwhelming this close, warm earth tones and a bit of incense mingle in the fabric of his shirt that my nose is almost pressed into. He's always been intriguing to me, but I'd never stood this close to him before until that fateful day at Brockington. And even then, I'd been too shocked to register anything besides my confusion and horror. But now, amid the music and the mist from the fog machines and the moving lights, I can let myself appreciate the specimen he really is.
The song ends and morphs into the next, and my heart leaps into my chest as he pulls away, lifting my chin to have me look him square in the eyes again. "Tell your friends whatever you need to get away. Answer the questions I'm sure they have as quickly as you can, then meet me in the back left corner by the last VIP booth in five minutes."
He runs his fingers along my spine one last time, and then as suddenly as he appeared he slips through the crowd and is gone.
.x.x.x.
I'm sorry you guys didnt get an update last week. My grandma got sick last week and passed away yesterday, so things have been a bit crazy. But this story brings me so much joy, and I know so many of you were looking forward to the reunion between Hermione and Draco. I combined some elements of the next chapter into this one to bring you a longer chapter for you to sink your teeth in to.
I'm glad so many of you enjoyed Draco's "gift" and even found it romantic. I'm willing to admit there's a dark part of me that adores the idea, just like Hermione! More dark romance is to come!