I know, I made it a cliffie, and then my proofreader said that the resolution wasn't even that huge. I get it, but I don't want to mess with the children too much in this story. This one is a bit longer, but maybe the end will be worth it? Let me know.
Enjoy!
LCailan
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hermione sensed something wasn't right the moment she crossed the dusty threshold of the sleeping quarters within the alienage. Sometimes, she just got one of those feelings. This one was cloying, perching in the pit of her belly like a nasty, unwelcome guest. Two hard swallows wouldn't get rid of it. Nothing did. Nothing – until she saw Ginny's cot.
Then, it was like the feeling was replaced by one of incredible panic; it raced outward from the heart of her, freezing everything in place so that Hermione had to stop moving.
Ginny sat, quietly sobbing into Justin's shoulder, with Lily (thank Merlin, Lily….nothing had happened to Lily) to her one side.
Hermione rushed forward, her tired heart picking up a faster paced rhythm, not quite aware in the moment that, although Lily stood by her weeping mother's side, the boys were not there.
Oh, no.
Her wildly hammering heart turned to lead within her, and Hermione stumbled just as Lily looked up, her face pale and her green eyes wide.
"'Mione! You're back! You're back!"
The little girl startled the two adults, and brought unwelcome attention from their bunkmates, but Hermione ignored those around her and scooped Lily into her arms. She wrapped her in a torrid embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of sweetness that clung to Lily's hair. The bad news was to come, that the boys were not there, and she knew, just knew,that wherever they had gone –
Lily's voice was muffled by Hermione's hair.
"Mamma said you might never be back, but I hoped, I really hoped, 'Mione! I never wanted you to go, I didn't! I thought the bad men would bring you back and they did!"
Tiny hands clutched at Hermione's shoulders, Lily's words, and her sweet, lilting voice, breaking and building up Hermione's heart all at the same time.
"They took Albie and James," Lily said without preamble, as a child who hasn't lost her innocence would.
The news, although Hermione had prepared for the worst, still plowed her over like the Hogwarts Express. For a few seconds she couldn't breathe, and then she rushed over to Ginny, who still sobbed silently into Justin's shoulder. She was frozen for a second and then sank down and reached up, brushing long strands of Ginny's heavy hair away from her tear-ridden face, barely able to speak.
"Ginny, I'm here."
The whisper caused Ginny to glance up and she reached down, fumbled for Hermione's fingers. Hers were icy.
"'Mione, thank Merlin you're here again. That they let you come back, I…"
But she offered nothing of the boys, and her tears did not subside. Hermione swallowed past her panic, trying to find words to speak.
"The boys…Ginny…?"
She braced herself for the worst possible scenario. Pansy and the wand – and the boys, dead. It was Justin who spoke, his voice tense.
"She said there was no more room. She came and took the older ones away, leaving just Lily. She said they were going back to Azkaban. I don't know why, I just…we couldn't argue with her. She was livid."
The red haired woman looked down, and even though there was relief that the boys weren't dead, Hermione's heart broke at Ginny's helpless tears. A woman who was of pureblood, just like they were, and had to suffer such pain! Surely, there was something they could do! Surely, if she explained the situation…
"I didn't even get to say goodbye!" she wailed.
Hermione rested her head against Ginny's arm, her fingers lacing through those of her friend, offering what comfort she could. But knowing that it wasn't enough, it would never be enough.
No one noticed the flash of white-blond hair at the entrance to the sleeping quarters- a face pale against the darkness beyond, for the sun had set already. He stood, brooding and silent, watching the pain unfold before him, feeling guilty and helpless. He could only do so much. He couldn't save her from all her pain. Even if he tried, it would never be enough.
Earlier that morning…
Pansy Parkinson glanced up when the door of her office within the alienage opened. Bellatrix Lestrange slipped in, and the door fell shut once more with a heavy thump.
Pansy stood to greet her boss, smiling appropriately, though her feelings could never be misconstrued as pleasant in the least. In fact, she was rather miserable, and grumpy to boot. The feeling of gloom had fallen upon her the moment she had heard from Rookwood that Draco Malfoy had taken a Mudblood to his home in Kensington. A quick inspection of the grounds had confirmed her suspicions; Hermione Granger was nowhere to be found.
That pretentious cad! Going over my head to keep me from doing my job!
It angered Pansy in a way that caused her to tremble to her very core. The wrath nearly distracted her from Bellatrix's greeting.
"I received your post."
Her voice was raspy, and she refused to sit, so that Pansy had to stare up at her. It was annoying.
"Thank you for coming so quickly. I have concerns."
Pansy stood up as well, not wanting to be put in a position where she didn't feel equal to the witch in front of her, even though it was abundantly clear that the two would never truly be equals.
"Concerns? About what?"
Bellatrix's voice was a touch mocking, and a touch bored. Pansy felt anger swirling within her, that same anger that had taken residence in her heart for all time since starting her new job outside of the Ministry.
"About the way Draco Malfoy manages this alienage, and his insubordination."
Her reply was terse and flecked with clear disdain.
"I shouldn't have to be seeing you about this."
"Indeed. You should see him. After all, this seems a matter best settled between the two of you, no?"
As she spoke, Bellatrix had begun to twist her wand in her hand casually, and her black eyes flickered over Pansy's distraught face. The younger woman gnawed on her bottom lip.
"Perhaps then, you could tell me, why it is that he is having a Mudblood accompany him each day to his home in Kensington?"
She hated her own voice, shrill and too childish for her tastes. She hated how Draco Malfoy made her feel; he brought out insecurities and frustrations that Pansy hardly ever felt any other time. She was strong. She knew she was ruthless. Determined and focused. Except, when it came to a certain blond Managerial Officer of the Hit Wizard Squad. Ugh. She hated him!
Bellatrix let out a nasty laugh.
"Ah, so this is about petty jealousy, is it?"
Her eyes mocked Pansy with just a look, and she shook her head. Pansy fought to keep the flush from her cheeks as she bristled indignantly.
"It is not! It is about-"
Bellatrix waved her off.
"Spare me the details, I won't deal with your silly problems, girl. What you and my nephew have between yourselves is not something I'm about to invest my time in, understood? The Mudblood was hand picked by Draco's wife, in case you've forgotten she exists, and she is the house servant."
Pansy was now red in the face as she fought against lashing out at Bellatrix and dealing with yet another person who spent needless time reminding her that Draco was married.
Blast it! Damn him for marrying her!
She cleared her throat, running a single finger along a fissure in her desk, organizing her thoughts.
"So now, we can hand pick Mudbloods and take them out of the alienage to wherever we please? Does that not defeat the purposes of trying to alienate them?"
Bellatrix laughed.
"Don't ask me to explain Astoria Malfoy and her silly little whims. Draco seems rather taken with her," she reminded the younger woman, loving any moment that she could wallow in someone else's clear agony. It was nearly as fun as the cruciatus curse.
Pansy turned a rather unattractive shade of pink as Bellatrix continued in a lackadaisical tone.
"I told him already that being a Malfoy means more than just salivating after whatever pretty pureblood comes along, but did he listen to me?"
She offered a little titter.
"Anyway, what happens to those against our Lord's cause does not matter to me."
Pansy stared, swallowing hard, the cogs in her nefarious mind turning all of a sudden.
"Anyone against the cause?" she clarified sharply. "What about the half-bloods? The sympathizers?"
Bellatrix shrugged noncommittally.
"They mean nothing to me."
Pansy's eyes brightened with fever.
"And they are nothing," she murmured.
Draco had tried to make it so she couldn't render her punishments as she pleased. Well, she decided, two could play at his game.
One month later…
Draco had decided years ago, at Hogwarts, that Marcus Flint was a wanker. Truth be told, he had never realized what a disgustingly perverted wanker he was, until working with him in the Ministry.
As he sat in the Ministry building at the alienage trying to eat his lunch, Draco attempted not to make faces as Flint told him about yet another Mudblood he had bedded shortly after having picked her up from Greyback's hotel room. He wondered with little interest exactly where Greyback was staying, for he couldn't quite remember an address or any real talk of the man's home. Not that he cared, really. If Flint was a wanker, then Greyback was an abhorrent, sadistic waste of flesh.
The blond man gazed down at his lunch – jacket potatoes and a tender roast that Granger had made just the previous day. Quite good, admittedly, and that was part of his problem. Granger was quite good at many things, he had learned. And perhaps it was the way she had with a feather duster, or the fact that her Yorkshire pudding put all others under the table, but either way, Draco was having trouble not thinking about her when she wasn't around. This wasn't good – not good at all. But then again, thinking about Granger was preferable to the alternative, which just happened to be a very horny and foul mouthed Marcus Flint.
"Did you fuck her yet, Malfoy?"
His face was even uglier when he leered, so much so Draco nearly winced at the sight. He swallowed the potato in his mouth lest he choke on it.
"What?"
"That hot little thing that supposedly cleans your house, eh? What else is she cleaning, is what I want to know."
The vulgar comment was accented with Flint's horse-like laughter, as he sat back with a satisfied smirk. This time, Draco did wince.
"I'm not like you and your friends, Flint. I've already told you, I don't go around adulterating myself with foul Mudbloods! My wife handpicked her for the job, and I'd die before I touched her!"
Flint raised a bushy eyebrow and heehawed once more.
"Who ever gave a sod over a good fuck once in a while, Malfoy? I suppose marriage makes you a prude."
"And apparently time does nothing for some people's sensibilities."
He got up, his appetite gone, even in the face of Granger's culinary talents. He wanted away from Flint and from the bloody alienage more than he had wanted anything in a long while. Even looking at him made Draco's skin crawl. Besides, without Granger, the alienage was unbearable. Flint was till chuckling.
"Don't get all bent over it, Malfoy. I'm only having a chat, aren't I? Its sex, and you have to admit that those Mudbloods are right quick to get into bed with any cock."
Draco swallowed, and then stood up straight, his back stiff.
"You're a nasty bleeder, that's what you are. And I don't much care what you do with that Mudblood cow, or any female, really. Have a jolly go at her, but spare me the repugnant details!"
He whirled, clutching his belongings, and stalking out of the building, making sure he looked formidable. He certainly didn't want anyone to know how strange Marcus had made him feel at the mention of Hermione Granger and having her…in that way.
Bloody hell.
He decided right then and there, that any rather heated thoughts he might have been entertaining were Flint's fault. After all, Draco himself hadn't thought about Granger in that way, at least not until recently. He didn't have sex on the brain. He didn't have sex, period, which was sadly part of the problem.
And she is a Mudblood cow.
He found himself standing alone, on the outskirts of the alienage, looking towards the road leading away from it.
Even if she is a cow, she's-
Draco's lips twisted into a frustrated sneer, and he was glad he was alone. Had he just considered Granger as his…? No. No possible bloody way.
Well, she's not Flint's, anyway.
Draco found that the idea of Flint getting anywhere near Granger made him see crimson. He decided it was because not even someone like Granger deserved to be desecrated by an oaf like Marcus and his dodgy friends. He had just gotten her away from Parkinson's abuse, and now he had to deal with a horny bastard like Flint.
He apparated into Kensington, and then swiftly made his way home, confident that even if Flint coveted Granger in some sick way, it wasn't like he could just saunter into his home and take her. Granger was safe.
She's safe from Flint. But what about…?
The filthy talk at lunch had been one thing, but Draco was starting to become too aware of the strange feelings that Granger had begun to evoke within him. And not just feelings of sympathy or compassion, which were hard to deal with. No, these were dangerous feelings, which tiptoed along territory that he dared not cross. These were wanton feelings that left him with a delicious ache.
She's a Mudblood.
It was true. But in this new world, men like Flint, Mulciber, and Greyback had shunned just that fact, and had fallen into bed to shag whatever woman walked by – if she was good looking enough, what did it matter? What was a Mudblood good for if it wasn't for sex? And Granger was…
I can't possibly fancy her in that way. I never have before! Bloody hell, I'm not that desperate, am I?
The clothes he had gotten her several weeks before fit her well. Like a second skin, actually. This made it difficult for Draco to not notice her. She was thin. But, not that thin, and in fact, with her eating regular meals once more, a blind man would have noticed the fact that she was filling out in what he liked to call all the right places. And those places were gloriously displayed for his viewing pleasure anytime he happened to pass her through the house. She never spoke, but she was there. And Draco was uncomfortably aware of that fact, and knew that when she wasn't there, he was thinking about her.
She's filth, he told himself sternly as his house came into view.
Yes, maybe she was. But she was attractive. Not in the same was as Astoria, or any of the women he had fancied over the years. Granger was subtly so. Draco blamed the serious drought in his love life. He blamed Astoria for being such an unfeeling bint. It wasn't like he wanted to find Granger attractive, mind you. He didn't. She wasn't, not really.
Not even after she started to better take care of herself, and the food brought color back to her pallid cheeks and the shine back to her impossibly wild hair. He would watch her tend the garden, and admire the tiny little curls that would escape from the bobby pins she used to tame the rest of her brown mane. He would be mesmerized in the way the sun would beat down on her, kissing that hair with honeyed highlights. And when she would return to the house after her work was finished, and wipe the sheen of sweat from her face, Draco's body would betray him, reacting inappropriately, his mind's eye and senses wondering what it would feel like to touch her, to run his mouth along her smooth neck and taste her, to breathe in the scent of her sun warmed hair and-
Bloody Merlin on a Hippogriff! She puts on new clothes and starts to eat regular food and I'm getting all horny for her?
He cleared his throat, feeling a sweat break out along his nose. No, of course he wasn't. Something stirred in his lower regions, and that aforementioned delicious ache started a whisper of desire within him.
Evidence to the contrary, Draco.
Well, it couldn't be helped, he decided. He was clearly going mad, and it wasn't like he actually had to act on those impossible feelings anyway. He wasn't like Flint. Or any of those others, because he had control.
Control. He just needed to remember that, was all.
Hermione knew that it was just a game of control for Astoria. She knelt on the kitchen floor, on hands and knees, but refused to give into the dark-haired beauty standing before her as she glared down, her face a mask of indifference.
"When I say you take out the trash that means all the trash, not just the bits you want. Look in there again!"
Hermione moved her head slightly and gazed into the foul-smelling bin, noting the fruit peels and some rancid chicken in the bottom. She hadn't meant to leave those behind, but in her hurry to do the morning's chores, she had simply forgotten.
Astoria prodded Hermione with her dainty, boot-clad foot.
"Well, you left them there, didn't you? So do as I tell you!"
Hermione stiffened herself, and tried not to gag at the offensive smell coming from the bin.
"I won't eat it!"
Defiance rang in her tone as she dodged a kick to her side and Astoria offered a cruel laugh.
"Oh, yes you will! You need to learn to submit, you little whore. You're nothing but a smear on my reputation, do you know that? If some of the other ladies I socialize with knew my husband took a common Mudblood as a house keeper, they'd laugh me out of Kensington. If you can't do your job right, I'll make sure you learn."
With that, she rapped Hermione sharply with the wand she had removed from a jade and cream robe pocket. The woman on her knees winced at the sharp pain, but she remained staunchly stiff, refusing to do as was asked of her, simply because she would not be broken in that shameful way. No human being, not even a Mudblood, should have been reduced to eating from a rubbish bin. Her heart beat angrily within her chest, but Hermione offered no words, just her stubborn defiance.
Within the last month she had been ordered around the house, doing every menial task either of the Malfoys could think of, and at the alienage she had to listen as Ginny cried herself to sleep each night, clutching Lily tightly as if not to lose her, too. She had to endure the whispers and jeers of the other women near her cot, as they called her a whore, and asked her what she was doing to keep Malfoy so complacent. During the times she was unfortunately relegated to the alienage for the day, she had to endure the nasty gropes and catcalls from the other Ministry Officials, who, believed that once Malfoy was finished, they would get their chance to defile her. The one with the lurid eyes, Rookwood, was the worst, but the others were not much better.
Hermione shuddered at the thought of those men and the things they wanted to do to her, but wondered if it was any worse than what she had already been through at the sadistic hands of Pansy Parkinson. Either way, she was not keen on finding out.
"Now," ordered Astoria, gripping Hermione's neck tightly, to lower it over the bin.
The girl on her knees gagged. Suddenly, there were footsteps from the doorway.
"I'm not actually seeing you shoving her around, am I, Astoria?"
Hermione nearly wept with joy at the silky drawl of Malfoy's voice echoing in the huge kitchen. Instantly, the near painful grip on her neck loosened, and Hermione scrambled backwards to see Malfoy glaring at his wife.
"Didn't you say you had a shopping day planned? Why aren't you gone yet? It is well past noon. My family's party is in two weeks time. Merlin knows you'll need that time to find something that you fancy."
The sneer that formed on Astoria's face sullied it.
"Oh, anxious to be alone, are we? Please don't let me keep you from your noontime delights!"
Her eyes were bright with anger and her cheeks flushed with brilliant color.
"I won't have her here if she doesn't know her job, Draco!"
He reached out to grip Astoria's hand tightly.
"I decide if she is doing her job well. It is not for you to say, and I won't have you pushing her around, are we clear?"
The dark haired woman looked like she would explode, and finally she took a huge breath.
"And I'm not going to your sodding party!"
Astoria's retort was blustery and childish, but soon enough she hurried out of the kitchen, her footsteps dying a moment later.
"Get up."
This time his voice was quieter, and Hermione moved to get up, struggling for a moment and then looking him in the eye. She didn't thank him; she didn't say anything at all, and he spoke once more.
"I didn't know she would be here this afternoon. Next time, I'll be here to ward off anything between the two of you."
Hermione found it strange that this time, there was no blame put on her, no harsh reminders to mind her mouth, nothing at all.
"I'm sure you would have been here," Hermione replied tersely. "Hard day at the alienage? What happened? Lines for the Dementors get too long, Malfoy? Did you have to do the killing yourself?"
She gazed into gray eyes that suddenly registered shock at her blatant jab, and the harsh words. He lifted his hand to smack her, and something made him decide not to, and instead he moved roughly past her to the leftovers still on the counter where Hermione had put them.
"You ought to watch your mouth, you know that?"
There, at least now he was being Malfoy.
"Should I? No one else does, after all."
He whirled on her, color appearing on his pale cheeks.
"It's not your place! You seem to forget that you're nothing, Granger! Sooner or later, you're going to have to learn your place, and submit."
Hermione felt herself bristling and wished for the thousandth time that she knew how to curb the angry words that always accompanied her out of control emotion.
"Funny how I'm not sure how much more I can submit, Malfoy! Have you forgotten that my husband and friends are dead? Do you not see the scars and bruises I'm wearing? What about everything I've been put through in the last six years? I've been alienated from the rest of the world, made to eat nearly nothing, beaten, ridiculed, smacked around, and all around me people just like me are dying! How much more do you think I can submit?"
Her eyes were wide with anger and indignation. And something in him snapped.
Draco wasn't sure what it was; she was standing several feet from him, fists clenched and face white with barely manageable anger. He could see she was fighting a futile battle against her raging emotions, and something in her voice, in the accusations and hatred that dripped from each syllable caused the anger that had simmered in his belly all morning to ignite and engulf is whole being.
"How much more?"
He advanced on her, shoving her against the wall nearest the doorway.
"I'll show you how much more," he hissed, his face nearing hers so that within moments he could smell the sweet and musky scent of her skin, and it made his senses spin wildly.
Granger struggled against him, the anger now replaced with alarm.
"I don't have to obey you, Malfoy!"
This said between clenched teeth as once more she tried to get away from him, even though he held her in place firmly with one hand as the other grabbed her jaw, pulling it towards him. He felt her chest heaving, and her heart galloping like that of a small animal against his own chest.
"Don't you forget, Granger, it's this or death, isn't it?"
She recoiled, an expression of fear on her face, just as he clamped his hand on the back of her neck, dragged her face forward, and then took her mouth in a searing kiss, doing what he had been thinking about doing for weeks now. He forgot that it made him just like Flint, like Greyback. It made him as loathsome as all those other officers who used Mudbloods for their own sick pleasure, but in that moment, Draco couldn't think about anything but having her. Yes, he was confused at his emotions, and at the desire that he didn't want to be feeling, but he wasn't able to stop.
As he backed her out of the kitchen into the hallway, his fingers found their way into the thickness of that honeyed hair, feeling it's softness once again, tugging at the bobby pins with growing insistence as his mouth plowed hers roughly. The kiss was brutal- bruising and crushing her lips with growing demand, and with another tug of his fingers, her hair spilled gloriously out of it's confines to shower her shoulders. He took in a ragged breath, feeling himself tremble against her mouth before crushing his lips to hers once again, breathing in the scent of early fall breezes that still clung to her silky tresses. The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing. Draco didn't think Granger was breathing at all, and he didn't believe this was happening. It was a bad dream, he decided. A horrific nightmare born of his nonexistent love life and basic carnal cravings. He couldn't really be kissing her, could he?
He ran into a small table in the hallway, and the crystal vase perching on it wobbled and crashed to the hardwood floor, shattering loudly and causing Draco to pull away. Granger tried to shove at him, a strange whimper lingering on her flushed lips.
"You loathsome, nasty git!" she hissed, struggling once more against him.
Draco heard her words, but he was sluggish in the interpretation, wanting only more, another second, just one more sip from her tantalizing mouth. His eyes searched her face, flushed with fever and his kisses.
"See how much more you could submit?" he whispered feverishly, his fingers still lodged in her hair. "See what I could make you do?"
He ended his ragged words by crushing her mouth under his once more. This time, he wanted more, this time, his tongue delved out to trace the silken line of her upper lip, before doing the same with her lower. She gasped, and he smothered the strangled sound with another, deepening caress, aware of nothing but the sensation of her soft and pliant mouth against his, a mouth that shouldn't have been this good, this desirable.
Hermione had stopped struggling, unable to do so when his hands were so entrenched in her hair and his mouth was so commanding against hers. When his tongue plunged into her mouth with abandon, her knees went weak, and even though she knew the kisses were meant to punish and to degrade her, there was no denying the hot, melting feeling that assaulted her as his tongue invaded her mouth. He kissed her completely, without reservation, teasing, tantalizing her with each second that passed, his tongue luring, drawing and capturing her completely, so that within seconds her own tongue was in his mouth and the caress that she didn't want was the very thing she wished would never end.
But it did, when he pulled away with the same intensity with which he had taken her, and it left Hermione confused, frightened and…bereft. The look in his eyes was a mixture of passion and panic and he backed away, his boots crunching under the broken crystal vase, loud in the silent room. They stared at each other, and then he motioned towards the floor.
"Clean up this fucking mess," he muttered, his trembling hand coming up to cover his mouth as if he was shocked by what he had just done.
"Now."
Turning, he stalked away, and Hermione watched him, ever one of her senses still with the man who had just left her.