HUNTED
~.~
Chapter 35: Over.
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Caleb was an emotional mosaic; cracked and a multitude of confusing shades that mingled into a mess. Amelia had been out of hospital for eight days following her four-day stay, but they had returned to St. Mungo's every day since. He glanced at her, sitting next to him on the uncomfortable waiting-room chairs with only a small scar on her temple to tell of her trauma. She was weary and worn, but if he looked close enough, he could see the elation that was dying to be released.
She was pregnant.
The Mediwitch had told him when she'd still been unconscious, and it had been the strangest feeling to ever cradle his gut. The excitement had been crushed by torrents of worry and anger, but it was there; a firefly in a cave just searching for the light.
He grabbed her hand and clutched it tight, scowling when the agitated redhead paced into his line of sight again. Potter was more tolerable, sitting opposite them and remaining completely still. The-boy-who-lived had handled everything better than he would have thought, but he guessed the man was developing an immunity for tragedy.
He'd dealt with the press and all the paperwork, keeping things as steady as he possibly could while Wizarding Britain had drowned in the drama.
"Maybe I should go in," Caleb muttered, giving his fiancé's hand another squeeze.
"Do you think that's wise?"
His uncertainty was reflected in Amelia's eyes. Draco had made it perfectly clear he was not to be disturbed, even shunning how own mother with some poison-laced words.
It had been twelve days, and Hermione was still unconscious.
Caleb had slipped into the room twice, once to let Draco know that Blaise had been sent to Azkaban and once to ensure he was still breathing. He had barely received a grunt of acknowledgement on both occasions, before Draco's dangerous glare had sparked with firm threats. He knew well enough not to antagonize the man, but he could see his friend's isolation was becoming unhealthy and consuming.
"Probably not," he conceded with a troubled breath. "But I think I should anyway. I don't think I've seen him eat since he's been in there."
And he'd been in there for eleven days solid. It had taken five Healers and twenty-six hours to stabilise Hermione's condition, and Caleb had listened on the other side of the cubicle door as Malfoy had vomited until blood had spattered against the porcelain.
Then he'd heard Draco cast a silencing charm, and whatever happened in that lonely toilet cubicle was lost in the tiles. Caleb had left when he'd been told he could see Amelia, learning from Narcissa that her waning son had only left the bathroom once he'd been assured he could see his witch. He'd slammed the door behind him and not left since.
The next three days had been violently grave.
Hermione had suffered seizures in her coma; aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse. Mediwizards had tried to remove Draco from the room but knew enough of the man's reputation to gather that the crooked angle of his aimed wand wasn't an empty gesture. Combine that with some reminders of his family's donations to the hospital, and his post at Hermione's bedside remained constantly warm.
From what Caleb had managed to obtain from various Healers, Hermione's wounds were healed and the seizures had subsided. It was now simply a waiting game for her to wake up; a game that Draco would not lose. They'd refused to give her any aids to stir her conscious, insisting that her body needed to recover naturally and she would rouse when ready.
But it was Draco he was concerned about. He could only imagine the sick thoughts swimming in his head.
Ron was blocking his empty view again.
"Sit down, Weasley," he spat, sending the ginger man an impatient look. "You're giving me a fucking headache-
"Nobody asked you," he retorted, his eyes settling on the door to Hermione's room. "This is stupid. Who is he to decide who gets to see her and when?"
"Leave it, Ron," Harry sighed, used to his friend's frustration on the matter. "Maybe you should see how he's doing, Warrington?"
"Who cares how Malfoy is doing?" Ron snapped, slumping into a free seat. "I want to see her-
"Then you'll have to wait," Potter mumbled, turning back to Caleb with an expectant look. "Warrington?"
He sighed and gave Amelia a peck on her cheek. "I'll be back in a moment."
Ron's sky-blue eyes tracked the man as he rose from his seat and left the small waiting area. "What are you playing at?" he asked Harry bluntly. "Malfoy's just doing this out of spite-
"No, he's not," the Auror shook his head sadly, giving his friend a long look. "You weren't there, Ron. Just trust me when I say it's best to leave him alone with 'Mione for now."
The redhead's nostrils flared, but his face relaxed a little. "Why are you suddenly on Malfoy's side?"
Harry's brow creased. "Because he's the reason she'll wake up."
.
.
Caleb warily pushed open the door, his eyes immediately falling to Granger. She was so still it unnerved him, like she was making no promises to wake any time soon. There was a fleshy gash on her arm, but otherwise she just looked like she was sleeping, her features slightly tense, like she was dragging through her dreams.
His curious stare slowly shifted to the hunched figure in the bedside chair, and his mouth bent with worry.
He'd never seen a human look so disturbed.
So haunted.
Draco's skin was grey and his face gaunt; silvery stubble lining his jaw like a misty shadow. His clothes were rumpled and creased, evidently lived in for too many restless nights. Too many hazardous hours. He was folded over, his elbows denting his thighs, and every muscle taught like inflating rubber that was just biding its time to rupture with roars of the damned.
His mouth was a sunken bow, stressed lines framing his dry lips like tree branches. His too-blond hair was ungroomed, showering around his face with splitting strands that shielded his eyes. For that, Caleb was grateful.
Beneath the scraggly fringe, Draco's stare was a hollow wreckage with cracks of fury splitting across the surface. They looked like dirty ice, littered with scrapes where the rage was threatening to burst through.
He looked like a ghost with too much strife to pass on, left to linger and pine.
Too lost.
Dead.
"Draco," he called, shifting his feet awkwardly. "Have you eaten anything?"
The movement was minimal, but Caleb spotted it. Just a small bob of his head, but now he could see his spooked stare, focussed solely on Hermione.
"Do you need anything?" he continued.
No response.
"She looks better," he commented, trying a different approach with no success. "Maybe you should take a walk or something, Draco?"
His eyes flickered with impatience, and Caleb knew he was adding sparks to the to the delicate time-bomb in Draco's head. He sighed in defeat, but decided to try one last thing before he completely surrendered to the silence.
"Amelia's pregnant," he stated proudly, a grin dying to steal his lips. "I just thought you'd like to know."
Draco's mouth twitched at the corner, but nothing leaked out, so the dark-haired man turned to leave.
"Congratulations," a tired mumble stopped him, the voice wavering with fatigue and inactivity. But it was sincerely stoic, and more than Caleb had expected.
"Thank you," he replied, switching his body to regard his friend again. He hesitated, toying with his next words in his brain. "You know, she will be fine, Draco."
His lids fell, and his lips parted to rid a significant breath.
"Tell that ginger troll to keep his voice down," he commented quietly, but it held a dose of Draco's familiar bite. "And if he sets one foot in this room, I'll have him shitting shrapnel for a month."
Caleb's smirk was his first in days, and he relished it. With a pleased nod, he left the room, satisfied that Draco wasn't broken. Damaged perhaps; chipped and a little grazed. But not broken.
Repairable.
Back in his welcome solitude, the blond slowly raised a weak hand to massage his throbbing temple. Arching his back to ease his stiff muscles, a drum-roll of clicks rattled up his spine. He had not left the chair except to use the bathroom and take three very quick showers. The Healers brought him food, settling it silently next to him so he could pick at it when the hunger breached the numbness.
His lover had been given a bigger room this time, complete with a personal bathroom and an untouched spare bed. But the bed was too far away from her, so he remained confined to the chair, even sleeping in it with his head propped against his knuckles.
But he'd barely managed twenty hours sleep in the last twelve days anyway.
He would not have her wake up to find him snoozing like some fickle twat, and the vexing images that plagued his subconscious didn't help. So, he stayed in the chair, indifferent to the scratchy material as he did nothing but watch her.
Stare at her.
Transfixed by the rises and falls of her chest. They'd been steady for a few days now, no longer fluctuating like windswept seas. He cringed as he remembered her seizures. Watching her body spasm uncontrollably and Healers binding her to the bed was an image that would strain his psyche well into the afterlife.
So he just stared at her; hour upon hour with silent pleas for her to flash him her honey-dew eyes.
Just stared. Not touched.
It had been made painfully clear to him that everything he touched wilted like winter willows.
His thoughts were a dangerous concoction.
He'd thought of his father and Blaise's revelation of his Muggle-born killer. A part of him had actually wished it would make his feelings for Hermione alter, knowing it would probably make this situation less painful.
But no. She was the part of him that felt valid. Real.
And as much as he wanted to reject the notion, his father had deserved his death. Be it from Death Eater or Muggle-born, the man had been lucky to live as long as he had. He had knowingly placed his mother and himself in jeopardy with his dealings with Voldemort, and if there was one thing he knew about himself now, it was that he could never do that to Hermione.
His feelings for his father and his death had been confronted, and they did not change. End of.
His mind had stormed over Blaise's betrayal, and he'd come to the conclusion that it would simply take time before he would fully understand that. He felt nothing towards the man. Not a thing. His rage was swarming around himself for being so blind and exposing his mother and Hermione to the vile wizard.
He wanted answers from Blaise, but they could wait.
His priority was her; and her alone.
He hadn't cried. Crying was for the mourning.
The Healers had assured him that her responses were good, meaning that the Cruciatus Curse hadn't left any lasting effects. Mentally or physically. They'd told him that four days ago. Or maybe it was nights. Time had become subjective and skittish in their silent cocoon. He only knew it was Friday because a Healer had checked on her earlier.
Night or day; it didn't really matter. The news had settled his stomach, and he hadn't choked on his bile since. The majority of his thoughts had blossomed over her; and he'd come to a calming and clawing conclusion. Her life was more important than his. It had sneaked up on him somewhere between their meetings in his office and where they were now.
He hadn't prepared for this, but it felt like him home.
He'd stop his heartbeats for her. Stop another's heartbeats for her. Anything.
Love.
Her eyelashes fluttered.
The movement was so small, he wondered if he'd simply imagined it. It wouldn't be the first time.
But it happened again, and he couldn't breath.
Slowly, like sunset, her lids lifted with countless mini-blinks before she was simply gazing at the ceiling. Her lips unsealed to draw in a healthy breath, accompanied by a divine moan that struck him motionless. If he moved it might break the spell...Might make her slip back into her two-dozen-day darkness...
She was still for what seemed like the thirteenth day, before a quivering name seeped out of her mouth.
"Draco?"
He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I'm here," he mumbled quietly, warily allowing himself to look at her again.
Too slowly, her head tilted to find him and her syrupy stare latched onto his. He waited for her to say something, so convinced that he had finally lapsed into insanity and this too-good moment was the result.
"Come here," she requested, and he had no recollection of moving to the bed. He was at her side instantly, dying to touch her but knowing better. He took a moment just to study her; from the tips of her curls to the toffee flecks that skimmed her eyes.
"How are you feeling?" he rushed out, his slate-grey glare examining the slice on her arm.
"I'm tired," she mumbled softly, licking her lips. "How long have I been here?"
He frowned. "Twelve days."
"Twelve days," she echoed absently. And then her lips glided into a perfect smile, and he felt her dainty hand grasp around his. "I missed you."
His eyes dropped to his wrist, cuffed by her small fingers. His chest suddenly felt heavier and full, and he closed his eyes to relish the heat. He swallowed as he felt the vibrations of his core flicker to life, throbbing in his ears and against his ribcage. He was aching to touch her, his fingertips desperate to trace the outline of her lips, but he didn't dare.
He tried to pull his hand away but she gripped him tighter. "Don't do that," she whispered, and his eyes went back to her fascinating face. "Not again."
He managed to find his voice. "Do what?"
"Pull away from me," she said, her voice still recovering. She tilted her pillow-propped head and observed him with sad eyes. "Don't close off from me, Draco. Please don't-
"Do you blame me?" he spat the words out quickly, his nose wrinkling with self-loathing and doubt. His voice voice turned gritty and cold. "I am to blame for this-
"Why would you-
"He was my friend," he mumbled, snatching his hand free to rub his face and hide his eyes. "And I didn't-
"Know," she finished for him, trying to settle his panicky movements. "You didn't know-
"But you did," he argued. "I didn't listen-
"And I didn't listen when you warned me about Montague," she sighed, trying to yank him closer. It was then she realised just how demolished he looked; tortured and derelict. "Put your hand on the bed."
"What?"
"Just do it," she breathed, watching him slowly comply. "Other way round," she told him, and his palm was displayed to her. She lightly stroked her fingers over the creases in his skin, and she could feel him tense. With a determined frown, she moved her gentle touches up his arm, lingering over his pulse-point before dipping into the fold by his elbow.
His sleeves were bunched up just under his biceps, and she skimmed over the greying-white fabric to rest her hand against the side of his throat. His pulse had quickened since she had thumbed his wrist, and she glanced up to find his eyes half-hidden and his face calmer, but still carved out of strained stone. With a private sigh, she cupped his prickly cheek, instantly feeling him lean into her gesture. A lonely tear crawled down her cheek as she carefully and slowly guided his face closer to hers.
She sniffed and choked back a whine, fearing his rejection. "Can..." she stuttered, closing her eyes. "Can you kiss me please?"
His lids snapped open and his wild-ash stare was taking in every cell that belonged to her. He could never deny her. He'd never honestly been able to deny himself... His head jerked forward, his mind rich with the need to touch her. Taste her. He'd been starved of her for twelve days and it had left him forsaken and with trembling withdrawals. He paused and yielded to the itch in his thumb, running it across her bottom lip before he followed with his mouth.
Somewhere between a brush and a kiss. Somewhere between bliss and hell.
He was holding back, too aware of her barely-healed injuries. He was too eager to inhale her; too lost in her texture. He pulled away, coaxing a disappointed sigh from her dampened lips.
"Again," she murmured, and he quickly complied, releasing some more of himself into her. But it was still too controlled. He went to pull himself away, but his ever-determined lover latched her small hands onto his face, holding him still.
With a couple of bold sucks and a headstrong scrape of her teeth, she was dragging everything out of him. Time was squandered again, leaving them to swallow each other and drown.
"It's okay," she mumbled between kisses, and he realised then that he was shaking. "It's alright."
She was combing her fingers through his hair, and suddenly he felt fatigue overpower him, weighing down his eyes and fogging his brain. Only she could do this. Only she could sedate the storm that thrived on his pain. Her pain too.
His body shifted to cover hers, and his head found its way to her chest, just lying there with his ear pressed against her. Her heartbeats serenaded him, reminding him she was fine. Perfect actually. She was perhaps a little scarred from her ordeal, but so was he.
Matching flaws that would heal with time.
"Do you remember everything?" he asked her, deciding that forgetting might be a luxury for her.
"I think so," she nodded, followed by a sudden gasp. "Oh God. Amelia-
"She's fine-
"Your mother-
"Everyone's fine," he told her, feeling her stiffen beneath him.
She released an uncertain breath. "And Blaise?"
He cringed. The name was poison staining her lips. "Zabini's in Azkaban," he stated simply, his tone even and stoic.
"Why did he-
"A Muggle-born killed his mother," he explained quickly, soothing her sides with rough hands. "Zabini was too trapped in his old ways."
"I'm sorry, Draco," she muttered.
"What for?"
"He was your friend," she offered, stroking loving circles over his forehead. "You must be-
"I don't want you talking about him," he said, his voice turning dark. "He almost killed you."
Her yielding breath stirred his platinum hairs. She couldn't win this one, and she was too tired to really try. "Tell me some good news," she requested with a faint mumble. She craved some positivity.
Draco eyebrows drew together in thought. Good news? All his attentions had been focussed on her for twelve days, leaving him completely oblivious to the world beyond her door. London could have burned to the ground and he wouldn't know. Or care, for that matter.
Something shoved its way into his brain though, and once again he found himself secretly thanking Caleb.
"Amelia's pregnant," he slurred, insomnia starting to snare his senses.
He couldn't see it, but he knew she had a weak smile on her face. He savoured the change in the air before fatigue stole him, allowing him to drift off into a sleep that was far from peaceful, but lasted nine hours.
.
.
It was the fifteenth day, and after two whole weeks confined to a white-walled hospital room, his witch had finally convinced him to return to the outside world. Weasley had only grown more agitated when a Mediwitch had let slip that that Hermione was conscious and had eventually barged himself into the room, followed by Potter, Caleb, Amelia and his mother.
And there would be more visitors on their way.
She was being discharged in two days, which left him just enough time to move their belongings to one of his family properties in Chelsea with some help from Caleb, Narcissa and her two House-elves. His mother had divulged in a little rant about 'a fresh start' but he'd paid her no heed, still too consumed with the hailstorm in his head.
Flicking his wand to settle down another box, it took him a moment to realise that Caleb was talking to him. That was the problem with coming back to reality; it felt completely out of focus. His ears felt stuffed and everything was hazy, like he was trying to catch up with it but failing miserably.
"What?"
"I said, we should break for a few minutes," Caleb mumbled, sleeving away some sweat on his forehead. "I'm going to make a cuppa. Do you want-
"Firewhiskey," Draco replied blankly, and Caleb gave him a stiff nod before he left the room, passing Narcissa who was on her way in.
"It's starting to take shape," she commented, eyeing the would-be bedroom with a forced smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he snapped too quickly, flinching when he opened the box and came across the book he'd given Hermione for Christmas. "I'm fine."
"I know about the letter the Ministry sent you," she started hesitantly, taking a seat on a groaning chair. "And I know you haven't replied."
"What of it?"
The witch sighed and gave her son a concerned look. "Don't you think it would be...beneficial to visit him?"
"What good could possibly come from it?" he muttered, the muscles of his face tightening.
"I think it would be good for you," she insisted, ignoring the harsh look he was sending her. "I think you need to talk to him and find some closure-
"Do you honestly believe that I would be able to contain my temper?" he spat darkly. "There would be no talking, mother."
Her lip twitched. "You need to meet with him and do what is necessary for you," she said calmly, leaning forward to place a hand on his shoulder. "Or you will regret it-
"My only regret is ever having that fuck anywhere near us," he hissed, bringing up a hand to massage his temple."I can't believe I ever trusted him-
"We all trusted him," she said softly. "Don't feel guilty, Draco-
"I can't see him now, mother," he interrupted, clenching his fists and clicking his jaw. "I'm not..." he trailed off to exhale. "I wouldn't be able to control myself. Maybe in a few days, but not now. I just want some peace and I'm sure Hermione wants the same."
She nodded in understanding and gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "I'm very proud of you, you know," the older Malfoy confessed. "You saved her life, and Amelia's-
"I put them in jeopardy in the first place-
"No, you didn't," she disputed. "You're the only one who thinks that and if you went to see-
"I don't need you telling me what I should fucking do."
"Okay," Narcissa breathed, grimacing at his clipped tone. "I just thought that asking Blaise questions would give you some peace of mind-
"I will do it when I'm ready," he finalised, brushing her hand away and returning to the boxes. "In the meantime, I'm happy to let the guards start breaking him down."
"I'm not sure the guards-
"You underestimate the effect of a Malfoy donation, mother," he scowled, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. "I can assure you that he is being taken care of appropriately. And don't you dare mention that to Hermione."
"I see," she nodded slowly, reluctantly relieved that he seemed a little more like himself after that comment. "So, when-
"When I'm certain I won't kill him."
.
.
The spare bed remained unused.
She was gathered tightly to his chest; her sleepy breaths humming across the grooves of his collarbone. He could still taste berries and affection on his lips from her calming kisses, but it was starting to fade. She'd been asleep for a few hours now, and he had done nothing but watch the twitches of her features in the dim light.
He didn't want to leave her, but he had to. It was almost four in the morning and he didn't have much time.
Giving her brow a small peck, he carefully slipped himself out of the hospital bed, adjusting the sheets so she wouldn't lose any warmth. She moaned and shifted, but remained lost in whatever images her subconscious had cooked up for the night. He ensured his hasty movements were quiet before ducking out of the room and almost starting when he caught sight of the solitary figure waiting just outside.
"Fucking hell," Draco barked, shooting the other man a suspicious look. "What in Merlin's are you-
"I had a feeling you might go tonight," Caleb explained, taking a seat in one of the chairs. "I'll keep an eye on her while you're gone."
"What about-
"Amelia's visiting her parents to tell them the news," he supplied with a hint of pride to his tone. "I figured you would be a little reluctant to leave her alone and you shouldn't rush this."
Draco frowned, but the lines of his face weren't hard or cold. Hermione was leaving hospital tomorrow morning, and Caleb had spent the whole day helping him finish the house, so he knew the man must be tired.
"Why would you-
"Bloody hell," Caleb muttered, rolling his bored eyes. "Look, Draco, stop questioning everything I do. You're a mate, and I'm doing you a favour. Now sod off before I change my mind."
The paler wizard felt his first smirk in weeks pull at the corners of his mouth. Giving his companion a grateful nod, he headed down the corridor and left St. Mungo's.
Azkaban was precisely how he remembered it; built with the same bricks and echoing with the same screams he'd witnessed when his father had stayed here. But at least there were no Dementors this time around. Just an odd combination of men, goblins and giants made up the staff now, but at least some of the wizards were still corrupt enough to accept a bribe here and there.
Giving one of the senior guards a brisk nod, he was guided into a room that felt humid and smelled of age. The black-brick space was illuminated by a few fragile candles that drew his eyes to the human shackled to the opposite wall. The sinister section of Draco's brain, that had yet to be soothed by Hermione's presence, enjoyed the image of the demolished man he had once called a friend. He would have to tip the guards on his way out.
Blaise Zabini's dark skin was now decorated in a hundred colours, ranging from plum-skin purple to peachy yellows. His face was swollen, and his prison clothes were shredded like he had lost a battle with a bramble bush. Part of his torso was exposed, and Draco could see a long gash splitting his stomach in half, looking close to septic after a half-arsed attempt to dress the wound. One of his legs was crooked and one of his arms looked like it had been broken and then set incorrectly, his elbow misplaced and stretching his skin in an odd place.
Good.
"I was wondering when you would come," he wheezed, and Draco wondered if one of his lungs was damaged. It certainly sounded that way. "Miss me, Malfoy?"
The blond bared his teeth and took a couple of steps further into the room. "You look like shit," he stated calmly, folding his arms across his chest. "Let's just get this over with, Zabini-
"You're here to ask some questions, I assume?" Blaise asked, his breathing too unsteady to pull off haughty. "Let's have them then."
"Why did you bother sending me a letter when you knew I was with Granger?" he asked, his tone deceptively professional.
"To try and bring you to your senses," he answered as though it was obvious, giving Draco a look of genuine disgust. "Look at you. That fucking Mudblood has turned you into a snivelling, love-sick fool-
"Don't call her-
"People used to fear you in Hogwarts," he went on, snarling and spitting like a rabid mongrel. "You used to be someone. Now you're just that Mudblood's bitch-
"I'm warning you-
"YOU'RE A FUCKING DISGRACE!" he screamed, and then coughed in pain. "We were never meant to coexist; them and us. She should be dead-
"YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!" Draco countered loudly, drawing his wand. "I should have killed you on the spot-
"But you didn't! Didn't even kill Montague for trying to rape her. That how weak you are-
"Shut your fucking mouth-
"Because you're a coward," Blaise spat, his voice low. "Nothing but a pointless, little twat-
"I am TWICE the man that you are-
"You have no spine!" he yelled, flinching in pain again. "Voldemort was right about them. They are vermin, and you went and fell for one. Your father would have killed you on the spot-
"Crucio!"
His former friend's screams echoed in the dark chamber; the vibrations flickering the candles' flames. Draco held the spell until Blaise twitched violently and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. That had felt good. Too good. He lowered his wand and watched the dark wizard quake and snivel like a wounded rat.
"G-get on with it," he stuttered, a powerful spasm rocking his body. "Kill me-
"Don't tempt me," Draco seethed between his teeth.
"That's why you c-came here, isn't it?" he questioned, his voice breaking. "To end all this-
"Shut UP, Blaise-
"Go on!" he goaded, and Draco's wrist moved automatically to angle his wand. "There's no one here, and we both knew you could buy yourself an alibi!"
His wand arm straightened.
"Come on, Draco," Blaise flashed his teeth, and they were blood-red. "You know you want to! It's in your blood-
"STOP IT-
"Come on!"
He felt the magic in his body shift; sparking in his veins and travelling to his fingertips.
He deserves it...
"Go on, Malfoy!"
Just a quick spell...
"Do it, Draco!"
No...
"DO IT, DRACO!"
"NO!" he shouted, growling deep in his throat and dealing a swift kick to Blaise's septic wound. "I am nothing like you! I will not kill! But I want you to rot in here until you're not even human. Until someone has to wipe the fucking dribble off your cheek and wipe the shit from your arse." He paused to walk closer to the weak man. "Death is too easy."
He kicked the gash again. Harder. Blaise coughed up a clot of bile and blood, and Draco felt something close to satisfaction settle in his chest.
"Why did you pretend to be my friend for all that time?" he asked quickly.
This was the question he had wanted to ask. Why the betrayal? Why even bother involving him at all?
"I-I am done with your questions," Blaise gargled, spitting out some more blood.
"Fine," he snapped, turning to leave. "Then we will do this until you are too fucked in the head to argue. You will see me again, Zabini. Crucio!"
He only held the spell for a few seconds; just to see the fear flash across the repulsive man's stare.
Without a backwards glance, he left the small chamber, slamming the door behind him. The guard was still waiting outside and Draco gave him a grim look, digging into his pocket to retrieve a heavy pouch that chimed with Galleons.
"Do what you want," the Malfoy heir demanded curtly, pushing the pouch into the guard's hand. "But I want him on the verge of death. Will you be able to arrange similar visits like these in the future?"
"Shouldn't be a problem," he replied.
"Good," he grinned, clicking his knuckles. "I'll see you in a few months."
.
.
When he returned to St. Mungo's it was around seven in the morning, and he found Caleb loyally waiting at his post, looking a little tired but otherwise indifferent. "Feel better?" he inquired when he caught sight of the pale wizard, who looked somewhere between tortured and salvaged.
"Slightly," Draco shrugged cryptically, his gaze instantly falling to Hermione's room. "Is she still asleep?"
"I assume so," the dark-haired man answered, rising from his seat. "I'm going home to get some rest-
"Caleb," the blond called before he could disappear down the corridor. "I will never be able to repay you for everything you've done."
"I wouldn't ask you to," he told his fellow Slytherin. "It's what friends do, Draco."
Friends...
"Thank you," he muttered before his pride could stop him, receiving a knowing nod from the other man before he continued his exit. Releasing a breath to shift the remains of his frustration, he slipped into the room as silently as he could; but she stirred anyway and he frowned with disappointment.
"Draco?" she mumbled, her voice laden with fatigue as she glanced around for him. "Is that you? Where are you?"
"I'm here," he told his witch, his legs instantly guiding him towards her.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her confused eyes watching him closely. "Where have you been?"
He hesitated. "I'll tell you later," he said quietly, sitting on the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Excited," she murmured, gracing him with one those morning smiles that always defeated him as she stretched her arms above her head. "We get to go home today."
"Don't get your hopes up," he advised. "It's still not completely finished-
"I'm sure it's beautiful," she stopped him, reaching up to sigh her fingers across his cheek. "Come back to bed, Draco. It's cold."
He didn't argue.
After losing his clothes, he settled himself next to his lover and pulled her as close as possible. Her lively curls were soft against his cheek and he inhaled her scent as she tickled the base of his spine with lazy fingers.
"You know I feel about you, don't you?" he asked her suddenly, his lips ghosting devoted pecks across her forehead.
"You love me," she stated with happiness heavy in her breath. "And I love you."
He clutched her a little tighter and she moaned against his shoulder. "I need you to understand that you might not agree with some of the things I do in the future...But I do them for us."
She released a heavy breath that roused the small hairs on his skin. "I trust you," she said finally, feathering her lips across his throat. "I know things haven't been easy-
"They've been bloody shit-
"But it will be easier now," she soothed, pulling back to steal his eyes. "We can go home today-
"It's not a home," he argued, his stormy eyes unsettled and burdened. "It's just a house-
"Then we will make it a home,"she told him, with that familiar determination that calmed his mind.
His expression was sceptical so she reached up to brush some of his fringe away from his brow, and then balm his mouth with a lingering kiss that ached her chest. In one of his rare submissive moments that would dissipate quickly, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and allowed her to stroke his hair and whisper words of warmth in his ear.
Only she would see this side of him.
Only she was capable of coaxing normality back into their world.
"It's okay," she consoled, taking advantage of the precious privacy. "It's over now."
.
.
a/n: And it is...Over I mean...Well, except the Epilogue...
I'm going to be honest with you...I cried writing certain parts of this story because now it's over, I feel a little forlorn...My first Dramione fic...It's all grown up! And you've all been just so wonderful with your words of encouragement and I wish I could thank each of you appropriately...so here's hoping your metaphorical angel outfits suffice!
I hope the ending was satisfying and none of you hate me...
The Epilogue will be up shortly, and will resolve things with Blaise...It just didn't make sense for me to ram it all in to one chapter. Things like that would take time, in my opinion, and I hope you agree. It will be up soon!
For the 220+ who have favourited this story and for the 350+ that have alerted it, thanks to you for your interest! But to the people who have reviewed...You are bloody brilliant and have made me laugh and cry and blush from the tips of my toes! I wish I could throw a little party for you at a hired Manor with a Harry Potter theme! That would be awesome...sigh...
My next story is called Isolation and I've decided to play with the younger Draco for that one (Play with Draco..drool...) and it's going to be set post HBP. I'll say more about it in the Epilogue.
Anyway...As always, there's been energy drinks, cigarettes and enough wine to drown a small country! Read and Review please.
Until the Epilogue, lovelies!