Trigger warning: the firt part of this chapter contains descriptions of a panic attack and allusions to sexual abuse.
Hermione wasn't alone. She knew that. Lucius was just taking a shower, and she felt rather silly for having come to rely on him so much. She had been more or less glued to him the last few days – holding his hand, being held by him, laying with her back against him when she slept, or having his arms encircling her whenever she felt another panic attack coming.
And they were coming often. Since that night, it was as if the dam had been broken. It all came flooding. All the memories that she had not allowed herself to think on, the feelings she had pushed away until she could pretend they didn't exist. She hadn't realised there was anything to remember. But now every harrowing detail came back to her, as if it was happening in this very moment. She couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the fear from coursing through her, paralysing her.
But he reminded her that it wasn't happening, that it was in fact memories and not present reality. And that made her just barely keep her shattered self together.
It was awful. She was constantly afraid of the next assault. It could be triggered by a mere nothing. A word, a smell, a passing thought, fear itself. One moment she would be okay, teasing Lucius about his non-existent cooking skills, and the next second she would feel the panic rising, feeling unwanted hands upon her, being stripped of every defence, being invaded, assaulted and degraded.
She knew she wasn't alone. And right now, she wasn't even sitting by the bloody sofa, and yet she felt the fear creeping up on her. She tried to fix her thoughts on Lucius's presence. He was in the other room, behind a wall. It was all right, she told herself. She was safe.
But still the panic grew. Her mind relentlessly threw her back to her childhood home. She remembered her parents leaving her alone with him, how she had been confused by her own discomfort. It was Uncle Ed. She'd always liked him. And then all those small details. The way he would look at her, or stand too close at the kitchen counter. And then that hand, patting the seat beside him in the sofa.
I'm not there. I'm safe. Hermione thought, but the memories continued and her panic rose. The shame, the dirt, the pain. Pinned down, violated. She barely noticed the pain of her own fingernails digging into her skin. It didn't help.
She wanted to call for Lucius, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe, and when she stood up her head started spinning, and she stumbled. She tried to steady herself on the table, but knocked something over in the process. It crashed to the floor just a second before she did. Something sharp pierced her lower arm, and she realized through the haze of fear that she must be bleeding. She couldn't even cry – se was gasping for air, hating the feeling of helplessness she was caught in.
Then suddenly, she was dragged away and her clawing hands were pinned to the ground. She felt a familiar scent and heard his voice begin to chant those words. It wasn't magic. It took time for his words to sink in, for her mind to begin to focus on him. But gradually she did. He was almost sitting on top of her. His hands were restraining her and stroking her skin at the same time in an altogether different way than he had. Lucius was here. She wasn't alone.
Well, this is weird, Draco thought grumpily. It was certainly not how he had imagined starting off the weekend. Do I have plans for Friday night? Well, in fact I'm thinking I'll go over to Granger's place and try to spy through her windows like some great perv! Why? Because I think my father might be there. Why on earth would he be there? Not a clue, but you see my instincts tell me something's up.
Draco's inner monologue was dripping with sarcasm.
This was one of the strangest things he'd done and he was technically an ex-Death Eater. He had done his fair share of shifty stuff. He had also bullied Granger for most part of their school years – but whatever he had done, none of it had involved actually disturbing her privacy. He hoped to God she wasn't the type to walk around naked in her flat. He had tried hard to create the set of morals his parents hadn't bothered to teach him, and this was not the time to falter.
He shouldn't be here, but he owed it to his own newfound sense of morals. He had to put his mind to rest, even if it entailed doing something he was sure he would regret.
It had started earlier this week, when he had stopped by at his father's place on a whim. He had been confounded by their chat last Christmas, and felt compelled to see if the change he had witnessed was still there. If anyone had asked, however, he would have sworn he just wanted advice on handling the management of his share of the Malfoy estate.
The apartment was empty. It took some time to ascertain that, given the size of the place, but so it was. Draco was surprised, but had to admit it was only reasonable that his father actually might have a life of his own. So Draco went home and stopped by again a few days later. The apartment was still empty, and had the distinct feel of having been empty for quite some time. That seemed odd. He knew for a fact that his father never went to Malfoy Manor, and he always let Draco know if he was going to any of their more remote estates.
The next day, he was at the Ministry on business and ran into Potter. Neither of them would pretend to be happy to see each other, but they had gotten to the point that they could not only be in the same room, but also exchange a few civilities. Potter asked why he was there – in a non-questioning way which rather impressed Draco – and Draco asked how Potter's auror training was going and if Granger was still a secretary on floor eight.
"No, she's moved to magical research – it suits her better I think", Potter had informed him, and added: "but right now she's home sick."
"Sick?" Draco was surprised. Granger didn't get sick. And if she was, he could hardly imagine a sickness bad enough to keep her from work. "Is she all right?"
Harry smiled, as if the same thoughts had passed through his mind. "Tummyflu, apparently. She owled Ginny the other day and forbad us to visit, in case she was contagious."
Draco made a face, and a few minutes later – when they had ran out of neutral topics to discuss – they each went their own way. Draco didn't think much more on it until later that night, when his thoughts returned to his father's strange absence. Lucius hadn't mentioned any plans of travels the last time they spoke. They had talked about Granger, however. That was just one of the things that had seemed off about him. Why would Lucius Malfoy, the great blood purist, have any interest whatsoever in Hermione Granger?
An hour later, Draco entered Luicus's apartment for the third time that week, only to find it just as empty as before. This time, however, he went to the kitchen. "Tilly?" he called.
The house elf appeared next to him with a loud pop. "Yes, young master Draco?" she asked eagerly. That house elf bloody loved him. "Can I get the young master some biscuits?"
"Not now, thanks. Where's my father?"
"He be staying with a young lady, sir."
Draco nearly flinched. Nearly. "Do you know her name?"
Tilly shook her head. She only knew it was a woman because she had dared take a peak through the door in order to alert Mr Malfoy to her presence. And then she had seen a young lady reclining on a bed. From Tilly's description, Draco was fairly sure it was Granger. Tilly informed him that she had been there to bring her master some fresh clothes, his toothbrush and a bag of biscuits a few days ago, but mournfully added that she had not been summoned since then.
So here Draco was, on the verge of doing something he might really regret, depending on what he exactly he would see and if he was caught spying. But the idea that his father's disappearance and Granger's supposed tummyflu were connected somehow wouldn't leave him.
Sure, he could wait another few days until Lucius showed up again, and just ask him. But apart from the fact that that was a conversation he'd rather not have, he was also worried. He didn't know what his father was about. Why did Lucius Malfoy ever do the things he did? He had seemed to appreciate Granger's finer qualities, but was that all? What if he had some sort of sinister motives? Draco didn't thinking stuff like that about his own father, but he had to be realistic.
So he decided to take a look and see if Lucius was there at all. If all he could see was Granger being sick, he could drop it. But if his father was there… well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
Draco took a deep breath, looking around him to make sure he wasn't being watched. He cast a couple of charms to avoid being seen, and levitated slowly upwards. He'd learned the address from Tilly, who'd directed him to the third floor. The lights were on, even though it was quite late at night by now.
Finally, he got a fairly good view of what appeared to be the living room. And what he saw made him sick.
It was worse than anything he had imagined. Granger was lying on the floor, crying, bleeding, and writhing as if she was in pain. And worse, she was pinned down by his father, who seemed to be talking to her in a commanding voice, while touching her. Not anywhere too private, but still in a very familiar way and not quite in the manner of caresses. For a few moments, Draco was frozen, unable to intellectually register what he was seeing. He couldn't comprehend it.
And then, when finally he came to his senses and was about to intervene, he noticed that Granger seemed to calm down. Yes, she was definitely calming down, and his father was pulling her up, putting his arms around her and stroking her hair.
Draco couldn't make out what he'd seen – first the violence and roughness, and then the tenderness and familiarity. Was he holding her captive in some way? Manipulating her? He couldn't make sense of it.
Granger seemed to be okay for now. But Draco had to do something.
They had quickly established a routine. They would have a cup of tea before sleep, each changing into their night clothes separately. Then he would let her settle under the covers first, and lie down beside her, completely shielded from the allure of her body. She would reach out her hand, and he would take it. They wouldn't talk much. He would wait for her to drift to sleep, and then watch her for a time, before he let slumber claim him as well.
Tonight, he had been trying to sleep for quite some time, when he suddenly heard sounds from the living room. He glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight.
Lucius grabbed his wand, roused Hermione with a whispered warning and stood to investigate. It had sounded as if someone came by floo, but it was a strange hour for visiting. Suddenly, he felt her hand on his arm. "Wait, if someone sees you..." Hermione whispered. "I'll go..."
"But – "
"It's my home," she said and crept forward.
He followed her close enough to be able to cover her if there was enemy fire, but far enough behind so as not to be immediately seen. Hermione crept closer to the door that had been left ajar, peeking through it.
"Draco?" Hermione gasped. "What on earth are you doing here?"
Draco? What on earth was his son doing here, and at this time of night? Lucius wondered briefly if Draco was in some kind of trouble, coming to look for help. But at that moment, the floo came to life again and he heard the movements of a second person. Hermione opened the door enough for her to step out into the living room. Lucius remained hidden, bud moved forward just a little to that he could see what was going on.
Hermione was standing just a few feet from him. Her hair was tousled from sleep, and her wand warily raised in front of her.
"How's the tummyflu?" a voice asked. Lucius strained his eyes to see in the darkness, but he recognized that voice. Harry Potter. Of course.
"Better", she said. "What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk, Hermione", Harry said seriously. "Where's Malfoy?"
"Standing next to you," Hermione said flatly, making Harry glance at Draco.
If Lucius had been a less intelligent man, this might have been one of those moments when he would have been forced to realize he was in deep trouble. Not from Potter, obviously, but from the woman standing in front of him. He had tried to stay away from her and struggled to deny those feelings – but they would not be repressed. He had never denied that she was the most brilliant, beautiful and a awe inspiring person he had encountered, but seeing her appear so vulnerable one moment and then so utterly defiant the next... Well, he was a lost cause. And he had known it for some time.
"Father?" Draco called.
Lucius sighed and stepped forward. "Good evening Draco."
Potter glared at him, raising his wand.
"Harry, don't you dare!" Hermione warned.
"Put your wand down, Malfoy", Harry said threateningly.
"I think not." Lucius stated. How did he know Potter wasn't the one who hurt her? Or – God forbid – Draco? Lucius tightened his hold on his wand, and Harry and Draco reacted quickly, but before they had a chance to hex him, a clear voice pronounced "Expelliarmus!" and the two boys' wands flew into Hermione's hand. They stared incredulously at her. Shocked, no doubt, that she'd turned against them when Lucius was standing right next to her, still armed.
Hermione apparently made the same conclusion, because next she turned to Lucius: "Would you be so kind as to let me hold your wand for a while?"
"It's not one of them?" he asked, scowling at the trespassers.
She shook her head. "Of course not."
He was relieved. Perhaps that was why he actually handed her his wand, though he'd sworn never to let anyone touch it ever again. But he also wasn't stupid. He knew she needed to have control of this situation, and Lucius resistance would only make the situation worse. She was probably the only person in England who had the smallest morsel of trust for him. He had better not let her down.
Once Hermione had all three wizards' wands in her hand, she gestured toward the dining room table.
"Let's talk."