Invisible
Chapter Twenty-Four: Guilt
California by Anavae, Outsiders by Au/Ra, and War of Hearts by Ruelle
Draco POV
When Draco was nine, his magic presented for the first time.
It was quite the affair, with his parents each showing their pride in their own ways. Lucius gifted Draco with an emerald and silver Slytherin broach, telling him to hold onto it until graduation. His mother immediately set to planning a party, treating it as though it were more important than a birthday, and somewhat less important than Christmas. Dobby celebrated in his own way, sneaking a cupcake up from the kitchens to give to him when they both knew Draco wasn't allowed to have sugar unless it was a special occasion.
But for some reason, the only thing he remembered was that his magic had exploded out of him and caused the horse trough to explode, and he felt guilty. His favorite Abraxan, Dragon, ended up with a shattered leg, and Draco hadn't been able to get the sounds of his pained whinnies out of his head for months. Dobby had been able to heal him right up, but it didn't change the fact that the entire time his party was going on, Draco was gazing out the windows towards the direction of the stables. A ten-year-old Blaise had been chattering his ear off about some troll his father battled, but Draco only thought of Dragon. Draco still had the broach, but it was tucked away in someplace hidden until he forgot what the horse's scream sounded like.
When Draco awoke the morning after the Revel, he heard Hermione's screams in his head, and he didn't think he'd ever forget what those sounded like.
Guilt. Shame. Those were strong emotions. Strong emotions that had always been the first ones to shatter his walls, no matter what the situation. Now that he couldn't use Occlumency anymore, it seemed he was constantly drifting along, being buffeted back and forth between the two in a way that he feared would never end. Guilt over the way he'd been forced to hurt Granger. Shame over his inability to challenge the alpha and win. Guilt over the way he'd been accepting Granger's blood to keep him alive. Shame over accepting it without giving her anything in return, which was so unSlytherin, he almost thought the Sorting Hat made a mistake all those years ago. Guilt over the insolent, selfish prick he'd been since he was eleven. Shame over the way he'd made sure Second Year Granger couldn't round the corners of the halls of Hogwarts without worrying he might accost her with his lackeys.
He even felt guilty about the kiss. Merlin knows he'd wanted to do it for weeks, but . . . He'd taken advantage of her in a low moment. He'd gotten swept up in the guilt, the shame, and the vulnerability of two people who didn't know what the Hell they were doing.
Draco had been to Voldemort's Revels. He'd known how bad they could be, but he'd been foolish and thought Greyback and a few former (or current) Death Eaters would be less dangerous. He'd thought he could handle them as long as he made them believe he was on their side, and that Granger was off-limits.
He hadn't accounted for the power that Greyback had. He hadn't even known what an alpha or a beta was until the Revel. He'd been blindsided by Greyback's presence and the revelation that he owned half of Draco's father's company. He remembered when they'd discussed the missing 1.7% in the budget, how he'd looked into Greyback's eyes and sort of . . . Pushed his magic outward toward him. It wasn't intentional, it just seemed like his wolf knew Greyback was lying about something, and Draco wanted him to know he knew.
But then Greyback's magic had pushed right back, like a tidal wave, and forced Draco to lower his eyes. Draco had tried multiple times after that to keep Greyback's magic from overwhelming him, but he failed every single time. With the final challenge in the Drawing Room, Draco knew that if he was able to use his magic to push Greyback's back, then he would be able to control him. And Merlin, had he tried. He knew that things were devolving, getting more feral, and he knew that if he didn't fight back, then Granger was going to find out the truth about what a Revel really was.
The nightmare had just gotten worse and worse, until it could only be considered living Hell. Draco had been forced to fall so far into his Death Eater role that he'd scared himself part of the time, and when Granger had slapped him, he knew he deserved much more than the flat of her palm. He deserved the full rage of the Gryffindor lioness, and nothing less.
He'd never seen Granger looking so terrified. She was barely hanging in there all night, her only tether to safety being him and her ability to follow orders. But she wasn't perfect, and neither was he. She'd slipped up, risking everything, and he hadn't had any other choice but to make it look genuine and whip her. He hated himself for it. He hated himself for finding it easy to sink to that level without any form of hesitation. He hated himself for their past, for being okay with hurting her if it meant saving her life.
Draco couldn't deny that last night, during their argument, Granger had been at least somewhat right. It was too easy to treat her like his property. Calling her "Mudblood," demanding that she crawl like a familiar, when she'd knelt on the floor and said "Yes, Master," and watching her follow absurd orders without question was unsettling. It showed him that there was a dark part of himself that he might not ever be able to shed. A part that might end up hurting Granger if he couldn't get his magic under control.
He felt horrible for having kissed her not only because she was vulnerable, but because he couldn't tell if he was still playing the role when he did it. Feeling her body against his, their tongues melting together, his hands in her hair, her legs wrapped around him . . . It had felt real, and yet it hadn't. Because she was Hermione Granger, and he was who he was, and he didn't think he'd ever given her a real smile before. Yet there he was, snogging her with every intention of using his mouth to erase everything that happened to her that night. And there she was, snogging him back with the obvious desire to drown in him so she could forget, even though she was angry with him and blamed him for everything.
But she wasn't as clever as she pretended to be, because he'd told her he cared about her - yelled it, really - and she'd completely missed it.
Not that it mattered. He was utterly and completely devoid of value compared to her. For her to truly feel anything for him beyond what his magic was obviously forcing him to feel would be about as likely as the wizarding world giving his father a full pardon. And if she knew the truth about him - the truth about who he was in Seventh Year, and what he'd done under Voldemort's control - then she never would have kissed him. She wouldn't be so willing to obey his every word.
After what Greyback had forced her to be subjected to on the chaise, where Draco had failed to fight back, he wasn't sure they could ever come back from it. How could she ever forgive him for whipping her like that?
He'd watched the panic and fear mingling in the lines of her face, and he'd realized that he had two bad options: watch as she inevitably couldn't do it and ended up a victim to the pack while Greyback used the alpha magic to keep Draco trapped, or involve himself in the way he thought would sell their ruse the best. He'd known he should have at least attempted to challenge Greyback again, but he knew the outcome would be disastrous. There would inevitably be a loss on Draco's part, after four failed previous challenges, and then what small amount of trust Greyback had in them would have disintegrated. He would have hurt them both.
Still, he hadn't even tried.
Draco didn't know what he deserved, but it certainly wasn't her.
Upon awakening, the first thought he had was that his entire body hurt like a bitch. It felt like he'd been carried to the heights of the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch and dropped.
Then, he recalled the transformation. He'd been snogging Granger and he'd felt his magic starting to boil up, rising to the surface, so he'd pulled himself away from her. He'd started turning, then, and all he could think about at that moment was how badly it hurt and how desperate he was to make her leave. They'd all done enough essays on werewolves to know they were dangerous, and he couldn't understand why she refused to fucking leave.
But then the agony took over and her hands were on him, her soothing words in his ears, and she was helping him. In spite of what he'd done to her that night, she was helping him, and that made him hate himself more.
What if she didn't leave in time? What if he hurt her with claws and teeth, mauling her and repaying her compassion with death? His heart felt like it was breaking, shattering, falling into flames, and she didn't even realize it. She didn't even realize how much he needed her during his first full moon, and she didn't realize how fortunate he was to have her there. She didn't realize how much he hated himself for everything wrong he'd ever done, especially to her.
If it weren't for his desire to stay conscious of her safety for as long as possible, the pain would have forced him into unconsciousness, like it had the first time. But he'd drawn on every last bit of strength he had in his body to keep his mind present, and he'd begged her to leave. To just go. But she was stubborn. Too stubborn. And then everything after that was black.
Draco sat up completely nude, staring around in muted horror at the state of the room that was Granger's. The bed was torn to shreds, feathery down and satin fabric tossed about haphazardly. The vanity was in pieces, glass shards from the broken mirror strewn about. The chiffarobe was toppled and broken, clothes strewn all over, and the dresser had been obliterated. There were deep gouges in the walls from his claws and cracks running from floor to ceiling on every wall. If it weren't for the Manor having windows impervious to shattering, the pane likely would have shattered and his wolf would have escaped.
His eyes fell to the ground, to his wand, and he saw to his horror that it was broken. Multiple pieces, as though his wolf had chewed it up and spat it back out. Draco held up one of the pieces and looked at it. As if it hadn't been hard enough to get Ollivander to agree to provide him with a new wand the second time, now he was going to have to try and get a third one.
That's when he started panicking. Because he'd made Granger crawl and called her Mudblood and hit her and spanked her so hard she probably would be limping for days. He'd whipped her numerous times and given her too many slash wounds to count. He'd humiliated her. He'd allowed her to be humiliated.
She'd told him that she wanted to fill him up with so many good things that he wouldn't be able to hide the truth that he was falling apart. But he didn't deserve it. He deserved to fall into ruin, and she deserved to expulso the pieces he left behind. His wand was broken because of his own faults and he didn't deserve to have one.
Where was she? What if he'd hurt her after he turned? What if the blackness in his memory was full of her blood? None of these things were forgivable. None of them, in his opinion, were forgivable, and if he knew that it wouldn't leave her open to endangerment, he'd open his window and jump out of it right then.
Draco pulled his knees to his chest and tangled his hands in his hair, gasping for breath as he tried to figure out how he was going to look her in the eyes, knowing how he'd treated her. He'd flogged her like a 19th century thief, and all because he'd allowed her to be put into a situation where she had no choice.
It didn't matter if she'd insisted on attending. He should have used petrificus totalus and sent her through the Floo. He should have accepted whatever punishment he received from Greyback for not bringing her to the Revel. He should have tried harder, done more, been stronger . . . Just like when she'd been tortured on the floor of the Drawing Room by his aunt, he should have done more.
But even he knew he wouldn't have been able to do anything other than try and convince her. The alpha had told him to bring her - he'd had no choice. The choice would've been hers and hers alone.
The door slowly creaked open.
"Mate? It's me - it's Blaise. All right?"
"I'm fine," Draco said darkly, sucking in his emotional turmoil and locking it away as best he could without Occlumency. "I need clothes."
"Can't you just use your -"
"Broken. Just get me some clothes."
"Shite."
A few moments later, Blaise was standing beside him, holding out a pile of fabric. Draco refused to look up, snatching them from his friend's outstretched hand. Blaise let out a low whistle.
"Really did a number on her room, yeah?"
"Clearly," Draco muttered as he pulled on the grey trackie bottoms Blaise had grabbed for him. "So I'm guessing you know, then?"
"Yes," Blaise said. "And you're proper . . . Large for a werewolf."
"So I turned fully?"
"What d'you mean?"
"I've only turned once before, and it wasn't my entire body. Only half of my wolf made it out of the shell . . . So I turned into a full wolf this time?"
"Yeah," Blaise replied. "White fur and silver eyes, huge, snapping teeth. The whole Quidditch game."
Draco frowned. He'd thought perhaps something was wrong with him, but now he knew that he could turn into a full wolf. But how? And why had it not worked the first time?
Then, Draco stood and turned to his fellow Slytherin, rubbing the back of his neck as he hung his head.
"Where is she?"
"Hallway. Fell asleep with her head against the door."
Draco's gaze darted past him, to the cracked door, and then back to the floor. A pang of guilt and affection shot through him. "On the floor?"
Blaise nodded. "I transfigured something into a bed for her, though. She was comfortable."
"Good," Draco murmured. He looked at him for a long moment, not saying anything as he tried to figure out how to approach his apology. He was Draco and he was not one to say the word "sorry." Even when he knew he really should. Every time he tried, the shame overwhelmed him and trapped the words in his throat.
"I could have helped," Blaise said, his brow furrowed as he leveled his gaze with Draco's.
"I know."
"I don't want to know what happened," Blaise said. "But I can promise you she's unlikely to forget a lick of it."
"I know."
"We should have forced her to go back to Hogwarts."
". . . I know."
"I know at the beginning of the year I said that I had no interest in protecting her . . . But that's changed. We're acquainted. Dare I say, friendly. And this type of thing can't happen again, yeah?"
Draco averted his eyes to the wall beyond him. He felt his wolf narrowing its eyes at Blaise, but Draco was much too chagrined to be jealous. He had no right to be jealous, not when Blaise was correct.
"Don't you think I know that, too?" Draco snapped, glaring at the floor. "I don't plan to allow it to happen again. I didn't want it to happen in the first place."
"You knew what the Hell a Revel was. Why would you agree to it?"
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a -"
"I did not have a choice, Zabini!" Draco shouted. "I'm a werewolf. Greyback is an alpha. He's the alpha. There's . . . Magic, or - or - something that he does that just . . . It gets inside me, and then I can't do anything."
"What?" Blaise looked perplexed.
"I mean that I tried to challenge him, but he's more powerful than me. He made me do things I didn't want to do, stopped me from helping her. I -"
"I'm stopping you right there," Blaise growled and his hand shot out to grip Draco's shoulder tightly. He pointed at him and looked him directly in the eye. "This is extremely important. She made it very clear to me that this is a fear of hers. Did you or anyone else violate her?"
Draco felt rage bubbling up within himself. Because no, he didn't, but what he did was, in his opinion, just as bad. The fact that he'd lost the alpha challenge only served to fill him with more fear. What if Greyback used the alpha magic to force him to hurt her again sometime in the future?
"What are you on about?"
"I said, did you . . . Or anyone else . . . Rape her?" Blaise's eyes were aflame with a warning.
"No, Blaise!" Draco cried, shoving his hand off of his shoulder. He wanted to say more, to say that he would never let anyone hurt her, that he would kill anyone who harmed a hair on her head, but he couldn't. Because that's exactly what he'd done last night: he let her get hurt. He narrowed his eyes. "When did you two discuss something like that?"
"Yesterday afternoon, before the Revel. I approached her in the Drawing Room because I didn't think you were telling her everything she needed to know. You have a tendency to bottle things up, if Sixth Year is of any indication." Blaise snorted.
"Thanks for that vote of confidence, arsehole." Then, he felt the guilt rising up again. That meant that she asked him after their incident in the Drawing Room after returning from the Ministry. He remembered that moment too vividly. He'd felt so guilty the entire time, as she screamed and struggled, but he believed she needed to understand the gravity of the decision she was making. She had no idea what Voldemort was truly like, so she had to have had no idea what she was agreeing to by insisting that she attend the dinner.
Then, audible only to Draco's enhanced hearing, he heard Granger make a small sound in the hallway. Without a second look to Blaise, Draco rushed out of the room. There was an extravagant bed in the hall, which would likely have given Narcissa an interior decorating coronary if she saw it, and it very much appeared slept in. Granger sat on the edge of it, still wearing the ripped, blood-stained gown from the night before, and her hair was a frizzled mass of curls. Due to the dress having a low, corseted back and thin straps, he could see the extent of her wounds. The fang marks on her neck were still there, too, though he was glad they weren't bleeding.
His heart sank. This was his fault.
"I apologize," she said sleepily as she stood, "if I woke you, I just . . . I was in a lot of pain."
Her knees gave out, and Draco flashed forward to catch her, his hands wrapping around her waist and hers landing flat on his chest. Her head tilted up and her eyes searched his.
"I'm quite . . . Faint," was all she said before her eyelids fluttered shut.
Draco shifted into action quickly, lifting her and swinging his arm underneath her legs. He called for Blaise, and then due to the fact that Granger's room was in shambles, the two men entered Draco's bedroom. Draco barely tossed a quick glance around the black wood and emerald-colored decor, heading straight for his king-sized bed. Blaise darted forward and pulled the black fleece coverlet down, revealing green satin sheets, and then Draco laid Granger down on it.
"She looks right done over, Drake," Blaise said in a low tone. "She needs -"
"I know what she needs," Draco practically snarled, filled with ire that was directed towards himself and not Blaise. "Stay here with her, and I'll be back."
Blaise conjured up a chair and took his seat, and then Draco left the room. He headed a few rooms down, to the family's potions room, and began gathering up the things he thought he might need. He grabbed a vial of Dreamless Sleep, a bottle of Draught of Peace, a tube of Pepper-up potion, and a dropper of Essence of Dittany.
He went to grab a special Dittany-based cream for her bruises, but to his dismay, there was none on the shelves. He might have to go get some. He didn't even care that normally he'd use his wand to levitate them all, nor that three months ago, were he in this situation, he wouldn't have given a flying Snitch if she was hurt. And if for some reason he did, he wouldn't go out and get the cream himself, he'd likely just send for it. But now, he simply balanced the products in his arms and headed back towards the room, planning on going straight to Diagon Alley afterward.
He knew he was supposed to go to his father's company, but there was no way that was happening after the events of the previous night. Whether it looked suspicious to them or not, he'd send them a letter and reschedule for a time during Winter holiday. The chance of Greyback being there was too high.
"Master!" Tinky popped into being before him, forcing him to skid to a halt. "Is Master all right now?!"
"Master is fine," Draco said breathlessly, having been startled by her sudden appearance. "How is Tinky?"
"Oh, thank Merlin!" Tinky burst into tears and threw her arms around Draco's leg. "Tinky was so worried last night, and wasn't sure if you were going to be all right. But Tinky followed the rules! Tinky stayed in her room until the . . . Guests left."
"I'm all right, Tinky, thank you," Draco said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. "I'm so proud of you for staying in your room. Can you do some things for me?"
"Anything, Master! Tinky just wants to help as much as she can!" The elf beamed up at him.
"I need you to restore the design and furniture of Hermione's room," Draco said, feeling a bit strange with how comfortable he was becoming using Granger's first name. "And then the Drawing Room, I . . . How does it look?"
"Sir Zabini and some of his elves took care of it," Tinky said, her smile fading a bit.
"Ah, brilliant," Draco breathed, and then he started back to his room.
"Master, wait!" Tinky cried. "What about the Dining Room?"
Draco paled when he recalled what had occurred there, the death of Enicto's slave. It had been extremely difficult for him to hold himself back from the blood, especially with the copious amounts of it that there was. If it weren't for Granger's song - that song - he probably would have launched himself onto the table.
"Clean it up," he said carefully. "Destroy everything. And the . . . Body, just . . ."
"Tinky knows what to do," Tinky said quickly, her little legs pumping as she made a dash for the stairs. Over her shoulder, she called, "Tinky will make sure she gets a proper burial!"
Relieved at the loyalty of the elf, Draco rushed back into his room. Blaise was still seated in his chair, his elbows resting on his thighs, his fingers laced together, and his wand put away. Draco entered and placed the things in his hands on the bedside table.
"She's going to need something else," Draco said. "Something we're out of. I need to go to Diagon Alley."
"Can't you simply send for it? I can send one of my House Elves."
"No," Draco said quickly. "No, I need to do this. I need to be the one to . . . It's my - I just need to do it, okay?"
Blaise eyed him for a second and then nodded. "All right. Shall I stay here while you go?"
"Yes," Draco said, and then he went to his closet. He walked through it, shoving hangers aside and grabbed a black button-up, tie, and trousers. He hated not having his wand; he would have been dressed in less than two seconds if he had it. He wouldn't want to waste time at Ollivander's today, so he was going to have to try and send the old man a letter.
Grumbling to himself, he went to his bathroom and began the frustrating process of brushing his own teeth and combing his own hair.
"Mate?"
Draco poked his head back out, his eyebrows raised and mouth full of toothbrush and paste, and then saw Blaise gesturing to Granger.
She was awake.
"Shite," Draco cursed, and then hurried to spit into the sink. He felt like each second took too long and not long enough at the same time. He wanted to see if she was all right, but he knew that she wasn't. That made him feel ill.
He rushed back out to the bed, not even thinking twice as he sat down on the edge of it. Granger was sitting up, her legs beneath the comforter, and she looked unhappy. He could see the little wounds all over her front from the whip, and it made him want to confringo himself.
Draco placed his hands on his knees and then glared at the floor. He didn't know what to say.
Granger bit her lower lip, at a loss for words as well. She glanced to her right, to the bottles and vials on the table. She lifted one up.
"Essence of Dittany," she said. "I had to use this when Ron got splinched once. It's expensive."
"The Weasel got splinched?" Blaise asked, coming to stand by the bed with his hands on his hips. He was grinning, but it didn't quite eradicate the concern in his eyes. "Do tell."
"It was . . ." Granger trailed off, and a faraway look entered her eyes. She placed the dropper back on the table. "We went to the Ministry to get something, and we had to run from Snatchers on the way out. I Apparated us multiple times, and Ron got splinched. I used Essence of Dittany to heal him."
"Clever," Draco murmured, and then he glanced at her. "And it's expensive because it's rare. Each dittany leaf only produces one drop."
She looked at him, and it felt like he was drowning under the weight of her gaze. Then, her lips twitched. "It's quite rare, as well. Denmark is the only place you can find that plant in the wild."
"Well," Draco huffed, propping his chin on his palm, "My mother lives in Denmark. Perhaps she can send us some."
"Oh, that wouldn't work. Dittany loses its magical properties when cut. You have to siphon the essence out with a wand while it's still rooted to the ground."
"You simply know everything, don't you, Granger?" Blaise asked with a chuckle.
"Swot," Draco threw in with a bit of a smirk.
"I simply make it a point to know all aspects of potionmaking," Granger huffed, leaning back against the pillows. "If I'm to make them after Hogwarts, of course."
"I'm surprised," Blaise said. "I would have thought you'd go down a Ministry career path."
"Yes, well . . ." She ran her fingers through her wild hair, tousling it. "That's what I wanted before. After the war, I found that my desires had changed."
Draco studied her face, recalling the argument the night before, when she'd mentioned needing to help her parents. He'd been trying to tell her that he could help her with anything potion-related, but since she was so angry, he hadn't been able to gain a chance to say it. They'd both been rather emotional the previous night.
He wondered if she was still thinking about their kiss, and if it had meant anything to her beyond an attempt to gain comfort in a lachrymose moment.
"I'll speak to my mother nonetheless," Draco said. "Perhaps they sell more amounts of it -"
"They do," Granger interrupted. "In . . . In Denmark. Copenhagen, specifically. There's a shop. A potion maker. He . . . He sells it in a more accessible manner than here in London."
Blaise and Draco exchanged glances.
"Swot," they said simultaneously.
Granger ducked her head to hide a smile. "Yes, well . . . I won't apologize for knowing information. After all, I'm me, aren't I?"
There was a bit of silence for a moment, and then Blaise cleared his throat.
"So the . . . The bruises you've got look proper bad," he said to Granger, and then he shot Draco a pointed look. "Are you sure you don't want me to go to Diagon Alley for you instead, mate?"
"Diagon Alley?" Granger frowned. "What for?"
"A cream," Draco replied. "It's Dittany-based. They've got it in Diagon Alley. It's made of -"
"Crushed Dittany leaves," Granger said matter-of-factly. "Once the essence has been siphoned from the leaves, there's a charm you can use to instantly crush them into a paste, without ever having to pull the plant from the ground. Cream of Dittany. It's not as potent as Essence of Dittany, but it can be used for minor aches and pains, or to encourage deep-muscle and tissue healing."
Blaise began to laugh, and he continued to laugh until he had to wipe tears out of the corners of his eyes. Draco turned his head to hide a chuckle of his own. Granger was predictable and utterly herself, even when she was covered in cuts and bruises. When he turned back to her, she rolled her eyes.
"Honestly," she said. "I'm only keeping you informed."
Another awkward silence settled over the trio, and Draco felt his anxiety returning. He had no idea how they were going to move forward, no inkling as to what she was thinking, and no clue who he was anymore.
It was clear that things felt irreparable. Draco didn't know how one was supposed to come back from situations like the ones they had been through. How do you go to class with someone who made you crawl and call him Master? How do you eat breakfast in the Great Hall at the same table as the boy who struck you and whipped you because an alpha werewolf forced him to do it? How do you attain any sort of semblance of normalcy with the man who wasn't strong enough to keep you safe from that same werewolf?
He didn't think they could, and he felt wrong for even sitting on the edge of her bed.
So he stood up, slipping his hands into the pockets of his bottoms.
"I'll come with you, mate," Blaise suddenly said. "To get the medicine."
"Someone should stay here," Draco said, shaking his head.
"I'll be all right," Granger said, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. "Tinky is here, and so are Blaise's House Elves, right?"
Draco opened his mouth, feeling reluctant, but then he realized it was best. Granger would likely feel much more comfortable around Tinky than Blaise. Not that Blaise was untrustworthy, but something inside of Draco's mind told him being alone with male company was not what Granger needed right now.
"All right," he said, and then he called for Tinky. The elf appeared in a snap, with a handkerchief wrapped around her head, a blue dress on, and a white apron wrapped around it. Draco's eyes lingered on the blood staining the apron, and he hoped Granger didn't notice.
"Yes, Master?" Tinky said brightly.
"Blaise and I need to step out for a while. Can you watch over Miss Granger while we're gone and make sure that no guests come in through the Floo?"
"Tinky would be honored, Master," she said, smiling. Then, she turned and saw the potions on the bedside table. "Should Tinky help the miss with the -"
"No, it's all right!" Granger said, sitting up a bit higher on the bed. "Honestly, Draco, I can . . ."
She trailed off, and Draco's eyes studied her. Had her usage of his name been a slip of the tongue? Or intentional? Why did it just make him feel even guiltier? And Granger was looking right back at him, eyes as wide as bludgers and it felt like lightning bolts of tension were being pulled tighter and tighter between the two of them. Draco felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Let's head out, yeah?" Blaise interrupted the silence with a smile and a pat to Draco's back. "It's almost noon; we should get back in time for lunch if we go now."
Draco nodded and ripped his eyes away from Granger. "Tinky, help her with whatever she needs."
"And the Dining Hall?" Tinky asked. "Tinky should finish it first or later?"
Draco snuck a quick glance to Granger. She was staring at the comforter.
"Finish it first. And quickly," Draco said, and then he followed Blaise out.
Draco didn't realize his palms were sweating until they got to the Drawing Room. He felt a huge weight lifting off of his shoulders as they made their way through the room. It looked clean and completely normal, but he couldn't stop the nausea that rolled over his skin. He remembered every single thing that had happened the night before, remembered where Granger's body landed when he slapped her, where the severed head of the Muggle-born had rolled to, even the places where Greyback's claws clicked back and forth on the stone. And as they passed the chaise, he snapped his fingers to get Blaise's attention.
"Yeah?" Blaise paused at the Floo.
"Burn that," Draco said, pointing to the loveseat. "Now."
Blaise narrowed his eyes, confused, and then pulled out his wand. "Are you certain, or have you gone mental? That's the couch she was head over broom for."
"And now I want it burnt," Draco said through gritted teeth, still pointing. "I'll get her another one. Just burn it, and let's go."
He stood there, waiting, and then Blaise leveled the wand at the loveseat.
"Incendio," Blaise whispered, his eyes regarding Draco warily. He said nothing, thankfully, and Draco knew it was because he didn't want to know what happened at the Revel.
When the chaise was well and truly burnt, Blaise put out the flames, and then grabbed Draco's arm as he passed by him.
"Do you know what you're doing here, Draco?"
Draco looked at him, wondering what he meant, and when their eyes met and Blaise cocked one eyebrow, he knew exactly what his fellow Slytherin was trying to say. Blaise knew that this situationship with Granger went far, far beyond "I think she's fit," and strayed into a territory that Draco knew there'd be no coming back from. Because even though they'd been playing roles the previous night, Draco knew that their argument wouldn't have been so explosive the night before if there weren't some truth to the dynamic they were playing.
He let his guard down for a moment, let his shoulders sag.
"I haven't the slightest clue."
O
The trip to Diagon Alley was uneventful, to say the least. The Apothecary was located in the North Side of the alley, which wasn't exactly a side full of Malfoy family lovers, so Blaise had his work cut out for him keeping the unwell wishers away. Draco didn't care, though. He felt he deserved every insult they hurled his way. After the Revel, he was just as bad as what the people were saying. He truly believed he was just as bad as the Dark Lord, and it didn't matter that he was here to get something that would help Granger. It was a drop in the bucket, and it would take him the rest of his life to even inch his way onto the lower rung of the ladder to being worthy of the Golden Girl.
When he got to the Apothecary, Draco was not pleased with the amount of enhancement his supernatural sense of smell awarded him. The stench was horrid, so he paused near the entrance to gain his bearings. Blaise strode ahead of him to ask for the Cream of Dittany, and Draco's eyes caught sight of something.
Wolfsbane Potion. It was locked in a glass case and provided in vials of a few liters. Draco looked at it curiously, going over the benefits in his mind. It could help him control the anger and mood swings, in addition to helping with the actual full moon cycle and delaying the transformations.
The vials were a price that to him, was nothing, but to the general population, exorbitantly priced. If he remembered correctly, his werewolf essay in September had been focused on the disadvantages of being a werewolf. One of those disadvantages was the Ministry's wage cap. How were werewolves supposed to work normal jobs if they had to spend nearly half of their month's wages on one day's worth?
They're not, he thought angrily. They don't want us to.
He paused. Us. It was the first time he'd subconsciously embraced what he was. Rather, what part of him was. There was still the matter of the blood consumption, as well as the lust . . .
"Got the Dittany," Blaise said, tossing the container up into the air and catching it with one hand before slipping it into the pouch the worker provided him with. "Don't worry - I charged it in your name so Granger doesn't think you're a complete knob."
Draco ignored the joke, his focus entirely on the Wolfsbane vials. "I think I ought to purchase one of these."
"One day's worth?" Blaise grimaced. "I suppose you could save it and use it for an emergency day?"
"No," Draco murmured, caressing his chin, lost in thought. "I want to take it home and break it down. I want to study its components and see if there's anything I can do to make more."
"Well, it's not hidden knowledge," Blaise said. "Just check your book at school."
"No, I mean substitutions," Draco said, waving a dismissive hand. "Besides, the ingredients for Wolfsbane aren't accessible to the general public. The Ministry has a monopoly on Wolfsbane. In fact, I'm sure it's illegal to brew it at home."
"You are correct, Mr. Draco Malfoy."
Draco and Blaise turned to see the worker from behind the counter standing beside them, peeking over the rims of his glasses at them. He had his arms crossed and a stern look upon his face.
"Wolfsbane Potion is only available for purchase, and the ingredients are not available in any apothecary in the entirety of Europe. If anyone is caught with the ingredients while traveling into or around the continent, it's grounds for immediate arrest and a mandatory sentence in Azkaban," the elderly man said.
"Seems like an awful lot of trouble for the Ministry to go through just to keep some wolves in line," Blaise said, scratching the top of his head. "Wouldn't they rather keep them docile and safe by providing them with the potion for free or low cost?"
"And lose the ability to control them in all other areas?" Draco snorted. "Not likely. The Wolfsbane is the foundation. The laws, the asset control, the wage caps . . . That's what's built on top of it."
"Seems proper dark, if you ask me," Blaise muttered.
"Can I purchase a vial or two of it?" Draco asked.
"And what would you need it for?" The man seemed suspicious.
"School project," Blaise and Draco said at the same time.
"Hm," the clerk said. "Unfortunately, Wolfsbane Potion can only be purchased by werewolves who are registered with the Ministry. I would think that your professor would have informed you of this before assigning a school project centered around it."
"Right," Blaise said, and he exchanged glances with Draco. "Well, in any case, thank you for the Cream of Dittany."
The store worker nodded slowly, but he hadn't taken his eyes off of Draco.
"Tired, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked. "We've got potions for that."
Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he recalled how lethargic he'd felt on the final day of the last full moon cycle. Even right then, he could feel the exhaustion lingering on the edges of his psyche, but he was too concerned about Granger to stop and take a break. He had the sneaking suspicion that this elderly shop worker was sharper than he looked. Draco slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
"Not in the slightest," he answered the clerk. "But thank you for inquiring."
The man stared at him for a half of a moment and then he relaxed into a too-easy smile. "You're most welcome, Mr. Malfoy. Is there anything else I can get for you? Perhaps something for mood swings? I've heard things can get a little wonky for some wizards around this time of year."
Draco felt his wolf stirring, beginning to snarl. This guy was too on the nose. He definitely was no Slytherin.
"No," he said smoothly. "That'll be quite all right."
Blaise, catching on to the tension, held out his hand to the elderly man. "We must be going, then. Until next time?"
The elderly man slowly shook Blaise's hand, but neither he nor Draco averted their eyes from one another. "Until next time, indeed."
"Well . . ." Blaise said as he turned to go ahead of Draco. "Cheers!"
Draco paused at the door. This man . . . He was no friend of his family's. He knew that for certain. Draco's family was and always had been experienced potions masters. Between Lucius and Narcissa's skills in the potions laboratory and his godfather Snape's proficiencies, Draco never needed to buy supplies at the Apothecary for Hogwarts. Draco could imagine that would put a sour taste in the apothecary owner's tea.
"Mate? Coming, then?" Blaise said from the walk.
"One second."
Draco turned to see that the elderly man was still standing near the Wolfsbane case, watching him closely. Draco knew - this little encounter would be told to someone. He didn't know who, and he couldn't risk anything. He strode back to the man, drawing up all of his magic stores and focusing them on the spell he wanted to cast. He kept their eyes locked and before the man could ask what in Merlin's hut he was doing, Draco hissed out the incantation.
"Obliviate."
Once the elderly man had well and truly forgotten the fact that Draco had come looking for something that almost assuredly proved he was a werewolf, Draco left the store. Blaise was smirking at him.
"Ah, there he is."
Draco smirked in return and adjusted the neckline of his button-up. "Thought I'd gone soft?"
"Never."
With one more exchange of wicked grins, the two Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home.
O
"Granger?" Her name felt like cotton in his mouth as he knocked on his bedroom door.
When he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he was surprised to see that she was struggling to get out of bed. He took a few rushed steps forward and then hesitated. Would she even want his help?
"Don't mind me," she said, her cheeks staining pink. "I just need to use the loo."
"Oh," Draco said. "I can get Tinky?"
"No, no," she said, scooting to the edge of the bed and using the flat of her hands to push herself up. She swayed a bit on her feet, and then adjusted the long hem of her gown. "That won't be necessary. But could you possibly get me some fresh clothing?"
Her speech had gotten rather formal. Polite. Draco watched her limp past him and around the end of his bed, headed for the bathroom. His bathroom. He saw her swoon against the doorframe for a moment, and he panicked.
"Are you all right?" he asked, forcibly keeping himself from going to her side. He didn't want to startle her.
"Just . . . In quite a bit of pain," she said, her voice sounding strained. When she removed her hand from the door frame, Draco could see that it was shaking.
"Have you taken any of the potions?" he asked, taking another step toward the bed.
"No. It's just bruising and shallow cuts. And I forgot the potion you gave me at my dorm so that's why my hands are wonky. But I think everything will be all right."
Draco turned his face from the loo door after she closed it. He'd forgotten about that - the potion for her cruciatus pain. As if he couldn't feel any worse. Now she was having that on top of everything else. He could clearly tell that she was glossing over things. Merlin, she was limping and fainting about. Did she think he was daft?
Was she feigning wellness in order to keep him from touching her? He wouldn't be surprised if she was. It was what he deserved.
It just didn't stop it from hurting any less.
He forced himself to stay standing right where he was when she returned, even as her shoulder brushed his chest. Though he wanted to reach for her, he refrained and simply watched as she clambered back into the bed. It would have been a comical site, with the extravagant gown and all, were the situation not so somber for Draco.
"Did you get the Cream of Dittany?" she asked as she adjusted the coverlet around her legs.
"Yes," he said softly, keeping his eyes down. He felt the same way he had when he'd accidentally forgotten his mother's birthday when he was 14. Chastised and ashamed. "Blaise has it, but he said he was going to grab a quick lunch from the kitchen."
"And the clothes?"
"I didn't . . . I just waited here," he said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, expecting to see a frown.
"It's all right," she said, sounding tired. "I don't want to seem pushy."
"Be pushy," Draco blurted out, and then he pushed his hand through his hair. He lowered his voice. "Be pushy."
She looked at him, her mouth hanging open slightly, and then she looked away. "I really want to be comfortable. I don't want to wear this dress anymore."
Draco nodded, biting his lower lip and then hurrying to his closet. Her clothes were completely shredded by his wolf, anyway. He pulled out a jumper he'd gotten last Christmas and returned to hand it to her. She was already standing when he got there, a hand wrapped around the end bedpost to stabilize herself. She accepted the black cashmere with a small smile, a smile that Draco thought he didn't deserve, and then leaned down to pull her heels off.
"Can you . . . ?" She cleared her throat and turned around, pulling her curls forward over her right shoulder.
Draco paused, his hands stuttering as they reached for the lacing on her dress. He could see scabbed over scrapes and angry red rashes on her shoulder blades, and a purple bruise on the base of her neck. The scrapes hadn't been his fault, but the bruise on her neck certainly was. He felt sick.
Finally, he reached for the ties and began to pull them. His eyes roved over her skin, which he knew had once been pristine. He wished he could take her wounds and transfer them to himself without the use of dark magic. He'd take all of her pain away and absorb it into himself until it crushed him.
"About last night," she said. Draco worried. What was she going to say? There was an infinite amount of things she could bring up to discuss.
"Yes?" he said breathlessly, still pulling the lacing out of its eyelets. He saw more scrapes and bruises being revealed as the two sides of the back came apart, and he glowered at them.
"During our . . . During the argument." She took a deep breath, one that he could see lifting her shoulders, and then she said, "I glossed over something that I would like an answer to before we . . . I just would like an answer."
He slowed. There were only three small eyelets left.
She continued, "It's about the woman at the Ministry. And I just . . . I'm just going to say it before I chicken out."
"Chicken out?" The dress came apart in the back, and she reached behind herself to hold it together and keep it from falling. She didn't turn around. Draco was sure it was because of the awkwardness that was stretching between them.
"It's a Muggle saying. It means to be too afraid to do something at the last moment."
"Ah." He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes trained on the back of her head.
"The witch at the Ministry, before your meeting," Granger continued. "You . . . Said certain things to her. Things that I've noticed you only say to me. And I know we're not - I'm not your - I know we aren't a we, but it was rather . . . Off-putting to hear them."
Draco saw her head ducking down and he frowned, struggling to recall. Then, he remembered. The witch at the Ministry. The one he'd obliviated so she wouldn't recall his flirting. That had just been an attempt to get whatever information he could. It hadn't meant anything. Why was Granger fixating on it, talking about "we" and "us?" And more importantly, why had it bothered her so much?
"Because I called her 'pet'?"
"N-No," she stammered, still not turning around. "The . . . Other part."
"Which part?"
Granger was silent for a long, drawn-out second. Draco was wracking his brain, trying to remember, and then Granger whispered, "You told her she was a good girl."
Familiar feelings from before the Revel surfaced within him and he felt the magic within his body creeping up to the surface. He didn't want it to. Desire was the last thing that he wanted to feel for her after everything that had happened, but the thought of - just the memory - the knowledge that she -
A violent need to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her neck crashed into him and he took a stumbling step backward as he fought his magic with all of his might. He knew the way he'd treated her the previous night had been wrong, but during their fight, she'd all but admitted that it was easy to fall into her role because it was easy for him to fall into his. For a moment, he could pretend the Revel never happened, and that it had all fallen away. That they were just sitting on the floor of his room, in the strange, small world they'd created for themselves this past two months.
"I only said that because I was trying to get information," Draco said quietly. "I wasn't thinking deeply about what I said. I merely wanted to know what Greyback was up to. That's why I erased her memories afterward. Because I had no intentions of receiving her through my Floo."
She was quiet then, and he saw her nod. Draco inhaled slowly, his hand reaching for her. He drew it back, curling it into a fist, and stepped back. He averted his eyes as she let the dress fall to the floor.
"Did you want me to leave?"
She shook her head, holding an arm over her chest. "There's wounds on my back where my arms crease. I can't lift them. Can you help me with the jumper?"
Her tone was so matter-of-fact, but when he glanced at her incredibly bruised back quickly, he saw that she was trembling. He placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling her shiver as he leaned around her and grabbed the jumper from the bed. He helped her to put it on, squeezing his eyes shut against the torrential flood that came from his magical core when his fingers grazed her bare waist. The hem of the jumper fell to her mid-thigh and the sleeves nearly covered her fingertips.
She finally turned around, looking up at him from under that bushy head of brown hair, and Draco couldn't resist reaching for her.
"Does it bother you?" he asked, his knuckle guiding her chin upward. He didn't know why his heart was beating so fast, but it was. He was being selfish, he knew, but the thought of stepping away from her was terrifying. "That I said that to her?"
She looked down, and then her hands fisted in the fabric of his button-up. Her fingers were cold.
"Perhaps."
"You're the only one that I . . ." He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he struggled with himself. He didn't deserve to claim her or call her his. Not anymore. And yet here, with her body pressed up against his, he just wanted to gather her up and kiss her until all of the pain was gone.
But she was looking up at him with a strange glint in her honey eyes. There was a near-desperate need there, for something he couldn't understand why she would ever want from him after last night.
"That you what?"
"That I want to say that to," he whispered, his eyes burning intensely down into hers. And then his nose brushed hers, his head tilted, and he asked, "Do you like when I talk to you like that?"
She nodded and when she whispered "yes," it was on an exhale of sweet, needy breath that he wanted to consume. Draco's stomach twisted and his heart beat fast enough to steal his breath. His hands cupped her face and he tilted his head the other way, fully intending to give in to his magic and desire. He'd say whatever she wanted, whatever he wanted, whatever they wanted, and then he'd drag her back into the small world that was reserved just for them.
"Draco, my dragon, what have I told you about witches in your bedroom?"
Draco whirled around, his hands jumping away from Granger as though they'd just been set aflame. Granger sunk to the edge of the bed, her eyes wild with mortification.
"Mother?"
Narcissa stepped into the room, dressed in extravagant emerald robes and a floor-length white fur coat. She removed her satin gloves and patted Draco's cheek with a warm hand, and then she turned to smile at Granger.
"Oh, you poor dear. He hasn't even served you tea."
Want to connect with me?
Playlist at honeysweetwriting dot com
HoneySweetWriting on Facebook
Honeysweetcutie dot Tumblr