Invisible
Chapter 31: Stars
Speak Up by Pop ETC, D.R.E.A.M. by Jonny Craig, and Rewrite by Asian Kung-Fu Generation
Draco POV
"We have to mate. Or we'll both die."
Draco walked behind Hermione a few steps, his hands in his pockets and his eyes glued to the back of her curly-haired head. She didn't seem to notice that he'd fallen behind in the corridor, didn't seem to notice that her short, curly hair was dry at the top and still dripping wet at the bottom. He didn't understand how that worked, but he did think she looked quite becoming with the new hairstyle. Almost more like herself, like she'd come awake or - or alive somehow.
It had felt nice under his hands, even when it was wet.
Hermione was murmuring under her breath, running over multiple possible solutions under her breath, and her steps kept slowing to a near-halt that almost had Draco tripping several times.
The eighth time he nearly stumbled over her feet, his hands leapt out of his pockets to grab onto her upper arms before he did so. He tried not to feel or look irritated, knowing that he was just as concerned for the future as she was. He just wished she would wake up and be okay with letting him die. That would make things a lot easier for the both of them.
It was strange.
The moment his hands touched her sleeves, it was almost like her body heat . . . Leapt out at him. Like it was dragging itself out of her body and wrapping itself around his fingers, attempting to trap him there. She gasped and her knees buckled, forcing him to hurriedly grab her elbows and keep her upright. Her head fell back against his chest.
"Draco," she breathed. "Do you feel that?"
He stared down at her upturned face, the curve of the throat he'd been kissing a bit ago. He'd only felt faint heat before, but now, it was an inferno. It almost hurt to touch her. But when he started to let go of her, his magic screamed at him and reached out towards her. It was then that Draco realized it wasn't her body heat that he was feeling.
It was her magic.
His eyes widened in alarm when she let out a small moan, his head swivelling about to ensure that no one had heard her outburst. Luckily, dinner was still minutes from ending and they'd passed the Great Hall, but the last thing they needed was random students straying by, thinking he was accosting her in the damn hallway. Especially when their clothes were rumpled and damp, and her top was soaked through with her blood.
"Granger, stop," he hissed down at her, rushing her forward by the elbows. Her legs were wobbly, her feet slow, and he felt like his skin was crawling. He could still taste her blood on his tongue and it made him feel like shrugging his shoulders out, cracking his neck, and pinning her down on the ground.
Wait. No. Bad. That was bad. That was not what he needed to do right now.
He shook his head, feeling his nerves creeping up on him. As if he needed another reason to hate himself right now. Right after her finally admitted how he felt to Hermione. Right after he finally . . .
Bit her.
He could feel the moment he lost a bit of his control. When he realized that his magic was urging him forward, telling him he wanted her. That he needed her more than anything else.
"Draco," she keened when his hand slid across her stomach to hold her upright. He felt her thighs pressing together. He smelled the scent of her arousal more acutely than he had before. He took a ragged breath. He could see his bite mark there on her neck as her head lolled to the side. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was by no means healing.
He wanted to bite her again.
He was losing control. Right there, right in the corridor. He didn't care who came along. He felt his sanity faltering, trembling on its foundation. He lifted her up by the waist and walked her over to the wall, pressing her face-first against it. His hands dragged down her sides, to her hips, pulling them up. She was whimpering unintelligible things, little sounds that made him feel like groaning. He reached for the hem of her skirt. His mind was a hazy, fiery inferno of lust. He was going to fuck her.
Now.
"Draco! Draco Malfoy!"
Hermione froze. Draco's hands jumped away from her at the sound of his name being called. He whirled around, seeing Rory and Koichi jogging up to them, each waving a hand.
"Is everything all right now?" Rory asked, looking concerned as he took in their disheveled, damp appearances. "You went out in the rain."
"You might catch a cold if you don't go to the Infirmary," Koichi added, frowning.
Hermione furiously straightened her skirt. "I'm all right. Draco's all right, too. Are you two all right?"
Rory and Koichi exchanged glances. Draco ran his fingers through his hair to calm his nerves. Hermione obviously wasn't in her right mind right now, but then, neither was Draco.
"We're fine," Rory said. "You two were the ones who went out there. And Hermione, you were breathing strangely."
"That's why we used the coin," Koichi said.
"What coin?" Hermione asked.
Draco rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. "Granger, this is Rory Bell and this is Koichi Harada. They were a bit of a help to me awhile back."
The two boys smiled and waved, and Hermione waved back. Her smile, however, seemed forced. Draco watched her closely, having a feeling he knew why. He was feeling the exact same way.
Draco opened his mouth to tell her exactly what the boys had helped with but the words wouldn't come. He hesitated, feeling even more nervous. For some reason, he didn't want her to know the extent to which he'd been investigating her attack before they became whatever they were now.
Fortunately or unfortunately, the boys beat him to it.
"We were there, the night you were . . . Attacked," Rory said. "We heard your attacker."
"Yeah, and then we also went up to the owlery and saw scratches in the wall," Koichi added. "Draco gave us a coin with a charm so we could get a hold of him in case anyone gave you a hard time again."
Draco felt his heart rate picking up, but he schooled his facial expression into remaining passive. He felt Hermione's eyes on him. He kept his gaze on the boys.
"In case anyone gave me a hard time?" He could hear the smile in her voice, and this time, it didn't seem like she'd forced it. "Why, that was very kind of him to look out for me. And very kind of the two of you to do the same."
"Oh, it was nothing," Rory said, waving a hand.
"Yeah, we like being able to help," Koichi said with a grin. Then, he looked from one to the other. "So . . . Are you guys friends now?"
Draco couldn't help it. His eyes darted to look at her. Her eyebrows were rising by the second.
"Sounds like you discussed me quite a bit," she said. "When was this?"
"Oh," Draco said, hand on the back of his neck, "not too -"
"I think it was the end of October?" Koichi said, looking to Rory for confirmation with a furrowed brow.
"Yes, right around All Hallow's. I think it might have been the 1st or 2nd of November." Rory smiled innocently.
"Wow, all that time ago," Hermione said, sounding awed. Draco tried not to cringe. "Sounds like you boys have been on the case for quite some time."
"Yes, we've been snooping about, listening in on conversations," Koichi said brightly. Then, his face fell. "But unfortunately, we've had no luck."
"Did you solve the case?" Rory asked, looking at Draco. "We've kept our eyes and ears open, but haven't found anything."
"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "I fear the trail's gone cold, boys. But you've been very helpful so far. You helped Hermione, and now she's all right, so I'd say you've done a good job."
"Do you still need our help with the case?" Rory asked, sounding hopeful. Draco looked down at him. He couldn't help but notice how similar he looked to Katie and his guilt reared up full force. What would his former classmate - the one he'd poisoned - think about her little brother being so involved with Draco Malfoy? Especially in a situation involving Unforgivables?
Draco crouched down so he was at eye level with the two First Years. He placed a hand on either of their shoulders, just like he had the day he'd met them. He gave them a small smile.
"Listen, boys," he said quietly. "You've been a big help. You really have. But it's gotten a bit more dangerous than I first thought. We -"
"So you have a suspect, then?" Koichi asked.
Rory perked up. "Who is it?"
Draco let out a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head. He had no suspects beyond Crabbe, but the boys didn't need to know that. He just wanted them out of harm's way. The last thing he needed was Greyback or someone else finding out he had more people who were important to him.
"No one you two need to fret about. But trust me, I could not have gotten as far as I have without the two of you. Without you, I never would have gotten any further than I had at the time. For now, you two have done an excellent job, and can go back to your normal lives. Maybe you could try out for Quidditch?"
"Can we keep the coin?" Rory asked, looking anxious.
Draco paused with his mouth open, ready to tell them to give it back. Looking into Rory's hopeful eyes, however, he found that he couldn't disappoint him. He hadn't the heart to say no. Even though he felt guilty about what he'd done to his sister, even though he didn't want anything bad to happen to the boys, he couldn't take the coin away from them.
"Yeah," he said, standing back up. "Sure."
"Ace!" Rory said, sharing a wide-eyed, grinning look with Koichi.
"All right, you two," Draco said. "Off with you. I'm sure you've got essays due in Charms, or something."
The boys dashed off, and then Hermione cleared her throat. When he glanced over at her, he saw that she had her arms crossed over her chest. She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Rory Bell?"
He frowned, indignation leaping forward past any other emotion he felt. "So I feel more than a little bit guilty. So what? Not all of us have forgivable sins, so we take our opportunities to make amends as they come."
Her face softened instantly, surprising Draco, who had fully expected an argument to spring up. "Who's your suspect? I wasn't aware you were still investigating. I thought you'd given up."
"I don't have a suspect," he said, his hand reaching out for her face of its own accord. He caressed her jaw. "But I'll never give up. It's just on hold for now. We have more pressing matters, anyway."
She grimaced momentarily, and then her hand came up to wrap around his own, pulling it from her cheek and holding it to her chest. She tilted her head to the side.
"You're sort-of good with kids," she said.
"Are you surprised?" Draco tugged on her hand, causing her to stumble forward. He wanted to be closer to her. His magic wanted it. He wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck, feeling her still-drying hair beneath his fingers as she looked up at him. "I don't want any myself, but I've never been uncomfortable around them."
"You don't . . . ?" Hermione looked astonished. "I would have thought that, since the Pureblood line is so important to you -"
"It's not," he said, his eyes studying her face. He was barely paying attention to this conversation. He wanted to kiss her. "It's important to my family, but I'm sure you've realized by now that the things my parents care about aren't necessarily the things that I believe. What about you?"
She shook her head. "I've got my parents to worry about, personal ambitions. No children for me, either."
"Personal ambitions," he chuckled, smirking as he lowered his head to hers. He shook his head out and grinned. "Sounds positively Slytherin."
His lips brushed against hers once. Then a second time. When she pushed herself up to kiss him herself the third time, Draco felt his magic flaring to life beneath the touch of them. Her hand wrapped tighter around his, and her other one came up to cup his face. Even though he could feel the fire and the drive to consume her washing over him, he held himself back. It was important, he felt, for them to have this kiss. This simple kiss without raucous need or frenzied pawing or - or moaning.
This time.
He needed her to know that for him, it was real. That it wasn't just the magic and it wasn't just his wolf. It was his heart that beat for her.
Hermione pushed him away, panting and ruddy in the cheeks. Voices were ringing in the corridor, signifying that dinner was over.
"We should - should be more careful. Until we figure out how this all . . . Works."
"You could always let me die," he muttered.
She shot him a glare. "It doesn't work that way anymore. Once the Veela bites another person, a potential mate, they're connected. From what I've read, their lives are tethered. So if I let you die, that would essentially be committing suicide."
"Then what is the point of mating versus bonding?" he said, annoyed.
"That needs more research."
A small group of Third Years girls meandered by, whispering behind their hands and casting Hermione and Draco surreptitious glances. Draco rolled his eyes and looked at Hermione, who was chewing on her fingernails. He had no idea how she wasn't fed up with people ogling her all the time. It certainly bothered him when - well, not when he himself was looked at, but when other people looked at her. At his witch.
A sudden possessiveness ripped through him as the girls passed, causing his hand to shoot out and grab the back of her head. He pulled her against his chest, embracing her with one arm, and glowered at the Third Years. They looked shocked, speeding up as they walked by, Draco picking up the sound of their whispers.
"They think I'm mental," he said over the top of Hermione's head.
"You're not," she sighed, burrowing her face into his chest. "It's probably a symptom."
"Everything's a damn symptom now, innit?" He scowled and let go of her, even though his skin ached to touch her again. "Let's go to my dorm."
They resumed their walking, heading for the common room.
The voice hadn't spoken to him since the night he'd almost drained her, which was odd. It had been so vocal, so visceral, that for it to suddenly go silent was a little unsettling. Had it all been in his head? Was it a demon? Or was it his magic made flesh, speaking his inner desires aloud? If that were the case, then he really did need to be more careful with Hermione.
Still, he wondered, was it just sleeping? And if so, when would it return?
"It'll be all right," she said as they padded softly up to Dumbledore's calmly-blinking portrait. "We'll do research, like I've been doing ever since this all started, and we'll find answers in the Library. We'll find a way to make this work for you."
Draco shot her a look. "Work for me?"
"So you don't have to mate with me," she said, and as the words left her lips, Draco felt her magic settling down towards the ground. He frowned in perplexion, his eyes sweeping over her as she turned to speak the password to the portrait.
Was she still on about that? Did she honestly believe that he didn't want to mate with her because she was a Muggle-born? Hadn't he done enough to prove that he wasn't that person any longer? Was it that she thought low of him, that he was still reprehensible in her mind? She certainly seemed able to snog him well enough outside. Or was it that she thought low of herself? Had all of the previous years piled down on her shoulders and forced her into believing she really was filthy?
His magic roiled, swirling around his body at the thought. She wasn't filthy. But he certainly was. He recalled their argument outside, how she'd so vehemently blamed him for taking her to the Revel. Was it really that she blamed him? Or did she blame herself so deeply that her mind couldn't take it, and she'd projected it outward so she could cope?
"Aren't you coming?" She cast him a glance over her shoulder from inside the common room, holding the portrait open for her.
He stared her down coolly, trying to read her mind through the traces of her magic that he could feel curling out toward him. Which was it? Was he the problem? Or was it her self-esteem?
"You're wrong you know," he said.
She looked confused, poking her head out to glance down the hall. Draco could hear that people were coming, but he wasn't entering the common room until he told her how he felt. Her eyes scanned his face, and he could see and feel that she was tired. But was it mere bodily exhaustion and a need to sleep? Or was she tired of him and his constant need for another person to hold his hand through the process of his transformation?
He didn't want to be anyone's charity case, but he also didn't want her to let herself waste away in the process of helping him. He was too cowardly to watch anyone die for the likes of him, even if self-preservation was the first thing on his mind.
"Wrong about what? Draco, everyone's going to start coming back soon, and I don't feel up to talking to anyone right now."
"Wrong about me, about what I think." He took a step forward, placing his hand on the portrait.
Her hand slid away from it and moved to brush against her collarbone. "What do you mean?"
"You do matter to me. I'm not using you. And I do appreciate you. Without you, I don't know if I'd even be here - I might have been thrown in Azkaban on principle." His eyes never left hers. It wasn't the time for shyness or cowardice. Not anymore. "You're not gonna lose me. You couldn't even if you tried."
She gazed up at him with wide eyes, looking pale and drawn, and Draco could feel a mixed range of emotions coming off of her magic in waves. Fear, sadness, confusion, nervousness. But most of all, relief. Something clicking into place that had been stuck between two ridges for a time that only she knew. And when she smiled, Draco believed it.
"Good, because I have a horrid sense of direction."
He followed her into the common room, other students mere minutes behind them. "Then how the Hell did you gallivant all over, looking for Horcruxes?"
"Gallivanting doesn't necessarily imply a resolute direction, Draco," she said, turning and stepping aside so he could lead the way up the stairs.
"I wouldn't know," Draco said flippantly as he ascended the stairs with his hands in his pockets. "I've never gallivanted."
"Do Malfoys even gallivant?" She giggled, and the sound touched his magic in a pleasant way. He nearly purred.
"Absolutely not. A Malfoy would never gallivant. Neither would he traipse, trot, plod, or wander. A Malfoy always knows where he's going." He pulled out his wand and waved it to unlock the door. Downstairs, he could hear students filing into the common room, their merry laughter as they immediately set into the Firewhiskey rising up to greet his ears. For the first time in months, he actually didn't envy them.
He had someone better than Firewhiskey right here.
Hermione's giggling increased, causing her to stumble over his feet as she followed him into his dorm. "What about a jaunt? Surely Malfoys jaunt?"
He stepped to the left to remove his blazer and put it on the dresser, turning to see her standing beside his bed with her hands on her hips. She looked a sight, clothes still rumpled from the rain, hair frizzing out like a mushroom all over her head, glaring at him playfully. He leaned back against the dresser, crossing his ankles and arms, willing his magic to settle itself before it started jumping about like a kneazle with kneazlenip.
'Fuck I need some help,' he thought desperately, his fingers tingling and twitching. He longed to grab her shoulders and push her down onto the bed. To finish what they'd started outside.
"A Malfoy might be convinced to jaunt," he said, shaking his head in amusement. A smirk played about his lips, trying to break through his feigned arrogance. "Depending who he was doing the jaunting with. With the right bird at his side, I suppose a Malfoy would deign to jaunt somewhere acceptable."
She scoffed and leaned forward slightly, hands still positioned on her hips. "The right bird? And what exactly constitutes as 'right?'"
He felt her insecurity in her magic, all but solidifying his thought processes from the portrait entrance. He couldn't understand it, though. Did she really think lowly of herself, and why? She was the smartest girl in the entire school, had been the only witch to beat him in every subject since First Year, and she'd won a war. Purity of blood or not, any wizard would be lucky to get to snog her, touch her, and spend as much time with her as he did.
Why didn't she understand that the reason why he didn't want to mate was because he was the one who wasn't good enough for her?
"Well, for starters, she'd have to be fashionable," he said, uncrossing his arms so he could push his hair back with his fingers.
"Fashionable?"
He waved a dismissive hand towards her hair playfully. "No mushroom hair. It just won't do."
She looked offended and her hands flew up to press down frantically on her rain-frizzed curls. The expression of affront rapidly melted into one of horror and she took off running towards his small loo. Malfoy couldn't help himself. He threw his head back, laughing as she ran into the bathroom and immediately dunked her head under the faucet. When she came out, he barely managed to stifle his laughter at the sight of her glare. The water dripped all over her face and neck, soaking her shirt through again. He pulled out his wand and did a careful drying charm, ensuring to keep it from mushrooming again. By the time he was done, her hair was in soft, loose ringlets. He tugged on the end of one, watching it bounce.
"I never did tell you I fancied your hair," he drawled, raising his eyebrows animatedly as he spoke.
"Feel free to tell me now."
"The fringe is cute." He placed his hands on her cheeks and pushed them together until her lips pursed and she scrunched her nose. The expression on her face pulled another laugh out of him. "So is the face."
She stared at him, her eyes seeming to shimmer in the dim lighting of his perpetual lamp.
"Did anyone ever tell you you have a nice smile?" she asked, her voice coming out warped and squashed from the way he was holding her face.
His eyes roved over her, over the way the blue flower clips in her hair glowed brightly. He wondered why they did that, having only seen them do it at certain times that night. "Malfoys have perfect teeth. It's genetic. Didn't you know?"
She glared, pulled her face out of his hold, and hit his arm. "Oh, stop! You're such a prat. Everyone has poor teeth when they're children, and some people are lucky when they get older. I should know. My parents were . . ."
When she trailed off, Draco was confused. That is, until her magic burst outward and hit him full force with a gust of despair that choked him. He stumbled backward, clutching his chest, and gasped for a breath. It hurt so badly. Was this what she'd been dealing with?
"Do you . . . Feel me?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening as she watched him.
He nodded gravely. "Do you feel me?"
She shook her head. "No. That's not what I feel."
Draco frowned. "What do you feel?"
He didn't miss the way her cheeks flushed before she turned and began to pace in front of the open bathroom door. "I don't know how to describe what I feel. It's a pull. A pull that tells me I belong to you, that I need to make sure you're pleased. And it's mortifying, but I'm very overheated. Getting my hair wet actually helped."
Now that Draco was looking, her neck did seem a bit red. He wet his lips and stood up straight, lowering his hand from his chest as the pain in her magic subsided. He took a deep breath. So, they were feeling separate things that happened to be somewhat similar. It wasn't anything they couldn't handle. Draco had been able to handle two full moons now. Surely they could handle this situation.
"This is very interesting," she said as she continued to pace. "So, your magic can sense mine, and subsequently my feelings and emotions. Like it's telling you to provide . . . Solace or - or comfort. Maybe it's like . . . An animalistic nature within the Veela?"
"So, we're agreed, then, that I am a Veela as well as a werewolf?" Draco said, brow furrowing as he scratched the back of his head. "It sounds so barmy."
"But it's true." Hermione waved a dismissive hand. "That's not the issue, however. The issue is how we're feeling, and how it may manifest the further time goes on. I wonder, will it be like a cat going into heat?"
As she paused and held a thoughtful hand to her chin, facing the window, Draco had to force himself not to laugh at the absurdity of the sentence she had just uttered. He pulled his hands down his face and then held them out in a movement of puzzlement.
"I mean, what?"
She blinked back at him with a very serious expression. "Draco, we almost had sex in the corridor. I think it's safe to say that this situation is a bit animal, wouldn't you think?"
He felt her magic starting to twist through the air again, but he couldn't read it. It was impossible to discern whether it was irateness he was feeling from her, or some sort of strange passion.
Merlin, was it like being in heat? Draco had no idea what that would look or be like, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. It sounded mindless. He didn't know much about Muggle cats, but he knew about Abraxan horses. His family had kept an entire stable full of them until his Fourth Year, when everything started going to shit after the Triwizard Tournament. He knew they went into heat cycles in the Spring and Summer and though uncomfortable, they weren't inherently painful.
As long as the mare mated as soon as possible.
Draco gulped. This was turning out to be the strangest year of his life. Even stranger than living with the Dark Lord.
"Well," he said, "how do you feel right now?"
She looked down at herself for a moment, obviously thinking, and Draco tried to read her magic to see for himself. He felt it moving and twisting, but it didn't seem overt in the way it lightly wrapped its way around the air between them. She shrugged and rubbed her chin again.
"I feel all right. Maybe it comes and goes in waves?"
"Maybe," he said. "I guess we'll just have to see."
Hermione sighed and then walked over to the bed, hopping into it still wearing her jumper and skirt.
"What even is a jaunt to you? A trip to France?"
"Why do you have to say it like that?" He hid a smile as he reached into his dresser and pulled out a shirt for her. It was white and much too big for the petite girl. "You sound so bitter. Jealous of my riche lifestyle, then?"
"Maybe." She was smiling as she sat up and accepted the shirt. She held it in her lap, and Draco wondered if the way she was twisting her fingers around the fabric was nervousness. He felt more curious about her emotions than ever before; could it be a part of the bond? "But answer the question, prat."
"Well, it wouldn't be France. I've already been there. I've been everywhere." He put his hands on his hips. "It would have to be somewhere different."
She looked down at the shirt with a soft, almost wistful smile on her face. Draco's eyes swept her new hair, the curls, the fringe. She was so sodding cute.
He wondered how cute she'd look when he was fucking her.
"I've never been outside of England, except to come here," she said. "I dream of seeing other countries on other continents. Maybe China. I want to see the Great Wall. I've read ancient Chinese wizards put special spells on the stones to ward off enemies. Did you know that?"
"No," he murmured, the corners of his lips tugging upward, "but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
She gave him a playfully stern look, still sitting there with the shirt in her lap. "I also want to see Athens. There's a shrine in wizarding Greece built to honor Andros the Invincible, and I'd absolutely die to see it. Did you -"
"I did not, in fact, know that one, either."
Hermione frowned, then perked up suddenly. "I've also yearned to visit Japan. I've read quite a bit about how the witches and wizards in Osaka find their familiars, and they have this really beautiful way of using magic to produce better, more full crops. Have you -"
"That one, I knew." He leaned forward a bit and chucked her under the chin. She blushed. "Get into your pyjamas, so we can go to bed."
She blinked owlishly up at him. "Right . . . Right here?"
He rolled his eyes. "Here, I'll turn around."
He made a show of slowly spinning around in a half-circle, his hands held out with a theatrical flourish. She made a scolding sound and then he heard the rustling of fabric. As he waited, he wondered to himself just how many other people in Hermione Granger's life knew the places she wanted to see, and how many of them cared. He was sure if any of them did, he cared more.
Draco was going to take her to China, Greece, Japan, and anywhere else she wanted to go.
"Granger?"
He had something he needed to say and he was going to say it now, before they woke up the next day and it was gone. Before the voice came back and told him to use her or hurt her or kill her again. Before the tiny semblance of normalcy that he'd managed to earn for himself shattered and began naught but scattered shards.
"Yes?"
Her voice was sweet. Sweet, tiny, and it made his veins sing for her blood.
"I think that I . . . When we were First Years, I think that I didn't hate you. Not really. I -"
"Oh, gosh, Draco!" she said with a gasp. "You don't have to -"
"Wait," he said firmly, insistently. He whirled around, seeing her sitting on her knees on the center of his bed, clad in naught but his tee shirt. His eyes swept her form, but he continued to speak. "Let me say this to you."
She opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it. She gave a gentle nod.
Draco took a deep breath and said, "I don't think I hated you. I think that I, at first, thought that I hated who you were - that you were - that your blood was . . . I thought I hated who you were. But then, as I got older, I thought I hated that you represented what was wrong with my family. My father was -" He closed his eyes. It was right on the tip of his tongue, the truth of how his father had treated him and his mother, but it felt like everything he had to give her. He wasn't quite ready for everything yet. Not yet.
"Draco?"
He opened his eyes and though he had no tears, he knew she could see the anguish in them. The anguish he was currently feeling.
"After Third Year, I realized that what I really hated was the world. That no matter how fucked up things got, or would get, I'd come to Hogwarts and you'd be there, still yourself. Like nothing ever bothered you. And things bothered me."
She frowned, her brow furrowing, but Draco cut her off.
"I know things bothered you. I know you had things you had your own temper over. But I'm talking about me. It seemed like I never bothered you. And Merlin, did I fucking try to bother you." He breathed a mirthless laugh and found that he felt like his heart was being crushed from all sides. He looked down at the ground, felt inward to his magic. He couldn't tell who the emotional pain was coming from - her or himself. "You were always yourself, and I was always playing a role, and I hated you for that. It's why I was so good at pretending to be a Death Eater. Because I've been playing roles since I was a First Year. Pureblood, Malfoy, Death Eater. Always someone else. Never myself."
He stared at the ground. He could feel her emotions shoving his eyes downward, but he couldn't tell what they meant. He only knew how they felt.
They hurt.
"So I'm the one who's weak. You said out there that you were weak, but you're not. I am. I'm the weak one because in spite of how badly I just wanted to be friends with you and with Potter - in spite of how badly I just wanted someone to laugh with me the way you lot laughed together - I couldn't set down the mask long enough to let you guys see who I was. I was always putting on airs and - and trying to make myself into someone I wasn't."
Into the silence, he whispered, "I was a bully. I bullied you because I wanted you to feel as I did, and I bullied Potter because even though we had the same blood, he wasn't wearing masks and playing roles."
And then, just when he thought it was done, he felt his walls come tumbling down. He lifted his eyes from the ground and looked directly into her stricken face. There were tears in his eyes.
"Then, this year, you came along, determined to help me no matter what. You spoke for my father so my mother could have something to hold onto. You went to the dinner so I wouldn't have to face it alone. You helped me with my transformation even though I hurt you and have to keep hurting you, just to keep me alive. And now I've . . . I've realized that you're not only strong as fuck, but your determination is more pure than any Pureblood in this entire fucking castle."
He scoured his face with his hands, trying to clear it of stray tears, not knowing for certain if it was his own emotions he was enduring or hers. He didn't understand the bond, but he did understand how much he hated himself for sullying her. For ruining her.
Draco looked down at Hermione, at the tears streaming down her cheeks, and that impossibly overwhelmed look on her face. Hermione, the witch who had unwittingly become his the moment she clack-clacked her way down that Ministry hallway. Hermione, the witch who had seen the darkest sides of himself and still wanted to help him, when everyone else would rather see him suffer or die. Hermione, the witch he didn't deserve. He looked down at her and he realized that it went beyond looking at her and seeing her in front of his face. He could see right down into the center of who she was. He could see that her differences from him filled up his holes and made him whole. He could see more than just Hermione.
Draco could see them becoming more than just a situationship, more than predator and prey. He could see himself waking up to those curls every day, going to sleep with those curls every night, and feeling those curls between his fingers for the rest of his Merlin-damned life.
Seeing that just made it hurt even more, knowing that he would never be able to live with himself knowing that he mated with her. That he took those curls and tied them to himself so tightly that she'd never be able to get free. That he took those curls, took her, took Hermione, and darkened her until she was nothing but shadows.
"Fuck," he whispered brokenly, shaking his head slowly. A tear slipped down his cheek. They gazed at one another, and he wondered if she could feel how much he wanted to die.
He was falling for Hermione, from the height of the stars in the fucking sky, and he'd gladly burn on the way down if only the collision could create a Draco-shaped crater in her heart that he could fill with all the parts of himself that he wanted to give to her.
"I just feel like I can see you now," he said softly. "And I never want to look away again."
She laughed through her tears, wiping them with her hands, her precious hands. They kept coming. "You couldn't see me before? Was I invisible?"
"You were never invisible," he said, laughing, too. "I think you've always been visible to those who could see your worth. I think you were shining so brightly that I was attacking you because I could see it, even then. It was blinding me."
"And am I still blinding you?" Her voice quivered and her smile trembled.
He held her gaze for a long moment. Another set of tears fell from his eyes.
"I think I can see just fine."
She let out a sob, her hand clasping to a heart that Draco's magic could tell hurt. When she spoke, it sounded desperate. Like she had no one else but him, and his answer was the only thing holding her together.
"Can you see my worth now?"
He nodded, his lower lip trembling, and he placed his right knee on the bed. He would not look away. Even if she began to shine and his eyes melted out of his head, he would never look away. She was weeping.
"What am I worth?"
Draco placed his left knee on the mattress and then his hands reached for her face. He swiped her tears away with his thumbs and pulled her face closer to his. He let out a hoarse, dry sob, and gritted his teeth.
"Everything."
He kissed her with every last bit of himself that he had in his body. When he couldn't kiss her this shallowly for a second longer, he tilted his head to side and kissed her so deeply that his tongue dove to the depths of her and stole her air. And then he gave it back, along with all of the air he had in his lungs, so that she was completely full of what he felt for her. She tried to keep up, but she was no match for the astral collision that was Draco against her heart, and he filled the crater he left behind with ten years of apologies.
Even then, he still did not deserve her.
He pulled away, hearing her gasping and still sobbing, and then his lips were on the side of her neck. He kissed every inch of it, his tongue trailing stars and swirling galaxies in her flesh, and she moaned as though he were already inside of her. He wrapped his fingers around her short curls, massaging and twisting and pulling, because he couldn't drag enough of her shine inside of himself to chase away the darkness that clung to him. He needed her. He had always needed her, and if it weren't for the fact that she shone so much brighter than he ever would, he would slide deep inside of her and make her his mate.
For now, he would just give her what he could and hope that it would be enough to let her see how much she mattered to him.
"I'm going to give you whatever you want tonight," he whispered into her ear, reaching down for the backs of her thighs. His lips brushed her ear, garnering a small moan from her as he simultaneously pulled her onto his lap and twisted until he was sitting up with his back to his headboard. His hands slid along her legs, fingertips grazing the swell of her rear, and he felt the first rocking of her hips against his own.
"Draco," she sighed, her hands cupping his face and holding it to her neck. Her hips undulated like swaying waves and her head lolled backward to give him better access. "Draco, I want -"
"What do you want?"
She didn't have to say it. He could feel something shifting in the air, in her magic. It was heating up, awakening. Like a fire that was slowly growing. Her magic called for his, and he felt the burning reaching his loins.
Draco forced it back. He begged his wolf to help. He could not hurt her. He would not mate with her.
Suddenly, her hips ground down against his with a fervent need and she grabbed tightly to his jaw. Her lips crashed down upon his and the moment her tongue shoved its desperate way into his mouth, he felt their magicks mingling and imploding. He felt something inside of him give way and come crashing down, and then his hands were on the collar of her shirt. He ripped it open, tearing the cotton like paper, and covered her bare breasts with his palms. They were so soft, just like the rest of her, and she looked down at him with hooded eyes.
The moment her hands covered his and forced him to caress her, he snapped.
"Salazar," he snarled, trying his hardest to keep his claws from elongating and piercing her skin. He ripped his hands away from her skin and gripped her hips so tight that he felt her flesh give. He pulled her firmly against himself, and imagined what it would be like to slam himself inside of her to the hilt. "Fuck! I want to fuck you!"
Hermione didn't seem to be in the castle anymore, let alone his dorm room. Her eyes were rolling back into her head, her hips rutting firmly against his, and his fingers tweaking her own breasts.
"Draco, please," she whined. "It's so - it's hot. I'm too hot."
Draco consciously didn't understand what she meant, but when he reached out with his magic, he felt her answering with such a wild abundance of distress that his wolf began to panic and pace anxiously. She was in anguish. She hurt. He needed to take care of her.
His fingers pulled aside the front of her knickers without asking and his fingers slipped inside of her. She let out a sob. Her eyes flew open and he saw her pupils dilating as he began to rub her arousal in gentle, barely-there circles around her pearl. She cupped her breasts with her small hands and squeezed, her upper body leaning forward so she could use her thighs to lift herself up and down.
"Oh, please. Oh, please," she whined repeatedly, as if she were terrified that he was going to stop. He'd never seen her this way, so wanton, and he knew it had something to do with the bond. He just didn't care. He wanted to memorize this and lock it away forever, until he withered and died.
"I want you to fuck my fingers again, Hermione."
"The magic - the bonding -"
"We'll trick it," he growled. "We'll trick it, like last time."
His fingers slipped inside of her body, and he could see the thoughts spinning away from her mind. She threw her head back and her hips jerked forward. Draco thought it was the sexiest, most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He slammed his fingers in and out, in and out, setting an almost punishing pace for someone so petite, and she practically screamed. Her fingernails dug into his chest like claws. He was so hard he could barely breathe.
"Oh, you're such a good girl," he groaned. "I'm gonna make you come so hard you can't walk straight."
"I'm so good," she whimpered on a breath, and the expression of near-torment on her face was everything Draco needed to survive.
"I know you are," he cooed. He could feel her thighs shaking. "Tell me who you're good for."
"You, oh, you," she keened, and Draco couldn't hold back anymore. He couldn't wait any longer. He wanted to see her come, wanted to see the stars in her eyes when her walls fluttered around his fingers.
He sat up, wrapped his other hand around her neck, and squeezed, pulling her forward until her cheek was against his. He curved his fingers inside of her and pressed a spot behind her pelvis that had her entire body quivering violently. He let go of her throat, dropped his other hand to massage her pearl, and then lavished enough attention to her pulse that his fangs presented themselves.
Hermione let out a wailing moan and words that were nearly unintelligible fell from her lips, right into his waiting ears. He never slowed down, and he ran his tongue along the part of her neck that his magic was begging him to bite.
"Oh, Gods, Draco," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm going t-to -"
Draco felt his skin tingling and sparking. "Yes, love. It's all right."
"Please let me," she was whining. "Please, Draco, please."
"It's all right, Hermione," he whispered soothingly into her ear, feeling the desperation in her magic. He could feel every part of her - every part of the plea within her magical core. Then, upon further probing of his magic into the bond, he felt it.
Her magic was telling her she couldn't come without him.
As he was processing this revelation, he felt hot tears hitting his collarbone. Panic bloomed in his chest.
She was crying.
"Draco," she wailed, her hips angling her core more firmly against his wet fingers. "Please, please let me come. I'm s-so sorry. Please let me come."
Draco thought he might lose his mind.
"You can come now, little witch," he said with as much reverence and command to his tone as he could manage. "Come for me now. It's all right."
His fingers swirled around her pearl one final time and then she went rigid, her moans of bliss caressing his ears like a melodious song. It was so sweet, as sweet as her, and Draco's magic was going absolutely barmy.
He wanted to fuck her. He was going to fuck her. There was absolutely nothing that could stop him at this point.
Something inside of him was telling him to do it. Something he was powerless to. He felt dismay as his body reacted to the desire. He began to rock his hips upward. Hermione, whose body was still wracked with tremors, scrambled to unbutton his trousers. He allowed one claw to grow as she did so, and he used it to slice the sides of her knickers and pull them off.
"Off," he groaned, his hands shoving them downward. "I want them off."
Hermione panted for breath as she pushed down his trousers and pants, her eyes half-lidded with her lust as she pulled herself to wrap her arms around his neck tightly. Her legs spread lewdly wide over his length, and Draco frantically reached between them to push it flat against his pelvis and lower abdomen. He was losing it. He was going to fucking lose it, and she had already lost it. He could tell by her magic that she was floating listlessly in fire, drowning in flames. His hands moved to her hips, his thumbs pressing into the dips of her pelvis.
He had to be stronger than this. He couldn't ruin her life. He had to keep it together.
"Not inside," he moaned as he crushed her against him. "Outside. Just . . . Outside . . . Ohhh, fuuuck."
Her hips began to rut, the velvet of her flesh sliding along him, her fingers tugging at his hair. Her soft curls tickled his face as she slid back and forth. He was seeing white behind his closed eyelids. It was so hot in the room, she was so wet, and it felt phenomenal. His magic was going haywire, just like the last time they'd tricked the bond, and it was so hard for him not to drive up inside of her every time the head of him brushed against her.
"Draco," she choked out against his neck. "Please, I -"
Draco nodded in a frenzied manner. "Yes. Do it. Come for me."
And the moment she did, her body driving down hard against him, he felt his magic swelling and the floodgates inside of himself opened wide. He came seconds after she did, falling from the sky and painting their skin between them in white. Both of their bodies shivered together, as though they were both cold as ice, and Draco felt both of their magicks beginning to settle.
Hermione turned and sagged against him.
"Something is definitely wrong," she said, panting heavily. She was still twitching in the aftermath of her orgasm and her head felt heavy on his chest, her curls soft as the back of her head settled on his skin. "It felt like I was boiling alive, like my magic believed that I could do nothing except please you. We need to do research. We can't trick the bonding magic again. For all we know, it could be making things worse."
Draco looked down at her with narrowed eyes, his hand curving underneath her jaw and tilting her face upward to look at him.
"Is that always your answer?"
She grinned. "Yes."
"All right," he sighed dramatically and let her chin go. "Then I suppose it's off to the Library for the 35th time this week."
She sat up, her hair a disaster about her head and her breasts looking swollen from his teeth. She brushed her fringe out of her eyes.
"Draco, I want you to know that if it comes down to it, I will mate with you," she said, "and we absolutely cannot trick the bond again. We need to be more careful."
He gazed up at her, his eyes flitting back and forth between all of her features. Her heart-shaped face and dark brows and big honey-brown eyes. He reached out with his magic and felt hers.
She was so happy it chased away the despair in his heart long enough for him to give her the answer she wanted for now.
"I understand."
"That was too . . . Close," she breathed. "You almost - we almost . . . We just need to be more careful if we're going to be a . . ."
"A we?" Draco's fingers skimmed her bare thigh and she shuddered.
"Yes," she huffed. "If we're going to be a we, then we need to mutually agree to more research. I think something was holding you - no. Keeping you back. Keeping you from - from doing it. That shouldn't be happening, not with how strong Veela mating magic is. I need to owl Fleur as soon as possible, and research is a must."
"I thought you already owled her?"
"No." She looked sheepish. "I chickened out."
Faintly recognizing the Muggle phrase from when she'd explained it to him, he nodded. "We'll take it one bludger at a time, then. Come, let's sleep."
She nodded and then collapsed beside him, both of them completely nude. Draco tiredly grabbed his wand from the bedside table and spelled the coverlet to slide over their skin, enveloping her body in warmth that his wolf naturally gave him. He wrapped his arm around the back of her head and trailed his fingers absentmindedly through her sweat-damp hair, thinking quietly to himself as he listened to her even breathing.
Nothing scared him more than losing her to his own darkness in the mating ritual, except one thing.
For the first time in days, the voice inside his head began to laugh a dark, sinister laugh. Then, it spoke.
Did you miss me?
O
"Vibe check!"
Draco glanced up from the book he was skimming, watching as Blaise hopped over the back of the common room couch and plopped down on it.
"What check?"
"Remember that thing Granger mentioned at the Manor? The Interwet. It's a Hell of a place."
"Okay. What does it mean?"
"It's like . . . Checking the mood. You know. Of the area." He wriggled his fingers. "So . . . Vibe check!"
Draco closed his book. He supposed it was best to just tell Blaise everything that had happened. He already knew everything else, and the common room was empty. "The vibe is not well, mate. I told Hermione that - essentially - I was falling for her like a Merlin-damned sap, and I bit her. So no, not well. Not well at all."
There was silence as Blaise stared at him. Draco could feel his skin prickling where his best mate's eyes landed and, when he could take the ogling no longer, he rolled his head lazily toward him.
"Can I assist you?" he drawled.
Blaise arched one eyebrow. "With many things actually, yes. First of all, that's not exactly what you're supposed to respond with. It's supposed to be something simple like, good vibes, bro or I'm feelin' some type of way, or whatever else Americans say. Second of all -"
"Why ask how someone is doing if you don't care to hear the answer?" Draco looked confused. "Why not just say nothing at all?"
Blaise shrugged. "Americans. They say things like, hey, it's the homie when they see their mates, so . . . I don't ask questions."
"The homie? And what is that supposed to mean? The friend?" Draco snapped his book shut. "What, do Americans only have one friend each?"
Blaise looked a bit helpless. "Mate, I've only been on the Interwet for like, a week! I haven't the slightest clue!"
Draco shook his head with an exasperated sigh and looked back down at his book, combing his fingers through his hair to remove it from his eyes. If there was one thing he understood less than Muggles, it was Americans. American Muggles, American witches and wizards - they were all the same. Weird, weird people.
Blaise said, "Well, in any case, moving on to my second point. You did what?"
Draco's fingers smoothed along the spine of his novel and he stared into the empty fireplace for a long moment. The self-hatred was starting to overwhelm him again, and he didn't want to let it get the best of him. Not when the voice was always there, lurking in the edges of his mind. But he couldn't stay silent, couldn't say nothing when his best mate was right here, waiting for him to pour his bloody heart out.
"For the record, I'm not a Hufflepuff," Draco growled, narrowing his eyes at Blaise.
Blaise held his hands up in a defensive motion. "Not a Hufflepuff. Got it."
"And I would never do this if it were any other situation."
"Never do it, any situation, you. Got it."
Draco sighed heavily, tilting his head back against the couch and sinking into the cushions. He stared at the vaulted stone ceilings while he spoke.
"You heard me correctly," he said slowly. "And yes, it fucking sucks. We were just talking, I don't know, and other stuff, and then it just happened."
"And other stuff?"
Draco closed his eyes. "I'm telling the story. Just . . . Let me tell it."
". . . You had stopped . . . Talking, but all right."
"Basically, it just happened, and now we are bonded or she is claimed, or whatever magical bullshit words she comes up with." Draco lifted his head from the pillow, slicing his hand through the air with finality. "Keep in mind, she goes to the Library 35 times a week."
"35 times, yep. Got it."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "35, Blaise."
"Yes, 35. So now what? You guys are wed?"
"No, Blaise, we are not wed." He rolled his eyes after mimicking his friend's voice. "But we are connected - and bro? Why would I call you my brother? I'm an only child. And why on Earth would I say something a Muggle would say? Have you forgotten who I am?"
"No, and I'm sure you'll be telling your father all about it."
"Shut up, Blaise. What Muggles are you spending time with that are teaching you imbibement checks?"
"Vibe checks, you dumbarse. And Potter, actually." He raised one finger. "Um, so back to the fact that you bit her? What does that even mean?"
"Well, Blaise, it's what happens when you eat."
"I'll hex you," he warned, then punched Draco lightly in the arm. "I'm being serious. What does it mean for the two of you, and what does it mean for you?"
Draco sighed again. He hadn't thought that far yet. He didn't know what it meant. He just knew that he was falling for Hermione. That, and he would rather die than do what the bond wanted him to do. He knew what Blaise was really asking him to say, but he didn't know how to answer when he didn't have an answer. He wished he could just say, "Yes, Blaise, I'm going to do what it wants," but he couldn't. It would be selfish, and Draco was . . .
Very selfish.
He was selfish enough to not hurt her based purely upon the desire that he didn't want her to be hurt.
"I don't know, mate," he said honestly. "We have to do research. That's all she ever wants to do - research."
Blaise gave him a sympathetic look. "Have you ever thought about asking for help? Maybe from McGonagall, or Professor Weasley?"
Draco shot him a scathing look. "I just about died when Hermione insisted we tell Lovegood. You know the laws for werewolves, right? Veelas are one step above, but the laws still suck for both. And I am both. Which means the laws suck for me."
Blaise looked thoughtful. "Well, maybe there is one person we can get some information from. Remember when we talked about Haggerty Prim?" Draco perked up. "Yeah, well the bloke's at my house right now. And he wants to meet with you."
Draco sat up straight. "You didn't tell him what I was, did you?"
"No," Blaise said with widened eyes. "I just told him you were researching sorcery for your Eighth Year project, and you were interested in everything he had to know about the topic."
Relieved, Draco rubbed his chin with his hand. "All right. So when can I meet him? Can I take a portkey?"
"You'll be in Denmark for Christmas, yeah? Write to your mother and ask if she can arrange for one, and tell her you'll tell her the date later. I'll write to my father and ask him when they're available."
Draco smirked. "It'll have to be sometime between snacks, yeah?"
"Naturally." Blaise grinned, and then he cast his eyes about. "What are you doing here, though?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you! It's lunch. And where's Hermione?" It was Blaise's turn to smirk, which he did with a gleeful look in his eyes.
Draco felt his hackles raise, like he'd released too much information, even to his best mate. "Granger is at lunch, I assume. She wasn't there when I woke up, and she's been avoiding me all day." He then grumbled under his breath, "Trust me. I would know. I can sense her magic even from where I'm sitting."
"Is she . . . Not happy with the turn of events?"
"Not unhappy, but not happy." He pursed his lips. "She was . . . Emotional. We were emotional. It was all rather . . . For lack of a better word, Hufflepuff."
Blaise rested his elbow on his thigh and chin in his palm, and then he sighed in a mock-dreamy manner. "It's rather refreshing, actually, to see you get so chuffed over a bird. I don't think you liked Pansy half as much."
"Ugh, Pansy. Don't talk about Pansy."
Blaise chuckled. "Right. Well, in any case, I'm sure she's just frightened. It's obvious you are. I really think you guys need some help. Maybe if you weren't such a prat, you'd have a larger group of friends to ask."
Draco glared at him. "I've got you, and I've got her. Maybe I should ask Potter to join the group?"
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Yeah, even I can see that that's not a good idea. It's probably better for you to just wait and see what happens with Prim, then."
"Yeah."
The two friends fell silent for a moment, Draco looking at the floor and Blaise looking at the portrait entrance across the room. Draco didn't know what was going to happen with Haggerty Prim, but he did know that if the man did any sort of detection spell, he'd be able to see that there was something there inside his head. Maybe not a demon, but it was something.
Draco supposed he didn't only have Blaise and Hermione.
"Well, I'll see you in class, then," Blaise said, standing up. "I've got to go meet Daphne."
"Daphne?" Draco frowned, already in the process of re-opening his novel. "Why would you need to meet with her?"
Blaise gave him a flat-lipped look. "She may not be friendly with our little Gryffindor swot, but she is still my friend. She just broke off with some bloke and needs a shoulder."
"Bloke? What bloke?" Draco couldn't remember having ever seen her with a boy, but he knew she was pretty enough. It was likely she had some Slytherin wrapped around her finger and then dropped him when she was done with him. She was like Pansy that way - ruthless when she wanted to be, and loving when she didn't have to be.
"I haven't a clue," Blaise said with a shrug. "Our job as men is not to question."
"Ooh, d'you fancy her?"
"Of course not, she's like my sister, mate. She just wants to talk and have a cry, probably. I'll see you?'
Draco waved a dismissive hand. "Out of my dramatic Malfoy sight."
Blaise scoffed. "Cheers, mate."
Draco hid a smile as his friend walked off, and then he refocused on his book. It was weird. Even though things were worrisome with the fact that he'd bitten Hermione, as well as with his hidden status as a magical creature, he actually felt . . . All right. Which was saying something for him, since he spent most of his time self-destructing and wishing he was dead.
You could always kill yourself.
No, that was out of the question now. Now that he and Hermione were bonded, their magical cores essentially waiting in line to mate, he couldn't die or let himself get hurt. If he died, she did.
Draco stared at his book without reading the words. He was stupid for allowing himself to get so overemotional in the rain last night. He was stupid for letting go of his self-control and finally just doing what he wanted to do to her for even just a moment. He was stupid for biting her, for hurting her and making her future a nightmare.
Not stupid. But definitely not smart.
He sighed. Yes, it definitely wasn't smart. He'd taken her entire life into his hands with one errant move, and now she was going to suffer. He couldn't mate with her because he was a blemish in the fabric of space and time; how could he be expected to knowingly destroy her future all to save his worthless life?
How are you going to keep her alive without fucking her? You die, she dies. There's no getting around it. You, Draco, are dumb as fuck, but you're not stupid. Stop caring. Mate with her.
Stop caring. Could it really be that simple? To stop caring and just go back to putting himself ahead of all other things. To take away her promising future and put the dark tint of Malfoy upon the Granger name. To save his own life and reap the benefits of fucking her for the rest of his -
Wait. What?
Stop caring?
That was the old Draco.
Draco's head shot up and looked around wildly for the source of the words that had been spoken, as if he didn't already know it had been the voice in his head.
Can't you smell her? Oh. That's right.
The voice rang out in his head one final time and then, like a veil from a bride, a barrier that Draco hadn't realized was there was ripped away from his magical core. Pain reverberated through his body and he hunched forward on the couch with his face buried in his hands.
And then her scent hit his nostrils, all the way from the Great Hall, and it was moving down to the dungeons for Advanced Potions. It wasn't her perfume. It was her own pain. Her anguish and torment. Her desperation. Her shame.
Her arousal.
Draco panicked. He needed to go to her and take care of her. She needed him. Why was she avoiding him? Why was she intentionally putting herself in this position? He wondered if that was why she had left before he woke that morning. Because her body was going nuts, her magic barmy. Was this what she meant when she told him "I'm too hot?"
Draco felt the barrier slam back up, like a lid over the boiling pot of his magic. Even the wolf went silent. Draco felt like he could breathe again, and Hermione's scent was gone. Erased.
But he wasn't alone.
The voice whispered to him.
You need me.
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