TRIGGER WARNING: implied off-screen suicide. And some smut.
One more chapter, and then Part One is complete!
Counting the Stars
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cavern of Remembrance - Project Destati, Blinding - Florence & the Machine, A Fleeting Dream - Nobuo Uematsu, Those Who Stand for Nothing, Fall for Everything - Slaves, and Sudden Desire - Hayley Williams
O
Hermione looked everywhere for Draco.
He'd left the gym at some point and was nowhere to be found. She wasn't going to yell at him or anything. In fact, she wasn't even going to bring what Lucius had told her up. She just wanted to find him and look him in the eyes.
After that, she had no idea what she was going to do.
She wouldn't dare make today about her. No, not even if she was that angry. She had no desire to.
But everything was just so fucked.
When Draco found her in Paris, he'd had to convince her to come with him. She was in a completely terrible state, having just watched three loved ones die so abruptly after being reunited with them for over one year. She'd felt like she had no other option. Draco was familiar and she'd been so close to giving up that she just believed whatever he told her. She believed him when he said his mother was "sick."
Hermione understood dark curses. She understood potions.
What she did not understand was why Draco would have her make a potion that he knew wouldn't work by specifically telling her that the curse it was being used to treat was curable. Why would he lie and tell her Narcissa had been recently cursed? Why would he wait until she'd been cursed for nearly two years with a slow-killing dark curse from some other random dimension?! What if the curse could have been cured in the beginning? And if it couldn't, then why did Draco feel like her time was that worthless?
To spend weeks - no, months tipping a vial down her throat that did nothing? Bollocks.
She stopped on the stairs, taking a breath to calm herself. No. She wasn't going to let herself be angry with him today. Not today. Not even this week.
Into the box it went.
Hermione let her anger ebb and she took another steadying breath.
There was nothing that could be done about it now. It was already late.
She went back down to the library. Lucius had left, so at least maybe if she read in peace, she could calm herself down. Besides, there was nothing that she needed to talk about with Draco right now.
It could wait.
O
The next day passed in a blur of people and cooking.
Hermione made sure three meals were made for them throughout the day, even though Lucius barely picked at his food. Draco ate, but he seemed distracted. She ate all of her meals in the kitchen by herself, finding that it was actually quite nice being in that room all alone. Since it was a House Elf area, the architecture wasn't as extravagant as the rest of the Manor.
It reminded her a little of the Burrow.
She hadn't realized that the Malfoy family was as connected as they were until she saw just how many people came to pay their respects and offer condolences. Any time a wizarding family came calling at the Floo, Hermione took it upon herself to hide upstairs. Maybe when she was younger, before everything had fallen apart, she would have stayed and faced them all. But now? The last thing she wanted to do was alert the Dark Lord to any form of recklessness.
The slight chance that he might not actually execute them was enough for her to march herself upstairs anytime she heard a whoosh.
"We decided not to have a funeral," Draco told her when she brought him dinner in the lab on the first night. He took it from her and set it on the table, his other hand scrawling notes on his parchment. Hermione caught a glimpse of it and saw that his handwriting was much like his room: surprisingly unkempt.
"Oh?" she said, stepping back to give him - and herself - space.
"She wouldn't have wanted it," he said, tone flat. "A funeral attended by the Dark Lord? She would have argued against it. She loved Italy, so we're going to . . ."
When he trailed off, Hermione peered at him. The pulse in his throat was jumping. His jaw clicked.
Hermione lowered her gaze, feeling a bit embarrassed.
He finally said, "We're Portkeying there tomorrow morning to spread her . . . She loved the Arno River, so that's where we'll be."
"All right," Hermione said, handing him his wand back. "Did you need me to do anything?"
He shook his head and then stopped. He set his quill down, looked at the food, and then looked at her. For some reason, she felt like his gaze was clearer than normal.
"Why are you doing all of this?"
Hermione blinked, her eyes wide. "Because you . . . Need me to?"
He stared at her. "Did I ask for it?"
Her heart twinged like it stung. "No, but -"
"Then don't assume that I'm incapable of taking care of myself," he said, his eyes narrowing. "If I recall, you don't give a flying fuck about me or my father. Or did you forget the vitriol you've spouted to me for the past three months?"
Hermione felt speechless. She wanted to be angry, wanted to yell and start a row, but she couldn't. His mother had just passed. She knew that grief could make a person do cruel things. She didn't want to lash out in return, and then have any regrets about herself.
She darted forward to take the plate. "Let me know if you need anything else."
As she turned to go, she heard him scowling.
"Granger, wait -"
She hurried out of the lab and spent the rest of the evening in her bedroom.
A little before she finally turned in for the night, she left to use the loo. As she was walking down the hall, she glanced at Draco's bedroom door. It was closed, but visible. He hadn't hidden it.
She wondered if he wanted her to come in again?
Forget it, she thought, feeling bitter. He can't open that jar of worms, and then expect me to come sleep in his bed. Not happening.
When she went to her bedroom, she laid on her side under the blanket she had transfigured for herself earlier that afternoon. She stared out the window at the stars, wondering what was going to happen next.
O
The following day, Draco and Lucius were gone for a long time.
It was nearing 10:00PM before they returned home via Portkey. They appeared in the front entryway right as Hermione was on the landing at the top of the staircase. She stopped, her heart jumping at their sudden appearance.
"You frightened me," she said while they marched up the stairs.
They were both dressed formally in black, and the expressions on their faces were unpleasant. Sour. The air was tense. It was clear they'd been having it out. Hermione stepped aside to let them pass her.
Draco suddenly stopped two steps above her and whirled, causing her stomach to flip over with shock and unavoidable nervousness.
"What happened between the two of you in February?" he said, sounding more than a little angry. When Hermione stood there with her jaw hanging open, he raised his voice. "What - happened - in the corridor - with the House Elf Wormsling?!"
Oh.
"What?" Hermione's gaze slid to Lucius. He looked away from her and she didn't think she'd ever seen the great Malfoy patriarch look so ashamed of himself.
"No, don't look at him," Draco snarled, stepping into her line of sight. "The night that I was bitten, the night you two worked together to sew me up, what happened?"
Hermione opened her mouth. The words died on her lips. She hadn't wanted to say anything in the first place out of fear, but as time had gone on, she'd thought it was better to leave it in the past. What purpose would it have served for Draco to know? She didn't even know how to sayit, let alone explain it.
Had Lucius told him?
Why?
Draco put his hands on his hips, towering over her as he yelled into her speechlessness, enraged.
"What the fuck happened between you two?!"
Hermione felt her own anger rising. "Apparently, you already know! Why should I have to go over it again? Why should I have to explain it?"
His eyes flashed, his temper as dangerous as a bolt of lightning. "Get over here. Now."
"What?"
Draco let out a growl of frustration. He hooked his hand around the back of her neck, dragging her closer. She yelped as she stumbled up a step, her hands pressing flat against his chest to keep distance. Their eyes locked.
Ice.
And then he was in.
Legilimency was not a precise art for anyone other than Tom Riddle and Draco Malfoy. Draco's magic rifled through the corridors of her mind, sifting through boxes of memories as though he were storming an office. Hermione could tell he wasn't trying to hurt her, but the invasion was so uncomfortable that she struggled in his hold and whimpered. It was all she could do to keep him from finding the boxes she'd created most recently and even with those, it was clear that he saw her trying to hide them.
Please don't find Cillian, she thought to herself. Please, please don't find him.
She shoved the box with the memory of the night Lucius beat her forward. Draco ripped into it, viewing the images and scenes with growing ire. The frost in her mind intensified, until she cried out aloud from the freezing pain.
"Do you realize how worthless you are?"
"The mercy my son extends to you is mine to give. Both of you seem to have forgotten that even Zeus himself was beholden to Cronos."
"What will my son do when he finds out I've beaten his little Mudblood toy?"
"Breathe a word of this to your master, and I will avada as you sleep."
Draco slid out of her mind much gentler than he entered it. Hermione felt like his icy magic had reached her blood.
He looked livid.
With his hand still around the back of her neck, he turned slowly to look at his father.
"'The mercy you extend,'" Draco said. "And what mercy was that? The end of your decorative cane?"
"Draco . . ." Lucius said with a sharp, defeated sigh. He held a hand out, gesturing to them. "I apologized to her just last evening. I think that -"
"Your apologies mean nothing," Draco hissed, letting go of Hermione. He started up the stairs with a purpose. Lucius backed up onto the landing with wide, fearful eyes.
Hermione didn't know why she did what she did next. She didn't know if it was because she pitied Lucius, or because he'd apologized to her. She just knew that something bad was going to happen if she didn't.
She darted forward, slipped past Draco, and made it to the landing before Draco did. She placed her hands on his chest again, his body warm beneath hers. She shook her head, giving him a pleading look.
"Please, Malfoy. Just . . . Let it go. It's in the past."
Draco's eyes blazed up at her. "It's in the past?"
"He's apologized," she said. "And your mother has just -"
"Move."
She shook her head. She wouldn't let him hurt his father. Not when that was the only parent he had left. Not when she understood what it was like to lose everyone.
"Move, Granger," Draco snarled. "Or you'll lose those hands."
Hermione pressed her lips firmly together. "No."
Draco's jaw clicked and then his hands were on her waist. She cried out in shock as he lifted her up with ease, walked up the remaining two steps, and set her down out of his way in the same movement.
He lunged for his father.
The two of them struggled. Lucius tried to fight back, but Draco's rage was too great. He spun them around, getting a good grip on the front of Lucius's robes, and began to slam his fist into the center of his face over and over.
Hermione gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth in horror as blood spurted from Lucius' nose and began to drip down over his mouth and chin.
"Don't you ever - fucking - touch - her again," Draco roared, punctuating the punches with words, and the words with punches. "Don't you ever!"
Lucius could only respond with exclamations of shock and pain. His hands pushed at Draco's chest, but it was as though he had aged twenty years in one day. He was too weak.
Hermione couldn't stand here and watch this. As cruel as Lucius had been, as foul of a man as he may be, he was old. He was old and he had just lost his wife.
Draco had lost his sanity.
"Stoppit!" Hermione shouted, rushing forward and grabbing Draco's elbow as he pulled it back for another blow. He tried to wrench it away, but Hermione held on tight, digging her fingernails in through the fabric of his sleeve. "Stop this, now!"
"Granger, if you don't let go of me -"
"You'll what, Malfoy?" she said, breathless. "You'll beat me, too? Just like you're doing to him now? Just like he did to me?!"
He bared his teeth, his eyes wild with fury. He made another attempt to free himself from her grasp, but she refused to allow it. He let go of Lucius' robes and Hermione hurried to insert herself between them. She pushed him back, catching him off guard.
Immediately, he growled and tried to move forward again. They fought for a moment, each pushing this way and the other. But Hermione was through with this. She wasn't going to let the Manor fall into disrepair.
She'd told herself that she was going to help them get through their grief, and that's what she was going to do.
"No! Go -"
"Let go -"
"- into - go into -"
"Move out of my way -"
"- go into your bedroom, now, Draco Malfoy!" she shrieked, shoving him back so hard that he stumbled against the wall beside his door. She glared at him, fists and teeth clenched. "And give me your bloody wand so I can heal him!"
With one final look of contempt, Draco ripped his wand out of his sleeve and tossed it onto the ground.
"If you want it, you can pick it up off of the ground yourself," he hissed.
Lucius stepped forward. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, son. It will never happen again."
"Fuck off, old man," Draco snapped.
Five seconds later, the door to his room had slammed shut.
As Hermione went to the visibly-mortified, wounded Lucius's side, she realized that there were tears in her eyes. The Malfoy family had deteriorated into painful shards of nothing, and all she could think about was the fact that her heart felt broken.
This loss - the sort of loss that could cause you to snap and beat your own father - was a pain that she understood.
Hermione healed Lucius's nose with an episkey.
It felt nice to use magic again, nice to feel it flowing through her veins. She cast scourgify, and then stepped back away from Lucius.
"Why don't you just leave?" he asked her, smoothing out his hair. "You have his wand. You have free reign of the estate. It would be very simple for you to go."
Hermione fidgeted with the wand between her hands, one hand on the hilt and one hand on the tip. She bit her lower lip and looked down at the carpet.
Because I want to find out the truth.
Because I don't think I'd make it out there alone.
Because I can't imagine myself leaving right now.
Because the thought of not seeing Draco for one day bothers me, and I have no idea why.
"I don't know," she said. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."
Lucius gave her a long, unreadable look. For a moment, she thought he might thank her for defending him. Instead, he spoke.
"Do you remember when I told you that my son cares as ferociously as a dragon?"
"Yes," Hermione said quietly.
Lucius's eyes were sad. "Well, he also fights as ferociously as one. He will raze cities to the ground for anyone in his life that means something to him. And he doesn't have many people left to care for. Please, remember that?"
Hermione felt a strange churning in her stomach. She didn't want to reply, but she did.
"I will."
He gave her a nod, and then walked with a straight back to the room that used to be Narcissa's.
Used to be.
Hermione cast one final look at Draco's bedroom door. She didn't understand him. Why would he care if she was beaten by his father? Why would he care enough to threaten Lucius? Why would he defend her like property if he didn't see her as property?
It didn't make any sense.
I don't know what to believe, she thought, feeling distressed. He says I'm not his slave, that he doesn't see me as one, but he reacts as though I am. He talks to me as though I am. He's kissed me like I am.
All she wanted to do was pound on his door and demand answers.
But she couldn't. His mother had just died yesterday.
She took all of her anger, put it into the box, and went to her bedroom with Draco's wand.
O
Lucius was gone.
The morning of the third day after Narcissa's death, Hermione saw his cane by the front door. He never left it out anywhere, so she thought that was strange. Typically, he had it by his side.
She walked up to it and picked it up. Inspecting it, she located the curved, silver snake head. She pulled, having remembered seeing him do it at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Click. Shiiick.
The wand slid out of the wood.
Hermione's brow furrowed with concern. This was abnormal. Why would a wizard leave his wand behind?
Perhaps he was elsewhere in the house?
Hermione wandered through the entire Manor. It was still the early morning, the earliest she'd ever woken on her own since she'd arrived here. As far as she knew, Draco hadn't woken yet. The light that filtered in through the windows was blue, adding to the altogether somber atmosphere in the house. She kept her footsteps light as she searched all the rooms she could, save for the Drawing Room.
That room was a room that no one used.
The study was the last room she checked, and it was empty. She stood in the center of it, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Something didn't feel right.
Hermione went and sat down on the top of the stairs with Lucius' cane lying across her thighs. She could feel her anxiety rising as each second went by. Her intuition was telling her that something was wrong, but she didn't know how to prove it. She could only hope that Draco took her seriously.
When his bedroom door opened, she hopped to her feet, nearly tripping over the top step. He stepped out, wearing nothing but his pyjama trousers. His facial expression seemed tired, but not angry. Hermione's gaze swept his body and then locked with his own.
"I think something is the matter with your father," she blurted out, holding out the cane with both hands. "He left his wand by the front door."
His eyes hardened. "Let him go wherever he wants. He's likely walking the estate."
Hermione grimaced. Something inside of her told her that he wasn't walking the estate, not without his wand. But Draco was already trudging towards the bathroom, giving her nothing but the muscles of his back to look at.
"Should we go look for him?" she called.
"No."
He shut himself in the bathroom and she heard the shower start running moments later.
She had a bad, bad feeling about this.
The hours passed.
Hermione noticed Draco getting more and more agitated as the day went by. He didn't seem like he wanted to say much to her, but she could tell that his mind was full to the brim with thoughts. There were heavy, dark clouds behind the screens of his eyes. They were hot with the electricity of a brewing storm.
When he was in his lab, she came in to bring him breakfast because she didn't want him to forget.
It felt strange, seeing her table looking so unused after only a couple of days. She'd spent every single day in here since January, and now to come in and have it feel like it was his lab and not the lab was strange. She lingered in the doorway so she could look at it one more time, and then noticed something.
Draco was drawing circles on his parchment, his forehead against his palm and elbow on the tabletop.
Around lunch, he was in the gym sparring with the dummy again. When she entered, he was fighting so hard that sweat was pouring off of his bare torso and he was making a lot of "Hah!" and "Graah!" sounds. He jumped, ducked, and spun, clashing swords with the magical dummy as though it were real.
Their was a loud crashing right as Hermione reached the wall. She turned to look.
He'd smashed the dummy into the wall so hard that it broke.
She set his plate on the bench beside his water. He stopped and turned to look at her, adjusting the sabres in his hands.
"You busy?" he said, breathless.
Hermione shook her head. Perhaps he wanted to go look for his father? "No. Why?"
"Come on, let's spar," he said, nodding his head to her.
Hermione blanched. "No, remember? I don't -"
"'Do the activities portion,'" he said. "Yeah, I remember. That was with them." He held out a foil to her, averting his eyes. "But this is with me, yeah?"
Hermione bit her bottom lip. She'd just watched him pretty much obliterate the magical dummy. He was way better at fencing, or sword fighting, or whatever it was than she would ever be. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. She was paranoid, to say the least.
But he looked a bit like a small dog, standing there, holding it out to her without looking her in the eyes.
"I suppose I could try it," she said. She glanced down. She was wearing a long, high-waisted skirt and a tee shirt tucked into it today. It wasn't exactly the best sparring outfit, but she had no intention of sparring well, so it would have to do.
Hermione took the sabre from him, pulling a face. "The handle is wet."
"Because I'm sweating, smart one," he said without the hint of a smile on his face. Even his hair was dripping. He looked like he'd been at this for hours. "Here, copy my position."
Hermione spent the next hour with Draco, learning whatever he had to teach her. She wasn't the best at it, but the blade was light and easy to wield. She very quickly found out that all the spinning, jumping tricks that Draco could do were a result of years of training and practice, and not because they were easy. She was able to pick things up rather fast, though, at least when it came to positioning and technique.
She'd always been rather good at that.
As time wore on, however, it seemed that Draco was getting more distracted and his mood was worsening. He stopped going so easy on her. He stopped correcting her form and when he struck a blow, he struck it hard. It wasn't until he quick-stepped forward and slapped her waist with the thin blade so hard that she knew it would bruise, that she realized he wasn't doing okay.
"Malfoy!" she cried, pain blooming on her side as he drew back. She dropped her sabre and clutched at her flesh, hissing.
Draco's face contorted in something akin to remorse and he too dropped his blade. He rushed over, pushing her hands away with his own. They were both covered in sweat, and when he peeled her shirt up to look at her waist, she almost felt like the wetness was disgusting.
Almost.
"Stop! Lemme see, lemme see," he said, grimacing.
They both looked down at the horizontal, reddening welt that was fast darkening there. He reached out to touch it with his other hand and Hermione whimpered. In spite of the strange chill that rippled along her skin when he did so, it hurt.
"Forgive me," he murmured, some of his damp hair falling forward into his eyes as he ducked a bit to see it better. "I'm not myself today."
Hermione stared at his face, at his sharp jawline, long nose, and the smoothness of his skin. The set of his dark brows over grey eyes flecked with silver. He gave her a lopsided grin as if trying to offer her silent support or understanding, and his pearly-white teeth flashed.
In the beginning, when she'd first gotten here and they'd bantered more often than they bickered, he'd always smiled as though he were sheepish. She hadn't seen that smile in weeks.
Merlin, he is disturbingly handsome sometimes.
Most of the time.
Always.
His fingers trailed across her flesh again, his eyes gazing intently at her body. Hermione felt like he was stealing the breath right out of her lungs. Her arms, which she was holding up out of the way so he could lift her shirt, seemed to have minds of their own.
Hermione may have had poor mental health at the moment, but she was not shy.
She grabbed his face and pulled him down to meet her. Lifting herself onto the tips of her toes, she pressed her lips against his with a desperation she hadn't realized she possessed. She kept one hand against his cheek, wrapping the other around his neck. Coaxing his lips open with her tongue, she kissed him the way she'd wanted to the night she touched herself to the thought of him.
She hoped he could see inside her head right now.
He seemed confused for a moment. Then, he growled against her mouth and grabbed her hips, yanking her up into the air until her feet completely came away from the ground. Something about the possessiveness of his hold awakened a fire within her, and she was on him like a Nargle on mistletoe.
Hermione tilted her head to the side and intensified the sweeping of her tongue, kissing past the sweat and the sighs he was making. Past the grief she knew wracked his body and into the person that lay somewhere beneath it.
His toned arms wrapped completely around her waist, crushing her against him as he tried to keep up with her. It was like the sparring had jumped from sword to tongue, and this time, Hermione was just as skilled as he was.
She was doing this because she wanted to, and she didn't care how sweaty he was.
Then, her mind suddenly cleared.
Draco's mother had just died and his father had been missing without his wand all day.
With a moan of near-anguish, she pulled her lips away. His hair was a disaster and he was looking down at her with kiss-swollen lips and dazed eyes.
"I'm sorry," she squeaked out, dropping back down to the floor. She reached behind her back and clasped his hands from his arms, freeing her body. "I shouldn't have done that."
He just stared at her, looking bewildered, still panting for breath.
"Um . . . Enjoy your lunch." She turned and walked away as fast as she could.
Hopefully, he would forget that she'd just done that.
O
Hermione found him later in the sitting room upstairs.
Much like Lucius had the night Narcissa died, he was sitting in an armchair and staring into the fireplace. There was no fire in it, though, which made sense since it was June and he was not as old as his father.
She had decided that it was best if she didn't address the kiss again. It was best if she pretended it never happened. If he asked to talk about it - which she doubted he would do since he hadn't last time - then she would just say she didn't want to.
It wasn't entirely clear to her why she'd lost control like that with him, especially since she was the one who was so adamant that he was a Bad Wizard who wanted her to be his slave.
I'm such a hypocrite.
"Did you want dinner?" she asked from the entryway of the room.
"No," he mumbled from behind steepled fingers.
She hesitated. "Should we go look for him?"
He was silent.
She took a step into the dark room. "Malfoy? Did you hear me?"
His eyes snapped to meet hers, his face illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight from the hall. She nearly stepped back.
They were open, revealing a violent pain that made her heart wrench in her chest.
As soon as she spotted it, he looked away. "What did you say?"
"Should we go look for your father?"
"I'll go," he said, and he sounded resigned.
Hermione followed him down the stairs and stopped on the bottom step. He stepped outside into the orange glow of the approaching sunset, casting her one last blank look over his shoulder before he shut the door. She sat down on the step and waited.
The way that Lucius had sobbed was still imprinted on her mind, a memory that she could pull up and watch like a film reel inside of her head. It was awful. She didn't want to think about how Lucius was feeling before the fight, but after Draco had attacked him like that? What if that had been the final nail in the coffin?
Hermione felt a very acute anxiety curling in her gut. Tears of concern pricked at her eyes, surprising her at her sudden sensitivity.
She couldn't say she hated him anymore. Even though they weren't exactly friends, she couldn't imagine the pain he must be experiencing.
Lucius hadbeen absent for a long time.
Either he had gone to have some time alone to grieve on the estate, or he'd walked off somewhere to die without leaving a note.
She desperately, desperately hoped it wasn't the latter.
She waited for a little while longer, resting her head against the end of the banister. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was struggling to breathe. She closed her eyes and prayed to all of the Gods above that Draco found Lucius. If he found Lucius, she vowed to never bring up the slave thing again. She would just drop it and accept her lot in life, if only they didn't take his father -
The door swung open.
Draco walked in and stopped in front of her.
Schlop.
Hermione looked down at a soaking wet pile of black fabric in front of her.
"He's dead," Draco said, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
"What?" Hermione cried, the tears starting to fill her eyes further.
Draco walked past her and started up the stairs. He did not look back at her. "He went into the pond on the south side of the estate. Didn't come out. Those are his robes."
Lucius was dead. Draco's father was dead. Within days of his mother.
And he still hadn't shed a tear.
"What?!" Hermione shrieked, jumping to her feet and spinning to face the stairs. "Where are you going? We need to - what are we - Draco!"
He stopped on the landing, but still did not turn.
"We need to contact somebody," she said, her voice desperate. "Or at the very least, you need to -"
He whirled on her, glaring down at her. "Don't presume to tell me what I need to do about my family, Granger. My father was a vile, loathsome man who ruined my entire life with his prejudice, cruelty, and cowardice. He is the reason why you are standing there, and I am standing up here. He is the reason why your precious Potter is dead. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have let the Death Eaters into the castle because I never would have picked the Dark Lord's side."
Before Hermione could think, could process or speak, he was slamming his bedroom door shut again.
She collapsed on the ground, weeping for reasons that didn't make any sense to her.
O
Hermione woke in her bed when the moon was full and the stars were out.
Confused, she sat up and looked around. How had she gotten here? Last she remembered, she'd wept herself to sleep on the stairs.
Had Draco actually carried her to her bedroom?
She frowned.
From what he'd said, it sounded like he blamed his father for the path he'd chosen. Hermione wondered what that meant, exactly. Was he saying that he wished he would have chosen Harry's side? Or was he saying he just wished he hadn't had to participate at all?
Did that mean that he was happy his father was dead?
That couldn't be possible. It was too . . . He had to love his father, even if only a smidgeon. He had to care for him enough to feel upset over his death.
She felt a lump in her throat again. Bollocks. Her compassion was trying to get the best of her again. It was like it had wiped out all of the feelings that led her to believe she hated him. She still had things she was angry about, locked away in a box label Malfoy inside her mind, but that was the problem.
With the hatred gone and the anger locked up, all that remained was lust.
Taking a deep breath, she scrubbed at her face with her hands. Perhaps she shouldgo talk to him. Or at the very least, see if he was all right. He may have been bottling the emotions up. Anyone would be devastated to lose both of their parents, even if they hated one of them.
They could address the kiss later, if need be.
She got out of bed, went to the dresser to put on some appropriate pyjamas, and then stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was as curly and gravity-defying as usual, but it was simple enough to knot it at the top of her head. She turned, lifting her black tee shirt to look at her side.
The bruise was gone.
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Draco carried me to bed and treated my wound?
She closed her hanging jaw and let the shirt fall. He didn't have to do that. Especially not on the day his father had died. Now, she was even more curious how he was doing. It was becoming very difficult to hate him.
Hermione wasn't sure she ever had.
Putting her slippers on, she left her room. His bedroom door was still visible. She wasn't sure if he'd taken to leaving it visible because he wanted her to come in, or if he was just too frazzled with everything going on to remember to charm it to be hidden like he had the entire time she'd lived here.
Knock, knock, knock.
She waited, but no answer came. She tried again twice more.
With a sigh, she opened the door and peeked into the dark room.
"Malfoy?" she whispered, walking up to the curtains. "Malfoy, can I -"
The bed was empty.
Calypso!
Hermione's spirits lifted. Oh, that made perfect sense! He'd gone to see Calypso. Who else would be better for him right now, than her? She wasn't sure if he'd been out to see her since the last time they were there and while the last time had been interesting, Hermione just wanted to go out there and make sure he was all right. Seeing Calypso would be wonderful, too, and exactly what they both needed after the last couple of days.
Hermione smiled when she spotted his wand on the bedside table. She recalled Draco telling her that Calypso liked to chew on things, so it made sense that he'd left it behind. The wand would enable her to get through the wards and light her way to the clearing.
Snatching the wooden instrument up, she went back to her room to grab her boots and a jumper to go over her leggings. Then, she headed downstairs.
Pausing by the door to the potions lab, she thought for a moment. Perhaps it might be a good idea to take a drink of some of the Calming Draught on the shelves across the room. It seemed that when she got anxious, she did barmy things like antagonize him or kiss him.
That would not be conducive to the environment.
Once she felt the potion working its magic, she left and made her way to the clearing.
O
When Hermione arrived, Draco was alone.
Calypso was missing.
If she hadn't taken the Draught, she knew she'd be panicking. Instead, she stood just inside the circle of willow branches, looking at the way the moon illuminated the glade with a bluish tint. The lack of breeze made it seem as though the clearing was dead. The boulder, pond, and moonflowers were all there, and the green leaves of the willow trees, but nothing moved.
In the center of the clearing, in the grass, sat Draco.
He had his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He was wearing black trousers and a black jumper that looked way too big for him. Or maybe he just looked frailer than he should with how much he exercised, she didn't know. His hair was forward again, the fringe in his eyes as he stared up at the sky.
Hermione approached him. Her heart rate did not increase, but she had a worried feeling in her mind.
"Where is Callie?" she asked, slipping his wand up into her sleeve.
"You told me to think about it," he said, the tenor of his voice soft. It felt like the quiet of the glade was so oppressive that it was compressing the volume of his words. "So I did."
"Where is she?"
"I sent her away," he said, lowering his chin until he was gazing at the grass in a forlorn manner. "It was selfish to keep her locked in here, making it bigger and bigger when she's going to be as big as a bloody hill. She was already bigger than a mountain troll. So I made her leave."
Images of what that might look like flashed through Hermione's mind and if it weren't for the potion, she knew she'd be unable to breathe. All she felt was sad.
"I'm bad for her. I couldn't take care of her. I'm not her Drakin. I'm not some . . . Some heroic warrior of the light who can - can connect with dragons and ride them," he spat, lifting one hand to scrape all of his hair back away from his face. It looked silken under the starlight. "I'm a Death Eater. I've poisoned more people than I can count. I've killed more than that with my swords. The Dark Lord will summon us away from the Manor, and we may never come back. Who would care for Callie then?"
"Malfoy . . ."
"I had to tell her I didn't want her anymore, you know that?" He was talking to her, his face contorted with his anguish, but he was glaring at the ground. "I had to tell her I didn't want her here anymore to get her to go. She looked so fucking . . . Sad, just . . . Looking at me with those eyes and I . . ."
He trailed off and Hermione saw his throat jump.
Hermione knelt down beside him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. The thought of Callie winging away into the shadow of the moon after Draco had to make her believe something so hurtful was gutting her. She wished she could have at least been there to say good-bye, or that they could have done more research to figure out another solution.
"You did what you thought you had to do," she said, squeezing his shoulder.
"Who would have thought?" he whispered, searching her eyes for something she wasn't sure of. "Callie could always fly away. She just didn't want to."
He folded his arms on top of his knees and buried his face in them.
Hermione could feel it in the air around him. He was barely holding it together. He'd lost everything in three days. His mother, his father, and now his dragon.
And he was blaming himself.
Hermione knew a little something about that.
It didn't matter what she thought she should do; all that mattered was that she did what he needed. Just like her mother had done for her father when her grandfather died, Hermione began to rub circles into his upper back.
He fell apart like an Acromantula web.
"I'm bad for her. I was always bad for her," he said, his voice hollow in the cage of his arms. "I'm bad for everyone. The Dark Lord's going to kill you in front of me as punishment for what I did. Then he's going to kill me, like he's always wanted to do."
"Maybe he -"
He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes seeming to shine under the light of the stars above. "Come off it, Granger. You know what he's got planned. You can't be that dense. He knows how much I fucking care about you. He's going to make sure I watch you die."
If it weren't for the Calming Draught, Hermione knew her heart would have stopped in its tracks.
She kept moving her hand on his back.
"I'm not strong enough to protect you," he whispered, pulling his knees closer and resting his chin on his forearms. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip for a moment. Hermione knew what was coming. "I wasn't strong enough to protect anyone."
"You're strong," Hermione murmured, because it was the truth. "You're the strongest wizard I know."
"No," he said, his voice sounding thick. "My mother. My father. Callie. You. All the people I've killed. Even fucking Longbottom. My father. My fucking father is - he's -"
He stopped for a moment, staring so hard at the grass that she thought it might burst into flames.
"The last thing I told him to do was fuck off. I just . . ."
Yes, Hermione knew quite well what was coming.
"I can't do this anymore," he said. There were tears shimmering in his eyes like glittering diamonds. "All this - this fear and waiting. The bloody waiting for him to make his - his decision, I - I can't. I just can't -"
His voice broke.
Like a damn, he fell into shambles, his entire face seeming to melt with despair. He sobbed uncontrollably, without a trace of shame. The tidal wave of grief washed over him, and Hermione could see that he'd been holding it back for a long time. She understood this. It was exactly what she had done, until it became too much and she broke down. Until it overwhelmed her and pulled her under.
He was drowning and he needed someone to hold him up.
Hermione slid her hand up to his neck and adjusted herself to sit cross-legged. She pulled him against her, tucking his head underneath her chin. It was as though she were trying to shield his face from the moon as she slid her fingers into his hair to stroke soothing lines across his scalp. Her other hand rubbed up and down his bicep, just like her mother used to do for her while she cried.
She held him while he wept. His entire body shook with a shuddering violence, the gut-wrenching sobs that left his mouth sounding tragic and piteous. Draco clutched at her arm that was wrapped around his neck, clinging to her as he went limp in her embrace.
"It's all right," she murmured in a tone meant to console, pressing her cheek against the softness of his hair. "It's all right."
"It's n-not," he sobbed, his fingers squeezing her arm. "It's never g-going to be. It's -"
"Shh," Hermione whispered, closing her eyes against the overwhelming emotions that were starting to spring up. She'd only taken one drink of the Calming Draught, and it had taken her thirty minutes to get to the clearing. It was already starting to fail. "It's all right."
"I'm better off dead," he said between sobs. "I'm better off fucking dead."
Hermione felt the panic starting to rise, warring with the potion. Her rational mind told her that he was just emotional, in agony over all the loss. But her heart was starting to open up, to beat faster and faster. It was telling her that he was going to follow in his father's footsteps if she didn't do whatever she could to convince him that no life was worthless.
Especially his.
Hermione pulled back far enough to grip his face in her hands and tilt it upward. He looked like a mess, but she didn't care. None of that mattered right now. All that mattered was that she knew what he needed to hear.
"You're not worthless, Draco," she said, her brows pulling together with conviction. "And I know things have been difficult - I know I'm difficult - but you're not worthless. You'll never be worth -"
His hand shot up and gripped her hair at the nape of her neck. In seconds, her head was the one that was tilted back, he was the one that was looking down at her.
And he was kissing her.
Hermione moaned when his tongue delved down into her mouth, searching for whatever comfort she had to give. She could feel the wetness of his tears on her cheeks, urging her forward as she threw her whole being into the kiss.
She knew she shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't give this much of herself to him, but it felt like he was dragging it out of her. It felt like he was ravaging her of every little part of herself that she had hidden inside her body. Every corner of her heart, the recesses of her body, the depths of her mind - it was all his. He was taking it.
She was giving it to him.
He tightened his hold on her hair, deepening his kiss with a groan. His other hand came up to stroke the side of her throat, awakening her body in a way that was both familiar and alien. It was terrifying. She felt caught up, swept within a tidal wave that he was directing.
He grabbed her thigh and pulled her to straddle his lap, breaking the kiss so he could trail his lips down her throat. She sighed and let her head fall back, let him devour her skin as though it were sweet. She put her mind elsewhere, making sure not to let Cillian's box come open when Draco twisted her curls and allowed his hand to roam her body.
This time, when he caressed her breast, she wanted it.
It felt like things were moving too fast, yet too slow. He never stopped kissing her, never let go of her hair, even as he shoved his hand underneath the hem of her jumper. She felt ice along the forefront of her mind.
Is this okay? His words whispered into the fiery wasteland that was her mind right now.
Yes, she answered back.
You're not gonna scream at me and call me your Master? She could swear he was smirking.
Not unless you want me to.
She moaned into his mouth when his fingers slipped beneath the wire of her brassiere and closed over her right breast.
She felt it in her core.
Hermione felt her sanity finally snapping in two when the pads of his thumbs passed over the peak. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her hips flush to his, grinding them against him as her arousal grew and grew.
Draco finally let go of her curls, allowing them to cascade around their bodies like a curtain of chocolate brown spirals. He moved his other hand to mirror the first one, tweaking her flesh in a way that had bolts of electricity pulsing in her womb. She pressed her cheek against his as she rocked her hips faster and faster.
"That's it, Granger," he growled into her ear, his teeth catching the lobe and drawing a cry from her lips. "Take what you need. Come on."
Hermione felt his hardness between her legs, even though there were two layers of fabric between them. She closed her eyes, her hips jerking with every movement of his finger against her breasts. She'd never felt this way before. She'd never felt like her skin was on fire and her body was screaming for something so intensely.
Except for the night she'd touched herself.
"Help me," Hermione moaned. "Help me, please."
Draco moaned, too, one of his hands moving down to grip her core above her leggings. The feeling was acute. His fingers found the right spot, the perfect spot, and her mind went white. She swirled her hips in a circle against the press of his touch. She could feel sweat beading underneath her clothing.
The summit of the mountain drew near.
"Let me see you come for me, sweet girl," he whispered.
It was his words. Maybe it was his voice. Or perhaps it was just the memory of what they'd done together in her room the night of the battle anniversary.
Either way, she crested suddenly and with a sharp convulsing in her muscles. It rolled through her body, dragging a low moan out of her throat.
Draco sighed and began to attack her jawline with his lips, moving down towards her mouth. His head tilted to the right and he kissed her hard and deep.
"I wanna fuck you," he groaned after he pulled back. "Please. I need you. I need to forget. Please let me -"
Hermione wasn't thinking. She couldn't think. Her mind was all sorts of addled and she just wanted him.
She nodded, whispering yes repeatedly.
With the speed of a wild animal, he had her on her back in the grass and he was yanking her leggings and knickers down her legs. She opened her eyes for a moment, seeing the moon full and beautiful above her. It was flanked by all the stars she'd never once stopped counting. They watched with a comforting twinkle.
The fabric got tangled at her knees.
"Just leave it," she hissed. "Just - come back - come -"
Her vision was filled with Draco.
They were snogging again, and Hermione's fingers were pulling the drawstring ties on his trackies. They both worked together to try and get them down below his rear, both of them laughing against each other's lips as they did so. Hermione's heart warmed for a second, but she didn't allow herself to think about it.
She only allowed herself to kiss and feel.
When she wrapped her hand around his length, he choked out a lengthy fuck into her mouth. She began to stroke him, refusing to let the box's lid come off that told her exactly why she knew how to do this so well. She focused on him, on the way his hips moved to meet the pull of her hand, and the way he nuzzled his face into her neck.
"Do you like this?" she said in the same slow, sensual voice she'd used on him the first night she'd touched him. "Do you like when I do this?"
"Oh, fuck yes," he groaned, his teeth scraping against her pulse. The feeling fanned the flames of desire within her already tingling body. The movement of his hips increased its pace. "You're so good."
- at this.
The words hung in the air, heavy and laden with memories.
Hermione closed her eyes against them, against the thought of Cillian's blue eyes.
No.
She wouldn't let him take this, whatever this was, away from her. She wouldn't let him control her narrative.
She scooted herself up slightly, surprising Draco by lining him up with her core. Before he could say anything more, she slid down onto him. The grass scratched at the skin of her rear as he sank into the depths of her body, into the vast coulee of solace she had to offer.
He lost it.
Draco positioned his knees on either side of her thighs and pinned her down by the throat. His hair fell into his blazing silver eyes as he rutted into her with ferocious, wild abandon. He hit deep and fast, leaving Hermione only room to gasp and moan. She tilted her neck up against the rings on his fingers, craving the replication of the feeling she'd felt when she touched herself.
She didn't want to breathe until she came.
Hermione lifted her hand to clench her trembling fingers in the fabric of his jumper as he drove into her again and again and again. She arched her spine and her head fell back, until she saw the boulder upside-down.
It ripped words out of her throat, throaty and desperate.
"Oh, that feels so good, Draco. That feels so good. Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."
He cursed and used his other hand to touch her pearl, pulling yet more noises from her that she hadn't even realized she could make. He gathered her arousal, used it to slick his touch, and she screamed. It was garbled, choked by the press of his fingers around her trachea, but it was a scream nonetheless.
She had never felt this good.
Suddenly, he let go of her throat. Her disappointment was quickly replaced by surprise as he pulled out and tore her leggings and knickers the rest of the way down, leaving her in nothing but her boots and jumper. He pushed her legs apart and crawled up her body, still fully dressed but with his pelvis exposed. She lifted her head and their eyes met for a moment.
Hermione felt ice.
I want you to ride me until you come, sweet girl. Can you do that for me?
Her brows twitched together in a distressed expression as she nodded. "Yes. Please. Yes."
Draco grabbed her thighs and rolled them over. He grabbed her hips, starting to lift her, but a sudden surge of need within her took control of her body. She pressed her hand to the center of his chest and slammed him down firm against the grass.
The look he gave her was smoldering.
"You wanna see me come?" she whispered, tossing her curls back as she rolled and slid her core along the heat of him.
His fingers dug into the fleshy part of her hips, above the bones and he nodded.
She bit her lip as she rocked her hips, taking pleasure in the way it felt. After a few moments of this, Draco let out a whine.
"Please. Inside," he groaned. "I need to be inside you."
Hermione wasted no time impaling herself on him, doing exactly what he'd asked her to do earlier. She rode him, holding herself up by curling her fingers into his pectorals through his jumpers. The muscles she'd seen countless times, but had never imagined touching while she -
"Salazar's fucking - Circe," Draco hissed through his teeth as he slid his hands up to the concave dips of her waistline. His hips snapped upward, hitting deeper than he had before.
Hermione threw her head back in a fan of curls. She was dripping sweat beneath her jumper, and his pelvis was just as moist, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything.
She just wanted to come.
"This is what you've always wanted, isn't it?" she moaned, grinding against him in a way that added to her bliss. "You've wanted me like this, on top of you, doing this to you."
He didn't say anything, seeming to be so lost in his own desire that his eyes were rolling up. His mouth fell open and Hermione found that she couldn't tear her eyes off of his face. The surreal nature of this situation - laying together like this in a beautiful, moonlit clearing encasing them in whispering willow branches - was overwhelming in its erotic vibe.
He needed this.
She needed this.
Anything to forget the pain.
As Hermione picked up speed, chasing her own undoing, his back arched further up off of the ground. She let her eyes caress the sharp curve of his jaw and the way the tendons in his throat stuck out as he groaned low in his chest.
"Oh, fuck," he whispered. "Fuckfuckfuck - I -"
"Come," she said. No, she ordered it like it was the only thing standing between him and completion.
"Not b-before -" He cut himself off with a breathy whimper, his hips rolling to meet hers with fervor.
"Come," Hermione said, because this was for him. It wasn't for her.
She wasn't thinking clearly and Cillian's box kept trying to come open, but as long as he got what he needed, everything would be all right.
Wouldn't it?
Draco bit his lip and arched his back again as Hermione spoke to him with her core, wrapped around him like the petals of a moonflower. She could feel that he was trying his best to hold back and something about that enticed her, drove the heat in her blood to the sky and helped her soar.
She heard him let out a laugh on an exhale. He said, "You're gonna come, aren't you?"
Hermione's eyes met his and she saw it there: the challenge that was always there when they spoke.
She squeezed him with her muscles and shook her head.
"You will," he whispered in an almost dangerous tone, his eyebrows shooting up.
Two seconds passed and then she felt his fingers against her pearl. Her eyes popped open wide as he took the reins, the Snitch, the crown - whatever it was.
He won.
Hermione sucked in her breath and gazed down into Draco's eyes. He smirked and raised himself up on one elbow, his other hand working her to the edge.
"You're so fucking sweet," he said through his teeth. When she started to shake her head, her eyelids falling half-shut, he slowed his pace to a gentle speed she hadn't known she needed. "You are. You are sweet. Making me tea, cooking for me. Taking care of me, even though you like to pretend you hate me."
Oh, Gods, she thought. Please say it. Please say it.
"Tell me," he said, grinning like a Chesire cat. "Do you hate me now?"
He'd obviously seen it inside of her head, without her permission.
"You - absolute - tosser," she hissed, and then she was done for.
She went careening over the cliff, into an orgasm so strong that she thought she might pass out. It rocketed through her body and caused her thighs to squeeze his hips as he continued to laugh. It was nothing like the way it had felt to touch herself. It was so, so much more.
"You're so - fuck - that's good," he said, still smirking, and then his head fell back. "That's - I'm gonna -"
With one last sharp slam of her hips downward, he came with a quiet moan. His body shivered beneath hers as he finished, sitting up to slide his arms underneath hers and curve them around her shoulders. His nose sought hers and then their lips met.
This kiss was languorous in its indulgence, with the slow swipes of his tongue against hers. She combed her fingers through his hair, thoroughly sated with a mind that had been painted white with ecstasy.
And then it all shattered.
He pulled away from her, gazed up into her eyes, and shook his head.
"I have no one left but you," he whispered.
Hermione held him with her entire body as he dissolved into tears again.
Before y'all crucify me . . . Callie WILL return. I have HUGE plans for the battle at the climax of the story. I mean dragons upon dragons upon dragons upon Greek mythology goodness. I won't spoil anymore, but I don't want anyone freaking out and thinking I'm getting rid of her.