Context is clear. It's not Draco's fault that the rape directly occurred, but his poor choices did up the risk, even though it was unknowingly. Draco did not rape her. A demon raped her.
I name-dropped Ariana Grande. I don't care. I am lame and juvenile!
Invisible
Chapter 34 - Unfair
Weak and Powerless by A Perfect Circle
When Hermione was eight, she had a dog named Louis.
It was a Husky, quite possibly the most beautiful breed of dog ever to come into being. With black-and-white fur and icy blue eyes, Louis was Hermione's very best friend. When others teased her at school, she'd come home and curl up in bed with Louis by her side. He'd pretend to groom her, licking her all over the curly hair that everyone else seemed to hate so much. He'd even consumed her tears, those ice chips for eyes staring straight into her soul as if to say, "No tears. I love you."
But one day, Louis went outside and got into a scuffle with another animal. That animal bit him, and then Louis got sick. He got really sick, and then he got angry. There were no more cuddles in bed. He gnashed his teeth at everyone, spittle flying from his chops as he growled and barked at Hermione as though he'd never seen her before. He bit her when she tried to pet him, to groom him and kiss his puppy tears away like he had for her, and she'd had to go to the hospital.
"Rabies," the doctor told her. "Rabies, and that means your doggy is quite unwell. You will have to say good-bye, Hermione."
And say good-bye she did, right before the men came to take Louis away. And Louis, who had been so very angry for the past week, stared at her with those ice chip eyes and licked her tear right off of her cheek. For a moment - just a moment - Hermione saw the puppy that had always said, "No tears. I love you."
The men took him away and she never saw Louis again. She was still hurt pretty bad where he bit her, but Hermione knew it wasn't his fault that he'd gotten sick. So she resolutely wiped her tears. Her parents each took one of her hands and helped her limp her way back to the car and when they got there, her father tried to explain to her that Louis loved her, that he had a disease of the mind that ate away the good Louis and left only the bad Louis. That that was the only reason why he'd bitten her, and that he would never have bitten his best friend and favorite girl if he hadn't gotten sick.
But Hermione already knew that. She was smart, even back then, and she'd already forgiven Louis. She forgave him the second he bit her, and she loved him enough for the both of them.
So that was why, even as she fled the Library, she knew she would forgive Draco. She knew it wasn't his fault. She knew that something - a demon or a monster of some sort - had taken control of him. That he'd gotten sick with something that ate the good and left the bad. That no matter how hard he tried, he hadn't been able to break free, and that he never would have hurt her like that if he'd been able to control his body. That Draco was just like Louis, but that nothing would ever cleave her soul in two as much as the sound of his sobbing when he realized what had happened.
But Hermione didn't know how she could ever again look at the good without seeing the bad.
She ran as though Greyback himself were on her heels, tears streaming down her face as she dashed across the corridor and into the common room. Dinner was about to start, and there didn't seem to be anyone around from what she could tell.
"Granger, you seen Draco? He - blimey!"
Hermione nearly ran face-first into the chest of Blaise, who caught her by the elbows. Her head fell back as she gazed up at him through her tears and suddenly felt like no one would understand better than him. No one would understand the pain that both she and Draco felt better than he would. She fell apart, dissolving into tears, and Blaise was forced to wrap his arms around her waist to catch her.
"Granger, what's this, then?" he said, sounding genuinely concerned. "Why the tears, love?"
Hermione couldn't speak. She could hardly breathe. The pain was starting to overwhelm her, thinking of what she'd just been through combined with what it must have been like for Draco. Thinking of the horrors that might still be to come, and of what could possibly have that much power that it could subdue his magic, his Veela, and his wolf to attack her.
"I'm here to help, little witch."
And then she realized with aching clarity that now, she was bonded to Draco. She was his mate. She could feel everything that he felt. And he was in so, so much pain. He hated himself, but it ran so much deeper than she'd ever thought possible. He wanted to die, to be dead, to kill himself. He despised his very existence, and he thought everything bad that had ever happened was his fault. Her tears began anew, her heart shattered, and she keened as though a part of her had died.
The warmth of Blaise's arms wasn't enough to keep the feeling of cold dread from wrapping tightly around her heart. How long had Draco hated himself this way? How was she supposed to look at him and see the good when all she felt was bad? When she felt his hands tearing at her clothes, his voice poisoning her spirit, his body breaking her in two?
Hermione was beside herself. She wanted to assure him she was all right, wanted to keep anyone from finding out what had happened, but she just couldn't stop crying. She felt like her soul was spilling out all over the floor, and she was trying to pick it up with her fingers.
"I'm not him. But you do belong to me. Shall I fuck you the way he would?"
"Blaise -" she started, before she melted into tears all over again.
"Granger, love, you've got to settle," he said, massaging her upper arms. "You're going to pass out if you don't."
Hermione shook her head, her hands pushing at his chest in distress. "You don't understand, you don't understand, he . . . He . . ."
"Who, Granger?" Blaise's voice was gentle, his hand cupping her cheek and eyes trying to lock with her own. "What's happened?"
"You'll thank me."
"He raped me!" she shrieked, and then she was a mess again.
Blaise stiffened and anger blazed bright in his face. "Who? What? Who the fuck?!"
"No, no . . . You don't - he didn't - it wasn't him!" She wept again, her chest aching and her head pounding, and then she slammed her fists against his chest as though he were the creature. "It wasn't him!"
Blaise crushed her against his chest, one arm around her shoulders and a hand cradling the back of her head. She could hear his heart racing, his body vibrating with repressed anger.
"Shh, it's all right, love. When I find Draco, him and I will -"
"Oh, precious, you know Draco isn't here."
Hermione panicked. "No! Not Draco! You don't understand! You don't -" She cut herself off as the portrait opened behind her.
"Draco, what the fuck is going on?!" Blaise yelled angrily.
Hermione froze, her eyes going wide, and then whirled around in Blaise's arms. Her heart stilled, thrumming with anxiety and terror, and she tried not to think about his hands on her body, taking everything she had to give. She tried not to think about how it felt to beg and sob and plead, and have it mean nothing. To have her pleas bouncing off of his ears as though he were made of stone. Even though it hadn't been Draco, he looked like the monster, and it felt like there would be no overcoming that.
Draco stood there, ashen-faced, eyes still rimmed red from crying, and their eyes met.
"Fuck," he said as he broke down, running his hands down the length of his face. "Fuck!"
He was crying again, right there in the common room where anyone could walk in and see.
"What in Salazar's name is going on?!" Blaise shouted, his hands tightening on Hermione's arms.
She twisted away from him, backing away in a stumbling manner as she sent Draco a pleading look. He took a step toward her. She could feel through the mate bond that his heart was shattering just as fast as hers was. Blaise's eyes widened as he looked from one to the other, and slowly put two-and-two together. He put one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth as he stared at Draco in shock.
"It was you?"
Draco gave Blaise a pained look, not bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Blaise staggered backward, looking horrified, and then he whirled to face Hermione. She stood there, hugging her hands to her hurting abdomen as her sobs pulled emotions from the depths of her that she had never felt before. It wasn't Draco's fault, but she felt like she was standing in front of the person who had destroyed her. She felt soiled, like her entire body was made of darkness and shadows and rubbish.
"Hermione," Draco said brokenly. The look in his eyes was equal parts imploring as it was full of self-loathing. He took a hesitant step forward, anxiously pushing his fingers through his hair and tangling them within the strands. His face contorted into an expression of rage that she felt through his magic was directed at himself. "Salazar, fucking damn it!"
As Draco's mate, Hermione wanted to go to him and comfort him, to mend the broken pieces of his heart and wipe his tears. But as his victim - the victim of his body, which he had not been in control of - she could only double over and wail.
Blaise stepped in front of Draco, placing a hand on his chest and curling it into the fabric of his shirt. He nodded to him and Draco looked into his eyes desperately, as though they were having some sort of silent conversation.
"It wasn't -" Draco started, overcome with too much emotion to continue. He lifted his hand from his hip and wrapped it around Blaise's, holding his palm tighter to his chest. "I tried to stop him. I tried."
Blaise just continued to nod, even though he was probably beyond confused. "I know, mate. I know."
Hermione couldn't bear to be there anymore, exposed. She collapsed on the floor in a heap, her eyes landing on the sight of the blood on her legs, and she screamed. Her mind split into separate parts, rationality from emotions, and she felt the grief of death weighing down heavily on her shoulders. She had wanted to give herself to Draco for the past two months. She would have given herself to him, but he didn't want her. He made her think he didn't want her, and then he took her. He killed a part of her that she could never get back, and even though it hadn't been his fault, it was still dead.
"You ripped me apart," she sobbed, crawling backward towards nothing in particular. She stared down at her thighs, traumatized. "You ripped me apart!"
Draco groaned Hermione's name again, trying to push past Blaise, but his friend was quick to throw his arms around him and trap him.
"Granger, go up to your room," Blaise said calmly, nothing betraying in his tone. "Just go on up there and stay. I'll come check on you later."
Hermione didn't need to be told twice. Tearing her eyes off of the blood, she rolled over and hauled herself weakly to her feet, tears rolling steadily down her cheeks as she walked towards the stairs. She could feel it in her lower body now - the pain that her adrenaline had disguised. It hurt everywhere. She was bruised inside and outside. She was naught but a torn piece of trash.
She paused at the top stair, turning to look over her shoulder at the boys. Draco was clutching the back of Blaise's shirt, sobbing into his neck unashamedly. Hermione supposed there was no room for shame anymore - not after what had just happened.
With another quiet sob, she turned and ran to her dorm room with every intention of drowning herself in a scalding hot shower.
O
Blaise came to her dorm an hour or so later, and she answered in a Muggle jumper with the hood up, overlarge trackies, and water still dripping from the ends of her short hair. It felt like she was dragging boulders up with her pinkie fingers as she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. He gave her a sympathetic look.
"'Mione, love, come here."
Hermione felt her lower lip quivering, tears filling her eyes to spill over onto her cheeks, and she anxiously pulled her sleeves down to cover her hands. She hesitated, not because she didn't trust him or men in general, but because she was tired of crumbling. She'd been crying nonstop for the past hour, and her body was completely drained. And now here Blaise was, here to be a source of comfort to her, her friend, and she -
Before she knew it, she was sobbing again, padding forward until her head was buried in Blaise's chest and his arms were enveloping her. He lifted her up and walked into her room, closing the door behind him with his foot. When Hermione's knees went weak, he sank to the floor with her, sitting cross-legged with his back against the door. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, tucking her head underneath his chin as she curled up into a ball on his lap.
Blaise held her for a long time, until she had no tears left and she suspected his legs had to have gone numb. Still, she did not move. She simply laid there in her friend's arms, unaware of how she could go back to the way things were before when she felt so overwhelmed.
"It's my fault," she whispered.
"No, it's not," Blaise said, sounding dejected, tightening his hold.
"It is," she whimpered. "If I wasn't a M-Muggle-born, he would have . . ."
"Stop. It's not your fault. I don't know what happened, but it's not your fault."
Hermione told him what happened, then, in a very frank and matter-of-fact tone. She spared the grisly details, but told him what she'd been suspecting about Draco harboring a third entity within him, and how that entity had finally had enough with waiting for things to progress. How in order to save their lives, the creature had decided to forcibly take what Hermione had been trying to give Draco. She told him about Draco's angry outbursts since the Revel, and about some of the strange things he'd said when they were in the Library researching.
She told him about how they'd known for awhile that he might wither, and about how he'd made it clear at the Manor that he had no desire to mate with her, but that his actions didn't match those sentiments. She told him how she suspected it was because she was Muggle-born, that even if he didn't think the same way that he used to, that she knew he didn't want to accidentally sully the Pureblood line of his family. She told him about the bite and her theory about the bonding magic absorbing their magic faster and faster, and finally, she told him summarized versions of the creepy things the creature had said.
But even as she reiterated to Blaise that she didn't know anything for certain, deep within her heart, she just knew that the monster inside of Draco was a demon. It was malevolent and it had taken pleasure in her pain. No magical creature was that sadistic, but a demon? A demon was. How was she even supposed to deal with a demon, or cope with the fact that she'd been violated by one? The Library had no information. She had one book that she'd gotten in Hogsmeade, but its knowledge was rudimentary at best, and she had an inkling that that was why she hadn't felt interested enough to pick it up yet. She knew the Dark Lord had bought the same book, but she didn't know how that was supposed to teach her anything about what was inside of Draco.
For the first time in a long time, Hermione had no clue what to do.
Blaise was silent, one of his hands coming up to rub his chin. "Judging by that alone, it's not your fault, what happened. And I won't debate his part, but -"
"It's not his fault, either," Hermione mumbled, staring blankly at the mess that her room had become since she'd become so absorbed in Draco and his condition.
"So you're saying you don't blame him?"
Hermione was silent.
Blaise sighed. "The entire thing may not be his fault, but . . . To be frank, now that I know all of this, his choices played a huge part in this. It's not his fault, but it is."
Hermione closed her eyes and let herself sink into the comfort he provided, feeling quite ensconced by her comfy clothing and large hood. "I don't know how to feel."
Blaise's thumb absentmindedly stroked her outer upper arm. "I can't tell you how you feel, nor how you should feel. But I can tell you that I remember how things were before the Revel. I remember how he was while you were napping in the Drawing Room. He would have killed himself before he hurt you. That's what I know for certain."
Hermione felt her eyes stinging behind closed eyelids.
Blaise continued, "But I also know that this is a complicated situation with a lot of . . . Well, a lot of layers. And I know, too, that you can't be expected to look at him the same ever again. Mated or not, you should still be able to choose if you spend time with him. You should be able to choose whether to forgive him."
Hermione clenched her teeth to keep from crying and pushed her words out with force. "I can't forgive him right now. My mind won't let me."
"Because even if it wasn't him, it was," he said softly, and she felt him resting his chin atop her head. "He looked like him, sounded like him, and felt like him."
Do not cry, Hermione thought, her head aching from the force of gritting her jaw. Do not cry again.
"I think, though, that I should tell you what he said down there," Blaise said. "He said -"
"Don't," Hermione said, and then she sat up in his lap. She pushed her hood back and fixed Blaise with a ferocious look. "I don't want to hear anything he has to say. Because you're right. He has blame in this." She lifted one hand, talking with it the way she sometimes did when she was angry. "If it weren't for him, for his own bigotry, none of this would have happened."
Blaise eyed her sympathetically, his hands placed on the floor beside his hips. "I don't think that was why, Granger."
"It doesn't matter, does it, then?" she spat out vehemently. "What matters is that because he didn't do it himself, someone else did. And now we're here, in this place, and I'm . . ." She trailed off, feeling the emotion swelling in her throat again. She turned her face away, her short curls falling forward to shield it from his view. When she looked back at him again, her vision was blurry. "And I'm his mate by force. No matter what happened, or how it came to be, I'm his mate now. And that means that I can feel everything that he - that my . . ."
She paused again. A tear escaped her left eye and she quickly wiped it away.
"I have to feel everything that my rapist feels."
The moment the words left her lips, she felt sick to her stomach. It felt wrong to say it, wrong on her lips and tongue. Especially knowing that he'd tried to stop, and she was the one who begged him to keep going. In her trauma and desperation for it to be him and not the monster, she'd begged him even while he pleaded with her that he couldn't. He hadn't been in control of his body, and she was calling him a rapist?
But if he wasn't a rapist, then what was he? What was he to her?
What did she feel for him?
She knew what he felt. All she had to do was look inside of her heart, to her magical core, and feel through the mate bond. She could feel every part of his despair and grief. She could feel it tearing him apart in every direction. She could hear his wolf howling as though the moon were right above him. She could feel the Veela mourning the pain of its mate, the pain that it had caused. She severed her connection immediately, before the emotions overtook her and sent her spiraling out of control of her own anguish.
Blaise placed a comforting hand on her back. "You don't have to feel anything you don't want to feel. I have Dreamless Sleep potions in my dorm. Want me to go get you one?"
Hermione stared back at him thoughtfully, before she shook her head. "No. I need to feel this. I need to remember the way this feels."
"Why?" His brow furrowed.
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, carefully sifting through her thoughts and feelings. While forgetting about everything for a night would likely not affect her memory of what happened, and while she did understand that Draco had not been in control of his body, there was one reason why she did not want the Dreamless Sleep. One reason which filled her with an immense amount of guilt at the darkness it showed existing within her spirit, darkness that she was unsure she was comfortable possessing.
"I want to feel his pain," she whispered, another tear falling down her cheek. "I want to feel it so I don't remember how much I . . ."
As the emotion overcame her again, Blaise was quick to wipe her tears away. He cupped her face in his hands and looked her directly in the eye.
"It's all right if you still love him," he said quietly. "It was him, but it wasn't, and it's confusing. It's confusing as Hell, it's painful, and there's no going back. But there's nothing wrong with still loving him - the wizard you fell for in the first place."
Hermione inhaled sharply. Love? Did she really love Draco Malfoy? She lowered her eyes, searching the air as though it held the answer for her. She was a logical person. How could it possibly be logical to be in love with a boy who wasn't even your boyfriend? Someone who you'd had some intimate experiences with, but never a date? Never any sort of label?
And yet as she thought the words, mulling over the particulars, she felt it creeping in like slow-moving lava. It burned her heart from the inside out and caused the tears to start rolling yet again. She leaned forward, still in Blaise's lap, and buried her head in her knees. She wept, for the umpteenth time, and tried to ignore the answering pulse of emotions that came from Draco through the mate bond. It was full of everything she didn't want from him: remorse, confusion, self-hatred, grief, anger, and concern. It didn't seem conscious, like he was projecting it in his desperation, not because he realized she could actually feel it.
She didn't want to love him. She didn't want to love a person who by his own selfishness, could let this happen to her. She didn't want to love the person whose body had torn her apart, whose voice she knew would torment her for as long as she was alive.
But she did.
Her shoulders shook as she lamented her own poor fortune, and Blaise wrapped his arms around her again. By the time she had run out of tears, Blaise had already helped her to her feet. He wiped her cheeks for her and then gestured to her bed.
"I think you should get to sleep," he said gently. "Want me to stay?"
Hermione shrugged, watching with faint nostalgia as he transfigured himself a chair to sit in by the bed. It reminded her of the time Draco had done the same for her, after Theo attacked her. The first time she realized he was a little something less than a prat. Her forehead tingled at the memory of his fingers against it.
"Oi. Bed."
"Oi," Blaise said, in an almost tortuously similar tone to the one Draco had used that day, all those months ago. "Get to bed."
Hermione pulled back her coverlet and slipped beneath the sheets, lying on her back and pouting up at the ceiling. Blaise plopped down in the chair and propped his feet up on the edge of her mattress by her waist. She shot him a look of annoyance, but he had conjured the latest copy of the Prophet out of thin air with his wand and was now scanning the front page.
"Well, that's lovely," he muttered.
"What?" she asked, clasping her hands on her stomach over the coverlet.
"Our best mate, Greyback, has graduated from estate grabbing to corporation control." Blaise sounded nonchalant, but she could hear the same bitterness that she felt in his voice as he opened the paper. "He now owns the Daily Prophet."
Hermione's brows knit together. That was disturbing. Death Eater estates, a Muggle laboratory, Cecilia Yaxley and Enicto Carrow's lycanthropy control potion, and now control of the press? She thought faintly of Muggle things she'd caught on the Internet at home over the Summers. What was control of the press a sign of?
Bad things.
But Hermione was much too drained and preoccupied to care about Greyback right now. She stared up at the ceiling. The last thing she wanted to think about right now was the Revel, which hadn't even been two weeks ago. It was still fresh, and with what had happened in the Library, she didn't think her mind could handle it all. As it was, she felt like she was broken in two. Like she just wanted to turn her emotions off and exist in limbo. Anything for a reprieve from the pain.
Blaise waved his wand and the bedroom light turned off. He then cast a small charm to light her lamp.
"Are you ready to hear what he said?"
Hermione rolled over to face the wall.
"No."
Blaise said nothing. A page turned.
Hermione tried to sleep, but it was difficult. As much as she tried to turn her emotions and thoughts off, she had no power to do so. She was no Occlumens by any stretch of the imagination. She didn't have the ability to compartmentalize her trauma and set it aside to deal with later or never.
Every time she closed her eyes, she was forced to face the memories of the ordeal, forced to remember the reason why her entire body ached. She knew she probably should have gone to the Infirmary, but now that she was on the other side of her initial meltdown, she had no desire to bring anyone else into this. She was fine with Blaise knowing, but she didn't want anyone - not even Luna - to know about this. She felt ashamed that she'd spent the entire year fighting for everyone to understand her reasons for maintaining a friendship with Draco, and she didn't want to see the looks of pity and we told you so on their faces.
Blaise flipped a page in the paper. "Do you want to -"
"No."
Hermione did not want to hear what Draco had said. She did not want to know what he felt, or what he thought, or what it was like for him. Because no matter how hard it was for him, it was ten thousand times more difficult for her. Having her body invaded like that, her pleas unanswered . . . The moment she'd realized that it wasn't Draco she was speaking to, the moment she'd realized what he planned to do?
It was worse than what she'd endured underneath Bellatrix's wand, and what she'd endured at the Revel combined.
The pressure in her throat was building again.
"I think that it's important that -"
"No, Blaise! Please!" Hermione ground her fists against her eyes as they filled with tears again.
Blaise set the paper down in his lap and she felt his eyes upon her.
"I'm your friend, Hermione. But I'm also his best friend. I don't condone what he did - what his choices led to - but I do know that he had his body taken over, too. What if he had been under the Imperius curse? Would you feel the same way you do now? Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that someone else was pulling the strings?"
Hermione threw her hands up into the air, remaining lying down with her face to the ceiling. "Of course not! But this is different, because we don't know exactly what happened!"
"I know that," Blaise said in a calm tone. "And you have every right to feel the way that you do. I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm just asking you to let me tell you what he said."
"No."
"Hermione," he said with a heavy sigh. Then, she heard him cluck his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "All right. All right. I'm . . . I'm sorry. I just . . . I know this is hard. I shouldn't be making any of it about him. It's not about him."
Hermione lay in stony silence. She echoed his earlier words. "It's a complicated situation."
"It is." He let loose another sigh. "Just try and get some sleep. I'll stay until I hear you snore."
"I don't snore," Hermione scowled. "Draco is the one who . . ."
She trailed off. Even saying his name made her skin crawl. It was like they were kids again. Worse than that. She was going to have to start looking around corridors now. What if he walked up to her and he wasn't himself? What if the creature took over again? She couldn't run from a werewolf or a Veela, and she certainly couldn't duel both. She was a sitting duck to his abilities.
Hermione curled up into a ball, pulling the covers up to her chin as she listened to the occasional rustling of the Prophet in Blaise's hands. She was grateful for him being there. She had known he was her friend, but after this, she felt a stronger connection to him. She held no doubts in her heart that his friendship was true, and with the fact that he was the only person who knew what had happened between her and Draco, she felt like she could trust him.
She understood, too, what he must feel. Hermione was compassionate, and she always had been, so she could tell that it would be difficult to be the one caught in the middle of this. He had clearly chosen to stay by her side, rather than Draco's, and Draco was like a brother to him.
"Blaise?" she said in a small voice.
"Hm?" A page turned.
"Why are you here?"
He was quiet for a while before he finally spoke.
"I love Draco," he said softly. "I do. And I understand that he wasn't in control of himself - that something is seriously wrong with him. But I also care about you, because you're my friend. And after the Revel, not being able to help with that, I feel . . . Helpless. And somewhat responsible. I -"
"Blaise!" Hermione rolled over to face him. "None of this is your fault. You have nothing to do with this."
Blaise grimaced and folded the paper shut. "He's my best mate. I haven't been keeping as close of an eye on him as I should have. If I had, then maybe I could have helped somehow. I did manage to set up a meeting for us with Haggerty Prim at my home during Winter hols. I'm sure Dr - he forgot to mention it."
Not missing the fact that he kept trying not to say Draco's name out of respect for her, Hermione shook her head. "He never said anything."
"Well, maybe his mother hasn't written him back about their schedule yet for the holiday. But yes, Prim is visiting with my father for a month, most uncharacteristically, but it works out for us. We can get some answers."
Hermione sandwiched her hands between her head and the pillow. "So then why -"
"Because I think it's his fault," Blaise said simply, his face schooling into a very blank, Pureblood expression. Hermione hadn't seen that look on his face since Sixth Year, when everyone was on edge. He brushed off his shoulder, as though there were actually lint on his blazer. "I think it all started the night of the Revel, when he bit off more than he could chew. He should have let me come. He should have let me be a part of things."
Hermione frowned. She had caught herself thinking the same quite often, wondering how differently things may have gone had they had the good humor of Blaise mingling with the quick wit of Draco's silver tongue.
A twinge of pain wracked her heart as she thought of her mate, and she felt his emotions knocking at the door. She took several deep breaths and kept her heart firmly closed. She didn't care about the bond right now. She didn't want to feel anything from him.
But if she was being honest with herself, she did want to hear what he had to say. She wanted to hear it so she could hold it in her hands and decide what to do with it. She wanted to have control over something, when it was clear that she'd never had any control with Draco in the first place.
She supposed she should go back to calling him Malfoy now. Because she didn't know him anymore. He wasn't Draco. Something else was inside him.
Hermione didn't know who he was anymore.
Blaise continued, "Even though I have heard both of your sides, even though I understand that it wasn't really him who committed the act, I still blame him and think it's his fault. I see so many places this past month where he could have avoided this happening. He thinks I don't see how much he loathes himself. He thinks I don't know how often he wishes he had died during the Battle of Hogwarts."
Hermione stared at Blaise, at the way his fists were clenching around the Prophet's edges, and she felt her stomach flipping with the sheer magnitude of the words he was speaking. There were angry tears glittering in his eyes.
Malfoy hated himself? Hermione knew he was a bit self-deprecating, but she hadn't realized that it ran as deep as hatred. Hatred enough for him to want to die. She frowned and tried to think back to any sort of sign, anything she may have missed . . .
Hot anger lashed through her. This compassion would be the death of her. She didn't want to care about his pain right now. She barely had enough room in her body for her own pain.
Blaise let out a mirthless laugh. "D'you know I have a vitals trace on him?"
Hermione stifled a gasp as her eyes widened. "What?"
A tear fell down his cheek, which he viciously slapped his hand across to clear his skin of it. "He has no idea. I nonverbally cast it every morning the second I see him. He doesn't realize that I notice. He thinks no one notices. So I cast it on him to make sure he always has someone looking out for him, no matter what. If his heart rate drops below normal by even one beat? I'll be notified. I won't let him . . ."
Hermione watched with emotion stockpiling itself in her aching throat as Blaise's chin began to quaver. He glared off to the side.
"I won't let him punish himself forever for everything that happened before Eighth Year, but I also won't sacrifice my other friend's well-being for his benefit. I'm aware of how dangerous it is for me to be sitting here, not tending to him. I'm aware that I could lose my best mate. But what happened was wrong. Whatever's inside of him wants to have control of him, and because I've been enabling him, it was able to. It's his fault and it's my fault, because we've both dropped the Snitch. I should have paid more attention and Draco should have kept his fangs to himself."
His eyes snapped to hers and when he spoke, she saw his teeth flash.
"That is why I'm here."
Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, realizing that her legs were trembling from the revelations he'd dropped, and from the realization that what had happened - this situation - might be enough to send Malfoy over the edge. She felt worry beginning to rake its claws across her heart, threatening to tear down the iron-clad walls she'd put up against the mate bond.
She wanted to go to him. To talk to him, to comfort him, to . . .
Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she curled in tighter on herself and fought the bond. It wasn't her bond. It wasn't theirs. It was the creature's. Her Draco was gone, and when she closed her eyes, all she saw was the crimson-red irises of a demon.
After a while of silence, during which Blaise regained control of his emotions, he finally announced his departure.
"I should go to sleep," he said wearily. "Will you be all right?"
Hermione, who was finally a bit drowsy, nodded. She had a lot to think about, but she did want to try and sleep.
Blaise leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her cheek and then he turned to go. Hermione watched him walk until his hand was on the doorknob, and then she couldn't help it. She blurted her question out quickly, before she could yank the words back and lock them up inside of her.
"What did he say?"
He paused and then turned his head towards her. When he spoke, he sounded sad.
"He said that whatever it was had a name. It had sentience, and it was powerful enough to trap his consciousness in a box of some sort. Some kind of . . . Magical prison. If it weren't for his wolf, he never would have gotten out. But he tried, 'Mione. He really did try."
With that, he left. The moment the door closed, Hermione scrambled to grab her wand off of the bedside table. She set a series of locking charms on it, and then she promptly turned and set the same locking charms on her window. It was just like Seventh Year when they were hunting the Horcruxes, only this time, she was protecting herself from someone that she didn't see as the enemy. Someone that she cared about. Someone that she . . .
Hermione fell onto her side with a gut-wrenching sob and cried herself into catatonia.
O
Hermione spent the next morning avoiding the Great Hall, sleeping in until the knocking at her door awoke her. She woke suddenly, staring at the door in fear until she heard the voice on the other side.
"Hermione? It's Luna. I didn't see you last evening . . ."
Hermione threw the covers aside and went to the door with her wand. She nixed the charms and opened the door slowly. Her eyes slid past Luna to look behind her, just in case, and then she put on a false smile so her best friend wouldn't see her shame written all over her face.
"Sorry," she said, "I wasn't feeling too well, so I went to bed early."
"Oh," Luna said, cocking her head to the side with a bit of a pout. "Do you need to go to the Infirmary?"
"No, I don't," Hermione said. "I'm all right now. Just needed some rest. Rainy days make me tired."
Luna looked behind her, out the rain-decorated window panes, and gave her a melodic giggle. "Yeah, me too."
Hermione did genuinely smile at that. "That is true. Now, I'm sure I'll miss breakfast, but we can walk to class together?"
Luna shook her head. "Actually, I came to tell you I got special permission from Headmistress McGonagall to spend first period decorating for the Christmas Party tomorrow. Are you feeling up to it still?"
Hermione nodded. "I signed up, didn't I? Let me just get ready, and I'll meet you down there!"
Luna left to go back down the stairs, and then Hermione immediately put the locking charms back onto her door. She trusted Luna, of course, but what if Malfoy's creature came back and wanted her again? She didn't want to be in the shower when she was attacked. She cast a security alarm ward, and then she went to shower.
Gingerly, Hermione washed her bruised skin, wincing when the cloth touched the soreness of her womanhood. She fought back tears at the sight of the fingerprints on her hips. She whimpered at the tenderness of her throat where he'd strangled her. Her head ached where he'd pulled her hair as she massaged shampoo into the short curls. She wept quietly as she remembered her own pleas for the creature to stop, for Draco to help, and cried into her hands as she washed her face. She'd been trying to get him to come back out from wherever the creature had trapped him, had hoped that her voice would appeal to his wolf, but it hadn't been enough. She felt weak and helpless and nothing at all like the Hermione Granger she used to be.
She pulled her emotions back into her heart and tried her best to put a lid on them for the time being. She wanted no one else to know what had happened. There were so many things that could go wrong if anyone in authority found out. As much as she was hurt and traumatized and destroyed by what happened, on a base level, it really wasn't Malfoy who had done it to her. It was the entity. It would be as unfair to throw an innocent into Azkaban for it as it was that it had happened to her in the first place. No, she would deal with this on her own, and she would decide when or if she could work things out with Malfoy.
As of right now, she wanted nothing to do with him for at least the entire day. She didn't know if she even wanted to go to Denmark with him, but with the news of Haggerty Prim being available, she was too intrigued to skive off the trip. That, and Narcissa had a right to know what was happening to her son.
Hermione threw on trousers and an oversized jumper, marveling at how warm it was in the castle, but reluctant to wear anything that showed skin. She cast a quick cooling charm on herself, thinking it may just be a too-hot schower, and then headed down to the common room with damp hair.
"There you are," Luna said in a chipper tone. "How about you start with the mantle, and I'll hang the mistletoe? It's best if I do it, since the Nargles are accustomed to me in the castle. They like to nip at your earlobes if they don't recognize you."
Hermione nodded, hoping she didn't look like she was too flushed, and then she shot a wary look to the empty fireplace. Why did it feel like the fire was on?
"How are things going with Draco Malfoy?" Luna asked as she set mistletoe to dangle and hover in the air from sparkling light strings.
Hermione started at the name, pushing back her automatic urge to cry.
"They're fine," she lied, her smile tight.
"Fine? How about with the vials I gave you? How are things going with that?'
Hermione remembered their conversation in the Library, remembered how Luna had expressed wanting to taste Hermione's blood. She assumed it wasn't exactly necessary anymore, seeing as she knew now by the magic in her mate bond that Malfoy was both a werewolf and a Veela. It was strange, though, now that she thought about it: why hadn't Malfoy seemed to need Hermione's blood in awhile?
"They're going fine," she said, a bit absentminded as she decorated the mantle with an extravagant setup of Santa and elf themed trinkets. She adorned the whole thing with twinkling lights. She looked over her shoulder at Luna to see if she looked like she suspected anything, and flushed when she caught her looking right back at her.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Luna tilted her head curiously, her wand busy levitating a series of glowing red poinsettias over to decorate the windowsills. "You look a bit pale."
"I'm quite well. It's just warm in here, innit?" Hermione said, flashing her a quick smile as she used her own wand to conjure up the biggest Christmas tree that she could manage to fit into the room. It reared up to the high ceilings, almost as big as the ones she saw in Muggle London, and she decorated it with ornaments that shone and sparkled, danced and twirled, sprinkling glitter like a rainstorm down to disappear and reappear at the top all over again.
"Hermione, that's lovely!" Luna gushed, not answering her earlier question. She clapped her hands. "It just needs one last thing!"
Hermione watched as Luna pointed her wand at the top of the tree and spoke another conjuring spell. She was unsurprised to see a stuffed kneazle appear at the top.
"It's mine, from home," Luna said with a bright smile. "We put it up every year."
"Well, I think it's excellent," Hermione said, reaching out to pat Luna's shoulder.
They fell into a comfortable silence, their wands twirling about as they hung flowers, ivy boughs, wreaths, and lights. Hermione focused on the task, hoping that if she made the common room look as festive as possible, then it would help her cope with the mounting feelings of anxiety that were growing within her. Luna pranced about, obviously having the time of her life, humming some strange song under her breath that when Hermione asked, she explained was called Randellian's Christmas Hymn. Hermione hadn't any clue what that meant, but she loved Luna all the more for it. She almost felt guilty about hiding what had happened from her.
The stairs were right behind her. Was Malfoy in his room? Would he come down for classes, even after everything? What if he snuck up behind her, and the entity was in control of him? She hated being so terrified, especially while doing something as happy-making as decorating the common room for a Christmas party, but what else could she do? The last thing she wanted was for it to happen again.
By the time they were done, the common room looked like Christmas had shown up and vomited all over everything. Snow and glitter was everywhere, and it smelled strongly of gingerbread and apple cinnamon. Everything was red, green, and gold, and Hermione couldn't help but smile. She wondered what her parents did for Christmas now, and she hoped they still put an angel at the top of the tree like she always remembered.
"Hermione! Luna!"
The suddenness of the male voice caused Hermione to nearly leap three feet in the air. She whirled around with her wand already in hand, eyes wild as she caught sight of Dean Thomas skidding to a halt in front of them. He had an iPhone in one hand and a black object in the other. He gave Hermione a strange look before he grinned.
"I'm the one who signed up to provide the entertainment," he said brightly, "and I was able to get Seamus's speaker for tonight!"
"Oh, that's great!" Luna said, her smile lighting up the room even further. "What is a speaker?"
"It's a device for playing music from other electronic devices," Hermione explained, and then turned to Dean. "That should be loud enough for the whole room with a sonorous charm. Unless you wanted to do an engorgio?"
"Oh, I'm going to use sonorous," Dean explained, holding the speaker out to Luna so that she could inspect it. "It's battery-operated, too, and he's got plenty of batteries."
Hermione nodded in approval, listening faintly while Dean explained what batteries were to a fascinated Luna. The castle didn't have electricity, and all the lights were operated by magic, so batteries were a must. She took a deep breath, willing her wildly-beating heart to still itself. She needed to force herself to be calmer in these situations, or she was going to end up accidentally telling everyone what had happened through a random scream or panic attack. Under no circumstances could anyone know. She felt ashamed of herself for not trying harder to either communicate better with Malfoy, and for not trying to find him a different mate if he was so worried about her blood. He'd said that wasn't it, but it was difficult to think that now that a creature had literally hijacked his mind and forced him into it. What if the reason he'd cried was because she was a Muggle-born, not because he was actually -
Her heart couldn't take it. That was absurd. She knew it was absurd as she was thinking it. As the thoughts crossed her mind, her insecurity took her by surprise and lowered her walls just a tad to the bond. The confusion, then relief, then horror that took over her body from Malfoy nearly sent her to her knees. She hurried to pull the walls back up, even though they were causing her magic immense strain, and she refocused on her friends.
"Draco told me in class the other day that you sing, Hermione?" Dean said.
Hermione stared at him, a roaring sound in her ears at the sound of Malfoy's name. Then, she blinked. It sounded foreign, hearing that he'd spoken to Dean and told him something about her.
"Wh-What?" she stammered.
"Yeah, we got partnered in class, and we just got to talking." Dean shrugged and the smile he gave her was hopeful. As though he were looking for her approval.
Too bad it was too late, and the need for approval regarding her something with Draco Malfoy was now moot.
"I see," she said, recovering quickly with a grin. "What of it?"
"Can you sing for the party tomorrow night?" His eyebrows raised emphatically. "I know it might be kind-of nerve wracking, but it would be really fun."
Hermione opened her mouth, thinking about it. She did love to sing, but the only time she'd sung aloud was at the Revel. It wasn't exactly the fondest memories. And with what happened in the Library, she wasn't sure she could face an entire room full of fifty-odd students and sing when she'd been crying since yesterday. She was a Gryffindor, and she knew she was supposed to be brave, but it was hard to be brave when she felt like all she wanted to do was sink into her bed and hide until the year was over.
She knew she couldn't do that, though. Not when there were things to be done and dealt with. Greyback was an issue, and if Malfoy really was being controlled by an entity, that entity would need to be expelled. Regardless of what had happened to her as a result, Malfoy was still a magical creature, and magical creatures had no one to look out for them but Hermione.
And perhaps singing would be a good distraction. She really did love it, and if she knew anything about happiness, joy was always found doing the things you loved. It wouldn't fix anything, and it certainly wouldn't erase what had happened, but it could help her bear the rest of that particular day.
"Let me see what you have." Hermione held a hand out for the phone. There was no Internet, so she'd have to see if she knew any of the songs in his music library. She scrolled up and down and then settled on Ariana Grande. "I can do it."
"Really?" Dean was grinning madly.
Luna said, "Wonderful, Hermione! I think you singing a Muggle song can be symbolic, too, and maybe we can talk a little bit about togetherness at the party?"
Dean and Hermione exchanged glances. With Pureblood witches and wizards who were likely still licking their wounds from choosing the wrong side in the war?
"Maybe we can skip the speech," Dean said, throwing an arm around Luna's shoulders. Hermione saw her stiffen and her nostrils flare and she tried not to grimace. Ron as her source or not, Luna was still a vampire and as far as Hermione knew, Dean was still a human.
"Yes," Hermione said. "It's best to let the music speak for itself, yeah?"
Luna smiled and gave a nod. "Yes, you're right. Well, then as long as everyone else has stayed on top of what they signed up for, then our part is done! What do you think, Dean?"
Dean put his hands on his hips and looked around, his grin getting impossibly wider. "I think it looks fantastic! All it needs is one more thing."
Hermione and Luna watched with faint smiles as Dean held his wand straight up and cast a charm on the ceiling. Snow began to fall, melting into nothingness before it hit the ground, and fading against the backdrop of their skin the moment it touched them. Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling. She did love snow.
"Perfect," she said.
"Oh, Draco!" Dean said, looking behind Hermione over her shoulder. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
Hermione felt her hackles raise. She didn't want to turn around, but she had to if she was going to escape to her room. Because she had to go back to her dorm, where it was safe. Where she could hide away behind locking charms.
She could feel him. He was frozen on the stairs somewhere, she could feel him. His eyes were gouging holes out at the back of her body, and she was afraid that if she turned around, she would see that they were red. She gulped and tried her best to look calm. She knew that them running into one another was bound to happen, and she was a Gryffindor. Even if the creature was present, she could handle it. She'd made it through being violated by a demon; she could make it through looking Malfoy in the eyes.
As Luna and Dean smiled patiently up at him, Hermione slowly turned until she was facing him directly. Her heart raced and sweat gathered in the cracks of her palms. She felt like there was a smoky haze at the outer edges of her vision. Steeling herself against what she was sure to feel, she lifted her chin and looked him right in the eye.
He looked awful. His skin was pale and almost grey from what she could see above his all-black suit. His eyes were not red, thankfully, but the silver irises were glinting in a way that Hermione found familiar after seeing him cry so much the day before. His platinum blonde hair was a tousled mess about his head, falling into his eyes and Hermione could see that his lips were chapped. Worst of all was the haunted look in his eyes, like he hadn't slept in twenty years.
Malfoy gazed right back at her, and Hermione found that she did not recognize him. This boy was neither Draco nor Malfoy, and neither was it the monster. This person looked unknown to her - like a dead thing that had floated through the ocean to wash up on the beach and wait to be discovered or to rot, whichever came first.
Hermione took another deep breath and then slowly opened her heart and the bond to him. She needed to tell him one thing. One thing, and then she'd close herself off until she was ready to make a different decision. Until she was ready to face him again.
In the awkward silence, his emotions rushed in, a jumble of noise and consternation. They filled her heart to the brim with everything he'd been suffering with, but the loudest one of all was his concern. Was she all right? Was she taking care of herself? Why was her temperature so high? Where were her bruises? Had she gone to the Infirmary? As out of character as it was for Malfoy to ask those things aloud, she now knew that those were the things in his heart - the things she knew he would never say aloud.
Hermione remained resolute against the onslaught. She gathered her wits and formed them into one singular thought, which she pushed outward to travel through the bond.
I do not want anyone to know.
He stared at her for a long moment, face as indifferent as it had been the night of the Revel, and then she felt his affirmation in the form of a warmth inside her heart. Then, as quickly as he'd entered, he retreated through the bond and her heart was ice again. Hermione forced her own mixed, lingering emotions away, and turned back to her friends.
Luna and Dean looked confused and more than a little uncomfortable, and Hermione stretched a smile on her face that she hoped would assuage them.
"Trouble in paradise?" Dean muttered, and Hermione forced herself not to cringe.
Malfoy was a werewolf, amongst other things. He'd hear that.
"Everything is . . ." Hermione trailed off, then allowed her eyes to light up. "I'm going to head up to my room to get my things for my second period class. See you guys later?"
As they answered, Malfoy breezed past, off to Merlin-knows-where, and Hermione nearly fainted at the scent of spearmint as it smacked her full-on in the face. His emotions reared up over the walls of her heart, but did not go over the top. Spearmint dipped in distress, adorned with regret, and wrapped in a promise. It wasn't a loud message, but it was a clear one.
I hate myself. I'm sorry. I'll end him.
Hermione stood there, staring at the portrait as he stepped through it and shot her a scathing glance over his shoulder. It swung shut and Hermione found that she didn't know what made her knees feel weaker: the fact that he hated himself and had felt that way for a lot longer than since just yesterday, or the fact that he had the power to break down her walls the entire time that she'd thought they were iron-clad against him.
It was so hot in the castle.
Casting another quick cooling charm over herself, Hermione bid her good-byes to a thoroughly confused Dean and a curiously-staring Luna, and then she promised to see them in class. She practically ran to her room and leaned against the door once she was inside, half-terrified that Malfoy would double back and rip the door off of its hinges. When he was there, inside of her heart, his emotions peering down at her heart over the top of her walls, she'd known without a shadow of a doubt that she couldn't hide from the mate bond. It wasn't possible, and it never had been.
He was allowing her to hide from him.
Hermione went to her next class in a bit of a daze, her mind whirling. She set aside her trauma, unable to focus on anything other than the revelation that Malfoy was more powerful than he probably should be. She didn't know if it was the magic that made him so, but when she thought back to the past couple of months, she could see it. His ability to go days without drinking blood. His strength of will to fight biology and not mate her, whatever the reason had been. The way he'd challenged Greyback - a werewolf Alpha - multiple times without faltering until several tries later. And now she could see that their bond was not a bond of equals, but a bond where she was the omega to his alpha. He was clearly the one in charge, and that scared her more than anything.
The question was: who did the power come from? Himself? Or the creature?
She barely focused in class, making many mistakes on her classwork that the professor seemed perturbed by, and she went to lunch with a tight stomach. It felt like the temperature was rising in the castle, and she wondered why no one else seemed able to tell that it was sweltering. Sweat was causing her short hair to stick to the back of her neck, and the skin underneath her arms prickled and itched. She found herself casting near-constant cooling charms.
It couldn't be the same problem she was having before they mated . . . Could it?
Lunch was much the same as class had been, with the added awkwardness of dealing with a still-miffed Harry. He made snarky remarks, as was characteristic of him, and Ron's pointed looks seemed to be the only thing that kept him from launching into an all-out tirade. It was clear that the encounter in the corridor had affected Harry quite a bit more than she'd originally thought. She understood that, but her mind was just so full already; she didn't have any room to deal with Harry.
When she got to Advanced Potions, she was unsurprised and very relieved to see that Malfoy had skived off the period. She'd been dreading it since lunch started, not knowing how to feel about what she'd realized about the bond, and not knowing how to be in a room with him without having an anxiety attack.
She sat down at the front, like she always did, and pulled out her parchment and quill for the lecture. A flash of heat washed over her, her skin feeling scratchy, and she groaned to herself. Merlin, why was it so sodding hot in the castle? She cast another cooling charm, but it felt like she was tossing water onto a scorching hot stove burner. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face and she contemplated skiving off class herself. She wanted to fill her bathtub with cold water and leap into it.
Around her, the class began to fill, and it felt like with every body that entered the room, the temperature climbed. Hermione wracked her brain for something, anything that could help. This was worse than the last time, only instead of starting at her womb, it seemed to be creeping its way through her entire body. Every part of her body was bathing in fire. She didn't understand.
If she was in "heat" still, then did that mean that in order to alleviate this torment . . . She had to sleep with him?
Tears sprung to her eyes. She felt like her life was so unfair. She hadn't had any time to process everything, to sort out her emotions so she could make an informed decision about what to do. They were bonded, mated for life, but she knew she still had a choice about what to do with her body. Rather, she'd thought that she had a choice. But if it were true - if she was still in "heat" - then how much of a choice did she have?
This heat in her body, it had to be lupine in nature. Veelas were reptilian, dragon-like creatures according to the illustrations she'd seen in books. The fangs were serpentine. Maybe there was a potion she could take. Perhaps Wolfsbane worked to quell heats in mates, too, even if they were human.
"Hermione, we need to talk."
Harry plopped down in the chair beside hers and faced her.
Hermione turned to look at him, forcing her face to remain calm. She knew she was flushed, but she cast another nonverbal cooling charm on herself in the hopes that it would settle her skin.
"What would you like to talk about?" she bit out. "How you yelled at me in the hallway? Or perhaps how you treated my - my -"
Hermione turned her face away before the tears came. He was her nothing. He was her mate, but they didn't have a something anymore. And no one could know.
"How you treated Malfoy?"
Harry frowned. "Look, I'm sorry that I yelled at you - I didn't mean for us to row. You know I have a bit of a temper. Frankly, I may have taken Ron's leftover temper when he started seeing Luna, but I digress. What I'm trying to say is that I apologize for what happened."
He rested his hand on her arm and Hermione felt her emotions overwhelming her for a second. Harry was her best friend and always had been. If she wanted to tell anyone what happened, it would be him. He would know how to comfort her, he would know what to do.
But she held in the desire. She knew what would happen if she told him. He would go mental, and Malfoy would end up dead. Though judging by how powerful Malfoy was, it would likely be Harry who ended up lifeless on the floor. She couldn't have either of the people she cared about hurting each other.
Because deep down, she knew she did still care about Malfoy. She couldn't turn her feelings off, especially when she knew that he wasn't the one who had raped her. He was the one who had tried to stop. She cared about the man who tried to stop.
She should have let him stop.
"Thank you, Harry," she said, resisting the urge to touch his hand lest he feel how sweaty she was.
Harry nodded and studied her closely for a moment. "Are you all right? You look flushed again."
"I'm fine," Hermione said with a strained smile, and then she faced the front. "It's just warm in the castle."
"Hermione, it's been freezing cold all day!" Harry said, sounding surprised. "I mean, Godric, I'm wearing two jumpers under my robes."
Hermione rolled her eyes and prepared to retort with some lie or another, but the professor began to speak, effectively silencing them both.
Slughorn lectured them for a long time, or at least it felt that way with how in pain Hermione was. She tried to settle her thoughts with her extremely rudimentary knowledge of Occlumency, but it was like setting up a cardboard box and sticking it into a lit fireplace. The heat had already filled her entire body, and was now coalescing at the center of her abdomen. It was growing denser and denser, making it harder for Hermione to think clearly.
Right as the lecture ended, as Slughorn was explaining the directions for their classwork, Hermione felt the sphere of heat drop straight down into the center of her womb. The feeling of it was overwhelming as her entire lower body began to pulse with intense, overbearing need. She forced herself to remain as still as possible, even as the pressure in the apex of her thighs mounted. The pain of it made her feel like she was going to keel over and pass out.
Then, just as she thought she might burst out into tears, her magic and instincts took over. She had no idea where the words came from, or how she knew how to form them, but her heart pushed them out to the nether all the same.
Alpha, please help me. I need you.
The moment she sent the words out, the panic overtook her and she threw her walls back up. She knew it was futile, knew that he'd already heard them. His magic rumbled on the horizon of the bond like a dark, angry storm. It zoomed along the pathway between their magical cores and loomed over her heart like a protective cloud. She heard his voice clearly in her head, quiet and determined.
I will take care of you.