a/n: FFN was acting up on Wednesday giving me error codes :/ A few other people said they were also having this issue. I'm ahead of myself in this fic, so I should never be late on an update because the chapter isn't finished or ready. If I don't post here on an update day, I'm probably having technical difficulties like I did this week. I still posted on AO3 (Archive of Our Own) and will always post there, too, so if you can't find an update here, please check on AO3! I have the same screen name over there. Happy reading!
Chapter Seven: Rooms
The three landed in the foyer of the château.
"You did the right thing. I'm glad you-"
Draco ignored Hermione's words and turned on the spot, landing in his room. He spent the next several hours mending his wounds and smashing the vase against the wall, though after a while, he did it unconsciously by the repetitive flick of his wand.
By dusk, he was over the activity and had resigned to the library on the ground level. He was re-reading his worn-down copy of The Intricacies of Rappaport's Law when he heard a commotion down the hall.
"My Lord, I can assure you they will be dealt with." His father's voice was troubled.
"And I will be the one to do it," Voldemort hissed.
Draco pushed his back against the door. The pounding in his chest reached his ears and his breathing wavered.
"Bring me the girl."
"Of course, my Lord."
He didn't allow himself to panic. In an instant, he twisted his body and found himself standing directly in front of the woman he was looking for. She bumped into him as she walked out of her bathroom in a robe, drying her hair. He muffled her startled scream with a swift hand over her mouth.
Her eyes went wide, but he hushed her. "Shh. He's here."
Beyond the door, he heard his father's footsteps as they approached. Stepping back, Draco flicked his wand at her to replace her robe with jeans and a jumper. The panic in her eyes was clearer than ever.
"Stay calm, it'll be over soon enough," he said, then disappeared on the spot. He was back where he started in the library. He wasn't sure why he did it, but he had to warn her.
Outside the door were crashes of glass against marble. He knew very well how Voldemort released his anger; much like he released his own.
The crashing stopped. "Ahh, there she is. The Golden Girl."
Screaming ripped through the air, sending a chill through Draco's entire body. He steadied himself before opening the door and striding out towards the horrific sound. He followed it into the sitting room.
It was a disaster. The curtains were shredded, the sofas were overturned, and the chandelier was in pieces across the room.
"My Lord," Draco greeted with a face carved of stone.
Hermione's screams stopped, but she writhed on the floor in front of Voldemort and his father. The scene brought him back to months prior when the same girl had suffered on the cold, hard floor of the Manor at the hand of his aunt.
"Draco, so happy you could join us," Voldemort said. His mouth warped into a wicked smile. "Tell me, how did it go at the Janviers'?" He slashed his wand through the air again and the screaming resumed for several long moments.
"My Lord, I apologize. We gave our best efforts, but the Janviers were adamant in their refusal to listen to reason. Even Granger's persuasions were impressively convincing, but they would not be deterred," Draco said. The image before him was more harrowing than the last time.
His father flexed his hand at his side. "As you know, my Lord, I have given many attempts to persuade the Janviers in your favor, and all-"
"Be quiet, Lucius."
With a slight bow, his father backed away from the action.
"The Janviers' influence in this country is reason enough that this should not have deterred you from success in their regards," Voldemort said. He released Hermione from her agony, causing Draco to release a slow breath, straining to conceal his discomfort from the violent man. Voldemort strode around the sofa to come face-to-face with him. "With their position, you know it is impossible to deal with them the way we would prefer."
"Yes, my Lord." Draco swallowed.
"Crucio."
The pain seared through him like a knife splitting through each of his organs. The bones in his body crumbled within him and his head pounded fiercely. The screams left him of their own accord and by the time the spell had ended, he found himself on the floor.
Voldemort's face grew in his sight as he drew closer, leaning over him. "As I must always do, I will clean up your mess."
The ceiling came into view, then disappeared again as his father's features replaced it.
"Get up, Draco. You're fine." His tone was weary, but firm.
The pain was subsiding, so Draco lifted his head and held himself up by his forearms.
"Take care of your Mudblood and clean this place up. You have an important appearance tomorrow and need to look your best. Both of you," Lucius sneered as he stood up straight.
Draco had no response. He hated this. All of it. He hated this man in front of him; the man who had just left. And, in that moment, the one person he was supposed to hate was the only one he couldn't.
His father left the room and a moment later, Draco heard the swish of the fireplace. He pulled himself to his feet and made his way to Hermione. She was pale and slightly blue.
"Granger," he said, and knelt beside her. Her hands were cold as ice. "Granger, can you hear me? Can you get up?" She stirred, but barely moved.
Draco was unsure of what to do. He squeezed one arm under her torso and the other below her knees. He picked her up and held her body close as he made his way across the room and out the door. Apparition was out of the question considering what they both had just been through. He moved with haste, skipping a step at a time up the stairs and rushing down the hall until he approached her room. With a kick at the slightly ajar door, he entered and placed her on the bed.
The whole time he had held her, she felt light and empty. "Lottie," he called, and the elf appeared before him. "Please bring Gra- Hermione pasta with grilled chicken, mushrooms, and…onions."
"Right away, sir!" Lottie was gone with the snap of her fingers.
Draco stood next to the bed where she laid, clearly in a daze. "Granger," he said to her, but she didn't move. He pulled out his wand and gave it a few swishes, transforming her clothes into nightwear and ensuring she was under the blankets.
As he brushed a hand down the side of her face, her head tilted towards it. She no longer looked pained. Her features were settled into a state of peace; golden in the light of the lowering sun. He looked at her, his mind spinning over everything that had happened.
A pop sliced through his thoughts.
"I have the dish, sir!" Lottie squeaked.
Draco turned to the elf and struggled to hide the frustration within him. "Great," he said through gritted teeth, then breathed a heavy sigh. "Tend to her."
"Of course, sir!"
Draco fled the space as Lottie started her care for the witch. He couldn't go to his room; wasn't done with the day despite the dwindling hours of it.
With little patience left, he Apparated to the rear grounds, where fields of green were turning to black as the sun disappeared in the horizon. He summoned the old Comet 290 he had left in the château. All throughout the night, he rode the deficient broom until the morning rays broke through the trees. He landed, taking refuge under his favourite childhood tree.
After a couple hours in the forest, he headed back inside and took a much-needed shower. He let the steamy water run down his body, soothing the residual pain from the previous day.
He retreated to his room and discarded his towel on the floor, downing a Dreamless Sleep potion and throwing himself under the covers of his bed. There were no meetings for the day. No spewing of propaganda or sickening lies he had been forced to spread in the name of a tyrant. Granted, he had supported the evil man in the beginning. But, after all he had seen over the past two years, after all the unjustified murders and unwarranted pain that had been inflicted on anyone deemed inferior, he couldn't quite muster the endorsement that was expected of him. Not to mention that he had believed for so long that to be pure of blood was to be superior. But, that conviction had been tested in recent months.
A knock at his door jolted Draco awake.
"Twenty minutes to leave!" Lottie's voice carried into the room.
He had no idea how long he had slept for, but if the yellowish hue of his room gave any indication, it was nearly evening. It had been nearly a whole day since Voldemort and his father had visited.
He yawned and quickly prepared himself for the night with a few swishes of his wand. When he landed in the foyer, he saw Hermione uncharacteristically waiting for him near the fireplace down the hall. He was taken aback by the sight of her. She wore an elegant silk dress in deep purple and looked fully renewed.
"Happy birthday," she greeted with a small smile.
He tilted his head to her in response. He had truly forgotten about his birthday. The world was so different than it had been for many years. Before, his special day had been celebrated over nearly the whole month of June. His parents threw lavish parties and he never went without at least fifty presents. But, ever since his sixth year at Hogwarts, his birthday had been the last thing on his mind, and evidently the last on his father's mind, as well. His mother had been sure to give him a beautiful cake the previous year, though the focus of the household remained on Voldemort's continued efforts. The year before that, he had been only two months away from receiving the Dark Mark, which was all the conversation his father would entertain. This year, he was stuck in a fraudulent marriage with the pressure of winning over Voldemort's most fervent objectors.
"How are you feeling?" he asked stoically.
Hermione looked surprised, but the corners of her mouth moved into a weak shrug of a smile. "I'm alright now. And you?"
He waved the question off. "Built up a high tolerance."
She raised her eyebrows in understanding. "Well, ready?" she said, then held a hand out to him.
He nodded and met his hand to hers, entering the fireplace with her.
"Surprise!" A room full of people smiled at him and burst into a birthday song.
They had emerged into an underground nightclub he had been to only once before. It was called Maison des Méchants; below the Muggle club, Raspoutine, and a few blocks from the Arc de Triomphe, if he remembered correctly. The atmosphere was dark and glowy by the lights hitting the maroon velvet that covered the furniture and floors of the room.
He plastered a smile on his face as Hermione's hand released his and dragged up and down the middle of his back sweetly. A glass of Firewhisky was flown into his hand, and one was flown into Hermione's.
"Draco! Happy birthday!"
"Eighteen, buddy!"
A cluster of former Slytherins, members of the Ombrelune House at Beauxbatons - whom Draco had befriended over the years - and a variety of other wizarding elite, were greeting him with birthday wishes when the song ended. People scattered to mingle, dance, and drink, several stopping to pat him on the back or shake his hand.
"Great to see you, Malfoy," Theodore Nott said with a broad smile as he approached and extended a hand to him.
Draco met his hand in a firm grip. "Likewise, Theo. It's been too long. How is your father doing? I understand he's been working closely with the press these days." He walked with his old friend over to a table and sat on the bench that spanned the whole wall, Hermione taking her seat next to him and continuing her stroking movements. Theo sat in a chair across from them and flickered his eyes to where Hermione sat. She smiled brightly at him, playing the doting, loving wife well.
"Yes, he has been on a particularly high-level assignment recently," Theo said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.
Draco knew that his father was the lead D. E. in charge of influencing the papers, and that he had recently been assigned to manufacture the story behind his and Hermione's supposed love while working with Rita Skeeter. The man was an absolute tool, but his son wasn't so bad.
"Well, that's wonderful news, then." Draco sipped his drink. "Are you here with anyone tonight?"
"No, I have not had as much luck with the ladies as you have." His wink didn't go unnoticed.
Draco smirked back at him. "How unfortunate."
"I heard about your…" Theo leaned in, "interaction with the Janviers. Are you alright?"
The hand running up and down Draco's back stilled. His expression dropped. "How could you possibly already know about that?"
"Come on now, Draco. Didn't you see the evening Prophet or any of the other papers?" Theo leaned back and raised his glass to him before taking a sip. "Quite the harrowing experience you had, I must say." He summoned a copy of the French wizarding paper, La Voix du Sorcier, from the bar, and handed it to Draco.
DRACO ET HERMIONE MALFOY ATTAQUÉS PAR LES JANVIERS AU CHÂTEAU DE CHAMBORD
"'Attacked by the Janviers,' Draco read. He looked up to his friend. "Your father did this?"
"The Janviers contacted Porter Payet at La Voix right after it happened, but what they didn't know is that he's been working with my father, who went straight to our Lord after the reporter Floo'd him," Theo said in a low voice. "They reworked the story completely; even slandered the Janvier name. You should read the article. Take this copy. I'll send a Prophet to your room, too."
Draco nodded, folded the paper, and tucked it into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. Beside him, Hermione had crossed her legs and leaned against his shoulder as she listened.
"For the most part, the public has believed it all, and I hear the Janviers are even getting death threats. I have been helping Travers track public perception since the beginning. You two are really winning people over. It's just as planned, really, but to see it happening, it's something else. Especially considering what she is-" he stopped himself.
Draco glanced at Hermione and saw the dissatisfaction, though she clearly tried to restrain herself from sending a retort. He fixed his eyes back on Theo. "Do try not to be rude, Nott. You'll ruin the party." He lifted his glass to his lips and took a long sip with his eyebrows raised.
"Yeah, yeah." Theo rolled his eyes.
"Oi! Malfoy!"
A group of already drunk partiers stumbled to the table. The call had come from an older man with broad shoulders and a sunken face whom Draco recognized to be Davet Dumont. He came from a well-known French pure-blood family who were all fierce supporters of Lord Voldemort. Draco had met the man several times, though he was nearly thirty and spent most of his time working on dark potions and hitting on girls ten years his junior.
"Why don't you introduce us to the new wife?" Davet slurred.
"Gladly," Draco said. He stood and gracefully helped Hermione to her feet, stepping out from behind the table. "Boys, this is Hermione Malfoy," he gestured to her, then introduced the men in the group. "Hermione, this is Davet, Françoise, Jacques, and you remember Marcus and Graham, right?"
She seemed to hide a purse of her lips. "Yes, I remember. Hello. Bonjour," she said to the men coolly as she drummed her fingers on his back.
"So, tell us, mate. What's this all about, really?" Graham Montague said, failing to keep his voice at a level appropriate for indoors. His drink sloshed on the velvet carpet. "What's she really do for you?" his face twisted into a nasty smirk and the group snickered around him.
Draco clenched his teeth. There were only a few people who knew about the true nature of his and Hermione's arrangement, including the Nott men, Blaise, and Pansy. He assumed Gregory Goyle would guess that it was all a sham, though he hadn't seen him since they lost Crabbe in the Fiendfyre. But, regardless of who knew the truth, these dimwits should have been wise enough not to question him, especially with his higher place in Voldemort's ranks. The only one here who rivaled Draco in that regard was Theo, and he knew never to argue against anything Lord Voldemort had decreed.
Draco dropped Hermione's hand and closed the distance between himself and Montague, keeping his voice deep and dark. "You will bite your tongue on anything you wish to say about my wife or I will have Nagini do it for you. Is that understood?"
Montague sneered, but nodded his head curtly and backed away.
"Woah, calm down there, Malfoy!" said Marcus Flint.
"I zink I speak for everyone when I say we were surprised about zis whole situation. Your Slytherin friends 'ere say zey never once saw you two togezer," Jacques said.
"Well, that was the point, wasn't it." Draco's tone was crisp. It wasn't a question.
"Alright, alright, boys, that's enough of us for now. Don't want to anger the man too much on his special day, do we?" Davet said as he shoved his way over to Draco. The man clapped his hand on Draco's back and raised his glass high. "To Draco!" he bellowed.
The whole room echoed in response, "To Draco!" and downed their drinks.
"To Draco."
He looked to Hermione at her delayed response and caught sight of her faint smile. She held her glass of Firewhisky up to him. Without a second thought, he met his glass to hers and the crystal clinked, then they downed their drinks as the rest of the room had. His eyes stayed locked to hers as he swallowed the gold liquid.
Shifting the focus back to the crowd, he saw that the gang before them had dispersed, and Theo had made his way to the bar where he sat in conversation with a flirty blonde bartender.
Draco mingled with the various attendees, most of whom he had no interest in conversing with. Hermione played her part well; she did excel in nearly everything, so he couldn't be too surprised. After half an hour, he led her to a spot in the open area of the room where people were dancing to the upbeat music.
He leaned against a pillar as she rested her knee against his and sipped at her drink. They stood quietly for a few minutes, and as the time passed, Draco found himself following the sway of her shoulders to the rhythm. Back and forth, the movements hypnotised him until his body left the wall and floated towards hers. He didn't think. He couldn't.
Transfixing his eyes on hers, the surrounding area dissolved into a reddish swirl in his peripheral vision until they were left completely alone. It was like he really saw her for the first time. Bloody hell, she was beautiful. Perfect. There, behind the flecks of gold and amber in her irises, was a longing he had never seen from her before, and he couldn't help but act. He closed the distance between them and slid a hand across her side, resting it on the small of her back. The other twisted itself behind her neck and weaved through her hair, then glided down her shoulder blades as he pulled her close to his chest. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fiery scent of the alcohol heavy in their shared air. She had run her palms up his chest, past his collarbone, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The pull was tight with need. It forced his head lower until he buried his nose into the curve of her neck. He was intoxicated, and not from the Firewhisky. He let himself sink into her further; as far as he could as they swayed together in the embrace.
She squeezed against him and tilted her lips to his ear. "Mmm," she breathed.
The vibration melted any reserve left in him. "'Mione," he whispered. "No holding back, right?"
"Number four," she sighed as she dropped her fingers to rest on his abdomen.
Merlin. His hands moved to her face and splayed over her jaw, fingers grazing her ears as he leaned in to connect their lips.
Just as they were about to, a voice jolted him out of his haze and the room spun back into near clarity. "Come with me. Now!" Theo had a grip on his arm and pulled him towards the entrance, Hermione in tow.
Draco was shocked to see the state of the room. Couples all around were completely lost in each other surrounded by a faint pink smoke lingering in the dance area. They swayed and kissed and touched far too much for a public space.
"What's going on?" he asked his friend as they exited through a door into a parlour.
"Someone released a Lovebomb," Theo said.
"A Lov-"
"It's like a Dungbomb, but it's filled with a love potion," Hermione interjected.
Theo glanced at her. "Exactly. Let's just give it a few minutes and it should be clear-"
"No, we're leaving." Draco ushered Hermione towards a staircase in the corner.
"You don't need to go, mate. There's still presents and a cake-"
"No. I'm done. We're done." Draco said, but before he climbed the stairs, he turned back. "Thanks." He was grateful that Theo had rescued him from the dance floor, but he didn't care to re-join anyone else in there. They weren't his friends.
Draco ascended the stairs with Hermione in tow. Once they reached the top, he pushed open a door and exited into the street, closing it behind Hermione. The door slid back into place in a perfect fit, the edges fusing with the wall surrounding them to carefully conceal its existence.
His hand reached for Hermione's without much thought as they started down the sidewalk, but she pulled it away quickly.
"What?" He stopped, turned to face her and inching closer. "I wouldn't be surprised if we were being followed."
She stepped a foot back. "Draco, don't touch me."
Her words hit him in an unexpected blow, and the furrow of his brows was unavoidable.
"No! I didn't mean-" she hesitated. "I just meant that- Well…the Lovebomb has…intense effects, so we shouldn't touch at all." Her face heated with a flush that rivaled any similar blush he had seen on her before.
He settled his features and nodded, then continued with her down the path, keeping a safe distance.
The thoughts that crossed his mind couldn't be stopped. He wanted nothing more than to slam her against the wall and devour her completely. To run his hands over the curve of her hips; pull her thigh against his as she wrapped her leg around him; and smash his lips against hers. He wanted to tangle his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. The memory of running his fingers through her curls stuck with him. The urge to rip her dress apart seam-to-seam was inexplicable. His eyes shifted to her arse as her pace picked up and she walked slightly in front of him.
"Fuck," he murmured.
"What?" Hermione turned around.
There was nothing he could do. He was utterly immersed in her scent; her body; her everything. He lunged at her and did exactly what he'd imagined doing. Burying his hands in her hair, he pressed her against the wall and connected their lips for the first time alone. She melted into his touch and kissed him back, fervently running her hands all over his body. She clearly couldn't help herself either. They intertwined themselves further and further, rushing through the feelings they had yearned to act on in the past fifteen minutes. He knew that hadn't been much time, but the minutes truly felt like years.
A resounding crack echoed in the area, pulling Draco out of his trance, and the two jumped apart.
"Oh my god," Hermione said. She straightened herself and clapped a hand over her mouth. The embarrassment brightly showed on her face, even in the darkness of the night.
His momentary anger at the sudden noise dissipated, and he instantly felt a burn run up his neck to his cheeks. The effects of the Lovebomb were intense for both of them.
"Come," he said. His voice was tight and sharp.
Hermione followed him as he swiftly made his way down the alley. They could have Apparated, but he didn't want to risk anything. He couldn't let himself touch her, so he walked ahead, refusing to look back, but taking solace in the fact that her footsteps echoed behind his.
Nearly thirty minutes passed without a peep between the two until they reached an archway under a black awning with glass panels.
"Le Royal Monceau, Raffles," Hermione said with question in her tone. "But this is a Muggle hotel."
"Muggles come and go in the main levels, but the highest floors are inaccessible to them. It's witch-owned by Louise Lambert," Draco said. He opened the door to admit her.
As they passed the front desk, Draco flashed a metal key card at the attendant.
"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Malfoy." The dark-haired woman smiled back at him.
He nodded to her and continued down the hall, turning left before the staircase. To his right was a door labeled "Entrer, ceux qui ont le cadeau." Come in, those who have the gift.
He waved the card over the lettering. The door swung open, allowing him inside, with Hermione following just behind. They had entered a narrow room with walls made of white marble. Just as the door shut, the room lifted them up through the building. Draco held onto a rail along the wall and surveyed Hermione, who stood across from him doing the same.
All the feelings that had conquered his mind from the club were distant, though they lingered, prodding at him from within as he looked at her. Once they had reached the highest level, the door opened, admitting them to a suite similar to the one he had stayed in every summer as a child, and several times on holidays. Draco hadn't been back much since his fifth year at Hogwarts, but a room was always made available when the Malfoys arrived.
He walked straight past Hermione to the nearest sofa and laid down, taking up the whole length of it. He closed his eyes and flung his feet up on the armrest.
"Malfoy!"
He snapped his eyes open to see her looking incensed. "Yes?"
"Well, look how nice this sofa is! You really need to take off your shoes if you're going to lay like that!" she said with raised eyebrows and crossed arms.
Any sexual tension that had been between them before had wholly dissipated.
"Actually, I don't need to do anything," he said with a bite in his tone.
She huffed and stalked off through an archway to the left.
Draco glanced at the marble grandfather clock against the wall. 11:30 p.m. The night had gone by in a flash, but at the same time, it felt like ages since he had been at the château. He closed his eyes and laid there, running through the events of the night. Eyes swaying with her movements to the music; the tug of her arms wrapped around his neck; their lips crashing together, bodies pressed against a brick wall.
He pulled himself up from the ivory leather sofa, shook his head, and walked the length of the room to the archway leading to the kitchen, just opposite the one Hermione had entered. This suite was new to him. Though it was just as luxurious as the others he had stayed in, it was far more linear than the rest, creating an odd sense of singularity to the atmosphere.
He flicked his wand to pour himself a drink of Dragon Barrel Brandy from the drink bar, and sipped at it as he leaned against the counter. Once he had downed his glass, he threw it against the wall and revelled in its shatter. With another flick, the glass repaired itself and flew into his hand, just for him to fling it across the kitchen again. He did this several times, enjoying even the slightest bit of control the nasty habit gave him.
"What are you doi- Ah!"
Hermione had entered the kitchen and fell to her knees in a matter of seconds. She stared down at the small pool of blood growing on the floor below her. Several shards of glass stuck out of her knees and down her calves.
Draco didn't think. He couldn't. In a haze nearly mirroring the one he'd been in only a short time before, he scooped the witch up from the ground and carried her swiftly through the archway, across the living room, then under the second arch. Without a thought, he lowered her to the bed as she winced. He hovered his wand over her knees and ran it down to her feet, murmuring "Accios" to remove the shards of glass, "Episkeys" to treat the minor cuts, and "Vulnera Sanenturs" to heal the deeper gashes.
The wounds closed and the blood disappeared, and when it was over, he let out the breath he had been holding in. He slowly backed into an armchair in the corner of the bedroom and sat down, running his hands over his face.
They stayed silent for several minutes. He didn't look at her; didn't want to deal with her rage or questions until he could calm himself down. The feelings that rose within him were a strange mixture of anger and…guilt.
"I'm sorry," he finally said. The sentiment escaped his lips without his consent, but he didn't regret the words.
"It's…thanks," she said. "I'm fine now."
He nodded, his face still in his hands. He pulled them down, dropping the right one and running the fingers of his left hand over his nose. They stopped over his mouth as he looked at her and met the amber eyes he was growing to know too well.
"It's fine, really." She must have seen how his brain was hard at work; his mind turning through the events of the past minutes. Hours. Days.
Hermione braced her arms behind her on the comforter and sat up, examining his work on her body. "Looks good," she said.
He looked her over. "Yes." His voice was barely more than a whisper because what caught his eye wasn't the perfectly healed wounds. Rather, it was the pajama bottoms that had gathered up to her thigh - or, it was possible that he had shoved the fabric there, but nonetheless, he was taken aback. The argyle pattern was unmistakable. She was wearing his Hogwarts pajamas from third year.
"What?" she asked, noticing his stare.
"Nothing." His voice was more defensive than he'd meant it to be. "Where did you find those?"
"These?" She tugged on the fabric of the bottoms. "I don't know. They were just in the bag Lottie packed for me."
Their eyes connected again, but only briefly, because this time, he was up in an instant, striding out of the room.
Fuck. Something had hit him at the sight of her wearing those stupid pants. Fuck, stop it. He hit his palm to his forehead as he passed the living room in a blur. Images of her legs flashed through his mind, sending a twitch of arousal through him. He groaned. Stop. It had to be the effects of the Lovebomb. Right? His imagination ran with the moment until he was picturing the hem of the baggy pants just below his eyeline, gliding them to the floor with his teeth. Stop. Merlin, stop. He needed a distraction.
Glass and blood were still sprayed across the kitchen floor, and he couldn't be more thankful. He took his time cleaning it up, neglecting his wand on purpose. The gore before him was exactly what he needed. He scrubbed until the thoughts were almost as distant as the château.
A while later, he found solace in the leathery cushions of the couch once more. He could hear the minutes ticking by as the clock hands did their job just as well as his insomnia. Every once in a while, he'd hear a sound from within the bedroom: a drawer closing, a zipper opening, a yawn that couldn't be satisfied. After several hours, a steady stream of water ran in the bathroom until little sloshes told him she had entered it. The splashes continued, drowning out the sound of the ticking clock, then the patter of the rain outside, and finally, everything.
He was thrust into a scene he'd never wanted to join again. A slithery voice threatened his life and those of his parents until he shoved his sleeve to the crook of his elbow and recited the dark spell. The agony ripped through his entire body. He screamed and screamed, but it wouldn't stop.
He was lying in his bed in the Manor. A tear dropped from his mother's eye and landed on his cheek. She had kissed his forehead. "Be strong, Draco."
The Dark Mark glistened in the sky. He was running, his breathing unsteady. A shrill laugh echoed all around.
He was in a forest. A flash of a red-haired man ran past in the distance. His mother called out, "Draco, come."
A hand pulled him along. "Come. You're clearly not well."
He was lying in bed.
As the daylight broke through sheer curtains, Draco's eyes blinked open. He had actually slept some after the terror. Thank Merlin. The sweet smell of apples filled his nose, and when he fully took in the sight in front of him, he nearly choked. Hermione was fast asleep, curled towards the middle of the bed only inches from his face.
Draco started to panic. He ran through the entire night, sifting through his memories to find any indication as to how he had ended up in this position. A stumble. Blood. Healing spells. Hands running over his face. Teeth over her body. Merlin. He flipped the covers over and slid out from under them, his feet landing softly on the floor beside the bed. No, they hadn't done anything. He was sure of it. Though he clearly remembered shuffling up close to a warm figure in the night.
He was in pajamas, and before the panic surfaced again from wondering where his wand had gone, he spotted it on the table next to his side- no, the side he had slept on in the bed. He picked it up and quickly made his way into the washroom. Flicking the wand, he cast a Prior Incantato and watched as the echo of a Multicorfors was shown. He slid down the front of the sink and just sat there breathing for several minutes.
She had touched his wand. Used it. She could have killed him right there; could have held him hostage, used him as a bargaining tool. There was so much she could have done to him, but she didn't. She had just found him in whatever dreadful state he'd been in and helped him.
The night had been the best and worst he'd had in a long time. At first, the darkness had swallowed him perfectly into a deep sleep, one he had ironically dreamt of having for over a year. Though with that came the flashbacks to his worst moments in life. He had re-lived them so vividly in that state, but they stopped after a little while and he had somehow drifted into blissful nothingness. He couldn't remember a single thing he had dreamt for the whole rest of the night, and he loved that.
Draco heard a stir from the nearby room. He jumped up and stripped, gliding his way into the shower. The steam soothed him for the next half hour as he took his time under the run of the water, his mind spinning over the events of the previous night.
Next update: December 16, 2020
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