Please remember this is Black Hermione! I am half-Black and need to write characters I can relate to. This story was written to help me heal from my rape and to help me process my feelings and emotions from having Bulimia for 10 years.

I don't care about canon. I'm trying to help myself and help people seek recovery and healing. Don't get so hung up on invisible rules.

ABSOLUTELY NO BODY TALK, WEIGHT TALK, OR SIZE TALK IN THE REVIEWS IS ALLOWED.

TRIGGER WARNING: Degradation kink - with bad etiquette. It's dubious consent. To the max. It also seems super left-field, but it will make sense with further chapters.


Apricity – Chapter Twenty-Eight

"I'm not looking forward to going back to class."

Hermione glanced up from where she was standing at the kitchen sink, taking a drink of water. "So drop out."

Draco, who had just entered the kitchenette with only his pyjama trousers on, couldn't help but laugh. He stood behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. "Come off it. I'm not dropping out of Hogwarts. Besides, I haven't gotten a chance to slam my fist into the center of the Weaselbee's face."

"And you're never gonna get the chance," she said, her tone sharp and edged. She gave him a once-over. "I know he's a prat, but he's—or, he was—my friend. And that does count for something."

"Apparently it counts for protection from your overprotective wizard."

She cleared her throat, looking him up and down once more. "I mean it, Draco. Leave him alone. He's a prat, but he's done nothing unforgivable."

"For you."

"No, he hasn't laid a hand on me, and he left me at a pub. What happened after wasn't his intentions. He really hasn't done anything unforgivable."

Draco gritted his teeth. "For you."

"Draco. Do not. Just leave him alone."

He tightened his hold on her, wishing she could understand that it didn't matter if the weasel hadn't hit her, nor that he left her at the pub without the intent of causing her harm. Draco wished he could tell her that he would do absolutely anything to protect her. At this point, he was completely and utterly hers.

The Weaselbee had built a tower of hatred within Draco's heart that was one wrong move away from toppling over. When it did, Draco feared there would be nothing to stop him from giving the oaf exactly what he deserved.

A short drop and a sudden stop.

"Well anyway, Christmas doesn't last forever," Hermione said, tilting her head to the side to give him access as he dropped fluttering kisses to the side of her throat. "Homework, however, does."

"And Professor Flitwick's droning lectures."

She giggled and set the cup into the sink. Then, as an afterthought, she washed it by hand and set it on the drying rack. "Almost forgot."

"Maybe I should reward you for actually remembering to—"

"Shut up." She whirled in his arms and threw hers around his neck. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her up until she was seated on the counter's edge. "You've already given me plenty of rewards this past week. I don't think I need any more."

Draco smirked and kissed her. "You say that now . . . But tonight, you might be saying something else."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a prat."

"Hey . . ." His brow furrowed. "Did you ever get my Christmas gift?"

"Oh, um . . ." She grimaced. "Yes, I did. It's beautiful. Really stunning, but . . . I was overwhelmed by it. It looks so expensive."

Draco had stolen it via Legilimency, but he didn't want her to know that. By the time they got to a place where they'd need money—if she chose to stay with him—then he'd have access to the family vaults. He could buy her ten thousand necklaces at that point.

"It wasn't as expensive as you think," he said, picking her up by the waist and setting her back down on the floor. Her hands slid to his chest. "I got it for you because I wanted you to have it. Do you not want it?"

"It's not that." She lowered her gaze, and he saw something familiar flickering there. The same expression he'd seen there the night of their Christmas discussion.

Draco pressed his knuckle to the underside of her chin, forcing it upward with a gentle touch. "You deserve nice things. Put it on."

Her lips were slow to pull up at the corners. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

Her eyes twinkled. "Okay. I'll be right back!"

Draco watched as she darted off down the hall towards her dorm room, which she hadn't slept in since they got back from the Sunamuras. They hadn't done more than snog and touch each other since then, but they both seemed to sleep better when they were sharing a bed. Plus, she was so much more carefree and happy in his dream world.

He had noticed that she never invited him into her dreams, but he supposed it didn't much matter. Hermione dreamed in memories like a book open to all of its pages. Meanwhile, Draco dreamed in the peace of ignorance. Escaping to a world all his own. They both were happier there.

It was difficult to wake up sometimes.

Today had been no different. Hermione managed to wake up on time, but Draco had sat on the grass hill and watched the sea for a little bit extra after she'd left.

Hermione skipped back out, the velvet box in one hand. She hopped to a stop in front of him, grinning like they were still asleep.

"Here, help me put it on." She handed the box to him, and then turned around. He watched her hands carefully holding her long curls up to expose her neck.

Draco opened the box.

There, nestled on white satin was a diamond necklace on a dainty white-gold chain. The pendant was shaped like a sparkling star, with four longer tines and four shorter ones crossing over them. The entire thing was encrusted, and there was a larger princess-cut diamond set in the center where all the points of the star met.

It was fitting.

She fingered the pendant. "It's so beautiful. Really. I felt poorly about not putting on. I'm just not used to . . . To gifts like this. To gifts at all."

His fingers lingered after the clasp was closed. Such a beautiful neck. A neck he wanted to kiss for the rest of his life. For eternity.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the base, right at the top of her spine. She cried out and pitched forward, one hand keeping her hair up and the other smacking on the edge of the counter. She shivered, laughing a bit.

"What?" he murmured, his lips brushing the skin he'd just tasted. His fingers splayed on her abdomen above her robes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just . . ." She lowered her voice as though they weren't alone. "That's my spot."

"Mm," he hummed, his eyebrows shooting up. He kissed the back of her neck again, hearing her gasp. "I thought your ear was your spot."

"Not like—like th-there," she whimpered. "Draco . . . There's no time. We have class."

"There's time." He tilted his head and added tongue to the places he was kissing. Her back arched.

"No, there's not. But maybe later."

Reluctantly, he stood up straight. "All right, but I'm holding you to it. And for the record?""

She faced him. The pendant stood out, bright against the ebony of her robes. "What?"

"Witches deserve nice things."

Hermione smiled, and it reached her eyes. "Well, this is a very nice thing. But what about wizards?"

"What about them?"

Her eyebrows rose and she reached up to wrap her hands around his school uniform tie. "Don't they deserve nice things, too?"

His blood began to heat. How could she say they had no time, and then give him the same look she'd given him Christmas night?

"Pack it up, little miss There's-No-Time-We-Have-Class," he growled.

They fell into fits of uncontrollable laughter even as they attempted to kiss. Draco wrapped his arms around her, bending her slightly backward as he tried to kiss her past his chuckling. She giggled into his mouth, their tongues brushing a few times before they pulled away.

"So, are you gonna keep the gift?" he asked, reaching up to comb his messy hair back.

"I wasn't sure," she said, her fingers playing with the diamond pendant. "But I think I am now."

Sure she wanted the gift?

Or sure she wanted him?

He smiled. "I'm glad you like it. Anyway, do you wanna go to Hogsmeade for lunch today? Madam Puddifoot's, or something?"

She tapped her chin. "Yes. That's fine. But I was going to go make an appointment with Professor Trelawney. Because you said that the Sunamuras said we should talk to her. I really liked them, by the way."

"You did?"

She nodded. "I thought they were lovely. So is it okay that I make the appointment first?"

"I have to make changes on my Charms essay, so yeah." He scowled. "Professor Flitwick sent me a notice saying he wants me to come to his classroom at the beginning of lunch and fix some mistakes I made."

"So, I'll go make the appointment while you go to the Charms classroom, and then we can meet in front of the Great Hall at 12:30?"

"All right." He swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous. The thought of having Professor Trelawney confirm what his heart already knew made his palms feel slick. What if the confirmation scared Hermione away? What if it drew them closer? "12:30, then."

She dashed off. Then, before he'd even left the kitchenette, she dashed back and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.


Draco glanced down the hall.

Where the fuck was Hermione? It was already almost 1:00. At this rate, they were gonna be late for lunch.

He wasn't even sure if she was going to eat, but he'd managed to get her to eat at least something every day the past week. Yes, there were times they'd spent apart during that week, but as far as he knew, she hadn't been purging in the common room loo. Now that Winter holiday was over, he wanted to make sure he kept an eye on her for at least one meal per day.

So where was she?

"Hey, mate."

Draco, who had been glancing down the corridor, turned to see Blaise and Theo standing there.

"Hey," he said, casting a wary glance over Theo, who's face was impassive. "You guys late for lunch, too?"

"Yeah, we had mistakes on our holiday coursework for DADA," Blaise said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why are you just standing here?"

Draco carefully avoided Theo's gaze. "I'm waiting for Hermione. We're supposed to go to lunch."

"Oh, we saw her," Theo said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "It was like, a half-hour—forty-five—no, a half-hour ago. She was on her way to—to your guys' common room."

Draco wanted to cringe. It was awkward. There was no way to pretend it wasn't.

Everything had changed between them, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Whether it was jealousy on Theo's part or his own, Draco was certain that Theo felt the same way he did.

They both looked at Blaise.

"What are you . . . ?" He looked perplexed. "Wait, why are you two looking at me? I was with you, Theo."

Draco felt concern coloring his face pale. He rubbed his jaw with his fingers, putting one hand on his hip over his robes, which he'd actually chosen to wear today. "And you're sure she was headed to the common room?"

"That's what she said," Blaise said. "She was running though, so she was in a hurry. Were you supposed to meet her there, or something?"

"Nah," Draco replied, glancing past him. "I was—Shite."

Hermione rounded the corner, her arms crossed over her chest. She still wore her robes, so she hadn't changed. Her gaze was downcast, like she didn't care if she ran into a wall or another person, and her eyes were rimmed in red. The tawny brown skin of her face was splotched with red and her curly hair seemed limper than usual.

"Whoa," Blaise muttered. "She doesn't look too good."

"Move," Draco growled, shoving between Theo and Blaise as he burst forward to get to her.

He sprinted down the corridor, his mind reeling with all sorts of horrible concerns. Nightmare scenarios he'd read about in the books.

Had she purged and seen spots? Had she passed out from electrolyte imbalance and just woken up? Had her heart skipped beats in palpitations? Did she need to be rushed to St. Mungo's?

He skidded to a halt before her, gripping her elbows and bending to look into her eyes. "What happened? Are you all right? Do you need to go to the Infirmary?"

With a sour expression, she shook her head.

"Okay, then what's the matter? Are you just tired, or something?"

She shook her head again, her arms still hugged around herself. When she spoke, her words were halting, her voice small. Draco could see anger flaring in her eyes. "S-Something . . . Something h-happened."

He clenched his teeth, running his hands up to cup her face. He didn't care that he could hear Blaise and Theo's footsteps on the stone as they drew near.

"Okay," he said slowly, his tone gentle as he searched her eyes. "Tell me what happened, and I'll take care of it."

"No. You can't," she said, pulling herself away from him. She looked irritated. "Just—you can't."

"What do you mean, I can't?" His head pulled back on his shoulders. "Why wouldn't I be able . . ."

His words trailed off into nothingness. He knew exactly why he couldn't. He knew why she didn't want him to take care of whatever it was that needed taking care of. His anger swelled, ire becoming fanned into pure rage, and he ran his hands through his hair.

"All right. Okay." He breathed a laugh, glancing over at Blaise as though he knew what the fuck Draco was on about. "What did he do?"

"He didn't—" Her eyes flashed and she glowered at him. "Nothing."

Another laugh. A gust of incredulous air from his chest.

"What did he do, Hermione?"

"Wait a minute." Blaise held his arm out, the side of his hand touching Draco's chest. "What did who do? What's going on?"

Draco saw Hermione's glare falling down to eye level, where she exchanged a strange glance with Theo. Draco witnessed this, his temper bursting like a bombarda spell.

"Oh, so you can tell him whatever's going on with you, but not me?" he snarled.

Theo sighed, turning to face Draco. "Mate, that's not—"

"Don't call me mate," Draco said, baring his teeth. "I don't know what you two have going on, but—"

"It's not like that!" Hermione cried, and then she lowered her voice, glancing at the open doors to the crowded, boisterous Great Hall. "It's not like that. I was just—looking at him. I don't know."

Draco massaged his temples.

"What did Weasley do?!" Draco shouted, his temper rising to the ceiling in an attempt to escape.

"Ron came to the common room," she said, her voice shaking past her heavy sigh. He could tell she'd just gotten done crying. He could tell she was trying not to again. "He came into the common room because he wanted to talk to me about what happened on Christmas."

"Okay." Anger: still rising.

"And I thought he just wanted to apologize, or something. I figured his—I dunno—his mother or brothers talked to him?" She threw a hand into the air, looking off into the distance as she spoke. "But that's not what he was there for."

"Okay, so what was he there for?" Blaise asked, a deep frown creating lines on his face.

"Yeah," Theo added.

"He wanted to talk, and . . ." She stared off to the side. Hard. Her jaw clicked. She was holding something back.

Draco was on the edge of murder. "And . . . ?"

"He kissed me."

No.

Draco turned around and started toward the Great Hall. The Weaselbee was dead. He was absolutely dead. He'd kissed her? Kissed Draco Malfoy's witch? Oh, fuck no. Absolutely not.

Absolutely not.

"Draco!" she shrieked. "I told you to leave him alone! It's okay. Everything is fine! I'm—"

Draco was in front of her in seconds, glaring and stone-faced. Blaise and Theo stepped toward him, Theo wearing a glare of his own. But Draco ignored them. Instead, he grabbed Hermione's chin, locked gazes with her, and let his magic flow through him.

"Legilimens."

The last thing he heard before he sunk into the forefront of her mind without permission was Theo's angry voice snarling his name.


Draco saw Hermione.

She was sitting on the couch, on the end he usually sat on. The Weasel sat on the other. His facial expression was as forlorn as Hermione's was pinched. Draco could tell just by looking at her—she was uncomfortable.

"What do you want, Ronald? You've got some nerve coming here after what you said to me." She gave him a once-over.

"I wanted to apologize, 'Mione," he said, his elbows on his thighs and his fingers intertwined between him. "You were so angry at dinner and your emotions were so out of control that I don't think you really listened to me."

Prat.

Draco saw Hermione give him a revolted look. "My emotions were out of control because you were saying horrible things to me. You hurt my feelings, and that is why I was angry."

The Weaselbee pulled his hands back through his scraggly red hair, hanging his head between them. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I'm such a shite person, but bloody Hell!" He sat up and turned his upper body towards her. "Why can't you ever see anything from my side?"

Fucking prat.

"I do see it from your side. And I don't think there's any excuse."

He glared at her. Draco saw it—the moment his mood shifted. It was like a blackness entered his eyes. Something deep, dark, and full of hatred.

Hermione seemed to see it, too. She scooted as close to the arm of the couch as possible. She glanced over her shoulder. At the portrait. At her robes on the coat rack. Her wand.

"You have to go and make everything about you again, don't you, Hermione? I'm here, giving you a chance to make something not about you for once, and here you go again: making yourself the victim."

"How am I making myself the victim when I am the victim?!" Hermione cried, holding a hand to her chest. "You're the one who's here, in my space, trying to force me to give you a chance to explain why you treat me so horribly. And I don't need to repeat myself—I said what I needed to say to you at Christmas."

"Well, I didn't get to say what I wanted to say."

Hermione jumped to her feet. "You don't get to say what you want to say!"

He rose. "I most certainly do when you're accusing me of doing horrible things like abusing you and acting like me leaving you at the pub was the worst mistake in the world."

Draco wanted to throttle him.

It was the worst mistake in the world.

"Ron," Hermione said, and she clapped her hands to emphasize her next words. "This is the absolute last time we are ever going to speak. You need to leave."

"Oh, so you're just gonna throw away our friendship?"

Hermione sighed. "That's not relevant. I need you to leave right now. Draco is waiting for me, and I need to—"

"Malfoy." The Weasel's eyes narrowed to slits and he took a step toward her. "Why are you bringing him up?"

"I—"

"No, come on. Come on. Let's talk about it. Why did you even invite him?" The volume of his voice rose to a yell. He took another step toward her. "Why would you invite him to our Christmas dinner?"

"Because he's my—" She let out an exasperated scowl. "He's my friend. But you need to leave."

Draco couldn't help but feel pride swirling in his chest. Hermione, putting her foot down and standing up for herself. That was the witch he remembered. The witch he'd seen blooming like a thornless rose on the floor of the Drawing Room.

His soulmate.

"Is this why you're so mad I cheated on you? Because you were already cheating on me?" His eyes blazed. "With him?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but no words came forth. Draco knew she wasn't trying to make it sound like she was, but he was glad she was. Let him think she had. The Weaselbee needed to know that someone better than him—someone who could treat her better—saw her worth.

Even if he hadn't seen it until later.

"I didn't cheat on you. Just leave, Ron."

The Weaselbee frowned and then his face contorted with rage. "But you're with him now, aren't you? That's why you invited him. Because you're going with him. Aren't you? Aren't you?"

He came towards her, so suddenly that she scrambled backward towards the other side of the couch arm. Draco's anger deepened as high as it had risen.

"Ron, you need to leave," Hermione repeated, her voice calm and facial expression showing how angry she was. But Draco knew that meant nothing. He remembered how calm she'd managed to stay in Paris. She'd handled that and she could handle the Weaselbee.

That wasn't a good thing.

"Not until you tell me—why won't you just—Hermione!"

He chased her around the couch. There was terror in her eyes when she came around the front side of the furniture again.

"Ronald, please. You need to leave!"

"Why are you acting like this? We've known each other for years! I'm just trying to talk to you!" The Weasel was as red as a tomato. He was livid.

Hermione moved around the couch again, but as she did, Draco saw it. The unfocused look in her eyes that she always got when she moved too quickly. His heart sank.

She grabbed onto the back of the couch to steady herself, and that was all the time the Weaselbee needed. He was behind her in seconds, grabbing her left arm and yanking her around to face him. She staggered, blinking away her confusion and dizziness, and then he slammed her against the nearby wall.

"Why couldn't you just be normal and be my girlfriend?" the Weaselbee said, and he looked as desperate as he sounded. Hermione looked more terrified than Draco had ever seen her look. "Why'd you have to go and ruin everything with your shite personality?! Why couldn't you just . . . Just . . ."

Fuck.

His gaze had dropped to Hermione's lips.

"Ron." Hermione's voice trembled with barely-contained fear. She placed a hand flat on his chest. "Ron, just leave. Okay? Please just leave."

"Hermione . . ."

It was in his voice.

She blanched, beginning to push against his chest. "Ron, this isn't okay with me. Draco could come back any second, and this just—Ron!" He was leaning down towards her, much like the time Draco woke on the couch from his nap and saw the same thing taking place. She turned her face away, her eyes squeezing shut. Her voice was strained. "Ronald—I don't—mmph!"

The Weaselbee had grabbed her chin in a vicelike grip, forced her head back around, and kissed her. She beat her fists against his chest, but his arms were huge. They caged her in like a sparrow. He was so much bigger than her that it was like raindrops against concrete.

But she was smart.

This time, she had her wand.

Hermione wrenched her lips away from his. "Accio wand!"

Draco managed to set his anger aside long enough to feel triumphant as he watched Hermione hex him until his lips were so big he almost toppled over. He stumbled back from her, eyes wild with his own fear and hands clutched to his continuously-swelling lips. Hermione glared at him, holding her wand pointed directly at him.

"Ron. I told you to get the fuck out of our common room, and I meant it. Leave. Now."

Fuck, she was amazing.

But the Weaselbee was so, so bloody dead.


Hermione shoved Draco backward with all of the strength she possessed.

Draco blinked, taken aback. Blaise was holding her back; Theo stood in front of Draco.

"What is wrong with you?!" she cried. "You can't just use Legilimency on me without my permission! I told you it was fine!"

"Stop, Hermione!" Blaise said, grabbing her wrists and looking down into her eyes with sternness. "I'm not gonna let you hit him. Just calm down."

"Blaise," Draco said, tone reprimanding. Blaise let her go immediately, and she launched herself at Draco. He moved toward her, briefly taking note of the fact that Theo was standing a ways back and keeping his distance. He placed his hand on her shoulder to keep her back. "Hermione, just take a deep breath and chill the fuck out."

Hermione's eyes flashed and she lost complete control. Draco wasn't fast enough. She hauled back and slapped him across the face. The stinging bloomed across his cheek, a vicious reminder that she wasn't well and that she needed serious help.

He saw red, like a crimson wave of ire washing across his faculties. When he spoke, his voice was as quiet as death.

"I toldyou . . . Never again."

"You also told me that my body was mine," she spat. "And then you go and do this."

"I'm trying to protect you!" he yelled, mindless of anyone who might see or hear.

"Stop trying to protect me!" she screamed back. Then, she spun on her foot and started marching back the way she'd come. Her voice wafted back behind her. "Just stop all of it."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the three boys as they stood there, watching her storm off around the corner. Blaise let out a low whistle under his breath. Draco glanced at Theo, wondering what he had to say about all this.

He was glaring at Draco.

"What?" Draco snapped, glaring right back.

"She doesn't need you yelling at her and threatening her," Theo said. "That's not how she deserves to be treated. Whatever happened with Weasley, it's not her fault."

The wave of crimson reared high.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Draco roared, starting towards him. Once again, Blaise was forced to intervene to barricade his way.

"No," Theo said, his expression appearing as though he didn't care if Draco were angry. "You've treated her like rubbish for years now and I don't know what you've done to her, but that didn't look like the way a friend should be treated. You should have asked her permission."

Yes. He was right. Draco should have asked Hermione's permission before he used Legilimency on her.

But that didn't negate their relationship. It didn't negate the things they'd faced, their bond, or the dreams they'd shared. The times they'd laughed together, and the times he'd held her while she cried. The intimate moments spent exploring each other's bodies at a pace she could handle—because he did treat her well—and the times he'd stopped when she froze up this past week. The times he'd talked to her and shown her that she had more to live for than what the world wanted her to think she did.

He shouldn't have used Legilimency, but no one was going to tell him he didn't care about Hermione.

"You don't . . . Know . . . Anything." Draco's fists clenched. "You don't know a damn thing, so shut your mouth before I lose my shite."

Theo came towards him, until the only thing separating them was a very bewildered Blaise.

"I know everything I need to know about you to know you're the worst thing that could ever happen to her," Theo hissed, looking up into Draco's eyes with a vehemence that he hadn't known he held for him. "She's been good and pure and something for her entire life. You just woke up one day this year and decided to stop being nothing."

Draco lunged, but Blaise placed his hands on his chest and shoved him so that he staggered back a ways.

He had never been this angry with his friend before. Even before this, with his suspicions, he hadn't been truly angry with him. But the fact that Theo had absolutely no idea about what Hermione and he had been through together was making his stomach curdle. He wanted to be sick.

To call him nothing?

It hurt because he felt like it was true.

Footsteps clacked towards them. It was Headmistress McGonagall, and she looked perturbed. Her glasses sat on the end of her nose and her robes fluttered out behind her as she bustled over.

"Boys!" she cried. "What on Earth are you doing out here, yelling in the corridor?!"

They said nothing. Blaise rubbed the back of his neck and Theo looked off towards the wall. Draco—who was so agitated and angry he could barely think clearly—just glared down at the Headmistress.

"It is time for lunch," she said, eyes blazing. "You need to either go inside and eat, or go to Hogsmeade to find victuals. If you're not going to eat, go find someplace to study. Someplace quiet. The corridor is not the place to hoot and holler like First Years!"

"Yes, Headmistress," Theo and Blaise said.

Draco gritted his teeth.

"And you, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, her tone clipped. "You are Head Boy. You know better than to act like a hooligan in my school. Thirty points from Slytherin. Each."

Blaise was the only one who groaned. Theo and Draco were too busy glaring at one another.

McGonagall turned in a swirl of black robes and fluttered off back into the Great Hall. When the boys were alone, Draco's mind cleared.

Hermione. They may have had a row, but all this was going to accomplish for her was another skipped meal. That, or she was going to go back to the common room and do something worse.

"Fuck!" Draco cursed, his head tipping back. "Look, I gotta go deal with this. Thank you for staying, Blaise."

"No, seriously—you go!" Blaise said, holding both hands up. "I don't know what you saw, but it's probably pretty bad to get that reaction. We'll see you around."

Draco and Theo exchanged hateful glances, and then he dashed off after Hermione, having already decided what was most important.

The next time he saw Ron Weasley, he was going to beat the fuck out of him on sight.


When Draco got back to the common room, Hermione was taking the tree down.

He closed the portrait behind him, watching as instead of using her wand, she ripped the ornaments off of the branches and dropped them into a box at her feet. He heard shattering noises, light smatterings of glass breaking, and he knew she didn't care that she was breaking them. The curtains on the window were drawn and the lights on the tree twinkled.

It was like she wanted to be reminded of the beauty she was taking apart, right until the very last minute.

Taking a deep breath, he sorted his thoughts. He was angry with her for slapping him. But he also knew why she had slapped him, and he knew why she was acting so erratic right now. She'd just been cornered in her home and forced to kiss her ex-wizard. Someone who had inadvertently caused the worst night of her life. Her mood was intimidating but justified.

He could handle this.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Christmas doesn't last forever," she said, her tone curt. Another ornament broke the moment it disappeared into the box.

He knew what she was doing.

"I meant everything I said to you that night," he said angrily. "Stop trying to push me away."

"I'm not pushing you away," she snapped. "Just leave me alone."

Contradiction.

"Hermione—"

"I said leave me alone!" she shrieked. "You say one thing, then do another. You set the rules and say you're not trying to control me, and then you control me to get me to stop. My body is mine, as long as it's yours, right?"

The argument with Theo had caused the flames of his ire to linger, and now her words fanned them back into an inferno.

"Don't fucking say that to me or about me ever again," he snarled, coming to stand next to the couch. "You know I'm not like that. I've never, ever made you do anything you didn't want to do with your body. Rules aside, you can still break them. I can beg on my hands and knees and you can still do whatever you want."

"Oh, okay," she said, her tone sarcastic as she faced the tree and continued to tear the ornaments off. She tossed several gold and silver orbs over her shoulder into the box. "So, when it comes to fucking me, you're gonna be a gentleman. My body is mine when it comes to your cock. But when it comes to what's locked inside my mind, to what I eat or don't eat, and to whether or not I throw it up, that's your decision."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Excellent." She faced him, her gaze cutting across their shared rage to lock with his. An ornament fell from her hand into the box, where it shattered loudly. "Then you'll be happy to know that in the ten minutes between the time I got back here and the time you finally decided to show up, I ate two huge chocolate bars and threw them up in the loo. My decision, right?"

Draco felt her words lancing through him, stabbing to his core with a hooked, barbed edge and tearing him on the way out. The mental image of her stuffing them down her mouth, frantically scrambling to devour them. Of her falling to her knees before the loo, covered in sick and trembling as she retched.

Did she not understand it was the nightmare he never wanted to come true again? Did she not understand that he feared he would walk in on her, dead on the floor? Did she not understand how deeply he cared for her?

"What the fuck?" he said, his fear warring with his anger. "Isn't the point of all this for you to get better?"

She shot him an incredulous look. "Are you mental? I never said I wanted to get better."

That's right. He'd forgotten.

He wanted her to get better. The point of all "this" was to make his desires come true.

"So, what, you're just gonna purge and purge and purge until you die?"

"You chose to make the rules." Another broken ornament. "You chose to get involved. I didn't ask for you to—"

"To what?" Draco moved closer, until he was in the center of the common room. "To care?"

"No. You—Christ." She whirled in a flurry of curls, looking momentarily taken aback to see him so close. She tilted her head up to maintain eye contact. "I didn't ask for you to start trying to control me. It's my body. If I want to starve it until there's nothing left then I bloody well will!"

"If I wanted to control you, Hermione," he said in a sinister tone, taking another step closer, "then I would."

"You would try and fail." She turned around again, as though she didn't care that he was one foot away from her. Yet another ornament shattered beneath them. "I'll do whatever I want. I bet that makes you so angry, you can't even see straight. Because you're still Draco Malfoy, the wizard who can have whatever he wants at the drop of a sickle. Any control you think you have over me is control I've allowed you to have. Any piece of me you've received is a piece I've given you." Shattered ornament. "So, if you are angry about it, then you can stay angry."

A white-hot lightning bolt of fury rocked his body to the core and he tangled his hands in his hair. This woman. She was pushing him to the edge. To the limit.

"You are the most difficult person to be with, do you know that?" he shouted. "You like to pretend you'll do whatever you want, but you don't even know what you want! And the reason why you let me think I have any bit of fucking control over you is because it lets you pretend you have control over something in your life. Because that's what it's all about, yeah?" He wrapped his hand around her bicep and forced her to turn and face him. He ignored her glare. "Isn't it?"

She remained silent.

"So, yeah. Yeah—I'm right brassed off that I care. I'm fucking livid because I care too much. Sometimes, it gets so exhausting caring about you. I wish I could sit in my dorm room and not care because then I wouldn't have to worry about you all the time. I wouldn't have to worry about who's bothering you and who's hurting you and whether or not you've eaten. Whether you've kept it down. At least then if I didn't care, I wouldn't have to feel guilty about the fact that I want to be the last person you ever have to learn to trust."

"So stop," she hissed.

His thoughts careened off-kilter, set back by the confusion her words caused. "What?"

She took the final step toward him, kicking the box full of broken Christmas ornaments aside with her foot. She looked like she was shrouded in shadows with the lights on the tree being the only source of illumination in the common room. His heart rate sped up when her hand wrapped around his tie and yanked until he bent to her eye level. Her eyes blazed like a forest fire.

"Stop worrying about me. Stop exhausting yourself." She spat the words like a snake's venom and she very slowly, very pointedly shoved his robes off of his body. "Stop feeling guilty. Stop feeling anything at all."

He swore he could hear water rushing past his ears. He swore he couldn't hear anything at all.

Draco's anger and desire churned into a poisonous concoction, bubbling up into his chest, throat, and mouth, and forcing him forward. He tilted his head and slammed his lips against hers, shoving his tongue into her pliant mouth and kissing her with the insatiable hunger of an incubus. And the lust he felt for her was demonic, the way it had crept its way throughout his entire psyche and eclipsed his life with her. He would drown in her if she held him down beneath the surface of the ocean of everything she was.

She existed, and that was enough for him.

Hermione kissed him back, her fingers frantically reaching past his tie to unbutton his vest. She kissed him like she wanted to be devoured. Like she wanted him to take and take and take until there was nothing left for her to hate of herself. Until all that she was belonged to him.

Until she was his.

Draco loosened his tie and ripped it off over his head. The vest came apart, and he shoved it down his arms as she pulled her own robes off. His mind was blank—as white as nothing—as he removed his white button-up.

As he expected, her gaze skated over his tattoos, the look within them intensifying as he leaned in to kiss her again. She strengthened the push of her mouth to his, her own shirt coming unbuttoned. She stood before him in nothing but her skirt, socks, and brassiere, and even though he wanted to stand back to look, his body wouldn't let him.

His blood raced through his veins, singing for her. Begging him to keep going as long as he could until she told him to stop. To drink as much of her in as he could.

The moment he dropped his shirt to the floor, her hands were flat against his chest and she was shoving.

Draco stumbled backward, collapsing onto the center of the couch. The expression on her face bordered on angry as she clambered on top of him and engaged him in a wild, breath-stealing kiss. A kiss that had her fingers running rampant through his hair, all over his head. Chills ran down his spine from every scrape of her fingernails across his scalp.

Hermione ground her hips against him to the cadence of their dancing tongues. Draco's fingers traced along her ribs and down to her lower back. They hesitated, twitching with the desire to touch her the way he wanted to. The white in his mind was starting to bleed with color, anxious tones of bright red that told him they needed to slow down. That she wasn't ready for the person he really was.

But then she reached behind her, grabbed his right hand, and very deliberately placed it on her bottom.

She didn't stop there.

Hermione moved his hand lower and lower, pulling it to disappear beneath the hem of her pleated uniform skirt and up to the back of her knickers. Their lips brushed and his breath stuttered when she undulated her hips in a circle over his.

"Off," she whispered, and then she kissed him again. The same desperation. The same level of need.

Draco hooked his thumb beneath the elastic as his other hand pulled her skirt up out of the way. He pulled her knickers down and somehow, without ever breaking the rhythm of their kiss, she managed to get them off. His pulse pounded.

She'd never had her knickers off like this before.

This was a milestone. It felt like a milestone. The red was filling his mind, warning him it was time to slow down. To handle his anger. To rationalize some things.

But then she unbuckled his belt.

The clinking was loud—so loud in the common room that he couldn't focus on anything else. His blood roared down to his loins, hardening him to the point of pain. She looked down between them and he lifted his hips with her upon him so she could push his trousers and pants down below the swell of his rear.

Okay, now. Now was the time to slow it down. Now was the time to—to—

Hermione leaned forward and started to kiss the side of his neck, right in the spot that made his entire body turn to liquid. She used her tongue and her teeth, pulling moans out of him. He gripped her backside, pulling, not seeming to register that her arousal slicked the underside of his length.

"Do you want me?" Her voice was sweet in his ear.

"Yeah," he groaned, voice rough. "Gods yeah."

She moved forward. The head of him notched at her entrance. He held his breath.

They needed to slow the fuck down. This was bad. This was really bad.

He felt like his faculties were eradicated. He wanted to slam his hips upward and sink into her to the hilt.

Why was she doing this?

She started to sink down, only a bit. Not enough for him to be inside, but enough to make the wrong move if she went too fast. He felt her hands anchoring around the back of his neck, felt her lips closing around his ear. His eyelids fluttered from the pleasurable sensation of it.

"And I can't imagine a forever with you."

Could she imagine it now?

Suddenly, her lips molded to his again, distracting him.

He cupped her head, fingers sunken in her kinky curls as he held her in place and snogged her with erratic strokes of his tongue. His breathy slower, love. Be careful bordered on a whine. His stomach coiled tight—as tight as she felt as he split her apart. It was only a fraction—only the tip—but the danger of it brought him to life.

Circe, she smelled of gardenias.

Crack.

His cheek stung, just like it had earlier. His eyelids snapped open, his old anger flaring anew.

She had slapped him.

"Call me a whore."

Draco jolted. She was starting to sink downward. They needed to stop this. They needed to, but—

"I said call me a whore, Malfoy."

"Whore," he said automatically, unable to tear his eyes off of his cock. One of her hands held her skirt up.

She slapped him again, and then her fingernails dug into the back of his shoulder. "Call me a Mudblood cunt."

"Wh—" He started to protest but she inched down further. Fuck. Fuck. He was technically inside of her. And she was so fucking tight. The weight of his breathing increased.

"Malfoy."

A flare of his anger. His indignation. His past.

It fueled him.

"You fucking Mudblood cunt. You know what the fuck you're doing. You know what you're doing to me. We can't do this like this."

Another inch disappeared.

It was torture. Partially because he wanted to be all the way in. Partially because he knew they needed to stop.

Her head tipped back for a moment, her curls falling away from her shoulders as she reached down to touch herself. The sight was so arousing that his hips bucked upward.

Shite.

Another inch.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Hermione, I'm gonna fuck you," he said, shaking his head over and over. "Do you understand me? If you don't stop now, we are going to fuck on this couch."

"No, you're not and we're not," she said, breathless. "It's just the tip. It's okay."

He wanted to laugh. "No, it is absolutely not just the tip."

"Shut up, or I'll go further."

He reached up to touch her chest, fondling one of her breasts and pulling at the peak over the thin fabric of her brassiere. Her hips twitched forward, and he gritted his teeth.

"Her—"

"No. Call me Granger." Her eyes were closed, her fingers swirling in circles over her clit.

No.

No.

They couldn't do this. Not like this. She hated herself. She hated herself, and that was why she wanted him to say and do this stuff. That was why she wanted him to treat her like this.

He wasn't going to degrade her like that.

But he was very, very angry and very, very turned on.

"Malfoy, did you—"

"Shut up, Granger," he snarled, his hand shooting up to close so tight around her throat that it decapitated her sentence with a tattooed necklace. A squeak escaped her and for a second, she looked scared. "I said we're not doing this like this."

"O-Okay . . ."

"What do you want?" he asked in a rough, gravelly voice, his gaze dropping to her lips and back up again. "You wanna come? Make yourself come then. Come on. Come on, let's go."

The look in her eyes was dark and smoldering as she leaned forward with her knees on the couch. It put her breasts near his face and forced her throat tighter into his palm. The new position nearly caused him to faint from trying to hold himself back. Sweat was beginning to prickle on the back of his neck.

Using her knees, she began infinitesimal movements, rising and falling on the top of his cock as though she were made for it. The slickness of her flesh and the intensity of the nerve endings in his length awarded him with not only the sensations necessary to bring him closer to the precipice, but with the sounds of her high-pitched, breathy moans. Her hair seemed to have gotten frizzier, and he buried his face in it for a second while he fought against his own urges to take control.

He didn't like saying cruel things to her, but there was a tiny piece down in the depths of his spirit that remembered what it felt like to hate her. A tiny piece of him that was so tired of taking care of her when he wished she would take care of herself that wanted to degrade her.

Draco hated that part of himself.

She spoke, her voice barely managing to make itself audible around how hard he was squeezing the sides of her throat.

"Okay say it again, but call me—"

"Shut up, you stupid fucking Mudblood cunt," he snarled. His other hand twisted her hair around the back of his palm and pinned her between it and his other one. Her breath came in short, harsh pants near his ear. "And do what the fuck I just told you to do."

She placed one hand on the back of the couch behind his head, her other moving beneath her skirt. She let out a moan, a needy one, and began to move faster. He felt himself sliding in and out of her body—only a mere few inches of his length—but it was enough.

His toes curled in his shoes and he began to tremble. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to start thrusting.

No.

He couldn't. This was dangerous. They were balancing on the edge of a cliff from which there was no return. He wasn't consummating a possible star bond in the common room with half of their clothes on.

But he was lost to her, to this.

"Fuck, you're so pathetic," he said. "You're the one who said you didn't want this. You're the one who said you didn't want the bond. But here you are, whining like a little bitch. You're desperate for me aren't you?"

"I'm s-so desperate," she moaned. Whimpered. Gasped.

"Tell me how bad you want me, Granger," he growled, his eyes squeezing shut from the effort of staying still as she moved. "Tell me what you fucking want."

"I w-want . . . You to fuck me," she whined.

"Don't get all shy on me now. What was that?"

"I want y-you to f-fuck me, Malfoy."

"Fuck you how?" He pushed her back a bit, enough for him to see as he pulled her skirt up a little higher.

He nearly flipped her onto her back.

His gaze consumed the sight of her bare flesh, the thatch of soft curls between her legs, her fingers glistening and wet against her pearl. Watched the head disappearing in and out of her body as she continued the short rolls of her hips. It was intense. Too intense. He could feel a flush rising up his chest.

"Like a whore," she sobbed, and her fingers swirled faster.

"Like you're mine." He squeezed her throat until her breath rattled. "Like you're all fucking mine."

Her moans were getting louder. More pleading. More strangled. Her hand moved faster, in soft, gentle circles that had her muscles twitching. Her hips rolled, causing her core to slide up and down over the head of his cock and just below. He could barely breathe.

"I'm gonna come," he groaned. "I need you to come first. Please—fuck—I need you to."

Her eyelids fluttered. Her hips ground down, and he slid further inside.

Draco felt his blood heating to an inferno in his loins. His head fell against the back of the couch. He whimpered, feeling the chains he had wrapped around his control starting to fall away. To unravel. To free him.

"I'm so—close—I—" Her voice was so, so fucking sweet when he was strangling her.

"Please, Granger. That's it, that's it—come on my cock." He bit his lower lip to cover his moan when she shivered and convulsed astride him. "Good girl. That's it. Not too far inside."

She let out another strangled cry. A wail. And then she came, her body shuddering as her eyelids fluttered shut. He loosened his hold on her throat and began to stroke his hands up and down her sides, over her rear. He hissed between his teeth as he felt her body contracting around him, tempting him to sink in all the way.

Hermione let out a sigh and stopped moving. Small convulsions made their way through her body in turn, like ripples across the surface of the sea, and she looked into his eyes for a moment. Her brow furrowed and she placed her hands on his shoulders. Slowly, she lowered her lips to kiss him.

But Draco didn't stop. He dug his fingers into the backs of the tops of her thighs, spread her apart, and started to drive his hips upward to pick up where she'd left off. She whimpered, tearing her lips away from his to cry out as he moved.

"Draco, please." She sounded like she was seconds away from crying. "I'm too—it's sensitive."

"Just a little longer for me, sweet girl," he moaned. "I'm almost there. I'm so fucking close."

He kept moving, faster and faster, shallow thrusts that felt like torture for him. His stomach clenched, just like his heart when he looked up and saw her eyes filling with tears. His pace tripped.

"Keep going," she whispered, shaking her head. "Don't stop."

He obliged, watching as her tears began to slip silently down her cheeks. Her mouth fell open. She was limp in his arms, held spread open by his hands as he drove himself in and out, in and out. Gods, he just wanted to be all the way inside. It was the contrast of wanting to be inside and feeling himself getting closer to release that made him whine in his chest.

And as he lifted his head to kiss one of the tears, to taste it on his lower lip, he realized.

He didn't care how much work and effort it took to take care of her. He would do whatever it took to make her happy. He would do anything to see her get better.

"Tell me who you belong to," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her own. He searched her eyes. He was right there. Right on the edge.

Another tear fell.

"You."

He came.

Draco went soaring through the stars, passing galaxies and comets on his way to the center of the universe. He felt the black hole inside of his chest tearing him apart as his orgasm slammed through him, barely managing to lift her up in time to keep his release from getting inside of her. It soaked her skirt and he shuddered as the waves of stardust crashed over him.

He heard her whispering a spell to clean them up, and then she collapsed atop him. He wrapped his arms around her body, allowing his hands to trace up and down her back in soothing motions. Over bones he didn't want to feel and parts of her skin that felt worn and stretched.

His heart wrenched.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "How are you feeling after that?"

She looked away for a second, and then smiled at him. "I'm fine. It felt good and it was what I asked for."

It didn't matter. The aversion of her gaze was answer enough. This encounter was as much of a self-flagellation as her purging. And he did feel used. The consent was dubious. But mostly he just felt sad.

He wished she didn't hate herself so much.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, pressing kisses to the side of her face and along her jaw. "I'm sorry I didn't come back to the common room while he was here. I'm sorry I was too late."

Again.

She didn't say anything. She merely wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed her face beneath his ear. He listened to her breathe while he absentmindedly massaged her thighs and back. He gazed at the tree, half-empty and still glowing from the lights.

It really was true. Christmas didn't—and couldn't—last forever. Hermione was sick. She wasn't well and she needed him. The rules were all well and good, but not if she wasn't ready to follow them. He needed to be more involved.

He didn't want what happened to his mother to happen to her.

Draco couldn't understand why Hermione wanted him to degrade her that way. He couldn't understand why he'd wanted to do it. It terrified him.

What if they were just as bad of a match as she and the Weaselbee?

What if Theo was right?

After they laid there for a little while longer, boneless and relaxed, Draco rubbed her upper arms.

"We've got class. Lunch is way over."

Hermione sighed, but it sounded sad. Forlorn. Too heavy for her to carry.

"I don't want to. I'm too sleepy."

"Okay," he said, his voice soft. "Then we'll just skive off the rest of the day. You wanna smoke?"

". . . Yeah. Okay."

Draco reached between them and zippered his trousers again. After he buckled his belt, he gathered her into his arms. He stood up with a gentle grunt of exertion, smiling at the quiet laugh she let out. He carried her down the hall with his hands hooked under her thighs, leaving behind the clothing they'd shed. Into his dorm room they went.

"Ah, our hovel," she said, sounding exhausted.

"If you think I'd ever be caught dead in a hovel, you've lost your mind."

He set her down on the bed and went to his bedside table to pull the baggie out. He then sat down on the edge of the bed and started packing the paper.

Draco felt strange.

They'd essentially just had sex, hadn't they? They'd flown too close to the sun and melted their wings. They'd crashed into the sea and drowned. He'd let his emotions get the best of him—he'd let her disorder control the moment, and not their own hearts. It was up to him to protect her from himself and, if she couldn't protect herself from her own self-destruction, then he needed to do that, too.

Still, he worried.

Could the bonding magic tell the difference? Was it enough to consummate?

Had they just consummated the last and final level of the bond?

His hand shook as he rolled the joint. He felt nervous. Not because he didn't want to be bonded, but because she might regret it.

He didn't want to lose her.

She crawled to sit beside him, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other foot on the floor. She still wore naught but her brassiere and skirt. Her hair was a tangled mass of curls.

He ran his tongue along the edge of the rolling paper to seal the joint, looking down into her eyes as he did so. When it was sealed, he spoke.

"You know I don't think any of those things about you, right?"

"Which things?" she asked.

"I don't think you're a whore, and I certainly don't think you're a . . . Well, you know."

"I know," she said, her voice wistful. "But I needed to hear them."

He frowned. "You needed to? Or you wanted to?"

She was quiet for a long moment—almost an entire minute. Finally, she lowered her gaze to the carpeted floor.

"I don't know."

They were gonna unpack that later.

Draco nodded. "Did you make the appointment with Trelawney?"

"Yes. She said this Saturday around noon."

So they needed to be careful until they found out whether or not they were even bonded. It was Monday now.

He hoped they hadn't already made a mistake.

Draco smoked and shared it with her, stealing a few tired kisses as he did. He thought it was cute when she kissed him after the smoke passed into her mouth. Especially when she gave him that bleary-eyed smile.

When they were done, the sleepiness hit him full force.

"Fuck. You want your bonnet?" he asked around a yawn, reaching for where she'd dropped it on the floor that morning.

"Hm?" She sounded half-asleep even though she was still sitting up. Her back slouched. "Can you just put it on me?"

He tried his best to put his fingers through her curls and detangle them but the futility was apparent by the look on her face. Instead, he pulled the satin bonnet on over her head to gather them up and protect them while she slept. Her eyes were closed, but her lips curled up the moment his fingers trailed down to cup her cheeks.

"Thank you," she whispered after he kissed her.

"Anything you need, sweet girl," he whispered back.

Then, they laid down in a tangle of limbs and drifted off to see each other in dreams.

He wondered if she was scared of him in more ways than one.