Trigger warning: bad BDSM etiquette, toxicity, and ED content


Apricity – Chapter Thirty-Four

Draco wasn't sure how to deal with this sort of anger.

His head danced with the darkest depths of his imagination, showing him what she must have looked like when she was speaking with Theo. How she must have glared at the thought of Draco's betrayal, and how easily the words must have fallen from her tongue. He couldn't know her exact words, but his insecurities were ample enough to fill in the blanks.

"I can't wait for the day we can reverse this bond. I wouldn't want to spend eternity with him if it was the last thing I did. The fact that he thought any of this was real is what makes me sick—that he thought I could actually be with someone like him. He told a secret that wasn't his to tell. He's not the person I thought he was. I'm not sure I ever really thought he was a person in the first place."

Draco Malfoy, the bully. Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater. Draco Malfoy, the fool who let himself be manipulated by a witch. There was nothing stopping him now from reverting back to the person he used to be.

He was going to remind her who he was.

Draco sat down beside Pansy in Charms, ignoring the scathing look she sent in his direction. He knew that Hermione had taken to sitting there this past couple of weeks, but he didn't care. It was his spot originally, so he was taking it back.

"You know that's—"

"I don't give a flying fuck," he said, voice monotone. "I'm taking it back."

"Okay," Pansy said, stretching out her syllables. "Trouble in paradise?"

"If you can call Hell a paradise."

"Wow. Okay." Pansy turned to face him, lowering her voice. Hermione had just walked in and taken a seat at the very front of the room. "She told me that you told her biggest secret, but that it was forgivable. I thought you just needed time."

Draco's upper lip curled. "That's not what she told her best mate, Theo. Apparently, she thinks I'm a selfish waste of time."

"Well . . . Draco, you are selfish." Pansy rested her chin on the seat of her palm.

"Not with her."

". . . Except that's not what you just said."

"I'm speaking in retrospect."

"Retrospect."

He shot her a sharp look. "Yes, retrospect."

Pansy's eyebrows shot up. "Sounds like this might be a Theo problem."

"Except that she hasn't spoken to me in days."

"How many days?" Pansy asked.

"I dunno. Two. Last time we spoke was Saturday, and it was an argument."

"You are so dramatic." She lowered her voice to a whisper so they could talk without Flitwick hearing them. "Draco. Two days is nothing. I once went a week without replying to Blaise's letter. You two have to be able to exist separately."

"How the fuck are we supposed to exist separately when she doesn't want to exist at all?" he muttered, glaring across the classroom to the wall.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It's not supposed to."

Pansy tsked. "Well, then how am I supposed to help you if it doesn't make sense?"

"I'm not asking for your help. Why would you think I want your help?" He gave her a snide look.

"Because I'm a witch. A girl, Draco!" she hissed, keeping her voice low. "I can talk to her and find out what the bloody Hell is going on."

"I know what the bloody Hell is going on," he said. "And it's my fault."

"So, then why are you being a prat?"

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

Pansy scoffed. "You took her seat."

"She deserved that."

"But you said it's your fault. Why would she deserve her seat being taken away if it's your fault?"

"Because, Parkinson," he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and sliding down into his seat. "What I did wasn't as bad as what I could have done. All the shite we've been through together, and she didn't even give me a chance to make things right."

"Maybe she just needs time. I'm telling you, I will talk to her."

"You will not. I can handle my own business."

Pansy studied him for a long moment, and then she sighed.

"Draco Malfoy, I know you. I know you better than anyone else in this entire school. You're hurt. And when you get hurt, you get mean. Please try not to get mean."

Discomfort rolled down his spine and he slid down further, stretching his legs out. "Pansy Parkinson, pleading for Hermione Granger's life."

"After everything I've done to her, you're damn right I am."

It wasn't until class ended that Draco remembered.

"Especially since I was the last one he was snogging."


Draco went back to the common room after lunch to rest before his next class.

When he got there, the loo door was shut. He hadn't seen Hermione in the Great Hall, so that meant she'd probably stayed in the common room to binge. Judging by the mess of empty packages she'd left in front of the couch, she'd been at it for a while.

For a moment, he felt old concerns rising. Old concerns that he knew he was pretending to forget. He had to fight it. He had to fight the urge to make her tea or soup for when she got done. He had to fight the urge to get her some fruit.

She didn't want him.

She'd used him.

She couldn't wait until he was out of her life.

Draco walked up to the loo door, took out his wand, and aimed it at the door.

"Alohomora."

Click. The door unlocked.

She was there, on her knees before the loo, with sick rolling down her fingers, the side of her hand, and the bottom of her forearm. It was smeared on her chin, just like the last time he'd caught her purging. Only this time, he wasn't shocked.

This time, he knew exactly what he was doing.

She stared at him in shock.

"No, it's okay," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "You can finish."

She stared up at him, face and fingers dripping, and she looked absolutely horrified. Her voice was as hoarse as a croak. "Wh-What?"

"You heard me. Go ahead and finish."

"No!" she cried, her hand smearing her vomit along the seat of the toilet as she pushed herself to her feet. She stumbled to the sink, where she reached for the handle on the faucet with her clean hand.

Draco's anger flared, indignation pushing him forward to cover her hand with his own.

"I said finish."

"What are you even doing in here?!" she shrieked, trying to turn the handle beneath his vicelike grip. "Are you mental? I could have been relieving myself, and you just open the door?!"

"I don't care," he snarled, squeezing her hand. "This is my home, and I have the right to know what's going on inside it. When you decided to purge, you gave up the right to privacy."

She looked him up and down, revolted. "What on Earth has come over you? You used to—"

"What? I used to what, Granger?"

He ripped her hand away from the handle and then turned it himself. Glaring at her, he stuck his hand into the water. Before she realized what was happening, his left hand was around the back of her neck, shoving her towards the sink. His right hand, full of cold water, rubbed the sick off of the lower half of her face. He yanked her hand into the water stream and cleaned it, too. As he did this, he continued to rant.

"I used to be your little servant, allowing you to manipulate me into letting you have free reign to destroy yourself as you please. Soft, marshmallow, teddy bear Draco Malfoy, and all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and cry a little. Take advantage of him. He'll just letyou waste away to nothing!"

She looked terrified, but she was Hermione Granger. She wasn't going to back down. With water dripping from her now-clean face, she whirled on him. As he expected, she smacked him across the face with the full force of her body. It hurt, but he didn't care.

He felt like he didn't care about anything anymore.

"This dorm is ours!" she cried. "It's both of ours, and I have a right to privacy when I'm using the loo."

"Not if you're in here killing yourself." He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Not if I'm the one who has to clean up your fucking body. No, this dorm is mine. This loo is mine. You are as good as mine. And if I tell you to leave the fucking loo door open, then I mean it, Granger!"

Her jaw hung agape in the wake of his shouted tirade. He'd eradicated any words she might have had.

"So get on your fucking knees and finish," he snarled, somewhat breathless as he pointed at the loo. It looked as disgusting as he felt inside. "Rightthe fuck now."

"This is wrong," she whispered. She looked terrified. "This is wrong, and I'm not doing it."

"Interesting, especially since you were so eager to include me on Saturday. Fancy asking me to hold your hair back again?"

"Stop it, Dra—" A cry of frustration. "Malfoy! I won't do it in front of you, and that's it."

"Then you're not doing it ever again. Because that's the thing, Granger. I'm not enabling you anymore. I'm not letting you use me. I'm not letting you manipulate me, telling me all about the ways you eat it all and throw it up so I'll be desensitized to it. So, you can either purge in front of me, or you can stop. For good."

"It doesn't work that way."

"I don't care."

They stared each other down as though they were seconds away from dueling.

Draco knew that all it would take is the shedding of his anger to break down. To gather her up in his arms and apologize. To make it all better.

But he could see it painted in the lines of her face like unrestored Renaissance art, with cracks running through the breadth of her strong disposition. The tension increased, multiplying like cells, and then he saw the resignation behind the rage in her eyes.

She was going to do it.

Hermione reached up to pull her hair into a tighter bun than the one she'd already pulled it into.

"Fine. All right. Fine. You want control? I'll give it to you."

Draco watched as Hermione turned to the loo. She bent at the waist, stuck the three forefingers of her right hand down her throat, and retched. She retched again. And again. The food came up, just as they both knew it would. Her jaw stretched open. Her eyes were flat, yet full of rage. It was messy. The smell was pungent and acrid. It was grotesque.

It killed him.

When she was done, she stood up straight. An almost euphoric look passed across her face as she staggered to the side, crashing into the open door. A shudder ran through her body.

Draco's muscles tensed. His fingers twitched. He wanted to go to her.

She swayed forward to the sink and cleaned herself up. The silence felt horrifically thick.

He'd just crossed a line there was no coming back from.

"Feeling dizzy?" he drawled, the sneer dripping from his tone like acid.

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

As much as he wanted to make it easy for her—as much as he wanted everything to go back to the way it was—he couldn't. He'd done her wrong by sharing her secret; she'd done him wrong by using him to give her disorder the perfect environment.

And they still weren't even.

That was the worst part. The self-hatred burned within him like Hellfire as he realized that what he'd just done really was irreversible. There was no going back from it. Either he gave up and gave in, or she got better. If neither worked, then he needed to take control.

He wouldn't be used anymore.

"From now on," he growled, "you purge with my fucking loo door open."

With one last lingering glare, he pushed away from the door frame and walked away.


At dinner, he sat down beside her.

It was more Earth-shattering for her than it was for him, with the way she glared at him as though he were an eyesore.

The other students at the Gryffindor table fell into hushed whispers, scooting down away from them. Several professors watched on with surprised expressions from their table, exchanging glances. The Weaselbee was a ways down and when Draco shot a glance in his direction, he looked away with the quickness. Parvati, who sat across from Hermione, stood up.

"I'll see you later, Hermione," was all she said before she marched to the end of the table and took a new seat.

Draco started plating his food, his movements as nonchalant as the expression on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione hissed, her hands in fists on her lap.

"Making sure you eat."

"This wasn't in the rules."

"Fuck the rules," he snapped, his icy gaze snapping to meet hers. "I made some new ones. Get yourself a plate and start eating."

As he spoke, he noticed that the students that had been near them had moved so far down that they had an entire section of the table to themselves. They were sending them wary looks, like they were ruminating in disbelief, but that wasn't the most surprising part.

No one seemed to be angry.

Draco was glad they'd moved down. He didn't want anyone overhearing the things he was saying. Partially because they were cruel. Partially because he didn't want anyone to know. Mostly because he felt like these moments were his.

Everything about her belonged to him.

Hermione picked up her fork. Her hands were pale and looked shaky. They were tremulous as the fork slid into the quiche he'd picked for her and picked up a small bite. He wanted to tell her to take more, but he knew she'd dig her heels in even more.

His hawklike gaze remained on her while he chewed his own food, until the fork was placed into her mouth. She chewed, her jaw moving up and down at a speed that was too slow to be considered average. Her brows knitted together in a pained look, and she whined behind her closed lips. She stamped her foot under the table.

"I don't care," Draco said like he'd read her mind, shaking his head. "Another one."

She looked crestfallen. "But I don't want to do this."

"Again—don't give a fuck." He took another bite of his own food. "Keep going."

Her head tipped back in what he could only describe as anguish. She picked up another bite.

When he was certain she was going to eat, he began to say what he'd planned on saying. He'd thought about it all night and had come to the conclusion that they were both at fault. He'd betrayed her, and she'd betrayed him.

He wasn't going to remove her from his life—he was just going to do what he should have done all along.

Put his foot down.

As they ate—him with a normal speed and her with agonizingly slow bites—he spoke.

"First new rule is that you're gonna eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You're gonna eat them," he said, his fork loud as he speared eggs with it, "and you're gonna sit with me. Either at Slytherin or Gryffindor—I don't care which."

"I'm not doing it," she shot back, her tone a bit sing-song. "You can't make me."

He breathed a laugh and took a bite. "Test me, Hermione. Go ahead and test me. You're eating. Pick up that fork."

She didn't move.

"Pick up that fucking fork, Granger, or I'm going to shove it down your throat."

Their eyes met, and she looked like she wanted to murder him.

"You wouldn't."

"I would, and I will."

"Draco—"

"Shut your fucking mouth," he said, and then he pointed his fork at her plate, "unless you're opening it to eat. And for the record? It's Malfoy."

She looked taken aback and more than a little unsettled. He wasn't sure if it was his words or the fact that he'd shoved her back to a place they hadn't been in weeks.

It was hypocritical. He didn't know how to go back to calling her Granger in his head.

"Second is–take a bite, Hermione. Come on. Let's go."

A sour look crossed her face and she sighed. She took a bite.

"Second rule," he continued, "is that if you're gonna purge, you're gonna have to do it in front of me. Just like I said last night. No more being in the loo for forty-five minutes to an hour. No more looking in the mirror before or after. It's a quick in and out, or it's nothing at all."

"I don't understand why you'd want to see it," she snapped, her fork hovering.

"I don't understand why you'd want me to see it," he shot back. "Remember—I'm not the one who's destroying their insides. And if it's embarrassing, then maybe that's because you shouldn't be doing it. Now, do I need to repeat myself?"

She pulled another sour face.

"Third—I'm not playing with you." He pointed his fork again. "Eat your fucking breakfast."

"And I'm not playing with you!" she cried. "I've already eaten like, three bites!"

She had three seconds, is what she had. "Granger . . ."

"You don't know what you're doing. Please." Her face took on an expression that he recognized. "This is going to make me worse!"

"No," he said slowly, glaring at her so hard that he felt like it hurt. "Me enabling you was making you worse. Making those shoddy rules that just made it easier for you to get away with it. Being too nice to you, coddling you, being gentle. Well, not anymore. Rule Number Th—"

"I'll purge it."

"Good." He smirked. "Perfect opportunity to test out Rule Number Two, innit?"

"That's mortifying."

"Eating your food and throwing it up is mortifying."

"I'm not doing anything you say." She dropped the fork to the table, sending flecks of food spraying a ways away. Some of them attached themselves to her water cup. She crossed her arms over her chest. "This is ridiculous. You're not my parent and—"

"Granger, if you don't—"

"And you're not my boyfriend!" Her eyes blazed as bright as stars.

He felt it like a physical blow, but he was ready for it. He was ready for anything she threw his way. They'd both fucked up. He didn't mean anything to her, so she didn't mean anything to him.

He could dish it out, too.

"Do you wanna die, Granger?" he snarled. "Because that's where you're headed. Right to the fucking grave if you don't get a handle on this shite. The fact that you haven't had some sort of health complication is a Muggle miracle."

Her upper lip curled as she glared at her plate. "As if you care if I—"

"I asked you a fucking question." He reached for her chin, curled his fingers around it, and forced her to look up at him. He could feel the other students watching them, but he didn't care. They couldn't hear him anyway. "Do you want to die?"

She averted her eyes. "No."

"Then eat," he said, lowering his voice. "Please."

He let her go with an exasperated scowl and resumed eating. A few seconds later, she picked her fork back up.

"Third rule," he said when he was satisfied that she was going to keep eating, "is that you're leaving your dorm room door open. While you study, while you sleep, while you read, while you exist—no doors will remain shut in our dorm. Got it?"

He could almost hear her desire to protest.

"Understood," she mumbled. "I need . . . Time."

"Time? For what?"

"To clean it."

He racked his brain. He was angry, but he wasn't unreasonable. "How much time do you need?"

"A few days."

"A few days?" Draco gave her an incredulous look. "When you have magic?"

"I like to clean by hand. It's relaxing." She slung him a defensive look, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. It's really messy."

Draco took a deep breath.

He was taking away all of her rights to privacy in the place she lived and slept in. She was going along with it. He could give her a few days.

"Fine," he said in a begrudging tone. "You have until Friday."

After a pause, she said, "Were we . . . Were we still going to London this week with Pansy and the others?"

His mind short-circuited for a second.

She still wanted to go to London? Could she not read the room? He didn't want to go anywhere with her. She was a user and manipulator and a liar. And he was an arsehole who was not only being controlling and cruel, but he'd told her biggest secret—a secret that was in no way his—to her ex-boyfriend.

But Theo was going, so he was, too.

"Yeah. I mean—yeah." His gaze swept her face. "That's fine."

"Then I should have the room clean by Thursday."

"Ace."

They ate in silence. Silence that was confusing for Draco.

Why would she still want to go to London with him after what he'd done? Why would she still want to go with him?

When she was done eating, he walked her to class to make sure she didn't go to the loo. She wasn't happy about it. They bickered clear up until they reached the door, where he grabbed her chin and planted a kiss square on her lips that had her fuming. She stomped in past the wide-eyed crowd of classmates who had just witnessed it, and he watched from across the hall until class started to ensure she didn't leave.

He was late to his first class.


He'd thought he could trust her.

Hermione had done just fine at lunch, not arguing with him and eating her soup and bread without a negative word to say. Draco had walked with her to lunch after Charms—and yes, Pansy had looked surprised—but she had insisted she didn't need a chauffeur to supper.

Apparently, she had to go to the Library to check out a book before it closed and she wouldn't have any time before dinner. And since Draco didn't know how long it would take them to eat, she wanted the opportunity to go. She'd promised that she'd meet him in front of the Great Hall exactly at five. Since they both had Divination together at the end of the day, there was no reason why she couldn't be there. He didn't exactly feel like he cared to go to the Library, so he agreed.

She couldn't be that much of a liar, could she?

Yet here it was, fifteen after, and he was standing there alone.

As he stormed down thoughts were a whirlwind. A storm. An absolute fucking tornado.

I don't have time for this.

This is out of fucking control.

Fucking control? Out of it. Absolutely out of it.

She's going to do what the fuck I say, and that's just it. She can't take care of herself. She cannot take care of herself.

I'm justified in doing everything I can to make things more difficult for her disorder. If I can smoke this bitch out, then it won't have such a strong hold on her.

She's not gonna fucking die on me.

He went to the Library, but she wasn't in any of the stacks. Annoyed, he headed for the common room, hoping she wasn't in there doing exactly what she wasn't supposed to be doing. If she was in there purging, he was going to lose his shite.

However, right as he passed the grand staircase, he ran into Blaise and Pansy. They were hand-in-hand.

"Hey," he said, skidding to a halt. "Did Granger leave the Divination classroom?"

They both shook their heads, and Draco wanted to scream.

"She was in there practicing reading tea leaves when we left," Blaise said.

Pansy giggled. "I don't know why she needed to do it, but she insisted."

"Practicing reading tea leaves?" Draco spluttered, grabbing at his hair for a minute. "Gods fucking be damned, she is infuriating."

Without another word to them, he dashed off towards the moving staircase room.

He hoped she was up there.

For her sake and the sake of his temper? He hoped she wasn't.

When he ascended the last step leading up to the classroom, he was so angry that he was shaking. What was the point of her asking him to give her the opportunity to go to the Library if she wasn't actually doing it? Was she trying to shake him off so she could double back to the common room and binge? Or was she trying to skip supper altogether? Why was she such a Salazar-damned liar?

Why couldn't she see that she was fucked in the head?

He walked up to the door and looked in through the window at the top.

There she was. Right there, still sitting in her seat. She wasn't reading tea leaves—she wasn't doing anything at all. She merely sat there, alone, with her chin in her hand and one finger twirling a twist around it. Trelawney must have seen fit to leave for supper anyway.

This bitch . . . he thought, anger flaring his nostrils as he ripped the door open.

"Have you made it your mission to brass me off, or does it just come naturally?"

She jolted, whirling in her seat. The look of terror in her eyes was so absolute that for a second, the ocean of Draco's anger ebbed like the receding tide. It was clear she was frightened of him.

He stopped near the upper levels of the room, glaring down at her.

"I'm not going to bother trying to hide it," she said with a haughty sniff. "I don't want to eat dinner. I'm not going to. You can't force me to eat, so you'll just have to go have a good cry about it."

The tide stretched back in and rose into a tidal wave. Draco snapped.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" He stormed over, standing in front of her. She looked up at him without a care in the world. "No, really—have you lost it? Because what makes you think that I would ever . . ."

He trailed off. What a stupid question.

He'd created this problem. Because he'd been fooled by her for so long. Because he'd been enabling her, letting her do whatever she wanted when it came to her disorder. She thought she could simply sit here and not eat.

Not if he just wanted her to live.

"Let's go," he said through clenched teeth.

She glared daggers at him, gathered her stuff up in a flurry, and stormed out ahead of him.

In the small hallway, it felt cramped as he loomed behind her.

"You know, what you're doing is wrong," she called back over her shoulder as she took to the stairs. "You can't take my doors and force feed me and stalk me all over the school!"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want where this is concerned," Draco said. "You've been waiting comfortably at Death's door for him to answer your wildly impatient knocks for far too long, and I've had it." He counted on his fingers. "When it comes to your daily meals, your purging, and your disorder, I'm taking control."

She stopped, one step below him as she whirled to glare up at him. Breathlessly, she cried, "My disorder?! What disorder?"

"Um, your eating disorder," he said with a snide curl of his lip. "You know, the thing that's made us both go completely off the deep end."

"I do not—That's—" She opened her mouth and scoffed in indignance. "I do not have an eating disorder. I have coping mechanisms, but that doesn't mean that I have an actual disorder."

"Binging and purging are symptoms of an eating disorder. I told you, I did my reading and—"

"Oh, you did your reading." She threw her hands up with a mirthless laugh. "Draco Malfoy did his reading, and now I'm diagnosed. Thank you, Healer Malfoy."

Draco's anger flashed like lightning inside of him. "I'd say that the fact that you plan not to eat every day and purge just to handle your uncontrollable cravings? Yeah, I'd say that constitutes as some sort of disorder."

"A disorder is like an addiction, Malfoy. That means it's something that isn't under control—something that controls the individual."

"Shall I conjure up a fucking mirror, or . . .?"

"I do not have one. You don't know what you're talking about. I have everything under control—people with eating disorders don't."

"You have it under control." His tone was deadpan.

"I can stop whenever I want. I simply choose not to." She turned and started down the winding stairwell again.

The fact that she was so far in denial that she didn't think she actually had a disorder was so terrifying that it was laughable. Her obliviousness would get her killed. She was going to die without him, and that was why he didn't feel bad about taking her door privileges and forcing her to eat.

"If it was that simple," he said, reaching down for her wrist and grabbing it to stop her, "then you wouldn't have fought me so hard on eating breakfast, and you wouldn't have lied to try and skip dinner."

She tried to twist out of his grasp. "Except it is that simple. I said I choose not to. That implies that my choice is tantamount."

"Your choice to get one step closer to death every time you do it is tantamount."

She frowned and stopped twisting. He could tell by the set of her jaw that her teeth were gritted. The ire danced in her eyes. "Tantamount to what?"

"To the fact that you have a problem, Granger. You have a problem, and I made it too easy for it to grow."

"And now you've decided to make my life a living hell to deal with your guilt."

"I'm not guilty." I'm angry.

She stomped down two steps before she whirled on him again. "You are guilty. You feel guilty because you know you've been much too harsh and much crueler than is necessary, and you know it!"

"Except that I don't. I think you're unwell and incapable of taking care of yourself. And so I've taken it upon myself to—"

He'd never seen her look so angry.

"Taken it upon yourself? Taken it upon yourself to what? Tell me what to do? Insult me? Make me feel so horrid that I feel like shite about myself? You're doing a damn good job! And the only thing I could do to cope with the pain that brings is the one thing you won't let me do!"

"I said you could do it." He shrugged. "As long as you do it where I can see."

She let out a scream of frustrated rage. "Do you not see why that's a problem?!"

"Oh, I know exactly what the fuck I'm doing, Granger." He smirked. "No one in their right mind would willingly throw up their meals in front of anyone. You're ashamed of it, which is why you hide behind closed doors and a closed mind. It's the reason why you hide it from everyone you know and the reason why you're so angry with me. You're angry with me because I'm making it harder for the darkness to breed."

Something shifted in her eyes—something that showed him he'd struck her right where it hurt—and a quick glance downward showed him that she'd balled her hands into fists at her sides by the hem of her uniform skirt. Her skirt, which looked like it was hanging off of her.

Pain wrenched through him, the endless torment of having to watch the person he cared for hurt herself again and again, and he turned his face away.

He gazed down into the darkness of the empty stairwell, which he knew led to an equally-empty corridor. With everyone being at dinner, it felt like they were trapped in their own dark, Hellish world while everyone else floated through Heaven.

"I know that what I'm doing is infuriating," he said, "but what you have to understand is that these are the consequences for your actions. You cannot use me, tell me it was my fault, and then act surprised and hurt when I change the rules! I'm not gonna enable you. I'm not gonna be manipulated by you or by anyone else. I let myself be manipulated by the Dark Lord and my father, and it got me nowhere."

"It's my body! I shouldn't have to manipulate you into letting me do whatever I want with it!"

His head snapped back to look down at her and he moved down to the same step as her. She stumbled to the side, her eyes flashing with her ire.

"And I don't feel the least bit guilty," he snarled, his presence pressuring her back against the wall with the sheer intensity of his glare. "In fact, I'm sorely tempted to tell you that you can't purge at all. I'm sorely tempted to go to McGonagall and tell her what you've been doing to your body since the school year started. I'm tempted to take the castle of lies you've built and tear it down!"

"That's just like you," she said with a revolted expression. "Telling my secrets when it serves you best. What's left after that? Are you gonna tell them the way I pleaded with you to call me a cunt, too?"

The images that flashed across his mind brought the heat of the anger in his blood to a lustful boil. He ground his teeth together in the back, fighting the urge to grab her by the hair and snog her until she was gasping for breath. His eyes flashed with fury that he could feel like flames in his head.

"You are a cunt."

"And you just love to say it, don't you?" She tilted her chin up, glaring up at him as her lips brushed against his. "You couldn't wait for the chance to call me a Mudblood while your cock was inside me, desperate to slide all the way inside, could you?"

What the fuck is going on?

Draco had never had this little control over his faculties. He'd never felt this hateful yet at the same time so attracted to a witch. It was like every time she did this—every time she pulled this dark energy out of him—she was setting him aflame with the same fire that she burned in.

She wanted them to burn together.

"You asked me to do it," he snapped. "Don't act like you weren't begging me."

"And you were so eager to please, weren't you?"

"About as eager as you were in the loo, and again at the Sunamuras." He smirked, hoping it looked as cruel as he felt like being. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like being my whore."

"I want to slap you," she hissed. "More than ever before."

He slammed his hand against the stone wall by her head, watching the way she flinched. "If you do, you'll lose that fucking hand!"

"Maybe I should do it anyway!"

"And maybe I should see how far we can take it, right here in this corridor," he whispered, his tone sinister.

Her eyes simply traveled back and forth between his. "It would be the last step, wouldn't it?"

"Last step before what? You bog me down for the rest of your life with your fucking problems?"

"The last step before you have complete and utter control over my body." She whispered her taunts, too, her breath hot against his lips from below. "Because that's what this is all about, isn't it? You'll do anything to get that control. Take care of me. Believe my lies so it fits the narrative of me you have in your head. Tell me all the reasons why I'm not toxic so you can pretend you're saving me. Don't you want to save me, Malfoy?"

She . . . Did not just say those fucking words to me.

They were somewhere halfway between the classroom and the bottom floor, nestled in the stairwell in the shadows, between the lights' edge on both sides. He kept her pinned, his hands clenched so tight in her hair that his knuckles were aching. He bared his teeth, pointing the forefinger of his other hand towards her. Close, so she'd know just how thin the ice she skated on had melted.

He needed her to know that he was done with her games.

"No," he said, hoarse from his fury. "No, you do not get to take what I said and use it against me."

She slapped his hand out of the way. "Get your finger out of my damn face, Malfoy."

He glared at her, unsure of what to say. All this consternation, and he could tell they were just dancing. They were dancing the ballroom, swirling around a dead body in the center of the room. He felt like the body was her.

And his partner was a ghost.

She was trying to draw something out of him that he didn't like, and he didn't know why.

His hand flashed upward, where he gripped her twists and dragged her head back.

"I'm getting to the end of my rope with you, little girl," he growled. "You're pushing me."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Why don't you punish me?"

"Why do you keep taunting me?" He fought the urge to slam her against the wall for emphasis. "Huh? Why do you keep fucking taunting me?!"

"Because the only way I can get what I want from you is if I goad you into it!" she said. "I don't want you to take care of me! I don't want you to embrace me, or hold me, or tell me everything's gonna be okay!"

As she spoke, he felt the shock rendering his hold on her hair loose.

"I don't want you to save me, Malfoy!" she said, shoving his hand away from her completely. Her eyes blazed with an internal rage that he wasn't entirely sure was directed at himself. "I want you to lose control with me, over and over again until you go completely mental. I want you to crash and burn. I don't want you to save me, you stupid prat. I want you to fuck me!"

There were bells in his ears.

Alarm bells, he was sure of it. By the way they set his heart to racing, they filled him with a sense of urgency that he was unable to ignore. An urgency that spelled at least a fraction of her problems out for him.

She wanted him to treat her like she didn't matter because the thought of mattering to him was too unbearable. If she accepted his compassion and his care, then she'd have to admit that she deserved it. She didn't think she deserved anything other than the shame that purging brought. Shame that only he could give.

She knows she's a disappointment to me, he thought, awe rocking him to his core. She knows she's a disappointment to me because she can't pull herself out. And she doesn't want me to pull her out because then she won't have the only thing she can control.

She wanted him to fuck her because there was no love in that. There didn't need to be.

"You want me to treat you like you don't matter," he breathed. "Don't you?"

Her gaze sliced through the shadows to meet his.

"I want you to be as broken as me."

The alarm bells stopped and suddenly, he felt calm. So calm that it disturbed him.

The anger still seethed beneath the surface, but deep down, he knew that he finally had the one thing she'd been trying to get him to take so she wouldn't have to feel so bad about telling him he wanted it.

Draco moved forward until she was pinned between his body and the wall. Her breathing hitched higher as his left hand curved around the front of her neck, forcing her head to tilt back again. His eyes met hers, as intense as the lantern flames.

And then he kissed her.

He could tell she was trying to come alive by the way she turned her head and ran her tongue along his lower lip. He felt her desire by the way she slipped it inside his mouth with silent desperation and clung to his shoulders. He sensed her need by the way she whimpered into his mouth and tried to command the kiss in her own way, even as the hard press of his body kept her from being able to go onto her tip-toes like she usually liked to do.

It was like they were swimming together, but he was pulling her deeper into the ocean. He wanted to be the one to drown her this time.

Draco was the one who was in control.

He pulled back, still holding her by the neck, and their eyes met.

"Put your hands above your head."

Hermione's brows twitched together, a look that bisected nervous and curious entering her eyes. Her hands started to rise into the air. Draco felt she was moving too slow.

He squeezed his hand hard enough to bruise, his fingertips digging into the tender flesh beneath the hinges of her jaw. Her lips parted as she sucked in a small, constricted breath.

"Against the wall. Now," he growled.

Like lightning, her arms flashed upward and she placed the backs of her hands against the stone above her head. He felt her throat flex as she swallowed. Her gaze danced all over his face, looking for something. Then, it fell down to where he was withdrawing his wand from his sleeve.

"What if someone hears?"

"I guess you'd better shut the fuck up, then."

Draco had already silently and wandlessly cast a muffliato. But she didn't need to know that.

"Someone could come up here," she said, her voice tremulous. "Supper's more than half over."

"I won't need much time," he said, wetting his lips with his tongue. Without tearing his eyes off of hers, he reached up and placed the tip of his wand against the center of her left palm. He hissed the spell for a sticking charm, the word slithering from his tongue. "Granger, I can't give you what you want. Not right now."

He saw her fighting a shiver when his wand tip moved to the middle of her right palm. Another utterance of the sticking charm.

"But," he said, "you can give me what I want. Can't you?"

She glanced up, trying to wriggle her wrists, but finding that his charmwork was absolute. Flexing her fingers and curling them down towards her palm, she looked up into his eyes.

"If you give me what I need," she breathed, "then I'll give you what you want."

Draco glanced down the corridor, then back down at her. "You'll have to be quick, won't you?"

"You'll have to be good at it."

The challenge to her tone—Draco didn't like it. After everything she'd put him through, he wasn't having her commandeer anything in this arena. Not now. Not when he was barely holding himself back from strangling her for the pain she'd caused him.

He tapped his wand against the opposite palm, biting his lower lip as he weighed his options. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her and touch her and feel her quiver. Wanted to hear what she sounded like when she was trying to be quiet again, just like on Christmas.

But she was right—dinner was almost over.

And he was very, very good at it.

"Granger?" he said, taking a step forward and putting himself close enough to her that she had to rest her head against the wall to maintain eye contact. He trailed the tip of his wand down the length of her side.

"Yes?"

"If you consent, spread your legs."

Apparently, she didn't need convincing, because her legs were spread wide enough for him to slot a thigh between them within seconds. The last of his calm was fading, becoming replaced by a beast that raged within him and craved the closeness that he felt to her when they were intimate like this.

Why did he have to care about her so much?

He moved quickly.

Draco muttered a spell under his breath, kissing her to distract her. As he deepened the kiss and drew her tongue to play, the tip of his wand began to vibrate. The soft buzzing sound was quiet in the corridor, but she didn't need to hear anything.

She just needed to feel it.

Fingers moving her knickers aside, he spread her apart and used his other hand to press the tip of his wand against her clit. Her hips bucked, but the angle of his thigh between her legs gave her nowhere to go. It pressed the wand more firmly into her. He felt her grinding against it.

"Wh-What are you—" Her voice choked off into a loud gasp. He saw her eyes rolling up into her head as his lips kissed their way up to her temple. "Why is that . . . ? Oh, God. Oh, my—"

A groan rumbled deep from her chest when he took his other hand, twisted it so his palm was face-up, and slipped his middle and ring fingers inside of her core. She inhaled another breath—one that stuttered—and her thighs shook. Her fingers splayed out then curled into tight fists.

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip, the trembling in her thigh muscles becoming more violent. Then, her eyelids fluttered wide open and she gasped like she was coming up from the depths of the ocean in his dreams. Her breathing pace increased until she was practically choking.

"Please. Please, you're gonna make me c-come too fast."

"No."

"Draco—I—I'm go—nna come . . ."

"No," he growled. "Not yet."

She shook her head, her eyes squeezing into narrowed slits. Her hips ground against him in circles, as though she were trying to keep the wand right where she wanted it. A whimper.

"Yeah, I'm coming," she groaned. "I'm—"

"Hold it," he warned, his gaze drinking in the sight of her face like he did every time. Her face right before she came was his favorite part. She looked so relaxed and euphoric. Like nothing bad could ever happen.

Like she was happy.

He moved the wand a bit to the left and she wailed. The way her body shook, quivered like she was desperately clinging to the edge just for him. All for him.

"Fucking hold it."

"I'm trying," she said in a small voice, her eyelids falling shut.

Draco had been intimate with Hermione more than a few times. He felt like he knew her body well enough by now to know exactly what it would take to pull her up to the heights of the skies and drop her. How to touch her in a way that drew it out, so she'd come for so long and so hard that she wept. Those tears were always real.

But they didn't have time for that. They were in the corridor outside of the Divination classroom. Trelawney could come up at any moment, finished with supper and ready to go to sleep. This needed to be fast.

Guilt twisted through him for wishing he could savor it. It was the first time he felt like he was completely, one hundred percent in control. This wasn't Hermione, on top of him trying to render him a mess. This was Draco, with his fingers inside of her cunt and his wand against her and her hands trapped above her head. All she had control over was her mouth.

He was going to give her what she needed so he could get what he wanted.

The moment he began to slam his fingers in and out with a violent speed—exactly the way that made her wail—he covered her lips with his own and swallowed her loud, screaming moan. He could feel her writhing between the wall and his thigh, her hips twisting as though it were too intense.

She tore her lips away from his, averting her face and letting out a strangled sob. Words fell from her lips, hurried and soft.

"It's so good, Malfoy. It's so good."

He shifted the wand a bit and her body went rigid. The tiny sound that escaped her throat, followed by the continuous moans showed him that she was already close.

"Filthy little Mudblood," he hissed into her ear as he worked her body tighter and tighter. She let out another strangled cry. "What will you do for me if someone comes up the stairs and sees you fucking my fingers like a little whore?

"Come," she moaned.

Desire twisted through the pit of his abdomen, sending flames to his cock that made it twitch. For a moment, he forgot himself and how angry he was. For a moment, he wanted to praise her.

So he did.

"You're such a good girl. You always know just what I fucking want." He nipped her ear with his teeth, causing her to shiver. "What will you do?"

"I'll come for you."

Just the words that made every nerve ending in his body burst into flames. Without a care in the world he nixed the vibration spell and tossed his wand behind him. It clattered against the wall and tumbled down a few steps below them. Quickly, he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows.

His heart raced with his incessant desire to fuck her—to grab her by the legs and hike them up around his hips and fuck the ever-loving shite out of her—right here in the corridor, but he ignored it.

"No, please," she whispered, her voice high-pitched. She swallowed, catching her breath. "I was so close. I was so close, I swear."

"Shut up," he snarled. "Spread your legs. Wider. Don't be so pathetic. Fucking wider. Up, onto your toes."

Hermione balanced on her toes, bending her arms a bit to accommodate the change. Fingers still inside of her, he glared up at her. Her brows were knit together, troubled lines in her forehead that he knew were from concentration. Her eyes shone in the shadows, the lantern light reflected in her irises.

There it was.

The trust he thought he'd lost.

Startled, he pulled his mental faculties together. They didn't have time.

"You have minutes, Granger. Minutes to come on my tongue, or I'll leave you here for the professor to find. Keep quiet."

Before he got too enraptured by the fear in her eyes, he leaned forward and sucked her clit into his mouth. She cried out, immediately trying to cut herself off. When his fingers began to slam into her again at the same time, the lewd noises like music to his ears, she wailed again.

She tasted sweet, like all of his sins had gathered into one in her core, where he could devour them.

His tongue began to lave against her over and over. He felt her thighs quivering once again, heard the heaving of her breath. She groaned, and it made his stomach curl into a tight knot. He had to see her face, he just had to.

He pulled back, his fingers still hitting the spot inside of her that always brought her closer, and stuck a little of his tongue out. Holding her gaze, he ran the pads of the fore and middle fingers of his other hand along the flesh. Bending his arm to get the right angle, he began to massage her clit with gentle, circular strokes. The contrast of soft outside and hard inside was exactly what she wanted, and she began to sob with pleasure.

But he knew what she needed.

"You gonna fucking come for me?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "You gonna fucking come all over my fingers like the desperate fucking whore you are?"

She nodded frantically. "I'm right—" She threw her head back, her hips going rigid. "Right there. Right there, right there, right there! Say it—call me—please—I need—"

Draco wasn't even thinking clearly. Even though he felt guilty, the words spilled from his mouth as easily as though the Dark Lord had won.

"You know I own every part of you, right? You know that if things were different—if you had lost—you would be mine. Mine to do with as I please, whenever I wanted. Nothing but a hole to fuck. My hole to fuck." He gazed up at her, seeing the way her back arched off of the wall. She was barely breathing. "I own this Mudblood cunt. Yes, yes—that's it—that's—" She came, and he felt it, felt her walls clamping down around his fingers like a vice. "Fucking Hell. You're so fucking good for me, Granger."

As she was still coming, he leaned forward to taste her again. She choked, shaking and twisting, begging him to give her some reprieve. Somehow, she tasted even sweeter when she was overstimulated. When it started to sound like she was getting faint, he pulled back.

Voices. They wafted up the stairwell, raucous and giggling.

Trelawney and Luna Lovegood.

For the first time, the burst of panic in his chest was almost amusing. Getting caught messing around and snogging in a corridor was nothing he was a stranger to. He let Hermione's knickers snap back into place, accioed his wand, and nixed both the sticking charms and the muffliato. She nearly collapsed, falling into his arms with wobbling legs.

They looked at one another, a new awkwardness settling in that hadn't been there before. Before, when he wasn't so angry at her, he'd do his best to care for her after something like what they'd just done. She looked disoriented and dazed—like she needed him.

There could be a balance, couldn't there?

The footsteps neared them and then stopped. Draco let Hermione go, and she stood swaying beside him on the step. Discreetly, he wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers and then slipped them into his pockets.

"Evening, professor," he said, clearing his throat to rid it of its hoarseness.

"Hello, you two," Trelawney said. "Come to ask more questions about the bond?"

"No," Luna said, her voice dreamy. "I think they were just visiting."

"Yeah," Draco said, exchanging glances with Hermione. "Visiting."

"We're about to do some future divining," Trelawney said. "Would you like to join us?"

"No, that's all right," Hermione said, and then she gave Luna a small wave. "Hi, Luna."

"Hello, Hermione." A wistful smile spread across Luna's face. "Hello, Draco Malfoy."

Draco nodded to her, unsure of what to say. He'd never much interacted with Luna, especially since his parents had held her locked up in the Manor dungeons during the war. It wasn't easy to face his past this way.

"Well," Hermione said, edging along the wall and down the steps, "we'd best be going. It's late."

"Are you certain?" Trelawney looked worried. "Is anything wrong?"

"No," Draco and Hermione said simultaneously as they crept past them.

Luna waved. "Good night, Hermione. Good night, Draco Malfoy."

They descended the steps. By the time they came to the bottom of the stairs, Hermione was almost completely leaning against the wall for support. Without saying anything to her, he swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the dorm.

Back at the common room, he cooked them both supper in the kitchenette since they'd missed it in the Great Hall. He could tell by the brooding look on her face that she'd thought that what they'd done in the corridor was going to soften him up to her. That it would be enough to get him to let her skip the meal.

Not anymore.

He forced her to eat every bite, ignoring the tears of rage that rolled down her cheeks as she argued against each bite. Eating his own meal, he acted as though nothing were amiss. After all, this was what she'd wanted.

Did she know what toxic was yet?