Apricity – Chapter Thirty-Five

"Where the fucking fuck is it?"

Draco muttered under his breath as he tore his room apart. He checked every drawer on his bedside table, and every drawer in his dresser. He rifled through his closet and every trunk he owned. He searched through the pockets of all of his clothes, clean and unclean, and he searched beneath the bed.

His weed was missing.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the edge of his now-destroyed bed, resting his hands on his thighs and glancing around. It wasn't that he needed it.

He just needed it.

Fuck. He was gonna be late for class. There was no time to put on his uniform.

Keeping on the same black tee shirt he'd worn to bed, he shoved his legs into some trousers, laced on his boots, and yanked a black jumper on over his head. Scraping his fingers back through his hair, he grabbed his robes and rushed out the door.

Hermione was at the portrait, her robes fluttering around her ankles. By the speed she was going, she was absolutely trying to rush out.

"Ay!" He snapped his fingers and curled one at her. He forced himself to ignore how cute she looked with her twists hanging down her back—that ship had sailed. "Nuh-uh. Come here. You're not going anywhere without me."

She threw her head back and let out an angry cry of frustration. "This is absurd!"

"I told you we eat breakfast together. We eat lunch and we eat dinner together. I meant every day. What, did you think I'd just throw my hands up and let you go to the Great Hall without me?" He slipped his arms into his robes and grabbed his bag, his eyebrows rising. "Did you think I'd just say fuck it and let you starve?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at him with pursed lips. "Say less. Given you don't give a fuck about me anymore."

"Language, Granger," he taunted, leaning down close to her as he reached past her for the portrait. "Or I'll clean your mouth out."

"With soap?" she challenged, sneering and not moving back.

"Amongst other things."

He felt her breath against his lips, saw her gaze dropping down to look at them, and he was reminded of the fact that this time last week, he would have kissed her. He might even have convinced her to skive off class so they could snog on the couch. Perhaps more.

When he looked at her now, all he saw was a liar.

He pushed the portrait door open and walked past her. After a moment, she followed.

They'd spent the last two days applying Draco's new rules. He walked her to every meal and every class, and he ignored the fact that everyone in the school could tell they were rowing. No one knew what they were fighting about, but it was clear by their energies that they weren't getting along. The gossip ran rampant in the corridors and classrooms.

When they were in the dorm, he sat in the common room until he got tired, and then he told Hermione it was time for bed, too. When she complained, he reminded her that she wasn't taking care of herself and her health, and that that meant she was acting like a child. And if she was going to act like one, then he was going to treat her like one.

She'd slammed her dorm room door at that.

Pansy had told Draco that she'd put in their request to leave for London for the weekend to McGonagall. Draco was surprised until she explained that McGonagall was more likely to approve it if they were all on the same request form. Draco didn't think so, given that he and Hermione had skived off so many classes the previous week, but it turned out that the professors had indeed chosen not to tell the Headmistress.

The cracks in their relationship had paid off.

They were allowed to go to London on the weekend starting Friday provided they made some part of the trip educational. Draco didn't know which was more surprising: the fact that he'd gone to London the last time with Hermione without permission, or the fact that McGonagall didn't find it odd that a group of Slytherins and one Gryffindor were going on a weekend outing.

Today was Wednesday, and Draco had officially spent every waking moment of every day this week with Hermione. He wasn't exactly tired of her, but their bickering knew no bounds.

He thought she was as much of a liar as he was a betrayer.

"Have you seen my weed?" he asked as they neared the Great Hall.

"What? No," she said, sounding irritated. "Why would I know where your drugs were, Dra—Malfoy?"

"Drugs?" He scoffed. "Says the girl who smoked it when I wasn't there."

"That was different. It was ages ago."

"It was like, a week."

"Still different." She tossed her twists over her shoulder and gave him a scathing look. "I haven't seen it and if I had, do you really think I'd tell you?"

They went to the Slytherin table, as they'd taken to doing in the mornings. Slytherins were less boisterous in the morning hours, so it was easier to find their seat and blend in without causing a ruckus. They sat down at the end. Draco purposefully chose to sit with the awestruck First Years to keep her as far away from Theo as possible.

She didn't seem to notice.

Plating her up her food, he ensured that it had everything necessary for a healthy intake, and then passed it to her. She gave him her usual disgruntled look and then began to eat with a mechanical hand. No words were shared between the two.

He preferred it that way. It was less volatile than it needed to be.

Hermione had been eating every meal without much complaint. He could see it on her face when the food touched her tongue, of course, but for the most part, she was taking it in stride.

There was always the possibility that she was trying to distract him, though. To distract him and get him to drop his guard. He could laugh at that. If she thought things were ever going back to the way they were before, she was fucking mistaken.

As he chewed his sausage, he wondered whether or not he'd gotten so high that he smoked every last nug of his weed. Because that would be ridiculous, yet so within the realm of his mannerisms. He could almost laugh at that, too.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked as she took the last bite of her food and set her fork down. Her expression was neither negative or positive.

"Nothing," he said, distracted. "Ate all of it, then?"

"Yeah."

He took another bite. "Good girl."


In Charms, Hermione passed out.

Draco had no idea how it was possible. She'd been eating three meals a day for the past two days. She'd been eating, and she hadn't purged. He'd made sure of it. The only moments he wasn't by her side were when she was in classes that they didn't share or when they were sleeping.

And he didn't see her in his dreams, either.

At the dorm, the loo door stayed open at all times. At all times. When they showered, when they relieved themselves, when they were doing their hair in the mornings. Draco had gotten used to it, but he could tell that Hermione wasn't exactly adjusting to it well.

Which made sense.

He almost felt poorly about it. In fact, he felt so poorly about it that when she did use the loo, even though he wasn't going to let her shut the door, he cast a silent silencio so she wouldn't hear it. He knew he was being soft for doing it, but he couldn't reconcile what the difference was between invading her privacy and violating her.

The last thing he would ever do is the latter.

So, when she keeled over in her seat at the front of the room and collapsed on the floor, Draco was bewildered. What could possibly cause her to faint if she was eating three meals a day and she wasn't purging?

Unless it was something else.

Unless it was her heart.

The courtroom was full. There were people everywhere and it was full and his father was going away for a long time. For forever. He'd never get to see him again. The courtroom was full and his father was leaving and—

His mother was in his lap.

Why was she in his lap? Why would she fall over like that? Why would—

She wasn't blinking.

She wasn't blinking.

She wasn't—

The moment Hermione hit the ground, Draco scrambled out of his seat. The other students in the class were starting to stand up, some of them rushing over, but Draco saw them as obstacles. Things in the way of the only thing he had ever cared about that wasn't family. The only person he had left.

Whether he was angry with her or not.

"Miss Granger! Miss Granger!" Professor Flitwick had just rushed over when Draco shoved his way through and fell to his knees beside Pansy. "Is she all right? Has she fainted?"

"Everyone get the fuck back!" Draco roared, his mind a white expanse of panic. He cradled the back of Hermione's head in his hand, his gaze searching the breadth of her face. Her eyes were half-shut, glassy, but they were moving.

She was alive.

Relief fueled him as he pushed her into a sitting position. Her eyelids fluttered open the moment she did, and she immediately looked into his eyes. She looked dazed and more than a little pale. Draco kept his hand on her back as she sat up fully, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple.

"Did I faint?" she asked, her voice soft and unsure.

"Yeah," he said. "You—"

"Yes, Miss Granger," Flitwick said, coming to kneel on her other side. "You seemed to be fine until you went a bit pale and then—whoo—there you went. Right to the floor. Have you any idea what could have happened?"

"I saw spots," she said, looking down at her hands in confusion. "And I was shaking. My heart . . ."

Draco thought he was going to be sick. "What do you mean your heart?"

"Did it stop, or something?" Pansy asked, her eyes as wide as teacup saucers. "That's terrifying."

"No, no," Hermione said, shaking her head. "No . . . It just . . . Fluttered. I'm not sure how to explain it. It was like it had to trip over itself to catch up."

Draco felt sweat prickling on the back of his neck. He hadn't gotten a chance to talk to his mother before it had happened. Had she felt the same thing? Had this been the same experience?

I wish I didn't care so fucking much.

"I think you should go to the Infirmary, Hermione," Seamus Finnegan said. "Madam Pomfrey could fix you right up."

Not for this.

"I'll be okay," Hermione said. "I really don't need to go there."

As the students clamored to try and convince her, Draco studied her face. By the way her body shook beneath where his hand was on her upper back, and the panicked tremble to her voice, he could tell that she did not want to go to the Infirmary.

He had a feeling he knew why.

The students continued to try and convince her, but Flitwick had the final say. He ordered Hermione to the Infirmary and Draco jumped to assist.

"What's the reason you don't want to go?" he asked as they walked down the corridor towards the moving staircase room.

"You know why," she replied, voice monotone.

They stood on a staircase, Hermione clinging to the railing to stay steady on her feet while Draco merely crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against it a few steps below her. Just by looking at her, he could tell she wasn't well. She looked like a gust of wind would take her out to sea.

Madam Pomfrey would know.

"You gonna tell me with your words, or just wait for me to read your mind?"

She shot him a nasty look. "You have no problem controlling everything else about me. Why not use Legilimency and just make me believe I'm better?"

A flash of anger slammed through him, but he hid it behind a lopsided smirk.

"You seem bothered," was all he said.

"I am bothered."

"Stay bothered."

The staircase docked. Draco headed for the landing, turning to hold a hand out to her and help. She stood there, glaring at him as though he were holding out a parcel of pure calories.

"I hate you so much," she said.

"I can see in your eyes that you don't," he said. "Now, take my hand so we can get you to the Infirmary. That staircase won't move until you step off of it."

"Then I'll stand here forever."

"Granger." He scowled and dragged his hands down his face. "It's time to go. Come on."

A pleading look was sent in his direction. "Malfoy, please. If she sees me, she'll weigh me. If she weighs me, she'll just want me to—to take nutrition potions, or something."

"That's not my problem." He turned to the side, holding his hand out again and snapping his fingers. "Come on. Let's go."

She didn't move. "Malfoy, I am begging you."

"I said we're going," he snarled. "Get your arse down here before I drag you."

Hermione narrowed her eyes a fraction. The distance between them seemed to stretch further and further, like he were soaring on the back of his broom towards the sea and she were running away from the shore. It was like they were running in opposite directions because if they went toward one another, they'd have to face the thing that was trying to control them both.

Her disorder.

Draco reached for her, snatching her by the wrist and yanking her onto the landing. The staircase immediately set off. Hermione's arm flailed as her feet teetered on the edge, a gasp leaving her lips as her life visibly flashed before her eyes. But Draco was irritated enough to be fast.

His hand gripped her chin, pulling her stumbling forward against him.

"You're going to the Infirmary and Madam Pomfrey is checking you over," he said, his ire overflowing like a bubbling cauldron. "The time for lying and hiding is over, Granger."

Her panic grew like dark storm clouds in the sky. Her face crumpled, her mask falling apart. The telltale signs of tears began to glimmer in the corners of her eyes, shining like the diamonds that decorated the star pendant she still wore around her neck. Her terror looked as real as he'd ever seen it.

But he didn't trust her.

"Don't give me the false dramatics," he snapped, letting go of her chin and grabbing her hand in a vicelike grip. He turned and started walking, tugging even as she tried to pull against him.

"I'm not faking it," she whined. "Malfoy! I don't want to go! Malfoy, please!"

He ignored her pleading, marching them all the way out of the castle and towards the bridge that led to the building with the Infirmary. Though it was class time and the halls had been virtually empty, he felt better outside. Without the walls and the chance of an echo, it felt like it was easier to breathe out here.

Her cries weren't as loud without the castle trapping them.

As they stepped onto the bridge, he felt her defeat as tangibly as he felt the Winter's chill kissing the tip of his nose. Neither of them were wearing much more than their uniforms and robes and it was the beginning of a very grey January. The ravine gaped below the bridge, stretching for miles in either direction with white snow piled up in the crags and cliffs that jutted out.

When he felt her wrist twisting in his hold again, he whirled around to tell her to knock it off. Instead, he was met with the sight of her trying to curl her fingers around his. Surprised, he allowed it, feeling her fingers sliding between his and twining together. Her facial expression was naught but a glorified pout. She averted her eyes to the ravine and the miles of distance past it.

And she did look defeated. She looked like everything that she'd been fighting for was lost to things she understood enough to not want them to devour her. Standing there with her toes turned slightly in and her lips curved down into a deep frown, he saw that her shoulders were slumped. Her hands were so small in his own, and there was nothing beautiful about the fear he had that he would break her fingers by mistake.

She looked so frail that his heart broke.

Again.

"What?" he said, looking her over to ensure it really was surrender that he was witnessing.

She closed her eyes as though she were in pain.

"I'll go to the Infirmary."

Seeing her there, watching her appear as though she wanted to simply crumble into pieces right there on the bridge, he felt something come over him that was familiar. It was familiar, yet it felt like it had been ages since he felt it. It was the same feeling that had made it so easy for her to manipulate him into thinking it was "okay" that she purged as long as he was there to take care of her. The feeling that only came about when it seemed like she was trying to engage in something other than self-destruction.

He supposed he could reward her with a little bit of what was left of his heart.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice as stern as it was soft.

"Yes," she mumbled.

Draco gritted his teeth. This was so hard. Staying angry with her. The line between hatred and affection was such a blurry, fragile thing. Sometimes, he thought he might just walk away. Every fiber in his being told him that being with her would be too hard—too painful, too difficult.

But what if he walked away and she died?

That disturbed him. Was he only here, holding her hand because he was afraid she would die? Were any of his feelings for her real, or were they just lingering nightmares from his mother's death?

How could his feelings be real if it was so easy to be so, so cruel to her?

His gaze dropped down to her neck, where he saw the diamond star pendant he'd gotten her for Christmas. Memories of their wild night in London crossed his mind—memories that felt a lifetime away. Before he knew just how deep the disorder's roots had sunken into her soil.

The pendant she still wore around her neck.

Her roots.

If he couldn't be there to tend her roots, how could he say he deserved her when she bloomed?

Draco tugged on her hand without letting go, causing her to stumble forward again. Her feet caused the old wooden boards of the bridge to creak. She fell into him, looking up at him with a shy look—the same look she used to give him before everything got so fucked up. Before she grew into her desperation and he tumbled into his anger.

Cupping the back of her head, he pressed her face into him and held her there. He dropped his lips to the top of her head, placing a lingering kiss there. It almost hurt, aching in his heart in a way that felt like it could never be mended.

Even if she got better, this time would forever be a scar.

Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist, embracing him. He could hardly feel it, she had so little strength. The fingers of her other hand felt colder than ice in-between his own.

He wished he could drop her off at the Infirmary and leave her there.

He wished he could take her to St. Mungo's and leave her there.

He wished he could take her into his dreams and leave her there.

Maybe he'd stay there, too.

"If they send me away," she said, "would you come with me until they told you to leave?"

Draco kissed the top of her head again. "You're strong enough to do it on your own."

She trembled, shaking in his arms from the cold and something else.

"What if I don't want to do it alone?"

Gods. Fuck. Fuck.

He kissed the top of her head a third, final time. It felt like sliding a sharp blade between his ribs, slow and steady on its way to his heart. He was bleeding inside of himself.

"There are some things that we want that we just can't have," he said, emotion gnawing at his throat. His fingers sunk into her hair, sliding across the fuzzy tufts at her scalp that had begun to peel away from the twists. "We don't always get the things that we want."

"Not always," she mumbled into his robes, "but it doesn't stop me from wishing we could."

You and me both.

Draco sighed. He knew Madam Pomfrey wasn't going to send Hermione away. Hermione knew that, too. If anything, she would give her nutrition potions. All Hermione had to do was lie and he wasn't entirely sure he was strong enough not to go along with it.

It was one thing to stand up to her, but where other people were involved, he was still selfish.

A tiny part of him still wanted this to be his problem to handle. His witch to fix. He could do it—he knew he could. He just had to be harsh where it counted, firm where it didn't, and show her a sliver of compassion when she couldn't go on. He wasn't going to do it alone, like he had with his mother. Even if he had to chain her wrist to his, Hermione was going to take part in this. There would be no more manipulation. No more softness. No more weakness.

Together, they could do this, couldn't they?

He let her go and before he could look into her eyes and break down, he turned away from her. Keeping a tight hold on her hand, he tugged her along the bridge. When he felt her other hand curling around the other side of his hand, holding it with both of hers, his lungs clenched.

Holding his entire world in his hands stole his breath away and left him suspended in the space between light and darkness. Even when he was angry, she was his everything. Even when she was hissing vitriol at him, she was it for him.

Here, with her hand in his own, he could feel their destinies intertwining.

When they got to the Infirmary, they stood outside the doors and looked at one another. There was a question in her eyes, but an answer in his.

"I'll wait out here," he said.

The question faded into dismay, and he saw her hope crumble. He remained strong to the way he wanted to put his arms around her. She needed to do some of these things on her own. He could handle everything else.

She opened one of the double doors, casting one final, forlorn look over her shoulder. He caught it right as he leaned back against the wall across the way. He crossed his arms over his chest and kicked his foot back, glancing up at her through his lashes.

Their eyes met.

She went inside.

As soon as the silence settled around him, Draco felt his anxieties starting to rise to the surface.

His entire life, he'd spent it knowing exactly what he wanted and exactly who he was going to be. Who he was supposed to be. A Malfoy. Heir to the Malfoy fortune, last of the Malfoy line. He was supposed to do the things his father did not and prove to Lucius that he could be just as worthy to be the next head of the family when he passed.

The Dark Lord had taken everything he knew and flipped it upside-down. He went from planning to fearing, the terror of failure fueling him in everything he did. The thought of losing his family—the only two people he had that he genuinely cared about at the time—had spurned him onward with his task to get the Death Eaters into the castle. It had him contemplating and nearly killing his Headmaster. If it weren't for his godfather, Severus, he might have had a life on his hands.

Except that now, he did have a life on his hands. His mother's.

Draco had known about her eating disorder for so long and he'd never once told anyone. Never once even told her that he knew, when if he had, he could have saved her from the heart attack her purging had almost undoubtedly caused. He had simply done what he could from afar, watching over his mother and cleaning up after her so her shame wouldn't be discovered. He sat on that bottom step and listened, wondering how it must feel to feel so out of control. He say there, knowing that she was just scared. They were all scared.

Hermione was, too.

"We don't always get the things that we want."

But what did he want?

Did he want them to consummate their bond and go to Japan together, experiencing married life in bliss? Did he want to pass her off to some authority figure to deal with her disorder so he could finish school and start his internship in peace? Did he want to give up on everything just to focus on fixing her?

He kept making the wrong choices. Wrong choices that he had to suffer for. Watching his godfather murder a beloved friend to spare his own soul. Hearing the triumphant whoops and hollers of the Death Eaters as they stormed through the castle. Feeling his mother's body cascade across his lap as she died because he never told anyone that she was hurting herself. Enabling Hermione and watching her waste away before his eyes while he helped her tear pieces of herself off.

He glanced at the doors, studying the intricate designs carved into them, wondering when he would figure out why he couldn't make the right choice for once.

Maybe it was because he didn't know how. Or maybe it was because he just didn't know what he wanted.

I think . . . I think I just want her to get better.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione skulked out of the Infirmary with her arms full of potions. Draco didn't move, waiting for her to come to him.

"She weighed me," she mumbled, her gaze darting about. "And she said I'm underweight for my height."

"And did you tell her why?"

"I told her it was stress."

"Did she believe you?"

Hermione nodded.

"All right." Draco sighed and unfolded his arms, running his tattooed fingers through his messy hair. "What potions did she give you?"

"This one is a potion for electrolyte imbalances. It restores them to normal levels," she said, gesturing with her chin to one in the crook of her left arm. She then gestured to the one beside it. "That one, I have to take one sip with each meal for the next two days. Madam Pomfrey said it should aid in returning my digestion to normal. The ones in the middle are for rehydrating my body and giving me a daily dose of vitamins. Both have seven days' worth."

"How did she know to give this all to you?"

"She said it's quite normal for girls to come in talking of weight loss, and Quidditch players are very dehydrated, so they require similar potions." Hermione looked up at him and then quickly averted her eyes, like she was too ashamed to even look into his. "She says she gives them standard. That's why she didn't give me very much. They're supposed to be quick pick-me-ups."

"Okay," he said. "Let's take these back to the dorm, and then we'll just head straight to lunch."

Frustration flickered across her face but as quickly as it came, it dissipated. Without a word, she turned towards the exit and started walking. Draco caught up to her, walking beside her. He supposed it was at least good that Madam Pomfrey had given her potions. It was better than nothing.

He didn't want to know what Hermione weighed. He was afraid it would only be more harmful to her if he reacted to it at all, so he would simply say nothing. As for the potions, he was going to figure out a good schedule for her.

I'm just gonna have to watch her closely to make sure she keeps everything down, he thought as they crossed the bridge.

"I'm going to plate my own lunch today," Hermione said.

Draco felt his heart leap, but he schooled his facial expression so she didn't get a reaction out of him. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," she said, and for the first time since their row on the hill, she sounded a bit chipper. "I think I can do it. I know exactly what I'd like to eat, and if I mess up the portion sizes, you can just add more."

"Okay," he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "That's fine with me."

"Good."

Draco stepped off of the bridge before her, walking about a meter away before he realized that she wasn't beside him anymore. A tiny spark of concern snapped through him. What if she'd passed out or simply died, right there on the bridge?

He spun on his feet.

She was standing there, shivering from the cold, with blue lips, chattering teeth, and a smile. The potions were still hugged in her arms. The smile caught him so off guard that his breath cut itself off for a moment. There was a hollowness to her eyes that seemed like they would never be full.

Her beauty was the sad beauty of the same roses that his father had planted for his mother. Full, rich, and alive in the Winter.

Dead by Spring.

"I want you to know that even if you hate me right now—even if we don't get along later tonight, or come tomorrow, whatever—that I'm sorry. I didn't manipulate you on purpose, and I should not have said to you that you were toxic like your father. It was hurtful. It was wrong. You may not be able to forgive me, but—"

"I forgive you," he said.

She stopped talking, her mouth half-open.

"I forgive you for what you said," he continued, "but I don't forgive you for how you used me. I don't forgive you for manipulating me into enabling you. I told you I cared about you, and I meant that. The only thing that keeps me here is the way I—" Feel about you. The way I fucking feel for you, Hermione.

Hermione stood there, her eyes looking so large in her head that if she weren't so unwell, it might look comical.

"The bond," he finished. "The bond, and the possibility that things can get better. So yeah, you'd better be sorry. You better be sorry, because I'm not letting you off the hook until you and I are even."

She looked up at him as he came closer, shaking and trembling like a leaf. The clack of her teeth slamming together was loud. It was cold, but even colder for her. He cupped her face with both hands, feeling just how icy her skin was beneath his palms.

"I'll forgive you when you forgive me," he said softly. "When we forgive each other for our mistakes—all of them—then I'll let you go. Until then, you're mine."

Her eyelids fluttered. "D-Do y-y-you p-prom-promise t-to f-fo-for-forgive m-me?"

He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to tell her she'd have to wait and see. He wanted to be strong.

But he was weak for her.

"I promise to keep all of my promises to you," he said, and then he pulled her into his arms and cast a silent, wandless warming charm over the both of them. It was mild, just enough for them to have this last moment on the bridge. "Even if I have to hurt you to keep them."

She studied him for a moment, then nodded.

They headed back for the castle. Snowflakes clung to their clothes and hair, twisting lazily from the grey sky. As they neared the doors, Hermione spoke.

"How come I never see you in your dreams anymore?"

He answered without thinking.

"Because I don't let you in."

She didn't reply, but she didn't have to.

He knew it hurt.


"All right, let's see."

Hermione nodded, her eyes seeming a bit wild as they glanced across the space in front of them. There was plenty of food for her to choose from, from meats to sandwiches to cheeses to fruits to breads, and everything in-between. Draco knew it was likely overwhelming for her, but she'd said she wanted to plate it, so he was gonna let her plate it.

At today's lunch, they weren't quite so separated from other students. They currently sat at Slytherin, but Theo, Blaise, and Pansy were at the complete opposite end from them. Theo had glanced down at Hermione more than a few times, but every time he had, Draco had seen it out of the corner of his eye and sent him a scathing look.

It was difficult sometimes, remembering how good of friends they used to be and how negative their relationship was now. Draco could recall a time when all they did was laugh together. He'd learned how to ride a broom with Theo and both of their fathers. He'd ridden his first Abraxan with Theo. The first Quidditch game he'd ever played, Theo was there, cheering him on in the stands.

He'd always been his best mate.

But now? Now, everything was different.

Now, Draco didn't like the way Theo looked at his witch.

"How's this?"

Draco hadn't realized he'd been glaring at Theo. He'd completely missed watching Hermione select the foods she wanted. She was now looking up at him expectantly, not saying anything. They couldn't exactly discuss anything, given that they were sitting across from a group of Sixth Years who already found it odd that Hermione Granger was sitting at the Slytherin House table, so Draco was discreet as he looked at her plate.

"Looks good, except . . ." He reached past her, their eyes meeting as his face loomed closer to hers. Closing his hand around the handle of a ladle, he gathered one more scoop of potatoes and put them on her plate with the others. "You needed a little more of those."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Yeah."

His gaze dropped to her lips and for a moment, it felt like the past week hadn't even happened. Like they were still spending every day lazing about in his bed, waiting for Winter holiday to dwindle to a close. Now that he thought about it, those days were some of the best of his entire life. Every day that he'd spent with her before this week had been the best.

It hurt to think about that.

None of this would ever have happened if I hadn't told the Weaselbee about Paris, he thought, misery pulsing faintly beneath his heart as he ate his meal. I hate arguing with her. I just wish I knew which parts of us are real and which are false.

He glanced over at her, startled to see her looking right back at him. It felt like her face was open, her gaze clear in a way that he'd been desperate to witness for weeks. Like she was a book with all of its pages open at the same time. Like she had words that she wanted him to read and a message she wanted him to receive.

It felt like he'd forgotten how to read.

He had to remember that while telling the Weaselbee her secret was wrong, it wasn't the problem. It had merely exposed the problems they had yet to overcome.

They ate in silence, both seeming to be more focused on listening to the Sixth Years prattle on about this and that. Draco could barely taste his food. He nearly set his fork down.

His eyes fell to his plate, where he saw the food mingling together like an arrangement to be painted. It looked so harmless. So normal and unassuming.

How could it be the one thing destroying everything right now? How could it be the one thing that had the power to take away everyone he cared about? His mother. Hermione. Hell, even his father had looked awful enough to warrant Hermione wanting to file a report to ensure he was given his meals. And here it was, just sitting on his plate like it had no idea that it was taking everything that made him want to be alive and ripping it away from him without a care.

How could something so crucial to life be so destructive?

When he was done eating, he felt exhausted. Like each bite he took had taken all of the energy he had stored within his body. He scrubbed his face with his hands and then dragged his fingers through his hair.

He wished things didn't have to be so complicated. Why did things have to change? He just wanted to go to sleep and pull Hermione into his dreams with him again.

But he didn't want her in there right now.

"I'm full," Hermione suddenly said.

Draco arched an eyebrow, turning to face her. "There's still food on the plate."

"I know." She shot a wary glance in the direction of the Sixth Years, who were still chattering. "But I'm full now."

They shared a look that felt like electricity was running back and forth between them. A look that told him that if those Sixth Years weren't here, the quasi-positive atmosphere they'd been sharing since their conversation on the bridge would be shattered. He felt the first stirrings of annoyance in his chest, starting to expand.

"Can you maybe try to eat the rest of it?" he asked, voice strained as he rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm.

"I did try," she replied, "but I'm full."

Draco couldn't tell if she was lying, and that was perhaps more frustrating than the fact that she wasn't finishing the meal.

For a split second, he considered letting it go. He considered dropping the topic, letting it fade into the nether with the rest of the things he tried to ignore. But the more he thought about it, the more it dug its claws in, hooking into the flesh of his psyche like it wanted to pain him.

"Granger," he said slowly, "I'm gonna need you to pick up your fork now, yeah?"

She beseeched him with the pull of her eyebrows. "I'm being honest. I'm full. I can't eat another bite, I swear."

"Pick it up," he hissed, "and eat."

Across from them, the Sixth Years had fallen silent in the sort of way that told Draco they were eavesdropping. He wanted to turn to them and give them a look, snap at them, something—but the last thing he wanted to deal with was more gossip. The entire school had discovered that they were going together and now were arguing, all in less than two weeks.

What did Theo think of that?

"Malfoy," she said, her tone pleading. "I'm. Full."

Draco saw red. He had to fight to contain it behind a woven net of decorum, calm, and reasonability.

"Finish the rest of your lunch, please. If you don't, then you'll have to make it up at dinner."

Hermione's eyes widened. He could tell she was shocked. She wasn't prepared for that, and it made her just as angry as he felt.

"I told you that I'm full, Malfoy." She hissed her words like curses. "That means that I'm full. I'm not going to overstuff myself just to appease you. I ate a normal amount of food, and that should be good enough."

"I decide what's good enough," he growled back, no longer caring about the Sixth Years. "I decide when you've eaten enough. If you wanted to be able to decide that for yourself, then you should have thought about that before you put us in this situation."

"Us?!" Her eyes looked about ready to pop out of her head. She gestured between the two of them with her hand. "The situation I put us into?!"

"Um, yeah. The fact that we're sitting here, bickering over the fact that you're going above and beyond to try and get out of eating four bites insinuates that we're in this together!"

"This? What—what—what is 'this'?" she spluttered. "Could you be talking about the state of the disorder you seem to think I have? Or could it perhaps be the bond that your parents forced me into without my consent? Wait—you said, 'put us in this situation'. Do you mean the situation where you inserted yourself into my life like the overbearing, controlling arsehole you are? Or maybe it's simpler than that." She slammed her hands down flat on the table and pushed herself to her feet, leaning down to berate him. "Maybe you're talking about the fact that the most painful, private night in my life was not only viewed but experienced by you without my permission?"

He felt his heart taking a dive right into the pits of Hell. By the anger blazing in her eyes, he could tell hers was already there when his arrived.

"Yeah," she spat. "I think that's it. I guess I did put us into this situation, didn't I?"

She grabbed her bag, turned on her heel, and stormed off towards the doors.

The Sixth Years stared at Draco with their jaws agape. From the look in their eyes, they didn't seem to know whether to be shocked or amused.

Draco watched her go, his hands shaking as he pulled them through his hair again in agitation. He felt sick to his stomach, like it was curdling in his body as he sat there and stewed in his own regrets.

She was right. In a lot of ways, she was right.

Yes, she had manipulated him in some way he had no idea the details or specifics of yet.

But the fact that he'd inserted himself into her life, taking it upon himself to save her from the disorder she—clearly—had? That his parents had forced her into a soulmate bond she never would have agreed to if it were up to her? The fact that she seemed to be getting sicker with each day that wore on because of the stress the bond placed upon her?

All true.

I was pulled into a memory that I never would have seen if it weren't for the bond. It doesn't matter if she was suffering alone—it was never my right to be a part of that experience. It was never my place and it never will be. There's nothing anyone can do or say to make it okay.

Because now, Hermione Granger had to exist for the rest of her life knowing what it felt like to have a man inside of her mind at the same time that another man was inside of her body against her will.

When he looked at it that way, whatever she'd manipulated him with seemed to pale in comparison. And now, it sounded like by saying she'd "put them into this situation," when all of this began with the memory of Paris, he was telling her that her assault was her fault.

How could he have forgotten about Paris without ever really forgetting about it?

Draco knew he had to catch up to her. He understood now what this was really about. This was a power struggle between the two of them. Him trying to find his footing in her life; her trying to retain the footing she'd already managed to gain. The two of them trying to navigate the soulmate bond, their feelings, and her trauma. And him not being able to talk about his own.

He wasn't going to let her walk away from this. Not from this. Not from him.

And certainly not to the loo.

He scrambled to his feet and dashed through the crowded Great Hall to catch up to her.

When they got into the shadowed corridor, he grabbed her arm. She yelped as he dragged her past the right side door and pushed her against the wall beside it. He pointed a threatening finger in her face, his ire burning so bright that it could light the entire countryside.

"Don't you ever take that situation and use it like that against me, do you hear me?" he snarled. "If you do it again, we're done. Do you hear me? We'll be done."

A split-second of fear flashed through her eyes like lightning and then she shoved his hand out of the way.

"Oh, sure. Use my rape against me." She sneered at him, giving him a onceover. "Why don't you understand? Do you not grasp that my body isn't even mine anymore? No part of it belongs to me except what I can control. The only thing that's mine. And all you care about is remaking me in your image—because you want my body in the state that you want it so you can own it."

Draco felt the rage starting to rise again. "Don't you fucking dare. Don't you dare disrespect me like that."

"I wasn't aware you were owed respect for my trauma."

He opened his mouth, but the words he originally wanted to say died in his throat. Instead, they became replaced with something new. Something dangerous. Something as dark as the shadows in the windowless corridor that twisted their way around them right now.

"Do you not realize how irrevocably Paris changed me?" He took a step closer to her, and her back hit the wall once more. His eyes never left hers, wide and terrified as they were. "Do you not grasp that I would take an avada to the chest for you? I'm not trying to control you. I'm not even trying to save you. I'm just trying to love you, and you won't let me."

The pace of her breathing picked up and she squeezed her eyes shut. "Stop. Don't—just stop. Don't say that."

"Why not?" His whisper grated harsh to his own ears. He kept his hands at his sides, even though they tingled with the urge to touch her. "Is it so appalling to you to think that you're worth something more to me than just a body?"

"Stop," she said, covering her face with her hands. "Please, please stop."

"No. You have value, Granger. You have value, and the value that you have is enough for me to overlook whatever it is you've done wrong and still protect you. Even from yourself."

"Malfoy!" she cried, sounding panicked. "It was just—just four bites of food! It's not that—it's not that deep, I—I—"

He grabbed her chin, cutting her words off as he forced it upward so she looked into his eyes.

"It's not just four bites of food. It's everything. It's all the times you won't eat the first bite, and all the times you won't eat the last. I don't want to own your body, Granger. I don't want to have it. I want you. But I want you to live. Why don't you understand?"

She sucked in her breath, but it didn't seem enough to quell the flames.

"I don't want to understand. I don't want you to want me. I just want to . . . To . . ."

She didn't have to finish her sentence. She didn't have to say it for him to know that she wanted his worst nightmare to come true. The very thing he was so terrified of that he would do, be, or say anything to keep it from happening.

"I will do anything to make sure you stay alive," he said, his breath hot against her lips. "I don't care how toxic I have to get. I don't care if you hate me. I'm sorry that I used Paris against you—it was wrong. But I'll never fucking apologize for doing what it takes to make sure I don't have to watch another person I care for die."

There was a moment of silence before her eyes widened yet again, the words settling into her psyche with the speed of a Snitch.

When they kissed this time, it was because she had pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes to initiate it. The second he felt her soft skin pillowed against his, whatever net he'd woven around himself to stay in control came undone thread by thread. It unraveled, leaving him nearly wanton in the corridor.

Thud.

Hermione dropped her bag to the floor.

Draco slammed her up against the wall, the raucous noise of the Great Hall orchestrating the music of their tongues dancing from one mouth to the other. Her fingers found their way into his hair, her nails sliding across his scalp. A delicious shiver ran through his body, causing him to groan in his chest and turn his head to the side like he always did when he felt like he couldn't get as far inside of her as he wanted to. She gasped again and again, desperate for air as he stole every last drop of it from her lungs.

And he could feel it. He could feel it, aching down in the very bottom of his heart. Fluttering like wings and taking flight over molten rock in a way that made his entire soul feel dangerously airborne.

If the Dark Lord returned tomorrow and they were thrown into battle again, he'd hold her behind him while he showed the Death Eaters just how well he excelled at dueling. If the Dark Lord won and took over, Draco would do whatever he could to make sure he and Hermione were safe.

If he found out on the hill outside of Hogwarts that she'd manipulated him, he wouldn't even ask her how.

Draco would do anything for her. Be anything for her. Give her everything she could ever dream of or hope for. Take all of her pain away and drive it deep down inside of himself where it could join the rest of his despair and become part of him.

He just wanted her to be okay.

Draco pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, his hands sliding up her waist. His fingers ached at the feeling.

"How am I supposed to stay angry with you when you kiss me like that?" she breathed, panting with her eyes remaining closed.

Draco bit his lower lip, moving his hands up to cup her cheeks.

"You're not," he murmured.

They kissed again, this time slower and more languid than the first. Draco could hear voices congregating from inside the Great Hall, signifying that lunch was coming to an end. Soon, everyone would flood out and see them.

Not that he minded.

He could feel her trying to pull away, but he continuously pulled her face back towards his. Intensifying the pressure of his mouth every time she tried, he felt the whimpers she was trying so violently to hold in her chest. They made his own stomach curl with the same ache he felt in his loins. Her hands clung to the fabric of his jumper, alternating between smoothing over his pectorals and curling inward.

"Please," she mumbled between kisses. "Please. They'll—they'll see."

"Let them."

I want them to.

Let them all see she's still mine.

Draco could tell Hermione had never been kissed like this before. He wasn't entirely sure he'd ever kissed anyone this way before, either. It felt like he was spelling his promises out to her against her tongue. Like he was letting her know that even if he never forgave her, he would never leave her.

He would never give up on her.

Losing the last of his mind, he trailed his kisses along her jaw. Between each, he breathed out whatever words came to the empty expanse that gaped between his ears.

"So fucking soft . . . So good . . . Fucking sweet . . . All mine . . . It feels good, doesn't it?"

She didn't say anything, but he heard her sigh. He felt her nodding, frantic jerks of her head that told him all he needed to know.

Draco's lips were hot and heavy as they reached the spot beneath her ear that always made her cry out. As his lips brushed against it, he took his right hand and wrapped it around her throat, just the way she liked. He felt her pressing into his palm as her head fell back on her shoulders. He laved his tongue against the indentation behind her jaw, and he could practically hear her eyes rolling from trying to keep quiet.

"Fuck," Hermione whined, a shiver rocking through her body. The sound of the rare curse word upon her lips made him growl, and he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. Her heard her gasping, heard it rising into a moan . . .

. . . Right as a group of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindor boys came traipsing out of the Great Hall.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" one of the Gryffindors practically shouted, a boisterous Seventh Year. "What have we here? The lion snogging the snake?"

The insult dug into Draco's still-ebbing irritation.

He tore his lips from Hermione's, his left forearm flat against the wall and his right hand moving from her throat to her shoulder. He tipped his head back, giving the air a frustrated scowl. Rolling his neck, he shot the students a scathing glare.

"If you want to watch, that'll be ten thousand galleons," he said, smirking as the words rolled off of his tongue. "Otherwise, move along."

The boys laughed, sharing a couple of glances. But when they saw the way Draco's smirk didn't match the darkness in his eyes, they shrunk away. A couple of the boys took a step back.

"Sorry," the one who had spoken mumbled, averting his gaze. He held up a defensive hand. "We'll go."

"Yeah. You will."

They turned and hurried down the corridor, going the opposite direction.

"It's time for class, anyway," Hermione said, playing with her twists as though she were trying to rearrange them on her head. "I presume you're walking me?"

"Why would you presume anything else?"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go."

She reached down to grab her bag. As she straightened up, he sought her eyes with a stern gaze of his own. His eyebrows shot upward.

"I meant what I said, Granger. You'll eat four extra bites tonight. No excuses."

She shot him a decidedly sour look but remained silent. They headed for her next class.

He knew that she was just as toxic as he was, but he didn't care. If the venom turned his blood to acid, he would gladly let it melt him into something she could drink down. Maybe then it would melt her, too.

They could suffer together, just like they had in Paris.


After a relatively uneventful dinner—during which Hermione did indeed eat the extra four bites—they went back to the common room.

For a moment, it felt like it was the beginning of the year again. Hermione tucked away in another room with the door closed and him nodding off on the couch with a book open in his hands. This time, she was in her bedroom instead of the loo, and that made him feel better.

It was hard to believe that the entire time he'd thought the messy dishes and her being in the loo for forty-five minutes at a time was just her being a bit of a slob. When in reality, she was hurting herself. It was difficult to think about the fact that the Weaselbee had been treating her horribly as well.

And then there was Paris.

Sometimes, Draco had to remind himself the reason for all of this. Yes, she'd told him she first purged when she was in a younger year, but it seemed like the disorder hadn't fully taken hold until after the war. He remembered seeing her, Potter, and the Weaselbee on the front cover of the Prophet, smiling with their arms around one another. He hadn't thought anything of it back then because he was under house arrest and much more focused on the trials.

Had her smile reached her eyes back then?

It felt like their lives had been falling apart for so long because of the war that he couldn't remember what she looked like before now. When he tried to remember Third Year, when she struck him and awakened the bond, her face was hazy, shrouded by grey. When he kissed her that first time in the alcove, he only remembered the way the flickering lantern light bounced off of her face. He remembered nothing after that. Only that he'd watched her memories like a Muggle film for years.

The only thing he remembered vividly was Paris. The sounds. The feelings. The pain. He remembered what it felt like to hear her sobbing in anguish. The way it felt to hear her trying to reason with the Muggle who raped her. The way it felt to kneel before her in that shower and wash her.

And he remembered telling her no in that shower. He'd been able to recognize that six times was too many. Six washings would never erase what happened. He'd recognized that she needed him to put his foot down and say no. He'd said no, and she hadn't done anything other than let him carry her.

That's what she needed now.

Him to say no, so she would let him carry her.

Closing his book, he realized that he needed to at least check on her. He'd told her she could have her door shut until she cleaned the room, but it was probably best that he make sure she knew he was going to keep her on her toes.

He wasn't dumb. He knew she could clean her room with her wand.

She probably just wanted to get those last few days of privacy, he thought, shaking his head. I could let it brass me off, but I think I'll just let it slide.

Hermione had done well that day. She'd plated her lunch and dinner by herself. He'd had to add more to her portions at dinner to match the ones he usually gave, but she hadn't fought it. She'd plated herself a wide variety of foods so that even though the portion sizes were small, they still filled the same size plate.

Honestly, he was quite proud of her. It was only two meals, but it was better than the past two days. If she kept this up—kept trying—then the new rules might actually do some good. Especially for their situationship.

He'd even kissed her outside the Great Hall, just because it was nice to see her smile again.

Draco didn't bother knocking. He didn't know if it was because he was so used to her simply walking into his room that week after Christmas, or if it was because something told him to just open the door. Either way, he turned the knob and entered.

The smell.

He staggered backward, a hand slapping over his mouth. His book slipped from his hand and fell to the floor, place lost and pages bent.

The smell.

His gaze fell upon the bags first. Plastic bags from Hogsmeade and other shops he'd never heard of, littering the room and full of Hermione's sick. Next to them, containers that were supposed to be for storing food were full to the brim with more of her vomit. One container had spilled over, the remnants of the contents of her stomach clearly having been there for a long time.

Why wouldn't she vanish it? he thought, his horror and bewilderment forcing his thoughts to move in slow motion. Why wouldn't she just vanish it?!

Beside her on the floor was a large chest, wooden and like it was supposed to be for blankets. It was open. Inside rested food. All manner of packaged sweets and savory goods. All the things he'd seen her binge on and things that he hadn't. So much food that she had to have been collecting and hoarding it like a dragon with treasure for weeks. Months perhaps.

The fucking smell.

Draco had never been more simultaneously horrified and repulsed in his entire life.

Hermione sat in the center of her floor, wearing nothing but her brassiere and knickers. There was a mirror against the wall to the right of him that he could see she was simply watching herself in. She had a bag of crisps in one hand, and her other hand was carrying a singular blue tortilla up to her mouth. Now, it was frozen in midair.

Her eyes widened in stages as she realized that he was actually standing in her doorway and that he was looking at the most disgusting, heartbreaking sight. Perhaps worse than when he'd walked in on her purging. He didn't know.

Draco couldn't think. He wasn't sure whether to be furious or grieve the last piece of hope he had that she could get better without his help.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, voice wrestled into a whisper. Then, the panic exploded in her eyes. "You can't be in here! Get out of my room!"

"Granger," he said, his tone drawn-out as he stared at the physical representation of her self-hatred, contained in boxes and bags all over her bedroom. "What . . . The fuck . . . Is this?"