Trigger warning for graphic crucio torture. Much deserved.
Apricity – Chapter Thirty-Nine
They spent the majority of the afternoon at the mall, wandering about and looking at things.
When they stopped back at the hotel room to smoke, they used the Cream of Dittany Draco always had with him to heal their tattoos instantly. Hermione had been surprised to see the ink lighten in color a bit until he explained that when tattoos healed, they faded. She'd said that was a bit disappointing, but he could see it on her face.
She wanted more.
Draco had shopped plenty of times before, but the fact that he was doing it with Hermione felt strange. New. Like he'd never done it before. It was so normal that he could pretend that the war never happened. That Paris never happened and their past had never taken place. They were just two people—a man and a woman—and they were on a romantic trip.
Her fingers were soft and small between his own, enveloped by his larger hand in a way that represented how he felt about keeping her safe. He never stopped touching her in the shops, whether it be to drop a kiss to her cheek or the side of her neck, or to brush his fingers over her new tattoo. She would laugh, and it sounded like she was happy. At one point, he thought he may have seen her smile reach her eyes like a far-off star, glinting in the darkness past thousands of others. Seeing her like that made him miss when they used to walk his dreams together.
He almost wanted to let her back in.
They went inside of one store that had its walls painted black. It played music over the speakers that sounded just like the music they'd listened to at the show before Christmas. All of the clothes were varying shades of black, red, and white, and there were a lot of stripes and studs. Hermione seemed to love it, so Draco followed her around while she fawned over skirts that would make a Pureblood witch faint and shirts that would make him want to take them right back off of her.
"I'm surprised everyone ended up canceling," Hermione said as she sifted through a rack of dresses. "I would have thought maybe they'd just come tomorrow. I mean, a cold? Blaise could fix that up in five minutes in the Infirmary."
"That's because it was a lie," Draco drawled, fixing his hair in a mirror that adorned the wall. "Theo didn't want to come with us and be a third or fifth wheel, or whatever, so he probably convinced them not to go."
"But why would he do that? Why would they?"
"When it comes to my friends, things aren't that complicated. Blaise and Pansy probably lied so they could come to London by themselves. Theo already didn't want to go if I was here, so I'm fairly certain he canceled before they ever did."
"Yeah, that makes sense. Oh, this is cute." She held up a short-sleeved black dress with pleats in the skirt. "Would this be cute on me?"
"Everything is cute on you." He leaned his elbow on top of a clothing rack, his gaze washing over her. "Why does that make sense?"
She opened her mouth but said nothing. Giving a little laugh, she shook her head and hung the dress back up.
"No, I'm just saying I believe you."
Suspicion clouded Draco's good mood for a moment as he followed her to another display.
"About which part?" he asked.
"That your friends aren't complicated," she said. "I mean, you guys are Slytherins. It makes sense that they would be more straightforward and honest, even if the truth is brutal."
Draco eyed her. "And what's your opinion on Theo?"
"What do you mean?"
He cocked his head to the side, watching as she picked up jewelry packaging and inspected it. "I mean what is your opinion on Theo?"
"He's my friend. Do you like rings?"
Draco knew her by now. He knew her well.
She was deflecting.
"Even if he's your friend, how does it make sense to you that he wouldn't want to be here if I'm here? Our relationship—"
She cut in, her voice insistent. "Draco, do you like rings?"
"Yeah, sure. But what I was saying, is that our relationship should have no bearing on Theo's opinion or presence on an outing to London. Don't you think?"
"We're in a relationship?" Hermione looked up at him, hanging a necklace back up.
"I don't know." Draco held her gaze. "Are we?"
"You tell me."
"It's up to you."
"I cannot with you." Hermione let out a mirthless laugh, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I am not playing this game."
He grabbed her wrist before she could walk away and spun her back around to face him in a fan of braids. A girl shopping the hair accessories nearby gave them a strange look, but neither of them paid it any mind.
"It's not a game, Hermione. None of this has ever been a game, and you know it," he said.
Her eyes searched his. Her facial expression was as calm as her voice when she spoke.
"We're in a relationship. I love you, and Theo's opinion of us has no bearing on the way I feel."
Draco loosened his hold on her wrist. Her hand slipped out of his as she went back to the rings. He watched her searching through the black ones and wondered why she was so nonchalant about this situation, this silent rivalry with Theo. Was it just something he'd imagined?
He believed Hermione's feelings were real. He believed in the things she was saying.
Why did Theo hate him so much?
"So," Hermione said, turning to give him a bright grin. She held up six ring packages, three in each hand positioned like playing cards. They were black and silver. "What do you say?"
He raised one eyebrow, slipping his hands into the front pockets of his denims. "You want me to wear rings?"
"Only if you want to wear them."
He pursed his lips and plucked them from her fingers one-by-one.
"Fine. I will wear the rings because you like them. But don't expect it to become a regular occurrence."
After they purchased the jewelry, the first thing she wanted to do was put them on him. Standing outside in the alley between the edge of the mall and another building, they worked together to take apart the packaging. Once they were on his fingers, she used her wand to size them to fit. He held his hand out before him.
"Well?"
She smiled and there was something secretive about it. Her fingers traced the outline of his rose tattoo, moving up until they were twirling one of the rings around his middle finger. The ghost of her touch sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
Her fingers wrapped around his hand and she looked up at him. She spoke in a whisper, her eyes boring up into his soul.
"I like them."
He turned towards her. "Yeah?"
She nodded.
"Ye—"
He silenced her with his lips, bending down to draw her into a sensual, slow kiss that had her panting. She tightened her hold on his hand while his other came up to cup the side of her neck. He felt her braids against his knuckles as he tilted her head back and kissed down into her with every intention of pulling passion out of her. Because now, he understood why she wanted him to wear the rings.
There were many things he could do to her with them on.
Hermione seemed to gather her wits about her, pushing on her toes to intensify the kiss. It took him aback and his body moved forward, pressing against hers with desire and fervor.
His heart swelled.
They were in an alleyway and here she was, kissing him again. With everything she had inside of her. Like she wanted to give herself to him and let him take care of everything.
And he would.
Draco couldn't stop thinking about the hotel room. The fact that they were going to be alone tonight. The fact that he loved her and wanted to kiss her everywhere.
What good fortune it was that the others had cancelled.
Suddenly, right as Draco was starting to lose himself to the fires, there was a quiet hoot above them.
Draco pulled away, hearing Hermione give off a small sound as he did so. They both looked up. It was an owl. A very old, barely living owl with brown feathers and wild eyes.
"That's Errol," Hermione said. "The Weasley family owl. Is it for me?"
Errol winged back and forth like he were sozzled, ignoring Hermione's outstretched hand. Draco's brow furrowed as he and Hermione exchanged confused glances.
Oh, shite.
"Looks like it's for you. I don't have the energy to ask about it." Hermione rested her head against his chest, her fingers curling tight in his shirt fabric. She sighed. "Just open it."
Fuck.
Fuck no.
Not right now!
One arm around Hermione, he reached the other up. Errol dropped the letter in his claws directly into Draco's waiting hold. He let go of Hermione and opened the letter. His gaze scanned down to the bottom to see who it was from. His stomach dropped.
Harry.
D,
I tracked you and you're in London right now, right? You're staying at The Savoy?
We got him.
Meet us in the alley behind your hotel when the sun goes down.
Best,
H
Hermione ripped the letter out of his hands and stepped away from him. The volume of her breathing increased as she tore the parchment into shreds and incinerated the pieces with wandless magic. She stood with her back to him for a long moment, quivering with a violence that told Draco he was fucked.
He didn't know how to rectify this one.
"I just found the energy," Hermione hissed, glaring up at him with rage. "What did you do, Draco?"
Draco lifted his chin and shrugged. He spread his hands wide. "I was protecting you."
Her jaw dropped. Never before had he seen her look so angry. He'd betrayed her in the worst way possible. He'd given the memory of her assault to her best friend and even if he were doing it with good intentions, it was still a betrayal.
Another wrong choice.
"Getting revenge is not protection!" she cried. "Giving my memories—my nightmares to someone I care about is not protection!"
Draco felt the thin metal clasp on his faculties starting to tear loose. He cast a silent muffliato and yelled.
"You weren't going to let Potter do anything! You were just gonna let that fucker in Paris get away with everything he did to you. I couldn't just—just stand by and watch as he got to live his life in peace, never knowing what pain was. And not just physical pain. True pain. The sort Muggles like him deserve to feel."
Hermione's face contorted with revulsion and she scowled. "As if you didn't do it for yourself. For your own sick gratification."
"Don't act like you haven't thought about it either." He took a step toward her, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction. "Don't fucking act like you haven't wanted to get the chance to see him bleed."
"Of course that's what I want!" she screamed, tears slipping off of her jaw and splashing onto the concrete beneath her feet. "I've thought about it more times than I can count."
"Then this is your chance, Hermione." Draco rushed toward her, grabbing her elbows. "This is your chance to make him pay for what he did to you."
"It won't fix anything! It won't take the things I felt in that alley, and the things I've hated about myself since, and fix them!" Overcome, her head hung down as she wept. He felt her body pulling down against his hold as her knees went weak. "It won't erase it."
"It's not about fixing or erasing," Draco murmured, his heart pounding. "It's about payment. Payment that he owes you. Payment that is due."
Hermione's head fell back. Draco's hands left her elbows and went to her cheeks, fingers hooking behind her ears.
"He deserves to pay."
For a moment, he saw it there in her eyes. The pain that the man would experience at the end of her wand. The glee she would feel as the Cruciatus left her mouth and the magic flowed sinister through her magical core. The relief that his death would bring.
Like a heavy iron door, she slammed her emotions shut and her eyes filled with rage once again.
"Get away from me!" she shrieked, shoving him back a few staggering steps. "This is exactly why I never should have trusted you. I was already angry with you for telling Ron, but this? This is too far. The fact that you . . ."
She trailed off and Draco watched as her emotions and thoughts flickered across her face like flames.
"Oh, Gods." Hermione slammed her hand over her mouth and turned away. "Harry's seen it. Harry's seen the memory." She whirled back around, her eyes glittering with horrified tears. "How could you do this to me?! I never wanted anyone to see me like that! I never wanted—you weren't supposed to—Oh, my Gods!"
She sunk into a crouch, her face buried in her hands as she shook and rocked back and forth on her high heels.
"No, no, no. I can't. I can't do this. I don't wanna see him." She fell into inconsolable weeping. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this."
Draco sank to his knees before her, making an attempt to pry her hands away from her tear-streaked face. When he finally managed it and she looked at him, he nearly fell back.
The devastation in her eyes was absolute.
"How could you do this to me?" she sobbed. "How could you put me in this position?"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but I did what I thought was right."
"You were wrong."
I always am.
Draco bit his lower lip, thinking about his next words before saying them. He knew what he'd done was wrong. Forgiveness was not something he deserved for doing this, nor was it something she was likely to give. He also knew there was no coming back from it.
If he were going to play with fire, he might as well embrace the burn.
"I'm going to meet with Potter and Ginny when they show up," he said. "I'm going to do this."
"And, what?" she spat, glaring through her tears. "What are you going to do? You can't kill him, Draco!"
"Watch me."
He stood up.
"No, wait!" she screeched, scrambling to her feet and clinging to him. "No. Just . . . I'll come with you."
Draco didn't say anything. He merely looked down at her.
"I don't want to do this," she whispered, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her fingers, "but I don't want you to do something you'll regret."
"I won't regret it."
"But you will when the Trace picks up the fact that a former Death Eater's wand has just cast a curse!"
Draco sighed. She was right. He couldn't just cast Unforgivables when the Ministry had a Trace on his wand. Even if he really wanted to.
"We can let Harry handle anything that needs to be handled," she breathed, squeezing his forearm. "But if you're going to be present, then I will, too. It's my life. My body. My pain."
"Okay," he said. His fingers tingled, itching to touch her face, but he refrained.
They looked at one another. The fear in her eyes was enough to rend his heart in two, but not enough to make him fully regret what he'd done. In just a matter of hours, they were going to be in front of the man who had caused her all of this pain.
Draco hoped he got to watch him die.
There he was.
Kneeling on the ground like a prisoner, arms wrapped in conjured chains with his hands behind his back and a kerchief wrapped around his mouth through his teeth as a gag. His dark hair was swept back from a face covered in bruises. One look at Harry's bandaged hand told Draco where they'd come from. His eyes were resigned, as though the time for terror had passed and he'd finally accepted that this was his fate.
He knew what he'd done wrong.
"He wasn't in Paris anymore," Harry said gruffly from his place beside Ginny. "We found him in Wales, believe it or not."
"With his family," Ginny added, sounding bitter as she hugged her arms against the icy wind that whipped through the space between The Savoy and the building over. "Has a wife and two kids. Isn't that lovely?"
It was cold tonight—much colder than usual—but everyone was bundled up against it. Everyone except the man, who had nothing but his pyjamas on. It was clear that he'd been pulled out of house and home.
Good.
Draco and Hermione had postponed what was sure to be an awkward dinner so they could sit in the hotel room and wait for dark. Hermione had spent the majority of the few hours they were there in the loo, crying. The walls were thin, so he could hear everything. He'd tried to go in but found the door locked.
He didn't try to encroach on her privacy—not when he was the cause of her tears.
So, he'd sat in the armchair beside the bed and stared out at the city through the window. He smoked two blunts but didn't manage to get himself to any sort of place where he could consider himself high. The smoke had curled around his head, until it was all he breathed in, but he still felt like he were sinking to the bottom of an ocean of despair.
But now, they were here. They were here and it was time to face it.
"I know you said not to do this, Hermione," Harry said, looking over her head at Draco. "But we just couldn't let him get away with it. He didn't deserve to."
"He doesn't deserve anything," Ginny said, a sour expression full of hatred on her face. She came to stand beside Hermione, putting an arm around her. "It's up to you what you wanna do."
Hermione looked at them both, first at Ginny and then at Harry. Draco kept his distance.
"If you want to kill him, then I can make it disappear," Harry murmured. "I don't care what we have to do to make it happen—it'll happen."
"Does anyone else—does anyone know?" Hermione's voice sounded like hardly more than a whisper from how long she'd cried.
"No," Harry said fiercely. "I promise you that. Not Ron. Not any of the Weasleys. Not even Kingsley. No one knows about this."
"So I could . . ." She trembled in the semi-circle of Ginny's arm. "I could kill him, and no one would ever know?"
The man whimpered, his eyes rolling in his head with fear as he realized what they were saying. He tried to speak and it made Draco sick to his stomach.
He stepped forward, hands in his coat pockets as he took his boot and pressed the sole into the man's chest. The man fell back against the brick, seated on his rump, and stared up at Draco with wild-eyed terror.
Draco lifted his chin and glared down his nose at him.
"Shut . . . Your fucking mouth," he snarled, his voice an insidious hiss. "Or I'll cut out your tongue . . . And feed it to you."
When he stepped back again, turning a dark look toward the others, he saw they were watching him with wary, disturbed expressions. His gaze locked onto Hermione's for a lingering moment, and then he walked to the other wall and leaned back against it.
Harry was the last person to look away from Draco. He bent his head until it was near Hermione's face. "I've already cast the necessary spells—a disillusionment charm and muffliato included. Nothing will ever leave this alleyway."
Hermione looked at him, a deep frown pulling her facial features downward. She stepped forward, away from Ginny and Harry. Then, she took another step. Her hands clasped to her chest, her body shivering from more than the cold. She stood in the center of the alley with the same amount of distance between her and the man stretching between her and her friends.
Draco wanted to go to her side. He didn't want her to have to face this alone again. But he stayed where he was.
Hermione took another step forward. Her foot was an inch away from the man's.
"Look at me."
The man did, lifting his watery eyes to hers. He peered up, appearing to silently plead with her.
Draco sneered. He could plead all he wanted. His time was up.
Hermione spoke again.
"Do you know who I am?"
The man's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. He didn't recognize her.
A vicious, agonizing rage rose up inside of Draco's chest. He had to turn his head away to keep from ripping his wand out of his sleeve and killing the man on the spot.
How could someone who had so utterly destroyed her not even know who she was?
Hermione straightened her shoulders and back. Slowly, she unfolded her elbows and let her hands hang down at her sides. Her chin rose.
"You raped me," she said. "You raped me in an alleyway in Paris in August. I begged you to stop. I tried to offer myself up to you. But you didn't. You just kept raping me. And I know that you're a Muggle and that you've probably done this to so many other girls, but . . ."
Hermione reached into her sleeve with a ginger, careful hand, and withdrew her wand. Her hand was steady as she turned her hips outward in her wand stance. She aimed.
"This time, you chose the wrong girl."
Draco pushed away from the wall. Her voice was so soft, so quiet. So calm. He could feel it in the air, the darkness gathering and pulling inward. She was going to—
"Crucio."
The man's screams rent the night air, echoing up the side of The Savoy like a wolf as he howled to the moon. His back bowed and he keeled over, writhing and twisting as agony only a witch could cause wracked his Muggle body with pain. His screams became sobbing, anguished wails. He wet himself, his entire body spasming as the curse ripped through his veins and burned them.
It was glorious.
She was glorious, with her face as tranquil and sure as it was, but it wasn't right.
It wasn't her.
Something inside of Draco told him to go to her. To walk towards her, one foot in front of the other, and be by her side. He did so, ignoring the fact that Harry and Ginny were watching him do so with cold, emotionless expressions.
Draco reached out to grab her wrist.
The spell stopped.
Startled, Hermione looked up at him in a daze. Her voice was wistful, distant as she said, "What's wrong? Isn't this what you wanted?"
A spear, right through his heart.
"Hermione," he murmured, voice gentle with emotion, "I want you to do what you want."
Hermione's lower lip trembled and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her voice was a whine. "I want him to be dead."
"But you don't want to kill him." Draco used his other hand to tug the wand out of her hand. "So, let me take care of it. Okay?"
On the ground, the Muggle was still trembling, sniveling like the vermin he was. To their right, Harry and Ginny stood silent and watching. Ginny's expression was stoic, but there were tears rolling down her cheeks. Hermione looked away from Draco and down at the man.
"Okay."
Draco took her wand and pointed it at the Muggle. In his mind, he saw the Astronomy Tower and the cloudy night sky. The Headmaster standing in front of him as his hand shook and quivered. Dumbledore had known he couldn't do it. He'd known he was too scared.
But that was then.
This was now.
"Crucio," Draco whispered, and he meant it.
The Muggle started to scream again, his eyes widening as the spell slammed through his body. Draco knew his was stronger than Hermione's had been. She may have hated the Muggle, but Draco was different. He'd cast the Cruciatus before, at the Dark Lord's request. He knew what it felt like to have that darkness channeled through his body. He knew what it felt like to really mean it.
He could kill him this way, if he wanted to.
"Stop!" Hermione suddenly cried. "Draco, stop!"
Draco blinked, feeling her hand on his arm, jostling him. The magic tore back into his magical core as he turned the wand upward.
"What? What's wrong?"
"Obliviate him."
Draco's brows pulled together. "What?"
"Yes. Erase his memory. Obliviate him."
"Hermione, are you sure?" Harry moved toward them, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him.
"I want you to erase his memory of me and of every girl he's ever raped," she said, her voice firm. "And when you do, I want you to make him believe."
"Make him believe what?" Ginny asked, sniffling.
"Whatever I want," Hermione said, looking at her. She turned to look up at Draco, beseeching him with glittering eyes. Her voice lowered. "Whatever I want."
Draco nodded.
"If you do this, he can't be convicted," Harry said. "He'll have no memory for us to go through to prove what happened. And if you won't give the Wizengamot the memory—"
"I don't want him convicted," Hermione said. "I want him punished. Draco. Now, please."
Draco had no clue what she had planned, but he knew he had to trust her on it. This was her pain. Her life. Her body. If this was what she wanted him to do, he would do it.
"Obliviate," he said.
As Draco's magic sunk into the forefront of the man's mind, he heard Hermione start to cry.
"You're a man with a wife and two children," she said. "And you live in Wales with them. You go to work and you come home to your family and you love them. You make them happy. You make good choices."
Draco moved the man's memories around.
"You've done bad things. You've done really bad things." Her voice broke as she spoke through clenched teeth. "You've done them with intent, without care, and with absolutely no remorse. You've hurt other people with the full intention of causing them pain."
Draco intensified his magic, feeling a bit of resistance from the reprehensible piece of rubbish that was lying at his feet. The Muggle's face had taken on a slack-jawed, dreamy-eyed disposition. He had no idea what was going on, and he never would.
"And you feel horribly, terribly guilty for all the wrong you've done," Hermione said. "You're going to spend the rest of your life making up for it by being a good person. A true person, who doesn't hurt or use or manipulate people for your own gain. You're going to choose to make the right choices, even if it causes you pain. Especially if it causes you pain. You're going to stretch yourself thin until there's nothing left of you, until everyone around you is happy."
Her words were the only thing that held Draco steady as he was forced to watch flashes of the memories of several other girls that the man had hurt the same way. Her voice held him grounded. Her hand on his arm kept him above water.
If it weren't for her, he might have thrown up.
"You know you're a bad person. It eats you up and it never spits you out. You hate yourself so much that you'll do anything and everything you can to make sure that everyone you loves gets what they want from you, regardless of how exhausted it makes you. Regardless of how unhappy you are. Regardless of your own desires, you will do, and do, and do for everyone else but you."
She squeezed Draco's arm, but never stopped speaking.
"Even though you're getting a second chance from me, you're never going to be happy. For the rest of your life, you will walk the path of immeasurable, painful guilt without ever knowing why."
Draco's eyes found her.
"You sure you want me to erase it?" he asked.
She looked directly up at him with a fire burning there that he hadn't seen since the day she punched him on the hill at the end of Third Year.
"Erase it."
Draco erased all traces of Hermione, the other women, and every other bad thing the Muggle had done to them from his mind.
But he left the guilt.
When he was done and his magic receded back inside of him, Draco let out a heavy breath. It was a tough spell, but not too tough. He knew Hermione could have done it, given what she'd done with her parents, but he was glad she'd asked him. In a way, it had felt cathartic for him to watch everything disappear and to know that he had control over whether or not this man remembered anything at all.
Draco stood there as Hermione was swarmed by Harry and Ginny, who held her in a group embrace. He watched as she fell into tears again, all three of them weeping as the emotional moment overtook them. Draco himself felt his throat aching, but he remained as still as a sentinel.
"Are you sure this was what you wanted to do?" Harry asked, cupping Hermione's face in his hands. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "I'm sure."
"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said, throwing her arms around Hermione's neck. "You were so strong. You really were."
"Thank you, Ginny, and . . ." Hermione looked at her. "You should know that you are my best friend. Thank you for being here and for caring."
They all embraced again, continuing to converse in low tones. Everyone seemed relieved and Hermione verbally forgave both Harry and Ginny for watching the memory and finding the Muggle against her wishes. The general consensus was that Hermione had made the right decision and that now, she could finally start to heal.
Why couldn't Draco relax?
"What now?" Hermione asked.
"We're taking him back to where we found him," Harry said. "Like I said, it doesn't leave here. No one will know."
"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said with an air of finality that felt riddled with holes that only Draco could see. "Close the case."
She walked towards Draco. "I'm going to go wait for you in the lobby."
Draco watched her go, then turned back to Harry and Ginny. Harry was in the process of preparing the Muggle for Apparition. Ginny frowned at Draco.
"Harry means well, but he's so overprotective. He's lost so many people that he doesn't know when too far is too far when it comes to protecting them." She spoke in a voice that Harry couldn't hear. "Are we sure she was ready for that?"
Draco knew exactly what that felt like. Once again, he was finding out that he and Harry had more in common than he'd once thought.
"She's not ready for any of this. Or anything." She needs help.
Ginny pressed her lips together in a sad semblance of a smile. "I thought so. Take care of her."
Draco's response was to raise an eyebrow and follow in the direction his witch had gone.
Hermione's eyes were guarded as she watched Draco enter the hotel lobby.
There was a heavy air about both of them, pervading Draco's painted-on disguise. He could feel the experience weighing him down, slowly peeling away the layers of his false strength. He felt drained.
How could Hermione be so calm right now?
"Should we do room service for supper?" she asked, pressing the Up button on the elevator doors.
He shrugged. "Sure. As long as you eat."
It was a moment before she answered.
"I will."
Ding.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. The people on it smiled at them and stepped out, and then they were alone. Draco pressed the buttons visible only to magical individuals so they could get back to their floor. The elevator began to ascend.
He had known that Harry was going to contact him eventually, he just hadn't thought it would be so soon. Definitely not while he was in London with Hermione. He hadn't wanted her to know. His plan had been to sneak off, do away with the Muggle, and then never speak of it ever again.
Harry had certainly been shocked to see Hermione, given the wide-eyed look he'd sent Draco's way when the two of them came walking around the corner of The Savoy. It seemed that he had only been tracking Draco—not his curly-haired friend.
Draco knew Hermione was still angry with him. She'd thrown herself into the task with gusto, facing down her demons and destroying them in a way she thought was fit, but he wasn't sure what she wanted to do from here. Did she want to leave him?
Panic bloomed in his chest like gardenias in the Summer.
A life where they weren't together was not a life that he existed within.
Draco looked down at her, watching the way she stared blankly at the elevator doors, and he knew she'd achieved some form of closure. He wasn't sure if it was the closure that was the problem, or the fact that she wasn't ready to accept closure yet.
There was another thing he couldn't figure out.
"Why?" he asked.
She lifted her gaze from the floor. "Why what?"
"Why erase his memories? Why not just kill him?"
There was something electric that charged across the tense silence between them, like their hearts reaching for one another. Draco felt like he was reaching for hers, handing his to her, but she was too frightened to give hers to him.
"Because," she said in a muted tone, "I want him to suffer the way I will."
Draco remembered. He remembered saying those words because they'd been the most honest words he'd ever shared with her. He'd wanted his father to suffer the same way he knew that he would because it wasn't fair that Draco should have to burn in fires that Lucius had set. At least, not alone.
Hermione knew that she needed to heal. But as long as she was burning, she wanted the Muggle to burn, too.
He dropped his hand to his side, his hand brushing hers. She jolted but didn't move away. Taking it as permission, he threaded his fingers through hers. She glanced up at him and he trapped her gaze with his own.
"You won't suffer forever," he said. "I promise."
Ding.
The elevator doors opened, and her hand drifted out of his own. He followed her down the hall, hoping that she hadn't hit rock bottom yet.
Hoping that they would only go up from here.
"Would you like to shower?" she asked later when they were done eating room service.
"Before you? Nah, that's okay—you can go first."
The light of the bedside lamp flooded the room, illuminating the nice furniture and her unreadable facial expression.
"I meant with me."
For anyone else, a shower together would be nothing out of the ordinary. For them, it was everything.
They were awake.
"Do you want me to shower with you?" he asked.
After the way I betrayed her?
"I do," she said, and then she walked into the loo.
Draco stood there for a few minutes, debating. She'd been so angry before they went to meet Harry, and now she wanted him to see her in her most vulnerable state? The only time he'd ever seen her completely nude was in her dream, in Paris, in pain.
Was she ready for this?
The light in the bathroom turned on. She'd left the door open, so it shone out into the miniature hallway. Draco heard the water turning on.
He pulled his shirt off and headed for the bathroom.
Steam was already starting to rise, floating up to greet the glass of the mirror. It fogged it like flames licking up the wall of a burning house. Draco looked at the closed curtain, his pulse pounding as he unbuckled his belt. It dropped to the floor with a clink.
This was another milestone. It was a big milestone.
He turned and glanced at himself in what was left of the clear parts of the mirror. Glanced at the tattoos that littered every inch of his upper body and wondered if the fact that they were there meant he wasn't as vulnerable in this moment as she was. It felt unfair—his scars were obscured.
What about hers?
"Are you coming?" she asked softly, poking her head out around the curtain. Her braids ran down her back and swung by her elbows. Dark makeup ran down her face from beneath her eyes, making her appear almost like she were on some sort of hard drugs, or like she'd been drinking for hours. "The water's warm."
"Yeah," he said, voice somewhat scratchy as he unbuttoned his trousers. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, watching him remove them before looking up at him as he walked closer. They held each other's gazes as he removed his pants. He stood before her, as naked as he could be, and took a deep breath.
"Ready?" he asked, brushing his fingers back through his hair.
"Yes."
She skulked backward, pulling the curtain aside with her. The shower was a moderate size, so there was plenty of room for his tall form to crowd into it. He felt the hot water cascading over his skin, down his chest and back, droplets soaking his hair. He pushed it all the way back.
Hermione stood with her arms wrapped around her body—one across her chest and the other across her stomach. She couldn't seem to make eye contact with him, the droplets clinging to her lashes seeming to fling every which way as she looked to the left, right, up, and down.
He could see that she was terrified, but he was so, so fucking proud of her.
"Come here," he said softly, his fingers fluttering along her waist as he folded her in his arms. "It's okay."
She trembled as though she were standing in the center of a barren, frozen wasteland. The Arctic surrounding her, swallowing her in snow as she existed beneath the starlight. Frost decorating the planes of her body like it wanted to turn her into a sad sculpture with forlorn eyes and a downturned mouth.
He pulled her chin up with the side of his knuckle. Her body shook harder and she immediately put her head down again.
One.
"Come on. You can do this for me. Look into my eyes."
He pulled her chin up a second time. Her gaze darted up, and then her head turned down again.
Two.
"It's you and me, Hermione. Just you and me. No one else here."
A third. This time, her gaze trained itself upward.
Three.
After a moment, her face screwed up like she was going to lose control. She turned her face away, squeezing her eyes shut. The shower water running down her face in desolate rivulets made it look like she were crying. They crossed and split apart, creating Eiffel Towers on her cheeks.
His fingers found her jaw once more.
Four.
"Just you . . ." His hand curled around her chin to hold it there, even as she continued to quiver. ". . . And me."
She was trying to pull away—trying to turn her entire body as the intensity of his stare became too much. But the time for hiding had come and gone. That was the past—their past, even if things had moved as fast as they had for them. What they had now was their future. Their healing. The mending of their trust.
His fingers slid along her jaw and pulled her face back towards him. She fought against it, but he was stronger than her. He forced her to look up at him. She closed her eyes.
"Open them."
Her lower lip quivered.
"Hermione, open your eyes for me. Please."
Two agonizing seconds crawled by. She opened her eyes.
Five.
"I won't let you look away," he whispered, his eyes searching hers, even as her quivering body leaned into his. "Even if you don't want me to look at you."
They spent the rest of the shower like that, barely moving. Just looking into each other's eyes. There were several times where it became so overwhelming that Draco himself wanted to look away, but he didn't. He refused. He would look at her until eternity came for him, and then longer.
He would look at her until the stars burned out.
And she looked right back at him. He could see it there—the determination as she fought against her own fears and insecurities. As she fought the trauma and the pain and the self-hatred and looked at him. Her brow furrowed several times, as though it were taking an immense amount of concentration, and he loved her all the more for it.
Draco wanted her to know that no matter what, he wasn't going to give up on her. As long as she tried.
As long as she fought.
Finally, when the water started to lose its heat, they stepped away from one another and began to actually shower. They moved in silence, alternating between tasks. When she washed her scalp between braids, he washed his body with soap and a cloth. When he ran conditioner to the ends of his hair, she was running a razor over her legs.
Draco finished first.
He dried off with his wand and then went out into the main room. Slipping his legs into a pair of grey trackies, a black tee shirt, and a black hoodie, he prepared for bed. He pulled the hood up over his head and sat down in the armchair with his weed and rolling paper. While he smoked the joint, he stared at himself in the vanity mirror across the room and lost himself to thought.
The sounds of the water ceased.
Draco brought the joint to his lips and took a deep drag, holding the smoke in for as long as his lungs could handle. It burned, aching in a delicious way as he coughed. He exhaled, watching the thick smoke curl out and leave behind an excellent, buzzing high. It tingled through his veins.
The bathroom door opened and Hermione stepped out.
Completely nude.
Draco, whose head was resting back on the top of the chair, looked down through his lashes at her. She stood there, her braids and skin dry, but her face was still streaked with make-up. Her hands were in tight fists at her sides, and she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It was clear to him that she was nervous.
But she looked gorgeous, the way the light from the lamp cast gold over the brown of her skin. The way it illuminated every part of her that she'd hid thus far, and every part that he'd seen.
He lifted his head, the joint feeling like an afterthought between the fore and middle fingers of his left hand.
"This is me," Hermione said on a short breath. In measured steps, she lifted her gaze from the floor to meet his across the room. "This is my body. I don't like it. I don't like anything about it. But when you . . ." She closed her eyes and took a second, then opened them with another determined look. "When you look at me—when you fight for me the way you do, I feel like I can see myself loving it one day."
Draco sat up and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. He looked at the floor and then up at her. "I can't be the one to make you love yourself."
"No, you can't." She took a step closer, her hands starting to rise to cover herself. They stopped and went back to her bare sides. "And you won't be the one to do it. But you've helped me see the path to being able to do it myself."
"Then what—" He brought the joint back to his lips and sucked in the smoke. "What are you trying to tell me?"
Hermione watched the smoke curl up towards the ceiling upon his exhale, and then looked down at him again. He saw her trembling.
"This is what's left of me, Draco."
She walked closer, until she was right in front of the chair. Their knees brushed.
"It's what's left of me."
Her hand found his chin and pulled it up. He looked at her while he took another drag and blew the smoke out to the side.
"It's what I can give you."
Draco remained motionless as Hermione leaned down to press a kiss against his lips. It was soft. Tender, the way her lips moved against his and her fingers held his face. She kissed him like she were sealing a declaration. Then, she pulled back.
"It's what I want to give you. If you want it, it's yours."
Before he could process what she was telling him, she placed her hands on the arms of the chair. He sat back as she leaned forward, still looking into her eyes. Her left knee slid between his hip and the side of the seat. Then, her right.
She settled atop his lap.
Without saying anything, she took the joint from him and put it between her lips. Her chest expanded as she inhaled. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she took in the smoke and blew it out above them. As her head tilted back, her braids falling down to her lower back, Draco's gaze ran down the length of her upper body. Her waist, her collarbones, the line of her neck. The bare breasts he'd tasted and kissed and touched. The curls he'd run his fingers through to get to her cunt many times before.
Stomach coiling like a metal spring, he fought back a groan. His elbow moved to the arm of the chair, and he rubbed his jaw with his fingers.
Draco felt conflicted. It was like they were in limbo, floating in the darkness, reaching for one another. Sometimes, it felt like their fingers were brushing. Sometimes it even felt like they were holding hands. But then, just as soon as he felt it, it was like she was gone again, floating off into shadows.
He could feel their problems and the anger and the mistrust, but it was like it was behind a barrier. A parchment-thin yet indestructible barrier that had locks on both sides. And they held each other's keys.
To feel close to her would be a dream.
Hermione passed the joint back to him, an almost-satisfied smile on her face as her bloodshot eyes studied his hand. She lifted it in both of hers, her fingers playing with his rings. She twisted them around his fingers in turn, successive motions from left to right.
He gave her a lazy smirk around the smoke. "What're you doing?"
She didn't speak, instead choosing to pull his hand closer. His fingertips brushed her sternum.
Draco twisted his hand and wrapped it around one of her wrists. They both breathed laughs as he pulled and she fell forward against him. Their lips brushed and he felt her free hand sliding into his hair beneath the hood. He tried to press his lips against hers, but she kept pulling her head back in minute distances. Not too far, but just enough to keep him chasing her.
The spring in his abdomen coiled tight enough to steal his breath.
Their lips brushed again. They both smiled and he wrinkled his nose, tightening his hold on her wrist until he felt her fingers curling into a fist.
"You're making me angry," Draco murmured, his voice completely hoarse from smoking.
"How so?" she asked, her breath hot against his lips.
"You're annoying me."
Hermione hummed and sat back. "You should probably punish me for it."
When her fingers twirled the ring on his middle finger again, he realized that it tickled, and that was why he was so on edge. In two fluid movements, Draco let go of her wrist, batted her hand away, and wrapped his hand around her throat. She sucked in her breath and looked down at him with a mischievous, close-lipped smile playing about her full lips. She stole the joint from him and held it.
Draco didn't smile, his expression serious as he trailed his now-free fingers down the center of her chest. Her breathing hitched. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers. He squeezed the sides of her neck until he heard her breath rattle.
"I thought your body was yours," he murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of her breasts heaving with the exertion of trying to get in a full breath.
"My body doesn't belong to anyone," she choked out, her head falling back as his fingers twirled one nipple and then the second. Her hips jerked, and he felt himself growing hard beneath the softness of her body. "But you can have it for a little while."
"Yeah?" He smirked, his eyes half-shut and voice rough.
"Mmhm," she said with a slight moan. Her brows pulled together as she ground her hips against his once in a slow, hard circle. Smoke twisted into the air from the still-lit joint in her fingers. Her lips parted. "You can have me."
Fuck.
Using his hold on her throat, Draco pulled her forward until her back arched and her braids fell around them like a curtain. Her face turned and he heard her struggling to breathe in his ear. He covered her breast with his whole hand, massaging it with just the right amount of pressure.
"Tell me first," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the spot below her ear so he could feel her shiver. "I need to hear you say it."
"If I could give my body to anyone," she said, her empty hand running up to cover his fingers around her throat and then down his forearm to grip his sleeve, "it would be you."
Draco let go of her throat, looking up at her face as he took the joint from her. She gasped for a relieved yet dismayed breath of air, her hands pressed flat to his chest. As he brought the joint to his lips again, his other hand slid over the curve of her rear, down the back of her thigh, and towards her core.
He felt her cunt, hot and wet as his fingertips circled it, and he sucked in more smoke than he probably needed. Her hips moved backward, jolting when the tip of his finger slipped inside and then pulled back out.
"Do you deserve it?" he murmured, the smoke filling her face as she breathed it in. His fingers slipped inside again, this time deeper, and then ran down to find her clit. He swirled it, as gentle as possible.
"I don't deserve it," she said with a loud gasp, her eyes rolling up into her head.
Draco's stomach clenched again. His fingers searched outside of her core, feeling how wet she was for him. Hermione leaned forward, arching her lower body even more. Her forehead rested against his shoulder as she stifled her whimper. He looked down the length of her bare back, the joint resting between his fore and middle fingers again, and he realized.
No one else had seen these parts of her. No one else had had her like this, and no one else ever would.
She was his.
"What do you deserve?" he asked.
"I don't know," Hermione groaned, her face buried in his neck. She rolled her hips, trying to get his finger to slide inside of her.
He obliged, feeling smoke sliding past his lips as he sunk two fingers deep into her body from behind. He moaned when he felt her pulling him deeper. Two seconds passed, and then he couldn't take it anymore. He handed her the almost finished joint, which she took in a bit of a daze, and then his hand was around her throat again, ensuring she kept her cheek pressed against his.
His fingers began to pound into her, the rings slipping inside and out. Shudders rippled through her body as she moved backwards to meet them.
"Tell me what you deserve," he said. Ordered it like he had the right. "Come on. You can do it. Tell me."
"I d-deserve . . ." She whimpered again. "You."
"Tell me who you belong to." He squeezed her throat tighter and moved his fingers harder, curling them.
"Oh, my—" Her voice was a whine now. "You. I belong to y-you. Draco, Draco, it's—"
"Tell me you're mine. Fuck my fingers and tell me you're mine."
He let go of her throat. She placed one hand on his shoulder as he pulled his fingers out of her, slipped them between their bodies, and slid them back inside of her from the front. He curved his thumb so her clit would rub against his knuckle, and then he watched her. Watched her hips roll, watched the black and silver rings disappearing into her body and reappearing again.
It was so fucking hot.
"I'm yours," she gasped, voice jolting with each thrust of her hips. She looked down and watched his hand moving, searching, devouring. "I'm always gonna be yours."
"Yeah," he said. "You are. Now, beg me."
The words were instant, shooting like stars out of her mouth.
"Please, let me—let me come on you," she begged, looking down into his eyes through her lashes. "Let me—God, fuck—let me come."
Draco used his other hand, massaging her clit gently while he slammed his other fingers brutally inside of her body. Every part of her seemed to vibrate and the concentration on her face broke apart like waves upon the sand. She came with a loud moan, her head falling back as she shook and trembled above him in her euphoria.
Draco stood up, causing her to have to stand quickly to keep him from carrying her. She didn't drop the joint even as he grabbed her face and pulled her up into a wild, passionate kiss that came straight from the depths of his soul.
"Do you want me," he asked through kisses and brushes of his tongue against hers, "to fuck you the way you deserve?"
"Yeah," she breathed, her head falling to the side as he kissed his way down to her pulse. His tongue tasted it, and she let out a cry.
"It might hurt."
Their eyes met.
"Good," she said.
His clothes were off within moments, his jumper across the room and his trackies on the floor beside them. She was the one to tug the black shirt off, and then they were both nude. Completely vulnerable.
Draco pinned her down horizontally across the bed, his rings pressing marks into her throat and his other hand curved beneath her knee to pull it up by his waist.
"It's just you and me," he whispered as the head of his cock found her entrance and split her wide. "Look at me. Just you and me."
She nodded, her expression slowly twisting as he slid inside of her body. Their gazes remained connected as he began to thrust. Her expression continued to twist until suddenly, tears began to slip out of the outer corners of her eyes. She let out a sob and he nearly pulled out.
"Keep going," she said, wrapping the fingers of her free hand around the back of his neck. "It's for you. Because I love you."
Her words sent a wave of sudden need through him. He kissed her tears, tasting them, his hips slamming against hers with loud sounds that echoed throughout the room. The sounds warred with the moans leaving her lips as he fucked her so hard he saw novae bursting in front of his eyes.
Gods, did he love her moans.
He stood up, grabbing her hips and dragging her down onto his cock so he could watch himself dive in and come back out. It felt good, bolts of electricity running down his spine and the backs of his thighs, right to his center.
Taking the joint from her, he took the second-to-last drag, the eroticism of smoking while fucking her making him groan.
"You're such a good girl," he growled, fingers digging into her flesh as he gazed down at her. Watched her lips curl up into a blissful smile. "You feel so good on my cock. Fucking—ah, fuck. Say it."
"I'm so good for you," she whispered, the tears melting to disappear into her braids. "I'm such a good girl for you."
He went harder, and her back arched up off of the bed. The groan that left her lips came from deep within her chest, tearing out of her throat as though he'd expelled it from her body. The walls of her cunt gripped him like a velvet vice and he felt himself hurdling closer to the edge of space and time.
Draco pitched forward, his hand smacking down on the coverlet beside her head. She snatched the joint away from him, sucking in the last drag while his other hand found her pearl and began to play with it the way that she liked.
"I'm gonna make you come now," he murmured, his gaze flickering up and down her face. "Aren't I?"
She nodded, chest still full of smoke. Her body twitched with every stroke of his fingers against the spot.
"Put your feet on the mattress and spread your legs," he whispered, kissing her jaw and neck.
As she did what he told her to do, she exhaled all of the smoke from her lungs. When she did, Draco began to thrust again, hard. It pushed the smoke out faster as she threw her head back in a deep, screaming moan.
"Oh . . . My . . . God." She sounded desperate. Her hips writhed, her hand wrapping around his wrist as though she didn't know if she wanted to pull it away from her clit or not. "Draco. Draco, please. Please, please, please. I'm gonna—fuck. Please tell me—Tell me I'm—"
"What, do you want me to say sweet? Huh? You want me to tell tell you how fucking sweet you are?" His tongue curved around her ear and her entire body jerked. Her legs shook so violently that he knew she wouldn't be able to walk if she were upright. "What do you want?"
"I'm sweet," she gasped. "I'm so sweet. I'm—"
He cut her off, feeling her body starting to go rigid. Her breaths stuttered. When she looked at him, it was almost like she were shocked he could make her feel this way. His stomach clenched tight, so tight he couldn't breathe.
"Come for me, sweet girl," he practically cooed, his lips soft beneath her jaw. "Fuck—Come for me now. Come on. You can do it."
When she finally did, the walls of her core gripped him so tightly that his own orgasm slammed through him like a lightning bolt. He pulled out of her, painting her abdomen with his come as he followed her over the edge of the stars and into the expanse between, where they soared together. Draco bit his lower lip and moaned, his hips undulating as he thrust into his hand.
As he gazed down at her, watched her slowly coming down from the skies, he realized once again that he would rather die than ever see her in pain again. Something horrible had brought them together, and something horrible was trying to tear them apart.
He wasn't gonna let it.
Hermione purred as she stretched her arms above her head and watched him from below.
"Want to watch the telly?" she asked.
"Sure," he said, "though I can't say I ever have."
"All the hotels you've stayed in, and you've never watched it?" She walked over to her wand and used it to clean them both up.
"I never thought to turn it on."
Draco listened to the sound of her rare laughter as she walked naked to the television and turned it on. He climbed under the coverlet, smiling to himself when she turned, leapt onto the bed on her hands and knees, and crawled up to him. Underneath the blankets, she wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed her head into his chest.
"Hermione," he said. "are you still angry—"
"Shh," she said, face focused on the screen. "I don't wanna talk about it. I don't wanna talk about any of it. I just want to be with you."
Draco agreed, and then they fell into a silence so uncomfortable for him that he was awake for hours after she dozed off. Her lack of desire to talk about the memory meant that she was angry and that she was going to internalize it. If she internalized it, that meant she was going to engage in behaviors. And while he knew she was by no means cured, he hadn't quite figured out the right way to go about things. Too cruel, too nice . . . It was like they were balancing on the edge of a cliff with death at the bottom.
He couldn't shake the feeling that everything was going to fall apart.
