Song Suggestion: Lo Fang- "You're the One that I Want"

PSA: Based on a few comments, I feel I must state again that Draco's actions are not okay. This isn't Twilight where I'm passing it off as true love, despite Draco's claims. That comes later, I promise. It's hot and fun to read obsessive/ manipulative actions, but if a man does this in real life… run!

Real life= No!

Fiction= Yes! Forcing her to live with him is a popular trope featured in stories throughout time, from Persephone/ Hades to Beauty and the Beast (which I gave a nod to in this chapter), and it's okay to indulge in it.

I feel like I gave adequate warnings beforehand, but a few people were still shocked, so I'll reiterate: if toxic themes trigger you, please don't read. It doesn't hurt my feelings… With that said, I welcome all reviews (even negative ones), and I enjoy the ones analyzing Draco's behavior.

There's a significant turning point to Draco's character at the end of this chapter (probably one of the biggest in the story), and Astoria will make an entrance in the next chapter! Sorry for the long A/N, just felt I should address things. Enjoy! Thanks for reviews/ favorites/ follows!

The Cost

Hermione

Fall transformed into winter. The leaves changed color and then dropped, leaving gnarled branches behind, specters in the cold. A few days before, a small snowstorm arrived, leaving a blanket of white. Hermione decided she liked the manor grounds like this, stripped of color, as barren and desolate as its owners. It left her with no illusions.

Hermione cupped her hands around her steamy mug of tea. She sat in the library in a cushy chair she'd claimed as hers a long time ago. Sinking down further in its embrace, she glanced out the window. It was her favorite place to be. She'd sit for hours reading a book, and when she grew bored of that, she'd stare out the window.

A speck of black caught her eye, and despite telling herself not to, she stared at it. Near the stables, Draco rode his giant black gelding. He looked comfortable on the beast in his riding clothes as they galloped along, practicing jumping over a few hurdles before trundling along the pond edge with his hair wind-swept, ruddy cheeks, riding carelessly without a helmet. The closer he got, the more she found she couldn't take her eyes off him. His riding clothes clung tight to a body she knew to be lean, long, and toned. He gripped the sides of the horses' flanks, squeezing, every muscle taunt and ready, tilting his hips as they trotted. She might loathe the man some days, but she couldn't deny his beauty.

He looked completely in control of the beast, prancing back and forth. When they neared the stables, Draco leaned down and patted the horse's heaving shoulders in comfort, whispering to him.

Hermione always viewed riding horses as a muggle thing, so it surprised her at first to see them. In the end, she decided wealthy people were the same, whether muggles of wizards, wanting to control beasts larger than them. She was surprised they didn't own dragons…. though the albino peacocks wandering around were pretentious enough.

Mipsy arrived by her side. She held back a gasp, still not used to the speed of the creatures.

"Master Draco wishes to see Mistress Hermione at dinner."

Hermione set her mug down on a side table.

"I'd rather not."

They'd done this dance before. Every day, she declined his offer, taking her dinner in her room. But today, she tired of the routine. The house was comfortable: three bedrooms, three bathrooms, several living spaces, a kitchen, a dining room, and of course the library, each space more lovely than the last. But the same four walls could make anyone crack. Loneliness bared down on her like a weight.

He didn't deny her visiting her friends. She could show up tomorrow at Ginny's doorstep. But despite wishing to see them more than anything in the world, Hermione refused to out of humiliation. What would she say? How could she explain what happened? They knew her too well. Ginny and Charlie sent multiple owls, and she responded, but it was all lies. By their responses, they didn't believe her.

She lost track of time, the days, the hours. Sometimes whole weeks passed her by, and she barely even noticed.

Her body kept the time though. Her belly grew bigger. A few stretchmarks popped up, looking like claw marks, as if she went into battle with a werewolf. Hermione didn't mind. Scars already marred her stomach. These only added to the story.

Still, the lack of human contact, even self-made, seared her every movement. Her hormones were no help. Well past the morning sickness stage, the pregnancy made every nerve in her body overcharged and sensitive. Every night, she snuck her fingers south, trying to imagine anyone else for her sanity, but she could only think of Draco, hands rough against her hips, demanding her orgasm. She always finished whispering his name, mind drowning in self-loathing.

Seeing him today on the horse certainly didn't help, imagining his hips tilting into her, thighs tightened, hands in her hair.

Hermione shook her head, knowing the isolation, the proximity, and her hormones were already fucking her up beyond repair.

Hermione

Hermione entered the dining room. Draco sat at one end with a plate full of food. When she walked in, he stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor, looking shocked.

She never told Mipsy she would come to dinner, but after weeks of eating in her room, she accepted the invitation.

"Why are you in your dress robes?" Hermione asked.

Hermione certainly didn't dress up, wearing the only jeans that still fit, with the zipper undone and one of her giant sleep shirts. She'd need to find new clothes soon, but what was the point of finery when she didn't plan to exit the house out of shame? She'd rather be comfortable.

Draco looked down at his outfit and shrugged.

"Habit." He shrugged out of his outer robes and laid them on a nearby chair. "I can change if it makes you uncomfortable."

She hated the way Draco treated her like glass now, stepping so careful around his words. They existed in a state of suspension, tension boiling under the surface, a geyser that would inevitably blow. Lately, Hermione found she wished it would, just to experience something. To feel alive again.

Maybe that's why she came to dinner today.

"Don't bother," Hermione said and went to sit, taking the seat furthest from the ferret.

Draco scrunched his eyebrows when they both lowered into their seats.

Hermione ignored his stare until Mipsy placed a bowl of soup in front of her. She noticed she had changed from her usual pink tutu to a purple one.

"I love your new tutu."

Mipsy beamed and swished back and forth.

"Mistress Granger is wonderful to Mipsy."

The elf nearly bounced out of the room. Hermione looked up to find Draco resting the side of his jaw on his knuckles, looking wistful.

"The 1766 amendment was repealed," he said, voice low. "I wanted to wait to tell you on Christmas, but I guess this can be an early present. I have some notes on some new legislation toward the centaurs I'd like for you to look over, if you'd like. I've also kept your position open in the ministry for when you're ready to return."

The thought made her warm, even as she resisted the feeling. Still, the pleasant thrill zipped through her, making all her nerves jump. Even if she did nothing else, she made society take a step forward. A positive change, even small, in a world of stagnation.

Christmas. The word jolted her. Had it been that long already? Not that she looked forward to the Holiday. She hadn't enjoyed it for a long time.

"Do you even celebrate Christmas?" She asked.

Christmas and Easter were considered muggle holidays to many purebloods. Traditions that seeped into their culture and threatened to change the old traditions. Many wizards celebrated still. Hermione figured happiness, no matter the reason, was a hard thing to kill.

"Sure," Draco answered. "Though in the old ways, not with the muggle religion nonsense. I heard muggles have a wizard who leaves presents under trees. Is that true?"

"Saint Nicholas," She explained. "And I always suspected he was based on a real wizard."

"Do you wish to celebrate?" Draco asked.

Hermione hesitated and then bit her lip.

"I'm not sure. Christmas isn't what it was."

"Without your parents?" Draco asked carefully.

She froze.

"How do you know about my parents?"

He shrugged.

"I've known for a while."

Hermione blinked and then relaxed. It wasn't as if it was a state secret. What did it even matter if he knew?

"Well, to muggles, Christmas is the closest form of magic. Presents and hot cocoa and family. The decorations are bright, and everything smells like evergreen and cinnamon. It's my favorite time of year, but it doesn't seem right to celebrate without them."

Hermione leaned down and ate a few bites of the potato soup and groaned. It tasted divine, better even than at Hogwarts. Her cravings had centered around starchy vegetables for the past few weeks.

When she lowered her spoon, she noticed Draco's heavy stare. It was the first time he'd looked at her like that in a long time, like he was stripping her in his mind, like he was shifting the food off the table in his need, like he was lifting her bottom in his hands, spreading her legs to feast on her instead.

Hermione almost groaned again at the images her mind produced. Her brain was a traitor. Her body a whore. She wished to shut it off, hold on to her anger.

But sex with Draco had rarely been gentle or safe. It had always been on the edge of danger. Her hatred did nothing but fuel her need for release. Her mind warred with herself as they finished the dinner in silence, accompanied by the cling of silverware against porcelain.

The images became more detailed towards the end of dinner. She wished to blame it on the link, a daydream like Draco produced. But she was the only one to blame. She missed human contact, skin, heat, and release. The ache traveled along her body, a starvation, pounding through her veins like a heartbeat, until the need to touch herself became almost unbearable. She wished to retreat to her room and finish the job.

Coming to dinner was a bad idea. Why did she think she could be in his presence without submitting to the desire? When had she ever been able to resist him? Her mind kept bring up the memory of him riding the horse, as she watched through the window. The tilt of his hips, thighs pressing into the beast.

And then Hermione made a mistake. She glanced up, and Draco's eyes widened in response. In that instant, she knew he saw through her, at her pathetic attempt to stay unaffected.

Draco tilted his head, eyes shadowed in a way that resembled a predator.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Pansy's pregnant," he finally said.

"Good for her."

She'd never liked that stuck up twat, and Draco knew it. Hermione didn't even care who the bitch married, let alone that they bred. Why bring it up?

"Yesterday, she came to Zabini's for lunch." He picked up his fork, playing with the tines, pressing each finger into the sharp points, but he kept his eyes on her. "Sometime after, she trapped me in the hallway and tried to grab my cock like old times."

A shot of jealous rage went through Hermione. She didn't wish to inspect the feeling. The thought of him bedding someone else, especially someone like Pansy, made her ill. Was that what he was trying to do—make her jealous?

"Good for you," Hermione spat out again, hating that she cared.

"But I didn't let her." Draco face stayed serious. "I can't lie. There was a moment I thought about it. A hand on my cock sounds wonderful, but I'd prefer yours. Do you know how hard it's been every night, knowing you're here just a room away? I can barely look at you, waiting for you to decide whether you hate me or not."

Draco stood, pushing back his chair so that he was in full view. Then he sat and began to unbutton his shirt, one at a time.

"I think I'm going to show you what I wish to do."

"I'm going to leave."

"Then leave."

Nothing physical kept her in the room. She should get up now, run back to her room, but she stayed rooted to the spot, watching him.

When she didn't move, he gave a dark, knowing smirk. He continued unbuttoning, until his shirt parted, fluttering loose to reveal his toned chest. She remembered running her fingers along the ridges, letting her tongue rest near the scars.

"Do you know what I learned from Pansy, besides realizing I missed my witch's cunt?" He looked tempting sitting there, legs spread, shirt opened. His right hand went up to his belt, unlooping it slowly. "I learned pregnancy makes women… aroused. Pansy said after the first few months, the desire was excruciating. It made me think of you. I imagined you, only a bedroom away, touching yourself in frustration. Have you done that?"

"Yes."

She shouldn't have admitted that, but a deviant part of her wished to see his reaction.

"Did you think of me?"

She paused and then gave her own evil smirk, wishing to make him hurt.

"Yes."

Draco leaned his head on the back of his chair and closed his eyes, letting out a loud groan, letting the tendons in his throat stand out.

"Fuck, Hermione," he said. "Look what you do to me."

Draco undid his trousers and boxers, pushing them down until he exposed his visible desire. He opened his legs, leaning back, so she could see, completely unashamed.

Hermione clenched the sides of her chair, face heating, heart pounding, holding hard before she did something stupid.

Draco grabbed his cock and began to stroke it while looking at her.

"Your body has a need," he said. "A need I intend to fill. I bet your hand is starting to leave you unsatisfied."

She hated she couldn't deny it.

Hermione's whole body pounded with each word, pooling in her lower belly, and then lower still.

"If you let me, your need could be solved by my fingers, my tongue, and my cock. You don't have to suffer anymore."

If he wanted to play this game, then she'd torture him as well. Defiant anger built inside her until Hermione let go of her chair and leaned back, letting her hand trail down into her knickers, showing him exactly how she wouldn't let him touch her. When her fingers clenched around her clit, she shivered with sensation. It was too much, too long since she'd had anyone touch her.

"I loathe you," she said.

Draco looked victorious and vicious, mouth set in the type of smirk that bordered on cruelty.

"Do you fantasize about the way I used to fuck you? My favorite position was on your knees, my hands in your hair, as I took you from behind like we were animals… Tell me you want it again. I could treat you anyway you wish. You want it rough, without emotion or connection, and I'll fuck you like that."

Hermione panted at the thought. His words poisoned her reasoning. She stuck her fingers inside herself, wishing it was more, wishing it was Draco, fucking her from behind like he wanted.

"It's just a need, Hermione. It doesn't have to be more. Ask me, and I'll spread your legs right now."

Hermione trembled already so oversensitive every movement hurt. She bit her tongue, glaring at him, until the sensations spilled over and she came hard against her hand, giving a little cry as her body arched up. Draco gave a groan at the sight, as if he felt her clench around him.

Seconds after she came, Draco did as well. He grit his teeth, finishing into his hand, giving a low groan of pleasure and pain. When sated, he pulled out his wand and cleaned himself, and then he sat back and looked at her. Hermione's bones felt weak, but there was a large part of her that felt unsatisfied, like he suggested. They both did nothing but study each other for several minutes.

"You can continue to refuse me, Hermione. Everything will be up to you." He finally looked away. "But the next time, I don't think you will. I think you want what I'm offering."

Hermione shivered, wishing to scream in frustration.

"Please, Hermione…" Draco sounded vulnerable. "I need you too."

Her heart dropped with the words.

Staying was dangerous.

But leaving had consequences.

Denying him hurt.

But giving in would damage her.

"I can't," Hermione whispered.

Draco grimaced, showing a flash of pain. He'd begged her, unzipped his armor, and still she wounded him.

"Very well." He dressed quickly and exited, refusing to look at her again.

She was well and truly screwed, both literally and metaphorically, if he kept this up. The thought made her despair.

Draco

Several days later, Draco watched Hermione from the doorway. She sat in the chair facing the window in the library, the same spot she refused to leave since the dinner, except for sleeping and necessary functions. The fairy lights illuminated her skin, but even in the low light she looked wane.

He didn't speak to her. He'd learned days ago she would only give one-word responses.

"Don't you wish to see your friends?"

"No."

"Do you wish to go outside?"

"No."

"Do you want to go somewhere with me?"

"No."

"Do you want to look at some legislation for the elves?"

"No."

After their dinner, he'd been hopeful intimacy was close again, certain the tension would recede soon, and they could go back to what they were. He wasn't stupid. He knew it would take time and that she would be angry. But he'd been so sure she'd overcome whatever negative thoughts she possessed, and they'd be happy again, even if they never touched each other. He missed talking to her so much he dreamed up conversations.

But, instead of building a bridge between them, something in her fractured, as if her spirit bent the wrong way with his push. He waited for days, thinking it would pass, but it only got worse. Yesterday, she barely touched her food, and she only ate a single bite of an apple for breakfast this morning.

Draco's stomach twisted viewing her. She'd always been so bright, so strong, so brilliant. Nothing overshadowed her. Why, then, did she look as if she lacked even the will to exist? If breathing required conscious effort, she might have suffocated.

Draco shook his head, swallowing whatever unknown emotion plagued him. He'd never felt it before, and he didn't have the words to name it. It bordered on sadness, but it veered into darker territory, twisting its insidious branches around his chest, squeezing harder each time he looked at Granger.

He gave one last look at her before walking down the hallway towards the fireplace.

"Malfoy Manor," he said, flinging in the floo powder.

His mother waited for him in a delicate white dress that almost matched her skin tone and brushed along the floor as she glided along.

"You're late."

"I… I didn't want to leave her."

His mother's brow furrowed, but she nodded and began to walk, and he followed her to her tearoom.

When they got there, his mother's personal elf served the tea, and they both waited until she left.

"You wished to speak to me?" His mother asked, taking a small sip.

Draco didn't even bother with drinking tea, not liking it much in the first place.

"I'm concerned."

"About the pregnancy?"

"No, the pregnancy is normal. A healer stopped the other day for a routine checkup. She said the baby would arrive early February."

His mother looked at him sideways, betraying her concern. Draco was set to marry the last Saturday in January. The wedding was a point of contention between his parents, and his mother refused to answer any of Lucius' owls from Azkaban. Draco had a feeling she wished Hermione had put him behind bars longer.

Draco used to believe his parents had a good relationship. They never yelled at each other, and they agreed on most things. But then he grew up and realized it wasn't peace, but compliance. Her ring didn't allow her to disagree if his father wished it, and Lucius abused the privilege. Since his realization, he recognized her quiet contempt: the flinch of her arm when his father touched her, the way she looked away into nothing, the slight clench of her jaw.

"And Hermione?" His mother asked quietly, taking another sip of tea. "How is she?"

Draco grimaced, not bothering to withhold his emotion. He trusted his mother to interpret it.

"I see." His mother set her teacup down. "What is wrong?"

"That's the thing," he said. "I'm not sure. I've told her many times she's allowed to do anything she wants, and that she's not a prisoner. But she doesn't even leave the room, and now she's barely eating. I've almost called in the Weasley girl to help, but…"

He didn't finish, a sudden pain in his chest. He reached up and rubbed at the spot that hurt.

His mother looked at him, and he didn't like the way it dissected him. She shook her head.

"Draco," she said gently. "The poor girl sounds depressed."

"Depressed?" Draco scoffed. "What does she have to be depressed about? She has everything she needs or even wants… even though I can concede she doesn't want much." He paused, trying to shake off the ill feeling again. "If she wishes not to love me, fine! I won't touch her again if it means she'll smile occasionally. I wish she'd just yell at me, hit me, or…" He trailed off, a blush blooming on his cheeks, realizing he overshared. At one time, he thought the grimace his mother made each time he mentioned Hermione's name meant she didn't like her, but now he suspected she felt sorry for her. Somehow that was worse.

His mother watched him for a long time, and the burn on his cheeks increased with the inspection. She opened her mouth to talk, then closed it, as if reconsidering another approach.

"You didn't tantrum much as a young toddler," she finally said. "I'm sure your friends would find that hard to believe, but you were a happy child."

"I'm not sure what that has to do—"

"Quiet, Draco," she admonished. "This is important, and you need to listen."

She waited, and Draco nodded for her to continue, feeling chided.

"When you were five, you went to a birthday for Vincent. He received a play potions set from his father. I think it was the first time I had seen the child smile like that, and his father surprisingly smiled too." She paused and locked eyes with him. "When you got home, you begged for one of your own. I told you that you needed to wait for you birthday, but you wanted it right then. You screamed and shouted. I didn't wish to give in to your tantrum, but your father did." She scowled, as if still angry. "When he gave it to you, nobody smiled. Not me. Not you. And not your father. I'm not even sure if you played with it after that."

Draco had never heard this story, but he lived a similar one many times. He'd get angry and demand something, and his father gave it, while his mother frowned at his behavior.

The feeling returned—the one that lanced through him when he viewed Granger.

"Are you understanding?" His mother broke her stare and glanced off through the window into the Manor grounds, watching one of the peacocks in the back garden.

"Not really."

She huffed a sigh.

"You fought for the toy, Draco, but it came with a price." She still refused to look at him. "If you wish to end with happiness, it must at first be given as a gift." His mother brushed the edge of her dress to straighten it. "When it's demanded, it turns into a form of cost and payment, taking a piece from each person. You may get what you thought you wanted, but it will never bring you the satisfaction you intended, because it harmed the giver… and eventually the receiver is harmed as well. So, if you wish to know why she's depressed, then you need to discover what the cost was for her compliance to your demands?"

He felt jolted off guard. He thought his mother would sympathize and give him tips on making Granger more comfortable. Not this… interrogation.

"Pardon?"

"The cost, Draco."

He looked away.

Hermione's strength had never faded before this, not under Voldemort's violence, not with Potter's death, not even facing Lucius in court. The point was made, and he didn't know how to respond. The words thickened in his throat. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

"My dear boy, you've always wanted to be your father, but your heart is too soft for the consequences." She gave a smile at his sudden frown. "You think it's an insult, but it's the highest compliment I can give."

The feeling hurt worse, and she let go of his hand. He held his breath until his lungs burned.

"But what do I do?"

"I can't answer that for you. There are some things you need to figure out on your own. The cost, payment, and restitution are between you and Hermione. But proceed carefully, because your actions from now on will determine the man you'll be to her... and it will determine the man you'll be to the world as well. There are only a few more chances before youth is no longer an excuse, and your character is cemented." Her voice cracked a little at the end. She gave a wave of her hand. "Now, please leave. I'm… tired."

She looked more sad than tired, but he stood. His mind disassembled, as if an essential building in his psyche crumbled down to the foundations. He turned, still in shock, ready to walk out the room.

"Draco," she said softly.

"Yes?"

"I'm disappointed in you."

It was the absolute worst thing she'd ever told him.

Draco walked to his room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the lines in his hands, wondering if Granger could be seen on his heart line. Were their fates intwined enough he could read their future in tea leaves?

He looked up and viewed the room around him, at the details. He'd spent many hours planning this future, all built for Hermione and her happiness.

"Draco, you finally got what you wanted. I'm stuck here with you. Are you happy?"

Draco now realized it had been more for his happiness than hers. He was spoiled. Everyone knew it. He'd never tried or wanted to be anything else, but for the first time, it made him feel rotten.

The cost was too much, if it meant the death of Hermione's spirit. He didn't want the expense on his soul.

Draco buried his head in his hands.

Shame—he finally put a word to the emotion overwhelming him.

He felt shame.