This Bitter Earth

by Ikorous

Control isn't the only thing Draco Malfoy has lost. But he will get it back. He will get everything bac

13. THIRTEEN

A/N: I understand that there are some readers who are unhappy with this story and the pace that it is going. I stated at the end of Daylight that Bitter would be a different kind of story. If you are bored with this fic or unhappy, then by all means, do not feel compelled to read something that you are upset enough with to leave unhelpful comments on. This story is already plotted out from beginning to end and although I care deeply for my readers and want to give them quality content, I am not changing my story. You are more than welcome to come back when it is completed and you can binge through or leave it unfinished. That is your choice, as mine has already been made.

I did enjoy reading the reviews and reactions of the readers who enjoyed the last chapter and I want to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story for so long. I know it has been quite the journey and I want you all to know that I appreciate and thank every one of you who has taken the time to read my little story. It means the world to me to know that there are people out there who love this just as much as I love writing it.

A huge thank you to AdAsttra work working as beta on this chapter. She was a lifesaver and without her, it would not be coming out this soon. I love you, darling. Thanks for everything that you do for me and TBE.

.

Soundtrack- "I Don't Want To Be The One To Let You Go" by Landon Tewers and "Bitter Love" by Pia Mia

.

THIRTEEN

.

Hermione held Draco all night. His head rested on her chest; his arms wrapped around her, holding tight, as if he was afraid that he would slip away if he let go. She had tried to get more information out of him, but the fire whisky caught up with him quickly and all Draco had been able to manage was "Your friend is safe and mine is…" before he passed out, body heavy on hers, but Hermione didn't even think to move him.

Instead she kept him with her, whispering softly to him that it would be alright when, in her heart, she had no idea what would happen when he awoke. But… maybe some lies were worth the sin.

Lightly brushing his damp hair, Hermione slowly felt it dry and soften through the night as he murmured in his sleep. Most of the time it was incoherent, but sometimes she could make out certain words.

'Sorry' and 'Theo' were most common, but sometimes he also muttered 'Can't' or 'Burn' and every now and then she would hear something that sounded strangely like her name, like 'Hermione'.

He cried, even in his sleep. Hermione didn't know that was possible, but somehow Draco was doing it. She felt the dampness of his tears soaking through the thin white lace of her nightgown and onto her skin. She merely held him closer, wishing she could do more.

He shook, body wracked with guilt or sorrow or… some emotion she couldn't even fathom. They were at war, yes, and Hermione had accepted the thought that one day she might have to end someone's life to defend her own or the life of someone she cared about.

But it had always been an enemy, never a friend.

Draco had never particularly liked Theo, but… Hermione could remember them shoving each other playfully in the halls during third year, messing around in classes when they sat next to each other, and watching as Theo rushed the pitch when Slytherin would win. Draco normally kept Crabbe and Goyle beside him like a pair of burly bodyguards, but it was obvious that he had some sort of close relationship with Theo and Blaise over the years as well.

And if Hermione had noticed it from afar, she could only imagine what it was really like up close. Draco did have a tendency to push away the people he cared about.

"Theo's not my friend. He's a prat."

Had he said that because he meant it or because he didn't want to admit an attachment to someone?

Hermione bent her head down to look at Draco. The thin skin around his eyes was bruised a deep red, his lips were chapped and slightly open as he pulled in quiet breaths. A bruise was growing darker on his cheek and she traced her fingers over it as lightly as she could, wondering who had hurt him like this and feeling a deep anger boil in her.

She could feel his arms shaking every now and then as some dark thought passed through his unconscious mind. Threading her fingers deeper into his white blond hair, she brushed them over the longer locs on top to the short hairs on the back of his neck that felt almost downy soft before gently lifting up her hand and starting again, repeating the motion, hoping it would calm whatever storm was brewing in him.

Hermione couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his head.

Another war, one he was fighting alone and against himself.

One he was… losing. Whatever battle Draco was waging within himself, he wasn't winning.

Hermione thought about the way his Mother spoke to him and how Draco just stood there and took it. How his ring had been missing from his finger for weeks now and how he flexed his hand in agitation without it. How he had let Blaise walk out of this very room without a second glance, because his eyes had been locked on her.

He was only fighting in this war because of her; he had said it himself, that everything he had done was her fault. Draco had only gone up on the tower that night to try and fix his mistakes so he could be with her. He had only left with Bellatrix and the Death Eaters to keep her safe. He had hurt people, sold people, all to get to her.

He had said anything, he had said everything, and finally, Hermione understood what that meant.

Draco had killed- for her.

Theodore Nott's death was as much a stain on her soul as it was on his.

Hermione hugged him tighter, his white t-shirt sliding up a little as she pulled him close to her. She could just make out a few of the scarred lines on his lower stomach, thick and thin, smooth and crooked, wrapping around him like… like chains.

She carefully pulled on the hem of his shirt, lifting it to get a better look at them. Angry, crossing marks that marred the marble skin under them. Some were so deep that the scar tissue was indented inwards, others so fine they could have been made with a surgical blade.

He had said her friend was safe and she knew he was talking about Harry; the same person who had done this to him. Hermione had spent a good part of the past few weeks worrying about what would happen when Draco eventually found Harry. She had sat here and stared at the tapestry of the golden stag and bitten her lip, unable to see an outcome where both men survived.

She wasn't sure how Draco had managed it; she had no idea what had actually happened between them or how it led or caused Theo's death, but Hermione felt another wave of guilt wash over her. Draco had somehow traded Harry's life for Theo's. All because she asked him to.

She felt the stain inside her darken.

Is this how Draco felt all the time? All the terrible things he had done— did he feel them shadowing his soul? Did he feel this terrible remorse every day and then get up to do it again? Goodness, Hermione barely felt like she could breath with the weight of this sitting on her heart.

She pulled his shirt back down and wrapped her arm around his middle again as he sucked in a sharp breath. Draco's heart had to be strong, a powerhouse, in order to carry this weight and still beat. Her own gave a hard thump at the thought that he had kept it going, all this time, just for her.

She recalled a different night, one where she thought she had lost him, when she had been trying to say goodbye, to leave him. She had let her courage fail her and didn't say the words that she knew were in her heart. But so many things had happened since the night Draco was in the hospital wing. So many, and still, they were both right here.

She had said it before, she could say them again.

Hermione bent her face down, placing a light kiss into his now dry hair and whispered, "I… I love you, Draco."

Draco released a sigh, still sleeping, and pressed his face deeper into her chest. She closed her eyes, pushing the tears that had formed in the corners out, and held him.

And for the first time, Hermione understood a small part of the reason Draco kept her here. She couldn't let him go either.

.

When Draco woke up, the first thing he did was get sick off the side of the bed. Hanging there, coughing and gagging on sour bile, he felt his left arm shudder, the nerves lighting up again after the abuse they endured last night.

Still, it was nothing compared to what he did to Theo.

Theo…

Draco threw up again.

Granger's hand landed on his back, rubbing softly and he flinched at the feeling of warmth. He didn't want to be warm. He didn't want to be comforted.

He didn't deserve it.

"Draco," her voice was so soft, "are you okay? Do you need some water?"

He spat, trying to clear his mouth of the bitter taste of last night's attempt to drown out the screams in his head, and nodded stiffly.

Her hand left his back and the small amount of warmth from it evaporated. Draco pushed himself up and laid back against the pillows. His head was killing him, pounding with every fucking beat of his heart. He tried to lay still, hoping it would slow down and give him an ounce of relief.

Maybe stop entirely.

He could hear Granger running the water in the bathroom.

Not yet.

Not until… Shit. He didn't even know anymore.

Draco had no clue what he was doing now. Any chance, no matter how small it had been, for some sort of escape from this life was now gone.

He was a murderer.

He was a killer.

He was never going to get better; never going to make this up. He had killed Theodore Nott. He had murdered him. Theo might not have been innocent, but he wasn't guilty of the crime Draco accused him of. Theo hadn't been the one to betray the Dark Lord and turn Blood Traitor.

But Draco said he had. And then he had killed him, securing his place—and Granger's, by extension—at Lord Voldemort's side.

He squeezed his eyes until he saw bright white lights.

"Draco." Granger was holding out a small cup of water.

He struggled to sit up, his head aching as he moved and took it from her, swallowing small sips so he wouldn't toss it all up again.

She was just standing there, staring at him. He couldn't look her in the face, not after what he had done. One look into her big innocent eyes would be enough to make his carefully crafted white walls come tumbling down again.

"Go away, Granger."

She stayed where she was.

His chest felt tight and hot. He needed her gone. He needed her to stop looking at him so he could breathe because he couldn't breathe right now no matter how hard he tried. His chest wouldn't fill properly. It just kept emptying and emptying and there was nothing in there, nothing left and his chest hurt and his heart clenched until it was hot and burning and he was sure it was going to burst and bleed out into the nothingness inside him.

Pour his life into the torn out hole in his already damned soul.

"Just go away!"

"I won't leave you."

Draco swung his head up in her direction, lip curling over his teeth so far he might as well have bared venomous fangs at her.

"Do as your fucking told, Mudblood. Or I might kill you next."

Granger blinked her big doe eyes calmly back down at him. "No, you won't."

"You think you know me?" he snarled.

"I do," she said as simply as she was answering a question back in Transfiguration. "I know you, Draco. And you won't hurt me."

"I could throw that chain on you and keep you in my bed to do every last nasty thing I could think of to you. I've had a long time to come up with ideas for punishments."

She sat down on the bed next to him. What the fuck was she doing?

"You could have done that every night since you brought me here. But I'm not scared of you. I know you wouldn't. I…" She had the decency to look away from him when she softly said, "I trust you."

He thought he might be sick again.

His vision swam and he was sure if he hadn't already been lying down, he would have fallen over.

She trusted him. She trusted him. And all it took was him murdering his lifelong friend to earn it. What would she require next? His Father's life for a chance to get back in her pussy? He let his guilt simmer sickly, deep within him, as he filled his empty chest with cold fury.

"Then you're just a stupid little girl, falling for my lies again. How many times are you going to let me break that brave heart of yours?"

Granger pulled back, blinking in surprise. She turned away from him, bending her knees and resting her chin on them while she stared out across the room.

Draco opened the drawer beside his bed and downed a potion to try and clear his head. He leaned back into his pillow and sighed audibly. The pounding in his skull lessened to a dull thump and he felt sleep tugging at him again. He would love to sink into that black oblivion, but couldn't as long as she was still hovering there.

Granger eventually laid back as well, looking over at him as he kept his gaze trained on the ceiling. He didn't want to see the disgust or disappointment or worst of all pity he might find in her kind eyes. It was bad enough that everything smelled like her which only made her proximity even more terrible because he knew this was the closest he would ever get to her again.

She was quiet for such a long time that he barely heard her when she whispered, "I know you don't mean that. Just like I know you didn't mean to…"

She couldn't even say it. And he had. Unforgivable curses had to be cast with meaning, with intent, a fact Draco knew all too well now.

He closed his eyes and let himself fall back into the darkness.

.

Draco spent the next day and a half laying in the bed, barely speaking. Hermione had gotten used to him being gone for most of the time so having him there, and back in the bed as well, took a little getting used to.

She wasn't able to try out wandless magic again, not with Draco sleeping feet from her so she balanced on the balls of her feet, biting her lip and tried to find something to occupy her time. She took to watching Draco.

When he was awake, he was sullen and silent; lying there with an expressionless face that looked more and more tired, no matter how much he slept. When he was sleeping he looked… There was no other way to say it, but Draco Malfoy looked like an angel.

Pale blond hair messy against the pillow, his white t-shirt, wrinkled from his tossing, and the light sheet draped around his waist made Draco into a vision. His body moved ever so slightly with low breaths, arms stretched out across the bed like he was trying for something just out of reach. Hermione's eyes moved along the long slopes of his muscles, pushing against the blue veins running just underneath the pale skin.

She almost gave into the urge to climb into the bed and lose herself in his embrace. He shifted, rolling over and burying his face against the pillow. Hermione took a moment to steady herself before trying her best to distract herself by playing with Crookshanks with one of the laces from Draco's boot.

It was awful seeing Draco like this, listless in despair. When he was awake he looked… terrible, honestly. She remembered in school last year—the dark circles under his eyes, the grey tinge to his skin, and the overall air of exhaustion, but even back then his eyes would meet hers across the room.

Now, Draco stared at nothing.

When night fell, she walked nervously to her side of the bed. Draco hadn't moved and his long legs were tangled in the blankets. Biting her lip, she glanced over at the chaise, and then back at Draco. He was on his side, facing away from her; breath gently moving his chest. It was just sleeping, it didn't mean anything.

She had done it before, she could do it again.

Hermione crawled into the bed, doing her best not to disturb him and then laid there, in the dark, beside Draco.

She folded her hands over her stomach and took a deep breath, trying to relax.

It didn't work.

No matter what Hermione did, she couldn't get comfortable. With the blanket covering her, she was too hot, without it, she was cold. Even the charmed pillow under her head didn't feel right tonight. Huffing, Hermione turned on her side.

Then, very slowly, she inched closer to Draco until she was almost flush against him. With her Gryffindor courage giving her strength, Hermione wrapped her arm around Draco, pulling herself close to him. He felt solid and strong and… real. Hermione tucked her face down against his back, breathing in the thick parchment-like scent of his skin and curled her body to fit against his.

Draco let out a deep sigh, his muscles softening and relaxing against her. She spread her hand out over his chest, the shirt soft under her palm. She felt the deep scars he hid underneath it and, under them, the soft but heavy beat of his heart.

Hermione closed her eyes and let the sound of it lull her to sleep.

.

He looked down at the mark on his arm, the bruise around it deeper and darker than normal. Or maybe he was just more pale. Either way it was ugly as shit.

Draco hated the branded ink seared into his skin. He hated it. He hated the man who had done this to him, the man who had turned him into a murderer.

It wasn't long after Draco had let Potter go that he and Theo were summoned.

"Shit," Theo winced, his face flushing with blood as their marks burned in unison. He looked up at Draco, navy eyes dark with worry. "How are we going to get out of this one?"

"Follow my lead," Draco growled and disapperated, landing on soft loamy ground followed shortly by the crack of Theo's appearance at his side.

They walked in together. The old building was damp and the first sprigs of grass poked up through the cracked floor.

Draco took in his surroundings, but kept his eyes on his Lord. And the fucking snake curled around his feet. His chest felt tighter the farther he walked in. There was already tension filling the room and Draco felt his palm sweating around the handle of his wand, despite the chill that still hung in the air.

They stopped half a dozen feet away from Lord Voldemort, several Death Eaters already surrounding him.

"Where is Potter?" he hissed, voice high and cold.

Draco had stood next to Theo while they were reprimanded plenty of times before and could feel the energy around him shift as Theo's nerves began to take over. He always ratted them out, hoping that his honesty would buy them a less severe punishment. In a way, Draco understood. Theo's Father was even more vicious than Lucius in his beatings and Theo wasn't as good as Draco at slithering out of situations.

Draco knelt, bowing his head for a moment and saw the snake whip its tail quickly, interested in him once more.

"My Lord, Potter ambushed us. He—"

The pain coiled around him, so tight he couldn't breathe and Draco fell over, crushing the soft blades of grass underneath him.

At least it was over quickly. The Dark Lord wanted answers before he continued. He needed to know how badly to punish them after all.

"Master," Theo's voice broke over the word and Draco forced himself back to his feet, the tips of his fingers brushing over the broken floor as he tried to catch his breath and get upright before Theo had the bright idea to say anything else.

But this time Draco wasn't fast enough.

"He was there! But… he overpowered us and—"

"One boy," the Dark Lord spoke quietly, but not softly. "Escaped the two of you and you still have the audacity to call yourselves my Death Eaters?"

Draco could see the burning rage in the Dark Lord's blood red eyes and it made his blood run cold.

They weren't getting out of here.

Lord Voldemort was desperate to end the war, to solidify his control and the longer Potter was out there was just more time for rebellion to stir and foreign forces to marshal.

There would be no mercy for them, no second chances. Snakes didn't get nine lives. But Granger wasn't a snake and she didn't deserve to die just because Draco fucked up. Again.

Thinking quickly, he said, "It wasn't the two of us."

Draco felt every eye in the room on him, but none more than the crimson pits of his Master, locked onto his own. Draco pulled his cracked walls close to him, hoping they would hold just long enough to keep the selected memories in place. The snake raised itself up, nosing the air as if it was trying to make out if Draco was lying.

"Theo got himself stunned before he could even raise his wand. He does not deserve to wear your mark." Draco heard the breath leave Theo sharply. "He doesn't deserve to call himself a Death Eater. In fact, I have reason to believe he let Potter do it."

"You're fucking crazy!" Theo shouted, voice rising in protest.

"Carrow vouched for him. So he has been trained, but he got himself knocked out and left me to duel alone." Draco lifted his head up, making sure the bruise on his cheek was visible. "Almost as if he wanted Potter to get away. Convenient, getting stunned and only waking up after Potter was out of range."

"Draco," Theo panted. "You… What are you doing?!"

Draco didn't look at him. He couldn't.

"He's betrayed you, My Lord. He's a filthy Blood Traitor. He practically admitted he'd turn for a girl last year when we were in school. The fact that she's Potter's best mate, well, that can't be a coincidence."

"YOU FUCKING LIAR!"

Draco half expected Theo to attack him, but instead he was backing away, almost tripping over his own feet. The fear on his face was evident. He trusted Draco. And Draco was turning on him.

The Dark Lord's thin lips curved back over his teeth. "If he is what you say, then kill him."

Draco's stomach turned to ice and sank somewhere deep inside him. His arms went cold and his legs turned numb. Draco didn't breathe. The only indication that he had not turned to stone was the rushed pounding of his heart in his throat, choking him.

He turned towards Theo and raised his wand.

"Draco-" Theo's tongue was hanging out of his mouth as he sucked in large panicked breaths. "Why?"

For her. It was all for her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Nothing happened. Draco stared down at his wand, stunned. It hadn't worked. It hadn't fucking worked.

"Avada Kedavra!"

He couldn't do it. Unforgivable curses could only be cast with intention. He had to mean it. And Draco didn't want to kill Theo.

Draco watched Theo's face turn from pale terror to red rage, then he dropped into his dueling formation.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Only Draco's old Seeker skills allowed him to move out of the way in time as the green streak of light narrowly missed him.

Theo could do it. He had done it. Draco had watched him kill McLaggen right in front of him. And now Theo was going to do it to him too.

Theo raised his wand again, but Draco's was already up and aimed at the one spot Theo always left open.

"Crucio!"

It wasn't the killing curse, but it was something.

Theo dropped to the ground with a shriek of pain. Draco didn't dare let the curse up in fear that Theo might be able to cast one of his own. He could feel the power flickering as Theo's screams grew louder, his body jerking and scratching against the broken floor.

Bellatrix was cackling, jumping up and down in the corner of his eye. Draco focused his attention back on Theo, spasming in front of him as the curse rolled through his body. His limbs were cut from flailing and leaked blood onto the fresh grass.

Draco pulled down the marble walls and let his emotions rush forward.

He let every ounce of his hatred, his loathing, his anger, his pain flow freely into the curse. It was so strong, so powerful, that he had a hard time keeping his arm straight and his wand pointed at Theo's chest. It wanted to move, to spread the curse around the entire room until everyone and everything in it was screaming in a cacophony of agony. For him.

The power of it was intoxicating. Sweat dripped down the side of his face and Draco ground his teeth together. The force of it was searing his hand, making him feel like he was on fire. But it didn't feel half as warm as she did. If Granger was the sun, this was a distant star in the night, burning low. Burning out.

Draco dropped the curse, his body sagging forward.

"Kill him!" His Master was commanding it, but… he couldn't. Draco couldn't. "Or are you a Blood Traitor too?"

Yes. He was. He had tried to get Dumbledore off the tower. He had tried to run. He had hunted down Grange instead of Potter and when he did have Scarhead in his grasp, Draco had let him go.

And if his loyalty was being called into question, the Dark Lord would be able to break through those weak walls and find Granger hiding in his mind and then in his room.

He didn't have a choice, not when it came to her. He never had.

His throat was tight, but he forced the word through anyways. "Crucio!"

Theo's screams tore into Draco's ears. His hand shook, but not as much as Theo's body. He was screaming so much that he was ripping his throat open with it and trails of red smeared across his cheeks. Draco listened as the curse cracked his bones, snapping them and leaving his limbs heavy as they flopped with the dark energy coursing through him.

Theo stopped screaming and merely gurgled. A fountain of bright red blood shot out from his open mouth and splashed back down across his face.

By the time Draco was done, Theo was broken, loose and barely held together by his discolored skin, and bleeding freely from his ears, nose, mouth, and eyes.

Draco didn't let go.

He held the curse until it was jerking Theo's dead body in a sick parody of life.

This was his future.

A body.

A boy.

He dropped his wand, unable to look at anything that wasn't Theo bleeding out onto the early spring grass.

And now Draco was laying here, in Granger's arms, undeserving of her touch. Of her.

There was only one thing he deserved now.

Draco threw her arm from where it was draped across his torso and unlocked the drawer where he kept his wand.

"Draco?" Granger said sleepily; sweetly.

He wished she'd shut the fuck up and never say his name like that again. He wanted her to scream at him, tell him he was a monster, a murderer.

He wanted to give her his wand and let her end it for him.

Being killed by Granger would be a fitting end. There was something poetic about being killed by something so pure.

"Where are you going?" She sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Go back to sleep."

"No." Oh, fuck her. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." He walked to the door.

"Draco-" Granger was on her feet. "Don't ignore me!"

She grabbed his shoulder and Draco shrugged her off, unlocking the door.

"No!" How could she sound so cute and so fucking annoying at the same time?

Granger pulled on him again and Draco spun, shoving her roughly back from him. "Don't fucking touch me!"

He heard her banging on the door as he closed it behind him.

He tried to focus on the sound of her fists, hoping it would replace the howls of agony that filled his head.

It didn't. Nothing ever would.

For as long as he lived, Draco would remember the sound of Theo screaming, blood bubbling up out of his throat and into his mouth as Draco tortured him to death.

Because he wasn't strong enough to give him a clean ending.

"Well done, Draco!" his aunt had whispered in his ear, her voice taking on an almost Motherly tone.

It made him want to turn his skin inside out.

But even that wouldn't erase the mark or what he had done.

He didn't know if he was breathing or standing or moving or what. All he knew was that his wand was in his right hand and he was pressing the tip of it into his arm so hard that the wood began to bend ever so slightly.

He should snap it. Break it. Like he broke Theo.

He should do it to himself.

"Crucio."

The pain was pure. Undiluted and unfiltered. Fuck, it had never felt like this before. It was always red hot, burning down into him, but this time… it was like white flames, so strong that he could feel it in his head, making his sway and sink. Then… nothing. White. Everything went white.

No color. No sound. No nothing.

No Granger.

Hermione.

"DRACO!"

.

Hermione fell to her knees beside him. Draco wasn't moving. His head had fallen to the side and his arm lay across his stomach; wand dropped at his side. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw the state his arm was in. It was bruised to almost black.

She was scared to touch it, scared that it might… that he might…

But when she took his face in her hands, his skin was cool but not cold.

He was alive.

Just barely, but alive. Still in there, somewhere.

"Draco—" Her voice was tight with panic. "Draco, wake up. Please wake up. Oh God, please…"

She felt foolish, having stood there, banging on the door for him to let her in when she heard the same screams that haunted her dreams. In a desperate attempt to get to him, she turned the handle and the door opened.

He hadn't even locked it.

She hadn't even tried it.

Months of being hidden away in chains and locks had made Hermoine not even consider the most simple solution.

And it might have cost Draco his life.

His lips were bloodless, and his head rolled loosely in her hands, the muscles of his neck soft and… useless. She pushed his hair back from his face, sniffling and trying to keep her mind from spinning into a cyclone of anxiety. He was still here, somewhere. But wherever he had retreated to, was far away, deep down, and Hermione felt fear ring through her chest at the thought that she might not be able to find him in time.

"Draco, you have to wake up, please!"

Crookshanks let out a loud yowl and Calix cried from his perch on Draco's desk.

She pulled him into her lap and his wand rolled a little on the carpeted floor.

His wand…

Hermione grabbed it, hand shaking as her fingers wrapped around the base and she brought it up to his head.

"Rennerverate!" Her voice trembled and Draco stayed still. "Rennerverate!"

She bent down, pressing her ear to his chest, but couldn't hear anything over the sounds of her own gasping breaths. If his heart was still beating, it was faint.

She was losing him.

Calix screeched again and Hermione looked over to see Crookshanks pawing at the perch. "Crooks, stop that!" she scolded, upset at the distraction at a time like this. But Crookshanks ignored her; standing on his back legs, he reached a paw up and swatted at Calix who flapped his wings, lifting a few inches off his perch where Hermione saw a thin silver chain connected to his leg.

Hermione carefully placed Draco's head and upper body back down on the floor and then scrambled to her feet and over to Crookshanks and Calix.

Calix was beating his wings and clacking his beak angrily. She got a good look at his razor sharp talons when she brought Draco's wand up and sliced through the silver chain. It gently clinked as it fell away.

Hermione summoned parchment and a quill, hands shaking so bad she could barely write, but at least it was legible.

"Please help. He's hurt."

A tear fell onto the thick parchment, blotting out a few of the letters on her small note, but she didn't have time to re-write it.

Hermione turned and Calix snapped it up from her hand. "Blaise, okay?" It was all she could manage at the moment.

Calix gave a muffled hoot and Hermione raced to the fireplace, opened the box on the mantle and grabbed a fistful of floo powder.

"St Mungo's!"

The flames turned a bright emerald green and Calix soared across the room, a heavy beat of his wings caused her curls to tangle in front of her face and then he was gone.

Crookshanks meowed loudly behind her, his tail bushier than normal as he paced up and down next to Draco's body.

Hermione ran back Draco' side, pulling him up again and tracing his wand up and down his arm as she recited every healing spell, charm, and enchantment she knew, terrified sobs interrupting them so that she had to start over every few minutes.

When there was nothing more she could do, Hermione simply held him.

It didn't take Blaise long to arrive. She had no idea how Calix found him so quickly, but when Blaise stepped through the floo, Healer's robes still on, she vowed to kiss the bird whenever he got back.

"What happened?" Blaise was all business, a serious expression set on his face.

"I don't-" Hermione started, realizing that she didn't know what Draco had done to himself.

Blaise crouched on Draco's other side and began to take his vitals. "What curse did you use on him?"

"I didn't do this!" she yelped.

His head snapped up. "You said you were hurt."

"I said he was hurt."

Blaise's wand stopped moving and Hermione realized that he had come to help her, not Draco.

A moment of decision and Hermione saw the deep thoughts in Blaise's dark eyes then he said, "Tell me whatever you can."

Hermione explained as best as she could, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her as she watched Blaise work.

Small spells checking him over.

Potions slowly poured between his white lips.

Blaise's hands running over Draco's arm, prodding into the bruised muscle, but carefully avoiding the center where the branded mark could still be seen on top of the mottled flesh.

"I'm sorry I don't know what he-"

"It's the Cruciatus curse," Blaise cut her off again. "I've seen it enough times at St. Mungo's now to recognize it. Did he come in like this or was someone here?"

Hermione stared at Blaise, chills running over every inch of her body and turning her just as cold as Draco's hand felt, clasped tight in her own.

"No."

Blaise's brows pulled together. "What? Then how did this-"

"He did it to himself." She didn't even realize she was saying the words until she heard them in the dense air.

Disbelief flashed in Blaise's eyes. "No… that would take… Merlin."

He was looking down at Draco with a mix of awe and horror on his face.

"Help him," Hermione begged. "Please."

Blaise nodded and started his work again, jaw set hard and wiping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. Hermione sat there, the feeling of helplessness almost overwhelming as Blaise worked. Finally he wrapped Draco's arm in bandages and he and Hermione levitated Draco to the bed.

Crookshanks jumped right up, purring and curled up next to Draco on the bed.

Once Hermione got the blankets situated around the two of them, she turned back to Blaise who tossed his head towards the study.

Hermione followed him, rubbing her arms nervously. She started to close the door, but decided to leave it open. Just in case.

Blaise turned. "I had no idea he was this bad."

"Neither did I," Hermione breathed, glancing down at the spot where Draco had laid. Where Draco could have died.

When she pulled her gaze away she found Blaise nervously appraising her.

Hermione pulled at the hem of the sheer dress and tucked her messy curls back behind her ears, feeling herself blush as she wrapped her arms back around herself.

Clearing his throat, Blaise quickly averted his eyes and shook his head a little.

"Don't worry, I've given him a sleeping draught. He will be out a few hours more. Didn't want him waking up halfway through and trying to kill me or something."

Hermione blanched and glanced back over her shoulder. Draco was still asleep, although a small tinge of pink had come back to his lips.

"Thank you," she said, turning back to Blaise. "I don't know what I would have done if you didn't come."

Blaise nodded, his brow furrowing. "I have to say, I am a bit surprised you sent for me."

Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"If someone was holding me against my will for months and…" he paused, choosing his words. "Well, I don't think I would have called for a Healer. That's all."

"I…" she looked back at Draco again. Love him. "Couldn't let him die."

Blaise shrugged. "Yes, you could have."

She could have. She could have taken his wand, taken supplies, and walked right out of the door and been long gone before anyone came looking for him.

"I don't understand you, Hermione."

"Neither do I," she said, sighing. "In fact, I think Draco might be the only one who does."

Blaise's eyes narrowed in curiosity. "And do you understand him?"

It was as if she had known the answer all along and was just waiting for the question. "I think I do."

She was quiet for a moment as the truth of this sunk into her. Whatever, whoever, they were inside, was the same. And that is why it hurt so much to be with him now, because she could see that part of him slowly fading. Dying.

War didn't just take the dead. It took the living too. This time, it had almost taken him from her for good and even now, with the stain on his soul, Draco wasn't… he wasn't not worth saving. Even if he didn't want to be. Even if it was just for herself. Something to make this whole stupid war worth it.

But even if the Order won, if Draco was taken from her, Hermione would still lose.

"Do you know why he did that to himself?" Blaise asked. "Hermione?" he prompted when all she did was bite her lip.

"He…" Hermione felt goosebumps rise on her arms. "He killed Theo."

Blaise shoved out a breath and sank down in one of the large leather chairs, running his hands over his head and holding it like it might fall off.

"He didn't mean to."

"He never does, does he?" Blaise said, emotion harsh in his voice. "But he always finds a way to fuck things up anyways." He stood up, breathing fast.

"He didn't want to!" she tried to explain, but knew little more than this to defend him with. "Draco never wanted to kill anyone."

"Yeah well, Theo's still dead, isn't he?"

"I- I'm sorry." Hermione reached out and touched Blaise's arm. She barely knew him, but didn't want him to stand there in pain in front of her. Theo had been Blaise's friend too. And she had made Blaise save the person who killed him. "I'm so sorry."

He rubbed his eyes deeply, pushing them back into his head. "Draco is… He's fucked up, Hermione. He's fucked up bad."

"He'll be okay though, right?" she asked, stomach cleaning tightly inside her.

"Physically? He'll heal well enough. His arm is damaged though. He must have been…" His dark eyes drifted to the half open bedroom door. "But I wasn't talking about that. He… he's dangerous."

She shook her head a little. "Draco won't hurt me."

"You really believe that?"

"I…" Hermione paused.

"Hermione," Blaise placed a hand softly on her shoulder. "I can take you out of here."

Out. Out out out. Blaise could get her out.

"I can take you to my house by floo. And you can go anywhere from there."

She could find Harry, maybe even Ron, and they could get back to hunting horcruxes. It was everything she had been working for, everything she wanted.

Almost everything.

Hermione looked back at Draco on his bed. Their bed.

There were many reasons she wanted to fight against Voldemort and stop him from taking over. And Draco was one of those reasons. This whole time she had kept an idea in her head that somehow, if they won the war, she would be able to be with Draco. And that turned into the idea that she had to win the war to be with Draco. And since he was a Death Eater that meant fighting against him.

But that wasn't entirely true, was it?

That was what her war torn, terror stricken heart had pumped into her brain and the ideas and emotions had mixed and everything had gotten so muddled and confusing and she never got any time to sort it out before she was running for her life and as soon as she had gotten here, Draco had just locked her up and they had waged their own war on each other.

What if instead of spending all her energy fighting against Draco, she fought for him? For his soul? Even if it was torn and stained. She loved it. She loved everything about him. The good and the bad. Draco and Malfoy.

She loved him.

"Hermione?" Blaise said her name softly.

Hermione gripped Draco's wand in her hand.

"I'm not leaving him. Not this time."

.

Their roles had reversed.

Hermione sat on the chaise, watching Draco carefully as he dressed for the day, like she did every morning now. He no longer donned the dragon hide vest and black boots of his Death Eater attire. Now, Draco stayed in his white shirt and slipped on a pair of grey sweat pants.

He took his wand with him, but she never saw him using it as he trained on the grounds.

Hermione watched from the window as Draco ran laps, did push ups, curl ups, and boxed against the chilly spring air. He would return, sweating and breathing heavily, and head straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind him before she could even get a word out.

Over an hour later, he would emerge with a cloud of steam following him and dress, never touching the black robes, and head into his study.

He did not invite her to come with him anymore.

But when he returned in the evenings, he would toss some random book or a copy of the Prophet on the foot of the bed before collapsing on the chaise and pretending to be asleep while she sat up reading.

Overall, Draco was doing… better. Not great, but better. He was still quiet most days, but spoke to Crookshanks sometimes. One day he returned with treats that he hand fed Crookshanks while he purred happily.

"What, nothing for me?" Hermione asked, hoping to jar Draco into talking to her again.

He glanced up at her, eyes as grey as mist. "Did… did you want something?"

His expression was so empty that she lost her train of thought.

"N-no. No, I'm fine. It was a joke."

Draco didn't say anything, but when she looked back over at him, he was still staring at her.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he mumbled and fed Crookshanks another treat.

Hermione's supper that night arrived while Draco was out and she opened the tray to find a large serving of apple charlotte accompanying her meal. The smell of it made her mouth water and Hermione had to hold herself back from digging into it right away.

She tried to save it, wanting to wait until Draco came back and… maybe they could… split it. They rarely ate together and when they did, it was just because Draco picked something random off her tray, not that they actually dined with one another.

Except for Valentine's Day.

But Hermione didn't need a large spread and a fancy table. She didn't care to get dressed up and wear a small treasure trove around her neck.

She just wanted to talk with him again. Maybe ask him how he was doing and tell him how she was feeling in return.

But Draco did not join her.

Hermione ate alone, watching the daylight fade from burning orange to dusty blue through the window.

She barely tasted the apple charlotte as she ate it.

.

Days passed and Hermione watched the world come alive again through the barred window. The trees sprouted fresh green buds that were quickly turning into new leaves. Birds flew overhead and she watched as elves trudged out to work on the lawn, pruning branches back on bushes, and planting new flowers in the garden.

Hermione watched them bloom outside and told herself that she was just enjoying seeing life return to the grounds and not that she sat at the window every day to watch Draco go through his physical training routine on the back lawn.

"He's been in a better mood since he's been working out. He hasn't yelled once. That's something, right?" she asked Crookshanks as he laid in the sun beside her.

He flicked his tail.

"It is." She turned back to the window. "It's… something."

It was. Really. Draco was… different. She couldn't exactly say he was happy, but he wasn't miserable like he had been when he… when she had to call Blaise. The event seemed to have shocked him too because since then, Draco had not taken his wand back to his arm.

In fact, he had barely even touched it. She saw him doing a variety of things outside, but never once caught him practicing his dueling. Hermione vowed to ask him about it. And the missing ring. And… how he was doing.

She wasn't going to let Draco brush her off again. They'd have a conversation about this. Even if she had to push him down and sit on top of him to do it.

Huffing, Hermione sat down to read the copy of the Prophet Draco had tossed at her this morning and her eyes widened in shock at the headline.

.

Draco trudged through the house, head hanging low and muscles aching from overuse and uncomfortable nights. He was back on the chaise, but that didn't stop Granger from keeping him up half the night, tossing and turning and moaning his name out until he couldn't stand it and his hard length was in his hand, pumping away as she made gentle noises in her sleep that he imagined were moans of ecstasy from her coming on his cock.

They weren't, but he could pretend all the same.

That's what his days consisted of now. Pretending. Acting like he wasn't a murderer, wasn't a Blood Traitor, wasn't in love with the girl sitting up in his room who had the most fucking annoying habit of looking goddamn beautiful when she was thinking of something and she was always thinking of something because she was so bloody brilliant.

She just didn't think of him.

She had been lying to him in his study. She didn't still love him. She was looking for a way out and catching him off guard with some half-hearted insinuation that she maybe, might, possibly, still have feelings for him was just a ploy.

She had been trying to leave him.

He never thought he would be happy that his Mother caught him… doing that to someone, especially Granger, but it had at least scared Granger enough that he was able to lock her back up and keep her safe. His Mother hadn't spoken to him since that night which he was glad of as well. He didn't want to hear more of her accusations because even though they were false, there was a truth to what she was saying.

Everyone else hated him, why not his dear old Mum too? Losing someone else's love hurt, but not as much as losing Granger's.

And if she hadn't been completely lying, then killing Theo did the trick. Granger was good and pure; she wouldn't want him now that he was a killer.

Images of Theo's face in various states of decay haunted him. Empty, glass eyes, skin sloughing off, and mouth hanging open, a low moan emitted that sounded all too familiar to the death scream that Theo had died choking on.

Draco rubbed his hand over his face, partially to clear his mind and partially to check and make sure that the rot hadn't set in on him too. But just because he could still feel his features didn't mean he stopped seeing Theo's decaying away. He really fucking hated dead people.

He should have set Theo on fire; burned him to death so there would be no body left behind. Might give him some measure of peace, but of course, Draco hadn't. He had just stood there as the snake curled around the body, pulling to her master's feet.

He had spent a good part of last year wondering if he had killed that Muggle. He could remember the sickening worry over it, he thought not knowing was terrible, but it was nothing compared to having undeniable evidence replaying over and over in his mind.

It was wrong. It was all so wrong. And Draco was the one who had done it. He deserved every little ache in his muscles as he pushed himself harder, farther every day; every stab of pain in his heart when he looked at Granger and saw the girl he loved who would never really be his again. Not the way he wanted.

Not in her heart.

Villains didn't get happy endings. And they certainly didn't get the girl of their dreams.

Not unless they locked them in a tower and even then, the hero came and rescued them.

He thought he had been saving Granger, but maybe…

Fuck. He didn't fucking know what he was saying.

This wasn't a fairy tale or a storybook romance.

And if it was, he'd never be her knight in shining armor. He'd be the dragon.

"Draco."

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and groaned.

Fucking Lucius.

Draco stuck his hand into his pocket and gripped his wand. He didn't want to, but if he had to… Draco turned.

"Father."

Lucius straightened his back, trying to stand up taller and Draco took a step back to stand on the bottom stair, throwing him a nasty smirk.

Lucius frowned, the age showing on his face even more as it pulled in distaste before he did his best to change it into a patronizing expression.

"I was informed of your service in eliminating the Blood Traitor Nott boy."

Draco's stomach plummeted. He knew his aunt would tell people, but… he had hoped it wouldn't make it back to his parents. His mother, in particular. She already thought her son was a rapist, she didn't need to know he was a murderer as well.

Not her son anymore.

Draco glanced down at the Malfoy ring situated perfectly on his father's finger, like it had never left.

Not a Malfoy either.

Who was he? Just Draco.

Whoever the fuck that was.

He rolled his eyes.

Lucius lifted his hand and placed it on Draco's shoulder. "I am proud of you, Draco."

How long had he yearned to hear those words? How many times had he imagined standing here and feeling the sense of accomplishment that he had finally done something for his Father to be proud of.

Draco felt hollow. Empty. Cold.

He couldn't look him in the face and instead trained his eyes on the Malfoy ring sitting on his Father's hand, gripping his shoulder. "Yeah, uh, you're welcome."

"You'll get this back one day," Lucius said, drawing back his hand and adjusting the silver ring on it. "When you deserve it."

Draco knew exactly what he deserved. And he had done it to Theo instead. He'd never be good enough for Granger. Never had been, really. She could have been happy with someone else. Someone who wasn't him.

The thought turned his insides to ice that cracked and shattered into sharp, slicing pieces. Ripping into him, or whatever was left of him at this point.

He'd have given the family ring for Granger to love him again.

Given anything, everything.

Draco turned away again, lifting his tired legs up the stairs.

Too bad he already given her everything he had. He just never bothered to ask her if she even wanted it anymore.

.

Hermione read the paper seven times in a row, heart skipping a beat every time their names were mentioned. Harry and Ron, both of them, together. She had been desperate for any mention of them, any hint of them for months and now, they were plastered over every page.

Harry and Ron had broken into Borgin and Burkes and burned the store down.

Now it was nothing more than a dusty pile of rubble and a few charred stacks of bricks according to the picture on the front of the evening Prophet.

They, of course, were nowhere to be seen, but photographed and printed were several badly burned people in metal masks either running around and waving their hands, or huddled together looking nothing like the elite forces of the supposed Dark Lord.

Injuries, damages and fatalities were still being reported.

Harry and Ron had struck a decisive blow against Voldemort's regime and they had done it in his own backyard.

She was sure that whoever took the picture and whoever okayed it to go out would be hunted down and taken in by morning, but the papers would still be out there. People would see what Harry and Ron had done and, as a result, they would see the Death Eaters looking like fools and weaklings. In a regime based on fear and oppressive power, this attack was damning evidence in the Order's favor.

Hermione was proud of her boys. Scared out of her mind at what they had been thinking that could have made them ever believe it was a good idea to launch an offensive attack in the middle of Knockturn Alley of all places... But she had to admit, they had pulled it off. She was almost too scared to hope that they had found another horcrux. Maybe hidden somewhere, under the floorboards of the old shop Tom Riddle had worked in.

Maybe, just maybe, they had already destroyed it somehow. It had been months since she had seen Harry, that was plenty of time to either get the sword or find some other way to destroy the horcruxes. She didn't think they would have gone after another without first being able to get rid of the one they had.

Hermione rubbed her neck, remembering the heavy weight of the locket and the distress she felt just wearing the cursed thing. And the loneliness. It was the only time that she hadn't had Draco making sarcastic comments in the back of her mind. Lately, she had felt a little of that same loneliness again.

She missed him. She missed her friends.

She looked back down at the small picture of Ron they put at the bottom of the page. It was his old school photo. Same freckled face, same uneven smile, same blinking eyes.

What would he look like when she saw him again?

The last time she had seen him, his face had been painted with fiery, red hate.

"She's fucking Draco Malfoy."

Did they even want her to come back? She had spent this whole time trying to find a way to get back to them and didn't even stop to consider that maybe they wouldn't take her in again. She had spent those months in a Death Eater's bed, after all.

Hermione bit her lip and looked back down at the paper. Harry looked back up at her.

He would. Harry would take her back. And… Ron would too. She wouldn't get upset this time. She would sit him down, make him listen, and explain to him… Goodness, what would she say? Maybe just… that she was still her. She was still Hermione, still the same person.

Except, she was and she wasn't. She was still herself, but now she was… more herself. More Hermione.

And Draco had done that. He had opened her up, let her explore and find things out about herself that she never even knew to look for. He had challenged her, pushed her. And let her push herself too.

Hermione sat the paper down. Ron would have to understand that, wouldn't he?

And if he didn't… Well, they didn't have to be friends to hunt horcruxes together. As long as Harry wanted her there, she would be. Ron could make his own choices.

He had before.

He had left her and… Draco had found her.

And now… now she was stuck here. So she might as well take advantage of it.

Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and bounded over to the dresser where Draco had left an unopened bottle of fire whisky sitting next to the diamonds he had left out for her.

She almost put them on. If there was ever a night to dress up, tonight was it. Tonight she was celebrating a victory.

Hermione pulled at the cork, huffing in frustration before it finally popped from the top of the bottle and spilled a little onto her dress.

"Ugh!"

She held it away from her as if it had done it on purpose and then gingerly sniffed it.

Disgusting. Sickly sweet and strong enough to make her dizzy but it was what she wanted. Summoning her Gryffindor courage, Hermione brought it to her lips and swallowed.

It burned so badly that she thought she might not be able to keep it down.

Coughing, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Thank goodness Crookshanks was in Draco's study or he would have thought she was hacking up a furball with the amount of noise she was making.

Good Godric, this stuff worked quickly. No wonder Draco stumbled around while drinking it. Hermione was lightheaded herself as she took another tentative swig. It burned less this time, but not by much.

It was… nice. Strange, but nice. She felt light, loose, and happy. She spun around, letting the feeling guide her and caught a glimpse of the sheer lace dress spinning around her in the mirror in between her twisting curls.

Hermione walked up to it, pulling a little on the skirt. This one… wasn't that bad. In fact—she took another small sip—she almost thought this could be cute. If it was a little thicker and a little longer. Maybe if she told Draco she liked it, he would get her more like this.

Or maybe he would get her something in black, like he had mentioned. An image of herself, dressed in strappy black lingerie, flashed in front of her. Before she could shake the thought, Hermione perfectly pictured Draco's striking grey eyes behind her.

She spun around, half expecting to see him there, but the room was empty. Placing her hand on her chest, Hermione let out a deep breath. Maybe she needed to sit down for a moment.

She found herself in front of the chaise and brushed a hand over the soft velvet cushion. She had flat out refused to sit on it since she arrived. Not here where Draco had made her feel so many things. She had almost been afraid that sitting on it again would make them all come back.

But, if she was being honest with herself—the whisky made that a little easier—they had never left. Not really.

So Hermione plopped down on the chaise and spread her legs out, sliding them over the rich fabric and getting comfortable against the plush cushion behind her. She sat the bottle down on the floor next to her and reached her arms out over her head, closing her eyes and sighing happily, hoping that Harry and Ron were celebrating wherever they were too.

"Granger—" Hermione's eyes flew open. "Are you drinking?"

The sheer shock in his voice set her off into a fit of giggles. She couldn't stop. Goodness, she couldn't stop at all. Not when she started losing her breath and not when her cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much. It felt good to laugh again, like she had been holding it back this whole time and finally was letting it out.

"Or, at least trying to."

She looked up and Draco was standing in front of her, holding the bottle up for inspection.

"You do realize this is one of Ogden's special blends? This bottle is a hundred and fifty years old."

"Didn't taste old to me," she giggled and watched Draco's carefully calm face twitch as he tried to keep whatever he was thinking or feeling off of it.

"Well," he shrugged and sank to the floor next to the chaise. "No use in letting it go to waste."

He tipped it back and downed three mouthfuls before Hermione grabbed it back from him.

"Excuse me!" she said loudly. Very loudly. Wow. Did she always talk this loud? "That was mine, thank you very much!"

Draco smirked at her and cocked his head to the side. "You took things from me that were mine. It's only fair, Granger."

Hermione scowled and took the bottle back.

"I was only ever yours because I wanted to be," she snapped and forced another small sip down just to show Draco that… Well… Just because.

Draco let a cold sneer slip onto his face and Hermione was briefly reminded of running into him in dark corridors late at night.

"Wasn't talking about your cunt." He rolled his eyes and looked away from her. "I was talking about my heart. I never wanted to fall in love with you."

Oh. Oh.

Right.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You're forgiven," Draco answered without missing a beat. He plucked the bottle from her hands and tipped it back again.

"It's as easy as that? Just…" She waved a hand in the air. "Poof and forgiven?"

Draco twisted his head to the side to look up at her, eyes the color of misty rain. "Do you want to be punished?"

A stream of cold passed down Hermione's arms, quickly followed by a blushing heat that chased the feeling all the way down to her toes and, she was sure, across her face.

Draco drank again. "Can't blame me for trying, especially when I haven't fucked anything but my own hand since June and you…" His eyes moved down her body and back up again. The heat followed them, leaving cool goosebumps in its wake.. "Look good enough to fucking eat."

Hermione's heart was hammering in her chest and pushed the alcohol quickly through her system or maybe out of it. She felt more level headed now, except for the small tremor in her hands.

If he noticed, he didn't say anything. Draco's eyes had turned glazed and glassy for a moment, as if he was barely in control of himself. She didn't need legilimency to know what he was thinking of right then.

Hermione stayed perfectly still, eyes wide and staring down at him.

Draco's gaze was almost impossible to hold, but she found herself unable to look away. He took another drink, the apple in his throat moving as he swallowed the liquor greedily, as if it would somehow sate the hunger bright in his eyes.

He looked away first.

"So I guess you saw the paper," he said, voice laced with a hint of bitterness.

Hermione leaned forward slightly. "Do you know anything else about it?" Maybe he would tell her. Or maybe he would tell her to shut the fuck up and not mention Harry ever again.

Draco tapped his finger. "No. I wasn't called. Not that I would have gone anyway."

Another wave of some unidentifiable emotion passed through her, but this one seemed to clear her head instead of muddle it further.

"What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged again. "I just… don't want to do this anymore."

Impossible. It must have been the fire whisky making her think she was hearing him say this. This, the one thing she had stopped even hoping for, and yet…

"Don't want to what?" she pressed.

Draco looked down at his arm where the dark mark was clear against the lightly bruised skin around it.

"Doesn't matter."

He drank again and Hermione swiped for the bottle, not wanting him to drown himself until he was unable to give her the answers she so desperately needed. Draco pulled it away from her.

"It matters to me."

"Potter matters to you," Draco snapped and Hermione pulled back. "Weasley too. Bet you never went drinking when you read about the Muggleborns I brought in."

Hermione's spirits fell. "You don't know what I did when I thought about you."

"Probably just practiced your hexes against some tree since you couldn't use them on me," he answered again, sharp and quick. "I'm sure you would have taken out the whole forest if I hadn't ambushed and abducted you." He sniffed and almost took another drink, but then seemed to think better of it.

"I don't support deforestation," Hermione said, shaking a few loose hairs back from her face. "And I know how to hex someone when I want to."

"I know you do, Sweetheart. Cute and dangerous; it's why I never leave my wand where you can get it."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at that.

Draco leaned his head back against the chaise and rolled it towards her, grinning and taking another pull from the bottle. He held it out to her. Hermione focused on his hand, wrapped loosely, but completely around the neck. There were a few blue-green veins standing out on the back of his hand and sunk down into the dips between the long fingers she knew so well, except now they were ringless.

Hermione took the bottle from him, making sure not to graze his hand as she did. Because if she touched him, she wasn't going to stop.

"Did you lose it?" she asked with the rim pressed against her lip, taking a quick drink to keep her courage up.

"Huh?"

She swallowed. It was getting… a little better? "Your ring," Hermione clarified. "You… haven't been wearing it."

Draco spread out his fingers and then closed his hand tightly in a fist. She had pushed too far. He was going to snap at her and hurt her feelings just because he knew he could. Still, Hermione could not help the fact that she was glad that she actually brought it up.

Draco loosened his fist and rested his hand on his leg. "Just didn't feel like it anymore."

Oh.

"Got in the way, you know?"

No. She didn't. Not at all.

Or… maybe she did.

Hermione wasn't very used to drinking and she wasn't sure if the confusion was because of the few sips of alcohol or if Draco just was just giving her the run around again.

"You're not making sense," she said, a smile on her lips.

He looked over at her again and his mouth twitched. "Nothing does these days, Sweetheart. Not since I met you."

Her heart sped up, pushing the fire whisky through her brain. "You've known me for years Draco."

Another twitch. Only, this one made his curled lips stay like that and his eyes brightened like polished silver. "Oh, I am aware."

The warm feeling in her stomach grew. She told herself it was the fire whisky.

She knew it wasn't though.

"I think you've had enough." Draco reached for the bottle and Hermione pulled it back against her chest. His hand stopped in the air before it reached her.

Touch me.

He gave her a knowing look. "Your cheeks are red, pet. You don't need any more."

"Yes I do."

"You don't," Draco reached for the bottle again with a playful smile. "Trust me."

"Okay."

His hand was around the neck again and Hermione tightened her grip on the body of the bottle.

He just stared at her. Eyes searching hers and she felt the tiniest hint of pressure in the forefront of her mind before… Draco pulled back. He stopped himself from diving into her mind even though she could tell how badly he wanted to.

Draco's brows lowered. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't say things you don't mean. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not. I told you the other day I trusted you and I'm telling you now."

"Give me the bottle. You're drunk."

"You drank twi-twice as much as me," she said with a small hiccup.

He plucked the Ogden's from her hands. "I'm much larger than you," he said, the mock annoyance back in his tone. "And I have a tolerance. You don't."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, fully aware that it made her breasts push together and almost spill out of the lace holding them in. "I could build one up. Maybe we could even drink together. At least you would hang out with me then."

She dropped her eyes to her lap and saw her legs were not as closely pressed as she normally kept them. Why was she talking so much? It felt good to say these things. To finally voice the thoughts and feelings she had kept inside for so long.

Draco popped the cork into the bottle and sat it down. "I doubt you'll make a habit of this. Too bloody smart. But I do have to say, kitten," he leaned towards her a little the liquor adding a roguish touch to his smirk. "I like what it's done for you."

He brushed the back of a finger over her calf and goosebumps blazed across the trail he made on her skin. He paused as he reached her ankle and heat rushed into her face. He was watching her. She could feel his gaze on her face and took a deep breath, keeping her focus on his hand, his fingers.

He turned them over, running the pads of his fingers back up her leg and over her knee. Slowly, softly, he placed his palm against her skin and spread out his fingers, inching them up her leg. They reached halfway up her thigh before he even had to move his hand.

It was cool against her warm skin and she was thankful for that because the quick beat of her heart was not doing her any favors in lowering her body temperature. Is this why they called it fire whisky? Because Hermione felt like her blood was near boiling, and her heart was pounding in her chest.

Draco stopped at the hem of the lace and pressed his forehead against his hand on her thigh, letting out a deep groan that felt like it was pushing up into her.

Her heart rushed out to meet him, waiting for him— between her thighs.

Her fingers were in his hair. It was silky soft and she pushed them deeper, scratching her nails against his scalp.

"Granger… fuck."

His shoulders tensed and his other hand came to land on her opposite knee. He pressed his fingers into her skin and Hermione closed her eyes.

He was touching her.

He was touching her and she loved it and missed it and wanted it and needed it.

His lips were on her knee, pressing into it with a pained kiss. He lifted them only to place another kiss an inch higher. Then another. And another.

Then his hands were pushing her legs apart and Hermione meant to gasp, but instead she moaned and Draco's head shot up.

He was staring at her, eyes only black depths ringed by shining silver. His hands were on her inner thighs and she felt herself clench at the sight of his mouth hanging slightly open. His tongue rested on his bottom row of teeth and heavy breaths passed over it.

She should say something. Tell him it was okay, that she wanted this.

She should make him stop. She should do anything other than look in his eyes as he slowly pried her legs apart.

His tongue slid over his bottom lip and she was reminded of a snake tasting the air for a hint of its prey.

The lump in his throat bobbed and for a moment he looked almost nervous. Then his fingers reached into the dip of her thigh and he asked in a deep, commanding voice, "You trust me?"

Hermione bit her lip.

His eyes moved to it. "Enough not to take advantage of you in your inebriated state?"

She swallowed.

"Enough to let me this close, knowing I could have you whimpering my name in seconds, if I wanted?"

Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

"Do you really trust me, Granger?" Draco asked again, a hoarse warning in his voice.

Hermione's eyes felt dry, but they were the only part of her that was.

Draco's hands latched onto her upper thighs and pulled her down to the edge of the chaise, forcing her legs wider and pushing the white skirt up over her hips.

His eyes left her face and focused on her center, brows pulling together in concentration as his tongue hung out of his mouth a little. This time, he did not bring it back in, but rolled it back and forth over his lip.

Hermione's body was angled with her backside carefully balanced on the seat. She felt open and exposed and goodness, excited that she was spread open for him.

Just like how it had been before. Draco was still able to make her feel like… like no one else ever had. And now, she thought, like no one else ever would. Because this was it. He was it.

Her Draco.

She was sobering up—and quickly—as adrenaline flooded her system. And it was all her when she reached forward and took his face with shaking, excited hands.

"I want this. With you." She felt like she was floating, like this wasn't real, but at the same time it felt more real than the past three months with him. "I want you."

He stared up at her, lust darkening every feature on his face so that he was less of a man and more of a feeling. His reason was gone; all that was left was his need.

For her.

His words came out as a heavy growl, dripping with a promise she knew he wouldn't break.

"I'm going to fucking devour you."

Draco's mouth closed over her, enveloping her. Hermione's head lolled back, mouth falling open. At the same time that a high pitched noise slipped up her throat, a deep, feral groan sounded against her and his tongue broke through her fold.

His arms wrapped underneath her legs, reaching up to hook around her thighs and hold onto her as he buried his face between her legs with no obvious regard for the need to breathe.

Hermione wasn't sure she had ever felt anything quite like this.

Draco was ravishing her with his lips and tongue and, oh God, his teeth. His nose pressed harshly into her mound as he pulled the soft bud of flesh into this mouth with his teeth. He wrapped his lips around it, sucking hungrily and rolling his tongue against it in the same motion she had watched him play on his lips just moments before.

He kissed everywhere. Tongue moving into every fold and crevice, lips massaging the tender skin and sensitive spots. Traveling down, then up again, then back down until she whined and pressed her hips up into him. Draco didn't miss an inch. His mouth covered all of her, licking, kissing, sucking, tasting.

Devouring.

He was gorging himself on her like a starving man. Thrilling jolts shot down Hermione's legs, curling in her toes. Her chest rose and fell with every heavy, gasping breath. She wanted to stretch out, wanted to curl up, wanted this feeling to spread into every part of her, wanted to sink down into it as it lifted her into dizzying heights.

She clawed at the velvet, digging her nails in, in an effort to try and gain some control over her body again, but Draco wasn't having it. He snaked his tongue lower, dipping it into her core and groaning as he lapped at the moisture, pulling it into his mouth.

Draco looked up at Hermione at the same time that she glanced down at him. He was breathing heavily, lips parted and his eyes glazed with lust.

He shifted his body, moving closer, pulling his arms out from under her legs. He balanced his marked forearm on her thigh, spreading his large hand out to stretch between her hip bones and push her back down into the chaise, keeping her in place. The other hand traveled up in between her legs and she felt his fingers trace around her opening. Draco coated them in the wetness there before dipping just the tip of one in and moving it in a small circle, just barely inside her.

Hermione tried to move to take more of his finger, but the hand on her lower stomach weighed down to keep her still. She felt the strength in Draco's arm flex against her and she couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but let him tease her. Torture her.

"Is there something you want, kitten?" It was the deep, commanding voice she knew so well. Asking not in earnest, but in condescension. "There is, isn't there?" He widened the circle.

Hermione bit her lip. She had held back from him for so long and now that she was here, she felt like she was about to fall into a chasm, too dark to see the bottom. She wanted to dive head first.

Draco pushed his finger in to the knuckle and Hermione gasped. He pulled it back out again and she whimpered.

"You want me to slide my finger in?" Draco took his time pushing it in once more. Hermione shivered and bit down harder on her lip.

"What about…" Draco pulled it back out, "two of them?"

Oh Godric, it felt so good to feel him inside her again. She wanted to twist, to grind, to push herself against his hand for more, but Draco held her down firmly.

"No no, Sweetheart," he chided. "Be a good little slut and beg me."

"Draco," she whined his name.

"That's it, kitten," he said encouragingly. Patronizingly. Why did that make her want to do it even more?

She placed her hand on his head and tried to push it in between her legs again.

Draco let her, but she felt him push back right before his mouth landed on her again. Hermione tried to tilt her hips up, but he pressed down heavily with his hand and kept her where she was.

He laughed. He laughed at her and she could feel the warmth of his breath cool against the heat of her center.

"Cute." Draco placed a soft kiss in a particularly sensitive area and Hermione cried out at the contact.

She looked down at him, chest heaving so badly that one of the straps had fallen down her shoulder, leaving her chest almost exposed.

Draco's mercury eyes were playful as he looked up at her, pulling his lip into his mouth and sucking on it at little while following a tantalizing trail with his finger.

The messy pile of emotions she had stacked up in the back of her mind teetered dangerously and then… they fell. They spilled all over her well-organized, compartmentalized mind. Every inch of her carefully curated thoughts were covered with dozens of emotions she hadn't let herself feel in so long. She thought she would drown in them until, she realized she could breathe easier than she had since June.

Hermione filled her chest and spoke.

"Kiss me," she said. "Touch me. Do everything, anything. Whatever you want. Do all the things you've ever thought about doing to me. Make me yours again."

He was moaning, eating her out and pumping his fingers into her, quicker with every stroke until Hermione was shaking. She tried to close her legs as the sensation between them built to an impossible level, but Draco shoved them back open, reclaiming what had been his all along.

It was almost too much. She felt like she was going to break apart, shatter and scatter into a million little pieces that Draco would lick up with his tongue. Oh God, his mouth… She could feel him breathing against her, sucking in hurried air through his nose so he didn't have to move his lips from her. His fingers curled and wiggled inside her, causing her muscles to clench and tighten.

Draco threw one of her legs up on his shoulder and pushed his fingers in faster. His tongue was strong and heavy, twisting and twirling in some pattern she didn't have enough attention to concentrate on.

"Fuck, you taste so good. I love it," he murmured against her, mumbling so his lips brushed over her clit with every word. Hermione looked down at him, mouth open and gasping and met his molten silver eyes. "Tell me you missed this. How I make you feel."

"I did," she said without hesitation. "Oh God, I missed it so much." Hermione ran her fingers through his hair and watched his lids lower slightly.

"And me? You missed me?" he asked, pausing just for a moment and then his tongue slithered out and over her again.

Hermione couldn't stop the broken moan that slipped from her and felt a lightness in her as she heard Draco's deep chuckle again. "Tell me, kitten. Tell me how much you missed being my pretty—" lick "little—" kiss "whore."

He brought her clit back in between his teeth and when she thought she would feel his soft tongue over it, instead she felt the sharp graze of his teeth.

"Draco! Draco, please!" Hermione cried, grabbing onto the hand on her lower stomach and squeezing his index finger with her fist as tortuous pleasure burned through her. It was like walking through cleansing fire, terrible and wonderful all the same time.

Hermione's head fell back.

"Tell me."

It was the same, deep commanding voice he had always used with her and Hermione felt herself falling all over again.

"I missed you. I missed you so much I couldn't breathe. I kept you in my head, the whole time," she said quickly, not caring about the desperation ringing clearly in her voice. "I would think about you, all the time. And I touched myself, thinking about you, but it wasn't like this. Nothing is ever like this."

She lifted her head back up to look at him as he blew a cool breath over her and made her shiver.

"Except you. Only you, Draco."

He looked up at her, something deep and dark moving behind the silver shields of his eyes and for a moment, she thought he might leave her like this— wet and wanton. She had given in, given him what he wanted.

But she wasn't sorry. Not for a minute. Not for a second.

If loving Draco was a sin, then at least she'd have company in hell.

"I'm going to make you mean those words this time."

It happened as soon as his tongue hit her again, flicking back and forth quickly, his fingers sliding in and out of her at the same pace and Hermione held onto his hand and head, grounding herself as she felt like breaking open. Breaking free.

Her legs shook, her hips jerked, but Draco held her down, pushing his face against her as her thighs tried to close around him.

"Oh please please please!" she chanted. "Don't stop, oh Draco… please don't stop!"

Her whole body convulsed, almost unable to take what was happening to it and Hermione lost all control. And Draco was there to take it.

He kept at her, licking and flicking, not letting up for even a second as she shook. It wasn't until she was whimpering, almost overcome, did he slow and soften the hard muscle of his tongue against her into gentle strokes, lapping softly to keep her blood buzzing.

She tried to catch her breath, but found even that laborious. Hermione sunk back against the velvet cushion of the chaise, feeling like she had drunk a whole bottle of Ogden's rather than just a couple of mouthfuls.

"Draco." His name was little more than a whisper on her lips and he hummed as he made another swipe with his tongue. "Oh!" Hermione pushed lightly on his head as the sensation sent a shock up her spine.

Draco pushed her hand away. "No."

Her eyes opened and met his, burning like ash-covered coals.

"You don't just get to just stop." There was a dangerous undertone to his voice. "I am going to make you come again, pet. And again, and again. I am going to make you come until you cry for me."

After all, he had said he had forgiven her all those times, but only after he exacted his punishment and now, she knew exactly what that was going to be.

"Until you beg."

He wouldn't hurt her, but that didn't mean Draco wouldn't torture her in his own way.

Hermione made a weak noise as he pulled his fingers from her and lowered his tongue to her entrance, flattening it as he forced it inside. Everything started again, but this time, Draco was rougher, digging his hands into her hips and thighs, prying them apart and craning his neck to get at her better, deeper, harder.

Every nerve in her body was alight, surging with the remnants left from her recent orgasm as they sparked up again, practically setting her on fire from the inside. She twisted, trying to take some of the pressure away because it was about to break her right open.

Hermione grabbed onto his hair, trying to pull him away for just a moment, to give herself some measure of relief, but Draco was having none of it. He grabbed her hand, pulled it down and pressed her own fingers against her clit.

"That's it," he breathed out, voice heavy with dark excitement. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Hermione moaned weakly as he moved her fingers rapidly over herself.

"Is this what it felt like when you touched yourself? Pretending it was me?"

She closed her eyes, losing herself to the feeling again.

"Did you think about me playing with your little clit? Teasing it just the way I know you like?" He moved her fingers in a tight circle.

"Yes," she breathed out. "I thought about you and I… I did what you'd tell me to."

She didn't have to see Draco to know that his stupid smug smirk was plastered all over his face, but she did anyways. And she was right. He was grinning wolfishly up at her, lips shining with moisture.

"Good girl. Now I'll do it for you."

He lowered his head back down and fucked her with his tongue as he forced her to massage her clit until she was screaming and shaking again.

"Draco…" Hermione whimpered, coming down from her second orgasm. "Please…"

"Please what, kitten?" he asked playfully, kissing along her folds.

Her brain felt like it was nothing but a misty haze inside her head. No more busy thoughts. No more racing back and forth. No nothing except for the occasional shiver as Draco brushed his lips against her again.

"Such a sweet little pussy," he said as he parted her open again.

"Draco…"

"That's it, Sweetheart," he said, voice rough with desire. "Whimper my name like the good little slut you are."

He kissed her clit softly. Gently. And Hermione lifted her hips for more.

"Because you can't stop coming, can you?"

She moaned in place of a verbal response.

"That's right," he purred and nibbled on her with his lips. "You want it again, don't you?"

Yes.

No.

She did, but she wasn't sure she could. She was so tired, worn out from the experience so far. It had been a long time since she had a release quite like that. Not to mention a second one.

"Please…"

"Aw, you haven't forgotten your manners." Draco sounded much too pleased with himself, but Hermione wasn't able to summon the will to care. "Good girl."

He returned his lips back to her, enveloping them around her clit as he lazily flicked his tongue over it.

Draco took his time this round. Teasing her gracefully by alternating between soft strokes on her clit and sliding his tongue down to her core to dip it in. He groaned, almost as if he was in pain, but when Hermione would whimper, he would move a little faster, building her up until she was eager and practically rubbing herself on his face.

Draco grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands to her sides.

"Tell me what it feels like," he said huskily, "to be such a helpless whore who can't stop coming?"

Hermione cried, needing him to finish what he started. He had given her enough time to catch her breath and then lose it again during his ministrations.

"Good," she choked. "It feels so good, Draco. Please… just…"

His eyes shone. "You want more, don't you?"

She nodded, thick curls bouncing around her face.

"Poor little slut, had no one to lick your pussy for you, did you?"

"No," she breathed out. "No one."

"But now you do." He grinned salaciously.

It was too much. All too much. She thought being with Draco meant giving in, giving up. But that wasn't what this was at all. She was taking. She was taking Draco back and she wasn't going to let him go this time.

"You. I have you. Please. Please lick it, Draco."

"Mmm, I love hearing that." He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, they were bright and sharp. "Hearing you beg like a good whore ought to." His lips hovered over her so close that she could feel him breathing. "Is that what you are? Are you my good little whore again?"

She knew what he was really asking.

And she knew exactly what she was doing when she said, "Yes. Yes, Draco. I'm your whore. I'm whatever you want me to be. I'm yours."

He surprised her again by not devouring her as he had earlier tonight. Draco looked up at her from in between her legs. "I really fucking love you, you know that?"

Hermione's heart swelled in her chest. "I do."

And she did. Because when he put his mouth to her this time, she felt the words he was carving with his tongue. 'I love you I love you I love you I love you'.

Hermione came with her heart beating wildly inside her. She came screaming his name.

Draco didn't give her a moment's respite before pushing his fingers back inside her and acting like he had no intentions of stopping.

Her cries continued as well, body reeling as the overwhelming sensations rocked through her again and again as he moved his hand while keeping his fingers fully sheathed in her.

"Fucking come, Hermione. Come for me and love me and be with me."

Her voice broke against the waves of pleasure he was sending her under, but she managed a breathy, "Yes."

Draco groaned loudly and she felt him hang his head, his hair tickling the skin of her thigh. She felt her body tighten, sending her over the edge quicker than all the times this evening and she glanced down at the same time Draco looked up. Their eyes met, locking onto each other like they would never let go.

His voice was little more than a growl. "Mine."

Hermione fell back, a weakened scream rising up out of her throat as Draco bit down on the tender inside of her thigh. She was coming, unable to stop it as he bit down harder. He drove his teeth into her, almost hard enough to break the skin. At the very moment when she felt he would hurt her, Draco's lips closed in, sucking and covering the imprint of his teeth with the same bruised mark he had left on her the first night she told him she loved him.

And as her head fell to the side, and her eyes closed, darkness taking her, the only thought that passed through her mind was that she wanted to tell him again.

And again.

And again.

.