A huge thank you to RESimon and Jamethiel for their beta work.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The effect of the words on Malfoy was instantaneous.
She watched as his world tilted on its axis and his body froze mid-movement. Gone was the flush of anger that had been there only moments before. It was replaced by a pallor more ghostly than his natural skin tone, almost akin to a corpse. Hermione wasn't certain that something hadn't died within him.
Instinctively, she reached out to touch him. She was stopped by the way her own limbs still trembled, her movements stunted with shock. "If she is, then tonight we—"
"We likely destroyed one." His voice was hollow but steady.
They stood in silence. Her mind was assaulted with images of the beautiful property burning to the ground under the assault of the blazing dragon.
"We have to—" she cut off with a pained yelp as she tried to take a step forward. She stifled a shriek when Malfoy scooped her up wordlessly and carried her over to the dining table. He dropped her down upon it without ceremony before he snatched up her foot. A wave of her hand had them bathed in light and when she looked around them, she gasped. The ground had a mix of white shards and her bloody footprints leading to the desk. Malfoy was inspecting her bloodied feet. His expression was carefully blank as he siphoned out the shards, sending them to join the neat pile he'd already made of the mess on the floor.
"Do you think she— did she recognize your voi—"
His hair was still charmed bright red, and at some point he'd added a smattering of freckles to the glamour. "No." Malfoy's voice was cold and devoid of any emotion. She imagined him having spent their moments of silence folding away all that her realization had brought forth, leaving naught but an empty slate.
Her hand strayed to the long braid she wore, feeling remnants of the sticky substance they'd been assaulted with earlier still smeared in it. To Bellatrix, they'd likely appeared as naught but the nameless Order members that had been tracking them. Perhaps she'd even suspected that Malfoy was a Weasley—
She forced the thought down, folding it deeper into her mind until she relaxed the way she'd been biting down on her lip. She'd already drawn blood and when she touched two fingers to the wound, they came back smeared crimson.
He worked in silence. The shocks of pain as the healing spells dug deep barely registered to her as she sipped methodically from a blood replenishing potion, staring blankly off at nothing in particular.
When she broke the silence, her voice was small. "Dumbledore. He knew everything. He planned this, all of it from the beginning. From the time he visited your mother last summer, maybe even from before then…" Horcruxes. Bellatrix. Their marriage.
"What will we do?" she asked him in a whisper.
His lips were drawn tight, and she could see his entire form trembling.
"Malfoy." She reached out to touch his arm.
Her fingertips had only barely made contact when he pulled away. Hermione inhaled sharply as she finally looked at him.
He was covered in blood.
His torso was smeared in crude, wet handprints while his hands themselves were slick with her blood. He didn't seem aware of it, and he finished sealing the last of her wounds even as he continued to tremble.
"Draco," she said again, reaching out to stop him. This time she moved quickly enough to grasp at his shoulder. "Draco, please."
He did not move away, nor did he shun her. His jaw was tight as he looked away from her, his teeth gritted. She stepped down off the table and to her knees before him. "Draco," she cupped his cheeks, "look at me."
Slowly, gently, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him. He was nearly completely rigid, save for the constant tremble of his limbs. His rigidity did not fade the longer she held him, but she did not let go of him regardless. They were silent, and her arms stayed wrapped tightly around him as she yearned to do something — anything — she could for him.
"Draco," she said, pulling back enough to look at him. His face was still turned away from her, and he gave not even a twitch in response. "Draco— come with me. Please." Her hands were as gentle as her voice as she coaxed him to stand.
She was surprised when he acquiesced. He stood stiffly, and the tremble did not leave his limbs. She felt it as she took one of his hands in her own, squeezing tighter for a moment before she tugged him forward. He let her pull him all the way to the bathroom. Under the bright bathroom light, the blood smeared all over him looked all the more gruesome.
She let go of his hand and traced gentle fingers over his chest, watching him carefully as she moved. "I'm going to clean you, alright?" Her voice was as gentle as his had been when he'd once said the same words to her.
His nod was nearly imperceptible. His breaths were shallow as he kept his eyes trained on where her fingers lingered on his chest.
"I'm going to take off your clothes," she said, her fingertips nearly sticking to where his blood-soaked shirt clung to his abdomen.
Another barely-there nod. She vanished his clothing a moment later before starting the shower with a flick of her wand. She stripped herself quickly as the room began to fill with steam and was soon guiding him into the bath before her.
She lathered a flannel and began running it over his skin. The water that flowed around their feet turned pink as she washed him. The smooth and unmarred surface meant so much more now that she knew what Bellatrix had truly done to him. She wondered how many times he'd been maimed and forced to heal himself until it had returned to unmarred perfection.
When she moved to clean his face, she paused as she found him looking at her. Although his mind was still shuttered, the pain that swam in his silver-grey eyes was unmistakable.
It broke her heart.
She let the flannel slip from between her fingers. She raised a hand to his cheek and cupped it gently. He shuddered at the contact, the movement rippling through his entire form as though she'd drawn out the emotion and absorbed some of it into herself. Water cascaded into her face and blurred her vision as she looked up at him, but it did not stop her from stretching until she could wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close.
His breaths were harsh as he buried his face in her neck and pulled her closer, heaving shuddering breaths into her skin. She did not let herself question whether the wetness she felt on her skin was entirely from the water. Instead, she held him as tightly as she could. Take, she wanted to whisper, take what you need.
"Draco," she said instead.
He pulled back and leaned down until his forehead touched hers. His eyes were still tightly shut and his lips were thinned into a hard line. Before she could stop herself, she found herself smoothing a thumb over his lips. They relaxed instantly. The fullness of them under her touch was so soft it was almost striking. She lifted her other hand and traced it from his forehead to his cheek, watching the tension bleed from his features as he relaxed into her touch. He exhaled slowly and his warm breath fanned over her thumb.
He opened his eyes then. She felt caught in them as she met them. It had been long — so, so long — since she'd last seen emotion as raw as what now shone in them. The torture, the anger, the heartbreak she'd only caught trickles of over the months were laid bare for her. The nakedness that shone in them went beyond their physical nakedness, and the sight of it made her heart clench. Before her stood a broken man, and in that moment she knew that she would do whatever she could to take away even the slightest pressure of that pain.
Water continued to cascade down around them, soaking their hair and dripping into their eyes. Still, neither looked away. She let her hands drop to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of it under his heavy breaths. He lifted his hands until he cupped her cheeks. His thumbs were gentle as they traced over her cheeks, and his eyes never left hers.
She leaned into his caress and let her eyes flutter shut. She tilted her head until her lips met the skin of his palm. She placed the gentlest of kisses there, and when she spoke her next words they were but a breath against his skin: "Whatever you want. Whatever you need."
His lips caught hers only half a beat later. His lips mashed hard against hers, their teeth nearly smashing together in his desperation. She met his kiss with returned fervor. Her arms snaked around his neck as he pulled her closer until she could feel every inch of his body under hers. He was not gentle — she hadn't asked for it. She wanted only for him to take what he needed, and she let him do so without resistance. A part of her needed this, too — a rough, desperate release of all the tension they'd let build within them until it burst into a maelstrom of tension that rained down upon them as surely as the water that still beat against their skin.
When she felt a telltale hardness against her thigh, she only held him tighter. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. She let him move her until her back was against the tile and her legs were wrapped around his waist. His breaths were ragged as he slid inside of her with a single thrust. She gasped into his skin, letting her moans tumble free.
His thrusts were propelled by a desperate need. She felt trickles of it slip from behind his fortified mind while she let her own emotions wrap around them. When her release crept up and crashed over her, she managed to gasp out only one word—
"Draco."
X
He came to her every night.
Sometimes, he would slip between the sheets without a word, his breath hot against her neck as he slid a hand between her legs. Other times she would already be sitting up, waiting for him. Often, he would find her during the day, placing a hand on her hip as he waited for a gesture of acquiesce before he would take her wherever they were. She never closed the door, and he never stopped coming. He was neither rough nor gentle, and every time he would take her felt more desperate than the last.
He never stayed, either.
Each time he would slip out of the bed and quietly make his way back to the sofa, the emptiness she felt radiated further than between her legs. On this particular night, she sat up and gathered the sheets around herself, watching him pull on his bottoms.
He was already moving to walk away when she mustered the courage to call his name. Even then, her voice was small. "Draco." She scooted to the end of the bed until she could place a hand on his shoulder.
He paused, his shoulder tense under her touch.
She swallowed, then started again. "Draco, I—" she faltered. She didn't know what she truly wanted, only that it was centered on how tense he was under her touch. She didn't need him to stay, but she needed something—
She was surprised when his hand closed over hers. He was gentle as he took her hand and set it back at her side. His hand lingered on hers for a moment before he stood.
"Goodnight, Granger."
For the first time, he left the door open as he left.
X
Hermione had managed only to mumble a contraceptive charm and roll over to sleep when she caught candlelight illuminating the open doorway. She pulled on her dressing gown and went outside to find him perched at the desk, staring hard at the open book in front of him. She knew that it was Secrets of the Darkest Art before she approached. It had stayed open on the same page since the night she'd made their discovery. A month, he'd said. A month would be long enough for Bellatrix to ensure that the rest of her Horcruxes were safe and that the attack had been isolated and unrelated. Her ego, he'd assured her, would outweigh any lingering suspicion.
"Draco?"
He looked up when she called his name. "Go back to sleep."
She ignored him and approached, scanning his notes over his shoulder. "Lestrange Manor..." she read before stopping. She swallowed as she felt a sense of dread crawling up her chest.
He gave a short nod. "It's likely that it's…" he trailed off, and she caught a glimmer in his eye before his mask folded back into place, "I think I know what it is."
She nodded, looking at the calendar that hung on the wall beside the map. Thirty-two days had already passed. For a fleeting moment, she wished that she could coax him back into bed and lose themselves in anything else for another month. Another year, even.
"Tomorrow?" she said instead.
His eyes met hers for a long beat before he spoke. Despite her fortified mind, she knew he could see the fear she felt written plainly across her features.
"Tomorrow," he said.
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