Chapter Twenty One- Flares in the Darkness

Someone in Slytherin- Draco could probably hazard a guess who- had decided that in a grand gesture of inter-House relations and post-War euphoria, (and a blatant attempt to get the House of the Snakes back into everyone's good books), it would be a bright idea to throw a New Years' Eve Party in the Common Room. He had hoped to avoid it but after climbing into bed immediately after dinner and settling down to sleep, Blaise had barged his way in, yanked the covers back and told him that he was moping again and Granger wouldn't be happy.

At that point, Draco had pulled a face and asked why he should care whether or not his moping made Granger happy but Blaise had silenced him with a look that he knew he couldn't argue with and shoved a bottle of firewhiskey at him, claiming he needed a bit of liquid courage. So he got dressed in his black slacks, sipping at the alcohol to soothe his trembling hands, brushed his hair with an actual comb and not his fingers like he had gotten into the habit of doing, rolled his sleeves to his elbows and applied the gel. He even allowed a moment of vanity. Draco hadn't looked at himself in the mirror for a long time; he could barely remember what he looked like as he braced his hands on the sink, breathing heavily.

In.

Out.

In.

Stealing the courage to look up-

His chin looked pointier than usual, his cheeks sallower and sharper, his eyes sunk into the pale skull of his head. His hair was white and sterile. But his left forearm was just as pale as the rest of him. He swallowed and his throat bobbed, the chords of his life straining. Closing his eyes, Draco leaned his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. His breath fogged the glass, bouncing back at him. When did it all go so wrong? When did it get so messy that he couldn't even recognise himself?

Granger's voice floated back to him. Make yourself the Queen.

He drew himself up to his full height. His knuckles were as white as the porcelain. Draco stole another breath before turning away, leaving his dormitory and ascending into the party.

It was raucous, a steadfast whirlwind of booziness and gaiety, a crescendo of hot breath that burned throats, brief snippets of dreams transcending the very limits of human capability, and elaborate acts they would no doubt regret come morning.

And it was thrilling.

Bodies grasped and writhed in time to the music, sweat crystallising flicks of eyebrows and cuts of jaws. The light was low, flickering every other second with a ripple from the lake, or maybe it was the hood of Draco's eyes from the second firewhiskey he'd had before braving the party that made the room and the people in it so dark. Though the party was technically only open to Fifth Years and older, he knew from their trembling arms and wide eyes that some younger years must have crept in. He stood, rooted to the steps for a long time. The music pounded within him, drum beat ricocheting against his ribs each time he rattled a breath. He felt suffocated by it.

He had never seen life act so freely and decadently as everyone, almost desperately, tried to forget the year and look ahead to the dawn of a new one-

It was too much. The band felt heavy around his ankle, dragging him down, chaining him to the past.

Draco closed his eyes. Everything fell away, went silent.

"Draco!"

He opened them, and saw Blaise through the crowd, beckoning him over. Sighing, he let himself be swallowed by the pulse of the party. Draco pushed through throngs of people, ducking under loose limbs and sidestepping stumblers. A girl threw herself at him, laughing that damp laugh that warmed his face through. Her hands were like claws, clutching onto his skin and shirt as though she would melt if she let go. Draco doubted she could see who it was she was touching, eyes rolling back into her head, and he took pity on her. Disentangling her as best he could, murmuring that she perhaps should stop now, but she ignored him, and let herself get swept into the arms of another boy who would no doubt take a very different approach.

He used to be that boy, he thought numbly. He used to thrive at being the centre of attention, the one everyone had their eyes on. Now, Draco wished the ground would swallow him whole. Or the lake would break the windows and drown them all.

"Draco!" Blaise grabbed his shoulder, pulling him close so he could yell in his ear. "I told you it would be good! Didn't I tell you!"

He nodded half-heartedly, eyes flitting about. Blaise laughed. He leaned his head closer. "She's in the corner. By the lake."

Draco whirled round to frown at him. "Who?"

"Granger."

His face drained of colour and he said quickly, "What are you talking about?"

But Blaise just smiled, pushing him away, thrusting another firewhiskey into his hand, as though he could tell he needed it, and said, "Don't tempt me into dancing with her to prove to you what I already know. Neither one of you would enjoy it."

He disappeared then, wrenched back into the throng of people, most likely finding some unassuming witch to pester instead. Draco glanced over at the lake and sure enough, he recognised the bushy head of hair against the bluish green. His feet were headed in her direction before he could really think about it.

"Don't let Blaise see you," he drawled, leaning against the glass beside her. She jumped. "You're having far too much fun and he just threatened to dance with you if you didn't stop it."

Hermione grimaced, rubbing her temples.

"Heaven forbid. I was supervising, not participating," she pointed out. "I've already had to escape God knows how many people trying to dance with me or braid my hair! Why do drunks have to be so touchy-feely?"

"I see," said Draco, taking a sip of his whiskey. It burned his throat but it was oddly warming against the cold perspiration of the window against his back. "And have you always been such a prude?"

Hermione opened her mouth, most likely to express her affront, before he held up a finger and said, "Ah. No need to answer that. Of course you have."

She scowled and snatched his drink out of his hand, downing it in one. Or trying to. It dribbled down her chin and took her a moment to swallow it and even then, her face twitched to hide her distaste. Draco raised an eyebrow. "Has that cured your holier than thou propensity?"

Hermione scoffed, shoving the nearly empty bottle back at him. He finished it off, tasting her lip-gloss on the cold glass. She shoved her curls away from her face.

"Stop taking pride in being an arsehole," Hermione said dismissively and she missed the way Draco's eyebrows raised. "It's boring. You're not intimidating anyone."

"Not even you?" He asked. She looked at him as though he'd just told her a very bad joke, and she was waiting for the punchline to end.

Hermione said, "Especially not me."

Draco was close to her now, his dark eyes steady and boring into her. It must have been the alcohol, shooting through his veins like electricity, that drew the words from his mouth and pulled him even closer to her. He murmured, "Then why have you got goosebumps, darling?"

Hermione looked at him, eyes wide, lips parted. She sucked in a breath. "It's cold."

She was sweating a little.

Draco smirked. He ducked his head closer, so his lips were brushing her ear. "Then why are you burning up?"

She swallowed and whispered his name and it made his brain a little bit fuzzier. Her eyes darted. Quick as a flash, her hands gently wrapped around his wrist, thumb drawing invisible lines. A frown marred her face. "Your Mark..?"

His smirk dropped. He wrenched his arm away from her and felt instantly cold.

Hermione looked at him. "How did you-? Is it a Glamour?"

Draco swallowed. "No."

He noticed her lip tremble as she played absentmindedly with the hem of her sleeve. She was wearing a long sleeved green dress, silk and simple, ending just below the knee. Granger had even bothered to do something with her hair. She looked pretty, he thought, and he had half the mind to tell her before he bit his tongue. Her fingers were shaking slightly, ghosting over her left forearm.

He realised why quite abruptly. Blinked. Draco said, "I'll show you. If you want."

Hermione's eyes widened and she nodded. He looked a little closer and saw the smudge of mascara under her eyes and the blush of her cheeks. She looked tired. He didn't know what compelled him but he offered her his hand. When she stared at it, Draco felt his fingers curl into his palm, and he was about to draw it back hastily when she stopped him. Her hand flitted to his, fingers threaded through his; Draco couldn't tell if it was her pulse or his that jolted in his palm.

He led her back through the crowd, ducking his head so no one would look him in the eye. Hermione squeezed his fingers when he nearly lost her in a group of drunk Ravenclaws, and he tightened his grip on her hand.

Somehow, they managed to escape to the stairwell, descending into the shadows without so much as a glance behind them. Draco led her to his room, right at the very bottom of the curved staircase, where all the Eighth Year chambers were, muttering his password. The metal snake slithered through the lock, and the door clicked open. Draco disentangled their hands, leaving her in the bedroom whilst he went to retrieve the gel. He caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, and paused.

His hair was undone already, his skin flushed, his heart racing in his throat. His fingers shook as they pressed against his neck, feeling the fluttering jolt of his pulse. He looked alive, more alive than he had done in a while. He felt it too.

Draco turned away and went back to Hermione. She was by the window, hand pressed against the glass, staring into the lake with slack lips and wide eyes. A little fish darted by her face, and she laughed. He froze in the doorway.

If she hadn't turned and smiled at him, he would've probably been content to stay there and watch her for a while longer, watching the green waves wash across her face, dance along her skin. Instead, he moved towards her, handing her the gel.

Hermione frowned, turning away from the water. She read the label first and he rolled his eyes. Draco took it off her impatiently, unscrewing it.

"Give me your arm, Granger."

She hesitated. Her hand flitted to her sleeve again. He saw the hollow of her throat as she swallowed. Draco pressed his lips together and said, more gently, "Hermione, please, will you give me your arm?"

She searched his eyes for something, though he wasn't sure what, or if she found it, only that it made him hold his breath for the second it took before she held out her arm. Draco dropped his gaze to it. He reached with trembling hands to roll the sleeve of her dress back. He remembered the moment his Aunt had carved into her; if his nightmares were bad, he could see the pinkness of her flesh, smell the metallic tang of her blood. Draco could still hear her screams.

Bile settled in his throat as, inch by inch, the crude scar was exposed. His thumb swept over it and Hermione winced; it felt jagged and crude against the softness of her skin. Draco wet his lips and stole his nerve, slathering the cool gel on his fingers before rubbing it on her arm. Hermione hissed and he paused.

The gel had never hurt him before, though he supposed he was always covering a tattoo, not a scar. Her face was screwed up, lips pursed but twitching. She was crying slightly. Draco's hand faltered.

"Hermione," he murmured. "Can I-?"

"Yes," she choked.

He continued, only stopping when the gel covered the scar and it had faded completely into the untouched expanse of her skin. Hermione inhaled shakily. Draco realised he was still holding her hand and when he meant to drop it, instead, he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her wrist. Her heart leapt under his lips.

"Draco," whispered Hermione.

He looked at her from under his lashes. She was watching him, eyes pink and wet, eyelashes congealed, cheeks flushed. When she didn't pull away or say anything more, Draco moved his lips to her palm, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the skin and feeling his heart race when Hermione's breath hitched. Tilting her hand, he pressed a kiss to the tip of each of her fingers, then took hold of her arm and softly kissed her invisible scar.

He felt her other hand reach up and cup his jaw. Draco looked at her. He wondered what he looked like to her, whether the desperation was palpable in his eyes, whether she could see the way he clung to her, see that every shred of his dignity lay at her feet. Draco wondered if she could see his soul, bared out for her, or maybe his heart, which he now knew, irrevocably, was hers for the taking.

He tried to stop his face from crumpling, from showing Hermione how broken he felt. Draco pressed his forehead against her arm, clenching his eyes shut.

"Draco," she said. He shook his head.

Vaguely, Draco could hear the countdown begin in the Common Room above them, the final moments of the year dying, readying itself to give birth to a new one. Hermione said his name again, more insistently, and he forced himself to stand up straight and finally look at her. She cupped his face with both hands and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Draco," she whispered. The light from the lake still rippled across her skin, catching on her tears. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, holding her jaw. Hermione leaned into his touch. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out, her chest heaved, before she swallowed and smiled. Draco thought her smile looked somewhat sad. "Happy New Year."

"Hermione," he murmured, brushing her hair over her shoulders. His eyes never left hers. Draco leaned in closer. He could count her freckles from here, see the scabs on her lips where she'd chewed incessantly. He wanted to say so much more to her but he just said, "Happy New Year," and kissed her.

It wasn't planned. He hooked his hands under her jaw, thumbs drawing lazy circles along her cheeks. Draco felt like he was burning. Hermione was everywhere; her hands at the back of his head, fingers in his hair, chest pressed against his, and he needed her closer, closer. Draco kissed her like he needed her to breathe, gripping her face with one hand, his other wrapping around her waist. His lips ravaged hers, teeth raking, tongue coaxing, pulling her closer. Her lips were wet and the kiss tasted of tears and chaos. Their noses bumped. Draco ran his tongue along her bottom lip, exploring her mouth when she let him, swallowing her little sigh. Her fingers ran through his hair, pulling slightly, and he groaned, kissing her harder.

But then he slowed down. He caressed her face, tangled his hands in the curls at the back of his neck, making love to her mouth. Hermione's arms looped around his waist, hugging her to him. Draco kissed her languidly, savouring the taste, relishing in the way she kissed him back like she needed him too.

There was a sudden noise and they jolted apart. Draco leapt across the room. Appearing as if from thin air, a scroll hovered before them. He felt Hermione's eyes on him but he couldn't look at her. He would recognise the black seal anywhere.

The seal broke itself and the parchment unravelled, revealing a letter addressed to him. Draco felt his stomach whirl. Before he had time to read it, the scroll folded, forming lips and eyes, and began its announcement.

"Master Draco Malfoy,

In light of new information, the Wizengamot has made the decision to move the date of your trail forward to the 1st March. You will be informed of the details pertaining to your conduct and arrival at a later date.

Yours sincerely,

Ottaline Warbeck,

Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,

Department of Magical Law Enforcement,

Ministry of Magic."

Draco closed his eyes. He heard the scroll become lifeless and collapse on the floor but he couldn't bring himself to watch. 1st March. He hadn't eaten but he still felt bile crawl up his throat and he doubled over as if he might retch. His entire body shook. His head throbbed. Heart raced. Draco blinked. He caught sight of his clean forearm and pondered bitterly on how fickle he must be to think that the past was behind him. Not even magic could bury the past. It would always be there, lingering, clinging to his soul, under the surface.

"Draco?"

He'd forgotten she was there. No. That was a lie. He hadn't forgotten her at all. He was always painfully aware of her, always wanted her near but now- now, all Draco wanted was for Hermione Granger to hate him again, to be far away, because it was just too much if she witnessed his dissolution. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at her.

Hermione was watching him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Her hair was ruffled from where he'd run his fingers through it. She looked undone and he couldn't tell if it was because he'd kissed her or worse. The Merpeople must have been celebrating the New Year too for the lake exploded in a multitude of colours behind her. The dark murkiness of the water danced like the night's sky and strange firework-like flares shot into the shadows, igniting like blossoming flowers along her skin.

"Hermione," he murmured.

She was crying again, shoulders trembling, but the sob escaped her lips anyway. Draco hated the sound of it. She walked towards him, pulling her to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight. One of her hands stroked his hair as though he were a child again. Hermione didn't say anything to him. She just held him, and Draco hated himself for clinging onto her and wanting to sob into the nook of her shoulder.

He found he couldn't cry though. He was numb. He could still taste Hermione on his tongue, but now everything, her cherry lip gloss, the warmth of her in his arms, and all the fireworks of the New Year, was turning to ash in his mouth.

I have three months.

I have three months left to live.