Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just the plot bunny.
Intro: Six months post-war, Malfoy is in serious trouble. He's on the run from the Ministry, Death Eaters, and a deadly curse which is eating him alive. When he hits rock bottom, a change in fortune lands him in 12 Grimmauld Place under the Ministry's custody - and forces Hermione to remember the secrets they've both kept for years. Dramione, Sick!Draco, flashbacks to Hogwarts
Chapter Eight
Then
War Years
Even Ron's return didn't soften the blow of Draco leaving her. All week she sat huddled in her bunk, the locket sapping her resolve, the two stones held in one closed fist. Harry didn't notice the change in her, or the stones - his arm was slow to heal, and the lack of a wand had severely dented his spirits. He paced around the tent when he wasn't standing watch, flexing his bad hand experimentally, his face grey and sullen. Their silence wasn't necessarily hostile - just weary. Just deadpan. She felt she had nothing left to give. When Ron finally showed up, soaked through and grinning widely, the sword of Godric Gryffindor inexplicably hanging from his side, she couldn't even be happy. At least seeing him gave her an outlet for her anger. What was worse was the way he followed her about in the days that followed, desperately trying to regain her affections in any way possible. She couldn't help but wish someone else had returned instead.
But fate has a cruel way of granting wishes in the worst possible ways. And this time, fate came in the shape of Fenrir Greyback and a group of Snatchers.
She shot a sidelong glance at Ron and Harry as the black gates of Malfoy Manor appeared before them, horribly conscious of the point of the knife pressing into her neck. She hardly dared to breathe. She squinted up at the vast mansion as they were forced up the driveway - huge, yawning, dark windows, heavy, smooth brickwork, ornate window ledges... It didn't look like a cosy kind of place. And in a strange way, despite Draco's habitual black clothing and haughty sneer, she had never quite expected his home to look so dismal. She watched the windows with fear uncurling in the pit of her stomach, wondering if she would see his face. Wondering what would happen. They were frogmarched up the stone steps to the front door, where Greyback thumped his huge fist on the wood.
"We've got Potter!" he roared triumphantly. "We've got him, and we want our reward!"
Silence met his demands. The wolfish face twisted in anger and he thumped again, louder this time, every hit sending vibrations of fear through her bones. One of the doors suddenly cracked open and a tall, luminously pale figure appeared. Her eyes seemed to come before her, wild and hollowed in her face, her bedraggled hair straggling behind her. Bellatrix Lestrange. Fear began to beat in Hermione's throat as the witch emerged from the darkness of the house, her chin lifted high, her eyes narrowed, her wand flicking dangerously at her side like the tail of a snake.
"What is this?"
Her voice was dark, scathing – clearly she did not want visitors. Greyback drew himself up to his full height before her, but even he seemed reluctant to face her wrath. He glanced around at the Snatchers, as if searching for back up.
"Potter," he repeated proudly, waving a hand to present his prisoners to her. "We've found him."
Bellatrix's eyes moved slowly over Ron, over Hermione, and came to rest on Harry. For a moment, she simply looked at him. Then her lips twisted upwards in a horrible smile, and she stood back to allow them in. Hermione heard her voice hissing through the dark hall like a ghost – two hard, vicious words.
"Get – Draco."
The entrance hall they were pushed into was tall and foreboding, silent and still as the dark undisturbed water of a lake at night. She took in a sweeping set of stairs, carved from the same black marble of the floor, and several magnificent portraits on the walls before she was shoved violently through a set of double doors and into a room. It was cavernous in size, and contained a huge, glossy mahogony table. Over to one side was a vast, pristine white fireplace and a couple of black leather sofas. The walls were lined with shelves of books, stretching right up to the ceiling. If it hadn't been for the circumstances of their visit, she would have been filled with excitement at the prospects. Surely Lucius Malfoy had some first editions in his collection... Her own interest in the Malfoy's library was almost funny. Almost.
The Snatcher holding her gripped her tightly, his breath hot on the back of her neck. He had one hand fisted in her hair and the other held the knife to her throat. She was forced to move when he did. She turned her head as much as she could to look for Harry and Ron as they were shoved across the room, caught a glimpse of Harry's terrified face. Even with the stinging jinx, she could see how scared he was. Her brain roared like a steam train, searching desperately for a plan, for something they could do… She had nothing. The Snatcher's grip on her hair hurt, dragging her back again and again to the cold truth that they were cornered. She stiffened as the doors to the entrance hall opened once more, forced herself to look. But it was not Draco who emerged, rather his mother and father. Both looking frailer and shabbier than the previous times she had glimpsed them. She with her delicate features, he with his white blonde hair – Draco's face lingered in both of theirs. They stuck close by each other as they entered.
"Bella?" Narcissa Malfoy said, folding her hands in front of her. "What's happening?"
"Did they say they had found Potter?" Lucius said, his voice tighter and more urgent.
Bellatrix's eyes glimmered. "Where is Draco?"
"He's coming."
Her blood ran cold, and she felt a sob building her throat. Because this could only end one of two ways, and she couldn't bear to think about either of them. Whatever happened, someone would be killed before the night was over. She closed her eyes, tried to think of a plan, but the roaring in her ears would offer her no peace. In what felt like a matter of seconds she heard the dining room doors clicking open yet again, and her heart leapt so fiercely she thought it might give her away. She was shaking violently, so much that the snatcher's knife nicked her neck and drew blood. She heard steady footsteps on the marble floor. She didn't dare open her eyes.
"Draco, Draco my boy, come over here." Bellatrix's breathless, high voice broke through the tension. "Look - isn't that Potter?"
A pause. She felt like screaming - she couldn't bear it. She finally risked opening her eyes and there he was, barely two meters from her. He was wearing his trademark black suit, his hair neatly slicked back, his mouth a familiar, hard line. He was on one knee in front of Harry, his aunt hovering at his shoulder. His face was whiter than ever and his hands, just visible on his knees, were balled into firm fists.
"What happened to his face?" he said, his voice very quiet.
"It wasn't us," one of the Snatchers spoke up. "Something he picked up in the woods."
"Or a Stinging Jinx," Bellatrix whispered.
Hermione felt the hairs of the back of her neck stand on end. Whatever plan they had was rapidly unravelling. They were no match for Bellatrix. The witch was leaning over Draco, almost on top of him, gripping his shoulder tightly.
"Look closely, Draco, it is Potter, isn't it?"
His lip twitched. Harry was staring back at him with a mixture of fear and anticipation, his swollen face further distorted with panic. She wished she could see anything in Draco's eyes that would give her some indication of what he was thinking, but it was like looking at a stone mask. The complete lack of emotion there was disconcerting, and for a moment she thought that their argument in the tent had driven him over to their side once and for all. She willed him to look at her, but he didn't. Instead he rose to his feet and pulled his jacket straight.
"I can't be sure."
"Come on, Draco!" It was his father, unshaven and tremulous, hovering a few yards away. "If we can give the Dark Lord Potter, all will be forgiven... All will be as it was."
Draco's face hardened almost imperceptibly. He turned away, looking his father in the face, and something seemed to clash between them – a deep, burning resentment. Before it could escalate Draco had turned away, and the moment had evaporated.
"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr Malfoy?" Greyback spoke up, his yellowish eyes narrowing.
"Of course not, of course not!" Lucius snapped, waving his words away.
Bellatrix was still standing in front of Harry, her wand gripped tightly in her hand, glaring down at him. Hermione looked again at Draco, desperate, but still he did nothing. He was looking at his father out of the corner of his eye.
"There's something there," Bellatrix murmured. "It could be the scar, stretched tight… Draco, come here! Look properly!"
Her voice grew shrill with frustration; Draco turned towards her. He did not go over to stand beside her. Instead he remained there, between her and his parents. He folded his arms.
"I don't know," he repeated flatly.
"We had better be certain, Lucius." It was his mother, who had retreated in silence to the fireplace. She was watching the scene, hefting something in her hands. "We must be completely sure that it is Potter before we summon the Dark Lord. If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"
Lucius shuddered slightly; Bellatrix snorted. Greyback, who seemed worried that he was rapidly losing his reward, spoke up once more.
"What about the Mudblood, then?" he insisted, stabbing a finger at her.
"Wait – Yes, yes!" Bellatrix suddenly surged over, her face only inches from Hermione's. She caught her breath, frozen in terror as the woman's eyes raked over her. "I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
A beat. "I… maybe… yeah."
The final word was spoken in a soft, resigned tone which pierced Hermione to the bone. She curled her hands into fists and dug her nails into her palm to keep from crying out at him. Bellatrix withdrew, grinning triumphantly, a prize finally won.
"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" Lucius was saying animatedly, squinting at Ron. "It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"
Now that Bellatrix had drawn away, she could see him again. He had gone to stand beside the fireplace near his mother, his back turned to the rest of them. His hands were plunged deeply into his pockets and his gaze was cast down at the empty hearth. His mother was watching him, her face slightly nervous, her lips pressed tightly together. He spoke again, still in that quiet, desolate voice.
"Yeah. It could be."
She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. She didn't know what she had expected to happen – after all, they had both chosen their own sides long ago. But to actually hear it, to have him stand there and condemn them to death tore her apart. She had never really thought he would do it. She stared at the back of his head, suddenly wishing she could only look him in the eyes – if she could catch his gaze, she could turn it all around…
"Well, then, that's enough!" Bellatrix cried. "The Dark Lord must be informed at once!"
She pulled back the sleeve of her robe, but Lucius was by her side in an instant. He snatched at her hand like a starving man snatches at food.
"I was about to call him! I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority–"
"Your authority?" Bellatrix let out a long, high laugh. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!"
Lucius had paled significantly, but he held on to her even as she struggled. He spoke from between gritted teeth.
"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy–"
"Begging your pardon, Mr Malfoy," Greyback said, thrusting himself once more into the conversation, "but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold–"
"Gold!" Bellatrix voice dripped with sardonic mockery. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his… of…"
Her voice trailed off. She was staring at one of the Snatchers who had moved to stand behind Harry. He was twirling the Sword of Gryffindor in his hands. Her eyes grew huge and wide as saucers and she threw out a hand to Lucius suddenly, even as he began to roll up his own sleeve.
"Stop! Do not touch it!" she shook him off at last and strode over to the Snatcher, her teeth bared. "What is that?"
He looked back at her, eyebrows raised, rolling his tongue over his front teeth. "Sword."
"Give it to me."
He laughed – and she struck. She moved so quickly that Hermione barely saw what happened. One moment the Snatcher was there, and the next he had been thrown back against the wall, sending a number of books cascading to the floor. Across the room Draco turned around sharply, drawing his wand, and for a moment she thought he was going to look at her. But he didn't. His gaze was fixed on his Aunt. The other Snatchers were crying out in anger, but Bellatrix pointed her wand in the air and let fly a stream of fire which promptly silenced them.
"Where," she breathed, her voice dangerously low, "Did you get this sword?"
"It was in their tent," the Snatcher holding Ron said. "We found it."
Bellatrix's eyes turned on them each in turn, stopping eventually on Hermione. Hermione wanted to look away but she couldn't – those dark, maniacal eyes bored into her, and she could feel herself beginning to tremble again. She wanted so much to be brave, but she had never felt more like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. Bellatrix's lips twitched.
"Get out."
"What?"
"Get out!"
She rushed forwards and Hermione couldn't hold back a shriek as the woman's hand fisted in her hair. Bellatrix pulled her out of the Snatcher's grip and away into the centre of the room, holding her fast, her wand inches from her eyes. Hermione stumbled with her, her head smarting, her vision filled with the red sparks leaping from the end of Bellatrix's wand. She was dimly aware of the Snatcher's fleeing, clearly terrified – only Greyback stayed, baring his fangs determinedly, perhaps still fixated on his prize money.
"If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed," Bellatrix was murmuring wildly to herself. "He is for the Dark Lord… but I must know… The prisoners will be placed in the cellar. Take them downstairs, Greyback!"
Greyback hesitated, but seemed to think better of arguing. He strode forwards and Hermione was just barely aware of Ron and Harry struggling and yelling. She couldn't see them – her head was still forced downwards, her own hair tumbling around her in a thick curtain. Ron's voice filled the room, howling like a wounded animal.
"No! You can have me, keep me!"
"If she dies under questioning I'll take you next. Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book," Bellatrix leered from somewhere above her. "Take them downstairs, Greyback, make sure they are secure but do nothing more to them – yet."
Her hand twisted tighter in Hermione's hair. Sheer terror set into her as Harry and Ron were dragged out into the hall by Greyback. With a rush of desperation, she tried to kick the witch in the knee, tried to struggle free, but Bellatrix only laughed and wrenched her head back further. She couldn't help but cry out.
"Well, let's hear some answers, Mudblood! Perhaps you could tell me how the sword of Godric Gryffindor ended up in your grubby little hands!"
The wand came up against her face again and she stifled a yelp, doing her best to remain silent. Bellatrix made a jabbing motion and an odd, prickling sensation rushed over the skin of her shoulder – she flinched and whimpered desperately. The heat of Bellatrix's lips came close to her ear.
"Tell me."
Hermione said nothing.
With a roar of anger, Bellatrix tore her around and threw her to the floor. She landed hard on her side, tried to scrabble away from her, but she was followed. Bellatrix was lifting her wand, teeth bared in a crooked smile, and Hermione knew what was about to happen. She tried to brace herself for it.
"Crucio!"
The image of that insect twitching on the desk in Mad Eye's controversial Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson jumped into her head just before the curse hit her. She knew she must be screaming, but she couldn't hear herself. The pain was too much. It ripped through her like a storm and she felt her body reflexively curling in on itself. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think - everything was razors and fire - and then suddenly it lifted and she gasped and sobbed, clinging to the marble floor as if it could save her. That high, furious voice rang through the air around her and the whole world seemed to be trembling.
"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"
Bellatrix was suddenly there again, towering over Hermione, reaching down to grab her by the neck. Her grip was like an iron claw and Hermione felt her terror bubbling up once more in the aftermath of the curse. Helpless words tumbled from her mouth.
"We found it – we found it – Please!"
Bellatrix grinned dangerously, reveling in Hermione's fear. She leaned in closer.
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts!" she shook her violently, and her head knocked against the marble floor. "Tell the truth, tell the truth! What else did you take? What else have you got?"
Hermione twisted her face away – and suddenly, there he was. He was moving slowly towards the doors to the entrance hall, his face still empty of recognition or empathy. He was leaving. He was leaving her... She choked back his name, which had almost left her mouth, and then screamed as the white hot pain descended on her once more. It blazed through her veins and she clawed desperately at the ground, trying to get away from it – she couldn't get away – it was inside her, tearing her whole body apart. Again it lifted, and again she came back to herself whimpering and shaking. She could hear Bellatrix cackling maniacally behind her, and yet her attention zeroed in on the boy standing in front of the doors, arms folded resolutely, his fine, delicate features completely and utterly unmoved. Her eyes welled up with thick tears and she couldn't hold back any longer from trying to reach for him, from trying to make contact.
"Please..."
She only whispered it, but the plea echoed in the huge cavernous room. He met her gaze stoically. Slowly, his eyebrow rose into a dismissive, cold arch.
"Don't speak to me, Mudblood."
His lips moved, but she couldn't believe that those words had actually been his. He turned away from her and pulled open the great doors, slipped out into the hall. And just like that, her heart broke. She actually felt it – a deep, horrid ache in her chest that had nothing to do with the curse. The whole world swam with her tears and she dropped her head back onto the ground, heaving out a ragged sob. Behind her, Bellatrix was laughing even harder.
"Please? Please?" She mimicked ruthlessly. "Oh please, save me Death Eaters - grow up, you foolish little Mudblood!"
And then she struck again, and Hermione's throat caught on fire as she screamed.
~O~
He stood like a pillar of ice outside the drawing room doors, and her screams shook him to his very core. He gripped the door handle as tightly as possible, trying to force down the urge to rush back in there. There was nothing he could do. His worst nightmare, the fear that had haunted him for over a year, had finally come to pass. And no matter what crazy plans of action came to him, he knew they would all fail. He stood there, breathing hard, as her keening wails rolled over him like electric shocks. His heart was thundering wildly in his chest. God, this couldn't be how she died. She couldn't die like this, in his fucking house, while he stood there and watched.
Then fucking do something.
He couldn't. He couldn't even think straight. All he could see were her stricken, watery eyes fixed on him, begging him for help. And he had left her.
Fucking coward. Just like your fucking father.
He tried to slow his breathing, turned away from the door. His feet carried him away from the sound of her screams, around the corner. He collapsed against the wall, his jaw clenched tight, every nerve in his body on edge. God, it had barely been a few days since he went to her tent and they had come together. This whole nightmare had been gone - she had banished it. Just by touching him, just by looking at him.
If she dies, that's it.
The thought was piercingly clear. There were a hundred ways he could do it. He would stand himself in front of his mirror and he would turn his wand on himself and whisper those two words. And then he would be with her. God, maybe that was the easy way out he had been looking for all this time. A simple spell, and it would all be gone. Except... Except she would never be with him in the afterlife. Not if he let her die now.
"Wormtail!"
He just caught the cry, heard footsteps pattering across the hall. The dining room door opened, a few coarse words were exchanged, and then the footsteps were hurrying in his direction. He straightened up as Wormtail appeared around the corner, his eyes huge with exhilaration.
"The Goblin," he panted. "Get the Goblin."
Draco stepped back out of the way as he rushed to the door at the top of the cellar steps. As the door flung open Weasley's yells became distinctly audible - he was bellowing madly, his voice reverberating off the stone until it sounded as if there were hundreds of Ron Weasleys pounding against the walls of the cellar. Draco could hear him throwing himself against the barred door at the foot of the stone steps.
"Hermione! Hermione!"
He moved to stand at the top of the stairs, looking down at Wormtail's hunched figure fiddling with the barred door.
"Stand back! Get away from the door!"
His shrill voice bounced off the cold walls and Draco caught a glint of silver as he drew his wand with his fake hand. Almost unconsciously, he reached into his pocket and closed his hand around his own wand. He felt suddenly more secure, more confident. Like an old friend, his wand seemed to urge him forwards. He stared down into the darkness as Wormtail darted into the cellar, wand still drawn, and then quickly returned dragging the Goblin with him. He shut and locked the door behind him and hurried back up, breathing heavily, his face red. Draco moved aside just enough to let him by.
And just as Wormtail hurried past, Draco's ears caught a distinct crack. He froze, one hand on the door, and Wormtail turned around, already halfway down the corridor.
"What was that?"
Draco returned his gaze coolly. "What was what?"
"I heard something."
A brief pause stretched between them. Draco ran his tongue over his dry lips, then jerked one shoulder in a shrug.
"Fine. I'll check."
Satisfied, Wormtail span around and dragged the Goblin around the corner and out of sight. Draco waited until he heard the drawing room doors open and close once more, catching another snippet of that heart-wrenching scream as they did. The sound drove him down the stairs into the darkness as if hell hounds were snapping at his heels, shutting the door tight behind him.
He heard the whispering voices as soon as he drew near the barred door. They didn't yet realise he was there. Somehow they had lit the cellar - the lantern in the corner was glowing. Hidden in the shadowed stairs, he could clearly see Potter, Weasley, Ollivander and Lovegood standing in a loose circle in the middle of the room. And there, in the centre of them, was a small, strangely familiar creature.
"Can you Apparate in and out of here?" Potter was asking urgently, kneeling down to be on the same level as the elf. "Can you take people with you?"
"Of course, Harry Potter!" the creature squeaked back, his large ears flapping earnestly. "Dobby would do anything for his friends."
Dobby. That was his name. Draco peered at it, recognising its huge tennis ball eyes and long nose. He had always thought the elf was dead - his father had returned home some years previously without it, refusing to say where it had disappeared to. He had been somewhat saddened. The elf had become a kind of companion over the years. Although his father wouldn't allow him to play with it or talk to it in any great detail, it had been a chirpy, friendly voice in an otherwise cold, adult world. When he was much younger he had thought it was an imaginary friend. When he was older, he learned eventually not to argue when his father beat it. He had always wondered where it had gone.
Something had been decided while he was lost in thought, and there was a second loud crack as the elf took Lovegood and Ollivander by the hands and Disapparated. Draco held his breath, gazing up at the ceiling as if hoping to see through it into the dining room, but the distant shouts had not paused. In the cellar, Potter and Weasley were deliberating in hushed, panicked voices.
"We'll make a noise of some kind, draw them down here, and when Wormtail comes in we'll catch him off guard and take his wand," Weasley was muttering.
"How?" Potter hissed back. "We can't fight him, not without wands. We should wait for Dobby and then Apparate upstairs, grab Hermione, and-"
"Without wands?" Weasley interrupted, in an imitation of Potter's earlier dismissal. "We can't wait, Harry, Hermione's being tortured right now, we have to do something-"
"Yes, something," Draco spoke up at last, the words stirring up the urgency of the situation in him once more. "But not just the first thing that pops into your heads, for God's sake."
The two of them flinched around as he stepped into the cellar. As he kicked the door shut behind him, Weasley let out a bullish roar and launched himself forwards, arms outstretched. Draco blocked him easily and pushed him back against the other wall with his wand, holding him against it as he struggled. Harry looked from one to the other, his hands balled into fists.
"Quick, Harry!" Ron yelled. "Get him, go!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco growled. "You can't seriously expect to overpower me like this."
"Malfoy," Harry began, his voice slightly distorted through his swollen lips, "You don't have to do this, you-"
"Save your breath, Potter," Draco said brusquely. "Preaching to the converted, I'm afraid."
He lowered his wand, releasing Weasley, who instantly staggered over to stand beside Potter. They faced him together, Weasley still panting from his exertion. Another high, long scream came from somewhere above them and Draco suppressed a shudder, trying to keep his mind on the plan.
"Look, there isn't time," he pushed. "If you're going to get out of here you need to do exactly what I say."
"Fuck off, Malfoy," Weasley spat. "Do you think we're that stupid?"
Draco felt in his back pocket, retrieved their two wands, and tossed them across the cellar. Harry caught them, fumbling in surprise. His face, which was slowly returning to normal as the jinx wore off, revealed an expression of utter shock. Weasley recovered quicker - he lifted his wand and promptly sent a stunning jinx in Draco's direction.
"There isn't time for this!" Draco snapped, waving the spell aside with a jerk of his wand. "When is your elf coming back? We'll need him too."
"You must be fucking joking."
Draco heaved a sigh of frustration, biting back a sharp retort. He would have been better off going it alone. There was no way he was going to convince them. He looked at Potter, who had grown very quiet, and did his best to hold the other boy's gaze.
"Look," he said quietly, "Even if I was trying to trick you, I'm the only way you're getting out of this cell. You have your wands. And if you wait any longer- " He broke off sharply as his voice shook, betraying him. He took a deep breath before continuing. "It'll be too late."
Potter stared back at him, his mouth a firm line. Weasley seemed to realise his friend was wavering.
"Harry, you can't seriously-"
"What choice have we got?" Potter retorted sharply. "We have to get up there."
"But-"
"If you think Bellatrix won't kill her, think again," Draco said coldly. "I should know."
There was a short pause. Potter glanced at Weasley one last time, who was still shaking his head fiercely.
"Why?" Weasley spat. "Why would you help us?"
It was a good question. And Draco didn't really have an answer for him – not one he could say out loud. He looked back into Weasley's glowering eyes, the hesitation stretching just a little too long, and then forced himself to smile at them grimly.
"Well, there's no certainty that the Dark Lord will come out of this victorious, is there? And should he not, should your Ministry and your Order and your little Dumbledore's Army somehow win, I certainly wouldn't want to spend the rest of my days in Azkaban. How about, if I help you, you put in a good word for me in the event this doesn't go to plan for the Dark Lord?"
"Wow." Weasley let out a high, almost hysterical laugh. "You really don't care about anyone but yourself, do you? Do you even understand the concept of loyalty, do you ever think about anything other than saving your own skin?"
"Not really, no," Draco replied coolly. "But that's fine – if you don't want my help, I'll be on my way. Enjoy Bellatrix."
"Wait!"
He paused, halfway towards the door, his heart beating hard in his throat. If they called his bluff, if they declined the offer, it would all be over. But Potter was looking at Ron with an air of desperation, his lips pressed together. Something flashed between them, and then Potter sighed and turned his gaze on Draco.
"What do you suggest?" he said, as if he was having difficulty getting the words out.
Draco let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. For a moment he had been sure they were going to send him packing. But they were frantic – they couldn't afford to let him leave. Their options were slim, but that only made it easier for him to decide quickly.
"We go up there. You wait outside the doors. When you hear me attack, get inside and get to Herm-Granger. I'll keep them busy until your elf gets you out."
He cursed silently at his slip up, but they didn't seem to have noticed. Potter was frowning at him.
"And then what? What're you going to do?"
Draco shook his head. "Just leave that to me... I'll say you Imperio'd me or something. Doesn't matter now."
Potter opened his mouth, but a sharp crack interrupted him and Dobby the elf appeared once more, caught between them. His eyes grew impossibly wider as he took in their new guest.
"Young Master Malfoy!" he cried shrilly.
Despite himself, Draco couldn't help but let a small smile ghost over his face. "Good timing, Dobby."
"Dobby has returned - as a free elf!" the elf professed, stabbing a thumb at its chest.
"Congratulations," Draco said, and it didn't come out nearly as sarcastic as he thought it would.
"Malfoy," Potter said. "They won't believe–"
Draco held up a hand, putting a finger to his lips. The others fell quiet and the voices above them became clearer in the silence.
"… was that? Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?"
"Draco? Draco!" A pause. "Where is he… Wormtail! Go and look!"
He heard the distant bang of the dining room doors and instantly retreated into a dark corner, his wand drawn. Potter and Weasley were already hiding their wands in their back pockets, backing up a little – Weasley pulled something out of his jacket and clicked it, and the light of the lantern disappeared. Dobby scurried away into the dimness, out of sight. They were plunged into pitch black just before the door at the top of the stairs flew open. Wormtail's rapid footsteps on the stone stairs reached his ears.
"Stand back!" he ordered loudly, fumbling with the barred door. "Stand away from the door!"
Potter and Weasley moved further back, both slowly raising their hands. Draco remained motionless as Wormtail edged into the room, his wand pointed at his prisoners.
"What's all this noise? What's happening?"
"Nothing," Potter said, too quickly.
"Nothing?" Wormtail repeated, sneering. "What are you hiding? Where are the others?"
He moved forwards, closing in on them, and Draco silently followed. He was acting on autopilot, not giving himself time to think about what he was doing. He trained his wand on Wormtail's head and, without uttering a word, sent a stunning jinx blasting at him. Wormtail was lifted off his feet and thrown into the far wall with a rush of red light. Before he could even land Draco had hit him with a second spell, Petrificus Totalus, immobilizing him in the corner. He lowered his wand, aware of Weasley and Potter's shocked, wide-eyed stare.
"We should go," he said, turning his back on them. "We've spent too long down here already."
"Malfoy!"
He turned, one foot on the cellar steps. Weasley was looking at him as if he had just sprouted a second head, his hands still balled into fists at his sides. He looked at Potter, as if searching for answers, before his gaze fixed on Draco once more.
"Why should we believe you?"
Draco stared back at him, his mouth set in a hard line. "Believe what you want. Either way, I'm your only ticket out of here."
He turned away and started up the stairs. And, after a short hesitation, he heard them following. He held the door for them as they emerged into the corridor beyond, and then slipped in front of them again to move around the corner. The entrance hall stretched before them, empty and silent, but Draco's nerves were screaming. He felt as if he were trying to walk along a tightrope strung from a terrible height. He walked as quietly as possible, leading them back to the drawing room doors, and then stopped. A glance over his shoulder told him that they were following, still looking slightly mistrustful, their wands drawn.
"So," he said, speaking barely above a whisper, "I'll go in first. And when you hear me attack, don't hesitate. Get in, get to her, and get out."
"And you?" Potter murmured back.
Draco felt his face twist in a humourless smirk. "Just get out, Potter, don't go playing the hero. It won't help anyone, least of all me."
He shoved open the door without giving them time to answer, and left it ajar as he strode into the dining room. It was like moving underwater – instantly his blood began to roar in his ears and he felt his throat close. The scene drove in to meet him. His mother and father were lingering near the fireplace, Greyback lurking nearby, dismissed from the main action – the Goblin was crouched near the table, clinging to the sword, - Bellatrix bearing down on it. And where was Hermione – there, lying still on the ground, curled in on herself, her bushy hair fanning over the floor.
"You're sure?" Bellatrix was hissing, thrusting her wand dangerously at the Goblin. "You're absolutely sure?"
"Yes," the Goblin mumbled, twisting its face away. "It's a fake."
Bellatrix span away from it, rising to her feet, and the Goblin's shoulders sagged with relief. She strode across the hall, stopping again beside Hermione, her wand twirling between her fingers. Her eyebrow arched slowly upwards in a way that made Draco's skin crawl. He could see her anger simmering just beneath the surface, about to erupt.
"I don't know if I believe you, Goblin," she growled softly. "Or you, you ugly little creature…"
She nudged Hermione with her toe, and Draco's ears caught a ragged sob. Her hair was covering her face – he couldn't see her – but he could see terror and pain in every stiff line of her body. As he moved closer to them Bellatrix looked up.
"Draco, where have you been? What was all that commotion?"
He tried to keep his face expressionless – he didn't trust himself to try to pass off being comfortable with the situation any longer. Hermione curled into a tighter ball at the sound of his name and his stomach wrenched. She was afraid of him.
"Wormtail's dealing with it."
"Ah. Well, in that case – come over here, Draco."
Her lips were curving into a sadistic smirk. He heard his mother's trembling voice suddenly speak up from across the room.
"Bella, no. Draco, don't, come here."
"The boy has something to prove to the Dark Lord, Cissy!" Bellatrix snapped viciously. "Draco, here."
Draco crossed the last couple of meters between them and stopped beside his Aunt. She squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, leaning close to hiss into his face. Hermione's body shook violently on the ground before them. There was a dark bloodstain on her sleeve. Her hand was closed into a hard fist on the marble floor. She didn't look up, but he could tell that she knew he was there. She kept herself wrapped up, cringing against the marble floor as if hoping to fall through it.
"Why don't you try, Draco," Bellatrix was whispering. "Get her to tell you about the sword, and the Dark Lord will reward you…"
He removed his wand from his blazer, levelled it carefully at Hermione. He could hear her crying quietly, every whimper tearing at him like a knife in his gut. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the doors to the hall twitch slightly, felt his heart lurch in his chest. God, they really had no plan in place here at all. He was just going to have to hope that the boys acted fast, and that his Aunt didn't see the attack coming.
"Come on, Draco!" Bellatrix snapped, making him flinch.
He gripped his wand tighter, took a slow, deep breath – and then jerked his arm upwards. Red light twisted from his wand and hit his Aunt in the stomach. She fell backwards with a gasp of shock, and he heard the doors to the hall crash open. He was already moving, knowing that she would not stay down for long – he leaned down to grab Hermione by the shoulder of her coat, dragging her upwards. She was a dead weight in his grip, clutching weakly at his arm, and her hair finally fell backwards from her face. Her wide, tear-glazed brown eyes fixed on him, and he felt the breath leave his lungs. A stark graze on her cheek drew his gaze, then a cut on her lower lip… her lips parted.
"Draco…"
She barely whispered his name, but she might as well have screamed it. It shook through him, and he pulled her up to her feet, wrapped an arm around her waist. He could hear spells being fired behind him, his father's voice, the low roar of Fenrir Greyback – apparently Harry and Ron hadn't got far.
"Hermione, you have to get up," he whispered, trying not to move his lips too much.
She was trying – he could feel it in her shaking body – but her legs would not take her weight. He lifted his head just in time to see his Aunt rising to her feet across the room, and fiery terror rushed through him. He had no more time. He span about, depositing Hermione as carefully as he could on the ground behind him, and then turned and threw a defensive shield up before them a millisecond before blasting curses hit them. He could feel Hermione's trembling weight against his leg, her hand reaching for the hem of his jacket – it forced him to hold the force field as long as he could. His Aunt was rushing towards them, her face distorted with rage, sending curse after curse at him – he didn't have time to even consider his next move. But he couldn't hold it much longer, his arm shaking under the strain. With a last burst of effort he pushed forwards and his shield blasted outwards – she destroyed it with a single flick of her wand, but it gave him enough time to fight back.
He sent three curses at her head in quick succession, forcing her to stop to block them, managing to push her a few steps away from Hermione. She had trained him herself, after all. But Bellatrix was one of the strongest witches he had ever seen, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold her off. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder – Weasley and Potter were duelling with Greyback and his father, and not faring particularly well. His gaze continued past them and his eyes met his mother's. She was standing beside the fireplace, her wand drawn but not engaging with the fight, her eyes riveted on him. Her expression was fiercely emotional, filled with a strange mixture of disbelief and realisation. He could only afford to look at her for a moment, but he did his best to pour what apology he could into his gaze.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Hermione's hand snatched at his blazer and he ducked just in time to miss the curse his Aunt had sent at his head, felt it rush past his ear. Despite the fray, he couldn't help but freeze in shock. She had actually tried to kill him. Steeling himself, he threw up a wall of fire between them, grabbed Hermione's hand and began to pull her backwards with him. He had managed to close some of the distance between he and his unexpected allies by the time Bellatrix got through it and came at him again – he tried to lift another shield but she cut through it at once and made a slashing motion with her wand. He recognised it and flinched backwards, but not quite fast enough – he felt a sharp sting on his cheek, felt the heat of blood. It was enough to distract him and the next moment a heavy blow hit him head on and threw him sideways into the dining room table. He was on his feet again in moments, but yet again she was faster – this time her spell lifted him into the air and hurled him into the bookcase across the room. The ground slammed into him and knocked the air out of him – agony flared up in his side and books rained down around him.
"Bella! Bella!"
"Shut up, Cissy!"
He scrambled unsteadily up onto his hands and knees, still gasping in a helpless attempt to draw breath. Bellatrix had turned away and was striding towards Hermione – he lurched up to his feet and sent a barrage of hexes at the back of her head. She span around before they could hit, as always, her eyes burning with fury as she sent them back at him.
"What the hell are you doing, Draco?" she screamed at him as he dodged them.
He jabbed his wand and the books on the floor behind him lifted into the air and flew at her in a frenzy, surrounding her. Draco made a run for it, his side searing with every step, and made it to Hermione. She lifted her head as he reached her, her face still wet with tears.
"Draco!"
He looked up – his father was there, barely three steps from him, staring at him in horror. He glanced past him to see Harry and Ron forcing Greyback out of the doors and into the hall. He wished they would bloody hurry up. There was no way they would get away with this for much longer. He caught a flurry of movement to his left and span around to deflect the curse coming at him, fired by his Aunt.
"Draco, stop!" his father hissed behind him. "What is this?"
Everything he threw at his Aunt failed miserably – he was hardly even able to attack. He seized Hermione's hand again and began to back away, whipping up the best shield he could. He glanced looked back over his shoulder – Ron was pinning the doors shut with a feeble spell. Draco made it halfway to them before his shield began to falter again – the curse that broke it sent a tremor of hot pain up his arm and he doubled over, dragging Hermione behind him once more. Her hand closed tightly over his wrist and he managed to catch her gaze for a moment. Fierce terror burned in her brown eyes, desperate panic directed straight at him, pleading with him – she didn't speak, but her face and her tight grip on his arm spoke volumes.
"Draco, what the hell are you–"
"What does it matter, Lucius, stop him!" Bellatrix snarled, her voice shrill with fury.
He straightened up, deflected a hex sent at him, threw a pathetic one back which she blocked easily. They were both close to him now, her on one side and his father on the other. Jesus, could Potter and Weasely not have taken one of them off his hands? He held up his wand, his gaze flicking from one to the other.
"Draco, don't–"
"Stupefy."
He cast it sloppily on purpose, and his father blocked the spell easily. Shock rushed across his face and for a moment it was almost funny.
"Crucio!"
His nerves screamed with fire and he crumbled to his knees – it was thankfully brief, but left him trembling and gasping as it lifted. He could hear raised voices, feel Hermione's tight grip on his arm. Her clutching hands communicated how terrified she was, and he discreetly felt for her, squeezed her knee briefly. His side burned as he tried to rise, but he forced himself upwards until his shaking legs worked. His father had been struggling with his Aunt, and she was only just throwing him off.
"What are you doing!?"
"Do not curse my son!"
"He's a dirty fucking blood traitor, Lucius!"
He lifted his wand. "Petri–"
"Levicorpos!"
It felt as if a hook had just sunk into his collar – he flew backwards and hit the wall across the room, felt his head slam against the stone with a deafening crack. Stars exploded before his gaze and darkness closed over his head. When he came back to himself he was lying face-down on the marble floor, and he had no idea how much time had passed. He heaved himself up onto his hands and knees as if crawling through mud, his ribs protesting violently, the world spinning. He felt the familiar shape of his wand still held loosely between his fingers and closed his grip over it, trying to ground himself. Blinking hard, he managed to bring the room into focus – Potter and Weasley had finally managed to grab Hermione and had retreated a few steps, wands drawn, the Goblin hovering beside them. Weasley's arms were wrapped around her protectively – possessively – and Draco couldn't help but feel a sharp stab of jealousy. He tried to concentrate on what his Aunt was saying.
"What are you going to do now Potter?" she was jeering loudly. "I knew it was you, I knew as soon as I saw that filthy mudblood! Are you really going to try to fight us?"
Potter glanced around furtively. It was perfectly evident that he had no idea what his next move was, and Bellatrix was finally smirking again, enjoying being back in control of the situation. She advanced closer, Lucius hovering a step behind her, and the Golden Trio inched away.
"You should make yourself comfortable," she sneered. "After all, the Dark Lord will be here very, very soon…"
Lucius pulled his sleeve back and lifted his hand. Draco's heart leapt with sheer terror. He reached for the wall and used it to drag himself to his feet, his head still whirling treacherously. But it seemed as if Potter's eternal guardian angel had re-appeared, as it always did – Dobby materialized out of thin air and landed amongst them, his huge ears flapping with the speed of his arrival. The surprise on his father's face was once again almost comical, and his Aunt's eyes grew round with shock and fury.
"You!"
She lifted her wand but the Elf snapped its fingers and sent it spinning into the air. Draco didn't realise it was possible for Bellatrix to look more angry than she already did, but somehow her face grew even more rigid and ferocious.
"How dare you take a witch's wand!" she screamed. "How dare you!"
Draco lifted his wand, hoping to take advantage of the distraction, but Potter's gaze jerked over to him at once. To his surprise, he found a wand pointed at himself. The confusion made him hesitate, and before he knew it his wand was pulling free of his hand.
"Expelliarmus!"
It flew across the room and landed in Potter's waiting hand. Every head turned and Draco found himself suddenly under the scrutiny of several pairs of eyes. He had no idea what to do, could not even keep track of whose side he was supposed to be pretending to be on. He stood there, blinking dumbly, still leaning heavily on the wall. He found Hermione's brown eyes among the others and felt a strange grief burn unexpectedly in his chest. Ron's arms were still around her – if anything he had moved to almost mask her from Draco's sight. But she was looking at him, and her tearful face was twisting and distraught, and he knew what she was trying to ask.
Come with us.
He didn't need to shake his head. She already knew what he would reply. He simply stood there, and watched her distress rush over her like a wave.
"Dobby is a free elf!" Dobby cried, finally relieving him of the attention of the others. "And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"
Bellatrix's face hardened. Her hand went to her belt, and Draco wished he had the ability to warn them. The blow to his head had played havoc with his reflexes – even trying to speak resulted in little more than a mumbling noise in the back of his throat. But Dobby was already seizing hold of the others as the knife left Bellatrix's hand, and Draco watched as they all vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but complete and utter silence in their wake. It was as if they had never even been there.
They stood frozen – his mother still beside the fireplace, his father with his hand poised to press his Mark, his Aunt still staring at the spot their prisoners had disappeared. Their failure was absolute, and Draco could not remember feeling more relieved in his whole life. Somehow, she had escaped. She would be safe, at least for now. He felt the back of his head, grimaced as his fingers touched wet blood matted in his hair. Now that the adrenaline was trickling out of him, it was beginning to hurt rather a lot.
"Draco?"
He glanced up. His father was looking at him with wary hope. He wasn't allowed the soft touch for long – his Aunt's head snapped upwards like a snake and she strode towards him, stretching out her hand. Her wand flew to her grip and she held it before her, livid with rage.
"What was that?" she demanded, her voice dangerously low. "Explain yourself. Immediately."
"What?" He didn't even need to try to act that confused; he was sluggish enough as it was. "How did… How did they even get out?"
Red sparks flew from the end of Bellatrix's wand, but the next moment his father was there, pushing her arm down in a sudden, unexpected show of authority.
"What do you remember?" he said.
"We were here… I heard a noise, I went downstairs… Didn't I?" he looked away, pretending to try to think.
He saw his Aunt's wand move out of the corner of his eye, and was only just able to fortify his swirling brain as best he could before she delved into it. He was grateful for the concussion; the distorted thoughts and memories made it harder for her to rifle through them properly. She was not particularly gentle, and he could feel his legs beginning to shake. He nudged a couple of images towards her, doing his best to make it seem coincidental that they appeared – watching them plan from the shadows of the dungeon steps, Weasley attacking him as he entered, Wormtail immobilised on the floor…
"Quick, Harry! Get him, go!"
He offered a final burst of white light to top it off, and her presence withdrew. The sudden release coupled with his spinning head proved a bad mixture and he felt his legs give out beneath him. And yet, as if they had entered some strange, alternate reality, his father was suddenly there to catch him and shoulder his weight. Draco blinked dazedly as the world came back into sight around him – Bellatrix was still there. She fixed him with a final venomous glare before turning on her heel and striding away.
"Well?" his father demanded.
"Imperius curse," Bellatrix muttered icily. "Stupid boy. They must have used Wormtail's wand."
He felt a sigh of relief rush through his father's body and risked a glance across the room. His mother was watching him in silence, and he suddenly felt horribly exposed. She was looking at him with a grave sort of knowing etched into her face, and he didn't dare hold her gaze for too long. She never had been easy to fool.
"Are you going to tell him?"
His father's voice offered him an excuse to fix his attention on Bellatrix again. She stood there in the centre of the dining room, the tip of her wand glowing dangerously by her side, her wild hair almost trembling around her. Draco kept tactfully quiet – he didn't dare provoke her temper now. She spoke without turning to look at them.
"It would be very foolish not to."
His mother finally moved, stowing her wand away as she crossed the room. She put an arm around Draco's waist, pulling him firmly out of Lucius' grip. He let himself be passed from one to the other.
"That son of yours is not only a failure," Bellatrix snapped suddenly. "He's now a liability too, Cissy. The Dark Lord–"
"I doubt the Dark Lord will blame Draco, Bella," his mother said quietly. "After all, you two were the ones squabbling about being in charge."
She Disapparated before Bellatrix could respond, and Draco was pulled away with her. His room materialised around him and he sat down on his waiting bed at once, giddy with the relief of having escaped the dining room. He could not quite believe that it had all happened. Part of him wondered whether he had fallen down the stairs and imagined the whole thing. It had been such a farce, such an unbelievable, impossible plan. Perhaps the fact that it had been so ridiculous was the only reason they had managed to pull it off. His mother had disappeared into his bathroom and now reappeared armed with a potion. She held it out to him and he took it obediently for once, still not quite able to look her in the eye.
"Are you hurt?"
He took stock. "Uh… Head. And ribs, I think."
"I'll find someone."
"It's fine, I'll sort it."
She stood in front of him for a few moments. He pretended to be focused on the potion, pretended not to realise that she was staring at him. Finally, just when he thought he was going to have to say something, she turned away and crossed the room to the door.
"Be careful, Draco," she said quietly as she opened it. "The Dark Lord doesn't need any more reasons to punish us."
And she disappeared out into the corridor, her final word reminding him once and for all that any kind of miraculous escape was impossible for him. 'Us'. He was responsible for them, too. He closed his eyes, and he truly didn't know if he felt elated or desolate.
~O~
The sound of the sea beat against the window panes and the distant peals of crying seagulls flickered on the wind. She sat curled on the bed, wrapped up into as tight a ball as she could manage, several large blankets heaped around her, and yet she still couldn't stop shivering. The seagulls' cries reminded her of screams, and she didn't want to think about that. Every time they squawked she felt like the shadows in the corners of the room shuddered, felt like she might be whisked away back to that unforgiving marble floor and cavernous dining room. She closed a hand over her forearm, felt the sharp, throbbing pain there.
The door opened suddenly and she flinched violently, reflexively. Ron froze halfway into the room, as if approaching a wild animal, and lifted the cup of tea he was carrying in front of him like a talisman.
"Sorry," he whispered. "You ok?"
She didn't know what to say, so she just nodded and cradled her maimed forearm closer against her stomach. She had already tried every charm she knew, and nothing would work. Deep down, she knew the scars would be there forever. The reminder of it brought tears to her eyes again as Ron set the mug down on the bedside cabinet.
"Thought you might want something warm," he said, and she could hear him trying so hard to sound light-hearted. "There's a bit of Salvocia in it, too, which should help…"
His voice trailed off. He wrung his hands before him for a moment, and then decisively plopped down onto the edge of the bed.
"It's ok, Hermione, you're safe now."
She fixed her eyes on the quilt, unable to stop hot tears from creeping down her cheeks. She couldn't bear it. When they had landed on the beach he had thrown his arms around her, and he had held her so tightly that she felt like she couldn't breathe. He had remained stuck to her until Fleur managed to disentangle her from his grip and accompany her upstairs, apparently picking up on her discomfort. She couldn't stand being close to him, and the guilt was overwhelming. She knew he was trying to help, she knew he was trying to be her knight in shining armour, but her skin crawled whenever anybody touched her. Apart from… she had a clear vision of reaching for Draco's hand, crouched there on the marble floor of the Manor, felt his fingers wrap around her knee. Steady. Ron made a movement suddenly, as if about to scoot forwards, reaching out his arm, and she flinched again before she could stop herself. His face wrinkled with hurt as she drew into herself, knees drawn tight to her chest, her arms crossed over her chest, gripping her own shoulders tightly.
"Sorry," she managed, her voice still hoarse. "Sorry, I just… Thanks."
He shrugged, trying to shake the awkwardness off. "S'fine, I just… I thought maybe you might want me to stay here with you tonight. Make sure you're safe."
His words beat against her like clubs, and it took all she had to keep her mouth shut. She didn't know how his perception of their relationship could be so warped in comparison to hers. They had never really talked about what was happening between them, although there had been a sort of closeness over the last year or so. She supposed that he must have assumed that closeness was still growing, even though she had barely looked him in the eye since he had left them in the woods. He was constantly trying, constantly attempting to share a smile or put his arm around her. But she had never felt more alienated from him, never felt more like a stranger when he smiled eagerly and reached for her hand.
When she closed her eyes, she could still see those silvery eyes staring into hers. That horrible, agonizing moment before Dobby had whisked them away, she had stared into those eyes and begged silently for him to come with them. But of course he hadn't. She could see him so clearly in her mind, leaning heavily against the marble wall he had just been thrown against, blood trickling from his nose and his temple. She could see the almost imperceptible shake of his head, the resignation in his gaze.
What she wouldn't give to have him stretched out on the bed beside her now, his fingertips drawing feather-light circles on her shoulder. What she wouldn't give to travel back in time and be in her Prefect room in Hogwarts, her hands free to know every inch of his body, her lips melded to his. And yet that memory crashed against the sight of him turning away from her in Malfoy Manor, his back straight, his eyes empty.
"Don't speak to me, Mudblood."
She had to believe that he hadn't meant it, that he had always planned to come back for her, but she felt as if her mind had been torn apart. She didn't know what was real anymore. He had walked out of that hall as if he hadn't a care in the world. And then he had suddenly been back. Harry and Ron seemed to have taken the incident as evidence of Draco's self-serving nature rather than anything more. She supposed she must view it in the same way. A hesitation.
She didn't even know if he was alright. If he had been punished for helping them, if they had not believed his story... She thought of the white scars on his neck and shoulder and almost began crying again, grief tearing through her in swells.
Ron's weight shifted on the bed beside her and she opened her eyes, realizing with a jolt that she had completely forgotten he was there. He was watching her, his brow furrowed worriedly.
"Hermione?"
"I just need some sleep," she heard herself whisper. "I just… I just want to be alone for a bit."
He looked affronted, but still he nodded and stood up. His eyes seemed to harden slightly as he glanced over her.
"Feel better soon," he muttered, and made his way out into the corridor.
She waited until his footsteps had died away before burrowing down into her nest of blankets and pulling the quilt over her head. In the thick, warm darkness beneath them she heaved out great, silent sobs and held herself. Her mind tormented her with the memory of his bare arm slung over her in sleep, of his hands resting on her cheek, of the rush of wind in her face as he twisted around on his broomstick and pressed a fleeting kiss against her lips. She took advantage of the silence and the solitude, and she cried.
Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome.
SUPRNTRAL LVR.