Reformed
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Goldensnitch18
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Rated M for Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Language, and Violence.
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Summary: Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban and sent to Hogwarts for his eighth year where he has a year to show that he can be reformed. Hermione Granger, and her friends, are struggling to come to terms with what has happened to them and move on, but she has agreed to be Malfoy's Muggle Studies tutor anyway.
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Disclaimer: I am not profiting from this story.
Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.
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Chapter Fourteen
Saturday, October 31st
Hermione had walked down to the village with Ginny and headed into the Three Broomsticks. Harry and Ron were waiting for them, sitting at a table with four butterbeers. They had drank them while they made small talk about Hogwarts and Auror training and avoided anything that might make the moments more awkward than they already were. Once they had finished their first round, Harry and Ginny had excused themselves to go do some shopping, and Hermione sat alone at the table while Ron went to buy them each another drink.
As he returned to his seat, Ron pushed her mug across the table towards her, and Hermione took it in her hands, her stomach suddenly twisting. They hadn't been alone together since they had been in her room at Grimmauld officially ending whatever they had never been.
"So, Lavender?" she asked finally, once the silence had stretched too thin between them.
"Yeah," Ron began, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head, "We're seeing each other now." She could tell he was nervous, but he didn't stumble over the words, which seemed to make them mean more.
"I assumed," Hermione told him. "Harry mentioned you were still going to see her in one of his letters. It's been months." She was fairly sure Harry had been trying to warn her so that this news did not come out of nowhere, which she appreciated.
"It isn't like it was before," he assured her, and she shrugged.
"Okay. You don't have to explain it to me," she told him. It wasn't the greatest news she'd ever received. Five months ago, she hadn't wanted anything but Ron, but something hadn't been right between them. That was clear. If they had been right, he wouldn't have disappeared off to the hospital to wait outside Lavender's hospital room. She wouldn't have been left alone for months.
"So, how are you really doing?" he asked.
"I'm okay. Lessons are fine. Working with Malfoy is still going well." His surname already tasted odd on her tongue, but she was entirely sure she didn't want to get into the way her relationship with Draco had changed. He would be the very last person to understand.
"Good. That's really good. Are you … seeing anyone?" he grinned sheepishly, and she resisted the urge to snap at him. She knew he was probably trying to be nice, but it just felt wrong to be talking about this with him.
"I was. It wasn't right," she told him. He looked surprised by this, and Hermione had no desire to hear what he would say next and decided to change the subject. "So, this article …"
"You read it?" he asked, leaning forward.
"Yes, I did, and I think it's actually really great." Hermione turned in her seat to reach into her bag. She pulled out a folder for him and slid it across the table. "I've included the names of several publishers in the order that I would contact them."
"Publishers?" Ron asked, his eyes growing wide.
"For a book," Hermione said.
"A book? She's only just written this," he told her, jabbing his finger at the folder.
"I know, but this is - Ron, what she survived, and her outlook on it? That isn't normal. She has the ability to make people look at werewolves differently, to make them understand what we have forced them to become. I really think she should write this as a book. She should look into publishing the article, I've included a list for that as well, but then she should start speaking to someone about a book." It had been difficult at first to assimilate the girl Hermione remembered, her grating roommate who had stolen Ron from her, with the person who had written this. Then she had remembered what had happened to her, what she must have endured at Hogwarts in the last year, and Hermione was able to believe that perhaps Lavender really was different, just like the rest of them.
"Wow." Ron opened the folder, fingering through the parchment inside.
"I've highlighted several areas that I think might be worth converting to her thesis and written up some notes for her." Hermione reached across to point these out to him.
"I … thank you," he said, clearly shocked by her reaction.
"Well this is why you sent it to me isn't it?" she asked, unsure if she was doing too much.
"Yes, but, well … I was a bit nervous," he said.
"That I might be jealous, or angry?" she asked, lowering her voice. The rest of the students in the pub were laughing and talking loudly. No one was paying them any particular attention, but still. She was all too familiar with how interesting their lives had become to the rest of the wizarding populace.
"A bit," he admitted as his neck flushed.
"I'm not going to lie and say that I'm thrilled, but I'm glad that you're happy, and I'm really impressed by what she's done here," she said.
"Are we okay?" he asked, lowering his own voice in the same way that she had. He glanced around them at the groups of students ignoring them.
"No," she told him, and the admission, though true, still hurt. "I think we can be, but it's going to take some time."
"Okay." He pulled the folder into his lap, and she could tell he wanted to say something else.
"What?" she urged.
"I'm worried about Harry," he admitted, and she sighed.
"Yeah. Me too." Harry's letters were extremely sparse but so were her own. Talking to Ginny wasn't reassuring at all that things were getting better. "Is he sleeping?"
"I don't think so. He's already working like he's got thirty cases to deal with. He's the last one to leave at night and the first to show up in the morning. I know my parents have been trying to get him to go over there, but I don't think he feels right because my mum and Ginny are fighting." Ron shook his head. "I'm trying, but he doesn't want to talk about it, any of it."
"Maybe I shouldn't have come back," Hermione said, her stomach twisting again as she thought about Harry. She hated that he was hurting and no one seemed to be able to help.
"That's crazy," Ron told her. "You had to. That's what you wanted. I'll keep working on him. You'll be home for Christmas, yeah?"
"Yes, I suppose I will." Christmas seemed ages away, but it was probably the first real chance she would have to talk to Harry without anyone around.
"We'll see what we can do then. Try not to worry about it," Ron told her, but they both knew that wasn't going to happen.
Hermione pushed back from the table. "Let Lavender know that I would be happy to look over her materials again before she submits them to publishers if that is the route she chooses to go."
"Thanks. I'll let her know." He stood as well, pushing in his own chair.
Hermione grabbed her bag, pulling it over her shoulder. "Ron, I'm really glad she has you. She deserves something good." Ron just nodded, looking anywhere but at her as she turned to leave.
Saturday, October 31st
Harry reached for Ginny's hand as they left the Three Broomsticks. "You think they'll be okay?" he asked.
"I don't know. Hermione said they had something to talk about." Ginny laced her fingers with his and let him lead her down the street.
"Yeah, Lavender's written some article," Harry told her. "I guess Ron wanted Hermione to read it."
Ginny looked over at him aghast. "He's an idiot." Harry couldn't disagree.
"No one ever accused Ron of being great with women," he laughed.
"You think he's going to bring her to Christmas?" Ginny asked, frowning.
"I guess he will." Harry shrugged and turned past Madame Puddifoot's shop, leading her around the back. He wanted her alone, to kiss her, hold her for a moment.
"I can't believe he's back with her," Ginny huffed, not missing a beat as Harry pulled her away from the street. "I was really hoping he and Hermione would figure things out."
"I know, but they seem different? Well, he does at least. I haven't seen them together yet." Harry stopped once they were behind the building and pulled Ginny into his arms to kiss her.
"I miss you," she mumbled against his mouth.
"I miss you, too," he told her. He held her against him for several minutes, enjoying her presence so close to his. He had forgotten how well she fit into his arms, how warm she made him feel.
Ginny pulled back, brushing her hair from her eyes. "My mum wrote me," she told him, and he wasn't quite sure what to say.
"What did she say?" he asked.
"She wants to know if I'm coming for Christmas, and she loves me." Ginny crossed her arms, holding onto her shoulders.
"Do you think - maybe it would be better if you stayed with them," Harry told her, even though it hurt everything in him to suggest it. He needed her.
"Really?" She asked, frowning.
"I mean, if it's going to make it better, then you probably should," he explained. He hated this separation and his place in the middle of it. It just wasn't right.
"So, I should give her want she wants even though it's killing us to be apart already?" Ginny took a step back.
"It's just … they are your family. I don't want to come between you," Harry told her. He knew he was messing this up, saying all the wrong things, but the Weasley's had given up so much already, and he wasn't going to be responsible for taking their daughter.
"You mean you don't want them upset with you," she snapped.
"Of course, I don't," he said quickly.
"Why is what they think more important that what I think? Or what I need from you?" He could see the tension behind the words plainly on her face.
"That isn't true." He tried to move closer, but she held out a hand between them. "Ginny, I love you."
"I know, but you love my family also, and sometimes it makes it really hard to do this. I should come first sometimes," she told him.
"You do come first," he insisted, not sure how this conversation had become about her place in his life. She was so much to him. He was drowning without her, but he couldn't be responsible for her pulling away from her family. He could still remember what it had done to Molly to not see Percy, what she had been like after Fred. Now, he had heard enough from Ron how hard it was on Molly. He knew his friend wasn't doing it intentionally, but it hurt.
"No, I don't. If I came first, you would trust me to know that I need to be with you. I miss you, and I feel like this gap between us is just growing, and I hate it." Her eyes were watery now, and Harry was struggling with trying to put together words, to string thoughts into sentences. He knew she was right. Something was between them, but he didn't know how to help it. He thought maybe it was this, that she resented him for causing this rift, but apparently it wasn't.
"I'm sorry," he said, unsure what exactly he was apologizing for. This was so much harder than he had ever imagined.
Ginny sighed, pushing hair the wind had blown into her face back behind her ear. "I'm coming to stay with you for Christmas like we planned. I'll … I don't know … write my mum."
"Okay," he said, and he tried to step closer and she let him. "I don't want anything between us." Ginny just looked up at him sadly, as if there was something going on behind her eyes that he couldn't possibly understand.
"Let's just go do our shopping," she told him as she reached for his hand.
Saturday, October 31st, 1998
Hermione knocked on his door, hesitant and certain at the same time. She wasn't sure where they stood. She wasn't sure what he was or what it meant that he had spent the night in her bed exactly a week ago before slipping back to his own before anyone woke up. She wasn't sure what it meant that they somehow were just able to keep on with their lessons despite this as if nothing had changed.
She was very sure that she liked it. She was sure that she wanted to kiss him again. She was quite positive that not giving a fuck what other people thought when she was with him was precisely what she needed in this moment. She was sure that when she realized he wasn't at the feast, the only place she had wanted to be had been here with him. She was also very aware that that realization was terrifying.
Draco pulled the door open, looking out at her surprised. "You should be at the feast," he said. He was in his jeans and jumper, his hair softly falling onto his forehead, eyes surprised. He looked very good. She had found herself thinking about silly things, such as his arms or chin, lately. She was attracted to him, surely. There was absolutely no denying that now that she had kissed him, had his body against hers, thoughts of doing this, and other things, were not anywhere near rare.
"So should you," she replied, crossing her arms as she shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. Truthfully, she was terrified. This felt like somehow making a move, asking for something to happen.
"I don't want to go," he told her, leaning against the frame.
"Me either." She looked into his room, avoiding the bit of skin at his waist that had been revealed when he had shifted. He followed her gaze.
"Want to come in?" he asked. He was either much better at masking his own emotions or he truly didn't care.
"Sure," she said as if this wasn't lighting every nerve in her body with anticipation. He moved back, letting her pass before he closed the door. She wandered, moving aimlessly around the room, taking in the features she already knew. He walked back to his bed and placed his book on the bedside table before sitting down. She turned to face him, and he smiled.
"You going to sit?" he asked, and she bit her lip. She was nervous and excited about what might happen if she sat down on his bed, but she shrugged as if she wasn't, making her way over to him. She moved onto the bed, sliding her legs under her as she faced him.
"How are you sleeping?" he asked, relaxing against his headboard.
She shrugged again. "Not great." The night he had held her until she had fallen asleep, she had relished in his warmth at her back and not woken until morning. She hadn't remembered having any more nightmares, and she felt a little more alive the following day. The very next night she had gone back to her normal struggles.
"I could stay over again," he suggested, his mouth curling up in a smirk.
She shook her head at him. "You shouldn't have stayed then. If you got caught sneaking back, we would've both been dead."
"We're of age," he shrugged.
"We're still at Hogwarts," she told him.
"McGonagall obviously sees us a little differently than the rest of the students. She put us in this dorm after all," he said, motioning around them.
"True," Hermione agreed, though she was still fairly certain the headmistress was not going to be supportive of him staying the night in her room.
"So, why aren't you at the feast," he asked.
"I wasn't in the mood. I saw Ron today, and Halloween is always weird. Not having them at the feast would just be-" She shrugged as if this explained everything she felt about her two best friends not being there and left unsaid that she had glanced over at the Slytherin table and saw him missing. It had been an easy decision then. She had been wanting to talk to him outside of their tutoring all week, to feel the way she had felt when he had held her last weekend as she had fallen asleep.
"You met with Weasley?" he asked. She was sure that he meant this to sound casual, but it was fairly obvious he wanted more information.
"He asked me to read something for Lavender." She told him, hoping that he would connect the dots without her having to outright deny that there was anything going on between her and Ron.
Draco screwed up his face. "Are they?"
"Yes. They are," she said.
"And?" he asked, watching her carefully.
"I'm happy he has someone," she said. It was the truth, which she tried to convey to him through her expression.
Draco looked at her, examining her reaction for a long moment until she shook her head at him, tired of the scrutiny. "What did he want you to read?" he asked.
"She wrote an article about her attack," Hermione told him, the words suddenly more difficult to form.
"Her attack?"
"Greyback attacked her during the battle. She was in the hospital for months. It was really … terrible." Images of Lavender before they had taken her to St. Mungo's flashed across her memory. It had been horrifying. Hermione still couldn't quite believe that she had lived through it.
"Oh," he said, the weight of that day hanging between them as memories surfaced without permission.
"Yeah. I guess it's helping her heal or something." She pulled at her lip with her teeth wondering what it might be like to find something that could take some of that weight away.
"What are you doing? To help you heal or something." His words were soft, softer than normal, and she felt a lump in her throat.
"I don't know," she said. "What about you?"
He moved closer until their knees were touching. "I guess, being around you helps," he told her.
"Yeah," she answered, as her fingers moved forward to slide between his, "it does." Their eyes were both staring down at their joined hands.
"Tell me," he began and faltered.
"What?" she prompted, curious and a bit anxious about what he could want to know.
"Tell me about your nightmares," he said. She looked at him for a long time, contemplating whether they could handle this, whether they were ready, but she supposed she could never know that until they tried. She pulled her hand back from his, and her fingers lingered at the edge of her shirt sleeve as she took several steadying breaths. She could almost feel him stiffen in front of her. He knew, of course. She began to fold the shirt up her arm carefully, avoiding his face and whatever lay there for her to see.
She stared down at her arm and let her fingers slide once down the scars. "Her. It's nearly always her."
"Am I there?" he asked, and his voice was unlike anything she had ever heard, filled with terror.
"Sometimes," she croaked, the word getting stuck in her throat. It was terrible to admit, to think about. She didn't want him there. He no longer belonged in that dream.
"I'm so sorry," he told her. "I know it's not enough, but I'm so sorry."
"I always wanted to know what you were thinking," she told him, her voice barely audible.
"I was just scared," he told her. "I don't know if there was anything left to think except fear."
"Yeah." She started to pull down her sleeve, but he stopped her. His fingers hovered over her skin for a moment, and then they were touching her there. A shiver of something she didn't want to understand ran up her arm and through her body. She looked up, her eyes meeting his as the pads of his fingers gently traced the letters.
Without allowing herself time to think, she reached for his sleeve, pushing it up his forearm with one hand. She saw the vulnerability in his eyes, but she didn't care. His hands on her scar was the most intimate touch she could imagine, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to reciprocate. She moved her fingers back to his hand where his palm lay open. Her fingertips began along the deep groves of his hand and moved up his wrist, up his forearm, until she reached the edge of his scar. Her breath quickened as he winced, but she moved forward, just a hair, and then she could feel the terrible raised edges beneath her fingers, and his eyes asked a desperate question, imploring her to speak, but she couldn't.
Instead, her entire body moved forward, rocking onto her knees, hands sliding up to his chest. Her weight pressed against him, pushing him down to the surface of the bed, and she kissed him, her lips falling onto his in a desperate passion. His arms slid around her body as if he could possibly pull her closer.
"Hermione," he whispered, and the noise she made was something between hunger and satisfaction. She grabbed his hand in hers, pushing up the fabric of her shirt as she slid to one side. She moved his fingers to trace the purple lines on her stomach.
Draco pushed her further onto her back and then moved over her. He pulled at the shirt, pushing it off her head until her stomach lay bare before him. He took in the sight of her as she bit her lip nervously. Then his hand fell gently onto the scar again, tracing each groove with a devotion unparalleled by anything she had ever experienced. His knees bent, allowing him to dip his head, and then his tongue followed the same paths across her skin and her hips pressed up, up, up into him searching for something. She pulled at his hair, bringing him up to kiss her again.
He slid his tongue across her lips before he moved it past the barrier, tasting her tongue with his. She moved her hands up his back, yanking at the fabric. She wanted to see them, to feel them for herself. He seemed to understand because he helped her pull it off, and then returned to his knees over her. His chest laid bare before her, long, deep scars stretching across the pale expanse. Harry did this. He lives with this. The emotion slammed into her as she reached out, and she could feel the tears in her eyes. Tears for Harry, and Ron, and Draco, and herself, for everything they had endured that was too much to ask of anyone, let alone children.
He leaned down again to kiss her, brushing her cheek with his thumb. He stopped for only a moment to mumble, "We survived," against her lips. She sobbed into his mouth, and he gripped her side as he rocked against her. She pressed her hips up against the movement, and her body screamed for more of him as her mind weakly protested. She ignored it.
His fingers moved up her thigh, sliding under her skirt, and suddenly he was gently stroking her over her a thin layer of cloth. "Draco," she breathed, and he let their foreheads rest together as their heavy breaths mingled.
"Let me," he begged, and she nodded, tremors of anticipation and want shaking her. She felt the cloth move to the side and then the tips of his fingers stroking her slit, moving up and down in a slow, steady gesture. A moment later he pressed a finger inside of her, and she resisted the urge to buck again. She let out a soft whimper instead, and he grinned against her mouth. He began to move in a rhythm, and she closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation. Having him inside of her was nothing at all like touching herself. He was intentional with his movements, as if he had done this before, but she didn't want to think about that. She concentrated on the way he touched her, the way she felt in response. Within minutes he was adding another finger, and she stretched to accommodate him. He began to kiss her as his fingers moved, his lips sucking gently on her neck. At one point, his teeth grazed her skin at the same moment his thumb found the bundle of nerves waiting desperately to be touched just above his fingers, and she moaned.
"Quiet," he whispered against her throat, and she remembered that there would be six other people returning to their rooms tonight. She couldn't quite bring herself to care, but she did try to control the noises slipping out.
"Draco," she muttered his name again as she tensed, and he chuckled amidst kisses on every inch of exposed skin he could find. Her hands clenched against his blanket, and her body began to shudder with ecstasy followed by a sweet flood of relief. He moved to kiss her, and she responded languidly, still basking in the aftermath.
His hands slid up over her skirt and sent shivers across the skin of her stomach. Hermione stirred in response, moving her hands to fumble with his belt. She didn't care if this was crazy, or if she shouldn't want him. She did want him. She wanted more of that blissful sensation of the world coming apart and back together again. She wanted to make him feel the same, to give him the same release. They had both been so broken, so torn apart, but this was different. This was good and right in the same way his arm around her waist and his chest against her back had been the weekend before. He was hurt in the same way she was, and he understood her pain in a way that others could not. She hid it from the world, kept it inside covered with lies. With Draco, there was nothing to hide. He knew all too well what she had been through, what she had endured, and he had done the same. He needed her to see him, fully and without censure, just as much as she needed the same from him.
Their eyes met, so many questions hiding behind them, and she answered them all with a shove of his trousers and pants down his thighs, her thumb running down his leg in the process. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but she couldn't find enough forethought to care. She needed more. He shimmied his legs, pushing the material until it fell off his feet, abandoned at the end of the bed. He was naked above her, and her eyes roamed, trying to memorize every inch of skin she could see, every nick, flaw, or blemish. They were irreparably marred, a matching set of scars that ran deeper than skin and bone.
One hand ran across the fabric of her skirt, pausing at the center. He was staring at her as the clasp came undone, as she arched to let him push it down her legs. Her knickers followed quickly behind, helped by her own hands as his breath hitched. He was staring down at the newly revealed skin when her fingers reached the clasp of her bra. Her hands were shaking, nerves taking their toll even in certainty. She pulled the last of her clothing away from her body and licked her lips as he slid his eyes up to hers again.
"Hermione." Her name rolled off his lips in a husky, low tone that sent hot liquid down her spine. "Have you … before?"
She bit her lip, brought her fingers up to touch his chest again, and shook her head. "Have you?"
"No," he said, hesitant in his admission, but she felt a sense of relief wash over her that they were in the same place going in. "Should we …" Draco glanced over at his wand on the bedside table, and Hermione shook her head again as she understood his meaning.
"I take a potion," she told him, not wanting to bring up Ron or confess that months and months ago she had gone to St. Mungo's thinking that she might be one day soon losing her virginity to one of her best friends.
Draco looked down at her for a few moments, both of them all too aware of what they were doing, and she leaned up to break the tension, brushing her lips against his. He seemed to melt over her, relaxing again as they kissed softly. He shifted from his position slightly to her side, and the hardened length pressing against her thigh moved across her skin, sending suspenseful tremors straight to her core. His hand moved down her chest, pausing to hold her breast as his mouth relocated to one of her nipples, languidly tasting it. As he moved to the other, his hand resumed its path moving down her stomach and back to her slit. His fingers slid in easily this time, and she tried to imagine what it would feel like when he pushed inside of her, when she stretched around him. She moaned softly as her hips moved up to push his fingers deeper. He breathed heavily against her chest, and pulled his hand back to wrap around his cock.
The tip brushed against her, and she could feel his hand shaking against her thigh as he positioned himself. She moved her hands to his face, pulling him up to kiss him, needing the distraction. Even so, she was hyper focused on the sensation of him pushing inside of her. He moved slowly, and she did indeed feel her body stretch and tighten around him as he continued, filling her. It was unlike anything she had experienced with her own hands or his. It felt deliciously good and foreign at the same time.
"Fucking fuck," he muttered when he was sheathed in her, not moving. "I might come right now." His voice was tense and trembling, and she felt a fierce, unexpected pride in her ability to bring him to this point so quickly. She wiggled beneath him, experimenting. She ached in the best possible way. He groaned, and Hermione smiled as she pressed her hips up into his. In response, he pulled back. She sighed against his mouth as his length rubbed against her sensitive lips. When he moved back inside of her, she clutched his hips with her fingers, and he dug his hands into the sheets beside her. His rhythm was slow, which seemed to be self-preservation as much as it was for her, if it was at all.
"Is this … ?" he asked, avoiding her eyes.
"Really good," she replied, feeling a flame in her cheeks at the words that came to mind, words she couldn't imagine ever saying to him.
He buried his head in her neck, his lips kissing the soft skin below her ear. "You feel amazing," he whispered, and she closed her eyes, unable to resist the smile that spread across her lips.
"Can you … faster?" she responded, changing the subject.
Draco pulled his hips back quickly. "Yes," she hissed, and he pushed in with the same fervor. "Oh." She couldn't stop the small noises as new sensations surprised her. Draco's grip on the sheets seemed to tighten as his teeth grazed her neck. She rocked into him as he moved, meeting him with eager wonder as she documented each moment behind her heavy lids.
"Shit," he muttered. "I'm really not …"
"It's fine," she told him, even though she wished this could last longer, that she would be able to feel him inside her as long as she wanted. We can do it again. The thought came unbidden, but she already knew that she was lost in him, that she would take this escape with him again and again and again as long as he wanted her.
Draco moved one hand from the sheet, palming her breast, rolling his thumb over her nipple as his breaths became even heavier. She dug her fingers in deeper, the anticipation of his climax exciting her more than she ever expected it to. It was powerful to feel wanted, to feel truly sexy for the first time in her life. He was barely holding on, and it was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced.
"Hermione," he croaked out her name as his face moved, his lips meeting hers fiercely, as he seemed to fall apart, his hips moving with an unsteady rhythm for one, two, three more thrusts before he was still.
A/N: *hides*
xoxo
Meg
