Chapter 20 – The Other Side
A/N: I hope y'all like the direction this chapter goes. The response to Ch. 19 (Searing) was incredible and I felt like the original plan I had sorted out for Ch. 20 just didn't fit with how the storyline was progressing. However, I'm not super happy with how this chapter came out. It went through several revisions and I'm still salty about it. Maybe the next chapter will feel more natural. - delphicpigeon
The briefest of touches traced his face and he smiled at the familiarity of it. It reminded him of childhood summer mornings at the Manor when his mother would personally wake him with a tray of carefully arranged breakfast and steaming tea. The morning light was pressing through his eyelids, urging him to wake up. Curiously, the touch stopped on his chin and scratched across his stubbled cheeks. He could picture his mother's lips pursed in disapproval at his lack of grooming. She had tutted during his pubescent years, urging his father to teach him the proper shaving spell muttering under her breath about "cleanliness" and "manners".
Something in the back of his mind, however, objected to this vision. His mother had never actually seen him with facial hair. Not since he had left the Manor. He wasn't at the Manor. So who was touching his face so tenderly? Before he could consider further, it brushed across his bottom lip and ignited his skin.
Instantly awake, Draco opened his eyes cautiously to find Hermione sitting across from him on the bed carefully inspecting her hands. A soft light caught his eye and he looked down to see a gold and silver mist floating lazily between them. A thin stream of liquid silver floated from the center of his chest while an opposing golden fog flowed from hers. She seemed either completely oblivious or uninterested by the pulsing magic between them. Rather than make assumptions, he chose to wait until she noticed his alert gaze.
As she tucked her hands into her lap, she glanced towards him and her eyes widened slightly. When she said nothing, his eyes dropped to the glowing mist and an immense desire to reach out flowed through him. Bracing himself, he lifted a hand towards the haze of magic. He wasn't sure if Granger knew that magical manifestation on this level was a particularly advanced piece of magic to summon nor if she was aware just how personal it was to reveal or even touch the true nature of a witch's or wizard's magic to one another.
As his fingers made contact, he heard her inhale sharply while the fragile bond flared brightly. If the situation hadn't been so serious, he could imagine his father's face contorting in utter disbelief in witnessing his son and only heir touching the magic of a Muggleborn. He wondered if the interaction was affecting her as deeply. His eyes flicked up to see her nearly panting with flushed cheeks. Draco's mind darkened with desire at the knowledge that he was responsible for her intense reaction. He twined his fingers deeper into the magic and her eyes opened in surprise. She looked down at his hand and slowly lifted her own hand to mirror his. As he paused his hand's movement, he felt a rush as her fingertips slowly probed his own magic. He was surprised to find a balance within that moment. Their hands equally entangled in each other's magic, their magic flowing effortlessly between. There was no pull or push, no fighting for dominance. Their magic was more at ease with each other then they were themselves, he thought with a snort. The longer they stayed connected, the more a breathless heat begin to build.
Looking hard into her eyes, she chewed on her bottom lip as her pupils dilated. Draco felt his pulse quicken realizing she was nearly feverish with desire as he was. She seemed to pick up on this and quickly withdrew her hand, extinguishing the manifested magic. He sighed internally and mentally prepared himself for whatever reasoning she could provide for this morning and last night's bouts of unexpected magic.
However, he was not prepared for what she had to say. She had truly seen him as her captor and torturer, speaking degrading and ruthless words. His heart sank knowing that her mind thought him capable of such cruelty. The bitter thoughts soured in his mouth as his mind drifted back to the words his mind had screamed that previous evening.
A horrible bond mate. You can't even touch her without her thinking you are attempting to attack her. She still recoils from you in fear regardless.
Even her unconscious mind considered him dangerous. Slowly, he felt a rage building at his ability to destroy everything he touched. He tried to shrug off her words but his mind latched on like a demon, playing them over and over. Not even teasing her could pull his mind from the sad words that had fallen from her lips. He explained that he wasn't an unbending blood purist anymore. That, if anything, he was a filthier creature than he had previously considered her to be. He could see pity written across her face, but he didn't want pity. He wasn't something to be pitied. He was a monster. He wished she would be angry with him, to lash out, or anything to ease the immense guilt he felt.
Yet, she surprised him by vehemently denying him capable of such actions. He blinked quickly, unable to fully comprehend her words. She gave such kindness without expectation, that he could only gaze back in confusion. He was even more surprised when she reached across and gently laid her hand on his. Not wanting to dwell too long on this, he pressed on and questioned her intently on the shock that had originally woke him.
"Can you explain what happened this morning? With the magic?"
He was equally amused and concerned at her hesitant behavior. This indicated, as with all Gryffindors, that she had done something she found to be morally questionable. Her invasion of his personal space, however innocent, had irked him somewhat but he found her genuinely remorseful of her action so he chose to ignore it for now. As she explained, he found himself fascinated by the close ease of their hands. Her hands sat comfortably in his, small and slender. He felt a stab of possessiveness and fear, as if suddenly terrified to let go of her. He gently curled his hand around hers and used his other hand to absentmindedly drag his fingertips across the back of her hand. He thought absurd thoughts, of how his tainted and guilty hands were fortunate enough to hhld her unblemished and courageous ones. He thought of how privileged he should be to be in this moment when her words abruptly brought his thoughts to a standstill.
"…the touch a bit more, uh, personal…" he heard, his eyes becoming unfocused as he processed her admission.
His mind reeled. A more personal touch. What in Merlin's name was she going on about? She has been experimenting with their bond. Playing with his magic such clinical detachment that he felt a level of betrayal and embarrassment he couldn't quite put into words. Was he truly alone in his feelings for her, he wondered critically.
Of course he was! How could Hermione Granger, vessel of the ancient goddess Cerridwen, brightest witch of her age, one-third of the Golden Trio ever have genuine feelings beyond polite concern for Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, descendant of a renowned and unsullied blood purist lineage and unofficial Prince of Slytherin. His rage returned in full force and he hated himself for hoping for something other than contempt and expectations, something he had known his whole life. His hand tightened in anger when she struggled to answer his questions. When she stuttered and tried to pull away from him, all tenderness evaporated and was replaced with hard suspicion.
"What did you want to touch….Tell me, Hermione."
He hated how her name felt on his tongue. He hated that his self-loathing was directed at her. He hated how despite her evident indifference, he still wanted her. He yanked her body close, resting his cheek against hers while savoring the heat radiating from her. After living in a drafty Manor and the coolness of the Slytherin common room, located under the murky Black Lake, he craved her warmth and tried to savor every moment before it was no longer possible to experience.
"Your lips." She whispered and he stifled a groan at the base implication of that answer.
He laughed softly in an attempt to cover the rush of longing threatening to overwhelm him, burying further into her curls. She shuddered at his proximity and he felt their bond curling around every whisper of flared emotion. It became too much and he lessened his hold on her hand. Without thinking, he slid the back of two fingers up the silky skin of her arm and reveled in the feel of it. He knew this wasn't just their bond pushing such explosive feelings to the surface, but he couldn't determine whether she felt the same or not. He felt the quicksilver of his magic flickering, encouraging him to take a leap of faith. He dropped his wandering hand and pulled back. Taking a calming breath, he sat back slowly and pressed the softest graze across her lips.
He was certainly no stranger to kissing, but this shadow of a kiss was more explosive than any touch he had ever experienced. His vision was blurred as he fell through space and time. He saw the universe explode and expand in a fiery bang with her as the end point. It was always her. She could bring about the end of the world or she could be its reckoning grace. She was Persephone, capable of great feats of wrath or raw displays of tenderness. He was her Hades, God of the Underworld. He finally understood what Cerridwen had tried to show him on that stormy lake shore. It was one thing to privately admit he cared for her deeply, but it was something entirely different to experience it firsthand. Frightened of these newfound feelings and of sharing them with someone he had previously sworn to hate with his entire being, he jerked back and bolted off the bed.
She fixed him with a wild look, like a deer caught in the woods. It felt all too predatory and he backed away in an effort to hide his shaking. The room was stifling and he felt sweat beading on his brow. He heard her exclaim in annoyed concern, but he couldn't process the magical burning that was threatening to consume him. He grasped for words and could only recall her words that had spurned this entire outburst.
"A more personal touch." He croaked out before fleeing the room as quickly as his legs would carry him.
Hermione sat absolutely still, her mouth agape as she watched Malfoy's retreating form. She had already played the morning's events in her mind several times and to her great frustration, had found no valid logical explanation for what had happened. Unanswered questions danced behind her eyes.
Was that a kiss or just an accident? Why on Earth was Malfoy acting so strangely? Why had the bond reacted so fiercely?
She groaned in irritation. She needed something to distract her and a quick glance of her surroundings reminded her that the bedroom was still in tatters. Tossing the comforter off her too warm body, she stretched and plodded over to the broken armoire. She gently pulled the hanging door to the side to reach her clothes when the door popped off with a loud crack and crashed to the floor. She stared at the armoire door, her lip trembling, before she burst into tears. She sunk to the floor, down feathers shifting softly away from her. She wasn't quite sure why she was crying but she felt so overwhelmed and alone. Her magic sparked lightly as the tears fell unburdened to the wooden floor.
"Why is this happening to me!?" she cried out desperately, somehow hoping Cerridwen or something would suddenly appear and give her all the answers, "I'm nobody! I'm just some Muggleborn witch who happened to be in just the right location where Harry Potter happened to find me. Any other witch could have been in my place. I'm not special. I'm not 'the brightest witch of my age' or some 'Gryffindor Princess'. I don't want this!".
She continued sobbing til her eyes refused to drop another tear. She sat on the floor sniffling, dreading getting up but she was starting to lose feeling in her legs from the awkward position she dropped to. Looking up at the armoire, she wobbled upwards while rubbing her knees and reached for some dress robes. Once dressed and her increasingly long hair braided into a single thick strand, she turned back to the bedroom and began repairing everything.
She replaced the hinges on the armoire door, vanished the down feathers and shattered glass, and patched the cracked headboard. She had a more difficult time removing the scorch marks from the ceiling. She assumed they were magical burns, rather than physical burns. After several efforts, the charring had disappeared, leaving only a slightly darker coloration on the beams.
Now that the room was habitable once more, she plopped down on the bed in exhaustion. She frowned up at the ceiling. A couple magical cleaning and repairing spells shouldn't be putting that much strain on her magical reserves. Maybe, she reasoned, she hadn't recovered from her magical outburst that night. She also noticed slight changes in her physical appearances that seemed to defy any reasoning, like the unnatural growth of her hair.
"You know why. You just refuse to acknowledge it." Came an amused voice.
"Of course I refuse to acknowledge it. Its absurd." She replied tartly.
"You've been alone in this semi-bonded state and you'll waste away." She simply responded, "The boy feels the bond more intensely. Do you enjoy putting him in pain?"
"No, of course I don't! What a cruel thing to ask?" Hermione snapped.
"Isn't it more cruel to continue to deny your feelings for him?" the voice asked.
"Those feelings are merely a by-product of the bond." She sputtered in exasperation.
"Are they?" the voice quipped.
"I can't have feelings for Draco Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked.
"Why not? He has them for you." Cerridwen stated, their tone haughty.
That brought Hermione's train of thought to a screeching halt.
"He does?" she squeaked out, "How can you be sure?"
Hermione felt Cerridwen's indignation flare, a physical crackle vibrating through the air as the hair on her skin rose in warning.
"You dare question me child. You have access to the great secrets of the universe and a fount of power and wisdom, yet you focus on the irrelevant bond between myself and my husband-consort. The Fallen Prince, the one you call Draco Malfoy, is also a vessel. Without him, you will cease to exist. Without completing that bond, the consequences are unimaginable and directly affects how magic manifests for all magical beings. Too long you've ignored our powers and its draining faster than you can replenish it. You have the ability to read our ancient runes. Stop squandering the magical future because you are holding onto useless and outdated blood and magic views." She finished.
The magic settled once again, leaving Hermione shaking and terrified by the torrent of information Cerridwen had just unleashed upon her. An ancient goddess had just accused her on holding onto blood purist ideals while her reluctance to seal the bond also potentially meant the end of magical access for many witches, wizards, and creatures. Could her burden be any heavier, she wondered sadly.
Although, Cerridwen had told her that she wouldn't be alone. He could share that burden with her, but she still struggled at the thought of forcing that bond on him. Despite the urging, she didn't believe that Draco could possibly have genuine feelings for someone like her. She shook her head, too disoriented and exhausted to consider Cerridwen's words further. She closed her eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.