Chapter 24 – Salt in The Wound
A/N: Song Rec: "Martyr" by Roniit & Saint Mesa. All grammar/errors are my own. - delphicpigeon
Hermione attempted to convince Draco to use their newfound ability to encourage the rose bud forth, but he quickly dismissed the idea by countering that somethings were best left to nature. He had also pointed out her weakened magical state and as much as she hated to admit it, he was being irritatingly reasonable. Following their magical discovery, he had essentially forced her to follow a strict routine of three-square meals, a ridiculously child-like sleep schedule, daily outside time, and a mandatory break from the Gospel of the Witches. Despite the domineering timetable, Hermione was begrudgingly grateful for his actions. With the exceptions of sporadic nightmares, she felt her health and magic gradually return. As much as it pained her to stop her translation work, it was also a much-needed respite.
Each day drifted by like a pleasant dream. She'd wake up to a steaming cup of breakfast tea, left on the nightstand, every morning. Lately, he woke early to tend to the garden as the days had grown longer and warmer. After reading a couple passages from whatever text was left at her bedside, be it was regular literature, alchemy, or runes, she'd rise and get dressed before padding outside to join him. As much as she had loved her little reading nook, she was growing increasingly fond of sitting under the shade of a transfigured parasol reading aloud to him to pass the time.
Every once in a while he'd stand, brush the dirt off his trousers, and offer to walk around the edge of the woods. They'd discuss the various flora and fauna of the area, recount the more pleasant memories from Hogwarts, theories for their most recent readings, or just simply stroll in amiable silence while enjoying the peaceful forest. Sometimes, she fancied herself daring enough to loop her arm around his, but in the end she always chickened out.
I can outsmart three-headed dogs, ride on hippogriffs, and illegally brew Polyjuice Potion, but I can't bring myself to touch Draco Malfoy's arm, she snarked, some Gryffindor I am.
This afternoon he was animatedly describing the joy he had felt when he had been chosen as Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Despite the fact that she had never developed any sort of interest for the barbaric game, his enthusiasm warmed her heart. On the other hand, it also reminded her of Harry and Ron pouring over Quidditch magazines during the weekend when they should have been studying their schoolwork. Her smile dropped and she fought to keep her emotions under control. He must have caught onto her sudden shift in mood when he gently laid a hand on her arm.
"Did I upset you?" he questioned with a frown.
"No, not you, personally." She replied with a sniff while shaking her head, "It's just the way you talk about that absurd sport. It reminded me of Harry and Ron."
"I can't believe you just compared me to Potter and the Weasel." He drawled, "You wound me Granger. I thought we had moved beyond personal insults."
He dramatically lifted his hand to his brow, a ridiculous pouting expression on his face. Hermione thought her eyes might roll out of her head.
"Ugh, you are such a drama queen." She muttered, pulling away from him.
Dropping his hand, he quickened his pace and threw a careless arm around her shoulders. Hermione nearly seized up at his unexpected nearness.
"You say dramatic," he snorted critically, " However, I'm not the one comparing the 'Chosen One' to an ex-Death Eater and a deserter of friends."
She struggled to twist her head to glare in his direction, jutting her chin out defiantly.
"Ron came back and even managed to destroy a Horcrux!" she snapped in exasperation, "Also, Harry absolutely hates being the 'Chosen One'. Therefore, my initial statement still stands."
"If you say so." He shot back with a devilish grin, removing his arm from her shoulders, "Alright, it's getting late and I've got a couple more things to finish up before we turn in for the night."
As she watched him walk towards the cottage, many confusing thoughts jumbled through her head.
Since when had she developed any sort of feelings for Draco Malfoy? She had thought she was going to jump out of her skin when he had laid his arm haphazardly on her. The gesture had been innocent enough but he had been so close that she had felt the heat radiating off of his body. Her heart had had a sudden burst of flurrying energy and butterflies basically exploded in her belly. Unbidden, she was picturing him wrapping his arms around her tight as his rough hands slid slowly up her spine to cup the back of her head. She licked her lips as she imagined him threading his fingers deeply in her hair, gently tugging her head back to expose the slender column of her throat. She swore she could truly hear his breath become ragged as he drank in the sight of her submitting to him. His ice blue eyes darkening to a steely blue as his head dipped forward, the space between them closing.
"Hey Granger, you coming?" he yelled, pulling her abruptly from her mental fantasy.
She managed to squeeze out a strained 'yes' before she hurried towards his distant figure, trying to shake those illicit images inspiring more than just a flare of heat in her cheeks.
A couple weeks later, Draco and Hermione were sitting next to each other in the main room staring down the Gospel of the Witches. He was trying to ignore just how close they were sitting. He thought if he just shifted a bit then his thigh would be pressed against hers, but he resisted the urge in order to concentrate on their current task. He had managed to convince her to avoid working on the text by herself. Tonight, they would test their magic sharing capabilities.
"You ready?" she whispered, a sliver of fear across her face.
"Everything will be fine." He replied, holding his hand out for her.
She nodded and delicately placed her hand in his. He had to stifle a sharp inhale at the contact. Her fingers curled gently around his and he was somewhat surprised to see how well their hands fit each other's. The light grew in the room as their magic manifested and flowed into the book. His breath hitched as the odd sensation of magic draining filled him. It felt like an impossibly slow leak. He glanced towards Granger to check her condition. Her lips were moving wordlessly, her eyes zipping back and forth drinking in the runes as they materialized on the yellowed pages. He was irritated that he could not read the runes himself as they seemed specifically keyed to Cerridwen. She appeared to be managing the magical drain rather well. He let out a soft breath and wondered how she had managed this all of her own, much less for two weeks. No wonder she had looked terrible.
As his thoughts continued to wander, he sat back as the drain began to take its toll. His eyes felt terribly heavy, as well as his limbs. He wasn't sure how long they had been at it, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could handle. Her grip on his hand tightened sharply and his eyes popped open. Her face was pale, eyes unseeing, while her posture was ramrod straight. He jerked upright.
"What is it?" he demanded, "What do you see?"
She roughly released his hand, cutting off their flow of magic. With a flick of her finger, the book slammed shut and she shot off the couch. Draco was utterly confused at her actions and made to follow after her.
"What is going on Granger?" he insisted.
She stumbled to the kitchen, gripping the counter heavily. Her head was bent over as if in prayer, a curtain of curls hiding her face. He heard her stifle a sob. He felt his chest constrict in fear. What exactly was it she had read?
He cautiously approached her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from his touch and he hated how much the movement felt like a stab to the heart. He could almost hear those taunting thoughts of his unworthiness bubbling up to the surface.
"Your mother was right." Came the tiniest sound.
Draco felt the color leave his face. The contents of his mother's letter flooding his mind all at once.
The magic that flows within Cerridwen is raw and volatile – without a secondary magical core to share that power – the Granger witch will die.
Cerridwen will consume her and without a form to tether her to our own plane, the consequences are unthinkable.
"Are you sure you're not mistaken?" he ventured, unable to decide just exactly how he felt about the implications of his mother's words.
"Of course not." She remarked, snapping her head up at his.
Draco hastily backed away at the look in her eye. They were burning with rage, her features sharpening. Her fingers dug into the counter, the wood smoking under her palms. She had her teeth bared, looking more animal than witch.
"All my choices stolen from me!" she seethed, her voice morphing into a disembodied and deadly tone as the wood cracked under her grip, "And you!?"
She rounded on him, her face distorted. She lifted an accusatory finger, the nails lengthened and jagged. Her eyes a molten gold color while her hair whipped around her, lifted by some invisible force. Draco eyes widened. He had encountered Cerridwen enough to know just how dangerous these transformations could be. Slowly, he reached for his wand as he wordlessly cast a shielding charm. Unfortunately, she caught his movement and a sneer twisted upon her mouth.
"A wand won't help you." She scoffed, "We both know I am powerful and more than capable of deflecting anything you could possibly cast."
He froze, his hand within reaching distance of his wand holster. She smiled broadly in a way that did not reach her eyes. The counter behind her was glowing red and Draco feared she would burn the kitchen down. She edged forward, dragging her nails against the table top.
"Look Granger, I don't know what it is you saw but it can't be that dreadful!" he rushed out, hoping to stop her predatory creep towards him, "I'm not your enemy here."
"Is that so?" she purred, "Want to know what the Gospel had to say about you?"
Draco flinched at the malicious tone in her voice. His back bumped into the wall, leaving him nowhere else to escape as she advanced on him.
"You have no choice either. That pathetic excuse of a Dark Lord personally ensured that when he selected you as a consort. As if your free will hadn't already been robbed through that ridiculous mark." She uttered, releasing a hysterical laugh much too reminiscent of Bellatrix, "But you know what is even more ludicrous, Draco Malfoy, my Fallen Prince?"
She came to a stop in front of him, her eyes locked on his. He gulped nervously, unsure if he should respond or keep silent.
"Answer me." she threatened, coolly reaching out to tuck a blond strand behind his ear.
He shivered at her touch, simultaneously tender and hostile. He stared down at her, all traces of Hermione wiped from the face in front of him. His mind raced, searching for some answer that would turn this terrifying creature away from him.
"I don't know!" he admitted bitterly, "How could I?"
"Your mother had it correct all along. She must have been a practitioner of the Old Ways to have such knowledge." She commented airily, "This vessel, the one you call Granger, is dying. Once I have drained her magic and life force, you will follow in the same path."
Draco felt like the air had been pushed from his lungs. He gasped out as her words sunk in. It was all inevitable. Irrevocable and permanent. His walls crumbled and he slid to the floor in a heap.
"But knowledge is power." Her voice echoed above him.
She kneeled down in front of him, hands folded in her lap.
"Make her understand and you'll both survive." Her voice softened, losing its violent edge, "The sooner you two mortals get past your own selfish and misguided ideas, the sooner unimaginable power is within your grasp."
His eyes lifted to hers at the precise moment Cerridwen escaped back to the deep recesses of Hermione's mind. In a flash, the gold disappeared and her brown eyes returned. They landed on him for a brief moment before rolling back into her skull as her body collapsed towards the floor.
Panicking, Draco cast a lightning-fast Cushioning Charm before her head hit the ground. As her body lay limply on the floor next to him, he crawled towards her and ghosted his palm across her cheek. She was feverish but breathing. Pulling out his wand, he extinguished the smoking counter and turned back to her.
"Reneverate." He cast quietly.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. Her breathing quickly became shallow as she pushed up into a sitting position. She looked around wildly before fixing a wild look at Draco.
"Is she gone?" she asked fearfully.
He could only nod in response, his body still on high alert. Although he knew Hermione herself had returned, he was still distrustful. She stared at him for along moment before she burst into tears and launched herself onto him, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
"Draco," she cried out, "I am so sorry! Please forgive me!"
Draco sat numbly as she sobbed uncontrollably into his neck. He felt her tears soak into his shirt, her breath hot. Gradually, his senses returned as the shock began to wear off. His arms lifted and twined around her. He pulled her closer as cries tore from her throat, running his fingers soothingly over her hair. He did not trust himself to speak, so he sat silently as she bitterly wept.
"I stole your life! Because of me you are going to…" her voice trailed off, overcome once again with tears.
He held her tighter, trying to will her tears into submission. He couldn't stand that she was attempting to shoulder the burden for both of them. She already held the weight of Potter's well-being, how could she hold more?
"Neither of us chose this." He spoke finally, "You did not steal my life. Can't you see that without you, without this situation, it was already stolen. The Dark Lord took that from me long ago. You gave it back."
"But both Cerridwen and the book said that-" she began.
"It doesn't matter what they said." He argued, "It's much too late for that. We've been semi-bonded for months now. It would have been utterly foolish for either of us to honestly believe there would be no consequences of such a connection or that we could possibly separate ourselves from it."
She pulled back at his words, her face blotchy and eyes rimmed with unshed tears.
"You don't blame me?" she hesitated, her lip trembling as if she expected him to answer in the positive.
"How could I?" he responded softly, realizing how badly he wanted to ease the pain and guilt she felt.
She let out a choked sob and leaned into his arms once more. They sat wordlessly on the floor as the outside light faded, only the sounds of her fading cries between them. Eventually, her tears dried and turned into stuttered breathing. Her body sagged against his, a testament to the absolute fatigue she must have felt. He would have been content to let her rest there, but his energy was depleted between the magical drain and sitting in the floor in an awkward position for a long period of time. He gently shook her awake.
"Hey, we need to get off this floor." He spoke while coaxing her upright.
She rubbed her eyes, swaying slightly. He stretched his stiff muscles and almost missed her wince at the state of the charred kitchen.
"I know tonight is not the best time to bring this up, but we'll have to address these outbursts sooner or later." He suggested lightly.
She nodded mutely as he brought a small fire to life to combat the lingering chill in the air. He knew summer would be here soon along with his birthday. He mentally sniffed in disdain. The one-year anniversary of his branding. How terribly funny it should be that something that was meant to last a lifetime didn't even survive a singular year?
"Do you want me to help you upstairs?" he asked, gesturing up towards the bedroom, "I don't know about you but I am exhausted and could sleep for days."
"If it's alright by you," she mumbled, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, "I'd like to stay down here with you. I don't think I could handle being alone tonight."
He raised his brows in mild surprise but couldn't deny her request. A small part of him felt relief as well. He didn't necessarily think it was safe for her to be alone and if he was being honest, he didn't want to be alone either.
"Of course. The couch is all yours." He replied, busying himself with transfiguring blankets and pillows.
He heard her cough and when he turned around, he was somewhat shocked to find she had expanded the couch to accommodate much larger than just herself. His forehead creased in uncertainty as his mind floundered through several scenarios. Did she make it large enough for them both or was her magic so unstable that a simple transfiguration was too much for her to properly control?
"I hope you don't mind sharing." She murmured shyly, "It seems terribly unfair that you should sleep in the armchair after everything that has happened. I tried to make it large enough for both of us. Is that ok?"
He studied her for a moment as she gave him a sad smile.
"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate." She apologized quickly, looking crestfallen at his intense expression.
"Have you forgotten that we've already shared a bed once?" he hinted, giving her a small smile in return, "I think considering our circumstances, it would be rude of me to say no."
He handed her the pillows and blankets as he slipped into the bathroom to change. After washing his face and slipping on some nightclothes, he returned to find her already buried beneath the thick blankets facing away from him. He walked over and eased himself down onto the transfigured bed, hoping not to disturb her. As he settled under another blanket, he let out a deep breath as exhaustion washed over him. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was the feel of her shifting into the curve of his body and the faint sigh that fell from her lips as he wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. That night, he dreamt of snowflakes and moonlight as the scent of pine and peppermint filled his senses.