Terrifié

Chapter Twenty-Two Satan is a Man

AKA The Uninhibited Hermione

Last Time:

Hermione laughed delightedly and with renewed passion flung him over onto his back; leaning down to kiss him so hard he wouldn't interrupt her again for a long time- for the whole night…

TBC (To Be Continued)

Hermione stretched delightfully, relishing the pleasant soreness and the feel of the satin on her bare skin. Draco hadn't been lying last night… she fully expected she was ruined for all other men. But she was okay with that. Smiling, she reached out for Draco, to find he was gone. She opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. The room was filled with sunlight, and looking toward the window she found Draco, sitting there watching her and smoking, with the glass slightly open to let out the smoke.

"I didn't think you smoked." She said.

"I don't. Just post-coitally, kind of to celebrate, you know?" He grinned. "Last night was definitely worth celebration." Hermione flushed red, and flopped back into the pillows, unable to hold back her embarrassed smile. He put out his cigarette and came over to the bed with a long silver tray of breakfast for two. He climbed in next to her and unfolded the legs of the tray, which went on either side of them. "I was waiting till you woke. Breakfast is served." He smiled, as Hermione looked him in mock astonishment.

"Sir, you have astounding bedroom manners. If only you could lend some of that to your behavior outside of your bed." She teased.

"What did I tell you about saying bed?" Draco chided, leaning in for a kiss. She evaded him, grinning cheekily.

"Not now, I'm really hungry."

"Me too."

"For TOAST you dirty bugger." Seeing Draco's feigned hurt face, she consoled him; "I really worked up quite an appetite last night you know, love." He laughed and they both tucked into their breakfast.

Before either of them knew it, it was 5:00 PM on Christmas Eve, and they were sipping eggnog in front of the fire and gazing at the Christmas tree. They decided to go out for dinner, and parted to get ready. Hermione looked through her trunk, hoping she had something suitable. She decided to wear the necklace her parents had given her for Christmas, and clasped it on, still wearing only her underwear. Surveying herself in the mirror, she thought it would make a lovely outfit all on it's own. The tiny diamonds sparkled and the rubies glowed in a passionate, deep way she had never seen in a gem before; probably because of the love captured in them. As soon as she had it around her neck she had felt the tenderly comforting love of her parents wash over her.

She finally found a dress at the bottom of her trunk that she had completely forgotten existed. It was a strapless black silk with a red flower on one hip, and red underskirts, which accented the rubies. She pulled on black ballet flats and decided against any jewellery apart from her necklace… it was definitely enough. Hermione swept her wavy hair behind her shoulders, pinning a bit from one side back with a plain black clip, to keep it out of her eyes, but otherwise leaving it long. She quickly applied some makeup: smoky eyes and red lipstick, and was gazing at her reflection anxiously in the mirror when she heard a knock on the door. She looked at it nervously and then back in the mirror, which winked at her in a sly manner and whistled.

I look like a slut.

The thought paralysed Hermione, deafening her to the second knock. Where had it come from? A hidden voice inside? Don? She was now glaring at herself in dismay and shame. The bodice of her dress was tight, hiding nothing, and her shoulders and arms were completely bare. The dress fell to just below her knees.

It was considerably less of her than Draco had seen the previous evening… Hermione cringed, biting her lip, but Draco's now impatient knocking finally broke into her mind, and she took one last look in the mirror before grabbing a black ballet-style wrap sweater and tying it around her quickly before running to the door.

She would think about this later.

Draco had never been more aware, or more proud of any girl on his arm than he was of Hermione tonight. Well, perhaps he had never really been aware or proud of any girl before at all. He didn't care for his many escorts, flings and girlfriends. But he cared for Hermione, deeply. When they entered the restaurant he had found himself glaring over the top of her head at anyone who looked at her. She looked absolutely amazing, but he could sense she didn't feel completely comfortable. He was determined not only to keep her to himself, but to protect that vulnerability in her that had been precisely what brought them together.

Her vulnerability, his determination to exploit it- how ironic. She had changed him, without trying, without realizing, even now. His feelings towards her had evolved so drastically. She wasn't stupid, or worthless or below him- in fact, it was closer to the opposite. And Hermione represented so much to him- his feelings towards her had changed and that had changed his feelings about everyone, about everything.

He didn't feel like a little boy trapped in a young man's body anymore, he felt like a young man. The chill he had felt inside for as long as he could remember had been coaxed into warmth by her wide-eyed appeal. Perhaps only time could ease the bitterness he still nursed after his icy upbringing, but her heartfelt moral convictions and her love of justice had reversed his conscious perspective without him even noticing. How could someone so seemingly fragile have steel inside, like she did? How could someone, at times utterly ridiculous, be so wise? She paired her very ranting about Satan and seduction with a profound philosophy of generosity, equality and tolerance.

Draco Malfoy was very much in love.

Hermione ate quietly, listening to Draco's easy tones and occasionally contributing something of her own. His grey eyes collided again and again with her brown ones, filling her with a feeling she couldn't place, something that scared her. Something she wasn't ready for.

Draco looked handsome in his black suit. He had taken off his jacket and was elegantly dishevelled in his white shirt and slightly crooked black tie. His black cuff links distracted her when he talked with his hands.

She explained her necklace to him; he seemed impressed that her parents had gotten her something magical. They talked about his family and the villa where the other two members currently were. The night dwindled between their fingers like sand, and before they knew it, they were walking outside, holding hands in the snowflakes.

They were in a small village-like area of town, and the cobblestone streets sounded beautiful with the bottoms of Hermione's shoes. She stepped ahead of Draco and did a spin under his arm, dragging her heels along as she listened to the rhythmic scrape. Her eyes shone as she turned again and again in the darkness, her face tilted upwards to the snow, her laugh a velvet melody in the night. He watched her at first with amusement, but as she repeated the movement his eyes became entirely serious as he devoured this rare glimpse of the uninhibited Hermione. If only she could be like this… herself… all the time. He wanted to kiss the snowflakes from her eyelashes.

They arrived home and Hermione let him kiss the snowflakes and the coolness from every inch of her, and attempted to share her earlier thoughts about the necklace making a lovely outfit. He agreed.

Christmas morning passed away in a decidedly more realistic manner than the dream that the Eve had been. They opened presents and threw wrapping at each other and revelled in the colour and the immediacy of each other. Draco loved his silver and emerald dragon pin and was quite eager to figure out how it worked, being a boy, and having the naturally accompanying love of gadgets. He spent half the morning recording their voices and playing them back until Hermione threatened to take it back. They both got many presents from their friends and family, including chocolates and sweets, robes, games, books, lingerie (to Hermione, love Gin), and some suspicious objects from the Knockturn area (to Draco, from Lucius and Narcissa), among other things. Draco gave Hermione a burgundy and gold diary, which matched his black and gold one. The diaries had been charmed to the effect of something like what Ginny had had with Tom Ridley, except they could only write to each other on the pages.

"Just tap your wand on the page, say the password and write, and it will appear in my diary. Of course anything you write besides that, I won't be able to see. I wouldn't want to embarrass you out of writing how devilishly sexy I am or anything." Draco grinned as Hermione playfully swatted his head. He also gave her back the slave medallion that she had been enchanted with until recently. "It's doesn't have any power anymore, but if you don't want it anymore I understand. It does have some sentimental value to me however, seeing as it saved my life." They both recalled his fall from the Quidditch match. Hermione smiled and put it on immediately.

"Property of Draco Evan Malfoy." She whispered, looking down at the golden medallion and then back at him. He kissed her until an owl tapping furiously on the bay window of the Manor living room distracted them. Draco got up, muttering, and let it in, recognizing the black owl as his father's immediately. He read the parchment it offered, gave it a treat, and sent it back from whence it came.

He then handed the parchment to Hermione wordlessly.

Draco,

Merry Christmas. I regret to inform you your unaccompanied presence is required immediately at the villa. This is a gravely serious matter regarding your welfare and your inheritance and if you do not come as asked, now and alone, you risk much. We wish for you to travel by floo, and will be courteously awaiting your advent.

Lucius

P.S. Narcissa wishes me to inform you that she misses you.

Hermione smiled up at him weakly, and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I'll stay if you want." She shook her head vehemently.

"I'll be fine, just hurry back."

"I'm taking my diary, so write to me if you need something. I'll be back as soon as humanly possible, trust me." He grinned at her encouragingly, they hugged, and he went upstairs to leave through the office fire, after ordering the house elves to discreetly keep an eye on Miss Granger.

Hermione opened her last present, addressed to "Draco's companion", from Narcissa, and found a thick silver chain bracelet, ornamented with a black dagger charm that hung from beneath her wrist. Narcissa must have expected some one much more… Slytherin than Hermione was. She put the bracelet away with some other presents and went off to her room.

The darkness pressed around her, unbroken by the candle she had given up lighting lately, secure in Draco's company each night. Not tonight. After her sudden awakening her eyes remained pointlessly open, staring into the blackness as if to make it wither at her glare. And suddenly she could see. Not ceilings and walls and paintings and beds, but herself, with Draco, with Don, everywhere, all around her. Images' speeding through the air like it was some reckless drunken highway.

She saw herself in the dress, and she shut her eyes closed. But humiliation remained, pushing through with a toothy grin, accusing her with a malicious laugh. And now it raised it's shrill, bony voice; whore, slut, Satan Satan Satan…

The past few days without Draco had been hell. She knew he had to make a few stop on the way to his parents villa, but she was lonely, and weak, and sick. She was throwing up a lot, though neither she or the house elves could figure out why. She could barely eat at all, and was trapped in bed with only her thoughts- her painful, shameful thoughts.

The longing for Don surged through her like a sudden tempest: urgent, destructive and out of nowhere. He loved her, he understood. Here with Draco, she felt so much guilt. He raised her out of the dirt onto this magic pedestal, placing her to touch a star, coaxing her to stroke a moonbeam, but it was all she could do not to choke on the shame.

Hermione thought. And thought, and thought. And the more she thought, the more the arms of her past reached out to wrap around her ankles and wrists like vines, entrapping her, holding her back.

What did Draco really want with her? Everyone wanted something from her. Except for her parents, and Harry and Ron, everyone was out to use her. Her intelligence, her body. Draco- did he merely want her because she had fallen into his bed? Because she was weak? She didn't feel like that when she was with him, but now that he was gone, all her insecurities were creeping back. Was she becoming a kept woman, a bedroom companion to be used and discarded? She didn't trust her own judgement; in fact she trusted it so little she sometimes feared she was going insane. Like right now, as she sat in her bed, the cold light of dawn flashing with images of the men in her life.

Men.

How she hated them, yet loved them. She craved them, she craved love and romance, she craved their strength and protection. Yet she hated their power, their greed, their violence. The way they picked her to be their toy. The way they used her body to make them feel more powerful.

Rape wasn't a sexual act, really. It was something a man did to make him feel in control over a woman- the same thing with physical abuse. Physical extensions of a warped mind. But what she feared more than being beaten, than being raped, was being under someone else's power mentally. Don had taken her there before, into his mind, into his heaven-and-hell-and-fire-and-brimstone, add one part torture. And Draco had rescued her, at least mentally. But had she jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

Fire. That was what being with Draco was like. She felt alive, she felt emotions other than fear and shame, she felt joy and… love. She loved him like she had never loved another man, like she had never loved even Don, although as a child she had believed him to be her "boyfriend"- what other explanation could an eight-year-old devise? But the fire that she felt with Draco… yes, she was in love with him. And that was more dangerous than any punishment Don could mete out. He had power over her, over her very soul. And she knew Draco did not have the most honourable past. He had never given her a reason to trust him. He could be cruel, abusive. He could hurt her like no other had, with his words, with a mere look- he'd done it before. He used girls- she had seen it, the tearful glances at suppertime, his wintry power to ignore them. He toyed with people.

She was more than a toy. She was… a person.

A person. Hermione pulled the blankets around her. Even if Satan had cursed her, even if she was evil, Satan was a man. People owned themselves, they had their own power, they could resist Satan, temptation. She wasn't a pawn, she was a person.

The light had seeped into the room without her noticing; the deep night had passed. With newfound resolution, Hermione packed her bag and marched straight into the past, ready to face her demons… her demon.

Draco was thrilled. He had this odd feeling in his cheeks, which forced him to smile perpetually until his face was quite sore- but he didn't really care. Draco loved winning. And as of now, he felt very victorious. He had left his parents villa by broom rather than floo, just aching to feel the wind rushing by him as he soared back to his Hermione. Nothing could feel more right than being in the air. He was going to tell her what he had realized on Christmas Eve- that he loved her. And if she doubted it, he would tell her what he had just done.

He had told Lucius and Narcissa about her. About how he loved her, about how she was a Gryffindor, a Muggleborn, the best friend of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. About how intelligent and brave and just and beautiful and lovely she was. And again, about how he loved her.

Of course, a fight had ensued. The issue of blood, house, peers- everything he loved best about her was somehow a problem for Lucius. Narcissa sat coolly to the side. Finally after the two men had spent themselves yelling, cursing and threatening, she stood, startling them both. She rarely got involved in their fights.

"His downfall or his wings to power, it is Draco's choice if he wishes to honour this… Hermione. He is a man now Lucius, to threaten him or take his inheritance away is to lose him. He doesn't need us. But we need him, we need his children. We need heirs." Her cold, melodic voice had an unfamiliar finality in it, it seemed less dreamy than ever. Lucius sighed and took a swig of brandy from a crystal decanter, leaning back against the fireplace. Draco's eyebrows shot up and he seemed to be thinking furiously- was this some kind of ploy? He was about to ask that when Narcissa continued. "However," and now she turned to him, "I will not have you… soiling our name, either. If you carry on with this girl the rumours will be damaging to us. If you wish to keep her in your life you will marry her, Draco. Under the Malfoy name no one will dare to insult her, and if they do… your father and I will be obliged to… protect our daughter-in-law." Draco shivered, almost scared by the authority in his mother's voice, authority she usually kept inside of her like a coiled snake, waiting for Lucius to get out of line, waiting for Draco to defy her. Lucius sputtered and stood upright.

"Narcissa, kindly answer me; do you actually think it better Draco is tied to this… vermin for the rest of his life, than allowed to wear their love out- I doubt it will last longer than a few weeks." At this he sneered at Draco. "It is merely a schoolboy fascination, he is just rebelling, he doesn't actually love-"

"Father!"

"Lucius!" Narcissa and Draco spoke at the same time, and then the blonde woman continued. "You old fool. Our son is not an unruly teenager anymore. He is a man; can you not see what is before your eyes? Draco will not let go of this woman. He has emotion for her that he has for nothing else, not us, or his friends, or any other girl. He will not let go." Narcissa glared at her husband until he, glancing at the steely set of Draco's jaw, nodded his head, acquiescing. Narcissa spun to face her son. "You. Do you marry her, or do you lose her?" She asked briskly, knowing the answer. Draco thought to fight, to say he was too young- but he knew that he would be marrying Hermione anyway, even if he had planned on waiting a few years. But what was the point of waiting? His mother's plan made sense, he should protect Hermione, and what better to use than his well-respected name?

"Marry her." He answered clearly. Lucius scoffed, but kept any remarks to himself. Narcissa smiled then, brilliantly, and went to Draco, kissing him on the cheeks.

"I fear for you, marrying a Mudblood, and one who consorts with Harry Potter and the Weasleys. But I like the girl. If you will do this, do it now, before I change my mind." She whispered in his ear, not wishing to further incite Lucius by reminding him of Hermione's "faults".

Draco nodded briskly, and left on his broom. As soon as he was in the air he had laughed, doing a few tricks, and now here he was, almost to Malfoy Manor, ready to assault Hermione, armed with his love, his parents' defeat, and an offer of his name, his life.

She stood outside the door, pushing her sudden thoughts of Draco out of her mind. She was here, at her home. Her parents were still gone, and he was inside. She could hear a loud laugh track from some sitcom; hear creaking as he moved around the kitchen and the living room. Don.

She swallowed, and put her hand on the doorknob, staring at it's smallness on the large brass knob for a second. She remembered once, when no one was home, when he was too eager, and too drunk, Don had pushed her through the door, bruising her back badly where it had hit the doorknob. How old had she been? It took her a minute… ten, yes. She cleared her head, and opened the door slowly, stepping inside. She shut it behind her with a click, trapping herself in the house that had been her cage for so many years.

She could see the stairs- how many times had she been dragged up them by her hair, or her wrist, how many times thrown down them, trying to catch herself the whole way down, but never managing it? Countless. And there was the kitchen, filthy now and cluttered with beer and wine bottles. The chair Don had once hit her with, the counter he had once raped her on. Every time they were alone, anytime her parents were working, or away. The door that led to the basement, where she had been imprisoned for those weeks. Those dizzyingly horrifying weeks.

The laugh track sounded once again, and Hermione turned her ashen face to the living room, peeking out of the porch. And there he was. Sprawled on the couch, face flickering blue in the light of the television. He had shut all the light out of the house with curtains, despite the fact that it was morning now. Every part of the house held so many memories. Every single thing in this house had been used as some kind of torture instrument against her, even the walls. Shoes, towel racks, the sink, lamps, desks, door handles- it all hurt when you were thrown at it, or had it thrown at you. For a moment, Hermione realized that it was a miracle she was alive at all.

The only reason she might not have been alive right now was sitting stupidly on the couch a few metres away, chuckling at the television. Hermione was overwhelmed by an urge to scream. Loudly, and for a very long time. She swallowed it, and strode into the room, satisfaction surging through her when Don looked up groggily, his dark brown eyes startled and wary.

She wasn't in the dining room having breakfast, she wasn't in the living room, and she wasn't reading in the library. She wasn't still asleep, cuddled in his bed. She wasn't in her bedroom, and neither were her things.

Hermione wasn't anywhere to be found.

Draco's good mood was rapidly souring. Had there been an emergency? Why hadn't she left a note? And, more importantly, WHERE WAS SHE?

At first he was worried, concerned for her safety. But soon that worry was disguised with anger. He was, after all, still Draco Malfoy. No matter he was in love, no matter he was a good person at heart… he had a lot of rage.

He sat on the edge of the bed, scenarios running through his mind. She didn't love him? After he had just fought for her? Did she run to the Weasleys? Harry? DON? Or was someone hurt, did something happen? And she couldn't be bothered to write him a note?

Draco pulled back from the wall, finally realizing he had been punching it. He could already see the bruises forming on his knuckles, and a little trickle of blood coming from one.

"DAMNIT!"

"Damnit." He muttered softly. "You came back." Hermione could tell from the way he slurred his words that he was drunk. Very drunk. The entire house was littered with empty bottles, after all. Her parents were coming home to a not-so-pleasant surprise. She hoped they had enjoyed their holiday.

She had come here with a purpose, she had been angry, determined. But now she was here, standing in front of him, looking into his confused and bleary eyes, and she couldn't think of anything to say. So she just stood there, staring, and he stared back.

After a while, he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, sitting up straight on the couch. He opened his mouth to say something, and Hermione realized that she really, really didn't want to hear anything he had to say.

"Why did you treat me like that?" She blurted out, surprising herself. She hadn't come here to ask questions, she had come here to accuse him… to hurt him. He seemed as surprised as her.

"Awww, Hermione. I missed you. Where 'ave you been?" He said, blinking. He obviously had no idea what she was talking about. Hermione swallowed.

"Why did you beat me and rape me? I was only a child! Your sister's child! How… How could you?" She had started out strongly, but her last words were only a whisper.

"You… you Satan. Bad girl. Make me do bad things." He said, struggling to make his words come out as his brain slowly began to work, trying to comprehend what she was asking. Hermione stared at him, shaking her head. He was completely wasted at half 8 in the morning. He was dressed in baggy sweatpants and a stained, disgusting white t-shirt. His hair was greasy and he had dark circles under his eyes. The house smelled of alcohol and sweat. It was pathetic. HE was pathetic. But still, still. Still, he held some strange power over her. Still, she was afraid. She knew he could grab her now, hurt her, drunk or not. But he didn't seem to be in an aggressive mood, he was still staring up at her, a curious expression on his face. She remembered that face, red and leering over her so many times, smiling as she cried out uselessly for help.

"I was only a child. You took away everything from me. Everything." She said haltingly, looking once again the wounded child. She turned and ran up the stairs to her bedroom, which was mercifully untouched, and was about to shut the door when she heard him.

Soft crying and broken muttering from downstairs.

He had questioned every bloody house elf in the Manor, and he had finally gotten an answer. He knew where she was. She had called a taxi outside the Manor gates- a taxi. One of the house elves had been pruning a hedge nearby and heard her say an address.

So she had gone home.

And now what was he to do? He still had his pride, he was, after all, still Draco Malfoy. But he was in love, and he was a good person at heart. Soon his anger was overwhelmed by his concern for her safety.

Even if she had rejected him, even if she never wanted to see him again, no matter what she said, he wouldn't let that bastard uncle of hers kill her. He just had to go, and make sure she was safe.

And maybe, if he was bloody lucky, win her back.

TBC

AN: I found some pictures that will help you picture Hermione's outfit.

Since is screwy and irritating, I will put them in my profile.

Don't forget to review:D