Terrifié

Chapter Twenty-Three Destroy

Last Time:

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

He stood at the end of a walkway, staring up at the small suburban house he had seen once before. His pale eyes were cold, even in the light of the full moon. It had just struck midnight. Slowly, Draco cleared his head of the images of that one time. It seemed so long ago, yet it was ghastly clear in his mind. He ran a heavy hand over his face, straightened his sleeves, and putting his hands in his pockets, walked up to the door.

He opened it, and stepped quietly in, looking around before shutting it behind him. He cracked his knuckles (a nervous habit… his only nervous habit), before looking into the house. He raised an eyebrow at the disgusting mess, and then his eyes finally found the lightly snoring figure that he assumed was Don, sprawled on the couch in front of a… tevelision? His jaw immediately clenched at his first glimpse of the man who had… terrorized Hermione for most of her life.

He wanted to pulverize the excuse for a human being… he wanted to…

Help Hermione.

"Inner calm, Draco. Priorities. Find Hermione now, beat Don up later." He was muttering to himself, but he had to calm down. Taking a deep breath, Draco walked into the kitchen, not bothering to creep as Don was obviously very drunk. He walked straight to the basement door, took a deep breath, and opened it, going down into the basement quickly. With a flick of the lights, he finally began to breathe again. She wasn't here.

He jogged up the stairs, shutting the dreaded door once more. A quick scan of the lower level, and then he was going upstairs. He opened the first door nearest to the stairs, and found an empty bathroom. The next, a large, neatly made bedroom- her parents. The next, Don's room, a reeking mess. And this door must be hers. Especially since it had HERMIONE painted on a wooden apple hanging from it. Right… he wasn't thinking clearly.

Draco faced the door, and opened it quietly, not knowing what to expect. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her, sleeping peacefully, his moonlight goddess once again. Her even breathing and unmarred face gave him hope she was unharmed, but her eyes were red, he noted as he crept closer. He knelt by the bed, looking at her beautiful face with concern. She had cried herself to sleep. If that bastard-

"Hi." Her eyes were open, those dark brown eyes he loved, and a confused smile on her lips. "What are you doing here?" She asked softly. He suddenly recovered from the shock of seeing her and was hit with an overwhelming relief. He made a small strangled noise in the back of his throat and grabbed her, pulling her to him so tightly she was nearly crushed as he scrambled to sit on the bed. She laughed nervously, and then whispered "Oww." He pulled back, gazing at her face.

"Thank God you're safe. I was so worried, I thought… you left without leaving a note or… why did you leave?" Draco's brow furrowed. Wait a second, he was angry.

Hermione took a deep breath. All of a sudden she remembered exactly why she had fled the Manor, came home and locked herself in her room for an entire day without food or water, and cried herself to sleep.

She didn't want Draco to toy with her, to hurt her. Even if right now all she wanted to do was hold him and have him take her away and protect her. She swallowed.

"I… I can't be with you anymore Draco." She said shakily, looking at her hands folded in her lap. Draco blinked, and stood abruptly from the bed.

"What?" He looked at her, and she finally lifted her eyes.

"I… I can't be with you." She said, knowing he wanted an explanation but not wanting to explain.

"Why the hell not! Do you know what I've just done? Convinced MY PARENTS, the most tyrannical, prejudiced snobs in the history of purebloods, to let me be with you! And it wasn't BLOODY EASY! But I did it, yes, I did it because I-"

"Who the fuck are you?"

There was a moment of dead silence. Draco closed his eyes, clenched his jaw and swallowed, his eyes still on Hermione. She bit her lip nervously. And there was another lurching step, through her doorway.

"I said, who the fuck are you?" Draco spun on heel, glaring at the filthy dark-haired man in front of him.

"Draco Malfoy. And you must be Don." He said tightly, introducing himself with his hands folded behind his back, an insult Don was probably too- ill mannered- to recognize.

"Get the fuck out of my house then, and away from my niece. Bloody fuckin' creep. How'd you even get in!" Don wiped his eyes agitatedly, obviously having been woken by Draco's yelling.

"Your niece knows me, and I came to see her. So if you don't mind…" Draco raised an eyebrow, hoping this would end sans confrontation, for Hermione's sake.

"No, I do mind! I don't like people talkin' to her! Especially not the likes of you, I don't like your looks. Now get out or I'll make you." Don spoke roughly, lowering his head in a bull-like manner. Draco's eyebrows shot up a little further before he turned to Hermione.

"Hermione, come with me." He said, holding out a hand. She looked at it and shook her head. He laughed tightly. "I insist."

"No. I'm staying here till school starts." Hermione said softly, still refusing to look at him. Draco was still trying to figure out how to make her leave without throwing her over his shoulder or starting a fight with Don when he was shoved roughly from behind. He stumbled a few feet, and then turned to face Don.

"Need something?" He asked, cracking his knuckles.

"I need you to leave." Don pushed him again twice as he spoke, and Draco's eyes hardened.

"I'm not ready. Please refrain from touching me." He said through his teeth.

"Wha', like this?" Don sneered, pushing Draco's shoulder once more. Except for this time Draco's hand shot up and grabbed his wrist, yanking it and then placing his other hand on Don's neck threateningly. He didn't have time to speak before Don's other hand flew up and delivered him a glancing blow to the cheek. He swore and drove his fist into Don's stomach, letting go of the man as he stumbled back. Vaguely, he thought Hermione was saying something…

but the world was red.

She yelled at them. Cursed at them. But for some reason, neither Don nor Draco could hear Hermione. Draco was pummelling Don's stomach as her drunken Uncle laughed hysterically between howls of pain. She had to do something. She finally made her legs work, and stood from the bed, grabbing Draco's shoulders with all her strength. His motions stopped immediately at her touch, and he turned to look at her. There eyes met for a moment with a shock of electricity, an exchange of hope, longing and denial that exploded in the one second glance, before Draco grimaced in pain and flew to the ground, Don standing triumphantly over him, his strong fist in the air. Hermione crouched next to Draco, who was lying with his eyes closed, a hand to his face as he groaned softly. She would've spoken, but Don grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her to the bed, saying roughly,

"Stay where you belong." She could only watch as he returned to Draco, who was know kneeling on all fours, having opened his eyes at Don's words to Hermione. Before he could rise to his feet, Don had kicked him in the ribs and sent him thudding back to the ground. This time he didn't hesitate before jumping to his feet with surprising agility, popping into Don's bleary vision briefly before he delivered a punch to the man's face and then slammed his elbow into his side.

"Stop, stop!" Hermione cried, but it was an exercise in futility as Draco steeled his mind against her, remember the consequences of her last distraction. His anger was blazing now, and he raged against everything- his cold upbringing, his ignorance, his helplessness, his loneliness, all the injustice, and most of all, Hermione's pain, as he continued violently punching Don. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, his vision beginning to return as he took in the dark room, the magic sparks flying off him in his rage, Hermione's frightened figure as she kneeled on the bed, crying. Before he could complete his surveyal of the room he felt something hit his knee, and cried out in pain as he sunk to the ground, coming face to face with Don again, who was glaring at him maniacally as he wielded the steel picture frame he had used to hit Draco with. He flung it toward his opponent, and Draco barely had time to throw his arms up before the picture hit, shattering and leaving bits of glass embedded in his forearm before it fell to the ground.

Don was standing now, and again, kicking Draco in any place that looked like it might hurt. Draco quickly manoeuvred himself behind the bed and then sprung to his feet again, and with one final spurt of anger, flew at Don, knocking the man into the wall and holding him up against it with his hands around his neck. Don still laughed, weakly, though his blood-shot eyes bulged, his body screaming for oxygen. He didn't even bother to fight Draco, the golden-haired boy whose hands were like vices now. Slowly, his brain was shutting down, lights switching off one by one.

Every muscle in Draco's body was tense, expecting Don's blow any second, his retaliation. Instead he felt nails raking down his back, small hands around his own neck, pulling at his arms. Slowly, slowly, he backs away. Hermione.

She is sobbing, pointing at him accusingly, and his blood pounds so loudly in his ears that he cannot hear her words. He sits on the bed, watching dully as she crouches over Don's fallen body. She turns away finally, faces him, sitting on the ground and crying. He wants to go to her, but every iota of energy he had has left him now, as his heartbeat slows, and the dark spots finally leave his vision, and he can hear now, his own harsh breathing, Hermione's soft whimpering. He can feel now too- all the pain in his body from Don's beating, the pain in his hands from his reprisal. His muscles are aching. He can feel Hermione's fear, her confusion as if it were her own. Finally she comes to him, toppling him on the bed as she clings to him, and he holds her as they lie together.

"You could've killed him. You could've killed him. Oh Draco, you almost killed him." She whispers, her words like chirping birds at dawn, awakening him slowly. He looks at her, even as she holds tighter and tighter to his body, he can feel her withdrawing, the reproach in her eyes. With one final squeeze, she gets up, looking down at him, bruised and weary on her bed, before turning away. She is scurrying about her room, grabbing clothes and books. And she is crying again, not looking at him or her Uncle, who still lies unconscious on the floor.

Now the world is in full swing again, and Draco is alert.

"What are you doing?" Hermione looks up, startled by his sudden words.

"Leaving." She says, drawing a sob-like laugh from him.

"Where will you go? Come home with me Hermione. I love you." He rubs his forehead, tired. She sighs.

"You go home, Draco. I'm going somewhere else. Away. Away from you, away from Don." And with an eerily cheerful pop, she Disapparates.

Draco is alone in an unfamiliar place. He looks at Don, lying next to the metal picture frame. Mechanically he picks it up, brushes some shards of glass from it. The picture inside, still intact, is one of Hermione as a young girl. Smiling, in a field of flowers, still innocent, still happy, despite the few remaining shards of glass covering the photo.

She is much older now. Her eyes don't shine most of the time- only when they are alone. She doesn't smile often. Her body has been used, filled up with the anger and violence of men around her, and now honed into a weapon for their disputes. Even her image, smiling and young, is used to destroy.

As she is slowly destroyed herself.

The Burrow is lit up when she arrives at the door, and laughter comes out of an open window. She doesn't knock, doesn't need to. And for now, she won't need to explain her sudden arrival, her trampled appearance. Arms come around her, Ginny's arms, Molly's arms, even Esmé's arms, and there is something about her, something that tells them that their own kind has harmed her, that causes Ron and Harry to hang back, remorse in their eyes. A cursed kind of understanding. What they have seen out of the corner of their eyes for so long now looks them squarely in the face.

Draco paces. Like his muscles screaming at him to run, to fly, his mind is screaming at him too. Leave the Manor. Escape. His being is tearing down the middle. Look for her, find her. No, no, stay here. She needs time.

Like a caged animal, every breath is borrowed from the air, he is a guest in this world, a guest and a prisoner until he can be with her, tell her, explain. He has created this cage with his anger, his years of pride and his stupid ways of hurting others, hurting her, and not allowing himself to understand the consequences. Not allowing himself to realize the small ways in which he is subtly becoming his father, and that even as he rails against that man, he rails against himself.

Finally, Ron and Harry appear at her bedside. She wasn't sleeping anyway. What will she do when she must go back to school? Face him?

Harry stands at the door awkwardly, as Ron sits on her bed, the lamp switched on. She smiles at him, helplessly, as she watches him cry.

Why does he cry?

"No, no. Nothing is your fault, Ron. I love you, I love Harry! Neither of you would either hurt me, you protect me." She smiles again, confused. "What could you have done? I just make men do this to me, it isn't you. It's evil, evil within me."

Now Harry's face is tear-streaked too. Hermione doesn't remember seeing either of them cry before, only after Sirius…

Why do they cry?

It makes her feel guilty. Now what has she done? Now her whole story is known, now they know what she is, what she has lived with all these years. During the day, Ginny's sympathy is like a warm blanket, Esmé's confused pity like a weight. Ginny knows her. Esmé doesn't know her, doesn't understand what it is not to fight. To love too much for your own good.

"Listen guys, this isn't your fault, it's mine! I just need some time. To make myself better, so I won't do it again." Ron laughs hollowly, and finally speaks.

"Hermione, you aren't evil. Voldemort is evil. Pettigrew is evil. You're a victim! You have no control over what's happened. How can an eight-year-old child know? Understand?" He won't look at her, wills her not to see the tears rising again. Why should she carry the burden of his remorse as well? Ron has been raised with honor. Ron understands what is right, what is justice. Wars teach those lessons. Fathers who have battled. Mothers who have been captured by the enemy. Times in the past that are silent, gaps in family stories, missing faces from photo albums. These things have taught him who he can blame.

Hermione's throat tightens. His words raise a little thrill in her. A little part that wants to believe.

AN: I know I've said there are going to be 25 chapters and an epilogue in this story, but it seems I will have to draw it out a little longer- my regrets! There is simply too much packed into each chapter, so I am going to split them up from here on. I have to end them where they ask to be ended. Hope to update again soon.