Terrifié

Chapter Twenty-Four Complications

Last Time:

"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 thickens. His words raise a little thrill in her. A little part that wants to believe.

TBC

The Welcome Back feast was dragging on. Harry, Ron and Ginny continually glanced at Hermione, who smiled at them wanly, in a semblance of reassurance.

I'm fine.

Draco wasn't there. Every time she thought of him her heart clenched unbearably, but his absence kept him on her mind perhaps more than his presence would have. Was he with his parents? At the Manor? Wandering around Muggle London? Was he looking for her?

Would he look for her? Or just accept her rejection? She wanted him so badly that a constant battle was waged within her.

She loved him. At least she knew that. But did he love her? Really love her? Or was it all just another of his power games? She didn't want to begin another relationship that could go down the same path as her relationship with Don. She could still feel Draco's hands on her neck, that night he had called her a whore. Testing her, hurting her. She could still feel the shock as her fingers had first fallen upon the golden chain. Property of Draco Evan Malfoy. He was capable of hurting her purposefully. He had done it before. What was to stop him from doing it again? He had released her from his ownership, that night when he had ripped the medallion off, flung it away. Hermione's face flushed as she felt it's weight pressing against her chest even now- she had put it on again, though it was now powerless, as soon as she had got to the Burrow. But had he merely begun some other kind of ownership that night? Another form of control over her?

What is love but a binding tie between two people? A new reason to feel guilt, a new reason to hurt. A new reason to let herself be abused, over and over again. A vicious cycle. Hadn't Don loved her?

She had loved Don, but it couldn't hold a candle to the way she loved Draco. She loved him because he was him, not out of some misguided sense of obligation, idolatry, or blood.

She loved his sense of truth, the way he smiled, even the way he smirked. She even loved his cruelty, bred into him the same way it had been bred into herself, through years of abuse. The difference lay in how they each channelled their cruelty- he scorned those around him, hurt people in an effort to understand his childhood. Whereas she- she turned that cruelty upon herself. On the inside, they were very similar- wounded, confused children. Except Draco had taken leaps and bounds in the past year. He was coming to terms with his past, growing up, coming into his own. He wasn't a little boy anymore.

But Hermione, despite everything she had suffered, still felt very much like a little girl. A little girl who didn't need any more pain in her life. A little girl who didn't need Draco Malfoy- hopefully.

Draco was late to the Welcoming Feast. Part of the reason was that his house elves had been slow, and Crabbe had been asking questions again, and the latch on his trunk had broken, and he spilled ink down his robe, and Blaise wanted help with a project and… you get the idea.

But the other reason was that he was really dreading seeing Hermione. Esmé had filled him in on her whereabouts as soon as she had arrived at the Burrow, saving him countless hours of worry and pointless searching. He had decided to let her have some time to herself, if that was what she wanted- but he didn't plan on letting her have much more.

He finally buttoned the last button on his fresh robe, gave his collar a rough jerk, and stormed off towards the Great Hall.

Hermione looked up when she heard the quiet creak of the door, almost indistinguishable amongst the noise of the boisterous Hogwarts students. Unless you were listening.

Her eyes found Draco, and then she hurriedly assumed a position of studied ease, grabbing a bread roll and finally listening to the story Harry had been telling for the past few minutes. She moved closer to Ron out of habit, leaning against him as she listened to the story. He glanced down at her, sensing her discomfort, her need for his protection. But as his eyes fell on the blond Slytherin making his way towards the Gryffindor table, he decided that he'd let this one play out on it's own.

Harry finished his story, and Hermione and he spotted Draco at the same time. A pocket of silence fell among the three friends, while the noise of their peers continued on. Draco finally reached the table, and came around, until he was standing directly behind them. The trio turned to face him, Harry and Ron mumbling hellos, to which he politely nodded, his eyes not leaving Hermione. She looked him over quickly despite herself, searching for any sign that Don had injured him seriously.

"I need to talk to you, Hermione." Draco said simply, aware that the Gryffindor table had gone eerily quiet, though the students kept their eyes on their plates. Hermione didn't know what to say, especially not in front of all of these students.

She followed his black robes out of the hall with a whispered "I'll be right back" to her friends, her eyes downcast.

"Let's go somewhere private." Draco suggested, glancing at the stray students that trickled in and out of the hall. He had already taken a few steps before he turned back and saw Hermione standing quite still, staring at him.

"I don't want to talk to you. It's over between us." Hermione said, stating the words precisely, unfamiliarly, like she read from a textbook. Draco took her hand and led her a few steps until they stood out of sight of the Hall entrance.

"You can't just do this without even talking to me first. You can't, Hermione." He said, his brow furrowed.

"I don't have to explain anything to you." She said, her voice suddenly deepening with emotion as she turned away. Draco grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop.

"Don't act like a fool! This isn't some stupid little thing like everything else. This is real, Hermione, you have to deal with it. Deal with me."

"Let go!" Hermione avoided his words, tugging her arm. His grip tightened.

"Listen to me! You aren't listening! Damnit! I'm so confused, I don't even know what's going on." He was shaking her now, and Hermione felt a familiar icy shudder.

"Draco, stop! You're frightening me!" She still struggled to get free, but as soon as she spoke his grip loosened. For some reason she didn't pull away. He stared at her, his eyes unclouding, and shook his head as if to wake from a sleep, and then he let his hand fall away from her arm.

"Sorry. I'm sorry Hermione. I don't know what's wrong with me." Draco's voice was soft now, quiet. He crossed to the wall and leant against it, staring past her. She went and stood next to him, and they both looked straight ahead. "I love you, you know." He said finally. Hermione swallowed.

"No." She said, shaking her head.

"Yes, yes. I'm in love with you." He brightened. That was the first time he had said it, it had dawned upon him like the morning sun. He began to pace back and forth, a slight smile on his face. "I love you, I love you." Testing out the words. Before she could stop them, tears began to pour down Hermione's face. She had been unusually tired lately and she felt as though a huge weight was constantly upon her shoulders. "I love you." Draco had finally stopped pacing and stood in front of her, grinning now. Hermione wanted to smile and throw herself into his arms, but his words had given her confidence. If he loved her, he could let her go. "Why are you crying?"

"This doesn't change things. We still can't be together." She said, closing her eyes and praying that her knowledge of him would pay off. And, as she thought, he didn't say anything. When she opened her eyes, she wouldn't find denial or argument. Only pain. So she didn't look at him. Hermione walked down the hall, and heard him swear delicately. She smiled and whispered,

"I love you too."

The morning light filtered in to the girl's dormitory and revealed a mischievous redhead outfitted in her school uniform. Ginny laughed and threw an overstuffed cushion at Hermione, making a comical face as Hermione was hit squarely in the chest and flopped backward onto her bed. Weeks had passed since Hermione had last spoken to Draco, and despite his sulking at her from a distance; she was trying to regain some normalcy to her life. Her friends made it a lot easier. She sat up, clutching her chest carefully and grimacing.

"Ow, Ginny! That really hurt!" She said. Her chest was still aching.

"Oh shut up Hermione, you delicate flower you!" Ginny said, pelting her in the leg with another pillow. Hermione laughed, and ignoring the ache, hit Ginny back with another pillow. Then she heard a male voice calling her name from the bottom of the dormitory stairs.

"Looks like we're wanted, Ginny." She said, smiling, and went downstairs to find Ron and Harry waiting to escort them down to breakfast.

The four Gryffindors ate breakfast cheerily, talking amongst themselves about the midterms that were coming up. The owls swooped in with the morning post at some point, and Hermione pocketed a small letter on the same stationary Don used to owl her, but which was actually her mother's, for later reading. From the writing on the front however, she guessed it was from her mother. Before long the first bell had rung and she, Harry and Ron went off to their transfiguration class earlier than usual. In the middle of a conversation, Hermione was startled to find the edges of her vision blurring, and shook her head quickly. This only succeeded in making her dizzy. Suddenly she was nauseous. She felt a hot burning in her whole head and excused herself to the nearest bathroom, feeling like a bit of cool water on her forehead.

She soon felt better and thought to get to class, but she was still unsteady on her feet. Since she had sent the boys ahead, she allowed herself to lean against the sinks for a moment, and read her letter.

Dear Hermione,

As a part of this family, you have a right to know all that goes on within it. Of course, that doesn't make it any easier to tell you what's happened since you left. When we arrived home from our holiday, the house was in a state. We don't blame you- Don told us you had stayed with a friend, and no wonder! He himself was a drunken wreck, muttering on about nonsense and swearing. Of course we know he always has had a fondness for drink and women, but he is my little brother… I suppose I have let him get away with far too much for far too long, haven't I? Don't worry about the house, we've been cleaning it up, it's slow since we have to work, and we wish you were home with your handy magic, but we're making do. Because of this final humiliation, we have at last had to kick Don out of the house. I know you love him and so do we, but I thought it would be for his own good- he's a grown man now. Please don't be angry with me.

The worst news will come as a blow to you. I wish I could be with you to ease the pain, and the feeling of betrayal, but wreck our house is not all Don has done. I love him- he is my brother, still- but I understand the shame and sadness which you will soon feel.

A few days ago, Don called us from prison. He wanted us to post bail. We would have, but once we consulted our lawyer about it, and… found what had happened… we've decided not to. You see, Hermione, Don has been accused… of raping a ten-year-old girl in our neighbourhood. From what we understand, the trial is merely a formality- the evidence is overwhelming. We think this might not be an isolated incident.

This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write, as you can see from my tearstains. I am so sorry, my love. None of us could've seen it coming. If you want to come home, or not, we will understand. Just write back to let us know you're okay.

Much love and deep regret,

Mum

Hermione had barely been able to read the last part of the letter as the blackness once again crept into the edges of her vision. Her throat was burning, and everything spun as saliva flooded into her mouth. She fell, crawled to a stall and threw up into the toilet bowl. She sobbed desperately in between her retching, her face soaked in perspiration and tears. Finally she stopped, pressing her face to the cool bathroom wall, and slowly she faded from consciousness.

If you stare at something for long enough, it begins to blur in and out of vision, to take different forms, to contort and distort.

The ceiling of the girl's washroom spun one last time in Hermione's vision before she closed her eyes and sat up, shaking her head wearily. She had been in here for half an hour… after her brief loss of consciousness she had simply stared at the ceiling and thought about what had happened.

She couldn't believe it. She knew he was a womanizer- but a child?

She had been a child once- she was only 17 now. Still young.

Hermione tried to imagine a ten-year-old girl. She thought of a smiling face. Green eyes, and blonde hair. A gap between the two front teeth. Running and laughing with her friends, gossiping, having a crush on a boy. Listening to pop music. Asking mom for advice.

Hermione thought of a man. Older, dark. Leering, terrifying and disgusting. Revolting, in fact. Touching you, hurting you.

Hermione thought about helplessness. Of there being no escape. Of being trapped. Of being ashamed. Of being violated. Of being sick and of being frightened.

She gathered her belongings and with one last look at her dismal reflection, left the bathroom. She intended to go to class, but she somehow found herself in the Gryffindor tower. She wasn't ready to face anyone yet. She flung her bag onto her bed and stripped out of her school uniform until she was wearing only a camisole and underwear. Still dazed, she wandered into the washroom. Images of little girls she knew kept flashing through her mind, and she threw up once again. She washed her face, and rinsed her mouth.

Her mirror was saying something. Hermione blinked.

"What?"

"I said, you've been sick every morning this week, and you're looking bloated. You aren't pregnant are you?" The mirror looked at her with concern.

Hermione couldn't breathe. Without responding, she walked back into her room and put on her dressing robe. She took out her little day planner and looked at the calendar.

No.

Hermione furrowed her brow and took out "100 Common Medical Spells."

She sat on her bed, and reading from page 221, waved her wand above her head in a simple pattern. She waited. A blue glow surrounded her. Hermione waved her wand, but the glow did not fade. She looked in the book. Oh, it would fade by itself in a few moments.

A tear leaked down over Hermione's cheek.

All of a sudden, she screamed, waving her arms about madly as she tried to get rid of the blue glow. A creaking from below quieted her, but no one came up the stairs. She put away the book and her wand and crawled into bed, falling asleep immediately.

It was ten minutes before class let out for the day, before Ron and Harry would stomp up to the dorm to find her and interrogate her. Hermione ran. When she burst through the library doors, she could hardly breathe. She needed some time before they could discover her. Madam Pince was safely distracted by a huge stack of books she was cataloguing at the front desk, so Hermione made her way through the complex and strangely organized shelves until she got to a particularly dusty one marked, "Fertility, Pregnancy and Birth." She grabbed the first book she saw off of the shelf.

After performing a number of charms, Hermione was sure there could be no mistake. She was pregnant. 6-8 weeks pregnant. Her mind felt exhausted and completely blank. She knew she would have to go to Madam Pomfrey to confirm it, but there was no way 11 different pregnancy charms could be wrong. She stiffly left the library.

Now there really was no way she could face Harry or Ron. She headed up to the Astronomy Tower and sat in a window, staring out at the blue sky. It was a crisp late winter day; the sparkle of the blanket of snow was pristine since the students rarely ventured out in the cold. The air was refreshing and made her lungs ache a little. There was a faint giggling from somewhere nearby in the castle, and all of a sudden Hermione understood.

She was PREGNANT. With a child. With a child… that could be either Don's, or Draco's. She was 17, and she was going to have a baby. In late September, near her own birthday. Her parents would be devastated… and the father? Who was the father?

Should she even have this child? Could she be a mother? Could she give it up for adoption? Could she abort? Could she throw herself off of this tower, right now? Everything inside of Hermione screamed at the idea. She couldn't kill this baby. It had a soul, and it was inside of her. It was her baby. How could she give it away? To wizards? What if Death Eaters adopted it? To Muggles? And have it grow up without magic? She wanted to know the baby, and teach it about the world, and love it. She didn't want strangers to raise it. But she wasn't ready for a child! She wanted to have a career, she wanted to travel, get married, she wanted to do so many things. And could she have a child alone? Was it fair to have Baby when she couldn't give it the same things someone else could? No house, no daddy, no fancy toys, no nice car to drive to school.

Hermione wondered if it would be a boy or a girl Baby. She thought about holding it. She thought about little Baby fingers. She thought about rosy Baby cheeks. She thought about not getting any sleep, and dirty nappies.

She had always had a strong set of convictions and morals, even as a child. There was only once choice. She would have the Baby, and raise it herself, even if she had to work as a waitress- or something equally and dreadfully stereotypical- for the rest of her life to do it.

Hermione climbed out of the windowsill, feeling strong for once. She had decided. She could do it- she was smart, resourceful. Her parents would support her. Harry and Ron would. And everyone else could be damned.

She brushed off her cloak and turned to leave, but Draco was standing in the doorway of the tower, about ten paces away from her. He quickly looked down.

"Sorry, I didn't know you'd be up here." He said in the same brusque tone he always addressed her with lately. Hermione nodded quickly. All of a sudden she felt very hot, and there were tears once again pricking her eyes.

She strode to the doorway so quickly that Draco hadn't moved when she got there, and in her hurry to rush past she brushed against him, knocking her bag to the floor. It spilled open, and by twisted misfortune, the letter lay atop her books, clearly visible. Draco stared at the rose stationary, obviously recognizing it. They both reached to pick it up at the same time, their hands colliding. Hermione quickly withdrew and Draco picked the letter up, holding it by a corner as if it were contaminated.

"I was j-just leaving," Hermione stammered. Draco continued to stare at the letter.

"Is this what I think it is?" He asked, his voice low and husky from lack of sleep, or anger, or both perhaps.

"No, it's from my parents!" Hermione took the letter deftly and pulled it out, unfolding it so he could see her mother's signature and not see the rest of the letter. He stared at it for another moment, before stooping to pick up her books and bag.

"Sorry, I just…"

"It's okay, I understand." And she did. But she had to get away before she said something she'd regret. She thankfully took her bag and looked up to thank Draco. He was looking down at her concernedly, his silky hair mussed and his brow furrowed, his pale lips twisting slightly. God, she had missed him. She met his grey eyes, clear and beautiful, and she felt a sudden pang. The compassion and humanity, mixed with steely strength and fervour- this is the man she would have liked her Baby to know. A man she'd like to have by her side.

How could she do it alone? Hermione thought of little Baby fingers, and rosy Baby cheeks. And she burst into tears. She dropped her bag and stood awkwardly for a moment, her arms dangling at her sides as she glared at the floor, sniffling. Then Draco gathered her up into his arms, and said "shh," which only served to make her cry louder. "What's wrong, Hermione?" He said, his voice tight with worry.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, so so sorry." She whimpered. "God, this can't be happening to me… oh somebody help me… I can't do it… I'm so sorry."

"What's wrong? I'll help you Hermione… you know that. Come on, calm down." He led her over to the window ledge and they sat down on it together, his arms still wrapped around her as tears poured down her red face and she hyperventilated. After a few moments he had managed to get her breathing normally. She looked up at him, and her large brown eyes glistened. He wiped her cheek with the corner of his sleeve, not breaking eye contact.

"Draco." She whispered.

"I'm here."

"Draco… I'm pregnant."

TBC