Infinitely grateful for the work of my betas and alpha's who make this story a better one so you can understand it the same way it plays out in my crazy head!
YES, i'm talking about you guys : enchanted4life, dracosalive, WiseOwl_26 and Angelina !
**TRIGGER CONTENT** : Sexual assault
"Granger?"
Hermione looked up from her parchment for a second, continuing to write her word, looked towards the living room, and looked back down at her paper.
"What?" she asked.
"Are we gonna talk about what happened in the bathroom three days ago?"
"I was injured, you healed me, end of story."
"You know what I'm talking about," Draco snarled. "Not our fucking bathroom. The bathroom on the sixth floor."
The truth was, she'd thought about it too much since it had happened, but it scared her enough that she preferred to change subjects. What could she do about it, anyway? Lawrence couldn't remember who had cursed him, and no matter what she tried to tell herself, she knew deep down he'd been Imperiused to deliver that message to her, personally. Who was behind it? She had no idea, but she found it hard to think back to the gloomy memory of that evening, when Lawrence's litany echoed through the walls. How he had flung her back with such force…
"I don't know," she admitted, still focused on her assignment. "I don't like to think about it."
"I don't want to think about it either."
"So why are you bringing it up?"
"Because it's still on my mind. I can't fucking figure out where it's coming from."
"Probably a Slytherin trying to scare me, remember?" said Hermione.
"That's probably bullshit, and you know it." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had been lying on the sofa in their small living room for half an hour, book in hand, trying to focus on the lines he was reading. But for the last ten minutes he had been reading the same sentence over and over again. His thoughts were not inside those pages.
Despite their argument the previous day about the first dance of the ball, he was surprised that Hermione didn't ignore him. She actually showed a casual attitude. Very detached. She wanted to allow him to be the bigger man about it, he knew, and that pissed him off. Had she already forgiven him for his arrogance? She was right about everything she had said, yes, he was ashamed to dance with her in front of everyone, but how was he going to make that shame go away? He wanted to hold on to what was familiar for him. Dancing hand in hand with a Mudblood was not his idea of fulfilling his duties.
"Bullshit or not," she retorted, putting down her quill and glancing at the back of the sofa where she knew Malfoy was lying, "what do you want me to do?"
"Maybe tell McGonagall about it—"
"NO!" she roared, leaping to her feet.
She crossed the room in a few strides, rounded the sofa so she could look him in the face, and stood with her finger pointed sternly at him. "No, Draco! Nobody tells her about this!"
He sat up, threw his book on a cushion and stared at her. "Why?"
"Because!"
"Why the hell not? A student in her school has been put under an Unforgivable fucking Curse!"
"Because this is not a school matter!"
"What the fuck are you saying?"
"It's a personal matter," she said, her voice suddenly much lower. "Lawrence's words were meant for me."
"You mean the mumbo jumbo of a bewitched idiot?"
"It wasn't nonsense. Not at the end. He said to me 'This winter there will be revenge. This winter there will be pain. And your time will come.' Say what you please, Malfoy, but I know what it means."
"Do you?" Draco scoffed humorlessly. "Do you really?"
"It's a warning. You were right when you said someone was trying to play a trick on me and scare me, but I don't think it was a Slytherin."
"What the fuck, you really think someone at Hogwarts, after the second Wizarding War, wants you dead?"
Hermione swallowed hard, nerves clawing at her stomach. "I don't know," she admitted, confused. "I don't know." She slipped a lock of hair between her fingers, twisting it nervously. Her mouth moved faster than her thoughts.
"It doesn't make sense," she muttered to herself. "A student has been bewitched only to give me a message, to let me know that I'm going to wake up one morning stabbed—"
Hermione paused, suddenly horrified by her words and the weight of the innuendo. When she thought of death, she no longer thought of Avada Kedavra, but rather of knives. Stabbing knives. Her brother's face flashed through her mind and she pressed her fingers to her temples to regain control.
"Granger, sit down," Draco told her. He had sensed exactly what had just happened, and what she was thinking just now. Seeing that she wasn't listening to him, or hearing him, he tugged on her wrist.
"Sit down," he repeated.
She let herself be pulled down and found herself at Draco's side, staring into the flames.
"No one's going to stab you."
"I know," she panted.
Silence fell between them, with the crackling of the flames being the only sound that held their attention. After a moment, it could have been a minute or ten, Hermione had no idea, she looked up at her partner. "Draco, please promise me you won't tell McGonagall."
Draco drew in a breath, considering her request. Did he really have any say in the matter? If the problem was truly as personal as Hermione thought, then he should try to leave it to her. But he didn't like the sound of it.
"I promise," he muttered. "Bloody hell, Granger, the things you do to me," he added with a long sigh.
"Thank you."
"But I can't promise you I won't interfere."
She looked at him, frowning, not quite sure what he meant.
"Maybe it's a dirty trick," he continued, his tone cold, "maybe it's something else. But if this is what you're saying, if someone really wanted to give you this message, then there's nothing to laugh about. And I will step in if necessary."
"What exactly are you planning to do?"
"I don't plan to do anything. I'm just telling you that if anything happens, I'll be there to step in."
Hermione hid the shadow of a smile. Yes, Draco was actually capable of being decent inside the four walls of their common room, but outside of it, it was quite different. Whatever it was now, she would take it.
"What are you going to do," she asked, "petrify my attacker?"
"It worked the first time. I'm up for a repeat performance."
"You won't be around forever, Malfoy."
"If I can, I fucking will, Granger. That's all. Only I get to bother you."
Hermione grabbed the book Draco had dropped and hit him with it. The Slytherin laughed. It was at that moment that a thought crossed his mind, sweet, scary and unsettling at the same time. One dance with her won't kill me.
"Granger!" sighed Draco, annoyed. "Not this way!"
"Will you please let me do it!" the Gryffindor replied. "Just hold the posters."
"It's fucking crooked!"
"Stop your whining, for Merlin's sake!"
"You have no aesthetic sense whatsoever!"
"Speak for yourself!"
Draco stamped his foot impatiently. He and Granger had been putting up Ball posters all over the place for the last hour, using simple spells. And, in his opinion, Granger wasn't using the right spell, because the posters were swaying back and forth, crooked, as if they didn't stick.
Hermione had wanted to put the posters up, while Draco was holding them, but he thought it should have been the other way round.
"Well done!" he sneered. "Your first poster upright!"
"Shut up."
"Hey!" he spat. "Want me to leave you alone out here?"
"If you do, I'll spit on your face in your sleep."
Draco widened his eyes. "You wouldn't fucking dare—"
"Try me! And," she sighed, "would you please stand up straighter! The posters are slipping."
Draco straightened up and shifted his weight onto his other leg. He had been motionless for several minutes already. "Let me do it, Granger, I'll show you how it's fucking done."
The brunette turned, hands on hips, her wand in her left hand "Oh, yeah? And if I'm the best student in this school, you're probably not going to!"
"I bet I'll do better than you!"
"All right! I'll let you try it once."
Draco handed her the posters and Hermione took them in her arms. The Slytherin pulled out his wand. "If I succeed, let's see..."
"Is it necessary to bet?"
"Uh, yeah, Slytherin, remember?"
"Bloody hell," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"If I succeed, you'll let me choose your dress for the Ball."
"No bloody way!" she exclaimed. "Give that back!" she added, reaching for the posters.
"Why?" Draco scoffed, pulling himself out of Hermione's arms, "you know you're going to lose?"
"No... not at all! But you're going to choose a really awful one! You will already be ashamed to dance with me, so why would you do that?"
Draco gritted his teeth, suddenly less amused. "No one will look at you the same way with the dress I will have picked for you."
"Not even you?"
Hermione wished that she had bitten back her tongue. Draco felt as if his tongue had just been sliced out. He wasn't going to pretend that he hadn't imagined Hermione in formal wear, her delicate shoulders enhanced by a high neckline... The more he thought about it, the less ashamed he felt that he had to share a single dance with her. It was not the end of the world. He was not doing it because he wanted to. Context made all the difference.
Hermione was obviously waiting for an answer, arms crossed.
"You don't know me at all," he finally said. "I have great taste. You're not going to wear something awful. And I'll pay for it."
"Yeah," she muttered with a frown, "as if."
Draco raised his wand and was about to cast a spell when Hermione interrupted him, "Hey, wait a minute! If you fail… you'll owe me a second dance. Just to rub your shame in your face. "
"Whatever," he sighed. "So, you want to bet? The stakes are high!"
She nodded. She knew she was better than any student at Hogwarts. If Hermione Granger couldn't get a spell right, Draco Malfoy wasn't going to outsmart her.
"Let's bet," she decided, a rush of confidence washing over her.
"Swear you'll stick to the bet."
"I swear."
Draco turned to the wall, levitated the poster, and shot a purple lightning bolt towards it, and Hermione thought with satisfaction that he had just torn it to pieces, but the poster immediately stuck to the wall. Draco made small movements with his wand, and the corners of the poster folded back to stick. Then the Slytherin flicked his wand sideways and the paper swung to the right to remain completely straight. Motionless, perfect, not crooked. Hermione widened her eyes. He had bested her. Damn it! She mentally slapped herself. She knew the spell Draco had used, but she had completely forgotten about it.
Draco triumphantly turned around, a smirk on his face "Happy, Granger?"
"Oh, bloody hell, bloody hell!" Hermione moaned. "No, no, no...!"
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"Oh, shut up! Fine, you won!"
"Aren't you going to thank me?"
"What for? For the awful thing you're going to buy me that I'll have to parade around the school in for hours? Never."
"Come on!"
"Draco, I know you. You're gonna screw me over."
"We'll see," he said.
Hermione shook her head, defeated. Why the hell had she decided to bet? Then she muttered to herself, "I'm never gonna feel lovely again in this stupid body..."
Draco overheard her, but stayed silent. He smiled to himself inwardly, already coming up with all kinds of dess styles that he could think of. At last, he said, "You'll just have to tell me your size."
"What the hell? Because I won't be going with you?"
"Of course not!"
"I hate you, Malfoy."
"I do too, Granger," he smirked.
A few days later, Hermione and Ginny had gone to Hogsmeade on a Saturday with other students to select, as all the girls said, 'the perfect dress'. This did not make Hermione happy, as she kept thinking about what Draco would choose for her, if he decided to keep his part of the deal and buy her a plain normal dress.
She sat brooding in an armchair in a shop, watching Ginny walk in and out of the fitting room with all sorts of dresses as different and unique as snowflakes. Her friend soon noticed the brunette's foul mood.
"Okay, Hermione, that's enough," Ginny said, putting her hands on her hips. "Stop pouting, you're depressing me!"
"Gin', I'm sorry, but—"
"You got yourself into this! You're the one who decided to bet," she added with a mischievous wink. "He got the best of you again and he did so because he knows you have pride."
Hermione grumbled quietly and crossed her arms, turning her head away to look outside. It was getting darker, the evening sky streaked with small purple and pink clouds.
"In fact," Ginny said, pivoting to look at her back in the mirror, "you don't even know if Malfoy will pick out a nice dress for you!"
The dress she was wearing was grey, strapless, with a long tulle just below the bustier. Hermione thought it was pretty but Ginny wasn't convinced. She looked like a 'bride who smokes', she had said. Her exact words.
"Precisely..." Hermione muttered.
"No, I mean, you think he'll pick you a hideous one just to make a fool of you, but maybe you're wrong. Besides..." Ginny paused and looked up at her friend with a wry smile. "Nothing stops you from buying a dress anyway, just in case he's played a dirty trick on you. As far as I'm aware, you bet him that he could choose your ball dress, not that you had to wear it to the ball."
"That's a bit of a stretch," laughed Hermione. "'Choosing my dress' and 'Wearing the dress he chose for me' are the same thing!"
Yet she considered the option for a moment before convincing herself that Ginny had had a stroke of genius. Okay, she'd made a bet with Draco, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing, stopping her from buying a dress anyway. He never had to know, if the dress he bought her was suitable. If he had chosen an excessively silly outfit for her, she would never force herself to agree to it, bet or no bet. She certainly wouldn't let Malfoy decide how she was going to feel at her own meticulously planned ball.
Hermione stood up, a shadow of a smile on her lips, and began to flip through the wardrobes full of dresses.
God knows how two hours later, Hermione found herself a little tipsy at the Three Broomsticks with Ginny. Darkness had fallen, the atmosphere was pleasant. Lanterns hung and swayed wirelessly from the ceiling, lit by small yellow, blue, and orange magic fires. The music was sometimes lively, sometimes quiet. Couples were dancing happily around the counter and tables, and conversations were lively.
Hermione had never drunk too much in her life, but tonight, to celebrate finding her dress, she and Ginny had treated themselves to some Firewhisky – for her – and Butterbeer – for Ginny. On her first drink, her mind had clouded over and she had relaxed. On her second, she felt herself floating happily. God, it felt so good, all that warmth lightening her head.
After a while, they had decided to dance among the small crowd celebrating who knows what. Everyone was happy, just happy. The War was over, Voldemort was defeated, and the Death Eaters were on the run. Parties like this had been regular and lively ever since, with excited wizards gathering to celebrate a new world.
Hermione had been dancing for Merlin-knows-how-long. She was hot and kept bursting out laughing at Ginny's shameless movements. They had protected their purchases with a notice-me-not spell and had peace of mind. If Harry and Ron had been there, Hermione would have felt truly complete, happy and almost like her old self. As if nothing had happened. But the boys preferred to play Wizard's Chess in the castle.
"I need to get some fresh air for a minute!" Hermione said to Ginny between laughs. "I'm suffocating!"
"I'll wait for you right here! I'm warning you, if you come back sober, I'm going to get you drunk again!"
Hermione laughed and slipped between the dancing bodies towards the back door. As soon as she was outside, the cool night air rushed into her lungs and she took a deep breath. From here she could hear the muffled noise of the party going on inside, but the quiet did her good. Thankful for the darkness, she looked up at the sky and gazed at the twinkling stars, visible because there were no urban areas nearby. She leaned against the wall, thinking of nothing but the constellations.
A few minutes passed in absolute stillness, apart from the muffled exclamations coming from the pub, before the same door she had come from slowly opened. A man Hermione had never seen before in her life, probably a local, had had the same idea as her to come out and cool down. He appeared to be several years older than her.
Hermione politely greeted him with a nod, and he responded in kind. He soon began to do as she did, gazing up at the sky to watch the stars. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed in the cold softness of the wind.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said without looking down from the sky.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes, it is."
The man lowered his head to stare at her, which did not go unnoticed by the witch. Did this man know her? In any case, Hermione made the decision to go back into the pub to join Ginny. Now that this man had appeared, she would rather have company. Casually, Hermione walked towards the door.
The man stepped aside so that he was standing in front of the door, as if to deny her access. Immediately Hermione felt nervousness grip her and a cold sweat, perhaps from the night or from her stress, covered her body.
"Not so fast, love," he said.
Hermione tried to memorize his face. He had a small beard, and had black or brown hair, square features, and dark eyes. It was impossible to tell perfectly with the dimness.
"Pardon me, Sir, I'd like to go inside," Hermione squeaked, trying to control the tremors in her voice.
She made a slight movement to reach for her wand in the back pocket of her jeans, but found nothing there. Where was her wand? Had she left it with her things in the pub? Hermione cursed herself for her stupidity. She should have never gone drinking.
The man took a step towards her, his smile widening, his eyes round, as if in major excitement. She felt a cikd fear rise in her throat but stopped it from coming out like a cry. The stranger moved forward again until she had to back up against the building opposite to the pub. She was trapped.
"What do you want?" she asked, trying to sound confident. "If you want money, my handbag is inside. I'll get it without telling anyone, I swear."
The man put his arms on either side of Hermione's head and pressed his body against hers, letting out a groan of pleasure. The girl let out a panicked gasp. Her brother had taught her some tricks to defend herself, of course, but she forgot them all in that moment of shock. The man's crotch hardened against her. He reeked of alcohol. He tilted his face towards her and slowly slid the bridge of his nose against her jaw, as if he were smelling her collarbone.
"Please," Hermione begged, her throat tight with fear.
Quickly, he placed one hand over her mouth, looking madly at her, and worked to untie the buckle of his trousers with his other hand. His movements were frantic, but precise. Hermione, guessing what was about to happen, tried everything to push the man's hands away from her, but he was far too strong. Moreover, he was pushing her against the wall, which prevented the poor brunette from evading him. Terrified, she felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She could not scream.
The man pulled his cock out of his pants and rubbed it against her thighs. Hermione began to cry and attempted to get out of his grip. She placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed as hard as she could, but he didn't even flinch. She tried to kick her knee in his stomach, but he pressed himself even closer – if that was possible. Immediately after, the man's hand over her mouth closed over her jaw and he squeezed hard, digging his fingers deep into her skin. She froze and stood completely still, whimpering and terrified. She wished that anybody, anyone, would come now.
"My sweet, oh my sweet," sighed the man, ecstatic. "You know what you've done."
He rubbed himself more and more wildly against her, and buried his head in her chest, never letting go of his firm grip on her jaw. His palm covered her mouth completely, but Hermione screamed anyway, now seized with a paralysing terror and unspeakable disgust. The man ran his tongue over her collarbone before moving lower and lower.
"You know what you've done," he whispered again between lips and skin.
The man's pelvic thrusts quickened and a hoarse moan escaped his throat, almost at the height of his climax. Releasing the hand that held his erection, he used it to caress Hermione's breasts with monstrous vigour, his tongue still sliding over her skin. His intense movements caused a blissful rubbing on his engorged sex. The Gryffindor tried again to pull away, her body trembling.
"Your time will come," the man growled before ejaculating on her.
The door to the pub opened, and for a few seconds the volume of the party flooded outside the pub, along with a large beam of light. The door closed and Ginny stumbled upon the horrific scene unfolding before her and grabbed her wand in one swift motion.
"Stupefy!"
The man's body slumped limply against Hermione and she pushed him away. Now free, she burst into tears and fell to her knees and palms. Ginny rushed to her, electrified, and wrapped her arms around her, trying to calm her down with soft words. Without saying a word, Ginny handed her a napkin which Hermione used to clean her sticky jeans.
"Hermione," Ginny whispered close to tears, "Hermione, what happened?"
"He touched me," Hermione cried, unable to calm the pounding of her heart. "He mas… he masturbated, he masturbated on me."
"Oh, my god..."
The tearful brunette didn't know why she hadn't told Ginny the man's words. Ginny, despite all her kindness and efforts, could not calm her friend down. Hermione was not getting up. She knew she was in shock. Ginny couldn't imagine how she would have felt in her place. What a horror... At full speed, she tried to assess her options. What to do with the man? How to get back to the castle quickly, how to calm Hermione down, and all that without leaving her alone for a second.
Ginny raised her wand and the appropriate spell popped into her head. Pointing at Hermione's thighs, she casted "Tergeo!"
And the stain began to disappear as if it was drying up in plain sight. Soon there was no trace left. Hermione continued to rub frantically anyway.
"Hermione, do you want me to call someone?"
The brunette shook her head sharply and squeezed Ginny's hand with all her might. "No! Don't leave me, Gin', I beg you. Stay with me."
"I won't leave you. But we must get back to the castle. We won't stay here a minute longer. I'm gonna get Neville, all right? I'll be back in one minute tops."
Hermione finally gave up and nodded, unable to stop her shaking and tears. Ginny rushed inside like a bolt. The witch vigorously began to rub her jeans with the napkin again, even though it was clean. She felt as if she could still see the stain.
"Shit, shit, shit," she sobbed. She couldn't help but glance at the unconscious, dishevelled man lying beside her. A lump of hatred swelled in her throat and a new fit of tears overtook her. Her jaw ached where the man had dug his fingers in, and her left breast had been squeezed so hard that she felt it swollen and heavy.
From a distance he saw the Redhead enter the pub, all flushed, looking focused and panicked. Blaise had seen Hermione slip out a few minutes earlier, followed by Ginny a moment later. And only Ginny had reappeared. She had rushed to their seat, grabbing their belongings.
Blaise put down his glass, apologised to Pansy, and didn't even hear her protests as he rushed towards Ginny. He touched her arm, but the Gryffindor jumped away.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Have you seen Neville?"
Blaise glanced around and realised that no, he hadn't seen Neville for a while. He shrugged, then frowned. Ginny sighed in frustration, glancing around in her turn to try and locate Neville. A deep breath of relief rushed through her lungs when she finally saw him, in a corner, sitting at a table with Luna and some other students. She rushed towards them but Blaise held her back.
"Zabini, not now!" she pleaded.
"What's the matter?"
"Something's happened."
"What?"
"It's urgent, okay?" Ginny cut him off remorselessly, pulling away. '"I need Neville."
"Where's Hermione?"
"Outside."
"What the—"
"BLAISE," Ginny interrupted him, raising her voice. "Go away! I need to go and find Neville. Something's happened. If you want to make yourself useful, when we're gone, you can deal with the man outside."
"But—"
The Gryffindor had already left, ducking under his arm and heading for Neville's table. When Neville saw her, he stood up and Ginny leaned over to him to say a few words. Neville's face hardened, looking suddenly serious, and he followed Ginny out of the pub.
Blaise was stunned and wondered what he was going to do while he gathered his wits. Curious, he decided to go through the same door as the Gryffindors and found himself in the darkness of the night. There was no one there, except for an unconscious adult male on the floor. The Slytherin closed the door behind him and the sounds of the party faded. He drew his wand and approached the man.
He leaned over the stranger and flipped him onto his back with his foot. Immediately Blaise noticed the man's nudity.
"Woah," Blaise exclaimed, wide-eyed. He immediately looked away, clenching his jaw. With a flick of his wand, he pulled up his trousers and then allowed himself to observe his features. He didn't know him. What did Ginny expect him to do with him, anyway? He finally knelt down and pointed the tip of his wand at his chest and whispered a spell.
Slowly the man began to come to his senses. His eyelids fluttered for a few seconds before focusing on the inquisitive gaze above him.
"What were you doing half naked outside?" asked Blaise.
"What?"
The Slytherin, already impatient, grabbed his collar with his fist and yanked him upright.
The man, now seated, opened frightened eyes on Blaise. "What is it? What do you want?"
"I asked you what you were doing half naked outside!"
The man looked down at his own body. "I'm not naked."
"You were."
"I-I don't understand. I don't remember—"
"There were two girls outside just a few minutes ago! What happened?"
"I don't understand! I was in the pub drinking, that's all I remember."
Blaise grunted and released him. The man smoothed his clothes, obviously nervous and confused, and started to get to his feet. "I... I don't know what you think of me, sir, but I'm not like that."
"You'd have to wear your fucking trousers for me to believe you," Blaise spat.
"B-Believe me," said the man, his eyes defeated. "I'm married, I would never—"
"Married people are not saints,"Blaise frowned. "Do you really not remember a fucking thing?"
"No, I swear to you."
The Slytherin sighed before raising his arm and pointing at the pub. He himself couldn't help but see the sincerity in the stranger's eyes. "Whatever. Just get the fuck out."
The man didn't need to be told twice. Blaise almost had the impression that he had guessed what had happened. He couldn't help but snort with a hint of humour at the thought that if Malfoy had bothered to show up here, the man wouldn't have left with his limbs intact. And for some reason, he wasn't sure whether to tell Malfoy or not.
Neville had quickly walked the girls back to Hogwarts as soon as they had got Hermione to her feet. Ginny held her hand while Neville had an arm around her shoulders to steady her. It was a way for Hermione to feel safe, surrounded by her friends and supported by a big man like Neville. Neville hadn't asked any questions on the way, but he had started to tell her about Herbology. He knew that no one was interested in the subject, but it was only to take her mind off whatever was going on. Ginny had stuffed their dresses into Hermione's beaded bag that was already charmed with the Expansion spell.
The trio headed up to the Heads' dormitory. Once in front of the portrait, Hermione, her face puffy and wet, told them in a faint voice that they could leave her here.
"No way," Ginny scolded. "I'm not leaving you until I'm sure you're okay. Neville, if you want, you can go back. I really appreciated your help."
"Hermione, are you okay?" Neville worried.
She nodded, knowing full well that she wasn't — not now —, but just to reassure her friend, she did. Neville gave her shoulder a friendly shake and turned back.
"Is Malfoy here?" asked Ginny.
"I don't know," Hermione whispered weakly. "Mountain Raspberry!"
As soon as they stepped through the doorway, Draco, who was sitting with a stack of books, probably doing his homework, looked up as the two Gryffindors enter the room. When he came upon Granger's puffy face, obviously in the midst of a crying fit, he rolled his eyes. Again. He could acknowledge the obvious sadness that anyone could feel when grieving, but he had lost count of the number of times he had seen Granger cry. The bloody girl was a river. He stood up on his feet and walked towards them.
"Again?" he said in a tone he intended to be teasing.
He hadn't meant anything by it, but Ginny immediately glared at him. "You're an idiot! This is not the time!"
"Why is she crying again?"
"MALFOY!" roared Ginny, red with anger. "Shut up! It's not what you think!"
Draco was taken aback by Weaslette's outburst of anger and the fiery fervour with which she looked at him, causing him to lose all confidence. He swallowed his retort and watched them lock themselves in the bathroom. Granger hadn't said a word.
He stood in the middle of the room, halfway between the living room and the bathroom, and listened to the girls' muffled voices through the door. He couldn't help but move closer without making a sound and pressed his ear against the door.
Granger was sobbing weakly.
"It's gonna be okay," Ginny said quietly.
"I s-still feel it on me, Gin'…"
"Shhhh... I know. Take it off."
Draco heard rustling noises, as if someone was undressing. The Slytherin felt his stomach clench at the realisation that it was his partner who was removing her clothes.
"God..." Ginny breathed. "Your cheeks are covered in bruises."
Draco hadn't noticed that.
"I can still feel him," Hermione sniffed, her voice broken with tears. "I can feel his fingers... and his hand, and his... his—"
"Shhhh..."
Hermione's painful sobs shook something inside Draco as he tried to unravel the meaning of her words. His fingers? His hand? What else did Hermione had felt? After a minute, he heard the water from the shower running. Draco peeled himself off the door and walked away, returning to sit down to his homework, but he found it on the floor. He couldn't remember dropping it, but honestly he couldn't give a shit about that right now. He wasn't able to sink back into it.
There were still a few muffled noises coming from the bathroom, but he didn't go back in; he rested his chin between his palms, his elbows on the table. His fingers? His hand? Muffled words came from the bathroom, and he couldn't make them out. After a good twenty minutes, the door opened slowly.
Hermione headed straight for her room while Ginny headed straight for the living room to talk to Draco. "Listen to me," she ordered sternly.
"Weaslette," he scolded. "I'm warning you, watch your tone."
Ginny pulled herself together to keep her composure and lifted her chin. "I won't tell you what happened. That's got to be her choice. But listen to me. I would have stayed with her all night if only I was allowed to. Unfortunately for you or for her, it will be you who spends the whole night here. If I find out that you've been rude to her, I'll never forgive you, Malfoy, and I will hex you. Do you understand me?"
The Slytherin, totally confused, frowned. "Since when do you give me orders, Freckles? You barge in here without invitation and—"
"I'm not talking about me, you idiot! Are you deaf or what? I understand that you usually enjoy pissing off Hermione but please, tonight, even if you want to, you can't! Not tonight! Is that clear?"
"Gotcha, just get out of my face."
"One more thing. I don't have a calming potion. But if you know of of anything that might help her sleep, I beg you, give it to her."
Ginny turned on her heels without another word and vanished into Hermione's room. They exchanged a few words. Ginny left Hermione's dress in the back of her wardrobe and handed her her wand, which she had left at their pub table. After a final hug, Ginny left, crossing the room and disappearing, slamming the portrait behind her.
Silence fell over the place. Draco sat there for a long moment, trying in vain to resume his reading, but he knew his mind was no longer focused. She was distracting him without even being bloody there! Without meaning to, he was thinking about calming plants and shit, and when he realised he was now mentally listing potential agitation-soothing ingredients, he pushed them out of his mind vehemently.
Why didn't he have the right to know what the fuck had happened? Why did the girls always have to confide in each other and exclude all the boys, as if they were a royal princess clique? It fucking pissed him off to feel left out.
He got up and, while he had decided to go to her room, he finally found himself in the bathroom. Granger's clothes were lying on the floor. Normally he would have told her to pick the clothes up herself, but at that moment he was too curious. Weaslette had told her to take it all off.
Slowly, Draco lifted the jumper Granger was wearing, still warm, and held up his wand. "Aparecium."
Nothing. He dropped the jumper and picked up the jeans. He repeated the enchantment, but this time a dark stain appeared on the thighs. He frowned and closed his mind to all the filthy assumptions that were running through it. Granger had spilled Butterbeer on her. Or maybe she'd pissed herself. That' s it.
He muttered "Tergeo" to clean it all up again and tossed the jeans among her clothes, just as he'd found them. He walked lazily towards Hermione's room, not even knowing what he was going to say to her. When he saw her with her back to him, curled up on her bed, her face to the window, he lost his nerve and swallowed it like a lump. Without a word, he walked over to the bed and stood upright behind her, his eyes on her wet wild hair that spread over her pillow. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her, as if to protect or warm herself.
Slowly he walked around the bed to the other side, facing her. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to confirm what Ginny had said. As he entered her sight, Hermione looked up at him.
"Not now," she said weakly, her voice hoarse from the amount of sobbing that had left her. "Not now, Draco..."
She couldn't bear to argue with him right now. Ever so slowly, Draco took another step and sat down very gently on the bed, right at her legs. Hermione folded in on herself a little more, but did not move. In her head, the film of the event replayed in a loop, like a morbid nightmare stalking her. How could she forget the man's words? You know what you've done. Your time will come. Once again, she had been told words that made no sense, but which she knew were meant for her. But what had she done? Was the man under the Imperius Curse, just as Lawrence had been? Draco already knew about what had happened in the sixth floor bathroom last week, so surely she wouldn't sound like a fool if she told him now what someone else had told her...
But she couldn't. Whenever she tried to open her mouth to speak, her throat would lock up and more tears would roll down her cheeks.
The Slytherin, in a deliberately slow movement, reached out and touched Granger's chin. He gently turned her face so that both her cheeks were lit by the moonlight. He saw, like small dark imprints, four bruises on one side and only one on the other. The mental image of a hand clasping her jaw, four fingers on one side and the thumb on the other, flashed through his mind.
Her window flew open and the air rushed in. She must be really freaked out, he thought. Even her magic is starting to act out. He was convinced that she had better control over her magic than that, but he promised himself that he wouldn't talk about it now.
"Whose hands, Granger?" he asked.
Somebody save me
Let your warm hands break right through
Somebody save me
I don't care how you do it, just stay, stay
Remy Zero, Save Me
oOoOoOo
OKAY. LET'S TALK ABOUT WHAT JUST HAPPENED.
Are you freaked out yet ? What do you think ? Let me know your opinion, appreciation, suggestion, any-freaking-thing! :)
Love, Axiomea