Waking up with someone else's hand under her shirt was something Hermione would not mind turning into a habit. Her face was half smashed into the pillow beneath her, half squashed into Malfoy's collar. His outline of the alphabet on her back was what woke her.
"You did not sleep at all, did you?" She croaked.
"I told you that I do not care for sleeping."
"Well, I care about you watching me sleep. It's disturbing."
He laughed and rolled her so that his palm laid flat on her stomach. "You sleep talk, did you know that?"
The brisk cold air was not hiding her lack of undergarments. Out of instinct Hermione wanted to rub her nipples to make them soft.
She landed on the decision to layer her left hand over his right on her ribs.
"I do not," she huffed. "Stop being a git."
"Have I lied to you before, Granger? Tell me—what exactly is a Santa?"
The remains of her last dream twinkled.
It had been the memory of Christmas Eve when she had figured out that Santa was not real. At the indestructible age of six, she had challenged her mother in the argument that there was no possible way that a man could deliver presents to every child within the world in one night. Her mother told her she should believe in a little magic.
Talk about foreshadowing.
"Santa is a muggle character," she explained. "Parents tell their children that he and his elves make toys for them to open on Christmas day. He comes down through the chimney and leaves presents under the tree for those who are on his good list."
"Oh, Santa is Father Crhistmas. I know that story. No offence, but muggles are fucking lunatics."
"You only believe that because you do not understand western culture. If you grew up leaving milk and cookies out on Christmas Eve for a man in a red suit, with a big white beard, you would not think it was looney."
He kissed her shoulder. "Yes, I would. I'm a man of logic, and that," he bit her gently, "is ridiculous."
"I despise you, you know that, right?"
With a sigh he slithered out from under the sheets. "I know, I know." He slouched over and coughed into the crook of his arm, full of flem.
Hermione sat up, "You slept all day yesterday because you were feeling ill, didn't you?"
"I coughed. Can a man not cough?"
"No, he cannot." She grabbed the pillow behind her and slammed it into him. "Why didn't you tell me, you idiot. I would have made you tea, or given you medicine, instead of-well-you know."
Smirking, Malfoy looked over his shoulder. "Your hands were the perfect medicine."
She wanted to leap on top of him and snog him silly. The possibility of it teased her. Then, he coughed again.
"Get in the shower, you arse. After that, hop into bed and actually sleep this time."
"Granger, that is unnecessary. I am fully-" cough, "capable of waiting," cough, "this out."
Slipping out of bed herself, Hermione retrieved a pair of new knickers from her drawer and stood in front of him. His hands automatically went to the back of her knees, but didn't go any further up. It was an odd feeling, wanting someone to touch your bum. Hermione would end up pondering about it later.
"What will it take for me to convince you to get into the shower right now?"
He pursed his lips and pretended to think. "You could join me?"
"And risk people seeing us walking out of there together? No. Worse than that, you would not take to having to help me wash my hair. Extremely hard labour is not your forte."
"Oh, so now you're the one who does not want the others knowing that we spend time together. What happened to the beast last night that was yelling at me for supposedly being ashamed? Are you ashamed, Granger?"
Spending time together.
"I am not!" She crossed her arms. "There is a monstrous difference between me not wanting to be bombarded with questions, and you being disgusted. Do you want to tell Harry? Or shall I? I am certain he will love knowing that my favourite pastime is bringing you to your knees and letting you rip my underwear to shreds."
He squeezed both of her legs. "Go for it. Tell me when you break the news, I'd like to remember what his face looks like for the remainder of my days."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Great."
"Great."
Neither of them were going to share with anyone about what they were doing. They both knew that.
It was established it wasn't out of embarrassment, but it was obvious that they were more ashamed of themselves rather than the other person. They were selfish to be pursuing this. People have and will die on the frontlines. War has no time for sex.
Or maybe it does. Life is short.
Hermione cupped his face into her hands and shook it. "Get. In. The. Shower."
"Yes, yes, yes." He sniffled back a sneeze. "A pity that I shall be all alone, though."
"You'll survive."
"Barely."
With that, Malfoy stood and left her room. Not without checking that the coast was clear first.
The clock on her nightstand said that it was 8:12am. Slumping back onto the bed Hemrione groaned out of exhaustion. She missed the days that she would sleep for 18 hours a day, now it was rare if she ever chose to remove herself from the group and nap to pass the time.
Thinking about it now, her panic attacks had settled to once a week rather than once a day.
This was good. This was progress. Soon enough she'd be well enough to go back out there with Harry and restore the magical world. He was counting on her. They were all counting on her.
Malfoy got out of the shower and came back into her room with nothing but a towel around his waist. He looked worse than before, his skin turned grey and his body was slowly folding in on itself.
"You need to go back to bed," Hermione said. "You look three coughs close to death."
He slumped onto the wall and closed his eyes. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"Come on," she pulled him by the hand to the edge of the mattress. "If you sleep in here, then I can check up on you."
Sitting down, Malfoy weakly put his pants back on, then groaned as his head hit the pillow. Hermione yanked the sheets out from under and put them over him. He was sweating now and pushed away the blanket.
"You don't have to mother me," he mumbled. "I can take care of myself."
"Are you really going to fight me on this right now?"
"Who am I, if not the man that fights you?"
She whacked his hands away and tucked him in. "A proper git, that's what, and a right pain in my arse." He closed his eyes when she brushed his fringe back. "You wizards are so stubborn. Always so arrogant to accept any help without feeling emasculated."
"I cannot speak for scarhead Potter, but personally it is a pride thing rather than a manhood thing."
"The two are no different."
"Sure they are."
Hermione bit back a curse. "You know, you cannot call Harry scarhead anymore."
"Why's that?" He asked, eyes still closed.
"Because you, too, are also a scarhead."
He opened one eye, and glared at her with all his might. She held an innocent smile but let it break into a sinister one.
"Have I told you how much I loathe you?" He asked, coughing into the corner of the blanket. "Because it is a significant amount. To the moon and back, actually."
"That is not very far. I'd say you like me more than you loathe me these days, Draco Malfoy."
"Debatable."
Malfoy gave up on any further conversation and sunk further into his pillow. Hermione stroked his cheek with her thumb as she stared at his puffed up pink lips. They seemed to be screaming at her.
With moral power alone, she left him alone to sleep.
The curtains were drawn to a black out shade, a glass of water was conjured for the bedside table and a cooling charm was swirled around the room. Malfoy's mouth was parted open and he was breathing heavily before Hermione even closed the door behind her.
Just in case, she locked the knob with two different spells to prevent people going in there. One for Malfoy's rest, and the second for her own peace of mind.
As she walked towards the stairs, a string dangling from the ceiling caught her attention.
She looked up at the entrance of the attic, then to her door, and back to the roof.
It tickled her curiosity to know what Malfoy did up there.
Tugging on the string, Hermione stepped back as the silent ladder descended onto the running rug along the hallway. She climbed up, contemplating her code of ethics with every step, wondering if this was an intrusion of privacy.
When she reached the inside of the attic, she was startled by the room that stood before her. While she had imagined this place to look dusty, stacked with old pieces of furniture and smell of dead mice, the reality of it made her a little sad.
There was nothing up here. A pile of blankets were stacked to form some sort of bed, there were two tyres and one chest of drawers. That was it.
"Oh, Malfoy," she said to no one. "How have you not driven yourself mad?"
Who says he hasn't, a voice in her head told her. He is messing around with you, is he not?
Hermione shook her head and the thoughts inside it. It occurred to her that Malfoy had no magic and could not conjure himself anything comfortable to sleep on. He'd stayed up here all those months and never once complained, not even when they met up at midnight.
No wonder he didn't sleep.
She poked around the smaller crevices of the room and found cobwebs, broken pieces of glass and nothing more. If she had not known that Malfoy was staying up here, she would have thought that this room hadn't seen signs of life for decades.
The drawers in the dresser had neatly folded clothes, ones that she recognised Malfoy wearing in the past. His wand rolled back and forth when she pulled the second drawer open. Realistically, that was his mother's wand and Harry had Malfoy's true wand.
It struck her that neither of them had brought that up yet.
Next to it was a Slytherin class ring and what looked to be another ring with the Malfoy family crest. Both as obnoxious as the other. Interesting how Malfoy did not choose to wear either.
His father's letter was in the last drawer. The parchment was free from the envelope, and looked as if it had been read every day since she gave it to him.
Blaming it on her need to be a know-it-all, Hermione picked it up and read its beginning contents.
My son,
Today, on your eleventh birthday, marks the season in which you step into becoming the man I have trained you to be. Our time together will begin to shorten soon, if only for the sake of the Malfoy name being strengthened thanks to the powerful wizard that you are to become at Hogwarts.
Before you leave, know that I am proud of you, Draco.
No matter your failures, the past and those to come, I shall be by your side.
A slamming of weight on her heart made Hermione stop. She held the parchment to her chest and came to the realisation of what she was doing. How inappropriate it was for her to intrude on the most important memory in Malfoy's childhood.
There was more to the letter but she could not go on. This was one of the final pieces he had before his father turned on him.
She placed the letter down as it had been before, and slammed the drawer shut. The wand and ring rolled along the wood.
Two minutes in this place, and Hermione was already feeling claustrophobic.
There was a window on the far side of the room, which she raced to and opened its wings. She sucked in the fresh cold air and tried to calm her racing mind. How Malfoy didn't jump off the roof by the end of his first week here, she had no clue.
From the window, there was a perfect far view of the astronomy tower through the gap in the mountains. It did not calm her, but more so gave a distraction. If someone was standing in this exact position almost two years ago, they could have been given a faint show of Dumbledore's death.
"I bet you think about that everytime you look out here," Hermione said out loud to a ghost of Malfoy.
To the left of the window sill, there was a ledging in the roof that sat like a seat. A square of flat tiling that could easily fit multiple people on it.
Stuffed into the corner was an empty packet of crisps that hadn't been bought in the weekly grocery shop for several months. The image of Malfoy sitting up here watching the sun rise made her smile. Perhaps she should give him a book so he could read it up here once the warmer seasons came back around.
Hermione closed the window and returned back into the dark attic. She was tempted to transfigure the pile of blankets into a proper bed for him, but decided against it, not wanting him to know she was up here without permission.
It would be better if she simply convinced him to stay in her room for the time being.
There was something so hollow about this room that it chipped away at her glass heart. It was a prison within a prison, and Malfoy had locked himself up here, guilty of all charges.
She too would suffer from nightmares if this was the place that she rested her head every night, or heard the laughter of schoolmates downstairs everyday, or watched those same people learn how to fight in the paddocks from the one window.
The sadness of it all was catching up to Hermione all over again, so she left before she gave it a chance to swallow her whole.
On the way down the ladder, the last thing she saw was the missing brick in the wall next to the makeshift bed. The same missing brick that led down to the fireplace in her own bedroom.
When the latch on the roof shut, Fred was bouncing up the stairs and gave Hermione a concealed fright.
"Morning," he said cheerfully.
"Morning!" Her pitch was far too high to not be hiding something. Fred could basically smell it on her.
He eyed her, suspiciously. "What are you up to, Granger?"
"Nothing."
"I am the king of 'nothing', and you are doing something. What is it? Care to share with the class?"
Hermione gave the fakest laugh of her life, "Don't be ridiculous. I was merely going down to get breakfast, and you startled me."
"Getting breakfast, eh?"
"Mmhmm."
"Did you plan on putting some trousers over those knickers, or did you forget to take a pair up to see Malfoy?"
Hermione looked down at her bare legs and widened her eyes at the lack of clothing she possessed.
Shit.
Fred clapped her on the shoulder and chuckled to himself as he made way to the bathroom. "I am only pulling your pantsless leg, 'Mione. Merlin knows you wouldn't go a broom's length close to that blond prick."
The ending of his sentence faded as he walked away. Hermione had half the courage to ask him what he meant, but ended up saying, "Ha, yeah, right," instead.
She transformed her pyjama top into a lengthy dress to prevent going back into her bedroom.
Hours passed where Hermione avoided her bedroom. She pretended to want to spend time with Cho, went on a shopping trip with Ophelia (who forgot to add extra medicine to her list), helped Dean perfect his stinging hex, and even participated in a trial run for a Weasley Twin prank.
People asked each other if they knew where Malfoy was, to which she shrugged and said that he said he wasn't feeling well yesterday. No one saw past her lie.
In the late afternoon, Professor McGonagall made a surprise visit.
Her navy blue robes swayed as she transformed from her tabby cat animagus and gracefully padded into the kitchen.
"'Ello, Professor," George chirped. "Come to set us free from this festering fleabag of a farm?"
With tight lips, McGonagall folded her hands. "I'm afraid not, Mr Weasley. You and your schoolmates will have to endure this 'festering fleabag of a farm' that I once called home, a little longer."
George sagged, not at all for offending his old teacher, but for being denied his freedom.
Hermione put the kettle on and offered if anyone wanted a cup of tea.
"Actually Miss Granger, if I may, I wish to speak with Mr Potter and yourself. In private."
Apart from herself there were only the twins and Cho in the kitchen. Each of them looked at her with a glisten of hope in their eyes. Hermione excused herself to find Harry and met McGonagall in the living room.
Harry had transfigured his wheelchair for crutches, it took him longer to move around the house, but he had more of a skip in his step. Figuratively speaking, of course.
He shoved the crutches to the side of the couch when he and Hermione sat down. Both on edge as each other.
"Thank you for meeting me, Mr Potter and Miss Granger. I apologise for not coming to the farm as of recently. I take it you all had a lovely Christmas last month?"
Hermione nodded while Harry frowned. "It wasn't lovely, but it was nice, considering the circumstances," he said bitterly.
"The circumstances being the resurrection of our war?"
"Did it ever die?" Harry spat back. "Or have we been cowards, hiding?"
With a squeeze to his knee, Hermione nudged him to stop him from saying anything he would regret tomorrow.
"Your frustration is understandable, Mr Potter. I am sure that half of your anger stems from your injury, which seems to be mending well. Andromeda should be awarded for her healing efforts, and you too, Miss Granger for discovering the diagnosis."
McGonagall was stalling. She could sense that they knew it, too.
"Very well. I have come here today in hopes to discuss what you believe should be the Order's next move. Should the Death Eaters return to Britain, we wish to have a plan in place for such a time."
"Professor, may I speak freely?" Hermione asked.
She was given permission with a hand gesture and nod.
"Harry and I do not know what the Order should do. There are two steps in place that are obvious for You-Know-Who to be defeated, both of which involve horcruxes that need to be destroyed. Realistically, we do not need an army, rather, Harry and I to go out and find what we have been looking for."
"That is not possible, Miss Granger."
"Why not? We have done it before, we can do it again."
"The three of you running away last year was far from a strategic plan. It was reckless, and irresponsible. As much as I commend you on your bravery, history shall not be repeating itself. This war does not fall on your shoulders alone."
Hermione wanted to scoff. She wanted to scream that it all fell on their shoulders. Harry's shoulders. It fell on Harry's life. But she couldn't.
"What are you asking of us, Professor?" said Harry, leaning his forearms on his thighs. "Do you want us to tell you our knowledge on the horcruxes? Do you want us to come up with a battle plan? We've told you what we think should happen, whether you tell us or not we will find You-Know-Who."
McGonagall sighed. "Mr Potter, he is not in the country. My sources have informed me that he is weak but will plan to return soon."
"We have told you everything we know, you are not telling us everything we-"
"I am telling you as much as should be shared-"
"You're lying!"
"Harry," Hermione hissed. "Enough. We are being kept in the dark because they know we will run away the moment you are healed."
McGonagall bowed her head, "Miss Granger, Mr Potter, the Order will need you when the time is right. That time is not now. I am begging you to stay here, on the farm, where it is safe. The second that You-Know-Who steps into Britain, you will be notified. Then, and only then, will we all act together."
Harry blew out a ragged breath and clenched his fingers around the arm of the couch. Hermione wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay, though in truth, she knew it wasn't going to be.
"Is there anything else that you can tell me about the horcruxes?" McGonagall pleaded.
"No," Harry snapped. "We don't know the seventh horcrux, but the snake is next. Find Basilisk venom, or the sword of Gryffindor. They are the only two weapons we know."
As her best friend went on a tangent about their findings on the dark magic, Hermione watched him with careful awe. He had no clue that he was the seventh horcrux, or maybe he did but chose to not tell her. It was killing her not to tell him.
She questioned whether it was possible for her to ever tell him without crushing him in the process. Whether she could tell him that this was all for nothing. That all of this fighting would be only for him to never see the final peace of it all.
Her breath was getting caught in her throat and she had to count down from one hundred in order to calm herself. Harry kept talking but she wasn't listening. He was better at explaining things than her anyway.
She thought about what her life would look like once both her best friends were dead. About how she'd have to go to both of their funerals and say nice speeches, and accept ministry awards on their behalf, fake smiling as life went on.
In a way, she prayed that she would die, too. Maybe Voldemort would want her head, or better yet, Bellatrix demanded a second round. Both of those options sounded better than being crowned a war hero with no one to stand with her.
McGonagall left to discuss matters with Andromeda once she got impatient with Harry's short temper.
Hermione's legs lead her upstairs.
The door squeaked when she opened it a slither. Within the darkness, a patch of blond hair stuck out, and the soft sounds of Malfoy breathing filled her ears.
She stepped in fully and locked the door behind her before sitting by Malfoy on the bed. She pressed the back of her hand on his forehead and concluded that he was still burning hot. If she ran down the road, perhaps the pharmacy would still be open.
Malfoy's breath hitched in his sleep, and he whimpered, if only for Hermione to hear.
She knew he was having a nightmare, but she didn't know whether waking him would cause more harm. Her hand hovered over his cheek, unsure on how to touch him. Eventually, his head twitched and hit her palm, waking himself instantaneously.
His eyes bulged out of his head as he tried to see through the dark, and made an attempt to sit up.
"Hey, hey," Hermione said. "It's just me. You're alright."
Malfoy panted, still trying to focus on who he was looking at. He looked around the bed and then back to her. "Granger?"
"You were having a bad dream, I wasn't sure whether to wake you or not."
"I-uh-" he blinked, then sniffed. "I'm fine. Nothing I haven't dealt with before."
Hermione handed him his glass of water and cast another cooling charm over his body. He automatically hummed into his cup at the sweat on his chest disappearing. A noise that she liked hearing from him nowadays.
He placed the cup back on the nightstand and flopped back to stare at the ceiling. Hermione wanted to lay across him and hear the rhythms of his heartbeat.
"May I ask what you were dreaming about?" She said, staying where she sat.
"Elves."
"Elves?"
"Elves."
The last time Hermione had seen elves was when she saw their rotting corpses on the front gardens of Malfoy Manor.
"They were dying," he continued. "Being used as training targets for new curses. I don't think I'll ever be able to deafen their screams."
"I saw them. At the manor. They were lying in gardens by the front gates with the peacocks. All of them, they were-they tortured to death. Even when the manor was burning, I could still smell them."
The flashback brought thick liquid to the back of her throat. Hermione swallowed it, but not without a sting to her nose from building tears. Malfoy reached out and wiped the wetness from the corner of her eye.
"You should never have seen that," he whispered.
"You should never have had to hurt them."
He nodded once, and she detected he did so shamefully.
"McGonagall is here. She wanted to know what Harry and I think the Order should do once You-Know-Who returns."
"What did you say?"
"That the Order should not have to do anything, that Harry and I are capable of finding the snake on our own."
She blew raspberries, shaking her head trying not to cry. "This is so fucking stupid. What the hell are we doing, Malfoy? We're living on a farm. A farm. All while Death Eaters are crawling across Europe."
He sat up, "What do you want to do? Do you want to run?"
"No. Maybe, I don't know. Running sounds better than being stuck here, doing nothing."
"Potter will be pissed if you run. He needs you, and it is clear you need him just as much. You'll hate yourself for leaving him when he's gone."
"That is just the thing," she angrily tossed her hair. "Harry is going to die. That's the only way we can win, and I don't know if it's worse knowing that it's going to come, or if I wish I never knew. Would any of this be easier if I had been oblivious to the signs?"
"Do you think it would have been easier if you knew that Weasley was going to die?"
Hermione went cold. Ron was not a topic that either of them were comfortable with bringing up. Everytime someone said his name, she wanted to scratch their eyes out.
"N-no," she finally stuttered. "It would have hurt equally as much."
"Then you know that the burden you carry would not be lessened if you weren't paying attention. Potter relies on you too much. He should know that his scar has more meaning to it than a simple lightning strike. His ignorance is not your fault."
"How do I tell him, Malfoy? There's no way I can do it without crushing him."
He tilted her chin up. "You need to give Potter more credit. He's waiting for something like this to come his way. You can either break the news now and let him fret on it, or wait until it matters most. Either way, Potter is ready to die."
Her face felt small in his hands. There were not many times in life that Hermione felt small. Big hair, big thighs, big brain, big potential, big future, big everything. This was a relief.
"Can I confess something?" She asked.
He ran his thumb down her lip and said yes.
"A part of me doesn't want to survive the war. I want to die out there."
Saying it out loud made it sound so much heavier than it was in her head.
"Do you think dying is the easy way out?" He asked.
"I am not a quitter. But, I don't know a life outside of my parents, Ron and Harry. I'll have nothing, and that terrifies me."
"As someone who left everything for nothing, there is always something waiting for you."
"Teddy?"
His lip curled, then dropped. "Yes. Teddy."
Hermione didn't have any cousins. She was the only remaining Granger left. Maybe somewhere she, too, had a long-lost family that she could fixate on.
Malfoy cupped her shoulders and pressed his forehead against hers. The same way that he had described his parents used to. The gesture made her shiver.
"Do me a favour?" He asked. "Don't die."
Hermione's eyelashes fluttered with the rapid beat of her heart.
"At least try not to, okay?"
"For you?" She joked, "Anything."
He didn't laugh. "Alright," she grew serious again. "I'll try."
With that, Malfoy kissed her on the tip of her nose. Hermione loved and hated when he did that all at the same time. She wondered if she did die, would she leave this earth finally having snogged him on the lips.
He drew his face away from her and coughed into his arm.
"I'm sorry, I should not have made this about me. You are ill, and I'm being selfish, again."
"It's a cold, Granger. Now piss off, before you catch it too."
"This is my bedroom, you know that, right?"
"Is it? My apologies, I am so weary, I must have stumbled to the wrong room," he went to stand. "Excuse me, I must make my way to the attic."
She smiled and shoved him back onto the bed. He pretended to be hurt but she waved him away while walking towards the door. "If you don't want to sleep, help yourself to any of my books. Sometimes reading is better than dreaming."
"Thank you, Granger."
They exchanged soft expressions, and once again, Hermione left Malfoy in her room.
For a second there, she caught herself forgetting about the woes of life. The pressure in her chest released, and the curve in her spine straightened. She was barely holding on, but in that room, there was someone pulling her up.
Her feet felt like feathers as she descended down the stairs. It was her night to cook, and she'd decided on perfecting her mother's quiche recipe. Time floated while she rummaged around the kitchen trying to remember what her mother taught her that summer many moons ago. Hermione could barely remember serving the final result, nor did she recall eating it either.
Somehow, she ended up in the shower.
The hot water was pittering down her back, washing away the day. Hermione turned the tap so that the temperature was near scolding. It burnt her scalp when she dipped her head back.
As painful as it was, she liked it.
When the stream started to turn cold, she stepped out, rubbing away the steam from the mirror. A much paler version of who she was used to stared back at her. There was no longer a definition between her neck and her chin, but her eyes looked less tired.
The robe from the back of the door was itchy when she wrapped herself in it. The moment she put it on, she wanted to take it off.
Ophelia was standing outside the bathroom door when Hermione walked out.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know anyone was waiting," she apologised, looking at the ground.
"That's quite alright, Hermione." Ophelia smiled as if she was nervous. "I only needed to brush my teeth anyway."
"Right, well, goodnight."
"Are you not coming down to play any games?"
"Not tonight, I'm afraid. Tomorrow, perhaps."
"I will hold you to that," Ophelia playfully pointed her finger. Hermione wanted to slap it.
They bid each other a second goodnight and Hermione almost ran to her bedroom. When stepping inside, Malfoy was sitting up, still without a shirt, reading a book under candle light. It was not a sore sight.
"Your girlfriend is far too polite," she teased. "And someone needs to tell her that heeled boots are not necessary on a farm."
He grinned. "Green is not a good colour on you, Granger."
"I am not jealous, thank you very much. I am simply stating facts."
"Uh huh, okay."
He pulled the blankets from his legs and slipped off the side of the bed to walk towards her. Hermione had forgotten all about the itchiness of the robe. The swirling sensation in her stomach trumped that.
"How are you feeling?" She asked to cover her heat.
"Tip-top," he said, leaving only a foot between them. "I told you that I could wait it out."
"Perhaps my company was making you feel worse?"
His fingers wrapped around the tie of her robe, "Mmm. I doubt that." He tugged at it, but only enough for her to stop him if she wanted.
She did not want him to stop.
The tie was set free and her robe fell open, leaving only a view of the centre of her entire naked body. Goosebumps ran down her arms when Malfoy kissed the bottom of her throat, then down her chest until his face was in between her breasts.
Hermione had no idea what to do with her hands, so she slowly removed the robe off her shoulders until it fell to the floor.
Either she was delusional, or Malfoy moaned.
He came back up to stand at attention, and brushed her wet hair back with both of his hands. Hermione closed her eyes and leant into him.
She thought it would feel weird being naked in front of a man, but right and now, she felt nothing except warmth. Any area that Malfoy touched, she was sure his fingers would come off steaming. That was how hot she was.
His arm wrapped around the back of her waist and tugged her in closer. Her breasts pressed up against his chest. It was bare and radiated just as much heat as she was.
"There is no one like you," Malfoy breathed. "None can compare."
Hermione ran her nails down the curving of his shoulder blades, "Why doesn't this feel as wrong as it should do?"
"Because it's not."
She pushed on her toes to kiss him on the collar, then left a wet trail of kisses along his pecks. He pulled her head back by the root of her hair and mirrored her actions. If there was ever a feeling she wanted to know for the rest of her life, this would be it.
He bent down and picked her up by her bum to wrap her legs around his hips. Hermione yelped, and laughed when he squeezed her cheek.
Her chest fell perfect to line up with his face. His eyes peered up at her—begging.
"Please," she whispered.
Hermione threw her head back and gasped when his mouth wrapped around her right breast. That gasp faded into a rough groan when he sucked on her nipple.
"Sshh," he said before diving back in. Hermione never knew something could feel so good.
If she apologised, it wasn't verbal.
He moved onto her left nipple and she had to literally bite her tongue from releasing the sounds at the back of her throat. She was shocked at how easily he could hold her like this. Her thighs clenched down on his waist when he readjusted her to sit higher.
The way his mouth moved on her breasts was different from what he did on her cunt. It was sloppy but perfect in every way.
"You're soaked," he mumbled into her chest. "Is this all for me?" He could no doubt feel how wet she was all over his stomach.
Hermione pulled his head up the same way he had with the roots of his hair, "It's always for you."
She kissed him on the cheek, an inch away from his lips. He smiled and she kissed the lines that formed from it.
Malfoy turned them and lowered her to lay flat on the bed. She bounced with impact. He pinned her hands above her head and snogged her neck. She arched up into him and pulled him down closer by the back of her heels.
He was hard, and her ego grew with it.
"Blind leading the blind, right?" She said, breathless.
Pausing below her ear, Malfoy came back to meet her eye line. "I'm not fucking you, Granger." His voice was stern and she resented it.
"If you're waiting for me to want an out, I don't want it."
"You will."
"I know what I want, and nothing you say is going to change my mind."
"What if I don't want to?"
With the frown on his brow and the fire in his eyes, Hermione was washed with shame.
She tugged her hands free from where he had them pinned and wormed her way back up the mattress. Every part of her felt overly exposed. A hole formed at the pit of her belly.
"Granger-" Malfoy started.
"Please don't," she interrupted. Her arms made a poor effort in covering herself up. "I need you to leave."
His facial expression was unreadable. There was guilt, and maybe a dash of pain, but it was nothing compared to the embarrassment Hermione felt.
He went to reach for her but she coiled and pulled up the blankets to hide her body.
"I know when I am not wanted, Malfoy. You don't need to tell me twice. Please leave before I make an idiot of myself even more."
"Of course I want you. I'd be the idiot to not want you."
"Then stop trying to make this decision for me. Can't you see that I'm desperate for you?"
He clenched his eyes shut and growled. "Can't you see that I'm saving you from my poison?"
"So letting me suck you off, that's where you draw the line?"
"That's different."
"Why? Because you've done it with so many other witches? Was I not good enough? Was I not up to the stand-"
"Don't do that. Don't turn this sour. I told you that no one has ever compared to you."
Hermione felt a new type of heat rush through her. This one was rage. "Malfoy, we are going to die!" She launched forward to grab him by his blistered Dark Mark. "I do not care about your past, I want to be with you while I still have the chance!"
"I can't."
He was far too calm. She wanted him to yell. She wanted him to strangle her again. Anything but remains this collected.
Letting go of his forearm, she got up with her sheet and got dressed in her pyjamas.
"I'm not leaving this room while you are angry, Granger."
"I don't want you in here. I feel humiliated."
He stood to join her by the dresser, "That was never my intention." His hands tucked semi-dry hair behind her ears. "You are so beautiful, Hermione. It's me that is ugly."
She resented him for using her first name like that. As if it had the ability to sew back everything that was torn.
"Malfoy-" She stepped out of his touch. "This is me tapping you three times. Please leave."
His whole body froze and then deflated. Hermione retrieved his shirt and trousers off the floor from the night before and handed them to him in a bunch. He took them trying to look her in the eye, but she refused.
She hated herself for sending him up to the unholy attic. No one should have to sleep up there, it was inhumane.
As Malfoy reached for the door knob, Hermione held her breath. He turned his cheek and went to say something more but chose not to. He left the room without checking to see if the coast was clear.
Falling to her knees, Hermione exhaled with controlled breaths. She was on all fours, denying her body's desire to cry.
A thought crossed her mind, questioning what hurt worse, being rejected by the one you want, or being forced by the one you don't want. Theo won that battle, without a doubt, but tonight… Tonight stung in ways that Hermione was sure she would remember until her dying breath.
