A/N: Warning! This chapter contains references to ill mental health, alcoholism, blood imagery, strong language and sexual themes.
Chapter 2
She didn't see the white-haired snake again that day nor did she see him any day for the next six months. She was preoccupied with thinking about what he was there for, what he possibly could have done to be put on trial and where he was now. She lay awake at night, every night, fire whisky in hand theorising over where he could have been since the war.
Malfoy Manor was burned down following his parents' deaths. Couldn't have been there. Grimmauld Place fell into Ministry hands. No luck there either. Hogwarts wouldn't have hidden him. Definitely not.
He was an enigma. One that enjoyed torturing her into thinking she was the only one left with his absence. The only one on either side who knew. Who suffered. With his survival came hope that she wasn't the only one in this new world who remembered what it was like to be in the centre of it. To lose oneself and be on the other side, heralded a victor yet had no spoils to show for it. She had lost more than she had gained tenfold. One-hundred fold. This was not a world she thought was worth it. Until his rage-filled, spluttering face passed her at the Ministry so many months ago and reminded her of one thing to continue fighting for. Justice.
It passed her mind many times that maybe he was dead. He'd been sentenced to death and now she was completely alone again. She'd never get the chance to question why he did what he did and why he called her that name when they were both children. More than that, she wouldn't ever know where he had been all this time. That infuriated her most of all.
Her head swam every night in the haze of the sweet amber of whisky that fogged her thoughts. She continued drinking until the darkness consumed her and knocked her clean out, fully dressed, on her sofa. She could no longer sleep in the bed she had prayed to see her best friend lying in for so long. Prayed that she'd return from work to see his red, vibrant and full-of-life hair laid against the cool white of her sheets. He'd never laid his head there nor would he ever. The idea left her feeling hollow and she could no longer enter the room without seeing his face beam up at her, his dimples piercing his smooth face. She thought it best to try not to remember him or any of them. She already struggled to remember some of their faces and the thought crippled her.
What would they think of her now? Would they blame her for not doing more? Or maybe they'd accuse her of forgetting so easily. Most likely they'd punish her for living where they did not.
Hermione.
The sofa would do just fine. Though she missed feeling the warmth of another beside her, lulling her to sleep and caressing her hair. She missed the touch of another person entirely, even just to brush against her arm as they walked by. Her mind cast back to the feeling of his wet, physical words attached to her face and realised it was the first time in years someone had touched her face. Even in this small way. She had forgotten what it had felt like. Then her rage burst through her again at the thought of him. The nerve of him. Turning up like that, completely unannounced, interfering with her fucked up, sorrowful life. How dare he? Of all people.
She needed to know what had happened to him that day. Maybe he returned to wherever he came from. Maybe he went to Azkaban where he'll rot to the end of his days. Maybe he is dead after all and it was just an apparition.
She glugged down another gulp of the alcohol, leaving no trace in the bottle and ensured she licked up the last drop from the rim. She took a second to check herself, patting herself down. Skirt on, check. Keys, check. Wand, check. Satisfied that she was at least sensible enough to not go out without embarrassing herself or getting herself into an indefensible position whilst drunk off her face, she stepped out of the door to her flat, leaving the darkness behind.
She roamed around the streets of London, wandering for anything. Any sign that he might be alive. The distraction from her nightmares was much warranted. The last few months had seen the frequency of her visions triple but so had her thoughts of Draco. She knew to put one foot in front of the other and steady herself on the walls of buildings and the street railings to stop herself falling over. Not that she cared too much. The crisp air of the night was refreshing on her skin. It tingled her lightly and the sensation of goosebumps rising into small peaks had her heart racing. Maybe if she fell, a graze to her knee would sting and draw blood, momentarily distracting her from her thoughts. The drizzle of rain that fell on her head brought a shiver to her frail body and a slight smile to her chapped lips.
She would find him, she swore. She'd find something. What is it that people used to say about her? The brightest witch of her age. She could do it.
She trudged along the quiet London roads under the glare of the yellow hued street lamps looking for clues. She was dressed in her work clothes, a fitted and unbuttoned blue blouse, grey vest underneath and a grey flared skirt that had risen to her mid-thigh. Were she more sober, maybe she would have remembered to straighten herself up a bit before leaving the house, though that was not her priority this evening. She had to find him.
There were several men dotting the streets. Many stood in groups of three or four and wolf-whistled as she stumbled past. She was not interested in these men for none were tattoo-laden head to foot or had white blonde smug and arrogant hair. To these men, she was silent and ignored anything they had to say to her. She walked no faster than normal however. What could they do to her?
Just as she realised she had taken almost a full circle around central London back in the direction of her empty flat, having walked for what seems like hours, she noticed a bright glow from the corner of her eye. Turning her head and squinting to protect her already pained eyes from the glare of the street sign, she spotted a small rock club at the end of a narrow road. The thumping noise from the club reverberated through her mind and a familiar song began to play. Thinking against her better judgement of just giving up hope and going home, she realised she hadn't been to a club for a long long while. The exciting beat and enticement of more alcohol were the things to convince her. To drown out her mind. Her feet took her there really, she was just following along.
She reached the entrance to the club and peered under heavy lids as she stepped inside, taking in the intimacy of the darkened room. Many people dressed in barely anything jumped and pumped their fists to the intense drum beat. Others sat in corners and inhaled mysterious substances or found another miserable soul and pulled them in for messy kisses.
She however, was all alone. Maybe here though, she didn't have to be, she hoped. She walked through the crowd slowly, taking in the dancing people as they swayed or jumped or pushed each other on the dance floor. The pounding in her head was now replaced with the thumping of the beat and she closed her eyes to allow it to fill her up. She'd heard this music before. It must be a muggle club because she'd sat and listened to this song once before with Dean Thomas who'd introduced her to what he called 'emo' music. It had taken her a few listens to his preferred genre before she'd understood why he loved it. The power it holds, the exciting drums, the passion in the vocals. One can experience sadness, happiness, both at the same time, anything listening to this music. So she'd grown to love it too. She tried hard not to think about him but just on the assault to her senses that she so loved. The overload felt therapeutic.
It made her blood pump harder in her veins and her head started to bob lightly along to the track. She felt it coursing through her and she never wanted it to stop. Gone were the visions of her horrors and the faces of people lost. All she saw were the writhing bodies in front of her and the spotlights on the band. She peered up to take a look at them. All muggles she supposed. The lead singer grabbed the mic viciously, screaming into it with his lips placed almost over the thing. She thought he looked like he was having the time of his life and envied him for his ability to lose control completely in the thing he loved. The guitarists were equally strumming away with everything they had to either side of the lead vocalist. Her eyes settled on the drummer sitting to the back of the group whose expert beat was focusing her mind and raising her heart rate with every powerful smack of his sticks upon the stretched skin of the drum. His tattooed hands were rising and falling with such speed that she almost felt every hit on her flesh as the sound ran through her, vibrating her honey skin. The view of his face was blocked by his bandmates standing to the front of him but she could swear that on one of his large powerful hands sat a black coiled snake.
The heat in the room and the pulsing of bodies thrown together made her want to join in with the crowd. She plucked her courage, letting the alcohol guide her, and she began to jump in time with the beat, keeping her eyes tightly closed. She exhaled slowly as relief filled her. Her eyes rested, her mind cleared and all she felt was the pads of her feet hitting the floor again and again and the touch of a man bumping into her side as he enjoyed the music with her. Slowly opening her eyes again to look at the man who'd been the first to touch her like this in years, not knowing what he had been responsible for, she pushed her body closer to him to feel more of what he could offer. Though it was dark and the glare from the lights spun to show his face only every ten or so seconds, she thought him quite handsome. He had long, dark hair and a shadow over his chin but it was his hands that intrigued her as they slid around her waist and up her back, pulling her against his body.
She begged herself to let him kiss her. She needed to again feel that flutter deep within her that she thought long extinct. If she wasn't to feel it tonight, she feared she never would. This was a once in a lifetime scenario that was fleeting like the night. She wouldn't give herself hope that she could ever find this again so she grabbed life by the horns and pushed her lips against his. To her disappointment, his kisses didn't resemble those of a boy she once knew. This man's top lip wasn't as full as his had been and there was a scratch on her chin from his stubble that she didn't recognise. When she looked at his face, it didn't break out into a cheeky smile and whisper "Mione" against her lips.
The past then caught up to her with the full force of the Hogwarts Express ramming into her spine. She struggled to catch her breath. It physically escaped her grasp and she began to panic. The man in front of her wouldn't drop his hands from her side and she felt herself slipping back to the person she'd come to know since the war. The fire had gone out and Hermione Granger was no more. She managed to pull herself from his grip, scratching her arm against the tug of his nails on her skin as he tried to get her to stay.
She stumbled through the room, looking for the exit, needing to find her breath, desperately clutching at her throat. Maybe this is it, she thought, this is how I go. Through her fogged vision, the exit was nowhere in sight. The venue may as well have been four sealed walls that closed in on her, coming in closer and closer with every beat of the drum. That's when she realised the music had stopped and the only thing pressing on her senses now was the glaring of the lights above her. Thoughts and horrors and memories resurfaced and she thought her lungs would never be full again. She saw his blood-spattered face among the crowd. The red, as vibrant as his hair, poured from his mouth as he slid to the floor against the brick wall of the Hogwarts courtyard. She mistakenly closed her swollen eyes tight to keep the image from her mind and wanted to scream in a pitiful attempt to block it out.
You abandoned us, Hermione.
Silent and suffering, she clung to the only thing she thought could help. The lights guided her towards the bathroom of the club where she slammed the door open and settled her hands on the cold tile of the wall opposite her while she tried to regain her breath.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Granger?"
A familiar raspy voice like a beacon of white light called to her. A hallucination. He was dead. Sentenced to death, yes. Now they were all gone, weren't they? She grasped her throat, her mouth parted and blinked her eyes to try to clear the tears that had settled there. She tried to wipe the apparition away, tried to make it leave her alone and stop taunting her failure at having not found him this evening or any day since his trial. Because he was dead. The ghost spoke with his cadence - so, so similar - and it only made her panic more.
"Granger?"
The spirit sounded concerned. Like it knew her. A hand stretched over her back and patted her once, twice hard. She spluttered up her guts and drew in an almighty breath. The cold air hit her lungs like a shot of adrenaline and she suddenly saw him clearly. His white hair fell sloppily over his stormy eyes which were pinched suspiciously watching her. He raised a serpent covered hand to his golden locks and pushed them back, showing the black tattoos encapsulating his chiselled face.
I've found him, she thought, he survived. The elation she felt was not made clear on her face however. No. Her pretty cheeks shook, her brow lowered, and her lip curled in a sneer. Her hands formed tight fists at her side.
"You're- Where have you been?!"
She cried, tears streaming down her face. She was still panting for air, not wanting to take her newfound skill for drawing in the sweet stuff for granted.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He looked at her aghast that she even existed. Like she was a forgotten thing that had stepped into his life unnecessarily.
"Me?! You left me!"
She knew she wasn't making sense but she hadn't thought this far ahead. She never reasoned that she'd ever find him or what she'd do if she did. She saw him hesitate, take in a gulp of air and flick his pooling eyes from hers for only a second before joining the stream of blue and brown once again.
"I never left you Granger. They did." He spat at her feet viciously.
The breath in her body almost left her again but she swallowed it whole, clutching her throat to not let it abandon her now. Not when she had things to do. How dare he blame them? This was his fault. He shouldn't have left her alone in this world. He should have known she'd need him. Whether they were friends at school never mattered. They were the only ones left and he must have known she'd survived. She raised her skirt on one side to her hip and withdrew her vine-wrapped wand from it's sheath on her leg. It's tip lodged itself, with her shaky guidance, to the hollow of his throat.
"Huh. Like having me like this, do you?" He smirked in recognition of the last time she had him pinned beneath her control when they were only teenagers.
"Take yours out. You always wanted a duel Malfoy. This is for every day you left me alone!" she screamed at him, begging him to take up her offer.
She needed to release this burning rage that filled her chest. She needed answers and a reprieve from six months of torment. Who was she kidding? He owed her five years worth of explanation and she wouldn't leave the building without the knowledge she craved. The reason why he'd allowed her to dwindle away into nothing but a smear of her former self.
By instinct, he reached to the pocket of his black, ripped jeans but came up empty. He squeezed his lids shut and sighed hard. That's when she noticed his full attire. Jeans, a simple t-shirt and a black leather jacket with a silver chain dripping from the pocket. Nothing like what he used to wear.
"I don't have it, you idiot. Drop your wand before someone walks in" he commanded. Without a second thought, she dropped her wand from his throat to shoot a locking spell on the door. She replaced the blade back to his neck immediately and dug it into him lightly. First warning.
"Where is it? Malfoy, please." He furrowed his brow at her, confusion clear on his face as well as his growing rage at being held prisoner. The word 'please' left her lips before she could think. She needed to feel his rage at her, needed to feel more of what he offered her that day at the Ministry. She was desperate to feel like herself again. Since that day, that girl had slowly dwindled back into the shell that she was now. Only he could bring it out of her and by God, she'd make him. By force if needed.
"You were there. At my trial. I'm banned. Drop the fucking wand Granger before I snap it" He threatened but it only raised her heart rate further.
"What did you do, you fucking ferret? Why are you banned?"
He stifled a laugh and peered down to the wand still lodged in his throat, eyeing her warily. If he remembered as she did, she was once a fearsome adversary in a duelling ring. She could dodge, block and return even the fiercest of spells. He raised his hands to the side of his head and she felt a sense of pride that he clearly remembered this about her as well. She sucked in a gasp as the palms of his hands raised more into her line of sight. She'd missed such a simple thing as being known to someone.
"Ferret." He smacked his lips together, tasting the bitter word on his tongue. "That's a name I've not heard for a while" he chuckled darkly. "Lower your wand you filthy fucking mu-"
She charged two paces closer towards him, her feet placed either side of his, before he could finish. Her wand twisted into the soft flesh of his neck and she was curious as to how hard she'd have to push him to draw blood. Second warning. She would not hear that word again. Not now that the world was supposed to be better. That would mean nothing had changed. That their deaths would have been for no purpose and she would not, could not ever accept that.
"Answer me and I'll drop it but not before" she warned him.
"Christ Granger, I don't owe you an explanation. I've been here and there"
"That's not good enough Malfoy. Where. Have. You. Been?" She dug the tip into his throat further with every word uttered between her clenched teeth and watched him gulp and gasp for breath. Last warning.
"Woah, I've been in hiding, alright?! That is until I was ratted in. I've been sentenced to a magic ban. Is that what you want? Fuck" The glare he sent her at having to reveal himself reminded her of the scowls he'd send to her from across the desk during a class they shared at school. One that meant he was pissed at her for having beaten him. It surged confidence through her veins and made her want to beat him again. Grateful for his answer but not yet feeling fully satisfied, she kept to her word and loosened her grip on her wand, shuffling her feet backwards a step, but still holding it raised in defence. Or was it in attack if your opponent was unarmed?
"What are you wearing Granger? You look like shit" he sneered at her and lowered his hands to his side in relief.
She looked down at her attire for the first time that evening, noticing the spots of alcohol staining the edges of her blouse and her untucked vest that stuck up out of her skirt, showing skin. Her skirt was still pulled slightly upwards, revealing the edge of her wand holder strapped to her thigh. She looked up to him again and noticed his eyes trained on the holder, her midriff, the exposed flesh of her cleavage before meeting her gaze again.
Her curiosity bloomed in return. Just how much of his pale skin was covered in those tattoos? Did any of them mean anything to him? How long had he had them? Maybe they're meant to intimidate, she thought, to scare people away. She didn't think them to be intimidating, just intriguing.
"I was at work. I wore this to work." She finally spluttered, bringing herself back into the room. An evil smirk stretched across his stupid, traitorous face and before he could even speak, her pulse was pumping hard again. It felt amazing. Liberating.
"My, how you've changed. Perfect little Hermione Granger, Golden Girl..."
"Don't call me that." She could feel her heart thumping out of her chest.
"...dressing like a fucking slut to work. Never thought I'd see the day you stopped being a prissy little goody two shoes. I have to say, it works on you. Perhaps if you'd done this" he pointed a finger at her, raising and lowering it to gesture to her whole body, "at school, you'd have had a flock of boys trailing after you."
"Stop it." She raised her wand to his chest. Her other hand clamped yet again into a fist at her side.
"As it was, you only had dear old departed Weaselbee didn't you? Do you miss him? I bet you miss him at night, don't you?"
"Fuck you! Don't talk about him"
"You miss having someone to hold you and love you and fuck you. Bloody hell, even talk to you by the looks of it. Is that why you interrupted my set? So you could find yourself a little fuck toy for the evening?"
"You don't know anything about me Malfoy!"
"Oh but I do"
"Then why did you leave me?!"
She dropped her wand to the floor with a clatter and rushed to him, shoving him backwards into the wall making him bang his head against the tile and smacked her little hands on his chest again and again as the tears began to fall down her cheeks. Grabbing her wrists to stop her tirade on his torso, he held them in one large hand sandwiched between their bodies and looked down to her golden curls that were still as perfect as they had been at Hogwarts though just a touch messier and wet from the rain. His other hand was held aimlessly an inch from her waist as if touching her there would poison him yet his instinct screamed at him to do it. To comfort her.
He didn't.
"You don't need me, Granger. You need him."
He spoke softly into her curls, taking a deep, slow breath in against them whilst holding her trapped wrists closer to his chest. He felt good, she thought. She fit into his arms like he was the lost piece of her jigsaw she'd scampered for years on her hands and knees to find. She basked in his grip for as long as he let her, enjoying the warmth that spread from him into her. His warmth clearly had a limit however as he then pushed her away with some force so that she rocked backwards across the room and had to steady herself on the bathroom sink.
"Just leave me alone and get back to your pathetic life. Open the door" he demanded.
"No."
She would have him either way. Whether he'd be nice to her never crossed her mind nor did she want it. She wanted his anger. His passion. She needed him unleashed just how he was with those sticks in his hands producing the mind-altering beat. She was torn between keeping him there with her or allowing him to return so that she could hear the thumping music again. In the end, that look on his face won out. The one that said she was beating him.
He stepped in closer to her and reached for the door handle behind her, strong panting breaths pushing against her face.
"Don't make me do this Granger" he scowled into her dirty brown eyes and met her furrowed brow in return.
Her lip snarled, apprehensive as to what he might mean. She knew he wouldn't be able to get out of the room without magic. He was trapped there and she wasn't moving. Her wand was flung across the room and that's where she was happy for it to stay until they were done. A moment later, he closed his blue eyes tight for a second and she heard a click that signified the lock had been released on the door.
"You should get that looked at by the way. Your fuck toy has claws" he hissed at her and knocked her aside as he strode quickly out of the bathroom, looking around him nervously for the exit.
She barely heard what he said, distracted that he was leaving her. Again. Only when she'd chased him out of the club into the chill of the rainy April morning did she look at her arm and spot the blood flowing violently from the three inch cut upon it. The red trickled down the length of her slender limb and dripped from her fingers onto the ancient stone road. He was no more. Gone. All that her life consisted of now was that pool of viscous liquid glaring at her. Judging silently. It almost looked orange, not red, as the shine of the street lamps altered it's appearance. She stared at it for more minutes than she could've counted to at that point, watching the orange, yellow and red swirl together as the sun rose. Nothing filled her head but the devastation of losing him.
The morning downpour woke her and washed away her sloppy apricot soul from the grit beneath her feet.
Home, she thought.
