A/n: Things get violent from here with more angst...in case you were wondering, this isn't a love story but hate and must with a smidge of redemption.

Hermione's heart stopped.

Harry.

How long had he been there?

Oh no. Please. Don't look like that.

"Harry…"

Hermione never wanted to see him look like that again. Not for as long as she kept breathing. Seething with all the hurt that it suddenly shot through her. Because he looked furious. Fucking inside-out fury.

Harry stood there. Fists clenched, mouth tight, eyes hot. Hot and staring right through her and past her and hitting the boy behind. Hermione daren't look, but she was sure Draco was staring straight back at him. And she was sure his eyes were burning, too.

Say something.

"Harry…?"

Why are you looking like that-

-and how much did you hear?-

-and why are you breathing so fast?

And isn't it obvious? Look at him. He may as well have heard everything. And he probably has.

Every, single, soaking drop of poison.

She wanted to plead with him. It's not what you think, Harry, it's not, and I'm sorry.

But he was breathing hard. Wasn't he breathing so hard? So devastatingly hard. Did it mean that… had he been running? Had he only just got there? –and doesn't that change everything? Doesn't that mean he can't have heard it all? But that look. Then why was he still looking like that?

I can't tell on my own so please just say something, say anything, say what you heard, tell me what you heard him say Harry and then I can say something back because-

-no. Hermione, please stay calm, please stay focused-

-because I can't touch the truth unless you know it already- I won't touch it unless you're already there. I won't be the one to tell you, not right now.

I can't be the one to tell you the truth because I don't even know it myself, Harry.

But if you heard, if you heard Malfoy then you know already. Do you know already? Do you understand it, Harry? I don't understand it. But you'll hate me. Won't you? Why are you looking like that and is it because of me? I do I do I want to say sorry but what if you ask what for and I

can't do that- I can't tell you and I won't say the words because it's too hard right now, in this moment, so many things in my head I'm scared I'll collapse-

-please, let me stay calm-

and, Merlin, please, stop staring at Malfoy like that. Harder, this time. "Harry."

Can't you see that I'm saying your name and that I need to know? I need to know what you heard.

No one can do anything until I know what you heard.

They say silence is deafening, but that isn't enough. It fucking isn't enough. This silence makes her feel like she'll never be able to hear again.

(Whatever happens now, Malfoy, she was blaming you. Do you hear that? She was blaming you, just you and your fucking words in her head Malfoy, EVERY SINGLE ONE MALFOY EVERY SINGLE FUCKING BREATH.)

Because. They hurt.

Like hell.

And she still hears them. And that's something else altogether.

Her voice was gentle.

"Please." Pleading. "What's wrong, Harry?" It was quiet. And how that was possible was beyond her comprehension. She was screaming it at him inside her head. "Are you…? Has something happened?"

No. Don't pretend you don't understand why he's looking at Malfoy like that. He must have heard the shouting. And he must know that you know that. So don't ask him what's happened, because you both know what's happened.

And then finally. Finally.

"Get away from him, Hermione." Harry's voice was deeper than she could ever remember hearing it.

What does that mean? She asked herself. How much does that mean he's heard?

"Harry- what's wrong? Please. Calm down."

"I am calm."

"No you're not-"

"Get away from him, Hermione."

"Please, let's just-"

"Shut up and get over here now!"

"No!" Hermione's cheeks flushed loudly. No. "Not until you calm down!"

Harry's eyes shot towards her.

Look at his face. He can taste them. Can't you see he can taste all of the lies as you speak? The room is thick with them.

Hermione breathed out. "Let's just go." She took a tentative step towards him. "Malfoy and I are finished now. We're finished, Harry. So let's just leave."

And then Harry was back looking at Draco. She'd barely even noticed him take his eyes off the boy. And Merlin. For the first time in Hermione's entire life she felt grateful towards Malfoy. Grateful that he had yet to say a single thing. And she wondered if that was because he had heard her silently beg him not to. Or perhaps. Because he was still so completely raw from the last thing to have left his mouth.

The same thing that keeps going and going and going in her own head.

And then true to form, back to reality, that appreciated silence was broken.

"What are you going to do, Potter?" Draco almost sighed it.

Hermione tensed.

Harry stared back at him. Long, hard, foreboding. Cold. Livid.

"I suppose it's been a while since everything has turned into the bloody Potter Show around here," he drawled, "So why don't you hurry the hell up and show us all how it plays out. I'm dying to know."

She had to congratulate him. Well done, bitterly. He had well and truly mastered his usual contemptuous malcontent down to a T. He almost sounded. Normal. As if they had simply met in the corridor one night. Exchanging the usual insults. Not standing in a room where the temperature had just risen five hundred and fifty fucking degrees. She didn't know what it did. Annoy her even more or simply wash her down with relief. Because anything that sounded even remotely familiar right then almost tasted like sugar.

"Stop it, Malfoy," warned Hermione. "Just leave him alone, alright? We're going to go now." Aren't we Harry? Yes. "We were finished here anyway."

Draco looked at her then. And she looked away. Finished? It had said. You know this is far from finished.

And that, that didn't taste of sugar. Because that wasn't the familiar. Or maybe.

Maybe it was. Their own private hell. Their fast-becoming-home.

Draco watched Hermione take the few remaining steps across the room to Harry. They were slow. Slow and cautious and so terribly terrified. Watched her stand in front of him and reach to touch his arm. And that was anxious, still timid and anxious. And soft. Fingers around his arm. Very soft.

Draco cringed.

Because that's right. That's the way. The sodding Granger way. Prance off with her bloody Potter. Your bloody Potter and his stupid save-the-girl glasses. I can hear your breathing, Granger. What you're scared of. Scared how far he'll go before he turns around and starts to scream at you.

Whore. Stupid whore. Is that what he'll say? Because he probably heard every word I yelled. Right?

Is that why you're so worried?

Draco wished he had. Did she hear that? Wished it. I almost fucking wish it, Granger, wish that he would leave you alone like you're leaving me now. And don't think I don't know that you want to stay. If he wasn't here. You would be staying.

Fuck all the Granger out of you.

Don't tell me you didn't want to stay for that.

Just to hear me say it again.

My words, Granger, you heard them, you hear them. You fucking stink of them.

So that's how I know we aren't finished.

We aren't finished. This is nowhere near the end.

Harry had shaken off Hermione's touch, and he was standing, still staring, still marking Draco up and down and through to his bones with tiny, biting, rancid revulsion. And Draco was spitting it all back at him. Straight in the face.

The feelings mutual, Potter, I can assure you.

And Draco would have said it aloud. Would have spat louder. But he was almost curious. Curious at what this boy was going to do. This boy that was looking at him with the most menacing look he had yet to see him give. It was spot on. Textbook hate. He probably practiced it in front of the mirror before he came.

But Draco didn't care. He didn't care at all. Whatever Harry did he had one thing. One thing that would win. Hands up in the air win.

Because how much would it gall him to know Draco had tasted her lips.

He looked over at her. At Hermione.

I had those lips, Potter. And I'll have them again.

She was looking at Harry nervously.

"Would you please stop," she whispered, "Stop looking at Malfoy like that. Let's just talk about this, okay? Let's just go back to the common room and talk about this."

Draco almost laughed.

For goodness sake Granger. For goodness sake. Will you hurry up and realise already you stupid bitch?

He heard nothing. Nothing that could have told him the truth. And do you know how I know that, Granger?

Because he's Potter. And he never would have stood outside that door for all that time. He never would have listened to me say so much as a wrongly toned word, Granger. He would have burst in

the first time I swore at you. He would have burst in the first time I called you a whore and a slag and a weak little bitch. He'd just got here. Can't you tell? He never would have let you hear all that. Never would have let it touch those sweetly innocent virginal ears. Not if he could have helped it. He would have ran straight in.

And do you want to know why?

Because he isn't looking for the truth. He's looking for an excuse.

An excuse to keep you away from me.

So you don't have to worry yourself about precious little Potter. Because for whatever the reason he's looking like that, whatever the twat thinks he knows or might know or wants to bloody know, he doesn't. He doesn't know a thing.

And so it's back to you. And it's your choice to tell him or not, Granger. The shitting mudblood whore has back her control. And I almost hope it destroys you. And I hope he never speaks to you again.

I hope you come flooding back to me.

Because, Merlin, I want to know what it's like to fuck you in despair.

Fuck you, then leave you.

Out my head. Out of my blood. Out of my absolute purity.

"Come on, Potter," growled Draco, "Whatever it is. I dare you."

"I warned you," hissed Harry. His breathing was still hard, not as hard as before, not as fast, but still hard and long and fiercely apparent. "I warned you off her."

"And?"

"And I told you to stay away."

"I know." Draco's mouth twitched. "But I just couldn't help myself."

He knew Harry didn't know the truth. And he knew he wouldn't be the one to tell him. But it didn't mean he couldn't mess with that pathetically overemotional head of his. And so he would. For as long as he can he will. And the punch line? All along Draco will know it's more than just words. And so will she.

"Don't Malfoy…" Hermione again. Something suddenly. Begging him. It made his heart jolt.

Shut up. Just shut up you stupid slag. That voice.

"Just let us go." Pleading still.

Why is that voice grating on him. Why is it so hard to swallow?

Harry spoke through gritted teeth. "We're not going anywhere." Stare. "We're not leaving this room, Hermione. We're not going."

"Harry, please."

Because of course, noted Draco, Potter could have heard everything as far as she was concerned.

Just put her out her misery you thick bastard. Just say something to stop the bitch from trembling.

Can't you see her? She's almost crying.

And be careful. Because he's tasted those tears before. And they tasted so fucking good mixed with the vomit in his mouth. Last night. Up against her. So just say something. Anything so she'll realise.

"Why are you doing this, Harry?" asked Hermione, her eyes wide, "Nothing good can come from this. Don't you see? If you and I just leave right now, we can sort this out. Whatever you…heard… or think…about me…Harry, we can just-"

"I'm not leaving! Not until the bastard apologises to you!"

Hermione froze.

And let's make it even easier for her.

"For what, Potter?"

"For everything. For wishing her dead. For not being dead yourself, Malfoy."

Draco could almost hear the realisation blossom underneath her skin.

Hermione played that back. One more time. For everything. For wishing her dead. And?

And?

For the touches? For the tongues? For the teeth the lips the hands? Are you forgetting or do you not know…

Does that mean…?

What did that mean?

That Harry had only heard the last few words? The part where Draco had wished her dead? Was that really why he was so angry, so completely fuming before her? That can't have been it. That can't have been it at all. She'd barely ever seen him look so, so like that, so like the expression on his face when he'd burst through the door. No. There was something else wrong, she decided, she knew, and if it wasn't what her and Malfoy had just been screaming at each other, then that was barely a relief. Because there was something else. There was definitely something else.

Hermione stared back at Harry with overwhelming uncertainty.

Harry said it again. "Apologise to her." His breathing was levelling. But Hermione saw that he looked so loud. So loud of mind, of misgivings, of must-be-saids. So where were they all? She asked herself, mind twisted into a painful knot of upheaval.

You came in and screamed a look. And why? She didn't want to ask him why because what if she already knew the answer? Fuck. Fuck this mess. Mess of emotion. She couldn't deal with it. With Harry, with Draco, their spoken, so unspoken, whispered words. Absolute fucking exhaustion.

How was her mind supposed to give her the time to stop any of it? She understood nothing.

"Heard me say some nasty things, didn't you Potter?" frowned Draco. His voice had joined the depths. That deepness that Harry's hung with. A dangerous colour. "Couldn't help but erupt through the door like you're the world's bloody hero." His top lip curled in it's consistency. "And what if you're not her type?" Because you aren't. "Did you ever think about that?"

"I warned you Malfoy."

And suddenly, Harry's wand appeared.

(And suddenly, Malfoy's mind began racing.)

Hermione gasped. No. No wands. No magic. No fighting. "Harry put your wand away," Her voice was frantic, she pushed down on his arm, "This isn't the right way to do this. If that's all your upset about, those things that he said to me, then it doesn't matter, okay? None of it hurt me, alright?" Lies. Salt-bitter stale lies but please- put it down. Put it down before this air snaps in two and you get hurt, Harry. "You know his words mean nothing to me. I barely hear them, Harry. I barely listen. "

"It's not just the words," he growled, arm rigid, wand pointed.

"Then what? Will you please just tell me what it is Harry?!" She pulled at his wand again. "And will you just let go! This isn't the way! It's never been the way, alright? Has magic taught you nothing? All those years it's maimed and destroyed, Harry? Just don't do this. I promise you whatever it is we'll sort it out. We'll talk about it. Please."

Draco's jaw clenched. "Let her take it, Potter," he hissed, and then his eyes narrowed, "If you really hate me, if you really want to me to stay away from her, then show me. Show me. Come over here and prove it to me. Prove it to me without your wand."

An open invitation.

Hermione felt the cold ignite.

What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?

"Put down your wand and prove it." The invitation read. "Because it's over too soon with magic, Potter. It's over too soon with words. You can hardly hear the bones breaking. You can hardly feel the skin ripping-"

"No!" exclaimed Hermione, "Stop it! Stop it, Malfoy! You can't do this! I won't let you!" And she felt the slow rising panic of terror. Terror-filled anticipation.

But she would never understand.

That was what Draco told himself.

"Malfoy, please, no, don't make him do anything..."

Not even that voice. You would never understand, Granger.

Because he'd finally found a way. There, right in front of him. A way to make the thoughts stop.

This was a chance of punishment. This was chance of beating. Battle beating. Fists and elbows and knees and necks. A chance for lyrical blood. Pain. And fuck. A chance of mercy. A translucently

transient lyrical moment of emancipation, liberation. He had needed it for days. Weeks. He had needed it since her. Since the dirty blood. Since it hit his mouth and swirled, licked, danced around his tongue and turned him mad. Pain for burying his face in her neck and whispering venomous words in his head about beauty and need and fuck-hard-fucks, and lips against skin against veins full of blood- that blood- and still no release. Not inside her, not around her- and no pain- no punishment, nothing battering against his body and it was torture. Because his head would keep ringing and ringing and ringing out with what he deserved but never got- because he wasn't around to do it anymore, he wasn't around, he was dead.

The pain was for Draco. And that was the punishment. Staring him in the face.

Because he had been begging for someone to do this to him since he'd felt her muddied heart against his chest.

And is father was dead.

But now there was Potter.

Someone he hated nearly as much. And someone who hated him back. Just as his father had hated him. Because you did, didn't you father? You hated me down to the bone.

So that's why you'll never understand, Granger. Two birds with one stone. He'll get to be hero and I'll get to bleed back. And that blood with be for my father. All for him. The final sorry. The one I can't fuck up because your lips are too damn close, Granger. The sorry for everything I've done, and everything I want to do.

That's the invitation Potter. And it's funny because you'll think I'm mad but I'm not.

I'm thinking totally, utterly, irrefutably straight. Straighter than I have in weeks.

Because Draco had never needed to hurt so much in his life.

Now come on. Because I know you want to.

"So why don't you put it away? You can handle yourself, can't you Potter? The prized possession of Hogwarts, never a dull moment and all that shit, the biggest fattest deadliest weapon they've ever got their hands on. Congratulations Potter, I bet they'd frame you in an cabinet if they could. Pop you in and out whenever they needed you. Needed you to fight. So fight. Fight for your bastard father and whore of a mother, Potter-"

"Shut up."

"-Fight for your dead godfather and his twisted pervert friends. Fight for the girl, fight for Granger, for all the times you've known I could burst through her door and under the covers and between her thighs-"

"I mean it you bastard!"

"-and ravish her like the filthy fucking mudblood that she is-"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP MALFOY-"

"SO WHY DON'T YOU MAKE ME?!"

And Harry's fist met his jaw so hard and sharp he fell to the ground.

Draco could hear her. Somewhere outside it. She was calling their names. No. Just Harry. Why just Harry? And his jaw felt torn, as he shot out his knuckles and into the stomach, the body keeling over, fist into it's glasses and grazing his hand. And then it fights back and Draco is down again, the floor again, hard ash stone against his head and its buzzing and its punishment and it will stop unless he fights back further- grabbing hold of an arm and pulling down, dragging up, kicking in and ankle grabbed, twisted, pain, down again, up again, fist into it's face to break it and blood in return, an elbow across his mouth and the taste of metal- Rush up for the clash-crashing, it's the defining moment, and now welcome to the party (I'm so glad you're invited). And all the while shouting- shouting- and this time his name as well, as he's back down on the ground, panting swearing fuck fuck you bastard cunt son of a muggle whore I'd take her I'd take her if I wanted to-for every word a new way to hurt and every breath a new way of hurting and look to the fist a jaw a bloody nose- this is punishment this is payback this is for you- for you- for you father he's doing what you can never do and I'm sorry but I still want-her-need-her-fucking-inside-out and why but not even this pain can change that- because even now I need her- fist out, across it's face again into the ribs again, shapes, shadows, growls and words and bloody pain, so much pain, she's mine, she's mine not yours and suddenly- -suddenly something else, something new, it's frantic pushing between, between, I can't reach it anymore get out Granger get the hell out of this it's not here for you it's my punishment and I need it you can't stop it just get out, just get out get out and let it-

Her body flew back, hit desks. Collapsed to the ground.

They froze.

Granger…

A split second and Harry was there. "Hermione…" his voice was rasped, scraping in his throat, "Hermione, are you-"

"Get off me!" she shouted, "Just get away from me!"

"Hermione…"

"Get away!"

She pushed away the bloody hand. Looked up into his streaming face and screamed inside.

Are you happy now?! Look at you! LOOK AT YOU BOTH! WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED TO YOU?

"Are you hurt?"

Yes. But I threw myself into you bastards so what did I expect? What could I do? Every single spell had left me, EVERY FUCKING WORD WAS DRY.

And what the hell were you doing?

And look at you now.

Harry was staring down at her. Panting. And she could see the blood trickling down onto his lip.

Red-to-be-purple splashed against his face. Lips cracked. Parted. Wincing when he breathed.

Look. Look at what you've done to yourself.

And then Draco. Draco who was sliding down the wall. Eyes fixed to her. Breathing coarse, callous,

riveted by something. Fast wheezes. Drenched in bruises. What was it? What was it that had darkened his face and given him that look? That look. The same one as last night. The same eyes he wore when speaking of blood and flesh and pure right wrong.

Where were they both?

Where was she?

A nightmare. A nightmare and she wanted to wake up.

Please. Someone. Shake her until she's screaming wide awake.

Because here, here she couldn't stay.

"Hermione- Hermione, are you hurt? " Back to Harry.

"No. No I'm not. Just leave it."

"You look hurt-"

"I look hurt?!" She laughed. Disbelief. Don't be caring now Harry. Not when it's so bloody hypocritical I could scream. "Look at you! Your covered in it, Harry! Your covered in the stuff!"

And then why. Because she had to know why.

"What were you thinking?! Why can't you just tell me! Was it something you heard? Was it something we said? Just answer it! Tell me! What is going on and why the fuck did that just happen, Harry, what made you lose control like that? Why did you let him do it to you?!"

"Why do you think!"

"I have no idea! I've had no idea since you entered the bloody room!"

"I know how he feels about you, Hermione! And you need to know too! You need to know because he's dangerous! He'll do something! He'll take whatever he wants! And that's you, that bastard wants you, Hermione! And I'm not lying- I promise you I'm not lying to you, this isn't my way of keeping you apart from him but I heard it all, I heard it all from the bitch Parkinson! She said he said your name when he came for fucks sake, so you've got to believe me! The bastard will take advantage of you and-"

-the words kept coming, splashing around violently, deep into her eyes.

He knew what Malfoy felt.

So this is what he knew.

Said your fucking name when he came.

And it was even more than her.

"-so you think I'm going to stand by and watch that all happen?! You think I'm going to let you walk around up there in your own bedroom with the bastard across the other side of the walls? I'm not going to let you do that Hermione, you can't, because nothing is worth that much, and I mean that this time!"

And then Harry had turned to Draco.

"Tell her! Go on, tell her how you feel, Malfoy!"

Oh Harry, no, if only you knew.

Hermione was stabbed with the look Draco shot her. It was precariously dangerous. Warning. Warning her. He'd kept quiet this long but if she let Harry go on any longer he wouldn't keep the silence-

-and Hermione wasn't ready for that. Wasn't ready for Harry to know. Not here and not like this.

"Tell her you bastard!"

Draco got to his feet.

"Harry, stop-"

"I want to hear him tell you himself, Hermione! Hear it from the son of a bitch's mouth!"

Draco stepped forward.

Last warning.

Hermione grabbed Harry and spun him around.

"Harry, please will you just STOP!" She had his wrists, had him pulled in close. "This isn't the way. And I don't care what Pansy said! We can talk about this. No fighting, no shouting, just calm down! We can talk about this."

Harry stared at her then. It was for a long moment. And her breath was held. Well and truly held so hard her head was thumping.

And then suddenly he shook his head.

"No."

"What?"

"No." Harry twisted his wrists out of her grip and grabbed her arm.

"Harry, what are you-?"

"We're going."

"But I thought-"

"I've changed my mind."

And Draco watched as he dragged her out the room.

She turned back to glance at him. It was quick. One last time.

And there was something in her eyes. Something. There was always something in her eyes. But this.

Draco found himself back against the wall. His head rang with pain. Cool waves of sinisterly liberating pain. And he slid down it.

What did it mean.

He felt his eyes begin to sting.