A/N: Happy Christmas/holiday period folks! Thanks so much for following this story!
Ch. 14 Reconciliation or Retribution
I need to hear some sounds that recognise the pain in me, yeah / I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now / But the airwaves are clean and there's nobody singing to me now / No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change / But I'm here in my mold, I am here in my mold.
– Bittersweet Symphony, The Verve.
Hermione knew it wasn't right – how she couldn't stop thinking about Draco Malfoy's body pressed against hers, his mouth at her ear, whispering commands, the pulses of heat that rippled through her body as he stroked his fingers down her arm –
She could not stop thinking about it. Which, possibly, would have been fine – she was a young woman with an average – possibly higher than average – sex drive. But this was Draco Malfoy. Why was it that he, out of everyone, either sparked an untempered anger within her, or else made the dull, grey numbness melt away with punishing kisses?
Maybe – maybe she just needed some physical intimacy – 'to fuck', as Ginny would crudely put it. Maybe it wasn't about Draco Malfoy at all, and she would have felt the same with any other man at the moment. But she hadn't felt the same with Matt, over the summer. The sex with him had served the same purpose as alcohol, or ecstasis – a distraction to the pain, but not an antidote for it...things felt so differently with Malfoy.
But that didn't make it right. She couldn't reconcile how he made her body feel with the person she knew he was – someone that, in previous years, had gone out of his way to despise and denigrate her, someone that had wished her dead when they'd been just thirteen years old.
Her body felt like a traitor, the way it kept betraying her. And it seemed that Malfoy felt the same way. She remembered his face contorted in fury and confusion after they'd danced together – he clearly despised himself for touching and kissing her the way he had.
Maybe she did need to fuck someone else. To get over him. Possibly. At least kiss someone else...
"Hermione!" someone exclaimed, jolting her out of her reverie. Pansy Parkinson collapsed onto the seat beside her, where she was sitting in a corner of the library.
"Hi," Hermione said dully.
"Hey! How are you?"
Why was she always so friendly? It made Hermione wary because she could not gauge the sincerity of it.
Hermione shrugged "Fine." She kept her eyes trained on her Arithmancy book in front of her, but felt Pansy's scrutinising gaze.
"Hmm...good. So, I wondered if you've decided on a dress for the Ball yet?"
Hermione's brow furrowed suspiciously. "I said I wasn't going."
"Oh. I thought you'd changed your mind?" Pansy asked innocently.
How Pansy had got that impression, Hermione had no idea. She hadn't mentioned it since they'd first spoken about it. Ginny had brought it up occasionally, but Hermione had still refused to go, and Ginny hadn't pushed it.
"You seemed to have had fun at our party?"
Hermione remembered how she had enjoyed the Slytherin party...and they were allowed to drink alcohol at the Ball, which was somewhat tempting...
"Yeah, it was fun," Hermione replied politely. "Maybe...maybe I will go to the Ball..."
"Great! So, I have this dress that I think would be perfect for you! We have slightly different figures, but I know the best tailoring charms. I think we could get it to fit really well. And it has a hidden pocket just for your wand – all my clothes do, you see, I make sure of it. You'll look fucking stunning...unless you had a dress in mind you wanted to wear?"
The thought of having to make a decision about her outfit felt exhausting; Hermione felt as ambivalent about what she looked like as she did about anything else at the moment. It seemed easier to go along with Pansy. "No, I don't have anything in mind...but – whatever it is, I'd like it to be long-sleeved. Please."
Pansy's eyes flickered down to Hermione's left arm and her lips turned down slightly, but she continued brightly: "Fine! I can definitely work with that! Maybe come to my dorm on Wednesday evening? To make sure we have time to get it just right for Saturday! Oh, and don't worry if you don't have a date –"
"I'm not. Worried. I don't want a date." The thought of the drama and the social awkwardness of finding herself a date would have been enough for her to reverse her already tentative decision of going.
"Good! That means you're on trend! People that are already in couples will go together, but otherwise we're just going with friends."
"Erm…okay," and to Hermione's relief, Pansy nodded contentedly, sprung up and sauntered away.
Hermione slipped Pansy's dress over her head and scrutinised herself in the mirror of the Gryffindor girls' bathroom. Pansy had adjusted the dress so well, it hung perfectly on her figure. She'd done her hair and make up in the exact way Pansy had instructed, and barely recognised the face that looked back at her. Her hair was tied up with subtle but pretty clips, with a few smooth curls falling down and tickling her shoulders. Although the way she could barely recognise herself was slightly disconcerting, it was also oddly liberating, as if she were in someone else's skin for the evening.
At the last minute, she walked out the bathroom and down the stairs to the Common Room, where her housemates were waiting. When she entered, the chatter quieted as people turned to her look at her. There was an awkward silence, but Hermione summoned her Gryffindor courage and looked around at them defiantly.
"Wow. You look fantastic Hermione!" Ginny finally broke the silence.
"Hot," Parvati confirmed, nodding her head in approval.
"Thanks. Shall we go?" Hermione said quickly, slipping a shawl around her shoulders
"Your dress – it's green!" Seamus exclaimed.
"Yes. Yes it is. I like green," Hermione replied.
"I mean – it's Slytherin green, Hermione," Seamus clarified, a hint of protest in his voice. House colours were somewhat sacred at Hogwarts and it was generally thought a betrayal of your own house if you were to wear the colours of another.
She looked around the room. Ginny was in a deep crimson– she always scathingly dismissed the advice that red clothes would clash with her hair – and Parvati was wearing a lavender sari. All the boys were in black tie; they didn't have to spend hours deliberating over their choice of outfit, which didn't really seem fair to Hermione.
"It's just a dress, Seamus," Her voice was more cutting than she'd possibly meant it to be. "Right, are we going to hang out here all evening 'cause that's not what I signed up for?"
Seamus shrugged, mumbled something Hermione couldn't hear, and turned towards the portrait hole. The group resumed its chatter as they all followed and climbed out into the corridor.
"You do look very – erm – nice, Hermione," Harry said awkwardly to her as they made their way to the Great Hall. "You've done something to your hair, right?"
Hermione smiled ruefully. "Right," she said.
The Great Hall was festooned in the usual Halloween decorations, except for the addition of all four house banners hanging from the ceiling, somewhat dominating the floating pumpkins and orange streamers. The four house tables were pushed to the side, leaving a wide expanse of floor in the middle.
McGonagall started off the proceedings with a speech – about how the war had sowed divisions, how suspicion and distrust had grown where it hadn't needed to, and that now was a time of peace, a time to reconcile differences, to come together in solidarity, etc, etc… For the duration of the speech. Hermione's gaze kept drifting over to the drinks that were laid out on the table at the side, eyeing the punch bowls that were for those of age and older.
As McGonagall finished, there was a smattering of applause throughout the Hall.
"Shall we get a drink, Ginny?" Hermione asked as the sound of clapping died down.
"Sure," Ginny smiled. "So, where did you get the dress?" she asked as they walked over to the punch bowl. "Or have you been hiding it all these years?"
"Pansy Parkinson leant it to me."
"Pansy Parkinson?" Ginny asked in surprise.
"Yep," Hermione said, pouring two large glasses of punch.
"Since when are you and Parkinson swapping clothes?" Ginny's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"We're not." Hermione shrugged. "She just offered to help me with my outfit...she seems pretty harmless…" Although, even as she said it, Hermione still wasn't completely sure of Pansy's motive for being so helpful with her Ball outfit...but there was only so much energy Hermione could muster to care. Pansy had made the whole Ball-going process easier, and she was grateful to her for that.
"She's a funny person to befriend," Ginny commented.
"I haven't really befriended her...anyway, Ginny, we're at a Reconciliation Ball, maybe we need to reconcile the issues we have with these people." Again, though, Hermione wasn't sure she believed what she was saying – she didn't know whether some things could ever be truly reconciled with those that wore green and silver ties. She took a gulp of her drink, suddenly feeling very thirsty.
"Hello girls, you're both looking lovely!" Ginny and Hermione were suddenly joined by Pansy herself , who was accompanied by Blaise Zabini.
Pansy beamed at Hermione, and made an excited kind of squealing sound. "Oh, you did everything just as I told you! You look fabulous! Doesn't she look fabulous, Blaise?"
"She looks FABULOUS!" Zabini cried out, far louder than Hermione thought was necessary. She took another long sip of her drink. "As do you, sweetheart." Zabini winked at Ginny, who gave him a wry smile back. She looked surprisingly at ease in his company, but then they had spent two therapy tasks together. Although, Hermione certainly didn't feel at ease in Malfoy's company… Where was he anyway?
"So, we're waiting in desperate anticipation for Theo to arrive. He said he was bringing a date but wouldn't tell us who it is," Zabini informed them excitedly.
"And why are they so late?" Pansy whined, just as Harry entered the circle, greeting Zabini and Pansy formally, putting an arm around Ginny's waist and pulling her to him. There was a possessive edge to the movement that Hermione didn't miss.
She used the opportunity to glance surreptitiously around the room, taking another few sips of her drink, and noticed Malfoy standing alone at the side. He was leaning against the wall with a short glass of what looked like firewhiskey in his hand, wearing a crisp white shirt, black suit and black tie. She startled slightly as she noticed that he was staring straight at her with a cold, hard expression. His eyes darted away as soon as her gaze met his. She couldn't help but note how her body responded to him, even seeing him from such a distance.
"Oh, there he is – Theo! And he's with – oh!"
Hermione looked towards the Hall's entrance, where Nott had just entered, a girl's hand clasped tightly in his. The girl was wearing a multi-coloured polka-dot dress that splayed out from her waist in a 1950s style, her white-blonde hair cascading about her shoulders in waves.
"Luna! Luna's come with Nott!" Ginny exclaimed.
All about the room, people paused and quieted as they observed the couple's entrance. Luna looked up at the decorations with characteristic wonder in her eyes, whilst Nott pulled her closer towards him and whispered something in her ear. She responded with a beaming smile and a nod. Hermione noticed that Nott's tie was somewhat askew and Luna looked rather flushed. They wandered over to where Malfoy was standing at the side, and Hermione saw the latter's eyes widen in alarm as the couple walked towards him; he pushed himself up from the wall, standing straighter, his body becoming rigid with tension.
Hermione went to take another sip of her drink but realised, somewhat disappointingly, that her glass was empty. She moved towards the punch bowl again.
"Woah, Granger, you're getting into the spirit tonight, aren't you?" Zabini exclaimed, and Hermione noticed that everyone else's glasses were still at least half full.
"Not really. Just a bit thirsty, that's all," she mumbled.
"Good for you! She deserves some fun, doesn't she?" Pansy nudged Ginny's arm, willing her to agree.
"Of course," Ginny said defensively.
"Well! I am going to say hello to my friend's new sweetheart!" Zabini proclaimed, before spinning on his heels and sauntering over to Nott, Luna and Malfoy.
"I'm going to need to get the goss' on this, too," Pansy said seriously. "See you later."
Hermione started on her new drink as Ginny asked her if she wanted to dance. Hermione declined and, after Ginny had cajoled Harry onto the dancefloor, moved over to where Dean was standing. She remembered with a pang of nostalgia how excited she'd been about the Yule Ball; that Hermione felt so different to the person she was now, it was almost painful to think about. She took another large sip of punch to dampen the bitter taste of those memories.
"Hey Hermione – you know most of the men's eyes in this room are on you, right?" Dean said conspiratorially after a few minutes of small talk, a knowing smile on his face.
She felt a blush heat her cheeks, and sipped again at her drink to take the edge off the self-consciousness that burgeoned up in her. "I don't think so," she remarked dismissively.
"Yep. I mean, I thought they might have been looking at me at first. But, sadly, I think it's definitely you. Ernie Macmillan hasn't stopped staring at you," Dean nodded to his left, to where Hermione presumed Ernie was standing. "Anthony Goldstein can't seem to stop leering at you. Even Draco Malfoy keeps looking this way."
Her heart stuttered at Malfoy's name, and she suddenly felt her ears burning with the awareness that he might be looking at her.
"Oh. Well…" Not knowing what else to say, Hermione took another gulp of her drink as Seamus, Neville and Hannah joined them.
The next few hours went by in a haze of mostly onerous conversation, frequent visits to the punch bowl, and a few moments of drama, one being Anthony Goldstein vomiting in the middle of the Hall – some said he had food poisoning, some said he'd started drinking hours before the start of the Ball.
Sometime around half eleven, once the pleasant fuzz of alcohol started drifting over her mind and she was feeling more confident and less self-conscious, she finally started dancing, mostly with Pansy.
The mood in the Hall was more raucous now; most of the students were on the dance floor. Hermione glanced around, looking for a tell-tale shock of blond hair, as she had been doing throughout the evening, and glimpsed Malfoy through the crowd. He was still off to the side, looking as he had done all evening – bored and sullen.
She was twirling around the dancefloor, giggling to herself, when she stumbled slightly, lost her balance and felt someone reach out to steady her. They didn't quite make it, though, and she found herself falling into the arms of Ernie Macmillan, her hands floundering at his chest and arms to regain her balance.
"Woah, steady," Ernie said affectionately, and Hermione found herself grinning up at him as he smiled down at her in ausement.
"Ernie...you do not look very earnest…" She burst into giggles at her own word play.
"I'm not often very earnest," he replied.
She noticed that he hadn't taken his hand from her arm, but she didn't actually mind it very much. Not at all in fact. Ernie – a Hufflepuff, which meant he had to be nice, didn't he? Nice, un-ernest Ernie MacMillan. She then realised that they'd started dancing with each other, a rather inelegant kind of dance, not that it really mattered how they were dancing, and he was asking her some questions – rather innocuous ones about how school was going, about studying, what she thought of Professor Ingleton – then the music changed to something slower and he was putting his arms around her waist, causing her to instinctively reach up and put hers on his shoulders, and then he was leaning down and placing his lips on hers, and Hermione thought she should probably pull away – this wasn't quite right, was it? But then, hadn't she been thinking that it might be a good idea to kiss someone else? To try and wash whatever spell Malfoy had cast on her body away? So she reciprocated the kiss... But it felt cold and wet and mechanical and maybe wasn't what she'd been wanting to do after all, and so she did pull away then, confused and needing air. She hastily gave Ernie an apologetic smile, mumbled something about needing the toilet, turned and hurried through the crowd towards the exit.
As she did, she glanced around her, her eyes sweeping the room, but it seemed that no one else had really noticed her short embrace with Ernie – they were all caught up in their own dancing or drinking, conversations or kissing.
All except for one person, standing at the edge of the room, on the periphery of a small group of Slytherins, who was staring straight at her. After a heart-stopping moment, she pulled her gaze from his, trying to keep focused on getting to the great oak doors, as Draco's Malfoy's expression burnt itself into her mind. She didn't think she'd ever forget it – because she'd seen him angry before, but she'd never seen him wear such a look of white hot rage.
She hurried out the main doors of the castle, flinching as the chill autumn air hit her skin like an assault. It almost took her breath away, but helped to clear her head and sober her. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her and walked down a gravel path that ran parallel to the castle, seeking out a stone bench to sit on that was near the newly erected statue of Dumbledore.
She heard footsteps on the gravel behind her – a quick, purposeful stride – and turned, halting abruptly as she saw who'd followed her. Malfoy's face had not lost its look of rage.
"Are you working your way through the houses, Granger?" he bit out as he neared her, his voice acidic, his mouth twisted up contemptuously. "Got bored of the Gryffindor boys, thought you'd try a snake and now you're moving on to the fucking badgers?" Malfoy continued his advance, causing her to back away until she came up against a prickly hedge. He stopped only inches from her.
Anger bubbled up inside her; her right hand instantly went to the hidden pocket of her dress and she pulled out her wand, as the other balled into a fist, her arm tensing, wanting to strike. But she forced herself to stop, and fight him with words instead. "I can kiss who I like! You don't own me Malfoy! I'm not your possession! We're not even in any kind of relationship!"
His gaze flitted across her face, along her neckline; his eyes seemed so glazed with anger, she wasn't sure if he was even taking her words in. Finally, he met her gaze, his eyes becoming focused once more.
"What was it like?" he said, his voice low and threatening. She caught the smell of firewhiskey on his breath and noticed how, despite the rigidity of his posture, he swayed slightly. She wondered if he was just as drunk as she was. "What was it like, kissing your fucking Hufflepuff?"
"I…" Her voice faltered, her mind going hazy again, but not from drink this time – from the proximity of him, being so close to his lips again. Even though they were spitting hate at her, she remembered what they could do, how they can make her mind and body feel. She turned away from him, avoiding eye contact, hoping that that might quell the conflicting swell of emotions she was feeling.
"That wasn't a rhetorical question," Malfoy bit out.
"I...I can't think when you're this close to me," was all she could say, but as soon as the words were out her mouth, she knew she'd said too much. It was an admission, an admission of how he could make her feel.
It didn't seem to placate him in any way, however. He continued with just as much anger: "Then fucking try 'cause I'm not moving. What did it feel like, kissing him?"
"It felt like...nothing. I felt nothing," She looked him in the eyes then, defiant and unapologetic. Because it was the truth.
His shoulders sagged slightly, his posture losing its tension, as if her words had brought him a relief of some kind. He leaned towards her, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth from her mouth. "And when I do this…." – he gently, slowly, almost tenderly kissed her – "What does that feel like, Granger?"
"I...it makes me forget." She managed to gather the words in her scattered mind as he lowered his head, leaning towards her neck.
"Makes you forget what?"
His question – the intrusive insistence of it, along with his accumulating berations – lit a dangerous spark inside her.
Rage rose in her like fiendfyre.
"You really want me to answer that?" Her voice was hard, causing Malfoy to snap his head up to look at her.
"Yes," he said fimly, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
Their eyes locked, and she began to speak, her voice steady and deliberate.
"I forget the pain. Of how my parents don't know I exist because I obliviated their memory of me. I forget the hunger and the cold – of months living in fields and forests." Her voice was rising with her anger but it was a hard, cold kind of fury. "I forget the relentless fear of constantly having to watch our backs for snatchers. I forget seeing my dorm mate of six years have her throat gauged out by Fenrir-fucking-Greyback!"
She'd noticed Malfoy's expression change in quick succession: from alarm, to surprise, to a guardedness. His arms slackened and he took a step back from her, as if stung. But she didn't care. The fury was flowing through all of her body now.
He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him by slashing her wand through the air in a non-verbal Silencio. There was more she wanted to say – more she needed him to know. And it felt good to voice it all – like cleansing her body of a poisonous, malignant growth.
"I forget seeing one of the best teachers I ever had dead on the floor of the Great Hall. And another one killed by having a snake eat his fucking face off! I forget the image of my best friend's brother getting crushed to death under falling masonry."
He started backing away from her but she stepped towards him slowly, continuing her monologue in a hard and bitter voice.
"And best of all, I forget lying in the floor of your fucking house whilst your aunt cut a cursed wound into my arm because she's got bored of crucio'ing me!" She was vaguely aware that those were the first words she'd ever managed to say about that day to anyone – about what happened to her. Then laughter bubbled up in her, hard and hysterical. "Which is really quite ironic, don't you think? That you make me forget that. I think that's really quite fucked up, don't you?"
She waved her arm abruptly, reversing her silencing spell.
"Answer me! That wasn't a rhetorical question!" Her last words were mocking and shrill as she echoed his earlier question back to him.
He'd stopped moving and so she had to stop too, a few inches from him. Despite only coming up to his chin, she felt taller than him now somehow. He was slumped over, his gaze directed somewhere near her feet; he looked defeated, like she'd knocked all the fight out of him. Maybe she had.
"Yeah. It's – this – is fucked up," his voice was barely audible and he continued to look at the ground as he spoke.
A new feeling rose in her: power. She realised her words had made her powerful.
"That's what I forget, Malfoy. And how about you? How hard was it for you, sleeping in freshly washed sheets and eating three course meals in this bloody castle?" Even with the anger still bubbling in her veins, she knew she was being unfair. She knew suffering came in many forms, and that the last year at Hogwarts had been no picnic. Not for anyone. But it still felt good to release the words into their air between her and Malfoy – cathartic. "You didn't even fight, except to try and kill me and my friends in that fucking fire." There was a dulled voice in her mind, saying that wasn't fair either, because she knew one of his friends died in that fire. But her anger smothered that voice. "So how fucking dare you tell me who I can and can't kiss Draco Malfoy!"
She paused, giving him a chance to respond, but he just continued to look down at the gravel between their feet. She suddenly felt very, very tired. The anger was starting to dissipate, and exhaustion was sweeping over her in a wave.
"You know," she said more quietly, thoughtfully. Tears she didn't know she'd cried – hot tears of fury – were trickling slowly down her cheeks, and she brushed them away impatiently. "I sometimes wonder whether my blood stains are still there. On the floor of your drawing room." Her voice turned bitter and caustic again. "I wonder whether you can see them whilst you have your afternoon-fucking-tea!"
And with that, she spun around, her dress sweeping about her ankles, and stormed away from him, back towards the castle. As she strode down the gravel path, she brushed past someone that had clearly been witness to some, if not all, of their exchange, a frown of concern marring their usually composed exterior.
She barely looked at Theo Nott as she shoved past him and hurried towards the light of the Entrance Hall.
A/N: No Christmas fluff with this chapter I'm afraid - the angst continues for these two (for now...)!
As always, huge, huge thanks to Frumpologist and scullymurphy for being amazing alphabetas.
Your thoughts and comments are, as ever, loved!