Chapter 4:

All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put me back together again.

You're not good enough.

I take deep breaths, silently, almost afraid.

You're not smart enough.

I shoot at a fly with my wand. It misses.

You won't survive very long… And even if you did, what a pathetic existence that would be.

I close my eyes tightly, painfully so, as I recall the events from the night before.

I'm not okay, I speak to the shadows in my old, rented apartment room.

It would be so easy to die. Raise my wand and snuff out the worthless life I am living. And never have to see, or feel— again. But I don't kill myself. As miserable as I am, I still cling to threads of life. I hope that I can banish whatever hope there is left in me because when that day comes, I know I will die by my own hand.

I takes my a while to register the loud thumping noise someones making at my door. I look at my soiled clothes, untampered from the night before, and the still-unfinished bottle of gin in my hand. I close my eyes and gulp it down, summoning liquid courage and recklessness as I open the door.

It's him.

Why is he here?

I hate him.

Why won't he leave me alone? Like last night.

He's still immaculate as ever, with finely combed blonde hair, piercing silver eyes, and a deep black robe that reflects the loyalties of his soul.

"What do you want?" I take a step back, holding my wand tightly.

He tilts his head, his face expressionless, and caresses his walking stick.

His eyes travel from my head to toe. Something constricts my chest.

"Surely that is not very civil, Hermione? When a man comes knocking at his wife's door, he is to be greeted with joy and invited inside, yes?"

Wha—What?

"Excuse me? What the—" I cannot find words to express my bewilderment. "Is this supposed to be a joke?"

But he simply stands in the doorway, observing me imperiously as if I were a slug or a cockroach that had just crawled out from beneath one of his wardrobes and he is considering whether to let me live or squash me under his feet.

"You know what, I don't care. You're not welcome here, Mr. Malfoy." I try to slam the door in his face but he is quicker. With an imperceptible flick of his wrist, he forces the door open and I fall backwards. I raise my wand,

"Stupefy!"

He blocks it non-verbally and my wand is plucked away from me in one swift whoosh. I would have fallen down, if it wasn't for my bed blocking the straightway trajectory to a painful landing on the floor. Instead, I land on the soft mattress, the wind knocked out of my lungs.

And still, he stands close to the door that is shut now, watching me like a hawk, observing the slightest twitch in my jaw. I crawl backwards, trying to reach the headboard. There's a window to the side, and maybe if I am quick enough I could climb out… Maybe this is what I need to put me over the edge.

"Stop where you are, Hermione."

My gaze travels from the window to his marble-like face and his intense, boring eyes.

"You should leave." I whisper.

He smiles condescendingly.

"Must I?" He steps closer to the bed.

No.

His smile taunts me with its knife-like edge. Why is he here?

Why doesn't he go away?

Why is my world a nightmare?

I lie in my bed, one that I have shared with many lovers—and Ron. Of course, Ron. My eyes start stinging and I look away from him.

"Get up, Hermione." He frowns as he scans the walls of my room. All black. "There are matters of vital importance that we need to discuss. And since you insist upon making a scene in public everywhere you go, it is best we do this—here." He purses his lips in disgust as he looks around once more.

I want him to go away.

Why doesn't he leave?

As if in a trance, I gather myself and stand up. His eyes travel from my head to toe and I am forced to look down.

I know what goes on his mind.

Filthy. Disgusting. Mudblood. Whore.

He's not alone.

Except… maybe Neville. Poor, sweet Neville.

While I agonise over these thoughts, he conjures two perfect wingback armchairs near the window and waves for me to sit.

I deposit myself unceremoniously into one of them, watching him warily. There's a weird buzz in my head, however, and I think the alcohol just kicked in.

When he is settled, after what seems like an eternity, he looks out of the window.

"This will not do, Hermione." His tones are soft, almost musical, and yet they prick at my skin. "I will not ask you to forget the past but much as you and I abhor it, we are tied together. This adversarial attitude will not benefit you or me."

He pauses, as if he expects me to say something but I simply watch him, numb and cold.

He leans closer, his face is highlighted by an interplay of shadows and light—it is a hauntingly beautiful vision—the stuff of nightmares. His gaze is intense, and he tries to smile but it fails him. The utter coldness and death in his heart sleeps through his eyes.

"What—what do you want me to do?" I ask, almost curious. I know there's no escape, so I might as well have comfort. What a chimera that is.

"Not a a lot." He leans back, twisting his neck. "Comply with the provisions of the law so that the Ministry does not take action against either one of us. Apart from that, you will be free to live your life as you please." He gives my apartment another look of distaste.

Freedom has a price. Bondage is the price we pay for freedom. Always.

"Okay."

I am surprised at my words.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

Why isn't he leaving?

Why has everyone left?

I am breathing the same air as him and it suffocates me.

"I'll do it."

Why do I say these words?

Why is he nodding, seeming almost satisfied with my answer?

Sometimes, I go to my happy place when processing pain—I melt into this dark, liquid form and imagine myself seeping through the cracks in the floorboards. I don't care where I end up. It has to be better than this.

Far, far at the back of mind, there's a room. Sometimes, it's black. Sometimes, it's white. And in that room, I have locked away Hermione. And sometimes, I look at her. Through a window. I can never get to her, I know. My sins and her virtues will not allow us to meet.

"This is the address—" I realise that he has placed a small card on the window sill. His back is turned to me and he makes his way towards the door. He pauses at the threshold. "Make yourself presentable. It is an—exclusive neighbourhood." And before I can protest or process, he's gone.

I turn the card over.

12, Maple Street

Silent Greens.

It's an address to a house. I am confused, but only for a second.

'Cohabitation is a mandatory clause of the Law.'

Ah.

I take a deep breath.

Right.

That's probably the address to his home. He expects me to move in with him. To comply with the Law..

That sounds funny, ridiculous… and barbaric.

And yet, I agreed. Isn't this what I agreed to?

I shiver in the cool air, standing outside my favourite haunt. I have my beaded bag with me—one of the few reminders of my happier days. I figure getting supremely drunk before I visit my marital home might just be the right thing to do.

And it's so strange—I come here everyday, sit at the same bar, watch the same people dance and laugh, and never have I ever felt the urge to join them. Sure, I have slept with quite a few of them—but I have never quite had the desire to know them.

"The usual, David." I signal the bartender and look around. It's the usual crowd, the usual place. There's shiny clothes, full glasses of wine and mugs of beer, there's that scintillating, annoying laughter, there's that same, loud music blaring through enchanted jukeboxes—

"Here's your drink, Hermione." David slides my mug of beer over the counter.

He has dark brown eyes and jet black hair. There's a tiny scar at the nape of his neck—perhaps a rogue curse.

I glance at him obliquely, noticing the outline of his muscled body and tilt my head towards him.

"That's Jack," David, the bartender, informs me. "He's new around here. And by the interested look in your eyes, I believe you want to talk to him."

"That transparent, am I?"

"No. I am observant."

I nod at him in acknowledgement. "Can you introduce me?"

"Perhaps," he leans across the counter. "For a price. Ten Galleons?"

I stare at him. This is what it's all about. This is the world I fought for.

A world I lost.

"Funny, I didn't consider you the—pimping kind, David." I throw a couple of sickles on the counter and jump out of my seat, heading towards the door.

Out in the night, I feel rain.

It's so dense but I don't want to go into shade.

Perhaps I am more drunk than I feel.

I walk the road on wobbly legs. I take a left turn and a right and then a left again. I walk in circles until I reach a dead-end.

Huh.

I swear this was not the destination I was headed towards.

God help me.

God?

"I was hoping you would lose your path."

I turn at the sound. I can barely make out the outline of the man who stands blocking my way.

David?

"What do you want, pimp?" I back away, still wobbly, shaky and drenched, with my head full of liquid and my heart brimming to edge with melancholy. "Offering to lower your rates?"

He takes a few steps towards me and I notice that he's not alone.

He has three men with him. One of them has jet black hair.

I reach for my wand but it's not there. My heart drops.

Why don't I have it?

"Lost something, have you?" He twirls my wand in his hand and that's when I know.

I say nothing. I know there's no escape. Whatever David wants, he can do here.

This is the world I saved.

I back away until my back hits the wall. The men. All this while, David stands in the middle of the circle, grinning sinisterly.

The rain is unrelenting. It washes away so much.

So many sins.

"What do you want, David?"

"That's a good question, Hermione." He motions for the man with jet black hair, the one I found rather interesting, to move towards me. I am caught against the wall and I don't move at all. "But I am not going to tell you. It's justice, after all."

I don't understand his narrative.

Justice?

I part my lips as two of the men my arms and pin me to the ground.

I want to fight. I squirm against their hold, half-heartedly, and then calm down. Why fight?

You deserve this.

Perhaps it's the rain. Or the booze.

I close my eyes and cease to struggle.

I walked the road and I fucked it all.

So many sins.

So, So many…

All the kings horses and all the kings men, couldn't put me together again…

I knock at the door, bruised, tattered and a little less—of everything. The house is grand and the lanes are wide. It's still raining and for a moment, I am relieved that the neighbours can't see me. Funny.

Why would I come here?

Why not go home and drown myself in the bathtub? Or jump off the apartment building?

Anything, really?

The door opens after a long while, revealing him.

Malfoy.

"What—?" He surveys me closely, a vein twitching in his jaw. "What happened to you?"

I look into his stormy grey eyes, eyes that reveal a little colour now. Perhaps he did not expect me to be here. To be fair, neither did I.

"Nothing, Mr. Malfoy." I say quietly. "I am here to honour our agreement."

Hello everyone. I hope there's someone still reading this. Let me know. I plan to continue this fic beyond this point. regularly. Please leave a review. I appreciate it.