Chapter nine ended up being a long one too… Sorry not sorry, again *snickers*
I am, however, sorry for the long wait.
Please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or other references to the original work of J.K Rowling. I only own my own mistakes
-o-o-o-
If she closed her eyes and hugged the pillow just right, it was like he was still there. She could still feel him, his lips softly colliding with hers over and over again. A night had never felt as long, like the hours of a thousand nights combined. She hated sleeping in hotel rooms and he'd made it worse.
From her position on the bed she could see the sky outside, starless, empty. At this moment, she wanted Harry and Ron, to be thirteen years old again, Sunday roast at the Burrow and Ginny teaching her the wand movements to make a French braid.
She wasn't sure what had come over her, but he'd been there, asleep on the bed, in her room. Leaning over him, she'd touched lightly over the expensive fabric on his shirt, the feel of leather that draped over his shoulders on the tips of her fingers.
She'd wanted all of him, could only see him, feel him, be for him.
What had she done wrong?
Nothing – she knew nothing, and for someone who took pride in knowledge, it was rather deprecating. Sliding her fingers across the hem of her top, she relished in the delightful silk blend and tried to establish what she did know. His kindness today wasn't imagined, she wore the evidence of it. Draco had led the way toward the hotel and proceeded to slap two of his shopping bags into her hand. He didn't leave her any time to ask or to thank him before he was gone from her line of sight.
She'd paced a little, dropping the bags to the carpeted floor. He'd thought of her. The gesture was so … sweet. It was hard to believe it had come from him. Slowly, she'd pulled out the items to find a grey, strappy silk top and a pair of matching shorts. The silk made the grey shine beautifully under the ceiling light, it looked expensive and she didn't dare turn the price tag. The elegant rope handles on the shopping bag was enough for her to comprehend the price was above what she would ever pay for sleep apparel. He'd gotten her other things as well, necessities she'd need, a cream coloured shirt for the next day.
For a moment she allowed herself to make up images of Draco walking about the shops, picking these things and even when she tried, it was still hard. It was so normal. Most times when she was picturing him doing things, he was taking off her underwear with his teeth or with just the right amount of aggression, throwing her down on the settee in the lab and being very, very verbal about what he was about to do to her.
He'd thought of her. Her lips curved into a smile before her face fell, remembering what had happened later, after their dinner. Pulling herself up against the headboard, she loathed her existence, the room, this foreign city filled with alien emotions.
Her life had thus far consisted of two defining revelations. The first was when she found out she was a witch, when she realised there was more than the mundane and the boring. The world was filled with magic and she was one of the people who could wield it. Her life from that moment was in screaming colour; it was like reading a novel that made you cry, laugh and feel. Never had she felt more alive than when her wand chose her at Ollivander's or when she for the first time successfully performed a spell. The books excited her. They held wisdom she'd never dreamed ever existed and she'd wanted to learn it all. Earn her place in their world.
Their world. It had taken her a lot of time to start believing it was hers too. For a long time she'd been standing with one foot in the muggle world and one in the wizarding world, constantly struck by the feeling she belonged in both – and in neither. Rootless.
The second revelation she'd had was just days ago. She'd gone from muggle, to witch, to Omega. These life-altering revelations had one thing – or rather – one person in common, Draco Malfoy.
He was the first person to make her feel she didn't belong. The moment he'd called her a mudblood something inside her sparked, a fight, a burning want to prove everybody wrong. Now, at a time when everything she thought she knew, yet again had flipped on its head, there he was. Consuming her thoughts, making her burn. Again, he was the reason she was feeling less worthy, lost in a new world she was still trying to navigate.
She didn't want yell or cry, her emotions were too intrusive for her to have any kind of physical reaction at all. Still holding on to the pillow, as though it could in any way replace him, she felt more confused than ever. She was just beginning to get to know him, the new him – the person who was thoughtful enough to buy clothing for her, the one that wasn't opposed to sharing a bottle of wine and who could hold his own in a conversation. She nestled farther into the bed while hurt and anger fought for space inside of her.
He'd pushed her away and somehow she'd never felt smaller. Didn't think it possible to. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd displeased him and it made her feel like a battered book with a broken spine. Such a thing could be mended with glue, and even if she'd somehow be able to find that glue, it would still need time to dry.
The greater powers of the universe were clearly fucking with her. Hours passed as she searched for that glue, something reasonable to cling to, a resemblance of the peace her routine had instilled in her. All she found in her search was want – a want for her body to be tangled with his, for his fingertips to draw patterns across her skin. His fingers were the glue and they'd heal the spine by touch alone. She wanted his smiles to be directed at her, to be because of her, and no matter how she twisted and turned this folly around in her head, she couldn't make it make sense.
Draco had kissed her, not a peck on the cheek – a real, toe-curling, world melting away kind of kiss. Tentative at first, but then his tongue had invaded her mouth just like he was invading her thoughts. Every brush of his fingers on her bare skin had left little fires in their wake making her feel unquenchable. His scent had captured her in a false sense of safety, deluding her to believe nothing bad could ever come from his lips on hers.
But it had. Because he'd shoved her off of him and left her with a cascade of emotion she didn't know how to handle. She stood from the bed a couple of times, even made it to the door once, but each time she stopped herself. Not knowing his reasons for leaving had her starved for answers, but she couldn't make her body cooperate. There was a possibility his answers would shatter whatever piece that held her together right now. If she were to crumble into a mess on the floor she didn't want it to be in front of him.
Her eyes followed the patterns of the wallpaper as she tried to drown out the thoughts of him, trying to tell herself it was only a kiss and it shouldn't make her feel like the entire world was ending. She was supposed to be above this, to know that her self worth could never be reduced to the actions of one man. That was her glue, but it wasn't enough to fix it.
Letting out a shaky breath, she was incapable of stopping the words she whispered in the dark even though he'd never hear them. Pitiful words that summed up what she wanted despite her reason.
Come back.
Please, come back.
-o-o-o-
A wall. A single, breakable, wall was all that stood between them. Mental shackles anchored him to the bed, he didn't even get up to use the loo because he might take a wrong turn and end up outside of Granger's door. The night provided very little sleep. By the time the first rays of sunshine peeked through the clouds, he'd already made good use of the coffee station in his room – emptying more cups of espresso than healthy.
He'd already showered twice and most of her scent was gone from his person when he was dressed. It should make him sigh of relief but it didn't. In order to keep his hands busy, he started making the bed. With meticulous movements he tucked in the corners of the sheet, all whilst replaying last night in his head again. Hermione had kissed him back for one single reason – she didn't have a choice. All those times he'd felt her gaze grace his body, it only happened due to the impact of pheromones. Pheromones that entrapped her, made her want him even if she didn't.
At the age of fifteen his father had called him down to the Manor library, pointing to book after book. "You need to learn this boy"' he'd said, "it's time". As embarrassing as it was, having his father insist he'd read book after book, with very vivid pictures about claiming, knotting, pheromones and sex, in his fragile and awkward teenage years – he understood the importance of it now. An Alpha could force an Omega to sleep with him, to do things she'd never do if not under the influence of the Alpha's pheromones or his commands. His voice in the presence of an Omega was a weapon. If done correctly, his voice alone could trap her in a submissive state where she'd do anything he said, not because she'd want to, but because she'd have to.
The bed looked neat and tidy once he'd finished it, unlike the mess that was his mind. He'd left her in the middle of something great and it could never be undone us– just as he couldn't take back all of the awful things he'd said and done to her in the past.
With a thumping heart he made his way down the stairs to the adjacent conservatory where breakfast was held. The space was kept at a nice, cool, temperature by what Draco suspected was elaborate cooling charms. He tried a meagre "good morning" as they sat down and all Hermione did was give him a blank stare. It wasn't a good morning at all. They were tucked away in the corner, behind giant fiddle-leaf fig trees that hid them from view. The food was excellent but he had trouble appreciating it. The expectant of an apology seemed to hang in the air, but the words wouldn't form. He didn't know how to say he was sorry when he knew he'd done the right thing by leaving. If he hadn't, there'd be a whole lot more to apologise for. He couldn't risk it going further than that kiss last night. If they'd done more, he knew he would never have been able to walk away, and he'd rather not think himself a rapist the rest of his life. He was adamant in this, but even so he couldn't stop the feeling that simmered within him, that stirred beneath his skin – the want to be near her. The smell of tea and toast mixed in with her scent, a fact he was very thankful for. He knew he had to come up with a plan, a way to keep working with her. It would only get harder being around her the closer to her presentation she got. There were questions he wanted to ask but he smothered them, it wasn't the time.
Soft curls fell over Hermione's shoulders and he wanted to reach out and touch it, tuck a stray curl behind her ear. He noticed she was wearing the shirt he'd bought for her yesterday, it was a little too big around her arms, but fit well over her chest.
Nope – not doing that.
He was not to look, care or of feel satisfaction at the thought she was wearing it. He diverted his eyes to his plate instead, wondering if the pyjamas had fit. There was probably a good chance she'd hexed that to shreds though.
Just as well, he thought, not yours to take care of.
Her plate was almost untouched, but she kept a tight grip around her fork as she shoved beans around. He struggled to think of something to say. Anything at all that could begin to repair things.
"You should eat," he said because apparently he couldn't keep his mouth shut until he could think of something better to say. It would have been smarter to stay quiet. She looked at him blankly, letting out a disapproving sound and went back to nursing her tea. Her effort to look indifferent was applaudable, and maybe he was deceiving himself into thinking she cared more than she did. Maybe her stern expression was that of regret not hurt, but he wanted to hug her, make her feel better or possibly he was the one in need of a hug. His entire nature was to protect her, to care for her. Because of that, he also knew he wasn't supposed to be that person for her. There could be entire books written, volumes, of the many insults he'd thrown her way.
He had no right to sit there, pining, when he didn't have a right to be any kind of person to her at all, least of all her Alpha. That person should be someone worthy of her and he was not that Alpha. He'd concluded that last night, the very second he'd realised what she was.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in pressing silence, almost as bad as that one time the Dark Lord had joined his family for dinner at the Manor. Except, this time, he was the villain. Whilst he sipped the last of his coffee he wondered if it was possible to get caffeine poisoning and if he was close to getting it. His legs felt a little shaky, like he either needed to run a marathon or talk really fast. Since conversation didn't seem optional, he poured himself some water. He'd read somewhere that caffeine was dehydrating.
"Pass me the teapot," Hermione said stiffly. He reached for the teapot and placed it in front of her so fast he burned his hand on the porcelain in the process. He stifled his curses, because her question was the first words she'd uttered all morning. Even though there was an obvious edge to her voice, he wanted her to ask for more. What exactly, he wasn't sure.
What do you want, Hermione? It's yours.
And just like that, Draco knew he was thoroughly fucked.
-o-o-o-
Draco disappeared into his room as soon as she'd slurped the last of her mint tea. She'd barely been able to look at him during breakfast. Swiftly, she began gathering the things she had at the room and performed an extension charm on her bag to make sure it all fit.
Dick Tawny wouldn't be at Shingsley's dock until midday. In a few-worded agreement they decided to spend their time separately until then. Her eyes swept over the room before she closed the door, knowing she'd be happy to forget she'd ever had to spend a night there.
Outside, the sun was beating down on her shoulders as she walked toward one of the quint bookshops she'd spotted the day before. The air was humid and made her hair look worse than it had just minutes ago. She fanned herself with her hand as she continued walking. No cooling charms seemed to do the trick, no matter how many times she recast them. In the hunt for caffeine, she stopped by a coffee cart and ordered an ice coffee to help chill her, alternating holding it against her wrists when it was only ice left. She pushed open the door to the bookshop; a bell positioned above the door welcomed her with a pleasant sound as she stepped inside. The smell of books and the quiet usually had a calming effect on her, but today she perused without paying any real attention to the ones she pulled out. The shop assistant, a tall woman in her late forties, gave her a wide smile when she passed by, balancing new arrivals in her arms. None of the books appealed to her. Despite this, she walked up to the counter with two books stuffed under her arm and one in hand, because it would have been a shame to leave without loot.
When she eventually made her way to the dock she pressed her lips together, trying to get her professional hat on. It was necessary she pushed her feelings aside. The victims deserved her full attention, and he deserved none of it. She noticed him immediately; it was something in the way he stood, perfect posture, one hand in in the pocket of his trousers.
"So …" she said when catching up to him, "let's get this over with." Her tone wasn't the friendly one as she was going for.
"Let's," Draco said, giving her a quick look before he started his way through the crowded dock.
They ambled past several vendors that were in the middle of arguments with displeased customers. Hermione drank it in, thankful to be in the centre of the bustle. It was nice seeing other people reflecting her mood but neither her nor Draco were screaming. Instead they exchanged words in eerily business like fashion, both pretending last night hadn't happened. Her eyes flicked to his for a moment, but didn't stay there long enough for her to decipher what he was thinking. All she knew was they could pretend like this for years to come and there'd still be no way she was ever forgetting the feel of his hands on her throat or the taste of his tongue in her mouth. The thought angered her further.
It wasn't that she wanted to be expecting an explanation and an exemplary well thought out apology this morning, but when she didn't even receive a simple 'sorry', she realised she had been yearning for it. Trudging along a few steps behind him was her only form of armour; well that and the return of Toby. Toby's face wasn't the face she'd kissed last night and it made pretending it never happened a little easier.
Draco swerved around the shoppers and probably drew more attention to them than necessary. When she lost sight of him she sighed and thought he was good at that. Disappearing.
When she caught up to him she was annoyed to the point of grinding her teeth. She wanted to lash out at him, insist on an apology but somehow that felt like a defeat. It would show that she cared, that she was hurt and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Besides, they had more important things in need of their attention, such as the main reason for them being in Liverpool at all.
The path before them slowly cleared the closer to the tables they got. A dark haired man was leaning on his elbows, the table in front of him overcrowded by potion vials and unnecessary charmed trinkets, the kind that broke after the first use. The man was picking at his nails and Hermione thought he resembled a grumpy cat cleaning its claws.
"Dick Tawny?" Draco asked as they approached.
"Who's asking?" the man mumbled, not bothering to look up from his nails.
"Toby," Draco said without hesitation, giving Hermione a brief glance. She knew he hated the name she'd given his current look, but she couldn't help but feel a little content he'd used it. Dick's small eyes cut to Hermione, zeroed in on her, and she felt immediately uncomfortable. He had a piercing stare that made unpleasant chills appear even in the heat.
"I recognize you," he said pointing a stubby finger at her, it was apparent he wasn't sure from where and she was not going to tell him.
"Just one of those faces," she said, shrugging. His eyes seemed to narrow even more as he took her in, and she could only hope he wouldn't figure it out until they were long gone. Her name was mentioned in the Daily Prophet a lot, but pictures of her from the last few years were rare.
Dick smiled strangely at her, "a rather pretty one at that."
Draco pursed his lips together and Hermione felt as though she was about to jump out of her own skin when his arm slid around her waist. Dick raised his eyebrows. Whatever the arm around her had meant to him, it seemed to break his attention away. He mumbled something rude under his breath and started to rearrange the products on the table. She wanted to shake Draco's arm off but she also knew it was part of the act. She hated that it took another man to make a public show to deter other men from making a pass. Last night during dinner they'd discussed this particular act, and it had seemed a much more pleasing arrangement when the candle glowed between them. They were to pretend to be a couple and Draco was to portray a shady potions dealer to properly fit the clientele Dick would be inclined selling to. The couple thing wasn't exactly an essential factor and she'd thought after their awkward breakfast this morning that part of the plan had been naturally cut.
It was a good thing Dick hadn't been at the dock yesterday, it gave them more time to work out the kinks of their approach, and it appeared to be working. Dick Tawny looked different from how she'd pictured him. He was taller, older; his dark hair had splatters of grey that stood out under the bright sunlight. If Draco's lack of explanation hadn't been lingering in the forefront of Hermione's mind during the entire exchange, she would've found Draco getting into character impressive. Now, however, it was more of a testament to how easily the man could throw lies around. He played the role perfectly.
Dick gauged them, seemingly trying to decide if he should give away any information at all. "How'd you know of my sleeper potion?"
Hermione twiddled her fingers, hoping he couldn't tell how eager they both were to get their hands on it and exactly why that was. If they failed, she was afraid they'd never work out a way to get into Yaxley junior's closed mind. That meant more death, more muggle-borns killed. It was something she'd rather not have on her conscience.
She shot a sideways look at Draco, he seemed calm, giving Dick a crooked smile, and even though the face wasn't his, that ghost of a smirk was entirely – heir to a pure bloodline – Draco. He kept his hands visible at all times and his stance relaxed, another tactic.
"Word of mouth," Draco lolled, shrugging. Giving away as little information as possible.
"What you need it for? Got things you wanna hide, lad?" Dick asked, tapping a finger to his temple.
Draco grinned and Hermione could have sworn his hand on her waist was going to leave a permanent brand. "What is it the scouse say, don't be geggin' in?"
Geggin' in? Since when did Draco know scouse slang?
Dick mumbled something inaudibly and in response Draco pulled out a pouch, dropping it on the table in front of him. Dick peeked inside it, and apparently multitudes of galleons were enough for him to start rummaging the bags behind him. Soon enough a flask was placed on the table.
Money talks, he'd said at dinner and he'd been right.
They talked some more but Hermione tuned them out, her eyes fixed on the potion. It had a radiant violet hue, indicating a row of possible ingredients. Her fingers itched to touch it, pop off the cork, smell it, assess it. In her head she was already in the potions lab, breaking it down into it's various components. The work was delicate and it required a lot of precision and patience – she could feel the excitement in her bones and it was a welcome, albeit short-lived relief.
Draco picked it up, acting as though he was studying it, turning it according to Hermione's previous instructions. When Dick turned to tell off a customer for touching a goblet that supposedly turned any liquid into firewhiskey, Draco looked for her approval. Hermione watched as the liquid moved slow inside the flask, it seemed to have the right thickness and the colour was close to the ones they'd made – but more vibrant. This had to be the right one. She nodded once. His hand squeezed her waist a little to let her know he got it and Hermione wanted to combust.
When Dick returned his attention to them he said, "And?"
Draco raised his eyebrows, a silent 'tsk, tsk'. "Surely that," he said, inclining his head toward the pouch, "buys us at least two."
The worn man before them scowled and reluctantly placed a second flask on the table and waved them off, mumbling that he was tired of haggling customers, that they were going to have him file for bankruptcy, robbing him blind. They both rolled their eyes.
As they scurried past people, potions secured in a thin plastic bag, they smiled at each other, because despite last night, this was a win.
-o-o-o-
The apparition back to London didn't go without difficulty. There was only so much unresolved tension and unanswered questions a person could take. Their smiles had faded just as they stepped into the square. She waited on a bench as Draco got them bottled water and some food to gobble down before searching for a good place to apparate. When they touched down in Diagon Alley she was exhausted. They were standing secluded in one of the many alleyways. When they regained balance Draco moved away from her as if he couldn't stand being close to her for another second. He looked like himself again, but Hermione was too upset to appreciate it.
"Fine," Hermione said irately.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "Fine?"
"If you don't want to say anything about last night, I will. Let's not forget, you kissed me. Judging by today, you wished you hadn't," she paused to lower her voice when a passing middle height man stopped in his tracks. His dark eyes met with hers for a short moment, then they landed on Draco. Hermione waited until he was gone before she continued. "That's, just fine, Malfoy." She pursed her lips into a thin line, her eyes shooting daggers in his direction.
"Granger," he said, his voice soft, too soft. His hand reached to touch her shoulder but she took a step back. He opened his mouth as to say something, but closed it again, shaking his head. She thought she saw something resembling frustration and regret cross his face.
Her eyes trained on his, challenging him to speak. "Gods Granger," he said, aggravated now. Several moments passed whilst they stared at each other, measuring one and other. When Draco finally spoke, his voice steady and cold. "I'm not the Alpha for you." He said it like he could taste each word as they passed through his lips, as though even the thought of the opposite was disgusting to him.
Those words had to be the ugliest words ever said. They hit her like a rock to the head, a punch in the gut. Her legs started to tremble and she stumbled backwards, hitting the building behind her. Her breathing came in short, strained pants. She was suffocating in her own panic. Alpha, Alpha, Alpha. It screamed at her, like the sound of an alarm going off in the morning, the one you dread because you know it means you have to slip out of the warm covers.
He was – he– what? "You're –" she swallowed, no longer capable of the simple task of forming sentences.
Draco took an assertive step forward, looming over her and saying something she didn't catch.
Stupid wall, fucking wall, she needed to melt through it, needed space for another step back. Why is it witches can't walk through walls? She felt trapped, scared and it was in that moment she realised how much power Draco Malfoy held over her. How much power his words could have and how embarrassingly easily she could break.
He'd said, not for you.
It hurt. She wanted to get away, curl up into a ball in the corner of the alleyway next to the trash. She wanted to rewind time, to never have kissed him at all, to decline the Ministry's offer to work at the Bunker. Another, very loud, part of her, wanted to kneel before him – not to ask why he wasn't the Alpha for her, but to beg him to be. The feeling was so overwhelming, fighting it was like trying to walk through quicksand. Like being held tight by the devil's snare, the more you struggle the closer to death you are. The odds were stacked against her. It was a battle she couldn't win. It was needs that existed in the very make up of her – flowing through her veins and overtaking her senses. If she had a mirror she was sure she wouldn't recognise herself, this wasn't her. It was impulse, instinct, the part of her she didn't control – the Omega in her.
She'd been wrong earlier. It was unquestionably possible to feel even smaller.
-o-o-o-
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