Breaking

Disclaimer: All credit goes to J.K. Rowling, not myself. Except, of course, the plot.

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you, thank you and thank you! The first chapter has only been up for a day, and I've already gotten happy reviews! With all the positive feedback, I've decided to post my second chapter earlier than expected. Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, at night, if he lay still enough, Draco could still feel it moving. He could feel it writhing sickeningly against his arm, calling him, dragging him down, down deeper into the rabbit hole. He would break out in a cold sweat and his arm would twitch aggressively, his body's subconscious reaction to the unwanted feeling. His eyes would close tightly enough to hurt and he'd take deep breaths while he told himself it was over, it was all over.

Despite the harsh rumours, Draco Malfoy was not proud of his past at all. Ever since he was young, he had known what was expected of him and what would happen if he failed to meet said expectations. Regardless of the other rumours, Lucius Malfoy was never an abusive father. He was cold, he was calculating, and he was completely emotionless. Never abusive, though. Lucius had made sure that Draco knew where his place in society was- at the right hand of the Dark Lord. For Draco, there was never a question of right or wrong, light or dark, just the knowledge that one day he would be a Death Eater and would carry out the tasks that accompanied such a title.

It was only after he hadn't managed to off Dumbledore that he began to question the teachings of his father. The Dark Lord was mad at him, furious with his incompetence and planned to punish Draco quite fully. Wouldn't that be the ultimate lesson for Lucius Malfoy? To kill his only son, rid him of the only person able to carry on the Malfoy name? When Draco realised what the Dark Lord had planned for him, he knew he had to escape. He had to escape the powerful cult he had been tricked into joining, escape a past of well-practised Cruciatus' and Imperios.

It was not easy, though, and it didn't happen immediately. There was no happy ending, no perfect solution to Draco's predicament. It had been the seventh time he had felt the snake and skull wriggling against his arm that he decided he couldn't do it anymore. He'd had one too many close calls and he knew that Voldemort wouldn't wait much longer to mutter those fateful words in his direction. That night, he had decided to find the Order of the Phoenix, and turn himself over.

Finding Remus Lupin had been difficult enough, especially with his mark still moving angrily on his forearm, reminding him that he had a previous engagement with someone much more powerful. Convincing Lupin that he wanted to change, though, was the most difficult task Draco had yet to face. He lost count of the amount of vials of Veritaserum poured down his throat once he had finally been allowed to enter Grimmauld Place. Everyone had interrogated Draco until he was worn paper-thin, but it had been Saint Potter who finally accepted him into the Order. Overall it was one of the better choices Potter had ever made; the final battle was closing in on the Order and this ex-Death Eater knew every single strategy and maneuver of the Dark Lord. He wasn't trusted though; Draco would never be trusted. He would be treated like the dirt that 'his kind' was, treated as if he was nothing. Only Potter showed him some sympathy, and for Draco, that was worse than any of the foul names the other members called him.

After that night, the night that he'd switched sides, his mark continued moving. If anything, it moved more viciously than before, causing him physical pain with its angry thrashing. It was as if Voldemort knew, which the Order assured Draco he didn't, that he had betrayed them all. Even his own father. His mark still moved wildly, squirmed and crawled until that fateful Avada Kedavra escaped from Potter's lips. Now he could only feel a memory of its movement, etched in his senses forever. Draco just had to remind himself that it was all over. It was all over.

"Erm, actually Harry, that's where you're wrong," Hermione said smartly, a tight-lipped smile spread across her face. "I won't be going back there today. Or tomorrow for that matter. Or the next day. Or the next. Or..."

"Hermione," Harry practically shouted, cutting the brunette off mid-sentence. "Yes, you are going back there. Today, in fact." At her protests, Harry raised both hands. "I just bought you breakfast, so you owe me."

"As if I couldn't have paid the four quid, Harry, honestly. You can't guilt me into this." Regardless of their banter, Hermione actually loved Saturday mornings with Harry. Having both grown up in the Muggle world, it had become a sort of odd tradition of theirs to go out and have breakfast at a nice Muggle café before starting their day. Hermione was having second thoughts about this morning, though. Harry had been trying for the past half an hour to convince Hermione to go back to the Manor, even after her encounter with Draco yesterday.

The two walked lazily along a walk surrounding a lush green park. The sun was shining after days of rain showers, and Hermione was glad to be getting the fresh air.

"Hermione, please. I know you're upset about yesterday, but quite honestly, I don't see the big deal." Trust a man to take it lightly, Hermione thought to herself. "Alright, whatever, it was bloody horrible what he did," Harry said, reading Hermione's expression. "But that still doesn't mean he's not a decent guy. He's been nothing but nice to me and Ron these past years, and he really is a good man. Sure, it's deep down, but it's still there."

Hermione snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "Good man? Yeah, that'll be the day, Harry."

"Fine, Hermione. I won't try and persuade you to go back anymore. Just leave your job unfinished, half done. I mean, it's never happened before; Hermione Granger always gets the job done. But it was bound to happen eventually..."

Hermione cursed Harry Potter under her breath as she stood at the front door of the manor. Against all her better judgement, she had decided to come back to this hell-hole. She couldn't leave the job unfinished, now could she? With any luck, the curse was almost broken and she could move through the other rooms at a much faster pace.

Hermione heard the loud tolling of the doorbell inside the manor as she pressed the large button. The door swung open to reveal a very disheveled Malfoy, wearing a ratty white teeshirt and flannel pajama pants. His right eye was squinted unattractively against the sun and his flaxen hair was sticking up in odd directions. Hermione stifled a giggle unsuccessfully.

"Sorry to have waken you from your beauty sleep, Malfoy," Hermione stated sweetly. "Lord knows, you need it." Malfoy grunted and Hermione pushed past him into the all-too-familiar Manor. "I'll just be in the library then. I aim to have this little problem of yours solved by the end of this afternoon, so please don't distract from my work." Malfoy was too quick not to notice the flash of recollection in her eyes. So, he thought to himself, she can't forget it either.

Hermione made her way up to the library, ignoring the feeling that someone was staring at her bum, outlined rather nicely in her black pencil skirt. As she made her way down the hall, her fingers slowly dragged along the walls and various portraits of Malfoys past. There was a painting of a woman shockingly similar in looks to Narcissa, although the two were not related by blood. There also was a portrait of Lucius, looking as severe as ever. Hermione let herself into the library and began her work again.

Her eyes slid closed at one point, and she found herself in some sort of trance, the murmurs of her own spell work meshing with the sounds of her memories. Effrego vacuus is domus, the pained scream squeezed harshly from the throat of a dying Anthony Goldstein. Permissum is cella exsisto in pacis, Harry's fast words as he told her that Voldemort was gone, forever. Hermione's eyes snapped open as the door to the library creaked open and her words caught in her throat. She took a deep breath as she realised the familiarity of the situation.

Draco strolled into the room calmly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his newly donned expensive-looking jeans. The dark part of Hermione's mind screamed out that he looked amazingly attractive in his casual black polo, his grey eyes clouded over with some unreadable emotion. Her common sense got the better of her, though, and she was immediately angered that the insufferable prat had decided it was perfectly fine to disturb her.

"What do you think you're doing," Hermione spat out. Her eyes bore into Draco intensely as a hurried prayer that things would not turn bad ran rampant through her mind.

"As it seems, I'm sitting in my library," Draco said calmly, aggravating Hermione even more. "I'm thinking about reading one of my personal favourites, Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky. Perhaps you've heard of it, Granger?" Draco had been expecting the eye roll that followed his words.

"Of course I've heard of it Malfoy. It's a Muggle book and I'm a muggleborn, remember? And I thought I told you not to disturb me!"

Draco smirked. Smirked his trademark Slytherin smirk, and held back a laugh. "Well, darling, I'm sorry to break it to you, but in case you've forgotten, this is my house. I will go where I please and do as I please regardless of your silly demands," Draco said, his voice laced with sarcasm and fire.

"And in case you've forgotten, you're paying me to get this job done. Which will not happen if you continue to interrupt me with your idiotic antics!"

"Idiotic? Why, Granger, I'd only like to read a book! Surely you, being the great bookworm that you are, could at least support that."

"Oh shut up, you disgusting ferret!"

"Now, Hermione," Draco said calmly, watching as the woman in front of him cringed at his use of her name. "Is that any way to speak to your employer?"

Hermione let out a bark of laughter. "No, but I find it's the perfect way to speak to a stuck-up bastard and former employer. I quit!" Hermione's eyes widened and fear could be found swimming in the chocolate orbs. Draco had risen from his seat and was now stalking over to her place on the floor. Rather roughly, he yanked her to a standing position by her thin wrist.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Granger," Draco whispered, his voice raspy and cruel. His face was mere inches from her own, and she was caught like a deer in headlights. His molten grey eyes locked with her own darker ones, not allowing her gaze to flicker anywhere other than where it was.

"Why wouldn't I," Hermione bit out, refusing to give-in to the sense of fear that was slowly overcoming her. Her voice was strong, but she was feeling the very opposite.

"Because of this." And with those words, Draco's mouth was crashing down over her own, stunning her completely. She froze as his mouth worked against her own, seemingly blind to the fact that she was not kissing him back. It wasn't until he bit down roughly on her bottom lip that she was startled into action.

Years and years of pent up anger and frustration and hate came spilling out of Hermione's lips. The kiss turned quickly into a battle of dominance, tongues fighting for entrance into the other's mouth, caressing, teeth clattering together, biting. Her small hands found their way into his silky locks, pulling and tugging aggressively, causing the man to groan into her mouth. His larger hands found her hips and pushed her backwards until her spine brushed against the spines of books. Hermione's back arched and her chest pressed into Draco's own as he sucked pleasingly on her lower lip. His fingers entwined in her thick curls and he pulled her head the side, exposing the pale column of her neck to his eager lips. Placing open-mouthed kisses along her neck, Draco paused to nibble at the juncture where her shoulder met her neck, to drag his teeth along the lobe of her ear. A moan flowed from Hermione's lips and a voice that she swore wasn't her own rasped out his last name.

Her pale hands dove under the fabric of his shirt, fingers skimming over lean muscle and smooth skin. Nails dragging lightly over his nipples, she reveled in his gravelly moan. Dragging his face back up to her own, Hermione's mouth captured his own once more before she finally pulled away. Their breathing was ragged and harsh; Hermione closed her own eyes to fight the burn of impending tears. She didn't open them again until Draco angrily pulled himself away from her, stalking out of the room and slamming the door on his way out.

What the fuck had just happened?