Disclaimer: I don't even know what Deathly Hallows means, so I can't possibly be J.K. Rowling.
Chapter Thirteen
Spinning
Spinning.
She couldn't think.
Blur.
She couldn't see.
Spinning.
Her stomach was churning.
Breathe.
Everything was dark—dark and spinning.
Sweating.
What had she been thinking?
Faster.
She couldn't breathe.
Faster.
She felt sick… dizzy and sick.
Faster.
"Oh my God." She whispered as she clapped a hand to her mouth.
Questions were battling back and forth in her mind. What in the name of Merlin had possessed her to kiss him? Why had he kissed back? Was it just the spell? Or had he kissed her after the spell was off?
She closed her eyes and recalled the kiss. He had stopped so abruptly, and it had taken a few moments for her thoughts to become coherent. When she had opened her eyes, she had immediately noticed that he wasn't under the spell. Had he stopped when the spell broke? Was he disgusted? What must he think of her? She tried to imagine what he might have been thinking, and her stomach churned. She felt sick. What kind of person quite literally throws herself at a person who has no control over his actions?
And what was with Harry? As if the entire ordeal with Malfoy wasn't enough, Harry had been so different, so strange. He had been downright terrifying, and intimidating, and… almost evil.
She felt as though the spinning sped up and she was the one who belonged in the permanent ward. Like a child stepping off a merry-go-round, dizziness conquered her.
But one thought prevailed over all of these, and she whispered, "I'm going to be sick."
She rushed toward the small toilet bound to the wall and doubled over, sweeping the hair out her face and holding it at the nape of her neck. A spasm gripped her stomach and she gagged as she was reintroduced to the extremely small meal she had eaten at the Burrow that morning. She gagged for a second time, but her stomach was already empty.
As she knelt there, hunched over a toilet in the permanent ward, something occurred to her.
She was a good person. She rarely used foul language, unless it was an extreme circumstance, like now. She didn't drink much, unless she was pissed off or it was her birthday. She didn't sleep around either, except for that one time when she had been incredibly pissed off, gotten pissed off her ass, and had subsequently ended up in bed with someone she barely knew.
She realized, as another dry heave ripped through her petite body, that the litany she had been chanting seemed familiar. So familiar that she was sure she had said it recently. That thought was plausible considering that her life as of late had been shittier than the normal, all-around shit to which she was accustomed.
Since she had received her letter from Hogwarts, she had opened her mind to strange possibilities. Thanks to her year spent with a Time-turner, she was a firm believer in alternate dimensions. She liked to think that somewhere out there was a Hermione Granger who had never heard of Voldemort, and another who was happily married to Ron Weasley, and still another who was delightfully wild and unpredictable. She would give anything to be one of the other Hermiones, rather than the one vomiting into a toilet in Draco Malfoy's ward.
Alas, life was indeed shit, and she wasn't another Hermione; she was the one with Draco Malfoy as a patient.
Gripping the toilet seat, she stared at her knuckles. She squeezed tighter, and she was sure that the color of her face rivaled the whiteness of her knuckles.
She was a firm believer that people could change their circumstances if only they tried. What was keeping her here in this room with Malfoy? What could stop her from walking out and never coming back?
Did she always have to be the one to help everyone else? Why couldn't she just think of herself for once? What would it hurt to turn and run? She knew that answer. It wouldn't hurt her, or her friends. It would hurt him, only him.
The "him" in question cleared his throat, and she turned to look at him. She didn't trust herself to speak, and she wanted to keep her mouth closed, conscious of that acidic taste coating her tongue. Even so, below that acidic flavor, she could still taste him, and she wasn't sure which made her more sick to her stomach.
"Honestly," he smirked, "it wasn't that bad."
She used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth. Swallowing deeply, hoping to rid her mouth of the foul residue, she spat, "Go to hell."
"We're already there, Granger. Or hadn't you noticed?" he snarled. Despite the fact that he was dirty and dressed in hospital-issue clothes, he was incredibly intimidating. She should have had the upper hand-- should have, but didn't.
This was the way he handled things. He was a master at turning situations and conversations to cover up the things about which he was uneasy.
Uneasy silence overtook them, and she ached with the need to do something, anything, to distract herself. She gazed longingly at the sink, wishing to Merlin that she had some Altoids. Sneaking a glance back at Malfoy, she noticed that he was unfocused, probably doing a bit of thinking himself.
She carefully retreated to the sink and turned the handle. The cool water was like heaven on her hands, hands that had been clutching at a toilet like a small child clinging to a stuffed toy.
She scrubbed, grating hand against hand, to wash it away… to wash everything away. Satisfied that her hands were clean, she filled her them with water and drank. In any other man's presence, she would be embarrassed to gargle and spit water again and again, but she was hardly worried about Malfoy hanging this over her head. If he wanted to bring out those guns, she would bring out the bazookas.
The water flowed against her tongue like silk against sandpaper. Again and again she swished it back at forth trying to wear down that feeling, eliminate that taste. Her teeth scraped together and it felt raw. Teeth, water, tongue, rough, cool. She wondered if the taste would go away, if any of it would go away, ever. If she worked hard enough, could she make it disappear, like it never happened? She wasn't talking about her mouth anymore, or vomit, or any of that, and she knew it.
She didn't want to think of the consequences of working here, being with him, kissing him. She didn't want to think about what kind of person it made her.
As if it wasn't bad enough feeling the ocean of guilt in her chest, she kept seeing pictures, horrifying pictures, of Harry, what Harry would look like if he knew. And Ron, and Mrs. Weasley, and Luna, and everyone… everyone who had lost a brother or sister or friend to the Malfoy family. She had successfully branded herself with the same title Malfoy had received.
Traitor.
Failure.
Disgrace.
Blood-traitor.
Mistake.
He hadn't a clue in hell why all of this was happening. He knew the reason he had started kissing Granger. He had started kissing her because he had wanted to stop kissing her. Irony's a bitch, eh?
He had known what he was doing, in the beginning. He also knew to an extent why he had kept kissing her. He was a man, after all. He was a man who had been on the run for three years and locked up for six or seven months. Let's just say his ego was in need of a little stroking.
He had watched Granger as she emptied her stomach into that wretched toilet. She was disgusting, and he didn't need vomit to tell him that. He hadn't changed his mind about her, not in the least. But he was willing to forget about it for a while, if it meant that she would get him out of here.
He may have been against the Dark Lord, but that certainly didn't make him an angel. He was a Slytherin through and through. Sure his situation was shit, but he knew how to take advantage and make it work for him. He had watched as Granger literally fell apart.
This… him… He was managing to throw her world off-balance and it had her spinning out of control, and he was damn proud of it.
He had watched in fascination as the horror had crossed her face, followed by confusion. She had swayed dizzily and her face had paled. y for it to be more of a third party observation. But it fit better to have it more from his perspective. Is it clearer now?
She was confused and fragile and he had every intention of exploiting it. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed her. He needed her to find out about this spell, reverse it, and get him out of this Godforsaken place. And if he could, he'd use her to clear his name in the wizarding world, too.
Imagine the headlines.
Hermione Granger Heals Draco Malfoy
Draco Malfoy Released from St. Mungo's with the Help of Potter's Best Friend
Malfoy and Granger Team Up
A sly grin spread across his face. Showing up with the Mudblood Queen on his arm would certainly help change people's opinions of him. If anyone could get him back in the world's good graces, it would be she.
He snapped out of his scheming and focused on the face that was still slightly pale and glaring back at him. Yes, this opportunity was too good to slip through his fingers. He was going to take hold of it, and he had no plans of letting it go.
"All right, Granger, quit gawking. I know what you're thinking. I've been in here for what, six months, and I still look like a god. Your staring is understandable." He gracefully stood and walked towards the toilet.
"You're a prick, do you know that?" she rasped. Her throat was obviously dry and scratchy from its previous activities.
"I do. You're just figuring that out?" he smirked, standing over her in a menacing way.
"I've been learning quite a lot about you lately, Malfoy." She tilted her chin upwards in defiance, determined to show him that he wouldn't and couldn't intimidate her.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her upwards unceremoniously until she was pressed tightly against him. He tried not to wince as her breath fanned over his face. He made a mental note to breathe through his mouth and not his nose; the last thing he wanted to do right now was smell her rancid puke.
"There are a few things you don't know about me," he leaned closer and finished, "and I'd be glad to teach you, if you like."
She broke out of his gasp, furious with his smooth and cunning advances, and livid that somewhere deep in her chest, she was affected by them.
"You're despicable. The very thought of you makes me want to puke, or was that not painfully obvious a few moments ago?"
She began to step backwards, but he grabbed her forearm harshly and pulled her forward until their bodies collided again. He wrapped a wild curl around his forefinger and tugged slightly.
Unabashedly, he pushed his pelvis against hers and growled, "That's not the only thing that's painfully obvious."
Her face, pale before, glowed red as the evidence of his desire pushed against her belly.
"You're crazy," she breathed, backing up in an attempt to escape.
Her back met the wall and he closed in on her like a predator stalking its prey. "Not right now, love."
She felt like her heart was about to leap out of her chest. His face was so incredibly close that she could see baby-fine hairs across his jaw and chin that she had never noticed before.
He watched her eyes grow unfocused as she studied his face. She had thought he was as close as he could get, but his wicked smirk deepened and he moved even closer. Her eyes fluttered shut and her long eyelashes rested gently against her cheek.
He saw his opening and decided to put his plan into action. His fingers lightly caressed the skin of her throat and he whispered onto her lips, "Help me."
Her eyelashes lifted and she gazed at him peculiarly. "What did you say?"
He stepped backwards, ending all contact between them.
"I asked you to help me, Granger."
She'd known that. She knew exactly what he said, but she had been giving him a way out, hoping, hoping so hard that he would take it. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She gave him one more chance, one more opportunity to take it back, to take back those words.
"With what?"
He scoffed and took a seat on the twin bed in the corner. "Have you forgotten where we are, Granger?"
"Oh." He wasn't going to take it. He'd asked for help. And Merlin, did she want to refuse. She wanted to throw it all out the fucking door and never look back, but she couldn't. It wasn't just the words. It was all of it. His words, his voice, the situation, his father, everything, she couldn't turn him down. He'd gotten to her, under her skin. She was the brightest witch of her age, and with one touch from this bastard, everything had flown out the window. "Oh," she repeated.
Once again, she was assaulted with the desire to just run. If she left now, she wouldn't have to involve herself in this. She glanced longingly at the door and her foot twitched slightly. She willed herself to take a step. But before she could try, he spoke.
"You're the only one who can help me, Granger. Probably the only one who will."
Those words halted her thoughts. He knew exactly what to play upon, her obsession with helping those in need.
Putting the final nail in the coffin, he called to her, "I need you, Granger."
She wanted to growl and pounce upon him and force the words back into his mouth. Anything. She'd do anything at all that would allow her to just walk away. But those words had triggered exactly the response he wanted.
She leaned back on the wall behind her and slumped to the floor, "I'm listening."
If she looked up, she would have seen the closest thing to a smile that had ever crossed the face of Draco Malfoy.
"I told you it was a curse." He supplied.
"Dark magic?" She asked.
"Yes." he answered.
She questioned him as to whether he had recognized the curse or possibly knew its name. He answered no to both questions.
"You're sure, you didn't recognize anything? I'm assuming it was in Latin; were there any phrases you could translate?" she inquired.
"Well, Granger, I would have tried to translate some of it, but you see, I was a little preoccupied by the fact I was bleeding." He sneered from his seat on the bed.
"Whatever," she breathed. "You didn't say who cast the spell on you."
At this, his fists clenched and his jaw tightened. She watched in fascination as a vein pulsed dangerously at his temple.
Draco had known that he would have to divulge this information sooner or later, but he hated both his father and Granger. Having to tell Granger that his own father had put him here—he hated that most of all.
He snarled and closed his eyes, doing his best to hide all emotion from her.
"Lucius," he whispered quietly.
Her eyes widened, but she didn't speak.
He thought, then, that maybe she wasn't as stupid as he had thought. She nodded, trying to tell him to continue, and reluctantly he did.
"Well, you know that I ran after the incident in sixth year. Severus led me to the gates. He told me to return to the mansion and gather my things. He promised to hold off the Death Eaters while I got what I needed, but after that I was on my own."
His heart was beating quickly and he had no idea why he was sharing all this with her. It was not as though she needed to know any of this. But for some reason, he kept going.
"I had everything I needed and I was about to leave when I heard my mother playing the piano in the study. I told her everything and tried to convince her to leave with me, to run with me. She had been scared to go, but I'd almost had her convinced when Lucius emerged."
Hermione watched with wide eyes as he stopped and swallowed. His entire body was incredibly tense and she knew that he was seeing it all again. As she watched him, she was struck with the thought that he looked remarkably child-like. The sneers, the cool exterior, and the anger seemed to melt away, leaving a scared little boy who had been forced to grow up entirely too soon.
It was difficult to hear these words coming from his own mouth. Sure, they had been running through his head constantly for the past few years, but speaking them was entirely different. Speaking them made it real.
"He… he hit her, all because she had almost said yes. Before I knew what was happening, dozens of Death Eaters filled the room and I could feel my blood run cold as V-Voldemort entered."
It was becoming hard to breathe, and he tried to stop the words, but they were pouring out of his mouth faster than he could register that he'd even thought them.
"I had to…to watch as he killed her. And my bastard of a father let him. He offered her up to Voldemort like some sort of fucking sacrifice—a sacrifice for my sins."
Anger burned when he realized there was wetness on his cheeks. He was becoming weak. He rubbed at his eyes furiously, trying to stop the flow, but it was useless.
He continued his tale and told her of how they had locked him in his room. They had planned a formal ceremony to be held the next morning, a ceremony for his death. It was a way of purging the Malfoy name of his indiscretion.
Severus had come to him that night, freeing him and telling him to run.
"I ran for about three years, and then I got caught."
He didn't tell her about Ross. He didn't tell her how he had befriended a Muggle. He didn't tell her that it was his fault he had gotten himself captured and that Ross had died. He had to pause here, as his thoughts went down this familiar path.
There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't regret letting down his guard while he was with Ross. It was all his fault, and he knew it.
He moved on, refusing to dwell on the pain.
"I woke up in a dungeon with my father. He told me that it wasn't too late. The Dark Lord was impressed that I had lasted as long as I had and had managed to fight off most of the attacks he sent my way. Lucius said if I proved my loyalty, the Dark Lord might give me a second chance. But I had been in a deal with Voldemort before, and that hadn't exactly ended well. So, I refused and he tortured me. He tortured me to the point that I couldn't tell whether I was conscious or dreaming or insane. I vaguely registered him touching his wand to my chest and muttering some long and complicated spell, before I heard laughing."
He gulped then, and added, "Foul, grotesque laughter, my laughter. I was laughing…like a maniac."
Her mind was spinning faster by the moment as she registered the new information. His own father had put him here, his father who had now escaped from Azkaban.
The dizzy feeling from earlier returned and she could feel the blood roaring in her ears. Everything was becoming overwhelming and she just couldn't handle it right now. She wanted to run. She wanted to run and hide and forget about everything she heard.
He felt remarkably relieved. He had never wanted to tell these secrets to anyone, much less Granger. But it did wonderful things for the pressure in his chest. He sighed as the relief washed over him.
He was broken from his contentment as Granger got to her feet, the skirt of her little sundress catching his eye.
She grabbed her head as though it hurt, and it did. It hurt with all the thoughts running through it.
"What are you doing, Granger?"
Her eyes snapped to meet his and there was remorse painted across them.
"I can't do this. I have to think," she replied and she jogged to the door.
"Stop it, Granger! Don't run away." Her hand was already on the door knob and turning.
"Damn it, Granger! What happened to your compassion?" he screamed, but the sound was cut off as she slammed the soundproof door back into place.
He yelled as she peered back at him through the glass. He grabbed the mattress off the top of the bed and pulled. He kicked at the wall and ran to the door.
He slammed his hands against it, screaming, his eyes never leaving hers. He watched as a small tear swelled in the corner of her eye.
He screamed at her then, yelling, "Fuck you!" at the top of his lungs. She blinked and the small drop of water fell from her eye then, tracing its way down her cheek and disappearing past his view. With one last glance, she fled.
He let his anger take him over then as he began to tear apart his room, seeking to destroy everything in sight.
This was normal behavior for him, locked in this room, but this time it had nothing to do with the spell and everything to do with Hermione Granger.
His hatred for her only grew. If there had ever been one thing about Granger that he had respected, it had been her strength. No matter what he had thrown at her at Hogwarts, she had always been right there fighting back.
In their verbal sparring, she had always been right there going toe to toe with him. Now, she was no better than the rest of them. She was weak.
You're weak! You're a disgrace!
His ragged screams of "NO!" became louder and louder.
It's your fault that your mother died.
His control began to shut down as the voice of his father filled his head.
You got her killed. You failed and then you let her die in your place.
He lost control of his body then and watched as he slammed his head into the porcelain of the toilet. The pain overcame him then, and blood trickled down his head and into his eyes. They burned and he squeezed them shut.
You were always a disappointment, to me and to her. You ruined her life.
He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling of his ward room. The edges of his vision were blurred black, and his head felt like it was spinning.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
The spinning stopped, and everything went black.
A/N: Well, there's chapter 13! Thanks to my wonderful beta, Renee. Voting begins soon over at the He Had It Coming Draco/Hermione Fan fiction awards! Both Moments of Sanity and my one-shot Living are nominated! I encourage you all to head over there, read, pick your favorite stories, and vote!
