Edited 10/14/15
15. Road to Ruin
I don't know where you're going
But do you got room for one more troubled soul?
I don't know where I'm going but I don't think I'm coming home
And I said I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead
This is the road to ruin
And we're starting at the end
Say yeah
Let's be alone together
We could stay young forever
Scream it from the top of your lungs
[Alone Together, Fallout Boy]
The time ticked by paradoxically; the days seemed to slip through Hermione's fingers like sand through an hourglass, but each individual moment felt like it was frozen in limbo, thanks to the anticipation that hung in the air. Hogwarts' current residents were harried and busy making preparations - strengthening the castle's wards, laying magical traps around Hogwarts' bounds, stocking the hospital wing, and planning defensive tactics. There didn't seem to be enough hours in the day to complete all the tasks they wanted done before either Harry challenged Voldemort, or Voldemort decided to attack of his own accord.
Everyone worked like mad; Hermione spent most of her days in the potions classroom, brewing up healing potions and the like, and Draco was mostly assigned to working on defensive tactics and setting magical traps. But at the same time as they were all working themselves to exhaustion, the tension of waiting practically vibrated in the atmosphere, everyone keyed up for the action they knew was coming. The knowledge of the near certain battle approaching loomed over them all, and tempers frayed, nerves were strung tight, and fear was thick and cloying in the halls of Hogwarts. For her part, Hermione felt as though she was desperately trying to flee from danger in a sea of treacle; it was frantic and exhausting, and the danger grew ever closer, and yet she couldn't go fast enough.
The strain of preparing and waiting began to wear down the Order members, every one of them. No one was immune, but some people suffered worse than others. Hermione's nightmares were every night - as usual - but Draco had begun having more too - she suspected he was having even more than she was aware of - and from what Hermione had heard many of the others were also suffering from bad dreams. Everyone was snippy and touchy, arguments arising out of nothing, and Draco was far too often the focus of people's anger - new arrivals who hadn't lived with or fought alongside Draco, saw his Dark Mark, and hated him. Hermione and the others tried to explain to people that Draco had defected - he was on their side, he had risked his life, been tortured and wounded for them, but all people saw was a Death Eater.
Hermione hated it - the looks they threw Draco, the nasty words they hissed as they walked past, the occasional hexes he was struck with. But he refused to retaliate, and refused to let her defend him either. He just ignored it all. Like he was ignoring the boy who was hissing hate-filled words at him as Hermione and Draco walked toward the Great Hall for lunch. She glared at the boy whom she didn't recognise, fixing his face in her mind so that she could tell him off later when she was alone, and tightening her grip on Draco's hand.
"I don't know why you let them do this."
"They have every right to hate me, Hermione," Draco said distantly, and inhaled deeply, letting it out slow, his fingers threaded tight through Hermione's.
"It's not fair." She flashed a look over her shoulder at the boy, who was staring after them with an intense disdain that she cringed from.
"Since when is life fair?" Draco asked her with a hint of cynical amusement. "I would have thought you would have been disabused of that notion by now."
"That's not the point, Draco!" She blinked as tears sprang up, shoving them back down and glaring at the floor. "None of them know what you've gone through for the Order. If they knew - god, if they could even just use their bloody heads and realise that obviously you wouldn't be accepted by all the inner members of the Order without good reason…"
"They'd still hate me," he told her bluntly, tugging her around the corner, away from the contemptuous face of the boy, still slouching against the wall and staring after them. "I did plenty worthy of hate before I defected, and what I've done since hasn't erased that -"
"I disagree," Hermione argued stubbornly, ending the conversation right there, and narrowing her eyes at Draco, daring him to try to argue with her. He snorted as he recognised her challenge, and the faint lines etched at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned down at her.
"Fine. You win. I deserve nothing less than total absolution, and everyone who hates me is a nasty little prick."
She chuckled as they entered the Great Hall, and nodded, enjoying the way the smile shaped his face. "I'm glad you've finally seen sense, and realised that, as always, I am right."
"Or I just don't wish to argue with the mother of my future child, while she's in such a delicate condition," he teased, and she scrunched up her face and nudged him sharply in the ribs with her elbow as they approached the Gryffindor table.
"You're a gigantic prat."
"I know. But you love it," he told her as they reached their usual places at the long table, across from Harry, Ron, and Ginny, with Luna beside Hermione, and Dean next to Draco.
"What does she love, Malfoy?" Harry asked idly through a mouthful of scrambled eggs as they sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Draco flashed Harry a wicked smirk.
"Do you really want to know, Potter?"
"Oh bloody hell, that's disgusting," Ron complained as Hermione thumped Draco on the arm.
"Draco!" She was bright red, just like Harry was; his throat jerking convulsively as he choked on his mouthful of egg, Ginny giggling and patting her boyfriend on the back as he gasped for air.
"Draco was saying I love that he's a gigantic -" Ron's eyes went wide and he slammed his hands over his ears. "- prat!" Hermione finished loudly enough for Ron to hear, and he dropped his hands, looking a little sheepish. "Honestly, Ronald, what did you think I was going to say?"
"Never mind!" he insisted frantically and shoved an entire bit of toast in his mouth to stall further questioning, glaring at Cho and Draco when they sniggered at him; somehow the two had become quite friendly. Which made sense in a way, Hermione supposed - Ravenclaw and Slytherin students had always gotten along much better than Gryffindor and Slytherin. There were rather more similarities between the former two houses than the latter - intelligence and cunning went well together.
"How's the morning sickness today?" Angelina asked from further down the table, sandwiched between Fred and George, and Hermione smiled at the older witch, who was looking very pregnant now.
"Much better since Madam Pomfrey made me up those potions, thank you, Angelina. Pregnancy is much more enjoyable when you're not vomiting your insides out every day."
"No talk of vomit at the table!" Seamus protested from beside Dean, and Hermione harrumphed.
"Says the wizard who chews with his mouth open. Pot, meet kettle."
Seamus wrinkled his brow, and was about to shoot back a playful retort when someone cleared their throat beside him. Hermione watched as Seamus spun around in his chair, to meet Pansy Parkinson's eyes. He went slightly pale, and then flushed, and Hermione raised an eyebrow, hoping he wasn't about to let loose on the Slytherin with a furious tirade. Pansy had been helping out with preparations since she and Narcissa had arrived, four days ago now, and Hermione wanted to be as welcoming to the Slytherin girl as possible. Pansy insisted on fighting in the final battle, helping strengthen the defences, and had generally been extremely polite and civil - for Pansy Parkinson. She was still rather rude, cold and snippy, but Hermione could tell she was also lonely, and wanted to be accepted - not that she would ever admit to that.
"Could I sit here?" Pansy asked nervously, her eyes flicking from Seamus to Draco, and Hermione did the same and saw Draco smile and nod reassuringly at his oldest friend, and ex-girlfriend. She stared back down at Seamus, who cleared his throat and nodded stiffly.
"Of course, Pa - Parkinson. It's a free country. Sit where you like."
Pansy smiled faintly and inclined her head, and Hermione thought she saw a faint flush to the witch's cheeks as she sat next to Seamus, and began filling her plate with food. Interesting. Hermione was quite proud of Seamus for being so polite, and keeping his cool, and although he and Pansy avoided each other's eyes awkwardly, at least they weren't fighting. Perhaps inter-House unity was possible after all. She nibbled on her bit of toast - she didn't want to test the limits of the anti-nausea potion with rich foods too early in the morning - and nudged Draco, dragging his attention back from Pansy. He arched an eyebrow at Hermione questioningly and smiled, and her stomach went all flippy-floppy and melty. God, when he smiled like that everything just flew out of her head.
"Ye-es?" he prompted with amusement when Hermione sat for a second too long just gazing at him, and then shook herself and blushed.
"Where's your mother? Still taking her meals in her room?"
"Yes. She is certain her presence will not be appreciated here, and I can't blame her for feeling that way, because it wouldn't be." He grimaced and stabbed carelessly at a slice of pineapple, pushing it around his plate. "I think Shacklebolt, Lupin and McGonagall prefer it this way, too. They don't need emotions getting high, and trouble breaking out, and my mother is a likely catalyst for trouble."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully, feeling bad for Draco that even now, his relationship with his mother and how she slotted into his life was far from simple.
"Yes, I suppose she is," she admitted, giving him a tight, sympathetic smile.
They fell silent then, eating and listening to the conversations going on around them. Luna was explaining a clearly mythological creature, that she was convinced was real, to Neville. Dean and Ron were chatting animatedly about Quidditch, while Seamus sat uncharacteristically silent beside Pansy, not once looking at her. Luna eventually struck up a conversation with Hermione, and the two of them tried to talk over the others as Harry and Draco got drawn into the Quidditch talk, along with Ginny, Cho, the twins, and Angelina. Hermione thought it was rather unfair that she was surrounded by Quidditch fans, and was trapped into either discussing a game she had no interest in, or being lectured kindly by Luna about nargles.
She could be trapped in worse situations, Hermione reminded herself with a pained grimace. She tried to focus on what Luna was happily chattering on about, and picked at the food Draco had shovelled onto her plate - he was constantly trying to feed her up, like a bloody pig for slaughter. It was rather sweet, but very irritating. She might be thin, but Madam Pomfrey said she was fine. She did not need to eat two hardboiled eggs, two bits of French toast, and a bowl of fruit the size of her head. She would burst before she finished all that.
Once breakfast was finished, people began to trickle away in dribs and drabs to do their work for the day - mostly people were split between patrolling Hogwarts' perimeter and Hogsmeade, strengthening the castle's wards and laying defensive traps, and organising the incoming arrivals into teams that could fight together - many of the newcomers had only rudimentary duelling skill.
She kissed Draco goodbye lingeringly at the doors to the Great Hall, tasting sweet tea and maple syrup on his tongue, ignoring the disgusted noises Ron was making as he waited for Draco to hurry up - the two of them were one of the patrol teams for Hogwarts today. Draco growled, mouth still latched to hers and the sound sending a rumbling vibration through her that made her shiver deliciously.
"Oh piss off, Weasley," Draco said when he broke the kiss, shooting Ron a murderous glance. "If you don't like seeing it, then stop perving on us."
"Fine," Ron said, freckled face all set in a scowl, which transformed like magic to a sunny grin as he lifted a hand in a half-wave for Hermione. "Have a good morning, 'Mione. See you at lunch, yeah?"
"You too, Ron," Hermione said brightly, and then turned her eyes back to Draco, trailing her fingers down his smooth-shaven cheek. "Play nicely with Ron, today."
"Oh you know me and the Weasel. All bloody bark and no bite these days." Draco smirked. "Might try to knock him off his broom though."
"God, you're - you're -" Hermione sputtered, half-amused, half-annoyed, and Draco laughed.
"Irresistible?"
"I was going to say, a bloody git, but irresistible works rather well too," she said softly and kissed his lips again, before slipping out of his arms and dancing back a few steps. "I'll see you at lunch, and Ron better be in one piece!" she called, as she turned and headed for the dungeons, grinning to herself, all fuzzy inside.
"Careful with the potions! Make sure you double-bloody-check what's safe to brew while up the duff, and what's not!" Draco yelled sternly, and Hermione turned around long enough to roll her eyes at him before hurrying away towards the potions classroom. Up the duff? How horridly crude - he must have picked it up from Ron. She kept smiling to herself as she bustled along, trying to focus on the list of potions she wanted to have completed by lunch, but instead, tasting lingering traces of maple syrup on her tongue. It wasn't very conducive for her concentration, but the warm, happy feelings it made well up inside her were very welcome, ruined concentration or no.
Hermione sighed as she added the slivered lamb's ear to the soothing potion she was brewing, and smiled when a puff of pale greenish smoke floated up from the bubbling mixture. So far, so good. She began to stir, mind elsewhere - three clockwise and four counter-clockwise, until the potion began to smell of lemons and turned a pale grassy green, which took around ten minutes on average, depending on the freshness of the ingredients. She frowned as she stirred; she had spent over a week of mornings potion-brewing now, and thanks to her pregnancy was mostly limited to boring, simple potions that contained harmless ingredients and could not put off dangerous fumes. It was getting extremely frustrating to be limited when she knew she could be doing so much more, but she couldn't put the pregnancy at risk.
Her hair was frizzy and sticky from a morning spent over a hot cauldron, and her stomach was starting to complain. She checked the time idly, and was shocked to discover it was already coming up on lunch. No wonder her back and neck were beginning to ache, her wrist hurt from all the chopping, and her stomach grumble - she had been bent over the desk preparing ingredients and tending simmering cauldrons all morning without pause. Well, this potion would be done shortly, and she should have just enough time to set a batch of blood-replenishing potion to brewing before Draco came up to drag her down to lunch, which was perfect, because blood-replenishing potion needed to simmer for two hours before the last two ingredients were added.
She couldn't help making a face at the thought of Draco hauling her off to lunch like an infant who couldn't look after herself, rolling her eyes. He had become absolutely impossible lately - utterly over-protective, doting on her to a point where she just wanted to scream, even though she knew he meant well. He was worse than Ron, which was saying something. Hermione must have been very visibly irritated, because Narcissa Malfoy's clear voice cut the air and nearly made Hermione drop her stirring spoon in the potion.
"Tired, Hermione? I can pause in my bottling if you like, and finish stirring and bottling your potion, so you can go get some rest," Narcissa offered stiltedly from her place across the room, and Hermione shook her head, watching Draco's mother as she filled vials of perfectly made felix felicius without spilling a drop. The older witch was as poised and elegant as ever despite a morning of brewing complex potions, and her blue eyes held polite concern. It set Hermione off-balance still, to see that expression on Narcissa's face, and directed at Hermione, no less. It was unnatural.
"Thank you, but I'm fine, Mrs Malfoy - I was just thinking. No need to take you away from your work." Hermione gave the woman a friendly if cautious smile, and returned to her stirring. She had been shocked when, a few days after her and Pansy's shift to Hogwarts, Narcissa had come into the potions classroom and asked if she could assist Hermione. She mustn't have hidden her surprise very well, because Narcissa had smiled and rather dryly asked a speechless Hermione where exactly she thought Draco had gotten his aptitude for potions. She had also confided, rather coolly, that she felt unable to fight in any battles where she might come up against her husband, and thus the least she could do was help in other ways. They worked in silence, mostly, save a few civil chats about the weather and Hermione's health, and Hermione discovered that Narcissa did indeed have a flair for potions.
It was, as she had said to Draco as they spooned in bed one night, rather strange being around his mother, but not entirely unpleasant. 'Awkward,' he had said wryly, and sighed in understanding. They both found it a little uncomfortable having his mother and Pansy in such close quarters, living in rooms just down the corridor from Draco's bedroom in the dungeons. In fact, it was awkward for all of them - except Pansy, who didn't seem to understand the concept of 'awkwardness', seeming constantly slightly superior and smug, if a little withdrawn. While she was still brittle from what she had gone through, the Slytherin girl had made an amazing recovery from her ordeal, and Hermione couldn't help admiring her for that.
As much as Hermione might not get on with Pansy on a personal level, she had a certain respect for her. And Draco cared about Pansy with a degree of closeness that irritated Hermione at the same time as she thought it was sweet. So she could hardly hate the girl. She wondered if her relationship with Ron, and to a lesser extent, Harry, made Draco feel the same irrational possessiveness Hermione did when she saw Draco and Pansy chatting, with that comfortable, snarky rapport between them. She checked the time again, and made another face, still steadily stirring. Hermione might be hungry, but she had no interest in being force-fed by a solicitous Draco. She sighed heavily.
"May I inquire as to what is bothering you so? Are you sure you wouldn't like me to finish the brewing for you?" Narcissa asked cautiously, and Hermione smiled and shook her head in negation.
"No, Mrs Malfoy. I was just thinking of your son, and the way he seems determined to feed me up like a goose destined for a roast dinner. He'll be up soon to collect me for lunch, and I can guarantee you he'll pester me until I've eaten far more than I need to," she answered lightly, half her mind on keeping count of her stirs - three clockwise, four counter. "He seems to think that I should be eating enough for two full-grown adults. I've tried to explain to him that at this point I actually need to eat very little extra, but he is, well, he's -"
"Stubborn?" Narcissa offered, generous mouth curving, and Hermione laughed.
"I was going to say Draco, but it amounts to about the same thing." The potion turned at last, a lemony smell wafting faintly off it, and she killed the flame beneath the pewter cauldron, satisfied that it had turned out just right.
"I have never seen Draco as attentive and concerned as he is with you, Hermione." Narcissa smile from across the room as she firmly stopped one of the vials of felix felicius - one of Hermione's ideas. When Voldemort and his followers turned up on Hogwarts' doorstep, they would all need plenty of luck. "He obviously loves you a great deal. I never thought…generally purebloods make matches of convenience, not love. Of course, love - or at least affection - is generally hoped for in a match, but not considered necessary. To see Draco breaking tradition like this…" Narcissa paused and her eyes drifted away, unfocused as though she was somewhere else, before she blinked and set a stoppered vial down in its slot in a rack with all the others.
"It's unsettling, but… I…" The older witch bit her lip and paused again, searching for words.
Hermione wondered rather suspiciously what exactly Narcissa was up to - what she was trying to say, whether she would take back all the rather positive things she just said. She cast a cooling charm on her soothing potion and began filling vials herself, watching Narcissa from the corner of her eye.
"I am very glad Draco has found you, Hermione. You have changed him for the better, and I would no longer want to see him with anyone but you," Narcissa admitted at last, and in her shock, Hermione nearly dropped the vial of potion she held.
"You approve?"
"I have come to do so, yes. It's impossible to deny the positive effect you have on him, and how happy you make him, and I am glad of it. I never thought my son would be able to pursue a relationship purely for love." Narcissa straightened and exhaled sharply, shaking away the visible melancholy that had taken over her as she spoke. "I say, let Draco fuss, Hermione. He only worries so much because he loves you. Besides, to be perfectly honest, you are rather looking rather scrawny."
Hermione dipped up another ladleful of potion and poured it carefully into an empty vial, marvelling at the fact that she was having such an open, genuine conversation with Narcissa Malfoy, of all people. The older witch had never talked about such emotional things before, keeping all talk strictly to everyday pleasantries, and this - this was unexpected.
"I'm rather surprised at how just much he fusses," Hermione said with a twist of amusement, quite aware that it had all started happening since she had quite suddenly started showing more obvious symptoms of the pregnancy, and begun talking openly about it to the others. Perhaps it was just instinct for a wizard to become ridiculously, annoyingly over-protective when his partner was pregnant.
"He takes after my side of the family," Narcissa confided. "The Blacks have always been a family who felt things very deeply. Good Slytherins on the surface, with plenty of cunning and ambition, but beneath, we are rather…emotional. Even Bella, in her own mad way, feels things with an intensity that L - Lucius and his family did not. Lucius used to tell me that I was too soft, too delicate and easily affected, not ruthless enough. And Draco inherited those traits from me." Narcissa folded her hands together around a vial of felix felicius and her features were drawn with sadness and grief as she spoke her husband's name. Hermione's friendly mood vanished, taken over by a sickened, angry twisting of her stomach, and a clammy sweat that made her feel flushed and cold at once.
"Good," Hermione said without thinking, her mind on Lucius and the cold madness he was mired in, the sadism he had embraced. Yes; despite their similarity in appearance, Draco and his Merlin-damned father couldn't be more different in nature, and that was very, very good. Hermione snapped her mouth shut and turned her focus back to her potion, hoping Narcissa would drop the subject now, so they could go back to the safety of silence. She had no such luck.
"Lucius didn't think it was I'm afraid. He loved Draco, but he was always too hard on him - his expectations were too high," Narcissa mused, her usually serenely composed face still drawn with pain.
"No offence, Mrs Malfoy, but I find it hard to believe your husband could love anyone," Hermione said sharply, before she could censor herself and bite the angry words back to simmer inside. She couldn't stop thinking about Draco's hand, and Cho's leg, and Pansy, and his visit to their cell. The assault he'd attempted on Hermione, the threats he'd made about what he'd do to his son. Her blood ran hot and cold and her heart began to thump unsteadily and hard in her chest, breath catching short and fingers white-knuckled around the handle of her ladle. How dare Narcissa bring him up, how dare Narcissa speak of him with anything but the contempt he deserved? All her speeches to Draco about how it was different for Narcissa, how it was hard for her too went right out the bloody window.
Narcissa pressed her lips together tightly, and her drawn, pale features hardened, blue eyes narrowing. "He did. He did, Hermione. He loved Draco and me more than anything in the world. And I think, in his own way, he still does."
The words were like a trigger, and Hermione suddenly swayed and clutched at the workbench as the ladle fell from her numbed fingers. Memory rose up, flashes of those moments in the cell with Lucius, of the way Draco had been after he'd learnt Lucius had raped Pansy, of the pain and betrayal in his eyes when he spoke of his father, of the way it had hurt him so much when his mother had to think about it before choosing him. But mostly, she thought of the cell. And not just the moments that Lucius had been there, but all of it - everything she constantly tried to suppress and forget came rushing up to the surface, and she choked on it, bitter as bile. Anger and horror and memory made her eyes sting with the threat of tears.
"That's not love, Mrs Malfoy," she choked out. "What Draco and I have - that's love. Harry and Ginny, Ron and Cho, Mr and Mrs Weasley - th-that is what love is like. Lu-Lucius doesn't even know what love is!" Her voice rose to nearly a shout, and her eyes blurred over with unshed tears. "Love doesn't maim his son, love doesn't rape his son's ex-girlfriend - or anyone for that matter! Love doesn't kill and rape and murder and torture, love doesn't threaten to rape his son's girlfriend and cut his son's hand off one finger at a time!"
She was really shouting now, chest heaving and shoulders jerking as she tried to hold in her sobs, a feeling of thoughtless wild panic taking over her as the flashbacks rolled through her like an avalanche.
Narcissa flinched back. "It's not him. It's not him! Not my Lucius! He was driven mad by his damned imprisonment - it's not his fault. It's not his -"
"Exactly, Mrs Malfoy! It's not him! The Lucius Malfoy that exists now is not the husband you remember, he is a vicious, sadistic monster, and there is no coming back from that! Your husband is gone, and you need to accept that! Stop defending him! Stop trying to make things okay! They aren't, and they never will be! There is no going back. Accept that before you lose everything else you care about!" Hermione shouted, and turned and fled for the door, half-blind from the tears that filled her eyes and overflowed, dripping down her cheeks in a flood, racking sobs building up inside her until the pressure was unbearable. She heard Narcissa call something, but she couldn't make it out over her own rasping breathing as she wrenched the door to the potions classroom open and fled through it, slamming it shut behind her with a crash.
Hermione rushed through the corridors at a near-run, head down to hide her tears from anyone who she might pass, her breath wrenching and muscles taut and trembling as the helpless rage took over her. She didn't think about where she was going, just kept her feet moving, and tried to remember to breathe past the memories that roared up, seizing her and shaking her like a rag doll; unstoppable and overwhelming.
"Calm down, Hermione. Get a hold of yourself," she mumbled under her breath, wringing her hands together as she went blindly along corridors and up stairs, as though she was - irrationally - trying to outrun the feelings and thoughts Narcissa fucking Malfoy had evoked so sharply. Hermione didn't know why Narcissa's words had set her off when she had gone so long without breaking down - she had kept it together through so much. It was almost embarrassing that all it had taken was a fight with her future mother-in-law to turn her into a blubbering wreck.
Hermione had a feeling that this moment, this breakdown, had been coming for a while now, and Narcissa had merely been the straw that broke the camel's back.
She kept remembering everything. Everything they had suffered, but especially those things that were Lucius' fault - and yet still, still, Narcissa defended him. Defended him to the witch he had tried to rape. It all flashed through her mind, like a Muggle movie on loop, and Hermione couldn't get away from it, couldn't suppress it. Finally, after weeks of surviving, getting through the days, shoving the memories deep, deep down, ignoring the nightmares, finding happiness wherever she could and clinging to it - finally it all came to the surface in a flood that was drowning her. She felt like she couldn't breathe. And then she was panting up the last few steps, and the wind swept over her face. Sharp and cold, drying her tears and whipping at her.
Somehow, Hermione had let her feet lead her blindly to the Astronomy Tower, and the brisk wind that grabbed at her clothing and whipped through her hair was like salvation. She heaved in a long breath, pushing her hair off her face and walking slowly to the edge of the tower, hands clasping over the cold metal of the railing. The world dropped away beneath her, and the sky was a grey bowl above, teeming with high clouds, and Hermione felt the tight sobs leave her. She sat down on the edge of the Tower, arms clinging to the lower railing and forehead bowed against it, and wept. Her shoulders shook and hot tears dripped on her jeans-clad thighs as she cried. She remembered everything as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, and oh god, it hurt.
She didn't know how much time had passed when he found her there, on the edge of the Tower, eyes swollen from crying and face snotty and blotchy. But she knew the approaching footsteps were his even before he said her name.
"Hermione."
She looked up at him standing there several metres away, his eyes as grey as the sky and just as turbulent behind strands of white-blonde hair that fluttered frantically in the wind. His mouth was set in a flat, hard line, and he looked like he was afraid she was going to jump; she could tell by the way he had his wand ready at his side, from the way he watched her like a hawk. She stared back just as silent as he, until he broke the silence with her name again.
"Hermione?" Draco sounded cautious and hesitant as he edged towards her, trying to be sneaky about it and failing miserably. She scrubbed at her face and blinked up at him, feeling all stuffy and blocked up, her head and sinuses aching and her throat raw from crying.
"I'm not going to pitch myself over, Draco," she croaked, a touch acerbic, and he looked a little relieved and a little sheepish. He moved toward her immediately, crouching down at her side and shoving her hair back, tucking it behind her ears and trailing cool silver fingers down her cheek, as his eyes searched hers. She snuffled wetly and leaned into his touch, felt a small, happy feeling of relief seep up from beneath the hurt that had been consuming her.
"You spoke to your mother, did you?" she asked, assuming Draco wouldn't have approached her so tentatively if he hadn't known what had happened, and he nodded, his features going very hard.
"I'm going to fucking kill her."
Hermione tried to speak, but her throat felt all clogged with emotion again, and her head swam with nightmares, and she fell against Draco with a sob, her breasts pressing into his knee as she hugged his legs pathetically. His arms came up around her tightly, cradling her as her fists balled up and her eyes screwed shut, tears slipping from beneath her lashes in a fresh storm of weeping. Draco stroked her back and made helpless attempts at soothing her, but as much as she tried to pull herself bloody well together, Hermione couldn't seem to stop crying. Damn Narcissa for setting her off like this, damn Lucius for hurting them, and damn the Death Eaters, and Voldemort, and the whole bloody war. She hated it all. Hated it.
Christ, pull yourself together, Hermione, she thought angrily, trying to seize control of her hitching gasping breaths, which only worsened her sobs. She was crying like she used to as a child - great, whooping breaths and shuddering shoulders, and snot smeared all beneath her nose. Disgusting and pathetic, and through it all Draco stroked her back and said soothing bits of things in her ear - it did nothing to calm her, but she appreciated the attempt. He shifted and her grip on his legs nearly broke, before there was a disconcerting lurch, and his arms hard around her as he heaved her up, and then she opened her eyes to find herself sitting across his lap, a little way back from the very edge of the Tower. She shut her eyes again and burrowed her head into Draco's chest as his hand came up and stroked over her hair, the wind nearly snatching away the worried things he murmured to her, with that undercurrent of anger at his mother.
It took a long time for Hermione's tears to ebb, and when they finally did she felt hollowed out and fragile. The memories were still vivid and stark in her mind's eye, but the storm of emotion had raged itself out, and Draco's heart thudded against her ear, and his hand still smoothed steadily over her hair. "I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely, embarrassed at her behaviour, and picturing unwillingly the way Draco had looked when Rostan had shoved him back into the cell that first time. Remembering the violation of having hands pawing all over her body as she hung from the chains. The humiliation of having to use the bucket. Hearing again like echoes, Draco's screams as they tortured him. Remembering the feeling of guilt and the bleakness in Draco's eyes as she had apparated away and left him to what they had both believed was his death.
She shuddered and slid her arms around Draco's waist, clinging to him desperately. "Merlin, I'm so sorry." She didn't know what she was apologising for - the breakdown, or everything else.
"Hermione…it's all right. It's fine. Don't be sorry, you haven't done anything wrong. It's my mother's stupid, tactless, stupid fucking fault," he told her roughly, the worry radiating off him in tangible waves.
"She didn't mean to…she just…" Hermione tried to be fair - generous even - when it came to Draco's mother, but the memories kept crowding in and shoving out rational thought. "God. God, Draco, I can't stop fucking thinking about it all," she cried desperately, jerking in quick, shallow pants. "I - I thought I was coping. Coping so well. I thought I was getting past it. I thought -"
"You thought you could just bury it and never think of it again. You thought you could move on without ever dealing with it, ever facing it again. Just leaving it dead. In the past," Draco finished for her, his voice tight and his hands still moving soothingly through her tangled hair.
"Yes," she got out past the lump in her throat. "What other option do I have? Now is hardly the time to deal with it. We're in the middle of a war - I can hardly waltz off to counselling - not that the wizarding world even has it - when we're preparing for what will possibly be the biggest battle yet in this whole Merlin-damned war. Besides, I have no idea how one is ever supposed to deal with…what happened. What we…went through."
"I know."
"How do you do it? How do you always seem so bloody together? Like none of it touches you?" she asked in a small voice, and felt a tremor run through Draco. He cleared his throat.
"I'm better at compartmentalising than you," he said very coolly, a sharp pain behind the flat tone that belied his words. "I just…Merlin, I don't fucking know, Hermione. I don't know how I don't fall apart. I try to focus on the present, I suppose. Besides, I can't bloody afford to fall apart, can I?"
Hermione twisted her head to look up at him. He was all pale, sharp angles, his platinum hair snapping into the wind, and his eyes the colour of the overcast sky, looking into hers with a bleak sort of helplessness. She couldn't stop overlaying his features with how he had had looked after Rostan and the others had raped him, all those times. Bruised and bloodied, face stained with tears of pain and humiliation, all hope obliterated, leaving only sick, broken hatred. She blinked hard and then he was unmarred again, beautiful enough in his own way to make an iron fist squeeze tight around her heart, but still just as bleak and cold, statue still as he watched her.
"Do you think we'll ever get past it? Ever stop having the nightmares, and…?" she asked quietly, her fingers going up to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. He shrugged a shoulder.
"I don't know, Hermione."
She laughed tearily. "No optimism from you, hmm? Just the cold, hard…truth."
Draco looked vaguely apologetic, and his hand cupped her cheek, thumb smoothing along her cheekbone. "I'm sorry, Hermione. But I don't bloody know. I don't. Ever since we were…captured…I can hardly bear to go to sleep, thanks to the fucking nightmares. About what I did under the Imperius, about what they did to you, about the fear and the torture and the - the rape." He said the last word in a whisper, his gaze dipping and lashes fluttering, spiky with dampness as Hermione brought her hand up to press to his chilled cheek, in imitation of his hand on hers. They sat there a moment leaning into each others touch, before they dropped their hands away and Draco sucked in a deep breath.
"I dream that the Dark Lord has us again, and he imperios me, and forces me to t-torture you to death, and then gives me to Rostan, to do what - what he wants with me." Draco closed his eyes and Hermione could hear his teeth grinding together as he tried to regain control of himself, his arm around her waist digging into her tightly.
"I try to kill myself, in the dreams. But it never works, and you die, I murder you, and then he…rapes me." He let out a shuddering exhale. "Over and over and over, and I…" He broke off, shoulders starting to shake, turning his face away from hers, and Hermione's heart ached for him.
"Draco. Draco, god, it's okay. It's all right. That's not going to happen. It's never going to happen." She grabbed his chin and turned his face back to hers and flinched inside at the tears on his cheeks that he swept roughly away. He was just as scared and broken as her; he was balancing on a knife's edge, just like she was. There was a sea of hurt hidden beneath a too-calm surface of war preparations and baby plans, and nightmares not spoken of. It scared her, to see Draco like this, his eyes wet and jaw clenched in an attempt to hold everything in. It was selfish, but Hermione needed him to be strong for her, because right now she was doubtful that she could be strong for herself.
"I know," he said, pressing his lips together and then saying, "I can't stop thinking about the baby, Hermione. I know I can survive the past, because I have been so far, and I don't plan to stop. I'm not going to let Rostan and the others break me. I refuse to. But how the fuck are we supposed to make good parents? Merlin, I don't fucking know how we're going to do this, and I want to do it right. I don't want to…fuck things up."
She knew he was thinking of Lucius, and she made a sympathetic grimace. "We won't be doing it alone, Draco. We'll have each other, and everybody else." She nudged him and smiled weakly, trying to joke. "Besides, it's me you should be worried about. You're keeping it together better than I am. Look at me - I'm a bloody mess."
"You're perfect. You'll be an amazing mother, Hermione Granger, and you know it. You just need to get better at -"
"Compartmentalising?" Hermione interjected and Draco smirked and she smiled, and then his fingertips dragged down the side of her face, smirk fading.
"Yeah. That."
He lowered his head, nose nudging against her cheek. "You have to be strong enough to do this on your own, Hermione. You can't put all your trust in me." His breath was a hot whisper on her skin, and her head shot back as she stared at him wide-eyed and frightened.
"What? Why?"
"We still don't know what will happen to me after -"
"Don't," she snarled, jabbing him in the chest, and he sighed, and tried another tack while Hermione glared warningly.
"Not to mention, I may be holding it together now…but I'm fucked in the head, Hermione. I might not always be able to be, well, relied upon to be the strong one. Right?" Draco's head dipped back down to hers, and his lips drifted from her ear to the corner of her mouth. She nuzzled him softly, her hand sliding up to clutch in his hair.
"We're a matching pair, then," she said softly. Her chest was tight and despite the cold wind blustering about them, she felt hot. Draco's lips brushed over hers, his grey eyes open, and heavy-lidded and dark, and Hermione felt the heat centre in her belly, winding and coiling, and she embraced it. Let it chase the darkness and cold away for a while.
"Everything will be all right, Draco. In the end, everything will be all right," she whispered against his mouth.
"Hopeless bloody optimist," Draco murmured and kissed her. Warm, soft lips, and Hermione's eyes fell shut, a little mm-ing noise slipping out of her. And then as his fingers curled into her hair, she saw Draco in her mind's eye - bent over a bucket, retching and crying and covered in bruises and bites and blood, and she wondered if he was right. If she was just a hopeless optimist, and nothing would ever be all right. If everything would always be tainted by memories that they couldn't seem to escape. But Draco was warm and demanding, all taut with the need to try to forget again, just like she wanted to, so Hermione kissed him with single-minded focus, and compartmentalised.
"You look like absolute shite, Draco, darling," Pansy said bluntly, arching an eyebrow at Draco as she strolled in the doorway of the otherwise empty classroom. He snorted and spared her only a brief glance, in no mood for her abrasiveness and self-absorption right now. He only wanted to be left alone, which was precisely why he had buggered off to an out-of-the-way classroom to turn a bundle of sheeting into useful bandages for Madam Pomfrey.
"Thanks, Pans. Glad to see all this hasn't affected your glowing personality," he snarked sourly, hoping she'd get the bloody hint and piss off. No such luck. Instead, she pulled out a chair at the table he was seated at, and tilted her head birdlike at him, smirking faintly.
"Tetchy, tetchy," she chided him, before picking up a strip of the sheeting that was strewn over the table and running it through her evaluating fingers like an overlarge ribbon. Draco ignored her jibe and continued his boring work transfiguring the strips of sheet into bandages, rolling them neatly up with another wave of his wand, and floating them into a box for delivery to the hospital wing later.
He could feel Pansy's eyes on him as she sat there silently for all of five minutes, before pulling her wand and attempting to transfigure the sheets herself. Her first attempt came out badly - it was a striped stretchy flannelette cross between bandage and the original sheet, and Draco hid a smile. Pansy swore and tried again, muttering something about being rusty, and within another ten minutes and no little perseverance and swearing, was transfiguring passable bandages. At least if she had to intrude on his peace and quiet, she was keeping her mouth shut and not prying, Draco thought. He still resented her presence though. He needed time alone, to get his head back together after Hermione's meltdown on the Astronomy Tower.
"Actually deigning to help with something so menial? I'm surprised at you, Pansy," he jabbed, scowling as he worked. He was on edge, damnit, and half the reason why he'd shut himself away was that when he was edgy, he was an arsehole to the people around him. Wasn't fit for company. So, very nicely, he'd thought, Draco had exiled himself until he could manage to stop thinking about all the things his mother had resurrected in Hermione, and through her, him. He kept thinking about Rostan. About the Imperius and what he'd done while under the curse. About his father and his hand and Pansy and Hermione… He wished he could obliviate himself, but the risks of losing more memory than he intended was too high and besides, Hermione would never agree to obliviation, and if she was condemned to remember it, he couldn't choose to forget.
Draco wished he could though. It hurt very badly to know that Hermione had seen his shame and his despair. Had seen him broken, like that. As much as she told him in her eyes and her actions that it didn't change things, he still felt like…less of a man, somehow. She had seen him at his most vulnerable, violated and sobbing over it, and even now it made him feel exposed and humiliated that she knew.
"What's wrong?" Pansy asked firmly, laying a hand over his wrist and stilling his wand flicks. Draco sighed and leaned back in his chair, meeting the eyes of one of his oldest friends, and seeing nothing but concern and badly veiled hurt.
"Nothing. Shit, I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm an arsehole."
"You are - in fact, you wounded me deeply," Pansy replied exaggeratedly, a sly expression coming over her face. "But if you tell me what has you all pissy today, I'll let you off just this once." She smirked. He gave her a look, rolling his eye and holding back all the nasty retorts that sprang to the tip of his tongue, compliments of his foul mood. Pansy didn't deserve to get snarled at over what seemed to be genuine concern for him.
"Tempting, but no deal," he said simply instead, flashing Pansy a twisted smile and dropping his wand on the table with a clatter, stretching the kinks out of his back with a sigh. Pansy glared, flicking her wand and sending a bandage whirling up into a neat roll, her pug face - which Draco had always found oddly appealing - all scrunched up into a rather unattractive scowl.
"Is it Granger?" she probed, but Draco refused to answer, making a show of idly examining his nails instead, looking as disinterested as was humanly possible when he felt like his insides were knotted and his head ached like hell. Pansy hummed under her breath, and ventured further guesses. "Your mother? The war? Parenthood? The ungrateful little shits making your life a misery lately?" She ticked off a long list on her fingers in a casual, snobbish tone that was pure Pansy; overly blunt and without any overt trace of sympathy. Draco kept picking at a ragged edge on his thumbnail, and Pansy harrumphed impatiently.
"I'll just keep pestering you until you talk, you know."
He finally looked over at her, watching him with concerned eyes that contradicted her haughty, gossipy tone of voice.
"Just leave me the hell alone, Pans. I'm not in the mood for a heart-to-heart - what are we, in Gryffindor now?"
"Eww, Merlin no!" Pansy's face screwed up comically. "But you've been in a disgustingly foul mood all afternoon - ever since just before lunch, when you screamed at your mother loud enough for Finn - me to hear all the way down the corridor in my room." Pansy looked away from him, her cheeks pinking. That had been a miserable save, and they both knew it. Draco's eyebrow arched - sensing distraction from his own issues, he swooped in for the kill.
"And what was Seamus Finnegan doing in your bedroom, Pans?" he drawled, before smirking infuriatingly. "No, actually please don't tell me - I'd rather not know."
Pansy actually bloody blushed and damn near simpered, her face going soft and starry-eyed, and Draco recoiled in shock. "Holy fucking shit, I know that look, Pansy," he accused, pointing a finger at her. "You truly like the bastard." He shook his head disbelievingly. "Well fuck me dead, when the hell did this happen?"
Pansy thumped him on the arm and glared daggers, thrusting her chin into the air so she could stare down her nose at him. "None of your business, Draco Malfoy." She hesitated. "But…I think I kind of do like him. Maybe a little bit. He's been one of the only people to be nice to me, and I stumbled in on him drinking in the kitchens after midnight a few days ago, and he offered me a drink, and well…" She went redder and Draco grinned, half-amused and half happy for Pansy. Finnegan might be a dolt, but he was a decent dolt, at least.
"Neither of us meant anything like that to happen," she explained, all red and filled with defensive embarrassment, "But…I think I actually like the freckled halfwit. He makes me feel normal. U-undamaged."
"Everyone feels normal and undamaged in comparison to Finnegan, Pans," Draco said dryly. "But that said, he's a decent bloke." He shot her a half-smile. "I'm happy for you."
"I'm hardly planning on marrying him!" Pansy denied, aghast. "It's just a few friendly shags, that's all. The first since…well, anyway, it's just comfort. A wartime time thing. Nothing more."
Draco fixated on the one part of Pansy's babbling that meant anything to him - the first since…my father raped you, he finished it for her, in his head. Bit his lip, went hot and cold all over. "You shagged?"
She nodded.
"Was it…all right? I mean…were you okay - did he know…?" He frowned, fingers twitching. "I swear to Merlin, if he pressured you or -"
"He didn't pressure me - and I'm sure I can defend myself against Finnegan; I'm not that useless, Draco. But I appreciate the concern. It's unexpected and rather sweet," Pansy told him briskly, and then gazed off into the distance dreamily. "I got terribly drunk, tried to clumsily seduce him, burst into tears and told him everything halfway through, and cried on his lap for what felt like hours." She shot him a wide-eyed look of awed disbelief.
"He wasn't mean or awful; he wasn't a manipulative bastard. He just patted my back and said lovely things to me, and…" Pansy choked off her words, clearly fighting back tears. "And when I tried, like an idiot, to seduce him again - still half in tears - he told me it was all up to me. That it was all about me. That…" Her eyes bored into Draco's, and he found himself mesmerised by the intensity there. "It was perfect, Draco."
Uncomfortable with the crackling levels of emotion in the room, Draco was flippant, if affectionate.
"I thought you said it was purely a wartime thing?" he teased, and Pansy gave him a laughably woebegone look.
"It was supposed to be - is supposed to be. But I think I like Seamus Finnegan, entirely too much."
Draco smirked. "Those Gryffindors have a way of getting under your skin, don't they?"
"Well I don't like it," Pansy retorted, caught somewhere between a sulk, tears, and laughter. Draco patted her on the arm reassuringly, and she fixed him with a sudden gimlet stare. "But I didn't come in here to talk about me and my terrible taste in men -"
"Hey!" Draco protested.
"As riveting as the topic of myself may be, I came to talk about your issues. What's going on with you today, Draco?"
"I said I didn't want to talk about it." He turned his attention back to the sheeting strips, and began transfiguring bandages again.
"I talked to you. You owe me. I told you nearly everything, in the end, thanks to your manipulative persuasion, and your insistence that it would make me feel better. And it did, by the way." She shook her head, clearing it. "Anyway, my point is - I trusted you. The least you can do is return that trust." Pansy seemed genuinely upset now - seemed being the operative word; the witch was a Slytherin after all. But she stared at him with a wounded expression, and in the end Draco grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting to just admit defeat to Pansy and tell her everything, if only so as to get her to stop staring at him like a puppy he was murdering.
Draco had spent all bloody afternoon trying to suppress the memories his fucking mother had resurrected in Hermione, and thus him. All the things he had tried so hard not to think about had come lurching back to life, like Inferi. Draco supposed trauma couldn't reasonably be buried forever - eventually it would find its way back to the surface, but he had hoped to delay the stupid fucking emotional breakdown until after the war. He could come to pieces over what Rostan had…Merlin, even in his head it was hard to admit to himself. He couldn't stop picturing it, but he couldn't bring himself to think the bloody words coldly and dispassionately. He felt like such a pathetic piece of shit - beaten down by memories of being turned into a wh…
He sucked in a breath and turned his eyes on Pansy. Discussing his issues with her would hardly help him attain his goal of ruthlessly shoving them back down to fester under the surface, but he felt emotion clog his throat, and he wanted to tell someone, and besides, when she looked at him with those wounded eyes… And he knew intimately how fucking persistent Pansy could be, and she kind of did have a point with the fact that she had trusted him, so it was only fair for him to show equal trust. Damnit. Perversely, he wanted to tell her, and rationally, he probably should. It might help, perhaps. The only thing holding Draco back was that he absolutely despised being vulnerable.
"Fine. Fine, you obstinate bloody bitch," he said with exasperation, but no rancour. "It's everything you listed, and more besides."
Pansy's face softened and her hand folded over Draco's as he slumped in his chair in resignation. "And what's the 'more besides?" she asked quietly, and Draco swallowed hard.
"If you tell another soul, I swear to Salazar, I will murder you. Slowly."
She nodded.
"When we were captured, the Death Eaters were not…permitted…to rape Hermione. The same strictures however, were not placed on their treatment of me." The words came out stiffly, awkward and cold on his tongue, although inside Draco was burning up with sick humiliation. Pansy's eyes rounded with horrified empathy - she understood what he felt, he reminded himself, muscles tensed and trembling. That wasn't pity in her eyes - she knew how he felt. He tried to make himself unwind and relax his strung out nerves just a little, so he didn't feel like he was going to lash out any second, but he couldn't. Her hand tightened on his.
"Oh Draco, I'm so, so sorry. I - they - Merlin…Draco…"
"A-a-all of them," he stammered, shivers overtaking him and his hand twisting sharply to enclose Pansy's and squeeze. Draco felt like he was going to vomit, bile rising in his throat sharp and sour, unable to meet Pansy's eyes for the shame and humiliation.
"Over and over again, until - until…" He faltered to a halt, and forced himself to meet Pansy's gaze, and saw only horrified understanding there, and then the words just began to pour out of him. It was like a dam had burst, like cutting open an infected wound and letting the poison run out. Draco couldn't bring himself to speak of every gruesomely intimate detail to Hermione - he couldn't burden her with that - but with Pansy, he could. He didn't have to worry about her looking at him differently during sex after hearing all the terrible things they'd forced him to do, that they'd done to him.
He could tell Pansy.
Draco clung to her hand in the otherwise empty classroom, spilling the words out in a ragged stream, tears of misery dripping down onto their clasped hands, mingling with the ones she was shedding as she listened silently. When he finally ran out of words, he cried on her shoulder like a pathetic child while she held him tight enough to near crack his ribs. And Pansy was right; it did make Draco feel a little better, to have let it out, and it was good to have her there for him. But in the end, she left and he was alone again. In the end, everyone was alone. He wished Hermione was there, but he couldn't face her like this; shaky and teary, and about as far from being the pillar of strength that she needed as one could be.
So Draco stayed sitting in the empty classroom, staring at the bandages in front of him, until he revised his previous opinion; Pansy had been wrong. Talking about it hadn't made a fucking bit of difference. Killing Rostan, on the other hand, and all the other bastards who had 'had a go', now that might help Draco feel a little better. He smiled sightlessly and without humour at the rolls of bandages as new mental pictures entered his head, playing through reels of the different ways in which Rostan could die - slowly, and in great, great pain.
"New arrivals," Neville said to Hermione as he hurried past her and Draco towards Hogwarts' entrance. "Not just Order members either," he called back, and Hermione immediately quickened her pace. She fell in beside Neville, soaking up his breathless excitement as though it was infectious. Draco seemed immune, although he followed close behind them, hands in his pockets and pointed chin up, fringe falling over his forehead and into his eyes, boots scuffing the floor.
"Who then?" Hermione asked Neville, and he flashed her an excited grin.
"Rescued prisoners. Taken in a raid last night."
"We're still raiding?" Hermione wrinkled her brow, and Neville shrugged, striding along and forcing Hermione to trot to keep up.
"S'pose so."
Hermione shot Draco a raised eyebrow and silent query, and he shook his head - he hadn't known either. She frowned to herself as she scurried along beside Neville; she didn't like the way she seemed to be constantly out of the loop and uninformed these days. To be fair, it was partially her fault, but still - it irritated her slightly. She would have thought that Harry or Ron would have told her, if they had known - and they must have. No one raided unless it was sanctioned by Remus, Professor McGonagall, Kingsley, or Harry.
She, Neville, and Draco came to an abrupt stop in the entry hall, along with quite a few others; it seemed like everyone who had arrived at Hogwarts so far had come out to greet the new arrivals. Word travelled fast. No doubt many people hoped to see familiar faces among the rescued prisoners, and they were all hushed, silent as the grave, eyes pinned to the doors, closed against the outside world. The air was thick and heavy with anticipation, and a little fear - everyone knew what prisoners suffered, and while the rescue of those captured was a marvellous thing, the scars and trauma they would carry was a sobering thought. Those who had been captured would never be the same again; Hermione knew that intimately.
She felt her chest go tight and her stomach churn as the door began to open, and then Draco's fingers interweaved with hers. Warm and firm, he steadied her, and they shared a brief look of reassurance before turning their eyes back to the battered troupe limping into Hogwarts' safety. The rescued prisoners were dazed and emaciated, hobbling and bloodied, filthy, a fearful sort of dulled hope in their eyes, as if they were afraid this was all a dream. Flanked and assisted by the Order team who had rescued them, they were greeted with a sudden eruption of cheers and applause. It burst out of the silence and filled the hall deafeningly, the sound of joy and triumph, and Hermione realised tears were sheeting down her face as several people were reunited with loved ones.
Sobs of relief and joy came from tight knotted embraces between people who had thought the other long dead - friends and family clinging together. Hermione smiled through her tears, pressing up to Draco's side and feeling his thumb rub gently over the back of her fingers. The breathless anticipation had well broken, and chaos had taken over as people wept and laughed, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were bustling forward and sorting out who needed assistance to get the hospital wing, plucking eager volunteers from the people gathered, and welcoming the shell-shocked prisoners with comforting, firm warmth. It was lovely, and Hermione watched it all unfold with a strange, wild sort of joy in her heart. She had never seen the aftermath of a raid like this. Never seen the mass reunions and the joy and pain all tumbled together inextricably.
Then Draco's fingers spasmed on Hermione's and a small gasp wrenched from his throat. She snapped her head to stare up at him, and saw he had gone white as a sheet as he stared towards the doors, where the new arrivals were gathered, milling about. Terror was written all over him, and Hermione's heart sank like a stone. She swung her gaze to where he was staring with huge, horrified grey eyes, expecting to see a Death Eater the others hadn't recognised, or something terrible like that. But it was just a girl. A girl of about seventeen, who Hermione vaguely recognised as a Ravenclaw. Dark, straggling hair framing a half-starved face, that would have been beautiful if not for the filth encrusted on her, or the dull vacuity shaping her features.
"No." Draco said it very softly, the word filled with desperate denial, and Hermione's sunken heart lurched.
"Draco?" She squeezed his hand, but he was frozen on the girl in her ragged, dirty clothes, as she made her painful way into the middle of the entry hall, looking around for a familiar face.
"Draco." Hermione was scared now. Draco's lips were moving in a litany of soundless denials, and he was drained of blood, so dead white he looked like a vampire. "Draco!" she cried loudly and dropped his hand, shook his arm roughly, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the girl's attention snap to them as Hermione's call broke through the chaotic noise. Draco saw too, and took a stumbling step back.
"No. Fuck. Fuck, no."
"Draco, you're scaring me!"
"Hermione, what's -"
"Not now, Neville!" she snapped, and twisted her head to look at the girl again, who limped fast toward them, her face suddenly not dulled or vacuous anymore, but a twisted mask of rage. Hermione felt sick, her mind clutching at explanations and shying away from them all, unable to even contemplate them.
"You!" the girl screamed, pointing her trembling finger at Draco, her voice hoarse and raw. "You!"
"Draco - Draco what the hell is -"
He looked down at Hermione, his face painted in misery and guilt and shame. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sor-"
"You!" The girl was mere feet away now, and she sobbed the one word in a voice so hurt and broken that Hermione couldn't breathe. "Death Eater! Death Eater! Death Eater!"
"He defected!" Hermione yelled out, cutting off the girl's rising cries and putting herself between Draco and the girl, arms flung out protectively, trying to explain. "It's all right, he defected. He's not going to hurt you!"
Draco made a choked sob from behind her, and the girl snarled, hands becoming fists. "He defected?" Her voice became a shriek and the hall began to still as people heard the ruckus. "He defected?" She gave Hermione a look of disgusted pity that made Hermione cringe back. "I'll tell you what he did! Not a bloody month ago, he fucking held me down while the others took their turns at me!"
Hermione's arms fell. It felt like the breath had been crushed out of her. Like her heart was splitting apart. He what? No. nononononono…
"He held me down, He used the cruciatus on me. He choked me and beat me, and spat in my f-face. He c-c-cut me. See!" The girl thrust out stick-like arms crisscrossed with fresh scars, and Hermione stifled a whimper.
"He was under the Imperius. He didn't -"
But the girl ignored Hermione. "He made me - made me…" The Ravenclaw's thin chest was heaving, she swayed on her feet. "Made me suck…"
Hermione's blood ran cold as the girl's voice trailed off, and she staggered a step to the side, turning to look at Draco. She needed him to deny it. Needed him to… He looked away from Hermione, to the girl. His voice was nearly unrecognisable, it was so choked.
"I was under the Imperius. But that doesn't make it better. I know. I'm so - so sorry…"
"Keep your fucking sorries!" The girl sprang forward at Draco, her hands clawed, knocking Hermione back. She nearly fell, only caught by Neville's steadying arms, and lifted her eyes to see the Ravenclaw raking bloody gouges down Draco's face, and he not even trying to stop her. His arm was over his face, and his head bowed, but he did nothing to fight the girl off; just took it.
"Stop it!" Hermione screamed at the girl, pulling away from a stunned Neville and yanking roughly at the Ravenclaw's arm. Thin and injured as she was though, the girl resisted her easily, shoving Hermione away and striking at Draco with her nails and fists - he tried to grab her wrists now, but she bit his hand and shrieked, and flung herself forward onto him, sending them both toppling to the ground. People were yelling and crying out, Professor McGonagall's voice high above it all, but Hermione couldn't make sense of any of it. The girl's words bored into her like red hot pins.
"You murdered my mother! You tortured me! You filthy Merlin-damned raping, murdering scum!"
Hermione felt sick to her stomach and dizzy; everything was whirling and the girl kept screaming horrible, terrible accusations, and all Draco did was stare up at the girl, apologising hoarsely.
"I was imperioed. I couldn't help it. I'm sorry," he coughed breathlessly; face bloodied and silver eyes so ashamed it was hard to look at them. Hermione stumbled and shook, crying wretchedly and fumbling for her damned wand to stupefy the girl. Neville was quicker.
He wrapped an arm around Hermione, holding her up securely, and said, "Somnium." The girl collapsed in a limp heap on top of Draco, who made a horrid, rasping sound, and covered his face with his hands.
"Mr Longbottom!" Professor McGonagall was suddenly there at last, and lifted her wand and flicked, the girl's form floating up to waist height and drifting over to McGonagall's side. "What exactly -"
"A sleeping charm, Professor."
"Very good, Mr Longbottom. Miss Granger. Hermione - are you all right?"
She wasn't. In fact, she rather felt like she wanted to pass out, but she clung to Neville's sleeve and nodded, gulping hard. "Y-yes, thank you, Professor."
Neville muttered a few bolstering words in her ear and rubbed her back hard as she stared numbly at Draco, who shoved himself to his feet with a wince. There were several deep bloodied scratches crimson down his cheeks and jaw, vivid against his ashen skin. He kept his eyes on the floor, avoiding Hermione's fixed gaze. She didn't know if she wanted to scream at him and hit him, or…she didn't know. He was imperioed, she told herself sharply through the fog of shock that had fuzzed up her thoughts. He couldn't help it. Perhaps she should rush forward and reassure him, but her feet were rooted to the floor, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and just this second, she felt like if she let go of Neville, her legs would give way.
"Miss Bell, here, please take Lenora upstairs to the hospital wing," Professor McGonagall said briskly, transferring the girl's floating body to Katie's charge, before turning to Draco. She whisked her wand a few times and the blood vanished from his face, the gouges closed nearly altogether, but were still livid stripes. "Mr Malfoy?"
He swallowed. "Yes?" It was a hoarse whisper, and his eyes stayed on the floor.
"I believe we may need to talk," the Professor snapped out, looking shaken and terribly uncomfortable and worried. "The library, I think. Come along, now, please." She spun on her heel and glanced about at the silent, watching throng of people.
"Everyone; back to your business!" she ordered in a high bark, and the frozen silence broke as everyone obediently resumed what they had been doing, or scattered. Hermione could feel their eyes on her and Draco though - could hear the whispers. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
"May I come, Professor?"
"Of course, Miss Granger," McGonagall said rather gently, as Draco finally lifted his eyes in shock - shame and guilt burning in them.
"Need a hand, Hermione?" Neville offered, and Hermione shook her head no and thanked him for his help - dear, dependable, Neville - before falling in step with Draco behind the Professor. Neville stared after them forlornly for a moment, before turning to see how he could help the new arrivals. Hermione walked in dead silence for a while, searching her mind for words, before finally dredging up what they'd had to say to each other all too often. Her hand found Draco's and when he tried to flinch away, she just clutched tighter. Their eyes met as they paused on the steps, waiting for them to move.
"It doesn't change anything," she lied, wishing it were truth, and Draco gave a humourless little chuckle, seeing straight through her. He gave her the requisite answer.
"Yes, it does. It changes everything."
"Not anything that really matters," she returned, and when Hermione got right down to the core of everything, that was truth, and from the sudden bone-creaking grip Draco clasped her hand with, he knew it was the truth too. She ascended the stairs beside him; his hand clutched tightly in hers, and she told herself with every step that whatever Draco had done, it had been because of the Imperius. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. It wasn't. But she knew he blamed himself, so it didn't matter what she thought, did it? Hermione tried very hard not to cry. She failed.
Draco felt like he was walking to his execution. He couldn't understand why Hermione was still at his side, but Merlin, he was so fucking grateful. He didn't deserve her, and he fucking knew it. And he wouldn't blame her if she left him because of the answer he would have to give to the question he could almost see, sizzling in McGonagall's brain. Oh fuck, who was he kidding? He'd blame her. Hate her, in fact.
Draco kept his feet moving obediently after McGonagall, feeling both numb and terrified. He wanted to grab Hermione and run. His chest was squeezed tight as panic shivered through him, and he wanted to grab Hermione and run. Somewhere far, far away from the brutal truth of the looming questions. Somewhere where they could pretend that none of this had been real. He bit his lip so hard it bled. Somewhere far away, alone together.
"Professor?" Potter's worried voice as they entered the library.
"We have a problem, Mr Potter. It seems Mr Malfoy was not totally forthcoming about his activities while under the Imperius Curse." McGonagall's dry voice sliced the still air of the library, and Draco stared at the floor and let a sigh slither out of him, tugged his fingers free of Hermione's fiercely clutching ones thinking a silent apology to her, and lifted his head. He might not be a rapist in the technical sense of the word, but he didn't think the lack of penetration had made Lenora feel much better about it, and he expected the others would rightly agree with her.
Draco swallowed, throat clicking dryly, and prepared to crucify himself.