Meiosis
***
Hermione stopped taking the drugs, mostly because they weren't working anymore, but also because she was too embarrassed to return to the Slytherin Common Room to ask for more. To hell with it. To hell with Zabini. Her anger bubbled up and her mind tossed in its two cents: and to hell with Harry too. Damn him for doing this to you. Friends are supposed to care for and protect each other. A tear escaped her eyes at this thought, but she brushed it aside in favor of overwhelming anger. Anger, at least, was easier to understand than trying to avoid reality. She'd had her vacation from the real world, but now her rational brain was starting to override her grief and her self deprecation. She couldn't blame herself, or delude herself any longer.
It was February; the snow had turned to solid sheets on the ground, the wind cut viciously through clothing, and Hermione decided it was time to start preparing for her N.E.W.T.S. as popular rumor was mistaken in the idea that she had started shortly after receiving her first Hogwarts letter. She got out of bed, where she'd been lazing after classes that day, and headed to the library to start studying for the theoretical portions of exams. She already knew that the practical half of it would be fine; she rarely forgot a spell or charm once she'd learned its proper pronunciation and wand movements. She brushed her fingers along the stone wall, enjoying the abrasive tickling against her skin and suddenly the feeling of his cheek filled her mind. Draco's face had been smooth and warm, the slightest sandpaper texture along his jaw, where only one of her fingers had traveled as he had pulled away that day. It was an indistinct memory, soft around the edges in her mind. She shook her head—those drugs had clouded her perception of the world in a way that she liked at the time, but looking back, she realized she preferred her usual rational, crystal clear take on the world around her. She needed clarity to stay in control—of her anger, of her body, of the rest of her life. Her determination was her only source of personal power—it was the only former strength she still believed in. After all, her knowledge and magical talent hadn't protected her—she needed something baser to lead her—downright stubbornness seemed like the best option. No one could take her will from her; she wouldn't bloody well let them.
She entered the library, and found herself striding with confidence on this ground just like her old self. She was still safe here. Her table had lately been occupied by a group of fourth year Ravenclaw girls, but they quickly vacated when they saw her coming. It was her territory, and although it wasn't a very big space, or particularly powerful, the fact that it was hers and hers alone made it very important to her. She organized her books by subject and reviewed the syllabi so she would know what she needed to study the most. After an hour or so, the chair across the table from her scraped back against the floor, and her mind ran through the possibilities before she looked up. It could be Nott, who did sometimes sit across from her in public to discuss Head's business. It may be Draco, although that was unlikely given the public venue, but her stomach fluttered a little thinking of him and how often they talked now in the evenings. He had yet to ask her any questions about what happened and she didn't ask about his father—more often they talked of school work and future plans—it was their truce, and she liked it that way.
When she did look up however, it was Ron. Every time he managed to catch her in what seemed like "spare time" he plied her with questions about why she never spoke to him or Harry anymore, why she ate so far away at meals, wanting desperately to know what they'd done wrong to deserve her scorn. This time he seemed to start off with a different tactic:
"What did he do, Hermione? Because I've thought about it good and bloody long, and I know I didn't do a damn thing."
Her head spun for a moment at how close to the mark Ron had come, and her mouth poured open before she could think, the anger was taking over again,
"Ask him. You make him deal with the full consequences of what he did to me."
She was throwing her books back in her bag, and storming out just before she finished hissing the sentence from within her clenched jaw. Humorously, all she could think of was that she wanted a private library when she got her own house, so no one could invade her space. She settled herself instead in the Head's Common Room, and took to summoning books she needed from the library out the window. She found out the next day from Madam Pince that she'd almost taken a first year out the window by a copy of Hogwarts, A History, and that from then on, summoning of books was forbidden. When Nott came in later with a freshly-showered Draco, she was again struck with the full-force of his sage soap, and the fruity smell of something he was chewing. She didn't budge form the table, instead conjured another chair for Malfoy and continued working, as if ignoring their noisy entrance. The fruit smell hit peak when he drew nearer, and he set down half of a mango next to his books, thus identifying the source. They all studied in silence, Nott growing fidgety first after about three hours. It was nearing 11 o'clock, and he wanted to go to bed, but the pureblood in him told him not to leave his guest alone to go to bed, and especially in the company of Granger. Theodore made another noisy show of gathering his things and stowing them in his bag, hoping that Draco would catch on and excuse himself quickly, but instead he looked up and said,
"I'm on a roll with this essay, so I'll just stay 'til I've exhausted it, but feel free to retire for the night. Goodnight Theo, mate."
Nott walked up the stairs to his room shaking his head at Draco's determination sometimes, knowing that he was leaving Draco alone with the only other person he competed against for best marks. He was worried, but not enough to distract him from the idea of his bed and a good night's sleep—something he knew he'd be getting less and less of as N.E.W.T.s approached. Draco and Hermione sat in relative silence for almost an hour, the only interruption being the quite scratching of their quills and the occasional page turn. He personally found himself surprised at how comfortable a silence it was, and she was secretly waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was content with their quiet time alone, but she as so afraid that one of them would speak or move and shatter the whole thing and she would go back to being afraid…although the more she thought about Draco, and her comfort with him, she realized he just didn't scare her. He ought to have presented a rather large threat, considering first what she assumed he still thought about her and her blood, second what he knew about her recently that she prefer he take to the grave, or third the fact that she kept peering through her eyelashes at him while writing and feeling the most delirious desire to touch his face again, or his hair. She had a thought quick a lightening strike that she wanted to kiss his mouth, but just as speedily abolished it. Considering facts one and two, he'd never let her, or want her to kiss him. Unfortunately, when she lifted her arms above her head a few moments later to stretch out a knot in her shoulder, and let her hand drop back down to the tabletop absentmindedly, her hand touched his. It was a speedy and almost non-existent touch, the mere whisper of his knuckles against her open palm, but it felt to her suddenly like her whole arm had broken out in gooseflesh and her stomach was doing gymnastics inside her ribs. He looked up rather suddenly, as if shocked, or maybe equally affected, she couldn't tell, and ended up looking her straight in the face. He whispered, afraid to truly break the silence with his normal tone of voice,
"How have you been holding up lately?...i know you haven't been down to see Zabini and I was merely wondering if there were any aftereffects you might need help with…?" His hesitancy made one corner of her mouth move up just a fraction of an inch.
"I have been fine, especially without Zabini's help. Sometimes, pure stubbornness can get a person through more than they imagined possible."
He nodded satisfactorily, and he returned a tiny smirk to match hers, another of what he had come to call their "mirror moments." He was only slightly nervous at rubbing off on her. She seemed to be leaning forward across the table and examining something, but when he first looked up at her he thought for a split second she might kiss him. he brushed it quickly away—she was not the girl to be hoping for kisses from—and he was sure that the vast majority of the reasoning for that was not her blood, but her recent experience, and that he could not violate her space or her trust in any way. He realized after shaking his head and looking at her again, that she was reading his essay, upside down, from across the table. He wondered what she found interesting, and since they both appeared to be working on the same monster essay for Snape, he leaned forward and looked over hers as well, or at least he would have had he not been confronted and distracted by the subtle smell of her soap…a kind of honey and vanilla scent that tickled his nose. He took a deep, but quiet, inhalation; pulling as much of it into his senses as possible. He decided he liked the way she smelled, but he had to lean away from her to avoid the temptation of another deep breath, or worse, tucking his nose into the crook of her neck, which he was presently imaging himself doing.
"Shall we take a break, Granger, to think over what we've done and come back fresh to edit?"
"Excellent proposal Malfoy, would you like a spot of tea?" She had risen and was entering the small galley kitchen off the common room. He was impressed to see that the cabinets were actually stocked with small food items, tea and such like, instead of just alcohol as Nott had fervently wished at the beginning of term. He thought momentarily,
"Lemon, please, if you've got it…"
"We do indeed. Although at this hour I may be better off just having black tea and continuing to work off the caffeine."
"Actually, that sounds smashing. Could I have a black tea instead?"
"Anything in it?"
"No thank you, Granger."
She sat in the chair opposite him a moment later with her teacup balancing nimbly on her kneecap, and stared quietly and comfortably at the dancing fire in the hearth. She pulled the unoccupied knee up to her chest and rested her chin on it. She seemed comfortable enough, and he'd been thinking about it so much lately, the query just sort of slipped out of his mouth before he had any time to really filter it,
"Could we please talk about what happened Granger?" His own mouth hung open for a moment as if shocked at its own rebellion, before he continued in a less abrupt manner,
"I just wish I knew how to best help…and I can't really help without knowing what happened. Well, that is, I don't know if something I say or do is going to terrify you at any moment, and I'd really like to know what not to do…"
He trailed off, frustrated with himself for being so inarticulate and beginning to almost stammer towards the end of his last sentence. Malfoys simply did not stammer. She was looking him over, taking in his embarrassment, but also his earnestness and she supposed that counting his discomfort as sincerity was the closest thing to honesty she'd seen in a while, and decided to tell him everything…well, almost everything. He saw her take a deep breath, and her mouth opened slightly, the signal for the onset of speech, but he couldn't help noticing how she moved her teacup and pulled up her other knee, cradling her body against itself, or how deeply he shoulders were slumped the moment she began speaking in a quiet, flat tone.
"I thought I fancied him, Malfoy. He invited me to what I knew was a currently unused classroom, and I went thinking naïvely that perhaps he wanted us to be alone, and that he would talk to me in a manner I was hoping for at the time. I was foolishly daydreaming of perhaps one chaste kiss like an idiotic schoolgirl. Instead, he took the lot. He grabbed me from outside the classroom by my hair and dragged me inside, before I knew it was really him. I thought I was being attacked by a stranger for a moment or two. And I failed to defend myself, I couldn't scream, or fight back, or run, I just froze…"
She paused to wipe tears from her face, choking back the beginning sounds of s sob, when Draco was suddenly in front of her armchair, pulling her by the waist to kneel on the carpet with him, and cradling her against his chest, she let the sobs free. He felt them tear through her, seemingly starting at her toes and ripping up through her body until they escaped raggedly from her mouth. Her short hair was sticking to her face in the wetness of her tears, and he wiped them both from her eyes repeatedly. It was his hands on her face that sparked her back to the conversation, she had to finish telling him, she had to tell someone, and at this moment in time, she trusted him the most.
"I have to finish. You have to know." Or at least that's what he thought she said while clearing the tears and sniffles away.
"Shh Granger, it's perfectly fine if you need to stop. you continue when you're ready." He had pulled her into his lap, and wasn't going to relinquish his comforting hold on her until she was done needing him there. That's what he told himself, of his honorable intentions, but he was also very aware of her smell, and the texture of her hair tickling his chin and one of her soft hands swirled around his neck and her fingertips resting against the nape of his neck, sending gooseflesh down his spine. She stopped crying, pulled her shoulders square and continued, but wouldn't look him in the face as she spoke.
"He put me on the desk, it was the first time I faced him. he held me down, his fingers were digging into my shoulder,"—Draco remembered the fingerling bruises and felt anger rising in his chest—"and then he pulled my legs apart and…" she choked and started sobbing again. He didn't need her to elaborate from there; he knew what had happened and was fairly sure that if she continued talking about it, he might just spring up and go hunt down and murder the bastard. But she did continue,
"When I started to fight back, when I realized what he was going to do, he hit me. He hurt me—but he was supposed to be my friend!" She was sobbing again, the words coming out between choking painful sounds and an abundance of fresh tears. "I had imagined that if he and I started dating we would get there eventually, I had dreamed of it, and instead he stole all my trust and left me broken and defiled, so no one will ever have me after he ruined me!"
Her shame was tangible in the room, he could feel it weighing on his chest. He began rocking her back and forth and whispering meaningless comforts into her ear. There was nothing else he could do at the moment, and he was still trying to comprehend what she'd meant…'he was supposed to be my friend!'…He growled when his mind came to a conclusion. It was then that she looked up at him, but still not looking him in the eye like she used to—the direct eye contact that used to make him feel transparent and glued to his seat—this was a confused, and reticent staring at his cheek. He couldn't hold it in any longer, he ground out his next words so full of malice that she pulled back from his embrace just enough that it hurt him. He was scaring her, as much as he didn't want to, but he stop his anger from pouring out either,
"Waesly did this to you, I'll gut him like the pig that his is." It was a harsh statement, spit between his teeth somewhere between a hiss and a continued growl. He sounded feral. She shook her head, and even went so far as to put her fingertips tentatively on his cheek.
"No, Draco, no he didn't. Ron doesn't even know what happened. I swear." He could tell from her tone that she was telling the truth, but he demanded regardless,
"Look me in the eye and tell me that Granger." She finally did. Tears still clinging to her thick lashes and sticking them together, and a look of fear and honesty in her eyes, she spoke so softly as to almost be inaudible,
"Ron did not do this. He is innocent." She seemed to be trying to tell him the truth with her eyes, but unable to say it aloud, and then she watched his jaw tighten, and she could actually hear him grinding his teeth together, which he was doing to keep himself from shouting and scaring her further. She was still backed away from him on his lap.
"Potter." The same hissed, death-cold tone as before.
Her whole body started to shake as soon as he said it, as if the name itself could manifest all her fears and he had to fight to keep his own hands from shaking and forming tight fists. Instead he concentrated on pulling her close again, slowly, and running his open palms smoothly over her spine, up and down like his mother had always done to calm him. He would not act on this knowledge tonight; it would only end up damaging her further. She wasn't ready to expose Potter for the evil prick he was, and Draco wasn't ready to make her stand up just yet.
"I won't say his name again, Hermione, I promise. I won't say a word until you're ready to have my support in decrying him. Not a word, on my mother…but when you are ready, and he is found out, I hope they crucify him for what he did to you."
She was shaking still, but not crying any longer, only listening to him and trying to calm herself down. He then remembered something else she said, and challenged her,
"And Hermione, you were wrong. He didn't break you; you're still here, trying to keep living. That makes you incredibly strong." She looked up at him again,
"I didn't mean he broke my spirit Malfoy, I meant he made me…dirty…undesirable…shameful, for the rest of my life I will be damaged goods and impure!" Her anger was rising, it was evident in her tone, but also a deep sadness that he couldn't completely comprehend.
"What do you mean, exactly? It wasn't your fault, so how can you call yourself those hateful things, as if you asked for this to happen?!"
"Draco, I meant that he took my purity, no one else will ever want me."
The proverbial light bulb finally switched on. Potter had taken what was supposed to be a pure and wonderful thing, and sullied it, he had taken her first time and rent it all to pieces and with it, her sense of self, her pride, and the 'purity' society dictated that she ought to maintain. The horrid little prick was going to pay dearly.
"You shouldn't be ashamed—he stole something precious that you had not yet offered—but that by no means makes you impure or shameful Hermione." He was in awe for a moment at how easily her given name slipped from his mouth, as if they'd been addressing each other thusly forever. He swallowed hard, and again his mouth revolted before he had time to stop it,
"And I know someone will want you again—although this time, it needs to be only on your terms, and not anyone else's. When you're ready for that later on, it will happen, but certainly not before. You're not damaged or broken, you merely need to allow yourself time to completely heal, then you can be even stronger than you were before."
She couldn't tell why she did it, it came from wanting to show him that she was glad he cared at all, a gesture of trust and respect, but she kissed him. A delicate sweep of her lashes against his cheekbone and he realized how close she had been the instant before he watched her close her delicately purpled eyelids and bridge the gap to kiss him. It was tiny, fluttering as her breath across his lips, but slow and longer than he expected it to last. A sincere and honest kiss on his mouth, coming from the only person he'd had any interest in kissing lately, and thought he couldn't.
Hermione Granger was kissing him, and he found himself softly and slowly responding, always taking her lead, his mind humming when she tightened her grip on the back of his neck, he lifted one of his hands from her lower back and ghosted it up her jaw line to bury it in her curls. Merlin, he'd wanted to touch her hair again for months now. He had secretly saved one perfect curl she'd had him cut of, but was afraid to touch it for fear of mussing it. When the kiss broke, they sat that way for a few moments, and then he picked her up, guiding her by the waist, and headed back to the table to finish their work. When she reached for his hand this time, he held it easily, and neither of them needed to speak.