Many thanks to my lovely reviewer pgoodrichboggs who gave me the idea for a possible job for Draco. It was better than mine, so I used it! Pouf x
Chapter 23
Hermione sat motionless in one of the large armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, with Seamus wrapped around her, one strong arm around her shoulders and the other hand clasping hers in her lap. He too, looked equally pale and shocked.
Raising the alarm in a daze once she realised what she'd discovered, Gryffindor Tower was soon attended by Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and one of her assistants, two Death Eaters, and Professor Snape. Hermione couldn't even look at him.
She had been shoo'ed out of the dormitory and down to the common room whilst Madam Pomfrey worked on Parvati, but Hermione knew it would be in vain. Parv had been cold and blue when she'd touched her, she had clearly been dead for some hours. How soon after she'd left last night had her friend done this? While she had been indulging in all manner of sexual delights with the headmaster, not all of them demanded by the compulsion, her dorm-mate had been so desperate at the state of the wizarding world that she had done … this.
Seamus had attempted to comfort her, but the truth was that he was just as shattered and as guilt-ridden as she was.
"You told me, Hermione," he castigated himself, "you bloody told me, and I just brushed it off, thinking she'd be ok, and that she'd come down if she needed me."
"Don't, Seamus. I was the one who left the dormitory knowing what a state she was in. I could have stayed."
"You couldn't. You know what you have to do, if you'd have tried to get out of it, it would have meant worse punishment for you."
Was that strictly true, though? If she'd told Snape that she had serious concerns that Parvati was suicidal then would he have demanded she attend his office, or the Order meeting? Of course, he wouldn't. However, the compulsion would have come across one, or both, of them during the course of the evening, so at some point she'd have had no choice but to leave her friend. Thinking about it made her brain hurt with the possibilities, the devastation, and the guilt.
At that moment, Padma Patil came clambering through the portrait hole in a great hurry, accompanied by one of the Ravenclaw prefects. Neither Hermione nor Seamus could meet her eye as she dashed straight through the common room and up the stairs, clearly having been summoned to attend her twin sister. The grief on Padma's face sent them into each other's arms again, holding each other tight as they cried. It was easy to shed tears for Parvati, such a kind, gentle girl, who had lost herself in a bewildering new world.
"The only one to blame for this is Voldemort," she whispered, quietly but fiercely in Seamus' ear as they hugged. "We could not have foreseen this, either of us."
"I know you're right," he replied, drawing back, "but I feel so fucking responsible. You told me she was in a bad way."
"I did, but I never thought she'd do something like this. I wasn't listening to her properly, I should have sat down and taken the time to really hear her."
Hermione could feel herself physically shaking from shock and guilt, and Seamus felt it, and held her tighter. They were the only two left now, from their original house year group. It was like a cruel game where their numbers were being culled by a madman, one by one. Visions of Harry and Ron, dead in the school courtyard, flashed across her mind, accompanied by the memory of Neville and his last stand taking on Nagini, which was ultimately doomed to failure as the snake's jaws had closed around his throat. Dean, taken down with a cursory flick of Voldemort's wand - Lavender, mauled to death by an untransformed, bloodthirsty werewolf with a taste for young flesh. And now Parvati, too frightened to carry on living, had removed herself from the world that tormented her. They had all started here together, seven years ago, with excitement in their hearts and the wide-eyed enthusiasm of youth. She felt tears began to fall again, tears that would not help any of them.
McGonagall came striding into the common room from the stairs that led up to the girls' dormitories, her face looking deeply lined and tired, fixing any stragglers who had not heeded the breakfast bell and headed for the Great Hall, with a stern eye.
"I understand that the death of Miss Patil has caused you great upset," she said, casting her gaze around the room. "However, without wishing to be unsympathetic, Gryffindors, life goes on. Her sister will appreciate your support over the coming days and weeks, and we shall continue as before, attempting to navigate our way through the current … climate. Every one of you, get to breakfast, and then to your lessons. Now, please."
Not one of them dared to disobey, and picking up their bookbags and equipment needed for the morning's lessons, they trooped through the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall for breakfast, before needing to be told a second time. McGonagall had enough to worry about without errant lions causing her further consternation. No doubt whilst they were gone, Parvati's body would be removed, and hopefully returned to her parents. Padma would clear her sister's belongings from the dormitory, and by the time Hermione returned, she would now be the sole occupant of the room.
She was not able to return to Gryffindor Tower until after lunch, when they had an hour before afternoon lessons commenced, and Hermione headed straight up the stairs towards her dormitory with trepidation as to what she might find.
It was as expected. Empty. Parvati, and every one of her belongings, were gone, as if she'd never existed. The other beds in the room were stripped bare, their drawer-tops empty, the pegs free of robes and cloaks. Only her own bed was made, her pillows plumped and her chunky patchwork blanket over the top of her school-issued bedsheets. Harry and Ron smiled and waved at her from their frames on the top of her chest of drawers, and in many of the photos she was there too, smiling, carefree.
She threw herself face-first on top of the bed, needing to draw her breath and rest for a short time before afternoon classes. Sliding her hands under the pillows to plump them up under her head, the crumple of parchment met her fingertips, and she drew it out curiously, not that it was unusual for her to find pieces of homework, textbooks or even half-chewed quills in her bed from a late-night study session.
The parchment contained a note, short in length and simple in its message. It was not signed, but the cramped, spiky handwriting identified the writer immediately.
Do not seek me out, for I shall come to you tonight, via your fireplace, after curfew.
This is not your fault, Hermione. Remember that.
After she had read the missive twice, it rolled itself up, and poofed into thin air.
-xxx-
Orla was grateful for the support of Draco's hand as she walked slightly unsteadily down the backstreet pavement after their Chinese meal, with which they had ordered a bottle of rather crappy wine and necked the lot, washing down their crispy duck and pancakes with it as if it were pumpkin juice. They were both now rather pissed, especially as Draco was proving to be such a lightweight in the alcohol tolerance department, as they headed towards the high street where the flat was located, two roads away.
Draco had tried all the new and unfamiliar foods with gusto, only balking at some seafood soup that he'd declared looked like 'brains in a bowl'. His restaurant etiquette was impeccable, and he had done a brilliant job of counting out their Muggle money to pay the bill. Clearly, his practise during the day had served him well. He had promised that he would find a job just as soon as he could, now that he believed his Mark to be secured and because they hadn't seen any sign of magical disturbance to suggest that anyone had discovered them, or were even looking.
"Maybe I'm just not important enough to search for," Draco had said, hopefully, a butterfly prawn halfway to his lips. "I'm quite sure no one will miss me."
"Your parents, surely?" she asked, surprised to see him grimace with what looked like angry reproach.
"My father, as I told you, is off his head on magical opiates. Anything to ease the pain, I suppose. My mother is as much as she ever was, but she is impotent. She holds no sway or influence in the new world, ruled by the Dark Lord. Father made all the choices, good and bad, in our family."
"I'm sorry," she said, but he shrugged off her apology.
"It is what it is."
They made their way to the main high street, seeing the lights of the pub opposite shining brightly into the dark street, drinkers and smokers spilling out on the pavement, enjoying the mild June night air.
"A quick one?" she asked, cocking her eyebrow towards the pub.
"Are you trying to kill me? I've not drunk proper alcohol for so long, and that piss-poor wine was enough. Let's get home to bed."
"Now there's an offer, Malfoy," she teased, made bolder by the drink, despite being less pissed than he was.
He swung around to face her, his hands resolutely in his pockets.
"I would never take advantage of you, Orla," he said, softly.
"Do you mean that, or is that a convenient way to say you don't fancy me?"
She pulled on his arm, knowing that she was being a little annoying, but slightly too tipsy to care.
"Orla," he warned, "please, don't. You're very vulnerable … everything that happened to you."
"Just tell me. I can take it."
Draco stopped walking, removed his hands from his pockets, and turned to face her. They'd stopped in front of the bakery next door to the flat, its windows empty and the shop in darkness.
"Of course, I fancy you, that goes without saying. You look so much like me it'd be impossible not to," he smirked, his familiar blue eyes glinting wickedly as he teased her, flicking the end of her blonde hair that so matched his own.
"Narcissistic little shit," she replied.
"You've heard of the Malfoys, haven't you?" he drawled, inspecting and buffing his fingernails in a mock-arrogant fashion.
"I have indeed. I just never liked one, until now."
"You like me?"
"I'd hardly be here with you if I didn't, asking you if you fancy me."
"Oh. Shit. Well, that's awkward."
"Why?"
A pale burn, like a splintering ice-fire, lit in his eyes, and without warning, he took a gentle hold of her upper arms and backed her into the wall next to their front door, moving his face so close to hers that she could see every one of his pale blond eyelashes, so very long.
"Because of this," he whispered, lowering his head towards her slowly, as if giving her time to escape or push him away, before touching her lips lightly with his own, drawing a soft kiss from her that she couldn't help but allow.
The Malfoy lips were as soft as silk against her own, and she closed her eyes, allowing him to treat her mouth to a tentative, gradual kiss. Orla had no idea what the hell she was doing, for this certainly hadn't been in the plan, but Merlin, it felt right. Safe.
Catcalls from the drinkers outside the pub opposite brought them to their senses, and he drew back a fraction, giving her the most beautiful, genuine smile she'd ever seen.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed, no words audible.
"Don't be."
"I should be. I had no intention of taking advantage of you, Orla. I was quite content to keep my grubby little feelings to myself."
"Hey, I asked you, remember? I practically forced you to admit you liked me," she replied, sobering up lightning fast after that gorgeous kiss.
"I do like you. But I know what's been done to you and I have no wish to add to that hurt."
His face was serious, and his eyes concerned.
"Believe me, Draco, you might just turn out to be the best medicine. Let's just take things really slowly and see what happens?"
"In that case, can I ask you out?"
She laughed, and he grinned in response.
"I think since we're living together, and probably just had our first proper date, I ought to say yes. Yes, Draco. Yes please."
Orla was the one to lean forward this time, and press a light kiss to his lips.
"Let's go upstairs."
"Lead the way."
She unlocked the door, feeling it knock against the bottom stair, as it always did in the cramped hallway, and passed him the key to relock it as she started to walk up. Kicking off her boots, Orla jumped onto the bed since it was so much comfier than the sofa, and the hard binding of her notebook that Draco had been writing in earlier, poked her in the leg. She picked it up and fell open at a page that contained a stunning biro sketch of a dragon, the exact creature that was now tattooed on his left arm – he had copied it, and done a wonderful job of it.
Just about to compliment him on his artistry as he walked into the room and began unlacing his trainers, no kicking off the shoes for Draco Malfoy, he was very precise, Orla turned the page, and found another dragon. A second turn found a curious-looking bird, perhaps some sort of hybrid with another creature, and just with a simple biro pen Draco had managed to create some amazing, multi-layered, plumage.
"Did you do all these?" she asked, incredulous.
"Well, I didn't have anyone else over to visit, if that's what you're asking."
"I meant without magic."
"Oh. Um, yeah. I did them. I like to doodle, I always did. I drew a lot as a child, you know, before Hogwarts."
"Do you realise how amazing these are?"
"No?"
"If you can achieve this with a grotty old biro in a notebook, imagine what you could achieve with proper materials?"
He was silent, and looking at her as if he thought she were a little bit mad. Just a little.
"When that Muggle was doing my tattoo," he began, awkwardly, "I really enjoyed watching him, I wanted to have a go. I could produce that kind of design on paper, I wondered if I could do it on someone's skin."
"Why not go and ask? The worst that could happen is that he says no. The best is that he might see your work and offer to take you on. And you know … you have your wand if he needs convincing to take on a novice who walked in off the street with no vacancies advertised."
"That's how you got the job and the flat last year, wasn't it?" he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
"Just a little Confunding is needed, occasionally."
"You should have been a Slytherin, Orla Roach."
"No thank you, I don't want to hang around with all those slippery snakes."
He stood at the end of the bed where she sat, and pulled her to standing, fixing her with those soulful, pale eyes.
"Not even this snake?"
Orla slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, and enjoyed the look of pleasure that passed across his face, feeling his own arms encircle her lower back and pull her a little closer, still gentle, still slow.
"There's possibly this one snake I might make an exception for."
"I'm pleased to hear it," he replied, his usually confident voice oddly croaky as he dipped his head to close the short distance between them, and those warm, soft lips were on hers again.
-xxx-
Remus paced the floor of the Grimmauld Place bedroom, gently swaying as he walked his baby son around the room, the small blue head over his shoulder, patting his back to ease the hiccups that had started halfway through Teddy's night time bottle. Teddy, however, was having none of this attention, and was roaring to be given the rest of his milk, despite the painful spasms that were causing his little tummy and throat to contract.
It was a vicious circle. A hungry baby, but too distressed to feed.
He felt tears of tiredness and frustration spring to his eyes as he continued his work, he knew what to do, however bloody knackered he was. Teddy had always been a colicky baby, right from the start, and he and Tonks had received plenty of advice on what to do – not all of it particularly helpful. Through trial and error, they had worked out that placing the baby over their shoulder and rubbing his back while pacing around (endlessly) eventually solved the problem.
At least he no longer had to worry about being bored, stuck here at Grimmauld all day and all night. Teddy took up every second of time he had, and more, despite appearing to be asleep most of the time. How was that even possible?
Remus felt a stab of guilt that Andromeda had been coping with her grandson alone for the last few weeks, taking on this relentless duty without a murmur of complaint, despite having just lost her husband and daughter in quick succession. But now it was time for him to step up and be a father, he owed that to Tonks and to Teddy, however much of a shit father he was currently being, unable to get his son to stop bloody hiccupping and therefore be able to drink the rest of the milk he was screaming for.
Where are you, my love?
He had no idea what had happened to his wife's body and his heart screamed for her. Severus had alluded to the fact that the Death Eaters had purged the entire castle and its grounds of all corpses, but had refused to elaborate on what had actually happened. All those families, not just himself, denied the chance of a proper funeral, the chance to say a final goodbye to their loved ones who had been so cruelly taken away.
I need you, Dora.
Remus had no idea how he was going to parent this child by himself. Dora had been the strong one, the driving force of their relationship. If it had been left to him, she'd still be pining for him in the bowels of the Auror Office and he'd still be refusing to accept that she was in love with him, they certainly wouldn't have been married, nor had a baby.
All that wasted time.
Had he taken his head out of his arse earlier; believed her many impassioned declarations of love, and stopped denying himself this wonderful witch because of his own shame, they could have had so much more time together. That was all his fault.
Teddy began to quiet, perhaps sensing that his father's attention was no longer focused entirely on him, thus allowing him to calm down and take some deeper breaths, which in turn began to ease the hiccups. Remus sat down in the old wooden rocking chair that must have belonged to Sirius' mother, taking a perverse pleasure from using it, knowing how unhappy the old bag would have been, and offered Teddy the bottle, which he took gratefully, and finally began to suckle, drinking down the remainder of the milk that he'd wanted so desperately.
There was no light in the room apart from the small Lumos that he'd cast from the end of his wand, which was resting on the old dresser, to give him just enough light to feed Teddy by before getting him settled back into his crib for the remainder of the night, after which Remus would climb back into the four-poster, the crib right by the side of his bed.
The expansive bed would be cold and empty, like a particularly sharp and accurate metaphor for his life. What he wouldn't give to have the warm, malleable body of his wife lying next to him, slipping a hand onto his bare, scarred chest as he moved in beside her, grateful that he had done the night feed to allow her to sleep.
What a short time they'd had to parent together, just a few weeks. He felt a tear break free from his eye, dribble down his nose and splash onto Teddy, and he carefully wiped it away with the pad of his fingertip. Tears would not help his boy. Righteous anger would not bring his wife back.
He'd never felt more hopeless in his entire life.
-xxx-
Hermione was in bed, but not asleep, when the flames in her dormitory fireplace glowed green, and Professor Snape stepped with some difficulty through the small grate. The dormitory had felt cold and empty, when she had come up after a night in common room with Seamus, not wanting to come upstairs alone, the sight of Parvati's empty bed particularly painful. She'd washed and stripped, not bothering with pyjamas but snuggling herself under her bedcovers and blanket still naked, seeking not warmth but comfort. Her compulsion was grumbling in her stomach, and she hated it, wanting nothing more than to sleep herself into oblivion.
He approached her bed and stood next to it, a low light coming from the single candle on her bedside cabinet and the glow from the little fireplace. Everything about him was dark, from his hair, to his eyes, to his clothes, yet she was not intimidated as he towered above her.
"Can I assist you?" he asked, not making any further move towards her.
"I don't know," she answered, in a small voice.
Snape did not push her, and did not demand answers.
"May I sit?"
She nodded, and he sat on the side of her bed, carefully checking her legs were not at risk of crushing before letting his full weight settle on the mattress. Then he simply sat, regarding her, for the longest time. Hermione pulled her arm out of the covers and reached for him, and he took her offered hand, just holding it. It was a curiously intimate gesture.
"Are you compelled?" she asked.
"Yes, a little, but nothing that cannot wait. I am more interested in seeing to your emotional needs at present."
"I am fine," Hermione replied, turning her head away.
"A girl commits suicide in your room, during the time you were elsewhere with me. I would suggest, Granger, that there is a high chance that you are not fine."
His blunt and simple truth pinched a nerve, and she felt her face crumple.
"It was so unfair! Parvati didn't deserve to die like that."
"Indeed, she did not. That is what we are fighting for. That is what all our plans, such as they are at present, are for."
"I'm a terrible friend. She asked me not to go last night, she practically begged me to stay with her, and yet I still left!"
"Oh, Hermione. You need to look at yourself with better eyes than that. You cannot do everything for everybody. Each person needs to take responsibility for their own thoughts and deeds. As much as it pains you, Miss Patil had a choice, just as you have choices. We can each only make the choices we believe to be right."
She mulled over his words, desperately wanting them to be true, but also believing that had she just stayed in the dormitory last night, then Parvati would not have done what she did.
"And what of the next night?" he asked, with uncanny prescience. "And the night after that? Was your duty to stay with her every moment in case she made this choice, to stop her doing it again and again? Because eventually, my sweet girl, she would have succeeded, for you could not have been with her every second of every day."
His words resonated with her in a painful but strangely comforting way. Severus Snape always spoke the absolute truth, on that she could rely. Hermione's compulsion thrummed, with an impeccably bad sense of timing, and she pulled back the covers a little way.
"Could you get in bed with me?"
Snape raised an eyebrow, but stood, taking the covers back a little further, and saw her naked breast. She saw him look, and was convinced that his own compulsion would have thrummed at the sight.
"Without clothes," she confirmed.
Not breaking eye contact with her, he drew his wand and cast a Divesto over himself, leaving every stitch of his clothing on the floor next to her bed, before casting a security ward and silencing charm upon the dormitory door. His white body was delicately shadowed in the flickering light of the small fire, the soft light illuminating his numerous scars. Hermione suddenly felt an urgent need to run her fingers and tongue over all of them – every ridge, every whorl, every ropey, part-healed abrasion, and commit each one to memory, both by sight and touch.
He turned back to her, where she was holding the covers up, and slipped underneath them, straight on top of her, since there was no room for him to lay by her side in the narrow single bed that was the same size and shape allocated to each and every Hogwarts student. The warmth and weight of his body was reassuring, the familiarity of his austere face looming above her was comforting.
Severus felt the same way. Her soft body underneath him was rapidly starting to feel like coming home, not that he'd ever had much of a home life.
"Take the feelings away, Severus," she asked, and he'd guided himself to her entrance, feeling her already wet, no doubt due to the compulsion running through her.
Whatever else happened, whatever choices they thought they had given themselves, the demands of the curse still had to be satisfied. He had been hard and semi-erect for the last hour, knowing that he would have to visit Miss Granger for relief, but feeling wretched about doing so. He wanted to offer her comfort, but instead he was gifting her with a quick and furtive fuck in her dormitory.
He pushed inside her, slowly but firmly, opening her up as his cock pushed through her tight walls, all the way to the hilt, and she let out a slow moan that was both sadness and pleasure as he did so. He propped himself up on his forearms so their bodies were close, touching, and pulled back slowly, as if trying to draw out the sadness with his outstroke before sliding back in again, still torturously slowly, rolling against her, trying to convey every emotion in his fucking that his words could not.
He filled her, and drew out. He filled her again, and dragged out again, never quite slipping from her completely, just gradually massaging her insides with the tenderness that he wanted to show her, but was not able to voice, not in their present situation, in their relative roles. She was not his lover, he was not allowed to comfort her that way. He could only do this, because they were compelled to do so.
"It feels like you're making love to me, Severus," she murmured, her hands on his flanks, following his rolling, undulating movements. "Making love slowly, not just sex. I'm not sure … oh … if there is a difference, but it feels like it."
She had him.
"My desire is to provide for your needs," he replied, not trusting himself to say anything more intimate, lest he embarrass himself.
She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek as he pushed in yet again, his back and shoulders moving up her body as he thrust slowly in, and he felt like screaming in pleasure as she ran her hands over the rippling cords of muscle in his back, muscles that we being strained by the leisurely pace he was setting, entering her slowly, holding himself over her.
Little by little, bit by bit, he fucked them both higher, never speeding up, simply maintaining a languorous grind that soon had her gasping at every deep stroke. Severus felt her begin to tremble, a sure sign that her climax was imminent.
"Release, my lover," he urged, trying to keep a hold of his own control as the pressure in his balls built up with the burning desire to come inside her. "Your release, your orgasm, will help you let go of this hurt, I promise."
Hermione moved her hands up to cup his face, running her hands over his unlovely features, stroking his high cheekbones, his large, hooked nose, tracing his thick, black eyebrows and running her fingertips across his lips. It was too intimate, and she'd have him sobbing like a fucking idiot if she kept up this level of tenderness. In a wicked world, he was unaccustomed to the gentleness.
Severus caught hold of her hands and fixed them above her head, stretching her out like a cat, keeping his thrusts long and deep, but speeding them slightly, edging them nearer to orgasm, he could tell that she was close from the flush of her face, the dilation of her pupils and the slick fluid he could feel coating his cock.
"Come inside me, Severus," she begged, her eyes wide with arousal and focused solely on him.
Her words astounded him, and clenching his teeth with the effort, he pushed himself towards orgasm, seeking hers, as if their combined release would wash away their sadness, and right the wrongs that had been done.
As they came, their orgasms eerily silent and unspoken in this empty student dormitory, their dual release showing only in their bodies as they writhed and twisted, Severus watched the tears finally begin to fall from her eyes, flowing faster and heavier as she came, the ecstasy of her climax leaving her emotions raw and exposed.
It was only when he saw a tear drop onto her cheek from a great height that he realised.
He was weeping, also.
