I do not own these characters or anything else from the Potterverse. EXCEPT IN MY DREAMS.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Only If For A Night
"Sky, don't let the sun go,
I'm not ready for the darkness,
Swear upon a heartless soul"
-Not Alone, Sara Bareilles
It was hard to tell when she'd woken. The first thing she was aware of was that she was lying in a bed with someone's arms around her and then her lungs lost control. She breathed rapidly; small, shallow little breaths as her body began to tremble. She looked down at the arms encircling her-pale, muscular limbs that were rather different from the ones she was thinking of, but that didn't lessen her fear.
A small whine escaped from her mouth as she felt his arms tighten around her, holding her body closer to his broad chest. Her nose was level with his lips and her lips barely grazed his chin, her arms were folded protectively over her midsection. Whatever heat that had been in her body seemed to abandon her in that instant-she could feel the warmth coming from him but it only made her feel worse. With difficulty (since his arms prevented much movement) she extracted her arms and pushed at his chest, a desperate moan tore from her throat and she pushed harder when he didn't budge, a scream clawing it's way up her throat.
Having woken by that point, Draco loosed his hold on her but brought her closer to him, moving his hand to cup the back of her head, his other arm wound around her more securely. A series of protesting noises escaped from her but she was too weak to fight him; her arms were practically locked to her sides, he had thrown his leg over both of hers and though she thrashed around as best as she could, it did nothing to shake him off.
"Shhhh," he murmured into her hair, rubbing her side as she continued her struggles. "Ssshhh."
When it became clear he had no intention of harming her she began to calm down and her pulse began to slow. Though she had stopped moving altogether she had done her best to bring her body as far away from his as possible, eliminating any contact excepting where he held his hands but he scooted closer anyhow. Holding her more softly now, he pressed feather-light kisses on her face, his hands now spread on her cold cheeks, brushing errant curls away from her visage.
Blinking instinctually from the close proximity; she caught brief glimpses of the expressions on his face as they appeared. Almost like a series of snapshots: worry, regret, desire, and fear. There was another, guarded carefully behind his light eyes, but her clever mind felt it as he kissed her. It was something that made the hairs on her body stand on end when its name appeared in her mind in a wave of doubt, fear, and shock. Unwilling to face it, she pushed it to the recesses of her mind, dismissing it as a trick of her mind, and pressed her lips together. Unsuspecting of her thoughts, he continued his ministrations. Happy relief that she had settled down pulsed through him, slowing his movements and he took his time exploring the delicate beauty of her face with his lips.
It had been the longest night of his life; though he had given her a Dreamless Sleep potion and had Bogg heal her thoroughly, he had stayed up watching her, holding her until the sun rose and then at last he'd allowed his lids to close in submission to his exhaustion. He didn't know how long she had slept, nor he for that matter, but he didn't care.
His lips had not stopped their exploration of her soft skin. They dragged over delicate cheekbones and tasted the salty sweetness of the curve of her cheek, his tongue darted out every now and then to steal a taste of her. It wasn't enough-he was starting to think he'd never be able to get enough of her-a thought that frightened him more than he would admit.
His eyes flicked up to hers and studied her carefully as his mouth attached to the skin just underneath her jaw. Her eyes were shut-at first glance he thought she had fallen asleep but his tongue flicked out again and her eyes tightened, eyebrows drawing closer together and she breathed in the smallest whisper of air. Stiffly she gave the slightest shake of her head; her fists, which he'd trapped into immobility, clenched and opened nervously. Her nose rubbed against his cheek with the movement, and understanding her silent plea, he placed a soft, reassuring kiss onto her lips.
"I won't," he assured her quietly, palms resting on the sides of her face. His thumbs stroked her wet cheeks gently, occasionally pausing to brush at her lips, which still trembled. His eyes rose and caught hers, which she'd finally opened though the strain was still there, and his breath caught upon reading the trauma in them.
What did that bastard do to you? For a second he considered delving into her memories again to see what exactly had happened, but on second thought, did he really want to know? And it wouldn't make things any better for her, either. For the first time Draco felt helpless, and he hated it. What had he done? Even if he hadn't planned on this at all he'd played a part and now he was paying for it. Hermione shuddered in his arms and he looked into her face, contrite.
"I won't hurt you," he repeated. She looked away from him, and he knew what she was thinking.
At least not tonight.
She was still watching him, distrust and unease plain in her face even as he kept sshhhing and humming softly into her ears to help her relax. This went on for several minutes-his hands remained cupping her cheeks, their faces only a whisper apart. Still absorbed in her pain, she was too far gone to notice, or even care. All she knew was that she was in pain and would do anything to forget, even if it meant to endure his embrace and suffocating kisses and his whispers that it was all going to be okay.
As the minutes passed her eyes fell heavy once more and her body began to accept his warmth; she began to relax into him somewhat reluctantly. He had closed the gap between their mouths and had pressed his to hers in a kiss that was so gentle a few tears slid from her eyes and coursed down to puddle in the gaps between his fingers.
"I'm sorry," he breathed into her soft lips as her eyes fluttered closed. "I'm so sorry."
Hours later they awoke together, blinking away the clouded filmy layer over their eyes. Draco watched her carefully as he stretched; rubbing the soreness from his arms, which had fallen asleep.
"Are you still in pain?" he asked, feeling her forehead to gauge her temperature.
She ignored him, staring at nothing in particular. Why should you care? Her face seemed to say.
"What did he do?" he asked quietly. Once again she did not respond. But this time she met his eyes with a challenging expression, as if to say, Oh, you know. His expression hardened and he leaned in closer.
"Did he use a Contraceptive charm?"
The blood drained from her face and her body stiffened.
Swearing loudly, he snatched his wand from the bedside table and brought it over her hips, muttering a rapid incantation. She felt a tingling sensation in her lower abdomen and watched as her lower body glowed white. Unfamiliar with what this meant, she looked to him with dread on her face only to relax when she saw his body slump with relief. He pushed his hair back from his face and tossed his wand back onto the table, muttering something she couldn't hear. The response was enough for her to understand and immensely relieved, she let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
It hadn't occurred to her that Vol- that he might have wanted her to bear his child- but for what purpose? The thought made her skin crawl. It was bad enough that Malfoy here had all but promised her that she would bear his children-the thought of which made her unbearably angry and sick.
Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked towards her captor, who had shrugged on some casual clothing and now sat on the edge of the bed with a tray of food, which he carefully pushed towards her. She stared at it, frowning when he ordered her to eat something. It had been hours since she had last eaten-she should have felt hungry, but she didn't. At the moment he was eating a green apple, his sharp teeth having no trouble cutting into the flesh of the fruit, whose juice gleamed on his reddened lips.
Ignoring the throbbing ache that pounded through her body, she raised herself from the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, feeling his eyes on her all the while. Closing the door behind her, she made to lock it only to find there was no lock on the door. Of course. She brushed her teeth rigorously, only once she had made sure that the toothbrush was not his. This one was new, but just to be certain that he hadn't just got himself a new one she looked through the cabinet behind the mirror and found his own there.
And speaking of the mirror. She had refused to look directly at her reflection the entire time, choosing to look only at her teeth as she brushed them. She did not want to look into the mirror and see what disgusting sight awaited her there. But in the end her curiosity won, just as it usually did, and bracing herself, she looked.
She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it hadn't been this. She looked exactly the same.
How long have I been gone? She wondered. A week, at least?
There were her eyes, brown and apprehensive. Her mouth-swollen and red from his attentions to them, but still normal. Her thoughts briefly turned to that kiss he'd given her just before she'd fallen asleep again. So sweet and soft, it had transported her back to her last night with Harry, and had brought such an intense sorrow and fear in her that she had begun to cry again. How she missed him-just thinking about him made her heart feel horribly hollow and bleak.
Turning her gaze back to the mirror, she assessed herself, gazing solemnly into her reflection's eyes, unsure of what to look for. She had been here for a week at most, and she felt she had gone through enough to mark a permanent physical change in her, but there was nothing. She wasn't quite sure if this should have made her happy or not.
Her gaze trailed down to the pyjamas she wore, which, to her horror, turned out to be Draco's. The only reason she could tell was that they were simply too large for her. The shoulders almost hung off her own, sliding down to reveal skin she no longer felt comfortable in. The bottoms were much too long as well, and unable to bear the feeling of wearing his clothing, she tore them off as fast as she could and lunged for the shower, adjusting it to be as hot as she could manage.
Once she stepped into the tub and closed the shower door behind her the steam rolled around her and fogged the sliding glass doors, cocooning her in its comforting haze. The hot water seared her skin, making her nerves scream, but she ignored the pain and focused solely on the warmth as she began to scrub viciously at her skin until she felt it might slough off. The hot water enveloped her in its mist and she let it, releasing the loofah with an involuntary twitch of her hand, watching the suds slide down her body. In the span of a second her knees buckled and she collapsed with a bang, pressing her palms to her open mouth to silence the horrible cries that came from it.
She had never cried like this before. Not when Malfoy had first forced himself onto her, not when she had discovered that Harry and Ron had left her, not even when she had seen her beloved Headmaster's lifeless body crumpled on the ground. She had cried hard each time, but what she was doing now she wasn't sure if it could be classified as crying, much less be compared to those other times.
Her breathing was beyond her control, almost like earlier that day, but only so much worse. Breaths came out faster and harder than she could replace them in her lungs- as a result it felt as though there was an invisible pair of hands inside her chest wrapped around her lungs; squeezing and twisting and then letting go quickly before beginning their torture again until she thought her heart might burst. Dark eyes burned with the intensity of the tears she shed unknowingly, thinking them to be the drops from the shower head hanging above.
Everything was slipping-her resolve and control over herself began to crumble down, and hard as she tried to hold herself together, wrapping her arms around her body in a self-embrace and bending her knees to meet her chest, it was still happening and nothing she did, nothing, could prevent it. Heavy, sodden curls plastered themselves to her boiling skin, dripping rivers of shower water that sluiced down her shaking body.
And the noises she was letting out… if someone had recorded them and then played them for her to hear several weeks before, she would have sworn that those noises were made by something not human, and would have been astounded to learn that she was the source.
Years of torment had led to this. How, exactly? Where did it all go wrong? This must have been her fault-she had let her guard down enough to let herself be caught and now had landed into something worse than a nightmare. Trapped with a madman, married to a monster. How was she going to escape?
Her hands gripped the thick wet strands of her hair and pulled-hard, harder. There was no pain, only the torrent of emotions inside her that threatened to pull her entirely apart, and that was pain enough for her. No longer did she feel the heat of the water or the porcelain around her, all she felt was the agony and despair that clawed away inside her.
A hand lighted on her bare back and she didn't feel it nor its companion who wrapped around her waist and brought her backwards into something hard and cold. She only realized she had company when those hands gently pried her own open to release her long hair. Her screams stopped at once and in the sudden silence they reverberated around the room, making his breath catch in his throat. Her eyes opened and cleared and she realized with a start that the shower had been turned off. She wanted it back on. She wanted to feel her skin burn. Weakly, she began to raise her arm to grab the knob when his hands returned to her hair and she froze.
Slowly, carefully, he gathered her sodden tresses from her shoulders and her back and softer still, brushed the strands away from her face, pulling it all gently back into one long stream that flowed down her back. Her heart had stilled with fear and with dark eyes fearfully widened she waited his next move, uncertain of what it might be. Would he strangle her, perhaps? Give it a hard yank like he had once told her he'd always longed to do? Each possibility that came to her was violent and frightening, which was why when he began to twist her hair in his hands and squeeze the water from it she was so hugely surprised.
Water ran down her back and along the curve of her bottom and she wondered at the gentleness of his actions, which both calmed and disturbed her. She kept completely still and silent until he finished detangling the wet strands and pushed himself out of the tub. She didn't dare watch as he moved around the room. Would he leave her alone now?
A sudden cold blast of air hit her, and remembering that she was naked, she hid her breasts with her hands and lowered her head, ears glowing red. Something fuzzy rubbed against her elbow and she jumped, leaning away from it until she had a proper look at it and realized it was a towel wrapped around Malfoy's hips. He stood above her, watching with those clear eyes she was beginning to realize she could never escape from.
Her heart pounded wildly under his stare, a sickening glug glug, glug glug, noise that made her think she could actually see her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. His hands were around her middle now and feeling his grip tighten, she began to quake once more. Was he angry? Would he punish her? He couldn't possibly want to use her now, could he? A strangled whimper escaped her lips as she tried to turn her head to see if he was angry or not, but as he was directly behind her it was difficult. He shushed her quietly and with one easy, fluid motion brought her up into his arms and out of the room, wrapped in a towel as soft and as dark as the one he wore. Hermione hated it, him carrying her, even if she wasn't stable enough to walk at that time. Saying nothing else, he lowered her onto the bed; she immediately made to move off and away but he hardened his stare and she stopped at once, not wanting to ruin this suddenly peaceful turn to his behavior, even though it made her suspicious and wary.
Reaching into one of the drawers on the dresser, he pulled out a pair of boxers and pulled off his towel, much to her chagrin. She turned her head away, cheeks angrily flushed as he slid the boxers on. He seemed to have no qualms about being nude in front of her, but instead of leering at her or even making any attempt at forcing her, he simply sat on the edge of the bed beside her, where she had sat up against the headboard, clutching the towel to herself.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. She shook her head, and flinched involuntarily when he let out a harsh sigh.
"You need to eat."
She shook her head again, unwillingly meeting his eyes when he began to say something else. He watched her intently, alarmed that she wasn't speaking at all. But though no sound came from her lips her face said everything she wanted to say.
I'm not hungry… just leave me alone…
"I can't do that," he said softly. He stretched his arm out, wincing when she recoiled, but he brushed her hair softly with his hand, watching as his magic dried it back into her lovely soft curls. Pulling back, he watched as she felt her hair and visibly relaxed, though still watching him with suspicious eyes. He patted a pile of clothing on the bed and her surprised brown eyes took in the expensive fabrics, obviously not having noticed them before.
"Unless you'd like to be naked for the rest of the day I suggest you put this on, if you can," he said. "If you're still feeling sore I can bring you some Pepperup potions," he continued, as she pulled the pile of clothing apart to inspect each item individually. He could see the indignation and annoyance she felt written clearly in her face at the thought of him picking out what she should wear. This, he knew, would incite her to dress herself, no matter how much pain she was in. Her cheeks turned pink at seeing the lacy lingerie at the bottom of the pile and her jaw clenched angrily, but still she said nothing.
"I'll be downstairs when you've finished," he said. "You will join me in the library." She looked livid at his ordering her, but turned away and kept mute as he left the room.
Once the door was closed behind him, Hermione eyed the clothing angrily before sighing in resignation and pulling it on carelessly. Though she simply detested the fact that he was choosing what she should wear, it was better than the towel or worse, nothing at all. The lingerie, though flimsy and embarrassingly revealing, still covered what she needed hidden though she still felt entirely uncomfortable. The gown was a different story.
She wasn't lacking in monetary means, but this dress alone would have emptied her Gringotts account. Made of a rich black velvet, it clung to her body and flared out at her knees into a beautiful train embroidered with a fine crystal pattern that made her jaw slacken. The neckline was modest, for which she was thankful, and the sleeves were short and fitted-in fact, the whole thing fit her as if it were made for her, which though she didn't want to believe, was most likely true. Though when Malfoy had had the time to take her measurements she didn't know. She wondered if this and the dress she'd worn to the Malfoy Manor were the only dresses he'd had made for her-though it seemed unlikely she fervently hoped so. The thought was deeply troubling by itself, but when paired with the fact that he'd had that window and the library made just to her taste it was horrifying. If she had had the energy or the willpower to analyze this further she would have, but for now she was exhausted and didn't feel like it.
He had left her no shoes, which she hadn't expected, and didn't care for anyhow. She felt absolutely ridiculous in the dress; she would have felt infinitely better in a rucksack, or Dobby's pillowcase, even. What was the point in dressing her up like this, anyway? Just for kicks? He was wasting his money. With this final thought she slipped out of his room, walking awkwardly in the stiff fabric. He had wanted her to meet him downstairs but she had other ideas. It was past time to find a way out.
He said the wards prevented me from leaving the land, she thought, but surely I could leave the Manor if I wanted to? I could hide out somewhere in that forest and sneak back in when he comes out to look for me. Perhaps Floo to Malfoy Manor and call the Ministry? Or from there I could Floo to the Burrow?
This plan was a jumbled mess, but it felt wrong to not have one.
That being said, she turned on her heel and began to walk swiftly away from the direction she had been ordered to go. She was looking for another set of stairs to lead her to the first floor so she wouldn't have any chance of running into Malfoy. The halls were dark, which didn't surprise her- they had slept through most of the day, anyway.
A crease formed between her brows. She'd forgotten about that. His behavior that day was so entirely different from what she had known it to be that she didn't quite know how to take it. He had held her closely and stroked her skin, humming a song she vaguely recognized into her ear to calm her down, and then with everything that happened afterwards, she found herself quite at odds. So far the Malfoy she had known was violent and dangerous, not afraid to use physical force or manipulation to achieve his means.
Except…
There had been that one instance in the previous year, before he had killed Dumbledore, when she had been sick with the flu and he had actually taken care of her. He'd held her hair back from her face and had given her water after she'd expelled the contents of her stomach, and when the fever had gripped her he had stayed by her side. Of course, she'd ordered him to leave beforehand and still didn't agree with the fact that he'd slept with her. Stupidly, she'd let her guard down in the haze of the fever and thinking he was Harry, had allowed him into her bed.
It doesn't mean anything, does it? She asked herself worriedly. It couldn't.
It would be so much easier to see him as the monster he was if he didn't have moments like these were he was actually human. But did she want him to be horrible to her all the time?
Gods, no.
She simply needed to get away and then see about having him taken down.
At last finding a set of stairs leading downwards which she nearly fell going down them in all her haste, bunching up the train of the gown by her hips so she wouldn't trip over it. The stairway led to what she assumed to be the back of the Manor. Flattening herself against the wall, she inched along the corridor and entered what was obviously the kitchen. A quick glance around assured there was no one inside, and spotting a clear glass door at the far end, she dashed towards it. The door led outside, it was plain to see; in the far distance she could see the sun setting on the horizon where the lavender fields lay. Before she could even wrench it open, her wrist was caught in a fierce grip and she was roughly turned around to face a pair of stoic ocean-blue eyes.
"Going somewhere?"
Obviously, her eyes read. Sod off.
He saw through her attempt at bravery easily. Her eyes, though angry, were widened a fraction more than necessary so more white showed, displaying her fear for any to see. His eyes swept downwards and admired the way the dress complimented her figure before he stepped back and tugged her alongside him back to where he'd been waiting in the sitting room.
"You can't leave the Manor," he said. "You'd need my permission to do so."
There it was again, that anger that flared up inside her-instant and terrifying in its lust for his blood, for his fading pulse in her fist. How dare he think he could control her like this, govern what she could and couldn't do? She was no better than a household pet.
They had reached the library by then, he steered her to a long, cushy sofa and pushed her down gently into it, ignoring her glares. He sat on the other end, bringing her feet up to his lap so that she had to sit sideways with her back to the armrest.
There was tea and cakes on a little table before them; behind those was more food. She eyed it all stonily before turning her gaze back onto him.
"I could summon you a book, if you feel like reading," he offered. She shook her head.
"Then at least eat something."
His voice had not been harsh but the tone conveyed force enough to compel her into grabbing the nearest cake and cram it into her mouth with murder on her mind.
He smirked and patted her foot. "Good girl."
The smirk was instantly concealed under bits of the chewed up cake she'd spat at him. Furious, he wiped it off hurriedly, one hand gripped her foot just as he felt it retreat from his lap, his other hand automatically lashed out and struck at the girl, who'd been struggling to free her foot from his hold. She cried out and fell to the floor in a loud rustle of fabric, her arm slammed against the table on her way down.
Draco rose, magicking the rest of the mess she'd made away with a twitch of his hand. She was on her side, brown curls obscured half her face, but he got the full scale of the hatred in her glare as she pressed her hand to her flaming cheek, leaning on her elbow.
"I am not an animal." Her voice was strained, no doubt from being unused all day.
He crouched down by her, placing his elbows on his knees. "You may not be, darling, but you're begging me to treat you like one." Her mouth parted in rage, but before she could reply he reached out and covered her mouth with his palm.
"Don't start, Hermione. You've had a rough couple of days and you will not make it worse for yourself. And if you bite me you will regret it, I promise you." He withdrew his hand, and watched as she lowered her hand from her cheek, revealing the mark he'd left. His palm cupped her cheek and he leaned in to crush her mouth to his. In a small act of defiance she curled her lips into her mouth, tucking them behind her teeth so that his lips pressed only on the crease of her mouth. This did nothing to deter him; his hand rose up between them to grip at her jaw, his fingers pushing her cheeks in with enough force so that with a loud gasp her mouth opened and her lips appeared, reddened and wet.
"Don't ever deny me," he snarled, and resumed his plundering of her mouth, his tongue sweeping in her moist little cavern to claim all that he hadn't before. Her hands tried-and failed to push him away, the ring on her hand prevented her from protecting herself. A sudden tingling sensation on her cheek distracted her and she wrenched away at last; turning her head to the side so his lips dragged on her cheek and ended up at her ear. His other hand was still on her injured cheek and she pushed it away, pressing on it gingerly to find he had healed it.
He watched her do so, breathing heavily, but he made no move to kiss her again. Instead, he stood and brushed off his clothes, then sat back on the sofa, opening a large volume.
She remained on the floor, frightened and uncertain of what to do next. More than anything she wanted in that moment to escape the room, escape the manor itself, but that wasn't possible. Not with him there.
Seeing him so collected and calm after what had just happened rattled her quite deeply. There was something truly wrong with him, with his mind, for him to act like this was all normal. This man, she was certain, was almost entirely different from the one she'd known back in Hogwarts. What had changed? He was just as insane as before, if not more so, but what was different? What exactly had happened to him after he'd left Hogwarts?
There were no restraints here, she realized as she stood back up, and regarded him shakily. No rules to abide, no reason to hide his true self. As awful as he'd been months ago she realized that had barely been the tip of the iceberg-he'd held back. He stared back at her, expressionless, and they remained that way before she realized she'd been waiting for him to apologize.
"Will you sit?" he finally asked.
Her voice was as stiff as her posture. "No."
"Do you want something else to eat?" He gestured to the tray of cakes, which she'd upset when she'd fallen and now lay in crumbles.
"No."
Malfoy looked impatient. "I'm sorry I hit you, is that what you want?" He stood, and approached her, but Hermione backed away and he stopped.
"You're not sorry at all," she breathed. "You think you were justified."
"Little bird, as long as you defy me I'll be forced to chastise you."
"I'll defy you as long as you keep me here," she snapped, clenching her fists. "Save yourself the trouble and let me go."
Frowning, Malfoy strode forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. "The sooner you accept this the easier it will be for you."
"How?" she challenged him. "How will it be easy?"
He reached up to stroke her cheek. "There'll be less pain, Hermione. Or is that what you want?"
"All you've ever done is inflict pain, even when you think you don't mean it," she said, and curiously, he paled. "You can't possibly keep someone like this and expect everything will go smoothly, especially with our history..." she shook her head, trying to pull away.
"It can," he said, "if you cooperate."
Hermione tried slapping him, already knowing the outcome. She missed, and the blow went into the air. Draco didn't bother dodging.
"I'll cooperate when Merlin rises from his grave," she hissed.
Draco narrowed his eyes and gripped her harder. Hermione struggled to free herself.
"You'll have time to reconsider," he said coldly, and still holding her arm, began to lead her out of the room and up the stairs. Hermione knew where they were headed immediately, feeling strangely calm. The isolation room was cold when he locked her inside, but empty and void of any other human presence and that was how she preferred it. Hermione stripped off the dress and flung it towards the door. Throwing it into fire would have been a better option but she didn't care to fill the room with smoke, as since she had no way of using magic here Malfoy would have to clean it up, and perhaps change his mind about leaving her alone, and she didn't want that. As long as he left her alone she could get along fairly well, the only disadvantage being that now she had no other chance to explore the manor and try to formulate an escape plan.
There was a black silk robe hung up in the bathroom. Hermione hated it on sight. What a stupid thing to have; how would this keep her warm? She pulled it on anyway, not liking how exposed she felt wearing only the lingerie set she'd been provided. She would have liked to take those off too but needed the protection, however flimsy. The bed had been bare but when she exited the bathroom sheets had been added, and to her relief, a thick blanket as well. Hermione grabbed it and wrapped it around herself, sitting down at the fire just as she'd done last time, Malfoy's words ringing through her head.
You'll have time to reconsider.
No, she thought, frowning. I'd never, even if I was here for the rest of my life, and I promise you, I won't be.
Other words, spoken by someone slightly more vile than Draco, began pushing their way to the front of her mind. Memories she never wanted to see again. Hermione shut her eyes, pressed her head to her knees, and willed them away. She never wanted to face those images again or she would truly begin to break. A mantra formed immediately and she found herself sticking to it, using all her might to push those memories away somewhere in her head where she could never find them again, and for good measure added an imaginary barrier, thicker than the walls of Hogwarts itself. If she wanted to get out then she could not waste any time focusing on that, and she didn't plan to. There was only so much she could deal with at one time.
It didn't happen, it didn't happen, she repeated to herself. Nothing. It didn't happen.
