Warning: Language! Do I even need to put these warnings up on every chapter? You all know each chapter is gonna be intense. Song in this fic is Once Upon Another Time by Sara Bareilles. I own nothing. Lyrics belong to Sara Bareilles and all HP characters belong to JK Rowling.
"Jane, be still; don't struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that is rending its own plumage in its desperation."
-Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
Chapter Twenty-Six: Once Upon Another Time
Music filled the library; a hauntingly beautiful collection of sounds that seeped into the patient books and their cases. If one looked closely enough the books appeared to pulse with an almost palpable energy. All the windows were open and golden sunlight fell gracefully in, illuminating the room to the point of bathing everything with a soft glow.
In the center of the grand room was a couple engaged in a slow dance, standing closely together and swaying from side to side. From a distance they appeared to be the picture of romance, looking like they were lost in their own bliss as the music played on.
The man stood proudly over his partner-shoulders pressed back and his elegant posture exuded arrogance at its finest. Strong, muscled arms wrapped around his partner and his long, beautiful neck bent down so his head was level with hers. His mouth brushed against the curls by her ear as he spoke quietly, almost pleadingly into it, as he had done so repeatedly throughout the past few weeks. The partner stood stiffly in his embrace, moving woodenly as he forced her to join him in their dance. A hand at the back of her neck prevented her from turning away, the other arm placed on the small of her back made sure the space between them stayed nonexistent.
The unfortunate partner stood deaf and ignorant to his advances. As he spoke into her ear she listened to her thoughts instead, his caresses to her body went unnoticed and unwanted. Distant and full of an intense longing, her gaze was fixed, unwavering on the window opposite them. The burnt umber of her eyes changed to amber whenever the light hit her face but she didn't notice. Every now and then Draco would dip his hand down to grope and cup her bottom and she wanted nothing more than to leave the room, to leave him. Since the day he'd caught her in his office she'd had trouble looking him in the eyes. Just thinking about what had happened made her feel physically ill.
In all honesty she hadn't even known what had happened. Or how, for that matter. He'd attacked her on his desk and it had started as rape until something had happened and she had ended up enjoying it. The moans that had come from her echoed distantly in her head and Hermione's stomach felt like it had been filled with venom. Her cheeks burned red-she was grateful he couldn't see her face, busy as he was at her ear.
The occurrences of that day had installed a newer fear inside her, one that made her all the more keen to escape, to avoid him. Draco had sensed that fear and stalked after it like a bloodhound. Not only was Hermione more intensely frightened of Draco, but of herself as well. She had counted on her body to be repelled, to be disgusted by what he did to her, and yet he was learning how to fool her body. Her mind, her whole being was so disgusted with herself she refused to look at herself in the mirror, she felt like she was coated in her own shame-a coat that grew heavier with every day that passed.
There's no way I could have liked it. No, she had thought. He must have slipped a lust potion into something I ate, or he could have used a dark spell? Some improved version of the Imperius? Her thoughts trailed to the bite he'd given her, and her hand instinctively twitched to reach up and cover it with her palm but she couldn't since he was holding her so close to him. It had taken days to heal with Bogg's help , and was now nothing more than rather vividly pink teeth marks which she was sure would remain as scars. What if he'd performed some sort of spell when he bit me? Some magical creatures do have special hormones in their saliva to help their mates…I'm sure I heard something about Veelas having something like this…Oh Merlin, please tell me he's not part Veela…
Or maybe you really did like it, suggested a sinister voice in the back of her mind. Dirty whore, you liked him fucking you! You wanted it!
Hermione flinched at the accusation, tears brimming in her eyes. No…I'd never!
He had been so smug afterwards. He'd let her flee the room, to her relief, but after that day he pursued her more relentlessly than before, trapping her in the cage of his embrace or holding her down with magic while he explored her body, discovering ways to make her ache for him even though she begged for him to stop.
In consequence to this, Hermione had been forced to begin to take a new approach. When he pressed her down onto the bed and removed her clothing, she emptied her mind and tried as best as she could to detach herself from what was happening. It wasn't easy, but she was Hermione Granger and Hermione Granger excelled at everything, so she worked it like a muscle and progress was made. When he forced his way inside her she stared up at the ceiling until he grew tired of that and demanded she look at him. That was a lot harder, since she frequently lost focus in her detachment at the frightening looks in his eyes or he'd thrust a little harder to make her gasp, inflict enough pain that she couldn't hope to distance herself from what he was doing to her.
All her hatred was channeling into her desire to find a way to escape, which burned more intensely than ever. She'd tried anything she could think of, but nothing worked. Even Bogg was not allowed to speak to her or even be near her unless Draco commanded it. Searching his study had proved useless, so she would have to find another way to get information.
As he spoke his lips tickled her ear but she held herself still. After breakfast (served to them in bed by Bogg-Draco had made her feed him, smirking at her as he chewed on his hotcakes) he'd taken her to the library, where he'd made her read aloud to him from a dull history book he'd randomly chosen off a shelf. As she read (with an intentional monotone) he had put his head in her lap, forcing her to hold the book up to her face until her arms grew too tired and he had gone off somewhere. Hermione had thought he'd left until he came back and the music began playing from the gramophone in the corner. Draco pulled her up to dance despite her insisting she didn't want to but that never mattered to him.
Hermione had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't paid one bit of attention to what he was saying in her ear. His hand rubbed her back with a soft pressure that reminded her of how her mother had done the same thing when she was a child in her bed, almost asleep but not quite, and her mother would sing softly to her until sleep claimed her. Hermione gulped hard, as though that would shove the memory away, and turned her focus to his words.
"I would love you like no other can," he was whispering, voice soft as velvet. "Simply do what I ask-submit to me fully, love me, and I can make you the happiest woman alive." His lips, warm and soft, pressed below her earlobe. "All you have to do is stop fighting me and let me love you. It will make things easier for you and I." His voice was seductive and low, it travelled down the length of her spine and his hot breath fanned against her cold cheek.
"I…." she began, but trailed off, realizing she didn't know what to say.
"I would worship you, if you let me," he said, his hand at the back of her neck stroking her soft skin. "I will always take care of you, Hermione." He drew back to look her fully in the face, the hand at her neck sliding around to cup her cheek. "We were made for each other."
Hermione shuddered at his words.
Like bloody hell we were. What is he thinking?
But then she thought it over. There were some similarities between them: both excellent students, highly intelligent and powerful, both cultured and well-read, but that was it, to her knowledge. She took him in, looking at her with those pale eyes and full mouth. His terrible beauty struck her once more, curiously calling forth a brief memory of the first time she had ever laid eyes on him. They had been eleven, and just about to enter the Great Hall. Harry and Ron had stood by her when he had shown up, his presence clearing the space around them. Small, angelic little face with sharp, bright eyes and a smirking little mouth, she could see he was different. There was cleverness mixed with coldness in his eyes and that twist in his mouth suggested to his arrogance and conceit, which were confirmed as he opened his mouth to insult Ron and try to make friends with Harry.
She remembered thinking it was a shame that he proved to be so unlikeable a person, for she thought if he were more humble, less cruel, they might have gotten along. He was among the small group of students she could compete with intellectually, after all, and sometimes, when she looked into his eyes, she could see traces of the boy he used to be before he turned into the vile man he was now.
Perhaps in another life I could have loved you, she thought, though feeling it was still very unlikely. If things had been different. If you had acted differently in your regard towards me, if you weren't such an unthinking, evil, and selfish prick, perhaps I could have learned to love you, but this is the path you chose and there can never be love between us.
He stiffened curiously and his eyes lost their temporary warmth.
"Is this your answer?" he asked rigidly. Hermione went cold.
Oh damn. I said that out loud.
She didn't reply.
His grip on her tightened. Hermione tried not to wince.
"Is. This. Your. Answer?" he snarled, giving her a slight shake.
Is it? I don't know! I can't think!
"…I don't know…" she admitted, and he relaxed.
"Don't think so much," he said, cupping her chin and tilting her face upwards. His lips pressed onto hers, lingered there. "Would you rather be happy or live in sadness?"
"I'll never be happy until I am free and you know it," Hermione shot back angrily, pulling away. "Even if I give in to you, you can't guarantee I'll be happy."
"I can't," he agreed, "but I'll try." His confident tone angered her. He actually thinks he'll succeed.
"You will fail. My answer is no."
His eyes flashed and his mouth tightened.
"Very well. But the offer still stands for when you are ready." He pulled back, dropping his hands from her and Hermione felt the blood rush down her arms, tingling madly.
Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, transparent glass vial with a silver liquid inside. Hermione blanched, first thinking the potion to be Veritaserum until she remembered it was a clear liquid and not silver.
"I'm not going to punish you," he said calmly, having seen the panicked look in her eyes. "This is merely something to help you- a sample, if you will, to see what things could be like."
Hermione had a suspicion as to what that potion was, but if she was right then things were not going to bode well for her at all. Dread coiled in her stomach and she took a step back.
"What is it?" she asked. Perhaps she would be wrong. Please let me be wrong.
Draco chuckled. "You're a clever girl, I'm sure you know." Keeping his eyes on hers, he unstoppered the vial and he held it up to her nose.
Hermione took a small sniff. Her suspicions were confirmed in that second when the scent of lavender, new parchment, old books and the smell of Harry's robes invaded her nostrils.
Amortentia.
Immediately she stumbled backwards and he followed with a grim smile on his lips.
"I won't drink it."
He chuckled and stepped closer. Hermione regretted not knocking the bottle out of his hands when she'd had the chance. "Are you sure, darling?"
"Of course I'm sure. That's illegal!"
"Think of it this way then: it'll hurt less if you take it."
Hermione faltered, her eyes stuck on the vial in his hand.
He's got a point…Should I take it?
"No. I refuse to turn into some false, love-starved fool for you. It's not real consent!" With that said she darted towards the door. She didn't get far-though she had had a head start, he was quick to catch her, as always.
"Where were you planning on going, little bird?" he asked laughingly, pressing her against a bookcase. "You know you can't run from me."
He was right. There was no place she could have gone in the Manor where she would have been safe from him and that vile little bottle. There was no time left to think-he had pinched her nose between his fingers and held the bottle to her lips.
"Mmmph! N-mmf!" she protested, shaking her head vehemently, but his grip stayed firm and her supply of air began to diminish. Though she tried getting away he pushed himself closer to her, restricting her movement.
"Open up," he growled playfully, his other hand travelling up to grip her cheeks so tightly her mouth puckered open, releasing a pained sob that had been caught between her teeth and her lips. Hermione tried to suck in a breath and close her mouth again but he had stuck the bottle in and poured its contents down her throat. For good measure he covered her mouth with his hands so she wouldn't spit the potion back out, which she was trying to do at that very moment. She choked and began to cough, her face was flushed and sweaty from the struggle; her hands slapped at his, still over the lower half of her face. Draco let go of her nose and waited patiently until she settled down and the cough subsided, then took hold of her nose once more.
They stood at an impasse for what felt like centuries. It was too late, some of the potion had already slid down her throat by accident, but enough remained in her mouth that she refused to swallow although her lungs felt like they would burst and Draco's hand still kept her from inhaling and she knew she had no other choice. Hermione rolled her eyes to the ceiling, swallowed, and after some tense seconds Draco finally lifted his hands from her nose and mouth. She sank to the floor, tears leaking from her eyes.
Draco hovered by her, worry and excitement making him fidgety as she sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. He rubbed her back gently. The changes were small but already taking effect: the rigidity of her posture and motions were fading, when he held his hand out to her she did not flinch or ignore it, she grasped it in her own sure grip and let his fingers wrap around her wrist with no protest.
"How do you feel?" he asked, helping her stand.
To his surprise and pleasure, she leaned into him, burying her head into his chest. Of their own accord, her hands settled on his sides and grasped his shirt.
"Dizzy," she murmured, "but it's clearing up now."
Gently, he led her back to the sofa and sat her down, but by then she had regained composure. Her pale cheeks were rosy and her eyes, when he looked into them, took his breath away. Love and admiration shone in them and a small smile curved her lips as she stood back up and approached him slowly.
Those eyes, those beautiful brown eyes like wood warmed golden by sunlight were staring right at him, drinking him in from head to toe and he fought to control the unexpected blush that tinged his cheeks. All thoughts escaped him, flying out his ears and rebounding around the room at high volume, narrowly missing him each time they whizzed past. It felt as if time had stopped, like she had simply reached into the space between them and gripped Time around its throat, and all it took was one look from her. His thoughts had not yet returned to him. Draco was at a loss for words, but it turned out he didn't need to say anything, because she leaned up on her toes and kissed him sweetly on the lips.
"I don't know how I never noticed how much I love your lips," she said, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. Draco smiled briefly before moaning softly as she kissed him again, more slowly, sucking on his bottom lip and then running her tongue over the top one.
"There are few things I love so much as kissing you," he murmured into her neck, pressing his lips against the hollow of her throat. She pressed herself closer to him, shivering when his teeth grazed her skin.
Draco didn't think he had ever been quite so happy in his life. Surely he was hallucinating? Or was this heaven? No, he could discredit those notions with a few facts:
1: There was no fucking way he would ever get into heaven, if it was even real.
2: He could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest, so he was (thankfully) still very much alive.
3: His heaven was down on Earth, and holy fucking hell, she tasted like it too.
She was carding her fingers in his hair, rubbing gently at his scalp as they kissed and he sighed into her mouth at the feeling. Occasionally she would drag her nails and it made the most delicious shiver run through him. Draco nibbled on her plump bottom lip, drawing it between his lips where his tongue swiped over it before he released it. Starry eyes looked up at him and her flushed cheeks matched the redness of her mouth, which grinned slyly at him.
For Draco it would have been an inadequate statement to say he felt like his birthday had come early. He never placed much importance on birthdays (they happen every year after all, he thought. All you do is age. What's there to celebrate?) anyway. But this moment stirred something inside him, rousing a memory of a time when he was six and his father had come home early, way before the sun had gone to kiss the horizon. These had been the days before the return of the Dark Lord, when his family had tried as best as they could to put back together what the previous years had torn apart.
He had been tall for his age, with skinny legs and hair that was simply too long because his mother could not bear to have it trimmed. His father had come home early that one day with packages under his arm, calling loudly for Draco to come down. Once he had come into the hall to greet his Father the packages had been thrust at him with an eagerness he had rarely encountered in the man. Draco already knew the first parcel was a broom, and opened it quickly to find a children's model of the CometRacer2000, which he had desperately wanted since they had been released a week prior. The other parcel contained Quidditch gear, to his delight, and when he looked up to thank him Lucius had held up a Snitch in his hand, already holding his own broom in the other. That day had been one of the best he had ever experienced-his father hadn't even needed to teach him to fly-they gleefully found out he was a natural, and spent hours flying around the impressive gardens searching for the golden-winged orb.
Lucius was at the Ministry of Magic almost daily, having to witness and testify for trials of other Death Eaters including his own. By then Draco had known everything about his father's involvement with the Dark Lord-though no one told him and his mother refused to speak of it around him, Draco knew it all. He wasn't a stupid boy, after all, and loved to poke about his father's study whenever he wasn't home. He wasn't really quite sure what to make of it at first, but he knew that it helped keep his family extra powerful and that power ensured they stayed together even when the Ministry came knocking. Staying together wasn't always easy. He could remember shouting matches between his parents, things thrown against the wall and his mother crying behind heavy doors. Details on these arguments (which were frequent) were never revealed to him, but he could tell his mother wanted out. And at that young age, he couldn't help but wonder why she would want out when there were such great benefits from it. He made the mistake of asking them once. From Narcissa he got nothing but a frightened glance as she swept from the dining room and the sting of his father's hex on his cheek.
After that day there were no more arguments. No more shouting, no more watching the House Elves clean up broken things after the room had been vacated or sitting sullenly on his bed because no one had bothered to check if he was okay.
Though it was a massive relief the arguments were gone, it seemed the love between his parents had gone as well. His mother moved into a bedroom in the East wing of the Manor and his father stayed out nearly all day. Draco never found out what his father did in that time but he suspected he had gone to reunite with old friends-what friends he had not alienated by then, at least. From his mother he sensed more fear than there had been before. Always appearing to be anxious though she tried to hide it under her regular gaiety and loving care, he knew she worried about him from the way she looked at him.
Sometimes her stares made him angry, other times they made him sad. The last thing he ever wanted was for his mother to fear him.
And you've been so careful, haven't you? A cold, mocking voice in his head said. A Saint, you are.
What would the look on her face be now, if she knew what he was doing, what he'd already done?
Draco didn't like going down that path. How could he explain to anyone, let alone his mother, that he'd stolen another human being to share in his misery? How he'd let his own selfishness and lust determine his actions, how she was meant only for him? How every part of her called to him always, he was hopelessly lost to her and doomed, ecstatically so, to be hers, just as she'd been destined to be his from the moment they'd first met. With his actions he'd forged a chain for her to wear, to tie her to him, to claim her in every way possible because there would be no way he would let her slip from his fingers. It was as simple and as difficult as that.
The precious few that knew only had a fool's glance into the whole of the situation. They saw it as a passing lust, a mere schoolyard rivalry to conquer. They had no idea how great this force was, just how deep it lay. They didn't know how much farther he was willing to go for her.
I've become exactly what she didn't want me to become. A monster.
Wish you could take it all back, don't you now? said the voice.
Draco thought for a moment. Did he? Grey eyes flicked over to his wife, who still stood there waiting with that beautifully loving smile on her face, hanging onto his arm as his thoughts raced around her.
No. Hell take me, I'd do it all again for the rest of my life if I had to. As long as Mother doesn't find out she won't have to know how much I've disappointed her.
With his thoughts finally straightened and that new resolution set firmly in his mind, time seemed to click back into place. These thoughts had taken no more than a few seconds but it had happened so slowly that Draco really believed for a moment that the time had stopped.
Yes, Mother must never know, he absolved as he stared at his wife, who was leading him out of the library, a naughty gleam twinkled in her golden brown orbs. That look in her eyes chased his thoughts away and he followed, eager to damn himself all over.
The bright hue of the lavender around her reflected off the pure, snow-white of her gown. As the sun began to set the brilliant purple shone on her skin, making her look ethereal. A small sprig of the plant lay in her open palm as she stared unseeingly into the pond that was a small distance away. The trees and stalks of lavender swayed in the strong breeze, their collective susurrus filled the air and injected a dreamlike quality to the atmosphere.
Birds sang their song from a distance, invisible in the dense foliage. The smell of lavender hung heavy in the air, soothing her troubled mind. Clouds stretched themselves over the sky as if they, too, wanted to keep her from the light, like Draco. Whenever there was a clearance the brilliant sun would shine through and warm her in it's fiery kiss before being smothered once more. It was always brief and she was left shivering, even when the sun made its next appearance. She found herself feeling resentful of the sun, that it could not warm her.
Any artist would have fought for the privilege to paint such a scene. A poet would have found it hard to describe the place with words deserving. Hermione paid it no more attention than a bird does its gilded cage.
No, she could not take pleasure in the bittersweet scent of the lavender; she could not delight in the charming ripples of the pond nor the beautiful gown which she was sure she would have loved if it had not been given to her by him. It was already stained with soil and dew from her sitting in the grass-it gave her a savage pleasure to ruin the dress. When he'd presented her with it in the morning there had been a wistful smile on his face as he explained that she would have worn it for their wedding had they ever had the chance to have one. Hermione had bristled at the comment, and felt rather uneasy that the dress was very lovely indeed and she definitely could have worn it for her own wedding if Draco had never come into the picture.
A long, heavy sigh expelled itself from her lungs and she stared past the field she sat in and the trees beyond her. Harry and Ron were out there somewhere, hunting for the horcruxes. She wondered how many they had found by now, and if they had found a way to destroy them. She hoped so.
The effects of the love potion had worn off in her sleep. Draco had only given her enough to last for the remainder of the previous day, which she was oddly grateful for. To her surprise, the effects of the potion had made her feel… happy. Her recollection of the day was vague; the most she could remember was being in a loving, blissful mood and hearing her own pleasured screams while they made love.
The instant those two last words formed themselves in her thoughts she felt disgust wash over her. Hermione tried to shake it away. They'd had sex. Love had nothing to do with it, nothing, especially seeing as it came out of a bottle. It was still rape. He'd nearly made her pass out just to drink it and she'd made damn well clear he knew her thoughts on the matter. The mere fact that he'd made her take it to get her to say yes at last spoke volumes about how bad the whole thing was.
Still, even though she knew her position remained unchanged she couldn't help but feel conflicted.
That wasn't me, that wasn't me, she repeated to herself.
It was true-she had felt how the potion had shoved her to the far recesses of her own mind and took control over her mind and body (much like the Imperius Curse) and filled in with a fake version of herself. She had watched, incredulous as the fake her had leaned into him and then kissed him boldly, how she had stared up at him with adoring eyes and yearned to make him happy, yearned for his touch.
The potion produced a strong haze in her mind-so strong that no matter for how long or hard she tried it did not let her resurface to reclaim herself. It had felt like a dream, but she knew it wasn't, and now she was feeling the effects of her laborious struggles. Her limbs felt heavy and sore, the walk here had been more of a run, but she had been desperate to get out and finally, finally bask in the warmth she had craved so intensely for the past months.
Hermione didn't know why he had changed his mind on not letting her outside, but that morning he'd led her to the wide back doors, and pushed them open, nudging her outside. The brightness of the outdoors had blinded her for a moment and she stood there, suddenly unable to remember how to walk. She could sense that he had left, and was grateful, her brain sputtered and began to work once more and she tentatively stepped out onto the cool earth.
Perhaps this was a reward for her "good behavior" last night.
Her fists clenched and she felt something crumble and tear in her hand. She looked down in mild surprise to find the small bit of the plant she had been holding, now ruined beyond repair, its essence smeared across her skin. Tiny petals stuck to her palm and fingers and she studied them for a moment before wiping them off onto her dress.
A strong gust of wind barreled through the land, dancing through her hair and lavender into the trees, who whispered more loudly than before. Hermione tilted her head to face the sky so she could feel the cool wind on her feverish neck. The sun dipped ever lower, and the sky grew purple to match the sea of lavender around her.
A terrible, aching wave of longing crashed through her like a sudden summer rain. She felt it acutely, like a hole had been dug into her chest. There was no pain in her heart at all, but her whole chest throbbed with the sensation of it suddenly being quite empty. It was a pain so intense Hermione was rendered quite breathless for a moment. Tears pricked at her eyes so they stung. Not even in her first year at Hogwarts had she felt so homesick, and back then she'd been surrounded by her peers whom she could speak to, but here she had no one but the man who'd put her there in the first place.
How she longed to have someone to talk to! Harry, Ron and Neville, her parents and the Weasely's. How she missed them. For a fleeting moment she imagined they appeared smiling before her.
I wish I was with you, she thought.
The emptiness in her chest grew and she felt so hollow every beat of her heart was almost painful, she was certain that if she were in absolute silence she could hear it echoing around inside her body.
Like bubbles drifting up to the surface of a body of water, fragments of a song she had once loved began to play in her mind. It had been some time since she had last heard it but the words were there, still fresh in her head. Without even realizing it she began to hum along to the melody, but suddenly became aware of how her voice blended into the wind, flying away from her.
Just another thing I have no control over, she thought.
Slowly, her eyes closed and the wind seemed to die down a little before strengthening again, like it was giving her the go ahead to continue. Above, the sky continued to darken.
She opened her mouth and began to sing.
Once upon another time
Somebody's hands who felt like mine
Turned the key and took a drive
Was free
Highway curve, the sun sank low
Buckley on the radio
Cigarette was burnin' slow
So breathe
Just yellow lines and tire marks
Sunkissed skin and handlebars
And where I stood was where I was to be
No enemy to call my own
No porchlight on to pull me home
And where I was is beautiful
Because I was free
He'd been searching the grounds for her for about ten minutes now, and she was nowhere to be found. It was irrational to worry, he knew, since she could not escape, but all the same his steps quickened with each passing minute and he stalked through the brush standing by him. The insistent gales of wind pushed his hair across his forehead, occasionally streaking past his vision like new rays of sunlight.
Giving her the love potion had been the best thing he'd ever done. If Snape hadn't been so insufferably busy most of the time now, he'd have gotten a larger stock from him ages ago.
With a smile he remembered how his witch had moved on top of him the night before, hands holding herself steady on his hips as she thrust herself down onto him repeatedly, screaming her release at last when he reached over and pleasured her clit with his fingers. Afterwards she'd collapsed on top of him, sweaty and short of breath and he was still inside her. He'd positioned them so she was underneath him again and he laid on his side with one arm around her, the other under her pillow. It was the best sleep he'd gotten in days, and had woken in a wonderful mood only to find her gone from the bed and in the shower, standing numbly under the water. He felt quite randy, watching her wash herself as the previous night replayed in his head, so he climbed in behind her, expecting her to turn to him and be welcome to his attentions. Unfortunately he'd forgotten that the potion would have worn off by then so he was somewhat surprised when she tensed under his touch and scrambled to distance herself from him.
No words had come from her, but the look on her face was enough to tell him all she felt. Her face was red with rage; lips pulled back in an instinctive snarl that only made him ache harder for her and her small fists shook with the hatred that was written so clearly in every part of her body.
"Don't touch me," she finally said with effort in a voice that trembled so badly he wondered that she was able to speak at all.
He took her anyway, pressing her against the wall of the shower with his body and pushing into her so hard her body slammed against the cold cream tile, and she'd bitten back her cry of pain. He'd taken her desperately, like a man possessed, like their first time. When he'd finished he stepped into the streams of water, watching as she resumed scrubbing at her skin with shaking hands. Their eyes met for a moment and the intense anger in her gaze, while it didn't surprise him, unsettled him at least a little. Her mouth was still and straight but her eyes held a promise of vengeance that made him slightly uneasy until he remembered she could cause him no harm as long as that ring remained on her finger.
Draco knew she'd still be angry no matter what he did, so he'd decided then to let her outside. Wasn't it what she'd wanted?
Well, no, said a voice in his head. She wanted you to free her, but this is close enough.
When he'd let her outside he would have liked to follow her, to stick around and watch as she reacquainted herself with what she had so sorely missed, but Bogg had informed him his father was in the fireplace, waiting to speak to him.
Narcissa had gotten worse. The new healer had taken one look at the suffering witch and said there was nothing that could be done for her. Draco's heart had sunk to his heels at the news. His mother was dying, and there was nothing he could do.
The bad news had completely eradicated his good mood, and he had wracked his brains for an hour afterwards to try and find a way to help his mother, because she could not die. She simply couldn't.
When nothing had come up and he felt like he could just blow himself up with anger and desperation he stepped outside for a moment to calm himself down. He stood there on the porch for a good minute or two, pulling oxygen into his lungs and breathing it out slowly, slowly, until the red in his vision disappeared and the sky was clear again. There was a wind blowing, rolling through the land and bringing with it the chatter of the trees and a brief snippet of someone's voice. He felt a thrill run through him, alarmed that someone had infiltrated his lands until he listened closer.
Of course it was her. Who else could it be? There was no one but them at the Manor. Her voice was carried to him again on the wind and he walked off the porch, whispering 'Point me' to his wand so he might find her easier.
Eventually he found her in the lavender field (I should have guessed, he thought absentmindedly), sitting with her back to him, singing.
Once upon another time
Before I knew which life was mine
Before I left a child behind me
I saw myself in summer nights
And stars lit up like candle light
I'd make my wish but mostly I believed
In yellow lines and tire marks
Sunkissed skin and handlebars
And where I stood was where I was to be
Once upon another time
Decided nothing good in dying
So I would just keep on driving
Because I was free
Draco was mesmerized-she'd never sung like this before. Of all the times he'd heard her sing before (which really weren't many), he had heard her hum to herself or whistle softly as she passed through the halls, and there was that time he had stumbled across her in the forest, she had never sounded quite like this. What was remarkable was the change in her voice. She had used to sound so different; her voice was light and free, whereas now it was a bit lower. All the lightness had gone from it, yet it was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.
He listened, entranced, as her orotund voice filled the space around them with its hauntingly mournful tone. The words to the song were somewhat lost to him-he wasn't sure what a tire or a handlebar was, but the meaning of the song was clear enough. The sadness in her voice, the longing struck a chord in him, and he forgot about his dying mother. The soft ground muffled his steps as he approached Hermione, who had gathered her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
Draco resisted the urge to press her into the ground and take her under the awakening stars, try to remind her what she had felt the night before. It would only make her angrier.
"You sing beautifully," he said.
The softly-spoken comment destroyed the stillness, sounding too harsh in the wake of her song. She remained where she was, but he could see the shaking of her shoulders stop abruptly, how her body turned to stone. When he sat beside her he saw the fierce redness on her skin, the blush spreading down to her neck and chest.
"Where did you learn?" he asked.
Hermione shrugged. She didn't like that he had heard her sing.
Draco scooted closer, and though she didn't move away, she refused to look at him until he cupped her chin in his hand and turned her head to face him.
"I want to go home," she said.
Her steady, challenging gaze held him in place, lips trembling slightly with the effort not to cry, and he was thinking how much he would like to take her to see her parents, to see Hogwarts again, anything if it meant she would love him the way she had the night before. But he knew that would never happen.
"I know," he replied instead, stroking her cheek with his thumb, "but that's not possible."
"Yes, it is," she snapped. "You just don't want to let me go."
"Why would I want to let you go?" he asked. "Take you back so I can be arrested and given the Kiss, so you can get back with Potter and save the world?"
Her eyes pierced him, and neither said a word until she stood abruptly, leaving him seated on the ground.
Standing, she towered over him for once, and the power that action gave her also gave her the strength to say what she'd thought in her mind.
"Think what you will. You cannot keep me here. I'll find a way out soon enough, and when I do you're going to wish you'd gotten the Dementor's Kiss instead."
She left him then, moving swiftly back into the Manor to someplace she might not encounter him, if at least for another hour. Her threat played over and over in Draco's mind, stirring worry where there should have been none, and anger, too, but both of those were temporarily drowned out by an idea that'd struck him the moment she'd gone.
He might be able to save his mother, after all…
A/N:
Uh-oh. What'll this lead to, I wonder?
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