All characters and other Harry Potter things belong to JK Rowling. Plot belongs to me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Fear and Loathing
"Forgive me lord,
for I can't forgive,
for I can't forgive,
for I can't forgive."
-'Forgive Me Lord' by Among Savages
The locket weighed heavily in his pocket. Harry longed to step outside, take it out, and let it fall to the ground where its ruined remains would be lost among the wild greens, never to cause damage again. Its clasp dug into his thigh as he sat down onto his cot. Harry decided he couldn't stand having the thing near him anymore, in a quick movement he'd lobbed it across the tent and felt a mild satisfaction when the thing crashed down onto the floor. It had fallen open, so he could see its shattered insides glinting in the dull light of the tent.
They still hadn't spoken about what had happened when he'd stabbed it. The sword of Gryffindor lay on the cluttered table, and whenever Harry looked at it he felt like he was twelve years old again, holding it in Professor Dumbledore's office just after defeating the basilisk. It had felt heavier then.
And I had no clue how much more I was in for, he thought dully.
Ron pitied him, he knew. Since they'd destroyed the Horcrux he'd left Harry mostly alone, for which Harry was grateful. Talking about it wouldn't help; it would only make things worse. Right now Ron was foraging outside for anything they might eat. Food, scarce as it had been before was even harder to come by. More than once they'd fallen asleep on empty stomachs and would rise the next morning, hopeful to find anything edible.
"It's not real," Ron had said once it was done. "It's not. Don't think about it."
Only it was so hard not to.
The images plagued his mind, denying him any peace or rest he had thought he would find once the locket was destroyed.
I have seen your heart, and it is mine, it had said.
That hideous red eye had watched him from inside the locket. How had it known?
He had almost shouted when Hermione appeared, sad and defiant, almost believing her to be real until he realized he could see right through her. Made of a ghostly mist, she watched him with a longing in her eyes that called to him. Automatically he took one step forward, but Ron's warning hand on his arm kept him from getting any farther. The locket began to speak, and everything became worse.
"Cursed and lonely, a boy grown with no true family, and continuously lied to by everyone he holds dear."
"Don't listen to it, Harry," Ron said, but Harry stood frozen, transfixed as another pale form began to take shape beside Hermione.
"Followed by misfortune, death always looms close by…"
His heart wrenched. Sirius. Cedric. Dumbledore.
Gleaming silver hair and a cruel curve to his lips, the figure that was Draco Malfoy seized Hermione, who began to kick and struggle.
"No!" he heard her scream, but all other protests were silenced when the false Draco kissed her hungrily, devouring her mouth with his own. Harry's fists clenched, his heart plummeted to his feet. Likewise beside him, Ron grit his teeth and said, "It's a trick, it's just trying to mess with you," he said, but his voice was weak with rage.
The false Draco was stripping Hermione of her clothing, even as she beat him away. Harry stepped forward again, but Ron held him back. "It's not real," he insisted. "Just figures in smoke. Kill it now, Harry!"
"In love with one who will never again be his, for she has been claimed by another for the darkness…"
Ron had turned away, shaking. Harry watched, horrified, as Malfoy's form pushed into Hermione, who cried out in pain and struck at his face, pleading for mercy. Hermione's legs were yanked up around false Draco's shoulders and she twisted, trying to drag herself away as he drove himself more deeply inside her. The sword of Gryffindor was cold in his clammy hands; he was holding it so tightly his whole hand went white.
"Do it now, Harry!" Ron bellowed.
"Take a good look, Potter," called Malfoy triumphantly. Leaning forward, he gripped Hermione's throat tightly, wrenching her upwards for a sloppy, rough kiss. There was blood on his mouth when he pulled away, turning to grin at Harry. His teeth were stained crimson.
"She's mine now."
"NO!" roared Harry and he leapt forward, driving the point of the sword into the heart of the locket. A horrible scream poured from it, shaking the silent wood around them but he did not hear it. The figures of Hermione and Draco vanished at once to his immense relief, and he pressed down harder on the sword with all his weight. A black substance oozed from the Horcrux, a thin stream of smoke escaped from between the cracks, and the scream ended abruptly.
He barely remembered what happened after. Ron had said things to try and comfort him, but Harry couldn't hear anything other than Hermione's screams, still echoing in his head. Whenever he closed his eyes he was assaulted with the images of the rape the locket had shown him, and it was all he could do not to break down.
She's safe, she's safe, and she's not with him! he chanted to himself. Riddle told you lies, it was all lies…
For all his effort, he found himself unable to believe it.
"She's mine now…" Draco's blood-stained grin flashed through his mind, and Harry struck at the side table, rattling everything on top of it. His wand rolled off and clattered to the floor. His knuckles throbbed.
"Harry?"
He jumped. Ron had entered the tent, and he stood at their shared table, watching him carefully. A small pile of mushrooms and other eats lay on the table before him, the fruits of his scavenging.
"Stop thinking about it," he said. "Everything that locket told you, everything it showed you was a lie. It wanted to break you, Harry. You know she's okay."
"I wasn't thinking about it," Harry said testily, immediately regretting his sour tone when Ron looked away. Silence filled the space between them.
"Sorry," he mumbled. Ron shrugged, and then beckoned him over to the table.
"I found some stuff," he said, pushing the pile towards Harry as he sat down. "It'll help though it's not much."
They ate in silence, drinking spring water from mismatched tin cups. It had grown colder inside the tent. Harry pulled on another sweater, opening and closing his fists repeatedly to ward off stiffness from the temperature.
When they had finished Harry pulled the map from the other end of the worn table, pushing things out of the way to make space for it. It was dirty and wrinkled, but still fairly readable. The label at the bottom bore the name 'Knockturn Alley' in clumsy lettering.
Their route was marked out in red ink. They each had gone over the plan meticulously, making sure everything was correctly thought out. The mission at the Ministry had been dangerous, but seemed like nothing compared to this one. They'd taken the polyjuice potion and slipped into the Ministry of Magic, anxious but determined. Acquiring the locket had been fairly easy, they'd found Umbridge in the elevator, and once everyone else had left they had stunned her, removed the locket from her fleshy throat, and obliviated her so that she would not remember encountering them.
The mission went extremely well, but after they'd dealt with the locket Harry was beginning to feel extremely uneasy. Their former professor was nothing compared to Bellatrix Lestrange. They'd been quite lucky with Umbridge, but he felt fairly certain that wouldn't be the case for the next mission. One misstep and they would be finished before they had ever even started.
"You're certain she'll be there?" he asked for the hundredth time.
"I heard them say it myself," Ron said.
Harry gazed at the map, going over the route one more time. "This had better work," he said.
The ceilings they passed under were adorned with cherubs captured in mid-flight, one painted at every corner of the room. Their small, pudgy little hands were clasped in prayer, innocent blue eyes raised to the painted sky as if begging for mercy. Hermione found herself wondering if they could spare a prayer for her.
Draco led her through the many halls, pulling her along as she struggled to keep pace. Their footsteps clattered loudly around them, and it struck her how silent the great manse was.
It's like there's no one else here but us, she thought.
Lucius was nowhere to be found, but she wasn't sure Draco was looking for him anyway. He moved with purpose, passing through one place after another quickly. Hermione wondered where they were headed. Surely not his old bedroom. And if not Lucius, then was it Narcissa they were visiting?
As if to prove her correct, Draco stopped in front of the door to his mother's bedroom. Hermione looked up, wondering why he didn't just enter. Anyone else might have thought that he looked calm and collected, as ever, but Hermione could see there was a wildness in his eyes that was just barely tamed, and it frightened her.
He's scared, she thought, incredulous. But why? And then she remembered. Oh.
Draco took her hands in his. Hermione wanted to pull away, but that look in his eyes made her hesitate. Draco seized the opportunity to pull her closer.
"Whatever you feel towards me now, I am sure I deserve it tenfold," he said in a low voice. "What I have done to you is beyond words. I have taken everything from you, and I know I have no right, but now I must ask for your help."
Hermione was reeling with the words he'd just spoken, and it took her a moment to understand what he meant.
"What kind of help?" she asked warily.
"My mother is dying," he replied. "We've tried everything...nothing works. Perhaps you could help."
She couldn't help the laugh that crept up her throat. "I may be adept at potions, Malfoy, but I'm no Healer. And why would I ever do this for you?"
"You wouldn't be doing this for me. You'd be doing it for her."
Though he had a point, Hermione knew there was slim chance of anything miraculous occuring. "You say you've had several advanced Healers come in to treat her. If they couldn't save her, what makes you think I could? I've had no training, Draco; I only know the most basic healing spells!"
He ignored her and turned to face the door again.
"You will try," he said, ignoring her, and opened the door. He reached behind himself to grab her arm and pull her inside.
The room was ablaze with the sunlight that streamed in from the wide window, and that was nearly enough to distract Hermione from the smell of death that pervaded the room. She had to stifle the gasp that sucked at her throat once the woman in the bed came into view.
Since her last visit to the Malfoy Manor Narcissa's condition had worsened considerably. Her fine porcelain skin stretched tight across her face, paper thin and clammy with sweat. Her cheekbones looked like they were one smile away from bursting through her wasted flesh. There was no colour left in her face-even the once purple bags under her eyes had turned grey, and her lips were pale and cracked. A thick blanket covered her lower body, but it was not enough to hide the spasms that gripped her body infrequently.
It's as if she aged forty years since I last saw her, Hermione thought. What could have done this?
Draco knelt at the side of the bed, taking his mother's withered hands in his, and bowed his head nearer to hers to rouse her from her ill slumber.
"Mother," he called softly. "Maman, je suis ici."
There was a second of silence, and then the woman stirred and her eyes struggled to open. A smile lit her face when she saw him. "Mon garcon cheri," she murmured. "My darling boy."
Hermione felt like an intruder witnessing the exchange between the dying woman and her beloved son. Leaving the room felt like the best course of action to take, and she was tempted to do it to give them some privacy but she knew Draco would punish her for it so she stayed. Besides, he was right. No matter how she felt towards him, his mother had been nothing but kind to her, even if they had only spoken once. To be truthful, it saddened her that the good woman would soon be gone.
He truly cares about her, she thought, watching him stroke her head gently. It was strange to watch. Trapped with him as she was most of the time, it was easy to forget that he had a human mask he chose to wear when the occasion called. Was this a genuine show of affection? Or was he merely playing the part of a dutiful son in his mother's final hours?
Narcissa was already in the process of dying. Did Draco know or was he choosing to ignore it? He should not have brought her here.
Mother and son were whispering to each other, and she stood to the side, invisible for the moment. They spoke in French, and she understood it well, but would not allow herself to listen in. The last thing she needed was to develop sympathy for Draco. She would grieve for Narcissa, but never for him. As she watched, Draco grew agitated at something Narcissa said and pressed his face into the woman's shoulder, and she stroked his hair with a calm manner that would haunt Hermione in her sleep afterwards.
She's not afraid to die, Hermione realized. She wished she could be half as courageous as her.
Lost in her thoughts, Hermione had not noticed Draco leave the bed until the familiar pressure of his grip on her wrist snapped her out of it and she found herself being pulled out of the room with such force and speed that for a moment she felt as though she'd been swept up on a broomstick.
"Where are we going?" she asked, but he made no move to answer her. They passed many rooms, each as empty and silent as the last, and climbed up two sets of stairs until they reached the library. Draco led her inside and then shut the doors behind them with a quiet click.
Perplexed, she watched as he waved his hand and books from every direction zoomed out from their bookshelves and flew straight for the table before her, landing in towering stacks with thunderous thuds. Something pushed into her from behind and her knees jerked, she fell backwards into a chair that pushed itself up to the table.
One glance at the cover of the nearest book told her all she needed to know. Magical Medical Mysteries. Draco had sat opposite her, already thumbing through his second book at an alarming speed, eyes flitting from side to side as he scanned the pages.
This is madness, she thought.
"Draco," she called, and he paused to look up. "This isn't going to work."
The words were too blunt, perhaps, but he had to realize the truth of it. That, and it was hard to think when he looked at her with that wild look in his eyes. His eyes had been pale enough before but now it was like they'd been bled of the rest of their colour. In the harsh light of the sun only the pupil remained. It made her tongue dry up but she had to continue.
"You know we can't save her," she said, softening her voice. She tried not to tremble under his stare. "Don't do this to yourself."
Or to me, she thought. What makes him think I can save his mother?
Did he realize the pressure he was putting her under? Of course not. The death was inevitable, and when it happened, would he blame her? Would he hurt her for it? Hermione felt her insides twist.
Draco looked as if he might strike her, but the table and the books were between them and she was grateful. Hermione's body had tensed and was poised for flight, but relaxed (only slightly) when he shut his eyes and exhaled sharply. Hermione counted to five, and he looked up, calmer than before.
"Stop talking and read," he said in a voice that brooked no room for argument. Her mouth opened, a retort already coming forth but she swallowed it and picked up the nearest book instead.
Merlin save me, there's nothing I can do now but humor him.
The hours passed, and with every book that they piled off to the side, Draco's mood darkened. The sound of the pages turning, which once had been Hermione's favorite in the world, was now quite the opposite. Nothing helpful was found, nothing at all, and as the pile of books grew larger so did Draco's fury. Every now and then he stormed out of the library to go check on his mother, whose condition was only getting worse, Hermione was certain, for each time he returned he would attack the books with a feverish rage, burning grey eyes skimming each page as if expecting to find the cure written there in bold print. She'd shown him a few pages with information she thought might help, and he'd read them through and dismissed them savagely. Hermione was at a loss for what to do.
The Malfoy family's healer had come by earlier to check on his patient, only to say there was nothing he could do. Healer Stark had recommended a pain relieving potion to aid the ailing woman in her passing, and Lucius had sent him away in a fit of cold fury. Hermione only knew this through Draco-he'd kept her in the library the whole time so she would not be discovered, and Hermione had shook with the irresistible urge to run out the door screaming. When he noticed he'd scowled and held her down into her seat with an Imperius, and Hermione listened with tear-glazed eyes as the healer was dismissed.
A while after that she decided she could take no more.
"I'm going to see her," she declared, and swept from the room before Draco could reply. For once he didn't follow; he stayed in the room though he watched her go, almost suspicious.
Hermione ran into Lucius outside Narcissa's door. The older Malfoy looked as handsome as ever, though he appeared as if he hadn't slept in weeks. He smiled thinly at her as she approached.
"Why are you outside?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be with her?"
A pained look crossed his face. "It is Narcissa's wish that I not be with her unless absolutely necessary." Catching Hermione's confused look, he continued. "We have said our goodbyes before, and spoken of our wishes and regrets. There are things I have done that she cannot forgive me. Things I have done that ruined our marriage, and our family. We have made our amends, but she finds it difficult to have me near."
What do I reply to that? "I see," she said.
Lucius cleared his throat suddenly, and stood a little straighter. "I must speak to my son. If you wish to speak to Narcissa, you had better do it now. There isn't much time left." He left before she could reply.
The horrible smell in the room had been covered up with a cloying, sweet scent from many lit candles on the vanity. It curdled in her mouth and Hermione fought not to cough. The woman in the bed was awake, smiling at her daughter-in-law as she entered.
"I wondered when you would come," she said smilingly, gesturing to the chair beside her bed. Hermione sat, and paused. She didn't know why she had come. What could she say?
"I… Are you in any pain?" was all she could manage.
"Just the usual aches and quakes. I would be lying if I said I had grown accustomed to them, but I can manage." Narcissa tipped her head, frowning. "You look frightened, my dear."
"It's nothing," Hermione said hastily.
"Are you sure?" The older woman's hand pressed into Hermione's cheek. "Are you squeamish? I was once. We had to cut up a dead salamander for potions in fourth year to collect their livers, and I went and fainted in the girls' lavatory." Hermione couldn't help but smile.
Narcissa looked at her curiously. "But you're not the kind of girl who can be undone by a mere lizard, are you?"
"No, ma'am." A dragon, more like.
"So what frightens you, Hermione?"
Your son. But I can't tell you that, can I?
Instead, she said, "Draco thinks he can find a cure. He's driving himself mad over it and has turned up nothing so far. I'm afraid what he'll do when he realizes there's nothing that can be done."
Narcissa nodded sagely. "I thought he might. He was always a stubborn boy. Blinds himself to the truth when it doesn't convenience him, like his father. But you knew," she said, smiling again at Hermione. "And you told him, no doubt."
"He didn't listen," Hermione agreed.
"In that case, will you send for him once we are finished? I'd have a word with him."
Once Hermione promised to do so Narcissa leaned back into the pillows behind her and sighed softly.
"I'm sorry I had to leave so soon," she said. "I only wish I could have gotten to know my only daughter-in-law better."
"I would have liked that as well," Hermione said. I wish you didn't have to go.
"My son chose himself a wonderful wife," she said. Hermione forced a smile. "I hope you have more children that Lucius and I had-I'd always wanted Draco to have a brother, or even a sister, but it wasn't possible."
That will never happen, Hermione thought. Not if I can help it.
Narcissa yawned, covering her mouth politely. "I grow tired so easily now, it's ridiculous. Before I fall asleep again I should like to see Draco."
"Of course." Hermione stood, but Narcissa's hand caught her arm before she could turn away.
"Promise me you'll take care of him. Watch over my son, and yourself. He is my only child…"
I am my parent's only child, too, but there is no one to take care of me. I don't even know if my parents are still alive.
"I will," she lied, and fled the room.
Hot tears blurred her vision as she went back to the library, but she would not let them fall. Not there, at least.
"Your mother wants to see you," she said upon re-entering the room. Draco was up at once, striding towards the door, but halted when he saw her face.
"You look troubled."
"Just go."
He caught her face in his hands, thumbing away the tears that had managed to slip out despite all her effort. He looked worried.
"Tell me what's wrong."
"Go!"
He waited a moment or two, but she avoided his probing eyes and with a resigned sigh, he left.
When he found his mother she had almost fallen asleep. A sudden burst of fear exploded inside him and he raced to her side.
"Mother-mother! I'm here."
"My only son," she murmured, reaching for him. "Listen to me and listen well, for I fear I won't get another chance to tell you."
"Don't talk like that, mother," he insisted. "You will live."
"I am your mother and I'll talk how I like," she said in a voice that was meant to be firm but sounded so feeble instead. "I am going to die, and you cannot change that."
A sob tore itself from his throat. "Not today. I'll find something to make you better, I need time."
"You need to accept that if I don't die today then I will tomorrow or the day after."
His hand found hers and held it tight. Tears sluiced down his cheeks-he could taste them in his mouth, hot and salty. It wasn't fair that she should die, it wasn't. She was good and had done everything for him, everything. It was she who had persuaded Lucius into sending him to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang because he had been too afraid to go so far from home. It was she who spent all her time entertaining him, spoiling him to distract him from wondering if he had seen the last of his father at breakfast. She remembered all his birthdays, all the letters he had gotten from home while in school were from her. And when he had fled Hogwarts after completing his mission, with nowhere to go she gave him her estate in France, where he and Hermione now lived.
And the biggest of them all: he'd been born a sickly babe, with a failing heart. The Healers had told his parents he would die in a fortnight if not sooner. Desperate, Lucius and Narcissa tried everything they could-numerous healers and potions for Draco, spells that did not work and liars who only took their gold. Even his father's friends did what they could to help, but nothing worked until the Dark Lord sent them an ancient book of the darkest magic. Many pages had been removed or blotted out but they finally found something-a spell that would save one life by slowly draining another. When they found that spell the two weeks were almost up and Narcissa made her decision at once.
They had shielded this from him all his life. In fact, if it hadn't been for the Dark Lord, he never would have known. He had even shown him the book, the very spell that had saved his life, and was about to take his mother's.
Since the Dark Lord had told him, he sometimes couldn't help but wonder if his mother regretted it.
Probably, if she knew what I am.
It had not occurred to him to check if there was any way to undo the spell when he had been shown the book. He could deal living with a troubled heart if it mean his mother was alive and well.
Her breaths were becoming ragged and dry; horrible sounds that gnawed at his nerves.
Draco bent his head to kiss his mother's cheek. His tears smeared on her skin. "N'allez vous pas," he pleaded.
"Promise me you won't blame yourself," she whispered. Her eyes were closing again, and her hand had grown stiff in his.
"I promise," he lied. His tears were making it hard to see anything, and his eyes stung, but his heart hurt the worst of all.
If my sickly heart didn't have the chance to kill me before, it can strike now as it pleases.
"I love you, mum," he said shakily, but she never answered.
By the time Draco came back, Hermione had already guessed that the Lady Malfoy had passed away. She tried to read Draco when he came in and sat on the chaise but he was expressionless as stone, and just as cold.
Hermione stood uncertainly.
Should I comfort him? she thought. He's a monster-Gods, I know it, but his mother was the only person he's ever truly cared about, and now she's dead. She bit her lip. It's like she was the one thing tethering him to his sanity.
She was suddenly filled with dread.
What does this mean for me?
It was extremely unnerving, how silent he was. Hermione's head pounded, a deafening pum pum, pum pum, that made her wince. Unsure of what to do, she clasped her hands at her front and stepped forward until she stood beside him. Silvery-blonde hair obscured most of his face from her view, but she could see his mouth twisted in pain. He had crumpled into himself, elbows on his knees and his shaking hands balled up only to fall open, then clench again. There were no tears on his face from what she could see.
If he actually was crying, would I feel sorry for him? Should I comfort him? Would he do the same for me? Does he even want me to? If I begin to sympathize I would be in danger of losing sight of who he really is. But if I am cold and uncaring he will likely punish me.
This is a dangerous territory I'm in, Hermione thought. Would that I never had to cross it.
When she placed her hand on his back the muscles underneath contracted under her touch before relaxing.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
It was a long while before he said anything. The silence around them stretched until it swaddled them in its thickness, and Hermione thought they would drown in it if it weren't for her pounding head and the occasional deep breath taken in by the man before her. She was thinking she would leave him to grieve in solitude when he shuddered and stood swiftly, coldly composed as usual. The sunlight in his eyes made them appear completely colourless save for the small black pupil in the center of each, staring straight ahead. That wild look was back, though he tried to conceal it she recognized it flicker up now and then, and when his eyes fixed on her she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.
Gods have mercy.
He approached her, still saying nothing, but he held his hand out expectantly, waiting for her to take it. Hermione didn't want to go with him. That look in his eyes promised nothing good for her, and she was positive he was barely holding himself together by the way he held his mouth.
"Where are we going?" she asked timidly, avoiding his frightening stare.
"Home."
Your home, not mine.
Thinking quickly, Hermione said, "Why don't we stay? Surely your father doesn't want to be alone right now, and someone needs to inform the Ministry about your mother's death-"
"My father has spent enough time alone before we arrived. Another couple of days wouldn't make any difference. And I'll not let anyone from outside see you."
When they arrived back at the Manor, Draco strode out of the fireplace and entered the living room with a wary Hermione trailing behind. She had thought to slip upstairs but the crashing sounds that emitted from the living room summoned her instead.
The room was in total disarray. All the furniture was upended and blown to pieces, the windows shattered and gaping open, dripping shards of glass. The sofas and chairs had been slashed open, weeping their stuffing and the tables and paintings and everything else lay broken on the floor. In the middle of it all stood Draco, with his back to her and standing completely still, not at all how she'd expected to find him. The same arm he'd offered her earlier was stretched out again, his long fingers curled into a fist.
He looked perfectly normal, even his breathing was regular, and that only unnerved her more.
"Draco."
He turned to face her. Slate eyes met brown and she found herself immensely surprised at the sadness in his gaze. They shone wetly but no tears fell from his eyes.
Fool. Have you already forgotten? Monsters can feel, too.
"She was half-dead when we arrived. Nothing you could have done could have saved her."
Taking one step after another, he made his way through the debris and cradled her face in his palms gently.
"You're always right, ma petite chaton," he said softly. "Sometimes I hate you for it."
Likewise, she thought.
He bent forward, leaning in close until their foreheads touched and he threaded his hands through her hair, carefully gripped a handful at the base of her skull, as gentle as if holding a butterfly within his hands.
"I need you tonight," he said. "Will you be good, or is another dose of the love potion to be taken?"
"Neither," Hermione snapped, trying to push herself away. "Grieve for your mother by yourself and let me be."
"No." With a flick of his wand the room was set back to rights, and shrugging off his coat, Draco brought her to the largest sofa.
"I don't want to," she said, ignoring how childish she sounded. "Please, just leave me alone."
It felt pointless to try and push him off; to try and protect herself when he never listened. It never worked, he would always get his way in the end, and she was tired of it. But it felt wrong if she didn't try. Powerless as she was, it felt like she was giving up, like she had accepted her lot and was allowing him to win, and she couldn't bear that.
He pulled her down with him, lying down on his side and wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly it almost hurt to breathe. They faced each other, but she couldn't see his face since hers was nearly pressed into his chest.
He's so cold, she thought, shivering, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"I really am sorry about your mother," she said, her voice muffled. "But this changes nothing between us."
If he heard, he said nothing. Hermione was beginning to think he'd fallen asleep when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and said, "I didn't think it would."
Her arms were beginning to fall asleep, and she was still cold. Before she could fully retract herself from his hold, Draco pressed her closer, his hands pressing into her back.
"Don't go. Please."
It could have been her imagination, but she was almost certain she felt a hot tear land on her head. Hermione tried not to groan, and cursed in her head, and fiercely fought the impulse to strike him.
Not like I can, anyway. All because of this thrice-accursed ring.
The hands on her back were digging into her flesh, pleading, demanding something of her that she could not, would not give.
I will not comfort you, she thought. This is all you get. And she stayed absolutely still.
It wasn't until after he'd fallen asleep that Hermione finally allowed herself to cry. The tears soaked into his shirt but she didn't care. Her whole body shook with her grief; she had to take care not to wake him. When she closed her eyes she saw Narcissa in her mind, but the dying woman quickly transformed into her own mother, and then her father, back and forth til she felt her heart might burst. A scream bubbled its way up her throat and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle it before it could escape. Terrible thoughts consumed her mind and it took all the strength she had left to shove them out.
Carefully, she rubbed at her eyes. Both her mouth and her head felt like they had been stuffed with cotton; she could feel herself begin to fall asleep. I've got to get out of here, I must, I must.
She had to. This place had been host to too much horror and she would not stand to contribute any longer. Thinking about what the future might hold, what Draco might still have in store for her was enough to fill her with dread. She must not stay any longer or she would die in this house.
A/N:
Some of you asked if she couldn't just cut her finger off to get rid of the ring. She can't. The ring won't let her use anything to harm herself-if you look back at chapter eighteen there's a tidbit where she found a pair of shears but couldn't pick them up. The same would happen with a knife or something similar. She can't touch one unless she has Draco's permission.
