Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Break Me To Pieces
"There's no relief, I see you in my sleep
And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me
There's no release, I feel you in my dreams
Telling me I'm fine..."
Dark Paradise-Lana Del Rey
Days passed, and more after that. Hermione tried to be brave, but the task of summoning her courage had never been so difficult before. This new hope was dangerous; it was intoxicating, and she tried hard not to let herself become too distracted by it. The glorious thought that she would soon be free was often in her mind, however, and she spent hours each day wondering what she would do once liberated.
Would she try to track down Harry and Ron? Would she go see her parents? Or would she head straight to the Burrow and take her place in the Order, and assist in any way she could?
All options were extremely appealing to her; and Hermione was torn in choosing one. But the days passed and Blaise was not seen nor heard from again, and she began to doubt.
Malfoy had shown no knowledge of their plans, but if there was one thing Hermione knew it was he was a brilliant liar. Though she very much wanted to she dared not ask after his friend lest his suspicions be aroused, so Hermione agonized each day and waited for the man who would take her to freedom. However, at one point she realized she was being too obvious-Malfoy had noticed her anxiousness. The only thing that kept her from panicking was the knowledge that he dismissed her attitudes as to her usual ones, and paid her no mind. This was close enough-Hermione would not have him spoil her life any longer, so when she suspected he was trying to enter her mind she instantly called forth memories of herself and Harry and sometimes Ronald and Neville. This would distract him from her true thoughts, just as Voldemort had been by the false memories she had created that hid her knowledge of the existence of the Horcruxes.
Distract him indeed they did, though not in the way she had thought. The memories protected her, but not from his jealousy. This, coupled with their strange talk the other night when he had confessed his love for her, resulted in the forced consumption of more Amortentia. The doses were the regular amount but given more frequently, and Hermione began to feel the dangers of the love potion.
She had tried to warn him. For weeks she had tried, when it first started, but he didn't listen.
He never does, she thought. And perhaps for once it will work to my advantage, but not for this.
The changes were small, but Hermione noticed everything.
Amortentia was illegal for a reason. If the maker wanted, they could brew it so the potion could slip into the taker's mind and will and lie there, dormant but persuasive when activated. The lesser harmful version was the kind Fred and George sold in their shop, the kind that gave the taker a mad fancy to the giver but faded quickly and left no trace. The kind she'd been given the day before was stronger, more potent, and designed to last. There'd been cases she'd read of in books in the Restricted Section where actual victims had been turned into 'willing' lovers, controlled by the remnants the potion left in their minds, and she was without a doubt that this was what Draco aimed for. It was horrifying to think she might become one of those cases too.
Each time the potion wore off and the heavy fog lifted from her mind it was a little harder for her to return to her true self. It was unnerving, though she was able to make her way back each time felt a little harder, like the potion was making her weak. Again; the changes were small but Hermione felt that if taken for long enough (and frequently enough) soon the task would prove too difficult and what would happen then? Though she couldn't feel it she was quite sure the potion was leaving bits of the 'fake' Hermione behind each time, to one day be a complete, false version of her that was irreversibly attached to Draco.
This, she promised herself, could not happen. It would be her worst fear come true; to be imprisoned inside her own mind and body, which magic had taken away from her.
Draco didn't know. Or maybe he did, she wasn't sure. It was clear he loved it when she fought back, when she resisted. He claimed to love her sharp tongue, her courage and fierceness, but all this and more was what the potion was taking away. If he noticed it appeared he didn't mind.
He's getting the love he craves, she thought bitterly. So why would he stop? With the potion he gets everything I would never give him without it.
I have to tell him. This can't happen. I can't let him do this to me. I can't, I can't.
So she waited for the right time to tell him, but it wasn't coming. Entire days were spent under the influence of the potion and when she 'awoke' he was gone, either summoned by Voldemort or locked in his study. Hermione didn't have to think twice why he was avoiding her.
He's still angry at me for what I said.
Normally Hermione would have been relieved, but with this new threat looming overhead Hermione was just the opposite. This was eating away at her, and coupled with everything else she had gone through Hermione began to fear for her sanity. Any word Draco spoke grated on her. When he opened his mouth she immediately deafened herself to his voice and became irritable. Whenever he was in her presence Hermione wanted nothing more than to be far, far away, to shout at him and set the whole damned place on fire. Every time she felt his eyes on her she wanted to run to him and claw them out until nothing remained but gaping black holes. She felt his gaze constantly and it was slowly driving her mad, the way he unfailingly watched her day after day after day; studying her, loving her with his eyes. The feel of his hands on her alone made her want to cry until she was nothing but a dried up husk of a human body. Perhaps if she were a puddle of salt tears he would leave her alone.
These months she had spent here, in captivity, were the loneliest of her life. The only people she had seen were the Malfoys and Blaise, and not very often at that. Hermione spoke little, and preferred not to speak at all, but Draco would not have it. Sometimes he'd forced her to talk to him through the Imperius Curse, and she was sure she was talking enough under the love potion, but for all the good that did her she might never have said anything at all.
Draco kept her in his tightly closed fist, like a dog loathe letting go of its favorite toy. When he smiled, there was a triumphant push to his lips, a smug set to his eyelids that infuriated her beyond reason. The arrogant, lustful look in his eyes that pierced her as he moved inside her was enough to make her wither away deep inside.
She was losing herself. Draco was taking all his favorite aspects of her for himself, one by one and keeping them like little trophies, and there was nothing Hermione could do to stop it. Except one thing.
Escaping was her only option, the only one she cared to act upon, and she knew it was the time to do something. The news of Harry and Ron's breaking into the wizarding bank had reached her at last, and it was the motivation she hadn't known she needed to get out. She had been outraged and amazed at their stupidity, their genius at having accomplished what they were after and not having been caught. She dearly wanted to know how they had done it. If they had risked all to do something of that magnitude, then it surely meant the great battle was near.
And they need me.
Words were not enough to express how proud she was of them for having gotten so far. Knowing they were still alive and relatively unhurt made her feel heady with relief-she had spent so long worrying about them this news was better than any pain relief potion.
They needed her, and she needed them. This was all she knew. Her legs felt twitchy and her whole body seemed to hum with a restless energy that was quickly becoming too much to bear. The need to run, to take action had her strung tighter than a piano wire; every small noise made her jump, every shadow was Draco come to punish her for her disobedience.
Her thoughts shifted to Blaise again, and Hermione rubbed her knuckles against the edge of the table beside her.
Once the initial surprise of Blaise's offer had faded, Hermione found herself doubtful again. She had nothing but his word to go on, and Draco's silence. Normally that would not be enough but what else did she have? Trusting Blaise was her only option.
"You deserve better, Granger." A crease formed between her brows.
He had sounded convincing enough, but Hermione was sure the Slytherin had other reasons for helping her. They had hardly interacted in the many years they'd known each other, and now he was helping her because she deserved better? It didn't make sense to Hermione, but she would be a fool indeed if she didn't accept his help.
Then there was what Draco had told her.
"You're no good to anyone dead."
He had all but confirmed he was using her for something other than his sick pleasure. His choice of words was peculiar enough. 'Anyone.' He didn't say 'me,' he said 'anyone'.
What could he mean? What is he planning?
It was unfair that he knew so much about her. This was no way to live, being kept here like a useless bird in a cage, while its owner cooed and prodded at her for a song or a trick. This cage kept her immobile while he came and went, seeing his precious Dark Lord and whomever else he wanted. What did she know about him? For every small thing she learned about her captor he seemed to have learned ten more about her.
Speaking of which…
Bringing her hand to her lap, Hermione studied the ring. She had been surprised it had not gone off when he'd touched her. Alarm bells had gone off in her head and she had braced herself for the worst, but nothing had happened. And then Blaise had told her he was her protector.
That annoyed her, the fact that Draco thought she needed protection.
Take your bloody ring back and give me my wand and you'll be the one needing protection.
All the same, it was his arrogance that would prove to be his great failure. Hermione began to laugh.
You think you're so smart, don't you? The Great Draco Malfoy. Wait until you see what's coming.
The day wore long, but at last Draco returned to find his wife dozing on the chaise in the living room. The fading light streaming in from the windows hit her in such a way as to soften her appearance; her form, which had grown gaunt of late, seemed almost blurred. She had not bothered to dress for the day, still clad in the pale blue nightgown she'd worn the night before. Draco crept forwards quietly and lifted her into his arms before moving to a larger seat that would accommodate them both. Though he had been careful in his movements she had woken anyway and watched him passively as he sat, bringing her down with him.
"I'm sorry I woke you."
Hermione did not answer him. All she did was look at the window, no expression on her face. Draco's hand ran down the length of her arm, then her leg. Such smooth, warm skin she had. A few times he squeezed lightly to confirm his suspicions. She was growing much too thin.
"I dreamt of you," came her voice, quiet as sifting sand.
"Was it a good dream, little bird?" His lips rubbed against her shoulder.
"I killed you."
Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of this. Wouldn't that mean it was a good dream-for her at least? Was he imaging the horror in her voice? Did the idea of him being dead truly upset her? Or was she only upset at realizing she, the golden heart of the light side could be just as dark as him?
Catching her chin in his grip, he turned her to face him.
"How did it make you feel?"
A battle raged in her eyes for a delicious second or two before she met his curious gaze defiantly.
"I am not a killer," she said. "I am not like you."
Draco's mouth curled into a smile, and he watched her with sparkling eyes.
"For the present, I presume you're right, my love. We'll see what the future holds for your declaration."
She frowned. "What are you implying?"
Rather than answer her, Draco rose up off the seat, causing her to tumble back down onto it and headed to the window to shut the drapes.
The sun had set and darkness was unfolding over the sky. Rain was coming. The drapes felt heavy and stiff in his hands as he pulled them together, and he briefly thought of the feel of her skin before turning away and walking back.
She seemed lost in thought; standing there silently with her hands worrying a strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
She was not startled when his fingers wound around her arms and his hands slid upwards to form a ring around her neck, the tips of his fingers brushing against her collarbone. Draco pressed into her from behind, his nose and lips grazing against her ear, and he sighed softly into her hair.
All the while she stood still as a statue; eyes didn't so much as flicker, she never shied away and her body did not shudder under his touch.
And yet…
There it was, that fluttering pulse that never failed him. From underneath the hollow of her throat it seemed to jump to meet his touch, thrumming between their pressed flesh.
"An effect of the potion," she murmured, knowing his thoughts.
Draco frowned. Unless he'd forgotten, he had not given her the love drink that day.
"How do you mean?"
"It's changing me," she said, and there was a weakness in her voice that held him. "It frightens me, Draco. Every time you make me drink it I'm left different somehow."
"Different how?" he asked, his hold around her neck tightening ever so slightly.
Frail, shaking fingers ghosted over his, then pressed more firmly into her flesh, and they both felt her erratic heartbeat. "Like this."
Silence followed. Her hand fell away from his and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling, wishing he would just understand already so she would not have to say what was coming next.
He knew. It had dawned on him the second she put her hand on his and a thousand screaming thoughts filled his head before he pushed them all away.
He knew, but she had to say it. He wanted her to say it.
Unable to bear his silence, Hermione took a small breath.
"The potion-it takes control over my mind and body and pushes me somewhere else." Her face twisted in distress. "I can feel what it leaves behind. I think over time if I keep taking it it's going to keep replacing parts of me and it frightens me so much. I won't be the same anymore." She suppressed a small sob. "Please don't make me take it anymore, please."
It felt utterly humiliating to be reduced to begging to keep herself, to keep her sanity. The ache in her chest had returned full force, and Hermione found it difficult to breathe. Her hands were so cold and stiff; she raised them to her chest. The strangest impulse beckoned her to lay her hands over his where they were but she jerked her hands down again in fear.
His hands were still around her neck.
"What else?"
"It makes me want you," she whispered, anguished. "Even when I haven't taken it!"
She was whirled around suddenly and his lips were on hers, pressing, crushing, loving. Hermione cried out in protest, feeling her heart sink in dismay upon finding her hands clutching at his back, pressing him to her. There was an alien urge in her to kiss back, to hold him and let her lips claim his but just as fierce as the urge was her despair was greater and Hermione shut down.
Still, his lips ravaged all they touched, ignorant of her rejection.
"Give in," he urged her. "See what it's like, Hermione."
"No, please."
He growled and snatched her hands up around his neck. Unbidden, they latched on, and caressed his hot skin. Hermione felt a heat grow inside her and she began to cry more earnestly. She was losing control. She tried pulling her hands back but they seemed to have minds of their own. Her own mind was rapidly becoming muddled.
Her voice came out ragged. "Don't make me do this, Draco. Don't."
"Let it guide you," he said between kisses. His hands were under her nightgown.
"It's not guiding me, it's controlling me!" Hermione shouted, and tore herself away at last. She was shaking so much she had to hold herself against the wall for support. The desire in his eyes had gone and now he stared at her coldly.
"Then let it control you," he said.
"No!" He went to her and she knocked his hands away, wild-eyed. "You've taken everything from me, everything. Now you want to take me, too! I'm not a fucking doll! If you want love so badly you should have stayed with your mummy instead of wasting your time with me. Did she know what a monster her 'petit garcon' grew up to be?"
A second later she was on the floor, convulsing from the strength of his Crucio. Her screams filled the lonely Manor and rang inside her own head, threatening to split it apart. Her legs jerked around and her jaw snapped shut. There was blood in her mouth but she couldn't spit it out because her teeth were grinding together to keep the screams inside. The ache in her chest was magnified to a thousand, her own heart spasmed and her back arched, between her legs felt like the first time he had raped her again but intensified and every movement set her flesh ablaze. Her arms clawed at her middle, where it felt like boiling oil had been poured onto it. It was a million different kinds of pain that wracked her all at once and it hurt more than anything she'd experienced so far she just wished he would say the two words that would cease all her suffering.
But after what seemed like an eternity of the mindless pain it was over, and she was left barely able to breathe on the floor. She lay there for a minute, crying with her hands covering her eyes, waiting for the next dose of torture, waiting for her head and heart to stop pounding. The pain was forefront in her mind; she had even forgotten who had unleashed it onto her until she felt him crouch down beside her.
A hand gripped her wrist and instinct took over. Unable to even utter a sound of distress, Hermione flailed wildly and tried to get away but he held her too tight. She raked at his hand, leaving bloody trails of ruined skin and still he held on as she thrashed around under him.
A low voice hissed into her ear. "Don't you ever speak like that about my mother again."
The grip on her wrist tightened 'til she thought it would snap and she nodded quickly, eager to have him gone.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. "Please-I'm-forgive me!"
The hand around her wrist retreated. But then he was carrying her again, and Hermione kicked and struggled with what little strength she had left but he did not let her go until they had reached his room and he set her down on the bed. Hermione groaned, and curled into a ball facing away from him. She had no strength left, she lay limp on the bed, mind dark and blank. She couldn't bear to look at him.
There was a rustling of fabric as he undressed and then joined her on the bed, pulling her close. Hermione tensed herself, making herself as small as she could but his leg found its way between hers and his arms wrapped like vines around her.
They stayed that way for a long time. Hermione fell asleep briefly, and awoke with dampened eyes and stiff limbs,still weary from the torture curse. When she felt his arms around her she rolled around to face him. His arms wrapped back around her. His eyes were dark and open, he watched her without saying a word.
Hermione reached out to cup his cheek. Her lips trembled.
"My husband," she said, smiling. There was no happiness in it-it was the smiling grimace of one who tries to keep from bawling. "My precious husband."
There was no irony in her tone, nor hatred. She spoke the words simply, but in full awareness. "My mother would be so surprised...after everything I've told them about you. Her and my Father would insist something was wrong, they would ask if I was sure about you..."
"Shh," he was clearly uncomfortable, tried to persuade her to fall asleep again. Hermione kept on.
"I'd tell them I've never been happier," she said, voice wavering so badly she didn't recognize it. Her eyes were pools-overflowing and bright. The tears made her cheeks shine. "'I don't deserve him,' I'd say. 'He is gentle and respectful and caring and I feel safe with him always. I belong with him.'"
She traced his lips with her finger. He remained still, his eyes assessed her but his face remained blank.
"The girls that wanted you would be jealous. 'I want a love like that,' they'd say as they look at me and you. 'I want to be kissed like that,' 'I want someone to love me that much.' If they knew your price for such a love they'd hide their purses."
"I am so lucky that you are mine," she said, pulling her hand away, face crumpling. She felt so heavy, as if all her insides had turned to stone. His expression had not changed and she couldn't take it anymore so she turned around again with effort and moved to the farthest side of the bed. There she collapsed, let the rest of the tears fall. Her nose had gotten blocked up so she had to breathe through her mouth and it was embarrassing but she would not hide her misery. She was tired of crying in silence when he was asleep.
"How can you expect me to live like this?" she managed to say. "How could you ever want this?"
His hand, for once hesitant, touched her shoulder. She shoved it away. "No. I don't love you. I never will. If it weren't for this cursed ring I'd rip you to pieces with my bare hands so you could feel a fraction of what you've done to me. I'd send you howling to where you belong. Get away."
He left the room shortly after. Hermione didn't care. She stayed, spent and weak, falling into a fitful sleep.
When she awoke the next morning he was with her again, arms wound around her. Hermione didn't move.
"Are you feeling well?" he asked.
"Yes." She felt dazed and stiff, as if she'd been asleep for weeks.
"That's good," he said, watching her carefully. "I had Bogg tend to you once you'd fallen asleep. You were a little hysteric, do you remember?"
Hermione frowned, closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered was their fight the night before. I must have passed out after the Crucio.
"No."
"You hit your head against the floor when I-" he paused.
"Cursed me."
"But you're all better now? You're sure?"
Her head was pounding. "Yes."
They lapsed into silence. Draco bent his head to kiss her shoulder, her neck. Hermione shuddered.
"I won't make you take the potion anymore," he said softly. "I want you for you, not what a potion gives me."
There was some relief, but Hermione could not feel it. Those hands held her breasts and he kissed the back of her neck.
"I will do this," he said, "but now I expect you to give me your love in return."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat.
"Give me your love freely, as well as you can," the hands at her breasts squeezed them softly, and then pressed them against her chest. Hermione felt her insides turn to ice, and yet there was soft sigh waiting to be released in the back of her throat. "I expect you to try. I know it cannot be easy for now, but perhaps one day that might change."
What have I done? She thought. With one action he has saved me, and yet I am damned me all the same.
Her throat was so dry; she cleared her throat weakly before speaking.
"You told me you loved me. If this is still true you would not ask this of me."
She could feel his grim smile against her neck. "Even 'monsters' such as I grow lonely," he replied. "I would have your love, shall it be taken by force or given by you. The choice is yours."
The halls were silent, and yet they were full of sound. The walls around him seemed to vibrate with magic; he half expected them to tell him their secrets if he pressed his palms against them. Each step he took made no sound but the whispers of the shadows made up for that, mumbling to him from the corners and the floors.
Blaise kept to the shadows faithfully, moving stealthily in the dark so as not to be discovered. Obsidian eyes took in everything around him; watching, waiting.
He's got to be there. There's no other place he could have gone.
The halls were full of voices, but he was the only one there. The shadows clung to him, holding him as a lover would, blending into the fabric of his robes, the dark tones of his skin. Blaise watched the door attentively; tense, ready to move should it open. When was the last time he'd gotten a full night's sleep? He couldn't quite remember. He was tired, in truth, but the elation of his realization kept him as alert as he needed to be. The door was plain enough-he didn't know what to expect inside, but was prepared for anything. If this was where Longbottom was hiding, then he would stay up all night every night until he got the chance to deliver his message.
Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling he was wasting his time here. What was the point of telling Longbottom? He certainly wasn't going to bring Granger here. The castle was the worst place he could do so, in fact. The Battle was sure to happen here, and if word ever got out that he had been the one to help her escape he would never hear the end of it if she was killed. Not to mention the place was crawling with people who wouldn't hesitate to capture her and hand her back to Draco without hesitation. They all knew.
So why are you doing this?
In his mind's eye he could see Granger's suspicious look again. It had been so plain to see how badly she'd wanted to believe him, to trust him.
Should she?
Blaise wasn't sure. He meant her no ill will, that was sure. The poor girl was severely unlucky, but she had never caused harm to anyone. She hadn't asked for any of what Draco had done to her. Draco kept it all private but Blaise knew him well enough to guess. And those scars, the bruises didn't lie. He pictured them again and felt sick.
Perhaps he just had had enough of being Draco's middle man. None of this felt right. He felt sick with himself for the things he'd done already. Or perhaps he just had a soft spot for pretty girls. Paltry reasons, he was sure, but they were all he had.
Draco kept him under oath to remain loyal, which was why he was able to get this far without issue. Although drastically changed, Draco was still his closest friend, and though they often didn't quite agree on everything lately he still had Draco's best interests in mind. Blaise was not betraying Draco, he was merely helping him. Besides, Hermione had accepted-it wasn't like he was kidnapping her or anything. Meddlesome or not, it wasn't a question of if he would help Hermione or not. The longer she stayed with Draco the greater danger she was in.
This girl would ruin Draco, if she already hadn't done so. Ever since Draco had got involved with her things had turned out for the worse for all involved, including him. Not to mention Voldemort's sudden preferring Draco to all his other faithful Death Eaters. Blaise barely had a clue what was going on, but whatever it was it could not mean anything good to anyone except Draco. Whatever it was they were planning, he wasn't sure he wanted to be a part of it. If he and Hermione wanted to get out it was the right time before the chance passed.
Perhaps, if he did this, everyone would stop sending jinxes at the back of his head every time he walked through the hall. The first few times were bad enough-he'd become a master at the Protego enchantment. But all the protective enchantments in the world couldn't save him from the dirty looks he got, from the refusal to be in his society unless they were of the same House, of the same mind. He knew he was somewhat deserving-small as it was, his role in the Headmaster's death was not forgotten or forgiven. Even though he'd been pardoned by the Ministry and welcomed back by Snape and McGonagall, there was hostility wherever he went.
Blaise didn't want to be a hero. He simply wanted to be left alone. He simply wanted his best friend back to normal (if he'd ever been normal at all) and Granger back with Potter, away from their side, where she belonged. The witch was nothing but trouble.
Draco would never forgive you for taking her away, though.
Would he? All because of some girl? Paltry indeed. But he had to know she would never give him what he wanted, why didn't he just accept that and let her go?
Blaise knew why. He's bloody obsessed with her. Fancies himself in love. A little time with her gone should have him thinking more clearly. They're not good for each other and frankly, it's remarkable how he doesn't see it. If he never forgives me then so be it but she shouldn't be kept here against her will. If he comes for me, and he will, I won't let him kill me.
There was a creak and he came to, watching eagerly as the door opened just a fraction, then wide enough to let someone through before shutting quickly. Blaise shrank back into the shadows, cast his Protego, and waited. At last, a quick step was heard and he pounced, slamming the person into the wall with his wand at their throat.
"What are you doing here?" Neville gasped, raising his wand, but Blaise knocked that away.
"Waiting for you, of course," Blaise said hushedly. "So rude of you to keep me waiting."
Neville glared at him. "You'll never get to the rest as long as someone else is still inside that room, Zabini. You're wasting your time." Seeing the wand aimed at his Adam's apple, Neville clenched his teeth. "Go on, get it over with. I won't tell you anything."
Blaise laughed. "I don't care about your little group of vagabonds, Longbottom. I've news."
"News of what?" Neville asked warily.
"The lioness is coming back. Soon. Try to reach Potter and tell him, if you can. Don't mention me."
It wasn't until after Longbottom had left that Blaise remembered the order from Draco to bring the Gryffindor to him.
That's for another day, then, he thought, and went off to sleep.
A/N:
ANNOUNCEMENTS:
Not many chapters left! But there may or may not be a one-shot conclusion to this. The way this story ends will be one ending for those who want a happy-ish ending, and the one shot will be the true ending for those who are ok with it. I've been considering this for a while, but still am not sure if I'll go through with it or not. Cast your votes: Yes to the one-shot ending? Or would you rather have it all together here, but with a warning?
Almost done with the playlist! (And look for a link on my profile.)
Most frequently asked questions:
Will there be a happy ending? Yes and no. Mostly unhappy endings abound, sorry.
Will you write more stories after His Persephone? Yes, of course.
Will 'x' or 'x' die? There will be some deaths, but I'm not saying who.
