All the challenges are finished! I won the October 100 word challenge at live journal, and also won the Dramione Drabble challenge for my entry "When Draco Comes" (it's posted here at , too). So now, I might have more time! Thank you for all the reviews, adds, favorites and recommending me to others! It makes me smile to know people think this is good enough to recommend. In this chapter, we sort of begin our return to whatever happened to Astoria, who now happens to be the only Malfoy "alive". Warning, depictions of a sexual nature follow. Meaning, Draco gets naked. ;) Enjoy!
LCailan
Chapter Forty-one
Draco stood in the snowy darkness, the rushing of the Thames River behind him. The sound was distant, and echoed against the empty buildings around him. Behind him, Hermione stood wrapped in his long traveling cloak, looking small and afraid in the night shadows.
When he turned, gasping from the sudden shock of being ripped away from the familiar and planted…
He wasn't sure where they were, to be honest. He had been spoiled, spending most of his time in the better parts of the large city, and certainly not near to the run down, eastern parts nearest to the river. Luckily, they had apparated late enough that no one was on the streets, and the wind howled a lonely song. He still clutched the small silver key and then returned to the stoop upon which they had apparated.
It fit, just like Pansy had said it would.
Pansy…
Draco had a hard time holding back a sudden rush of affection for a woman he had loathed most of his life.
She saved us!
The door opened with a slight squeak, and the space within was dark and cold, though he quickly used his wand for illumination. There were only three tiny, boxy rooms and an even smaller bathroom. The living room held a small chair and sofa, lumpy looking and dusty from disuse. There were no tables, and no bookcase. The kitchen held a stove, a sink and some cabinets, but upon inspection all were empty and looked like they had never been used. The bedroom was the smallest, the space accommodating only a small bed with no sheets or comforters, and a tiny vanity with a cracked, dirty mirror. The closet was empty but for a few blankets and pillows. The bathroom was tiled with gray and white, the floor cracked and the sink stained with rust. The toilet looked like it would fall apart upon first touch, and so he edged by it quickly to the bathtub. It was also decorated with a plethora of rust stains, and the curtain looked gray from mold. A tiny spider rushed away at Draco's inspection of what had been its home.
Still, in spite of it all, he found himself relaxing, feeling slightly warmer. They were away! They were hidden from the Ministry, and…
Can I trust Pansy?
He would have to. There was no other choice, not now. Turning around, he lifted his wand and Hermione stood there in the faint light, her eyes searching the room, and then locking with his face.
She reached for his hand, a ghost of a tired smile on her face. He squeezed her fingers and took a breath, eying the spider warily.
"It's not so bad."
He realized once again how much he had taken for granted; a warm bed and a pristine house had always been a given. Guilt raged within him, for he had spent the entirety of his life in comfort and pleasure, whereas the woman at his side had known nothing but pain. He was disgusted with their surroundings, but she seemed at peace, her fingers laced with his and her eyes glowing with that inner, undying light.
If only I deserved such adoration; if only I had done something worthy!
She pulled on his hand gently, leading him from the bathroom to the darkened bedroom. Outside they could hear the rush of London traffic mixed with the sounds of the river beyond. The window was a strangely placed thing, looking down onto the darkened alleyway below them. All Draco could see was the brief glimmering of snowflakes as they floated down out of the heavens.
"It's been such a long day, Hermione. You've got to be exhausted," he murmured, placing a kiss to her temple. "Let me get that bathroom cleaned up and then I'll draw you a bath."
Hermione felt bereft as he let go of her hand to go towards the bathroom once more. Since their escaping the alienage, she hadn't been able to say a word; words seemed impossible for she couldn't express what she was feeling.
She moved lethargically to the small closet, pulling out the blankets and pillows they would use, and making the bed in a mechanical fashion. Only a month or two ago, she had been in Kensington each day, cleaning and practically living in a plush mansion there. She had been lucky, that was for sure.
The blankets were worn but still useable, and the sheets a bit tattered but soft and clean. She quickly fluffed the pillows as she listened to the sound of water running into the bath. It was a sound of comfort and warmth, and Hermione nearly sighed at the thought of sinking into the bathtub. She was free, and she was with Draco. What more could there be to want? Her weary heart was beating strangely within her and she was half fearful that something was about to happen that would start the hurt all over again.
No. No, I won't think of that. If I do, I'll go nuts.
The water stopped running and she turned to see him framed in the doorway of the bathroom, the glow of the lights sending his face to the shadows.
Suddenly, she needed to hold him more than she had needed anything before.
Hermione reached, trembling fingers seeking his touch and Draco moved to embrace her, cradling her tiny body against his own solid warmth. Now his face was inches from hers, and he was nuzzling against her hair, against the skin of her cheek, his mouth barely brushing against it. His eyes closed and he sighed, his hands fumbling up along her flesh, gently pulling her forward, into his arms, as his fingers wound themselves into the confines of her long hair.
"I've never been able to resist you," he whimpered.
Hermione began to have a difficult time concentrating. A moment before, all she had wanted was her bath and some peaceful sleep and now, in his arms, her body began to swirl with darkened desire. Draco shuddered as her fingers began to play along the planes of his back. It had been weeks since the last time, and like a man starved, he forgot moment by moment what was happening and where he was. Weeks of frustration, of longing, and of dreams that left him hard, cold and hungry for her. Terrified that she would be hurt and that she would taken from him. She was too perfect, too distracting.
And pleasure was nearly an exquisite pain if you did it right, he knew. Draco knew he could replace one pain with another…he knew it was already happening, already completely out of his control.
"You're so beautiful."
He whispered his adoration against the softness of Hermione's neck, as his lips pressed against her flesh. Draco was kissing her. Hot, awkward, fumbling kisses, that were not meant to seduce but simply sought comfort. Her lips were paradise. The kisses were bitter, wet with his tears. His gaze when he looked into her eyes was tortured.
"I'm sorry…so sorry, Hermione…"
His whispers were ragged, painful.
"You mean so much to me and I've given you so little…please, forgive me…"
Hermione clung to him, only able to offer her love, and opened her mouth to offer her forgiveness.
Draco pulled away and the sound of her voice, lovingly running his hands along her hands and arms, and back up into her hair. Her dimpled cheeks turned down and she was saying something, but that voice melted into the storm of his mind and he couldn't quite understand...
He wrapped his body around hers, pressing himself against her, pulling her forward and then against the wall next to the bed, making full contact. Draco's fingers yearned to remove her clothing just as much as his lower half yearned to find that most hidden place inside her. He was all at once bold and shy. Dominant and demanding, and yet a man helpless in her arms. His kisses were apologetic, eager, shameful but hopeful. Oh, how he needed her!
His hands fluttered along the line of Hermione's skirt like birds' wings and, suddenly, she arched towards him, causing Draco's mind to completely annihilate. All logic left him; any thought was impossible. What remained was a man broken, needy, and helpless against the flood of emotion he had been keeping at bay. He laid her against the sheets, following clumsily, breaking the kiss only until she was firmly rested on the bed.
He yanked at his shirt, kicked at the shoes, one flying from the bed, the other swinging from his toe and dropping onto the floor. He was wearing black socks and his now just-socked feet ran urgently up and down her bare and warm calves and then, her thighs.
"I need you to make the pain go away," he moaned now, and shortly the words phased, changed. Without Draco's full knowledge, 'I need you to,' turned into something more primal.
"I need you," he muttered, his mouth everywhere, his hands unbuttoning the blouse she wore so that his hands could find more warm and willing flesh for his fingers to touch. His mouth began to demand more from hers and the surprise, the shock of his sensual assault gave him the advantage, causing him to groan, his tongue dueling with hers.
Hermione moaned, succumbing to him completely, melting against the bed sheets and willingly embracing him, allowing her senses to be filled with the touch, the taste, the smell of him. She couldn't hear his whispered apologies nor did she care; Hermione needed him as much as he needed her. It wasn't just that he made the pain go away, because he did. It was more than that, something basal, as if he was that dark, starved part of her that she could never fully sate. God, how she wanted him!
Tearing at the remainder of his clothing was easy, and Hermione tightened her grip on his body, her fingers scratching, pulling at him in her need, their lovemaking frantic, almost animalistic. She pushed her mouth hard against his, her teeth scraping against his and her tongue pushing deep into his mouth as if she wanted to devour him. In a way, she did. Marked by urgency, as if their moments together would end, Hermione and Draco grew frantic and hungry for each other, casting aside whatever clothing that remained, pawing, grabbing, squeezing and caressing. She bit into his shoulder and he groaned responding only by gripping her bum and pressing her yet closer to him, and she only responded enthusiastically, thrusting herself against him in her need. She was whimpering but the sound was not of pain this time, but of desire and pleasure.
Though only moments before Draco had thought himself tired, his own need startled him; he was insatiable for the woman in his arms. The moved together in the tiny bed, joined – fused really – in an erotic dance, thrusting, grinding and moving in perfect harmony. Everything around them had faded away, the remnants of the broken world they lived in disappearing from existence and for a long while the only awareness was that of the other; their breathing, the whimpers, the groans, the mewling and moans of pleasure and desire.
As she arched her tiny, graceful body up to meet his, Hermione uttered the first word since leaving the alienage.
"Yes."
It was throaty, thick with passion and desire, nearly a moan deep in her throat.
"Yes."
It was not just a yes to the sudden, shattering orgasm that overtook her, but a yes to life. A yes to the fact that she had found love in a loveless world, and hope to awaken her deadened heart, and even a tiny fraction of joy in the face of despair. Their frantic and passionate lovemaking was a strange slap in the face of the Ministry; a silent defiance of the attempt to destroy any remnant of joy and love that was left in the world. Together, they could be happy. Together, no one could destroy the peace they had found.
Draco groaned against her hot, sweaty neck.
"Yes," he moaned, spilling himself into her, gripping her shoulders tightly as waves of orgasm washed over him. He tensed and then fell limp against her, their spent and heated bodies entwined on the bed beneath them.
Hermione held him tenderly, running her fingers through his messy hair and along the dewy skin of his neck and back allowing herself to enjoy his closeness. She kissed along his chest, the crook of his shoulder and up along his fevered neck, reveling in the silken feeling of his flesh.
"I love you."
The words were whispered against his ear.
"I forgive you."
She had, Hermione knew, forgiven him long ago and had never taken offense to any of the things he felt sorry for. Draco pulled away, a sigh escaping him as he gazed on her. She looked back with sleepy-eyed contentment. This is how he wished she would always feel; he wanted her to be loved and satisfied for she deserved at least that, and much, much more. Sated and feeling more at peace than he had in a long time, Draco shifted and pulled the thin blanket over their bodies, pulling her close so that he could breathe in the comforting scent that clung to her hair. She was like a drug to him and he couldn't seem to ever get enough.
Just as he thought he would drop off into a much needed rest, he heard her speak.
"What was your son like?"
It had been years since anyone had asked him about Scorpius and for a few seconds Draco was taken aback and could not reply. She shifted in his arms and he felt her eyes on him. He swallowed, finding it difficult to even think of his son let alone…talk about him.
"He was…a happy baby," he managed, although his voice cracked a bit. "It was rather surprising as I know I was quite bad-tempered, or so my father had always told me."
Hermione smirked a bit just as Draco turned his head on the pillow to gaze down on her.
"He had the most beautiful smile," he whispered. "No matter what I was going through, it never failed to remind me of how lucky I was."
Hermione reached up to brush a tear from Draco's face, which was still blooming with color from their lovemaking.
"He was lucky too."
Her reminder was gentle and it made him smile. Hermione wondered if Draco would ever truly know how much his smile meant to her.
"He looked like his mother," he continued. "But he had my eyes. When he was born and they brought him to my parents, it was the first thing my father said. That the baby had Malfoy eyes."
Hermione would never meet Scorpius, but she knew without a doubt that the child would have been incredibly perfect. Astoria was unquestionably beautiful, and Draco possessed eyes that were nearly as bewitching as the magic that he wove with his wand.
"He would have been a handsome little boy," she found herself murmuring as she laid her head against his sturdy chest.
"And smart."
"Undoubtedly so, though I don't think he would have gotten that from his mother."
Draco chuckled though it was short-lived. His fingers slipped along her silky, warm skin and found themselves resting along Hermione's flat belly. The loss he felt was suddenly so poignant, his eyes watered.
Our child would have been brilliant.
"I'm sure you were a great father. But it just wasn't our time, Draco."
He turned his head towards her once more and she was gazing up at him solemnly, clearly having read his thoughts. He arched one eyebrow.
"It's hard to accept that. A part of me…feels as if my second chance was torn from me even before I knew I hadit."
Her hand covered his.
"It just wasn't meant to be. But I think one day…"
"Do you?"
"I do," she said firmly, and then she laced her fingers through his, bringing his hand up to her lips.
"This," she said squeezing his hand, "was supposed to happen. I would never have dreamed it, but us coming together in such a way as we did…it isn't chance. I believe in fate. And I believe that we'll make it through whatever is coming and at the end of it…"
Draco leaned down to kiss her just as he closed his eyes. When they pulled apart, he tipped her chin up very gently.
"I hope that they all look like you. I want beautiful babies with your eyes, your hair and most especially your smile."
He gloried in her blush and the unadulterated sound of her giggle.
"Our boys would look silly, don't you think?" she whispered, leaning up to nuzzle against him.
"I'd give them haircuts," he replied with a wink. She sighed and stole a kiss from the corner of his mouth.
"I want a little boy, Draco. He'll be just like the son you had and I want him to learn to be just like you. I want him to have your strength and courage and the intelligence to help him be compassionate and know how to love in every situation."
Draco frowned.
"That's not me, and you know it," he replied with regret and sadness.
"I disagree. You'll just have to accept that."
There was a firm edge to her voice and with that she snuggled up against him contentedly, hoping eventually Draco would understand the depth of feeling she had for him. Even if it took a hundred years, she was willing to show him.
For a while, there was silence, and then she spoke.
"One day when we're gray and old, and everything works out for us, I'm going to want to see pictures of Scorpius," She murmured.
"When we're gray and old, you say?"
"Just reminding you of the fact that you're stuck with me."
"And happily so."
His words were light, but Draco suddenly though of the darkened Kensington mansion and wondered if he could get his photographs back; if he could even face Astoria again. Amidst all the tumult in his life, he had forgotten his wife.
Pansy couldn't quite look at Bellatrix. The room was stuffy and she nearly buckled under the weight of the scrutiny around her.
"You killed my nephew?"
The words were clipped and the most frightening thing was that Pansy couldn't read their intent. Oh, she knew there would be punishment for her actions; there were always punishments for every action the Ministry found to be out of sorts with their beliefs. Pansy only hoped that this one would be mild.
Let them buy my lies. Please, if there's a savior, let them believe me!
She sent up a prayer that she knew would be unheard; God didn't listen to those who had long turned from him.
"You found her alone?"
The question was to the group of Executioners whom had brought Pansy back to the Ministry after finding her at the empty alienage.
"Yes," said one, his voice muffled by the hood that he had refused to remove even the presence of the highest ranking Ministry officials. "She came to us just as we arrived…to eliminate those remaining at the alienage."
Pansy shifted from one foot to another, feeling her throat constricting so tightly it was impossible to breathe.
"I told you," she said, trembling. "I didn't have a choice!"
Tears welled up in her eyes, and Pansy hoped that they were convincing enough, for she would never cry over Draco Malfoy. At least she didn't want anyone to knowsuch a thing.
"He was with that…Mudblood! And I told him what- what he was doing was disgusting, the most loathsome, heinous thing he could do, but he just laughed at me and then…he threatened me. I told him I would come to you," she continued plaintively, "but he just kept on laughing, and I…"
She played the role of a woman torn and scorned, hoping that it would be enough to convince Bellatrix.
What if she cares? What if Draco meant something to her? Lord, I-
"And what made you take your wand to him?" Bellatrix asked coldly, her eyes two black, glittering gems.
"I…"
Pansy swallowed.
"I told him it would be him against the Ministry and that I would go and tell, and he…he said he'd never allow it and…he used an Unforgivable on me! What was I supposed to do? I've never-"
Bellatrix let out a peal of scornful laughter.
"Love!" she mocked. "Such a foolish emotion!"
She waved off the situation as if it was trivial and it took everything Pansy had not to fidget, or to give away her disgust and shock. Bellatrix shook her head, watching Pansy with amusement.
"And bigger the fool who falls for such a distracting emotion," she continued. "See how he has paid for it? Stupid boy," she spat. "I always did wonder how Lucius had raised a son who was nothing like him."
Turning back to Pansy she dismissed her with a wave.
"You may go. One less thing to worry about. At least the alienage is free and clear. We can start to rebuild."
Pansy watched, eyes wide as the woman turned, her long robes sweeping along the marbled ground. She was strangely aware in that moment how cold and soulless the organization that she worked for really was. They didn't care; they didn't even pretend to care. Had Draco been dead, he would have been the last surviving member of the Malfoy family besides Astoria, and Bellatrix had hardly batted an eye at such a thing, interested only in furthering her agenda. Faced with the loss of a family member and of one of the more capable officials within the Ministry had shaken nothing within her.
And this is the woman I've emulated for so long? This is what I've wanted to become?
Pansy thought once she got home she would smash all the mirrors in her flat; she was so ashamed of her life that she didn't believe she'd ever be able to look at herself again. She listened as Bellatrix's footsteps grew softer as she moved towards the exit of the courtroom and paused at the two wooden doors, turning gracefully.
"Do you plan on standing there all day?" she questioned. "There's work to be done, you know."
Pansy began to move, the response in her automatic. Working within the Ministry had programmed her with a certain response. This time, however, something was different. She stopped, watching her boss.
"Won't you bury him?"
"What?"
"Draco. Won't you bury him? He's your family."
Pansy couldn't help the strange edge that had crept into her voice. It was a mixture of pain and bewilderment mixed with shock. Shock at how casually Bellatrix had handled the news of her nephew's death, and how unfeeling she seemed to be.
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, regarding Pansy with an unattached curiosity.
"If you're that hell bent on burying him, then you do it."
Then she turned and walked briskly from the courtroom, leaving Pansy alone.
Marcus had always loved watching Pansy; he remembered days in the Great Hall and nights in the common room and the library at Hogwarts. He had never been the brightest pupil, but he had been good at observing. Spending tons of his free time watching Pansy, Marcus had learned from her silences, from her facial expressions and the way she held herself. He had learned much more from the way she acted than from the things she spoke. He had learned that although she put on a strong front, Pansy felt things deeply and she hid those things from the world, and only those who chose to really look could see them.
And now, he could tell Pansy was devastated. She stood straight and tall, her eyes dull and her expression unreadable to all those but Marcus. He knew. He could see the look in her eyes, veiled thinly by a wall of nothing. He could see the stiffness in her body, as if she were poised to break. And her lip trembled, if only just a fraction missed by most.
Yes, she was devastated, and a part of Marcus felt…cheated. It was despair over Malfoy's death; it was a death that she should have taken in stride, just like the deaths of all those that had gone before him. Deaths even by her unwavering, ruthless hand. Here stood a woman who had been unbreakable for all the years Marcus had known him and it had taken the death of one man to shake her.
I hated him. And I respected him. And I loathed him.
His thoughts were dark and angry, swirled with jealousy and frustration. Without thinking he moved towards Pansy. She had always made him feel better and he sought the comfort, forgetting for a moment the grief that she was in as well.
"I'm sorry."
The words sounded so stupid in Marcus's ears. Cheap, almost, but it couldn't be helped. Pansy looked up at him her beautiful eyes unfocused for a few moments before anger and hatred sharpened them.
"You!" she hissed. "Get the hell out of my way! I don't need or want your sympathy!"
Marcus felt himself being pushed backwards by the brunt of her anger, just like she had done in her flat the month before. He felt the same swirling of anger, resentment and once more he felt stupid, like he wasn't ever going to be good enough.
"I'm only trying to help," he spat. "I can see that you're upset-"
"Shut up!"
Rage infused each of her words as she turned, advancing on him.
"Your words mean nothing to me; you're as cruel and heartless as the rest of his Ministry!"
It was a realization that both had known for a long time, and both had been tangled up in for years.
"And now that he's dead and you can afford your fake sympathy you think I'll accept it? You're a disgusting, worthless fool, Marcus Flint, and I wish I had never met you!"
Strange, long-lost feelings washed over him as she stared at the furious woman before him. He recalled the way his father had raged at him every night, calling him names, treating him like the rubbish, and the fact that she was calling him all those names his father did was not lost on Marcus.
"I was going to help you with the funeral, you stupid bitch!"
"I wouldn't take your help if it meant my life! I'd rather die!"
"I hope you do!" he hissed back, his anger fueled by heartbreak and disappointment. She was shaking when she turned around, her voice clear.
"Leave me alone."
Without another word, Pansy raced out of the courtroom, moving with unusual speed for she was not a woman taken to hurry. Marcus waited only a fraction of a second before following her. This was no unusual; he had followed her many times in the past, both in school and then afterwards.
This time it was different however; this time, he knew something was not right with Pansy. The grief and sadness that had been evident in her eyes and her voice were underscored by something more. Something that led Marcus to believe that all was not as it should have been. That was what years of watching Pansy Parkinson got you – he knew she was lying about what had happened at the alienage.
You think you've got it all together, don't you? Not even close.
He waited until she left the Headquarters and hit the snow-riddled streets of London proper. Then, he moved after her, keeping always a good distance but never letting her out of his sight. He hoped she wouldn't apparate; most of the time, she didn't, opting instead to blend in with the rest of humanity.
Luck was on his side. He watched with interest as she headed quickly towards Kensington, and he followed.