Song Suggestion: Taylor Swift ft. Bon Iver- "Exile"
Thank you to MyPrivateInsanity for her thorough beta work! And also, a special thank you to my new alpha reading group for making this chapter a better finished product.
Hiraeth:
(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the grief for the lost places of your past.
Time continued. A day turned to a week. And a week turned into a month. Before she could slow it down, the entire summer had passed her by.
Hermione escaped into a comfortable routine. On weekdays, she'd wrap the leather bracelet around her wrist and work at the apothecary. Titus stopped by just long enough to buy something and check her wrist. Satisfied with the compliance to his demands, he left again, promising to come back.
But the weekends belonged to lust. Always a quick study, Draco learned what pleased her, getting more proficient each time. Where to nip and stroke and lick. He liked to fuck her from behind, hands in her hair or on her hips, burying himself inside her as far as he could go. She'd lift her hips in the air, upper body pressed against the bed, frantic for more.
After revelling in their shared pleasure, she spent the rest of her days watching movies, practising occlumency, duelling, and reading voraciously.
Occasionally, her friends would stop by, and then on very special days, he'd bring her out to experience various muggle cities. Her favourite places were the abandoned castles. They dodged patrolling aurors while exploring the old deserted corridors, and she pretended to be one of the ancient queens she'd read about in her muggle history books.
A few times, he'd even convinced her to get on a broom, viewing the countryside of Wiltshire and the village that rested closest to his manor. It used to be filled with people, but had been mostly deserted since the curse.
She tiptoed through the abandoned houses and touched the appliances. The still photos. Evidence of a life interrupted. A tomb from a time before. Frozen in place.
It always left her with a buzzing disquiet, imagining she saw the muggle ghosts, watching her from the cracks of the past.
They were in the bathroom, having just finished a shower and drying off, when Draco paused in the middle of brushing his hair.
"Dolohov gave you permission to return to the muggleborn lunches, though you're still banned from the dinners."
Hermione withheld her grimace that she was being rewarded for inactivity. Since the debacle, she'd been banned from both events, until she— as Dolohov told Draco— showed proper training.
"Oh no, how will I ever cope without the orgy dinners?" She rolled her eyes, showing him exactly what she thought of that.
The week of waiting that followed proved hellish; she was desperate to finally see Julie after so long. The parties could go in the rubbish bin for all she cared, but the thought of seeing Julie again made her pace in the library daily in worry.
Normally, for her own sanity, she tried to shove away any negative thoughts, especially about Julie. It did nothing but make her feel miserable, powerless, and full of rage. During her occlumency lessons, she'd learned to place her worries about her coven into separate boxes and store them on the shelves.
But with the imminent return of Julie in her life, the boxes proved useless. The thoughts overflowed outside the confines, too many to control.
Since Hermione's banishment, Katie had been giving her brief updates, including that Julie was pregnant.
According to Katie, the bump had just begun to show, the only proof life grew inside. Beyond that, Julie sat in silence away from the others, shadows darkening under her eyes, concealment charms littering her pale skin— though fewer of them since the pregnancy.
But that didn't mean Julie was safe. Bruises could be healed. And if they weren't, it was because Blaise wanted people to see.
In the end, verbal reports didn't pacify her.
Hermione needed to see Julie herself.
On the day of the luncheon, Hermione wore an understated dress, attempting not to draw attention to herself.
They arrived via apparition—much to her discomfort— in front of an old cottage in the countryside with a thatched roof, painted a bright white. It belonged to Avery, Dean's old master. He'd just acquired a muggleborn that had been gifted to him from a friend. Avery didn't have as much money as many of the purebloods, and it showed in the sparse decorations and cramped spaces. As she entered, she glanced around in curiosity, trying to see if any trace of Dean was left, but she saw nothing that reminded her of her coven member and continued on, the voices growing louder as she walked up the creaking wooden stairs.
The room designated for the muggleborn gathering was usually created from the largest space in the dwelling. This time it was an old sitting room stretched to maximum capacity with extension charms, but still it felt cramped.
When they entered, Katie got up to greet her with a tight hug, leading her to her seat. She glanced back once to see Draco giving her a wink as he exited, knowing a part of her dreaded this.
As Hermione approached the table, Livia began a slow clap, staring at her shackles with curiosity.
"Heard you walloped that bastard. Only wish I could have seen it."
"Quiet, Liv." Zala didn't hold her little boy this time, but her belly was already rounded with another pregnancy. "We promised not to interrogate her."
"You promised that. I, on the other hand, require every juicy detail, since Katie's been oddly quiet about the whole thing."
Hermione spared a glance at her friend who was biting her lip.
"I'm— not allowed to speak on it ." Among the stipulations for her return was that she wouldn't talk about it, and neither could Katie. They believed it might spread dissent among the others, especially the fact she'd used an unforgiveable. Though the obsidian on her wrists caused speculation. She could tell by the covered whispers around the room.
"None of you are any fun," Livia pouted, and then her eyes turned sharp. "No baby yet?"
Hermione touched her flat stomach.
"Not yet." Hermione took a potion every day to prevent it. She didn't need anyone to tell her that her free time was running out, so she changed the subject. "Where's Abigail?"
"She's feeling under the weather," Zala answered gently.
"Pregnant again is what she means." Livia's voice lowered, and she sneered. "Rodolphus didn't even give her the full six weeks to heal before fucking her again, even with her hard birth. She's been so ill this time she can barely get out of bed."
Talk of Abigail hit a sensitive nerve. Hermione almost changed the subject again, but the door opened, and Julie walked inside. Blaise stood behind her, hand on the back of her neck. Much like the first time, Julie refused to look up, wringing her hands. Her strawberry blond hair went to her waist, and her lower stomach sloped into a bump. But other than that, she looked like the same Julie she'd always loved.
Blaise met her glare. A flicker of something sparked in his gaze, before his lips curled in a cold smirk. As if he'd won. As if to say he could still do what he pleased.
She wanted to project into his mind the memory of him stuck to the wall, the death curse on the tip of her tongue. Wanted to remind him how he looked writhing on the ground at her feet. If she could, she'd show him what a pathetic mess he'd been. How a simple girl—a house pet— had him on his knees.
Blaise whispered something in Julie's ear. She flinched before he let her go, pushing her toward them and leaving.
With her tormentor gone, Julie glanced up, scanning the room.
Look at me, Hermione begged.
But she didn't. There was nothing in her expression. No sharp relief. No excitement to see her friends. She was absolutely void of any emotion.
Hermione's heart clenched as she watched Julie walk forward with stiff movements as if she was under the imperius. Bypassing the tables, she headed to the opposite side of the room, sitting on a chair next to the window, ignoring everyone.
Katie had told her it was bad, but seeing it caused her stomach to twist upside down. Hermione almost stood up, wanting to walk over to her, but Zala held her hand before she could go.
Looking around the table, she could see her friends regarding her with pity.
"Don't bother," Livia said, voice free of teasing. "Her master doesn't let her speak to us, and she won't disobey the order."
"If he doesn't want her to talk to anyone, why does he bring her?"
Zala gave a delicate shrug. "He's an especially cruel master."
Her thoughts were murderous; she imagined taking out Zabini's organs like Draco had done to Karkaroff.
For the rest of the lunch, Hermione couldn't pay attention to the small talk, her eyes on Julie as she stared into nothing.
Towards the end of the lunch, Hermione couldn't sit a second longer.
"I'm going to get more punch."
Really, she just wanted to get closer to Julie.
"I'll go with you." Katie stood up too, casting a warning glance. When they got halfway across the room, Katie leaned towards her. "What are you doing? Last time you—"
"I'm not crucioing anyone," Hermione whispered back. "I just want to see her."
"You can't mess up again."
Hermione rolled her eyes, and when she reached the refreshment table, she grabbed a plate and some biscuits.
"I thought you were getting punch?" Katie pointed out.
"Right." Hermione set the plate down and grabbed a cup, studying her friend as she poured a ladleful of the pink liquid.
If Hermione hadn't known Julie, she would have thought she looked serene, with her interlaced fingers and straight back. The sunlight brightened her skin, showing off every freckle.
Hermione wished to grab her shoulders and shake her, if only to produce a reaction. Something. Anything to show a bit of life and fight.
Julie's soul was slowly being smothered. It showed in every movement— and the lack of them.
As long as Julie was pregnant, it afforded her a minimal amount of protection. Judging by her bump, Hermione might only have four, maybe five months to execute a plan. Draco promised he'd kill Blaise, but they were running out of time.
"Does Bellatrix know about Julie's pregnancy?" Hermione asked.
"I'm not sure, but probably. Flint tried to grant me a visit, and Zabini denied it, saying Julie was in a delicate condition and excitement could harm the child. I bet he gave the same reason to her mum."
Something hardened inside Hermione, a focused determination. She couldn't stay inactive and sit on the sidelines as someone abused her friend, stealing every precious and soft part of her.
Killing Blaise might be off the table, no matter how much that sickened her. It would take too long. At the moment, the most important thing was to get Julie away to somewhere safe.
But where to take her? That was the deciding factor.
A memory of something important niggled at her mind, until she gasped. She stood still a minute, letting her thoughts coagulate into something concrete.
"If I was able to get Julie away from Blaise," Hermione whispered. "Would you help me?"
Katie reared back.
"Hermione, we can't—"
"Would you help me, or would you be a coward? Tell me right now if I can count on you or not."
The answer took longer than it should have. Katie's mouth opened and closed. Each silent second increased Hermione's agitation, until she almost trembled with it.
"I will," Katie said eventually. "But I refuse to do anything that will worsen all of our lives."
Hermione swallowed her annoyance.
"Don't worry, you won't have to help me with much. Just a little." She set down her glass and picked up a biscuit, slamming it on a plate.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Draco told me you're hosting the next muggleborn luncheon."
"Yes," Katie said slowly.
"Then I'll need you to get me the floorplans to Flint castle."
"The floorplans? Why would you— Merlin, I don't feel good about this. Please don't do anything rash."
Hermione didn't feel the best about it either, but she refused to let Julie stay in agony.
All she did know was that it wouldn't be impulsive. She'd plan it down to the smallest details, along with contingency plans.
At the end of the day, convincing Draco of this plan might be her biggest obstacle.
A week later, Hermione fidgeted with her clothing, touching the buttons on her conservative dress. She'd gotten used to choosing whatever she wanted to wear with no restrictions. But now she found herself in a dress in her old style, with the hem skimming the floor.
"You don't have to go." Draco touched the small of her back, mouth next to her ear.
She hadn't told him her plan yet, and she wouldn't until she held the essential pieces.
"I do."
"Why?"
"I have important things I need to retrieve." She kept her face forward, staring at the glowing cinders.
For her plan to work, she needed several items still at Nott Manor.
"I can give you anything you need."
"He has Hopper," she explained. "And my wand."
Draco's fingers clenched the fabric on her back and his lips pressed to the side of her neck.
"Don't believe his lies."
"He can't keep me there."
She'd sent a letter a week before, telling Titus she planned to visit to gather her belongings, which meant he'd be there, expecting her arrival.
Draco took in a deep breath and released it. "I want to go with you."
"He'd never let you."
Come alone, Titus had ordered in the return letter. It irked her to be ordered, but she agreed that this was one thing she needed to do on her own.
His fingers gripped harder before releasing, but he still hovered right behind her.
"You need to leave quickly before I stop you," he warned in a dark voice. "Because I'm seconds away from throwing you over my shoulder, taking you to our room, and convincing you to stay."
She stared at the fireplace once more, a yawning pit. A portal to her past. A journey to her old, gilded cage.
Grabbing the floo powder, she gathered her courage and stepped through.
Hermione landed in the sitting room of Nott Manor with her shackles firmly in place and the leather bracelet wrapped around her wrist, goblin-charmed to fool Titus into thinking it worked. If she wasn't careful, he might notice the difference in the calm emotions he sensed versus the ones she displayed.
Nothing had changed since she'd left. The same couches. The same delicate, old décor. A deep fear entered her that she'd blink and wake up to find her whole time with Draco had never happened. How many times in her life had she wandered into this room, waiting for Titus to get home? It even smelled the same, faintly of the soap that the elves used to wash his clothes— a favourite scent of his mother's, laced with cinnamon. While it calmed her, it also induced in her an odd grief she had no name for, a yearning for something irrevocably lost that she'd once loved.
Bitty appeared before her with a pop, floppy ears trembling, tears running down her grey cheeks.
"Mistress Hermione!"
"Oh, Bitty—" Hermione leaned down, arms outstretched. The little elf wailed, grabbed her long ears and fell into the embrace, crying against her shoulder. Hermione held her frail body as tightly as she could, soul aching with the touch. It wasn't just Titus she'd chosen to leave. It was also Tabitha. And Bitty. And Eddy. She'd left the old paths she wandered, and the comfort of a space she believed to be hers. How could a person return home, find it unchanged, and not feel an immense dislocation in the depths of their soul?
Hermione heard his boots before she saw him, scuffling along the tile in the other room. She straightened just as Titus entered. They both paused at seeing each other in this place. So familiar. So different. His hand went out and grasped the door moulding, eyes going from her feet up to meet her stare.
How strange it must be for him too, seeing her at the floo, as if she'd just been there waiting for him all along.
"I've come—" her voice cracked, and she stopped and cleared her throat. "I've come to gather my things, and then I must leave."
"You're invited to dinner," Titus said.
"I can't accept. I—"
"But Mistress Hermione, Eddy worked all day on the food just for you." Bitty tugged on her hand, and Hermione's grip tightened around the thin fingers.
"She's right. It would break Eddy's heart if you left before eating." Titus straightened, hand falling away from the moulding. "And Bitty worked so hard on cleaning. Despite whatever animosity you feel for me, you can at the very least give them a proper goodbye."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the obvious manipulation. He knew the elves being sad would make her weak. Besides Theo and Tabitha, they were the only family she'd had. Of course, she wished to tell them goodbye. But she'd given him specific instructions in the letter that she would only stay just long enough to retrieve her things.
He was right though— she didn't want to hurt their feelings.
And she did miss the elves.
"Just for dinner," she agreed.
The tight lines in Titus' shoulders loosened. He almost smiled, but it failed. He stepped to the side with an outstretched arm.
"After you."
They ate in silence. Eddy had made all her favourite dishes, and it tasted delicious, but Hermione found it hard to digest. She stared at her plate, attempting to ignore Titus' eyes on her.
He seemed to struggle to eat as well. He'd place a bite of fish to his lips and then lower his fork, eyes insistent on her, as if begging her to acknowledge him. It caused a glass shard to dig under her ribs, sinking into her heart.
This had been her home. So then why did she feel like an intrusive stranger? In her absence, she'd stepped through a different dimension, finding an alternative reality where she'd never been at the ancient dining table with the crawling serving ware. As if just a year ago, Titus hadn't been her moon and stars.
The mist stood between them, the web of secrets he kept. Things she couldn't bring up, knowing she wasn't supposed to know them.
"Have you been well?" Titus asked with a rasp to his voice. She couldn't look at him, afraid of what she'd see. Loneliness. Hope. Both gutted her.
"Yes."
He hadn't mentioned the lack of pregnancy like she thought he would, but she supposed he was relieved she wasn't.
"Good." He took a sip of water, as if to give himself something to do. "Why didn't you visit sooner?"
How could he ask her that? The moonlight had illuminated them both at the ritual. He deserved her cold shoulder.
Yet still, a gnarled fragment of love remained. Not in the way he wanted, but in the way of a girl desperate for love and family. It might always remain as a fractured hope, transforming into grief, and Hermione was beginning to understand that the grief of a lost family might last forever.
"I wasn't ready," she said.
"And you are now?"
"No."
"Then why have you come? Your things have lingered here for months waiting for your return, so there must be something else motivating you." Once again, he clutched the water glass tight in his large hand. "Is Malfoy mistreating you?"
"No, nothing like that, but I might need your help."
"Anything."
Hermione glanced up– this time finally meeting his gaze. He'd shuttered off his emotions, and she was grateful not to have to stare at the raw pain that reflected her own.
"It's Julie," Hermione said. "She's—Blaise is still abusing her, even while pregnant."
"Is the abuse affecting the pregnancy?"
Hermione clenched her teeth. "Why does it matter? It should be wrong, regardless."
"I'm not saying it isn't wrong, Sprite. I'm only asking for legal reasons. If I can help her in that way first, I will. You know abuse repulses me. Only a coward would physically harm an innocent, especially under their protection. But my hands are tied through proper channels unless he's hurting her in a way that might make her miscarry. Extracting her without the ministry backing me up would be risky, and I personally don't think it would solve much in the end."
Hermione doubted Blaise crossed that line. He could be arrogant and stupid, but not that stupid. He liked to push the boundaries just enough, though he sometimes misjudged it like he did when Titus took his fingers. Remembering Finch's back, she understood nothing would change. The ministry didn't care if the muggleborns were injured.
Hermione pushed her plate away, unable to stomach any more food. Titus eyed the movement and set down his own silverware.
"What was the deal you wanted to offer me?" she asked. "Back when I was in custody. You said you might consider helping her."
He narrowed his eyes and sat back, crossing his arms along his chest. She felt like they stayed in that suspended state of tension forever.
"I want this." He nodded toward the food.
"Dinner?"
"Time with you— your company."
It sounded like too little, and it made her wary.
"And what other conditions would be attached?"
"Merlin, Hermione." He rubbed his face with his hand. "I just don't want to lose you entirely."
"So you'd only want my conversation?"
He shrugged in a noncommittal way that left a lot up to the imagination. Sure, he wanted time with her, but he wasn't shutting off other avenues. She'd been around enough purebloods to understand the round about way they talked, saying nothing and everything. Leaving loopholes all over the place that they could capitalise on later. Believing him at face value would be a mistake.
"And what would you do with Julie?"
"Now that she's pregnant, I could possibly eliminate him, especially if it's a boy that can carry on the name. Though Nera might cause some problems. If you want the baby to stay with Julie, I'll need to take care of Nera too, which would cause other problems. Either way, it will cost me a great amount."
"Where would Julie go then?"
"Someone that wouldn't mind raising another man's child for no gain. That might be the trickiest part."
"What about Goyle?"
He scratched the stubble on his jaw in thought. "Possibly. Though their lack of money right now might impede that plan. If I kill the Zabinis, Julie would become a ward of the ministry, and they would have to pay the set price."
She knew that would be all she could get out of him now, but she had still felt compelled to ask.
"This sounds like a significant amount of risk just for conversation."
Even with Titus' status as Mediator, he couldn't kill whoever he wanted, especially other purebloods. It would invite chaos into their carefully constructed facade.
"An afternoon once a week," he amended. "Just a few hours of your time."
"For how long?"
"Forever."
That sounded more like it.
"And if Draco denies me?"
"Then we don't have a deal."
It was clever of him. He probably thought Draco would deny her, resulting in her anger shifting from Titus.
Hermione bit her lip and stared off at the grandfather clock, giving its familiar ticks. The seconds passed by with a blink.
An afternoon a week at Nott Manor. Forever.
"I think it's time I gathered my things and said my goodbyes."
Titus closed his eyes for a moment, then threw his napkin on the plate and stood up.
"Very well." Titus closed his eyes for a moment, then threw his napkin on the plate and stood up. "Perhaps seeing the manor again will remind you that this will always be your home."
"I'd like to do it alone."
He gave a sharp nod in agreement as she knew he would. Giving her space had always been his go to strategy to get back into her good graces, knowing if he pushed too hard, it would only make her push back.
"Take all the time you need."
Hermione wandered the manor. No longer trapt, she now felt unmoored, capable of travelling through the walls if she wished, meeting different variations of herself along the way. She'd spent so many days traversing these same corridors, touching the same objects, it came as rote memory.
When she passed the suit of armour, she gave it a little hug, and its arm rattled as it snaked around her and patted her shoulder. She stroked the velvet curtains, before jumping through the diamond patterned floor, playing a game she liked as a girl where the white diamonds meant certain death.
When she entered the back sitting room, she perched on the red settee and gave a nod to the spinning ballerina. If she concentrated, she thought the ballerina might have given a proud nod back. She had an urge to rip the painting off the wall to take it with her, but instead, she stood up and continued her journey.
Hermione saved her old room for last, and when she walked inside, she ran her fingers along the edges of the mother of pearl handle brush on her vanity. The last time she'd touched it had been just before the trials. Setting it back down, she left it in its place. These weren't the things she needed. Draco gave her treasures and wonders to rival them, possibly even surpass them.
Beside the comb was her purse—the one she'd charmed. She didn't remember placing it there, so she knew Titus had. Picking it up, she slid it on her shoulder and continued her examination.
Hopper rested in the middle of the bed in all his matted, ugly glory. She scooped him up gently, finding he now smelled of Titus. She pulled back her head, staring at it. Had Titus held it? Her hands tightened on the soft body and cradled it to her chest, wondering why everything hurt so much. Back in her old space, all of her old emotions sprouted up again. The comfort of home, but burdened with loneliness and boredom. Constantly waiting for life to begin and start her adventures.
Glancing around, she got up and softly shut the door, making her way to the closet. After prying up the board, she gazed at her small treasures. Her friends' wands rested on top of the Nott ancestor's spell book. Under them both was the skin bound book. Even from her position, she could feel it pulse with power, a sickening sensation that latched on her cells like slime.
She reached for it, cradling it in her hand. The nefarious knowledge inside it called to her, enticing her just to open it and attach herself, promising monstrous vengeance on the wizards that wronged her. Blaise flayed open. Rosier without his head. Dolohov desiccated. Dark magic. Light magic. She wanted it all and would do anything to get it.
With great struggle, she set the book back in its hiding place. Draco warned her that it wasn't wise to play with this type of magic. He didn't deny her, giving her the choice, but he made it clear he thought it foolish. She trusted his judgement, even if it went against her instinct.
Hermione gathered the wands and shoved them inside her purse. Maybe she could get them to her friends. She almost put the board back into place, but she stopped, remembering something important. She dragged out the Nott book and shook it. A single paper fell—the message from the Order.
After placing the Nott book back into the hiding spot, she returned the floorboard into position and wondered if the books she hid would be lost forever. Would a future Nott wiggle up the board and wonder at why they'd been placed there?
That would only be if there were Nott heirs at all.
In a future without the mist.
Hermione put her hand on the floor and looked up to see the red cloak. It hung unassuming next to the dresses, as if it didn't represent everything Titus had hoped for their future together. Her stomach turned, giving her clarity through her grief.
With one look at her surroundings, she exited the room and then the manor, walking outside. Though the inside of the manor gave her conflicted, trapt feelings, the outside almost made her weep. Every blade of grass contained the entire cosmos of love and adventure she carried in her soul. The worst part about Malfoy Manor was the severely manicured gardens, the edges pruned to a perfect shape.
Hermione walked through the grass that seemed more overgrown than usual, staring into the hedge mazes, knowing every turn, twist, and bush that would transform into new shapes to confuse the wanderer. The fairy sprites could be seen huddling under the thorns of a rose bush, and she thought she saw a rogue gnome peeking from around a statue of a Gryphon.
The treehouse took her breath away as she neared it. And when she got close to the bucket, she almost buckled with the thought of never seeing it again— her sanctuary.
The bucket raised, bringing her to the top. After a certain time of their childhood, Theo never cared to spend much time here. And Titus only rarely peeked inside. The treehouse had been hers, an unspoken rule.
When she entered her old space, she stared at the old artwork tacked along the wall, already aged from the elements. The faux flickering fireplace. The portraits that she'd replaced long ago with pictures of her and her friends, of Titus and Theo. The circle of candles remained in the middle of the treehouse, and Finch's bugs still lived in the terrariums, charmed to be self-sufficient. Though, after a brief glance, she noticed some of the bugs were long dead, surpassing their life span.
Hermione went to the circle of candles, curled her legs under her and sat, staring through the window at the dying light.
She spent an hour in the treehouse, finding it hard to say the proper goodbye. She wished she could bundle it inside her purse and bring it to Malfoy Manor. But it wouldn't be the same. The treehouse belonged to the wild grounds, and she had merely been a passing guest.
Leaving it behind carved a piece out of her soul— a remnant of her childhood, when everything had been easy and sure. When she'd trusted Titus to keep her safe from the monsters.
Despite the drawbacks, she had a happy childhood— one she was starting to realise was rare among the muggleborns taken.
When she finally managed to climb down from the treehouse, she saw Titus standing in the distance, looking every bit the lord of the manor with his cloak whipping in the wind.
He kept his eyes on her as she walked toward him.
When she reached him, he lifted his hand to her cheek. Before touching her skin, he dropped it again.
"It's time I went home," she said.
His mouth twisted in a grimace, but he turned, and she followed him until they reached the front sitting room. Before she could grab the floo powder, she finally faced him. He didn't hide his emotions this time. His expression told the story of his longing and loss.
The intensity of it made her soul waver, hating to see his pain.
She was missing one important item.
"I need my wand."
Titus broke eye contact and reached in his cloak, taking out her wand. It looked small in his hand. The vines crawled up the wood. Even from a distance, it called to her.
"I shouldn't," he said. "You aren't supposed to be using magic at all."
"It's mine, and it's mostly sentimental. You gave it to me," she reminded. "And you promised you'd give it back."
"It belongs here, like you do."
When she grabbed it, his hand tightened for a moment, as if he didn't want to let go, but he did. Even with the shackles smothering her magic, she sighed in pleasure at the connection.
"Thank you," she said, knowing how hard that was for him.
Even years after receiving a wand, it sparked the same awe and wonder in her soul. Titus' agitation grew more intense after she tucked her wand in her dress pocket.
"You never gave me an answer," he said. "About dinner."
She'd made her decision in the treehouse. Like a trickster god, Titus' deals always held false bottoms, and she couldn't trust him. Each increment of change would require an extra slice of herself until he held everything he wanted in his hands. Titus had never given her direct promises in the deal he offered. What would he ask from her next? He might even begin to create the circumstances where she needed him. Despite his love for her, he'd use her desperation as a weapon. Any small tie to him would be exploited. It was true that he'd be able to achieve Zabini's death faster and more efficiently than Draco, but Titus' offer came with too many strings.
And in the end, she liked her plan better. Both carried personal risk, but at least hers would be enacted without endless surrender. And most importantly, she trusted Draco to help her.
"I can't accept."
Titus clutched the front of his shirt, right over his heart.
"Give yourself some time to contemplate it."
"I've already decided."
"No— just give me a chance to convince you." He walked over and knelt before her.
She steeled herself, hardening her heart as much as possible.
"I can't."
"What do you want from me?" He transferred his hand to the curve of her waist. "I'll do anything. Give you anything."
"I want nothing."
Titus gave a low groan and buried his head in her stomach, both hands gripping her hips tight to himself. Hermione almost shoved him away, but after a second thought, she placed her hand on his dark hair, twisting her fingers through the strands. At the gentle contact, he shuddered.
"I'm unable to let you go. I've tried. Every day is agony without you, and I've come to hate returning home. I'm sorry for not being honest about the ritual and about starting your trials early. Forgive me, Sprite. Have mercy on me. Let me show you how much I still love you."
Hermione let them stay that way for a moment, before she reached inside her pocket and extracted a small object. Once out, she unfurled it to reveal the universe in her palm. The crystal glittered under the light. She pressed it once, and the planets emerged. The lights were dim enough they glowed, spinning around them.
Titus pulled back and glared at them, but he kept his hand on her waist.
"I want you to take this back," she said.
"It's yours. It will always be yours."
She grabbed his large hand. Heated skin, rough calluses. She turned his palm up and peeled back the fingers, setting the universe inside, and closing his hand around it. The planets vanished. The stars stopped spinning.
"You're really going to deny my offer?" Titus' other hand slid from her hip. He seemed frozen. "A simple afternoon of your time once a week? Don't be foolish."
She doubted it would be just a simple afternoon. And more than that, the fact he didn't pull any more underhanded manoeuvres today set her on edge, glancing around for the trick.
"I've already stated my answer."
Titus' gaze remained on his closed fist, expression twisted into something hard. As if he hated the stars in his grasp. As if he might hate her now too.
"How did I never see how cruel you could be?"
"We both know you wouldn't be content with just my presence." Hermione grabbed all the strength in her soul and turned, leaving Titus and the universe he'd offered her, kneeling on the ground.
He stood, as if shaking off a trance, realising she was serious about turning down his offer that he'd been so confident she'd accept.
"Don't I get a say in this? You think you can just walk away from me as if we didn't love each other for over twelve years?"
That made her angry.
"I can. You can watch me if you wish."
He clenched the universe in his grasp, and his face tilted down into a lethal expression. "No one else can keep you safe in this world like I can, and I don't trust anyone else to do my job. So I want you to come back to the table right now, and we'll discuss the deal again. I'm willing to both offer more concessions and compromises, but this is your last chance. If you walk away, I won't offer any more deals. I will no longer negotiate."
Annoyance prickled inside her, spreading along her limbs. He'd never ordered her so threateningly. He'd never had to. There were very few times she'd said no to him, having little need to go against his wishes.
Today he'd see that her will had always been as hard as a diamond. That she'd only obeyed him before when she'd wanted to and only because she'd trusted him.
"Like I said, you can watch me."
She grabbed a handful of floo powder.
"Sprite!" Titus shouted behind her. His footsteps struck the ground hard as he walked toward her, as if he planned to tug her back. "Don't you dare leave—"
"Malfoy Manor!" And then she stepped through without looking back, consequences be damned.
When she walked into the sitting room, she uncurled her clenched fist, staring at the strands of Titus' dark hair held inside her palm.
Hermione found Draco in the master bathroom. Steam billowed out of the shower as she stepped into the humid room. Hermione took a moment to lean down and add the strands of dark hair to the back of the cupboard where she kept the poison. Earlier, she'd also deposited all of her belongings into various locations in the room.
After putting everything away, she turned back to the shower. Draco's body could be seen through the foggy glass. The sharp angles of his form enticed her as he braced one arm on the glass, glaring at her.
In answer, she stripped off her clothes, letting them fall onto the floor in a clump. And then she entered the shower, letting the steam bathe her before stepping under the stream of hot water. The water flattened her curls and dripped like tiny rivers from her body.
Draco cupped her breast, brushing his thumb along her nipple in a way that made her head tilt back.
"What did he offer you?" he asked
"Everything I wanted."
He sneered and exhaled. Leaning down, he sucked on the side of her throat, knowing the right way to slide his tongue along her skin so she pressed further into his touch.
"And did you accept?"
"I already have everything."
He groaned. Both hands inched down the sides of her breasts, over her ribs, tracing the curve of her waist.
"Draco, I—"
"No more talking. I trust you."
"But I—"
"I said I trust you, didn't I? And now I need you."
He turned her and pressed her into the glass, icy cold against her aching breasts. His hand dipped down, playing with her clit. It wasn't lazy or slow this time. But urgent, almost punishing, showing his barely controlled anger.
She spread her legs to give him access to her, his erection pressed to her spine.
"Say you're mine," he whispered in her hair.
"I'm yours."
He lifted her and entered her, and they both groaned at the connecting sensation.
"Say it again."
So she did, whispering it over and over again as he thrust so rough it hurt, and she tipped her head against his shoulder for support as he fucked her at a feverish pace until she clenched rhythmically along his cock.
With a groan, he finished inside her and kept his lips on her throat, as he held her tight to his wet body.
"Don't ever go back." He gave a rare demand, but it came out pleading.
Being in Nott Manor reminded her how restricted her life had been. How much freer she was with Malfoy. And it was more than sex. She enjoyed talking to Draco— about books or movies or magical theory. Travelling to places she'd never seen before. Learning new things every day.
"This is my home now— with you."
She stood still in his embrace, as he kissed and stroked her body, edging her arousal. The hot water ran down their skin, until he grew hard again and claimed her for a second time.
On Updates: So I missed posting, so I'm back earlier than I thought I would be! The month break did help. However, for my mental health, from now on, I can't promise a schedule. I will try to get a chapter out every two weeks, but I won't always be able to do it. I also can't promise a designated day, but it will probably fall on the weekend or Wednesday. Each chapter will be a gift, and they will be ready when they are ready. Thank you for your patience!
