"I think I'm going to lay down for a bit," Hermione said as soon as they were gone. She was overwhelmed and exhausted; anxiety always seemed to leave her tired.
Draco nodded in understanding and accompanied her to their room.
"I'm sorry about what he said," Draco told her as soon as the door closed behind him.
"It's okay, I understand," Hermione replied as she went directly to the bed and got beneath the covers. "He was defending you. I can't say Harry or Ron haven't lost their tempers when defending each other or myself."
"He still didn't have to be such a prick," Draco responded as he followed her around to her side of the bed. She shrugged, adjusting the blankets.
"I'd like to talk to you about it," she admitted. "If anyone deserves to know the truth it's you."
"You don't owe me anything," he reminded her, pulling the blankets to her chin before climbing beside her in the bed. "But if you want to tell me, you certainly can."
Hermione took a few steady breaths before she turned her eyes to him and started to explain.
"I was out for a quick meal at a pub in Diagon Alley; I was alone but honestly didn't think much of it. I'd fought in the war, survived the war...I was used to going about by myself, and things were finally settled a bit, you know?"
Draco leaned in, rapt and silent, heavy with sadness and pain for the story she told.
"Here you are, luv," the witch said, setting the steaming crockery in front of Hermione. "Shepherd's pie and a gillywater wi' lemon. Give us a shout if you need anything else."
"Thank you so much." Hermione smiled, feeling the heat and enjoying the delicious smell wafting to her. Reaching for her fork, she dug in. Not the best pie she'd had in the pub, but the gillywater tasted as if they'd added raspberry to it, which was unexpected but refreshing. She made it through about a third of the pie when a strange thought hit her.
Really, it was a wonderful pie, cooked to perfection. She'd only meant to eat half, to take the rest as leftovers, but she simply couldn't. It wouldn't be as good the next day, and she just had to finish it.
Sipping the gillywater, she took another big bite and nearly choked on it as she looked up and happened to see the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on sitting at the bar. He was drinking Firewhisky and laughing with that pretty witch who'd brought Hermione's food. Flirty cow. Maybe it would be worth trying that hex she'd used on Marietta, just so the man would stop paying her so much attention.
She narrowed her eyes when the barmaid threw her head back in laughter, obviously attempting to draw the man's eyes to her slender neck. Hermione took another sip of her gillywater, annoyance grating at her as she looked down at her pie, shocked to see that it was almost gone.
It was a large pie and Hermione had never been one to overeat, but she just could not get over how delicious it was. She forked another bite, chewing it slowly as the man at the bar turned to her. She swallowed it roughly, quickly having another sip of her gillywater when she realised that the man was staring back at her with something akin to hunger in his eyes.
Hermione felt the blood rush into her cheeks as her face heated beneath his gaze, flattered and thrilled that he now seemed to have eyes for her, and when he dismissed the barmaid's attempts to draw him back in, she smiled shyly. Maybe she had a chance. Gods, those muscles, she thought.
Her food was gone before she knew it; she had hardly been aware of anything other than the height and breadth of him filling her he approached her table with a flirtatious grin she felt giddy, grateful that such a man seemed interested in giving boring, bookish her the time of day.
Strong hands reached out and toyed with one of her curls, and she smiled, overjoyed. "Can I get you another drink?" she asked, hoping to keep his attention.
"No, but I thank you. Think I'll be heading home in a few." He winked, and a searing certainty fixed her. This was it. She'd met the love of her life. Oldsters always said you just knew when it happened, and she knew. He was everything appealing to her. Her ideal man. She couldn't let him leave.
"I–what's your name?" she stuttered out. He leaned in, whispering it in her ear, dragging a light fingertip down the column of her neck. She shivered, unable to comprehend or understand how much she wanted this man. She'd never felt so feminine, so beautiful. "I'm Hermione. Do you…do you come here often? I don't think I've seen you here before."
He gave her a crooked smile. "Clearly not as often as I ought, if you do, temptress." Heat rushed straight to her core and delightful goosebumps raced along her skin. Oh, he'd leaned back. He wasn't touching her anymore. She reached out and traced designs on his arm, unable to bear the loss of contact. He smiled again–what she wouldn't do for one of those.
"Can I, er, see you again? Soon?"
"Aren't you seeing me now, gorgeous?" Fuck, he thinks I'm gorgeous. She'd been called cute, pretty, striking, but never gorgeous. "Yeah, I mean, after today. Now. Later. Whenever, really." She giggled. Normally, she hated her giggle, but he seemed to like it; he'd started stroking the small of her back. Maybe he found it sexy. Merlin, she hoped he found it sexy. He was whispering the naughtiest things she'd ever heard and she gulped the rest of her drink. It made her feel dizzy, but braver.
She needed to be brave. Clearing her throat, she mumbled, "Would you have any interest at all in…coming home with me? I mean, of course, if you don't, that's fine too, no trouble at all, I just–"
His finger pressed to her lips; she fell silent, heart pounding, desire crashing through her. Impulsively, she ran her tongue against his finger. He tasted delicious. She had to have more. To find out if the rest of his skin tasted this good.
"I can't, sweetheart," he crooned, pushing the finger into her mouth and gazing at her. Her eyes dilated and she sucked it in deeply, moaning with delight. "Got to, er, feed my dog, you see? Can't leave him alone for so long. Why don't you come home with me, instead?" Still laving his finger with her tongue, Hermione nodded eagerly. She needed this.
She didn't remember quite how they made it there. He was driving her wild with little touches. She was memorising the shape of his nose, the lines of his eyebrows, the distracting way he licked his lips whilst tracing circles on her hip, skimming tantalisingly over her rear. Once inside, he threw her over his shoulder amidst uncontrolled giggles and carried her to the bathroom. She had quite a good look at his arse, which she reached out and slapped for good measure.
The first time, he took her in the shower after stripping her clothes off. "Fuck, how I've wanted you," he growled as he finished, slapping her face, holding her against the wall by her throat. She giggled again, relieved. She loved him so much, and he wanted her. He pulled out of her and let go, causing her to grab wildly for the bar as her slippery feet sought purchase on the tiles. The water stopped and the whooshing warmth of a drying charm swirled around her. "Go wait in the bedroom. Left, end of the hall. I'll come for you shortly, and I want to be pleased.
He gathered up her things as she rushed to obey. Entering the room, she stopped short. There was a bed, so it must be a bedroom, but it looked out of place. All the furniture was pushed aside. How thoughtful! Her love had made space for her to move in.
She hummed happily as she walked toward the bed, gasping with delight when she saw what was on it–a lingerie version of a schoolgirl's outfit, complete with "Head Girl" emblazoned on the chest of the white shirt. She put it on, feeling it magically resize to fit her snugly.
He made her earn the title several times that night.
A shudder ran through Hermione, dragging her back to the present. She stared off into the distance, lost in horrible memories as she shared everything with Draco, who was holding her hand tightly as she continued telling him every abhorrent thing she had gone through. Unconsciously her fingers of her free hand traced scars on her body, souvenirs of the increasing violence of that week. What started out as rough shower sex and cute lingerie escalated quickly.
She'd done everything he'd asked, overeager to please him even as he abused her body, leaving her bruised inside and out. He loved slapping her face, especially while she slobbered happily on his cock, but soon it wasn't enough. Handcuffs turned into brutal ropes that he used to drag her body into painful positions where she'd stay for hours. He'd magically enhanced his own attributes, telling her he'd "split her in two, you filthy fat whore," spitting on her, urinating on her, leaving her for hours in filth.
"Fuck, but you're a disgusting hag," he'd snarl as he violated her. After he was done, he liked to tie her hands to a rope hanging above her head, so tight she had to stand on her toes, and whip her. "Feel that. That's what you deserve. Slutty little girls can come from this treat. Don't you wish to please me?" She came. After all, she loved him, and he wanted her to.
Perversely, he grew angrier the more she did what he wanted. The degrading language got worse; the whip wasn't enough for him anymore. He attached a magical vibrator to her clitoris, using a razor to cut patterns into her skin. "That's it, my worthless fucktoy. You like it, don't you? You cream your sloppy cunt over it?" Of course she did. Anything for him.
Sometimes it was magical penetration, in any or all possible configuration. He'd watch, smoking a cigar, telling her how useless her slutty holes were, how fat and ugly she was, a fucking meatsack not good for aught but feeding come to. Over and over, he asked if she liked it. If she loved him. He punctuated his speech with small, round burns and instructions. When to come. When to move. Where to kneel. When she could relieve herself.
She couldn't, if he was gone. She wasn't to touch herself, either, or move from the position in which he left her. Naturally, she was revoltingly soiled when he returned. He'd call her a pig, disgusting, wallowing, fetid. Hit her some more.
Draco shifted on the bed, drawing her attention away from her whispered story and back onto him. He was looking at her in pure horror, but she needed to finish telling him what happened.
"I was obsessed. He told me I was worthless and I believed him. I was terrified that if I didn't do everything I could to make him happy that he would leave me. After a few days, I decided to limit what I was eating. I wanted to be thinner, to be more beautiful, and it was the only thing I could control about myself to make sure he would love me. Thank Nimue I did, because eating less meant I was ingesting less of the potions he was giving me. I don't think he realised - I don't think most men have any idea how much women eat, or should eat.
"I started having more normal thoughts, wondering what Harry or Ron were doing, what day it was because I had to meet Ginny, that sort of thing." She shrugged. "I still wasn't all there. I was thinking about introducing them to this amazing man that I loved wholeheartedly, and bringing him for Sunday dinner at the Burrow so he could meet the entire Weasley family."
"At some point I woke up lucid enough to know that I didn't love him and never had, that I didn't even know him, not really. I wanted to go home, I needed to get out, and I was bloody terrified. I heard the shower running in the hallway and knew I needed to hurry while my thoughts were still rational and he was preoccupied, totally unaware that I had begun to realise what was happening. I still didn't have my wand, so I tried using wandless magic to unlock the bedroom door, but, well, I was never very good at it and I was frightened, my thoughts bouncing all over the place.
Fred taught me in fourth year how to pick locks though, and I had a few bobby pins-he liked me to dress up, well, get all dolled up in lingerie and such. So I was out, and found my wand tucked away in a kitchen cabinet. I ran. Just ran, barefoot and naked, until I crossed his wards and I could apparate. I went to five different wild places before I felt safe enough to stop and transfigure clothes and attempt to clean myself up. I barely had the energy left to apparate again, but I made it. I showed up in Harry's kitchen."
Hermione stopped and took a breath, Draco let go of her hand and reached up to wipe her tears away from her face with his thumbs.
"Who was it?" He whispered, pushing down his hate. He couldn't believe how strong she was. "You can trust me, I'll take care of you."
Her brain flashed to a bloody hand, a sharp pain in her own palm. He'd just joined her in the bedroom, that first night. He held tight to her chin, staring into her face as she repeated the promise he recited to her.
"I really can't say," she said, not even attempting to try.
I will never say your name.
I will never forget your face.
I will keep everything about you a secret.
Everything before now. Everything after now.
"Well, you don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable–"
I will never disobey your instructions about what I can share with others.
"No, Draco," she said, reaching for his hand and looking at him significantly. "I cannot say."
His eyes widened as he understood. "He cursed you to keep you from telling."
I will never use your wand.
I will never hurt you.
"Yes," she whispered. "A blood oath."
Palms pressed together, his hand around her throat. The flare of magic surrounding them, tightening around her vocal cords. The rush of love as he called her a good girl. His hand leaving her neck and stroking over her breast. His wand dropping to the floor as his other hand ripped the lacy white thong from her body, fingers plunging inside.
"Fucker," Draco hissed. He felt visceral revulsion at what Hermione had gone through and knew that if he ever figured out that man's identity, there'd be hell to pay.
"He forged it with me while I was still under, obviously as a contingency, because I truly think he wouldn't have let me go. He didn't have an end game." Her chin wobbled as she tried to keep her face impassive. "If I hadn't been able to leave, I would probably be dead." She bit her lips and cursed as her eyes heated and itched.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Draco whispered over and over as she started to cry. He held her in his arms, soothing her as she broke until she finally fell asleep.
He tucked her in, charmed a constant sound of rain, which he knew she found soothing, and left her to rest. He absently opened the cabinet and took out a glass, going over everything in his mind, but as he took a sip from the glass his mouth burned with a familiar fire. Dropping the glass onto the floor, he spat it out into the kitchen sink.
Bollocks.
His brain occupied, his body had poured a measure of the brandy Gus used for cooking. He hovered above the sink for a moment, his stomach roiling as Hermione's words echoed in his head over and over again, and before he knew it he was heaving, unable to tamp down the bile now that he knew what she had gone through.
Once he was finished he pulled out his wand and cleaned both the kitchen sink and his mouth before he turned and spelled away the broken remnants of the glass tumbler, thinking that there had to be a way for her to indicate who had abused her that way, he just hadn't figured it out yet. Not while he was almost blinded by rage.
He paced his living room, fighting off the searing urge for a drink. He finally calmed himself by focusing on the fact that she trusted him enough to tell her story, apparently something she hadn't even told Potter or Weasley since they seemed to only know the bare minimum.
He'd figure it out sooner or later, he swore to himself, but knew that he'd have to be the stronger one in order for Hermione to actually begin healing.
—
She emerged from their room for dinner, eyes red and her hair massive, but he could only see how beautiful she was. She took his breath away.
—
"Happy Birthday," Draco whispered as she blinked awake and rolled into him.
She just groaned. She'd never really been into huge birthday celebrations. Growing up, she and her friends had just got back to Hogwarts, and the first month was always the hardest. It took time to get into the swing of things and celebrating a birthday was not a huge part of their plans.
She had received gifts and greetings, but they'd never had a party or anything. For which she was grateful. Being the centre of attention really never sat well with her. Besides, she would never have wanted to distract her classmates from their studies.
"I know you aren't a huge fan," he said with a grin, "but I have invited your friends for dinner."
"You have?" She asked, shocked.
He leaned in and placed a sweet kiss on the corner of her lips, his cool hands finding their way beneath her oversized shirt.
"Oh yes, I intend to make sure you're properly spoiled."
Hermione groaned as his hands swept lightly over her back, pulling her into his chest before dipping lower and squeezing her arse roughly. "This okay?" He wasn't sure how she was feeling about the physical side after the emotional maelstrom she'd dredged up for him last night.
She smiled at him. "Perfect. Kiss me, please?"
His lips captured hers properly this time, his tongue swiping over her bottom lip before making its way into her mouth, causing her to groan again.
They shared lazy kisses as they slowly began to undress one another, taking their time as Draco committed to memory everything about the feel of her. The rasp of cloth gave way to the heat of skin on skin. She finally shed her shirt, taking Draco's fingertips and running them over the numerous scars littering her skin.
Instead of shying away from the touch, Draco leaned forward and followed his fingers with his tongue and lips, caressing the scars softly.
He wouldn't allow her to be ashamed of them, not anymore.
She quivered as he nuzzled against her ribcage, whispering soothing words into her skin, his touch so gentle she felt like he was worshipping her; and he was. His lips grazed her with the words of every reassurance, every adulation. She was so strong, so perfect, and he wasn't going to let her go for as long as she would have him.
At last, his wandering fingers slid under the fabric of her knickers and smoothly pulled them down her legs. Hermione thrilled at the sensation of the fabric dragging down her thighs, her knees, her calves. She swore she could feel his love for her in every cell of her body, and felt she'd implode if he didn't touch her again immediately.
Lost in the sight of her, Draco smoothed his hands back up her legs, starting with caresses to the arches of her feet, kneading her muscles and tracing their outlines. So beautiful. Gently, he gathered her to him and ran his fingers along her inner thighs before gently pressing them into her, listening to the slight changes in breathing that told him she was spiralling higher. He brushed his fingers up and across her clit, her breath catching in her throat with a moan as they made eye contact. He continued to caress her before dipping his fingers back inside, finding the rhythm she loved. A groan caught in his throat at the wet heat of her wrapped around him, if not where he most wanted to feel it. He held himself back, wanting this to last, needing to be perfect for her.
"Please," She whispered, reaching for him. "I just want you inside of me, Draco, please," she begged, and he was unable to deny her.
He thrust into her with measured thrusts, his lips spilling praise and endearments and reassurances. She moaned beneath his strong body, her hands gripping his arse and pulling him into her tightly with every shift of his hips.
He knew her body now, knew what she needed. Every time he slid into her he hit a spot deep inside that kept pushing her higher and higher, and he rained kisses anywhere his lips could meet. His devotion was clear as he continued, murmuring that she was perfect and she was his, and he wouldn't let her go so long as she wanted him.
She cried aloud when the bubble inside of her finally popped, dragging Draco over the edge with her so abruptly that he wasn't able to pull himself from her before he was pumping thick streams of come into her body.
Hermione held him tightly to her sweaty body before he shifted, pulling himself from her and settling her into his arms, heartbeats slowing and lulling them both to sleep before he could even scourgify their sweaty bodies.
