Happy almost Valentines day everyone!
I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please as always review this chapter and let me know what you think!
Much Love 3
Hermione's Point of View
I wait for him when the wards are finally set. He rests his head in his hands anchoring against the tree trunk. The breeze chills me to the bone even while wearing this oversized, heavy winter coat. Wind seems to find more strength the closer it is to the sea. Like the crashing waves help it build momentum. It seems to scourer the shoreline and ridges to find me.
"Malfoy," I call pleadingly, shivering all over. He lifts his head, his hair twisting in the breeze.
"Come on," he calls, assessing the state I'm in. He sighs longingly, discouraged as we make our way towards the house. I stop just before we get to the gate.
"Is it safe here? How do you know this place?" I ask him. He moves forward, opening the gate and shutting it behind us. The little pots and plants in the small pathway are overrun with weeds. Life clearly dormant here at this time of year.
"It's safe. It's Blaise's grandparents' house. They're somewhere in France at the moment," he comments. Blaise Zabini. I haven't thought about him in what feels like years. I wonder where he fits in to all this mess. Did he flee to France when we left school?
I hesitate still and Malfoy takes my wrist again pulling me forward.
"It's just for a few days Granger. Like Potter told us, okay?" he says. But the statement doesn't feel like it is meant for me. It feels more like he's trying to reassure himself.
Inside the house there is a heavy feeling. A stale smell of unuse. Like this cottage has been vacant for a very long time. Malfoy scowls and moves around the small kitchen and adjacent living room to open the windows. Some are long since fused shut from inactivity. An old cottage like this needs to constantly be maintained if it's to hold any semblance of integrity. But a part of me loves its quiet quaintness. He tries to cast a couple of cleansing charms, but the air stays stale and musky. Even magic can't take away the smell of absence that lingers here.
Ron opens and closes some of the cabinets in the kitchen and retches loudly when he opens the fridge.
"Where the fuck did you take us?" he asks.
"I didn't take you anywhere asshole!" he argues back, wrestling with the window in the sitting room. It finally pops open, half the paint and plaster opening out with it. He frowns but leaves it. There's nothing we can particularly do about the place when it's dark outside. The clock confirms it's 8:30pm but because it's only March the sun is still weary in the sky for too long. It won't find its strength until summer. I don't blame it. I am weary too.
I watch as they continue about their business. An unspoken rule passes between them to try and make this place as liveable as possible with the current climate of things. Or maybe they're just delaying the inevitable situation at hand. That three of us have to coincide together in this cramped cottage for the next three days. Against their frantic movements and silence, I peer down the hallway and note three rooms. Plausibly and from experience, this size of a house with three rooms is bound to have one bathroom and two bedrooms. There are three of us.
I take my bag up off the chair and make my way down the hall to the door at the very end. It is a bedroom. I leave my bag, - packed hurriedly with things I'll probably never use - on the bedside table and continue examining the room in the darkness. There's a king size bed and little else but it has a connecting door. I open it feeling strange. I twist my fingers around the doorhandle again. For some reason unbeknownst to me, the feeling of the handle is familiar. The soft, cool brass handle feels recognizable. Like I've touched it before but that doesn't hold any ground in my head. I've been to many older houses in my life and most doorhandles were made of brass in the past because they didn't corrode and practically disinfected themselves.
I let go of the handle but that familiar feeling stays in my hand, and I try to shake it out. The bathroom is semi empty. No little trinkets to indicate any sort of people have lived here recently. I wonder how long it has been vacant.
I turn back when I hear someone coming into the bedroom. Ron enters and throws his bag on the opposite bedside table. Without any words the decision on the sleeping arrangements have been made. Ron throws himself back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He notices me then standing in the bathroom and beckons me back into the bedroom. I throw my bag down on the ground off the nightstand and climb up on the bed beside him.
"Do you think it's bad back in London?" I ask and he sulks.
"I'm not sure. Shacklebolt said there had been a lot of wizards who were hurt. They set fire to the apothecary and burnt down Ms Ramblesteens place too. You know the one that always had those machines with the sweets outside," he says. I follow suit and sink a little into the bed at that news. We had always met before school starts in Diagon Alley to get everything we needed for the year ahead. But every time we had gone over the past few years there were either stores that had gone out of business or stores that had been burnt down by Death Eaters. But Shacklebolt had said this was different. This was 'big'.
"Why do you think this happened?" I ask. He mulls this over for a moment, kicking off his shoes.
"To remind us that they're still here. That they're still a threat. Something like this always happens when they've been quiet for a while," he explains.
"Do you think they were looking for Grimmauld Place?" I ask, unsure.
"It's possible. I mean we've raided a lot of their safe houses. They've raided far less of ours. Maybe they're getting impatient. Or maybe they were just bored," he explores. I don't like the idea of Death Eaters being bored.
"Ron."
"Hmm," he replies, his voice growing soft.
"Why did you grab my ankle while we were apparating? You could have gotten spliced. You're lucky Malfoy was able to get us both here safely," I say.
"Lucky," he scoffs.
"Really! You could have been hurt. Why didn't you go to the Burrow? Won't Molly and Arthur be worried?" I ask.
"Why didn't you go to the Burrow?" He retorts and I grow quiet. He's right. I could have spoken up. I could have.
We're silent for a beat, listening to the house settle. Getting accustomed to the different sounds this old cottage makes. It creaks more than Grimmauld Place if that were even possible. But perhaps it's just the wind here. Grimmauld Place is in London and this cottage is on the side of a cliff beside the sea. There are more trees here and they shriek loudly in the wicked breeze outside the window. Neither of us had decided to light a candle in the room and eventually the dark seems to get to Ron because I hear his breathing growing steady.
I think of getting up and exploring the house a little bit. Even though I know there's not much to see. I wonder about the TV and if it works. I wonder about what's in the kitchen. I hadn't particularly eaten much of the dinner that was put in front of me. But the heaviness and severity of the situation back in London eats away at my energy and before long I find myself snoring lightly beside Ron. Both of us still fully dressed but too exhausted to even care.
The following day seems to pass in the exact same fashion I had expected. What I hadn't expected is how awkward it was going to be or really how to deal with the foul mood Malfoy was in. He was gone when I woke up and didn't return until 2pm. He had brought back some food from the local village, and we were able to cook something for dinner at least. Some vegetables and meat to tide us over. As basic as they come. I kind of wished he had brought back something more difficult to cook so I could have spent more time making it. Because watching food boil doesn't really take that much concentration so I was painfully aware of the discomfort in the kitchen and adjoining living room.
Turns out the tv didn't work but a small radio by the window did. It played old 50s music on repeat with very little actual input from any sort of DJ. Ron tried several times to retune it and see could he get any report on what was happening in London, but it wouldn't fold. It just continuing banging out tunes from the 50s like its life depended on it. Eventually Ron gave up and went down to the seaside. It improved the mood slightly in the cottage but still things were uncomfortably tense. Malfoy refused to even acknowledge me. He just sat in the small armchair by the sliding patio door at the back, staring out. Occasionally he would take a book from over the stove and flick through it. But nothing could really hold his attention especially when he was determined to keep hold of this mood he was in.
I served dinner late hoping we could all just go to bed afterwards without having to sit around in the living room awkwardly. Ron spoke a lot during dinner which I was thankful for. It cut out a little of the unease and it was nice to laugh and reminisce about things with him. Malfoy on the other hand wore a tight scowl for the entire affair. When Ron went to shower before bed, I washed the dishes slowly in the sink taking my time to put all the plates and cutlery back in their correct place. Wondering whether Malfoy was going to use this time to speak to me.
Instead, he comes up right behind me, taking my waist and shifting me slightly to the left so he can lean down and open out the bottom cupboard. He pulls out a large brown bottle and something swishes inside. He pops open the cork and I can smell the distinct acidic smell of alcohol.
"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I ask, turning around towards him. He leans in close to me and takes a long swing of the drink, holding my eye determinedly.
"What the fuck do you care?" he asks sarcastically before turning around and making his way back over to the armchair by the window. I turn back around to the sink and try my best to contain my anger. I won't allow his mood to affect me like this. I finish the dishes and hang up the tea towel on the hook. Without looking at him I sulk down the hallway and into the bedroom.
Ron snores lightly in the bed, star fishing in the centre. I groan, unhappy that I'll have to scoot into the small space beside him. I shower leisurely hoping the hot water will alleviate some of the tension in my neck and ease this scowl off of my face. When It's time to get into bed I stare at Ron sleeping effortlessly for a moment and I try to remind myself to thank him for his behaviour so far. It's been so painfully uncomfortable in this house but I'm thankful that he hasn't started a fight. As tense as it's been here, a fight would have made things ten times worse.
I sneak into the small space beside him and my intrusion against his arm causes him to move, turning over and facing the window. I lie back in the extra space and pull the blanket close around my chin for warmth. Then think against it as the smell of mildew is strong off the blanket. I'm still not used to the creaking and new sounds in the cottage but tonight they're soothing, helping to lull me to sleep.
I feel as if I'm only asleep for an hour or two when I hear the sound of music blaring from the kitchen. I sit up suddenly, kicking on my socks as fast as I can. I look over my shoulder at Ron but he's still snoring loudly. A group of Death Eaters storming into the bedroom probably wouldn't wake him. I grab a jumper before I leave the room and dress quickly in the hallway trying to adjust to the light from the kitchen. I quickly silence the bedroom, tucking my wand back into my pocket. I don't expect this to go well, and I don't want Ron to wake up to any screaming.
The music is much louder when I enter the kitchen and I can almost feel it in my feet vibrating off the wooden floors. When I enter the kitchen Malfoy is in the same place in the armchair. But his legs are thrown off the side and his head hangs over the other side. The bottle of alcohol remains on his lap. I shout his name, but he can't hear me over the music blasting nosily. I try to cover my ears as I make my way over and turn the music down. Malfoy jerks up, falling a little off the side of the chair.
"Look who it is!" he exclaims, and his voice slurs a little. Great. He's drunk. I should have taken the bottle with me to bed and hid it so we could have avoided this whole entire situation.
"Malfoy what are you doing?" I ask, looking up towards the clock. "It's 3am," I argue.
"I can do what I want, Granger," he says then, his tone more serious.
"Well, you woke me up blaring that music!" I argue. He stands from the chair and makes his way over to me.
"Oh well apologies m'lady. I wouldn't ever want to disturb the wonderful sleep you and the Weasel were having," he replies sardonically taking a long swing from the bottle. I grab the bottle from his hand and a little spills out down his shirt. I back up quickly to the counter edge, but he follows me. I hold the bottle behind my back.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" I plea as he moves in close, looming over me. He reaches behind me slightly, but I squirm to avoid his hands.
"I'll tell you when I've had enough," he says, low beside my ear, frighteningly. I shove him back with my shoulder and he stumbles against the fridge. He tries to right himself gracefully, but I take his momentary distraction to throw the bottle on the floor. Only the bottom breaks but the alcohol comes running out across the floor regardless.
"Why the fuck did you do that!" he berates, staring at the floor.
"Because you've had enough," I reiterate, trying to keep my voice calm and not mirror the intensity he's trying to bring.
"Who made you the boss?" he asks, seething. He's back in front of me again, pressing me against the counter.
I push him back again and he laughs, but it's not an attractive laugh. It reminds me of the way he used to sneer and laugh at people in Hogwarts.
"Why are you acting like this? Why are you so mad today? Why are you treating me like shit today?" I scream, quickly losing any composure I had. Not holding onto it for a long as I had hoped.
"Because you piss me off Granger," he shouts, returning the same level of intensity.
"The feeling is mutual Malfoy but you're the one who brought me here! I could have went to the Burrow. You brought me here!" I exclaim.
"Yes, I brought you here! You! I didn't bring your stowaway stalker here," he replies.
"So, you're really angry at Ron then? Not me?" I ask.
"No, I'm angry at you," he confirms but it's difficult to focus with him so close to me.
"Why, Malfoy?" I ask, quieter this time. I try to draw his eyes up to mine but he's evasive. Looking anywhere but at me. He doesn't ease the tension in his body that is still pressing me back hard into the counter. I feel so small against him.
He meets my eyes then eventually and I see hurt there. Anger for sure but hurt behind that. When he notices me searching his eyes, he leans down a little and grabs behind my knees. My legs go soft as he slides me back on the countertop and then pulls me forward in one quick movement, so my legs wrap around him on either side, his chest pressed hard against mine. He holds my back.
"Malfoy," I breath against him surprised. My heart in my throat and my rationality hidden below that.
"Why do you have to infuriate me so much, Granger?" he asks, bringing his hands to my neck. He angles my face up to his and I can taste his breath on my lips. It tastes of alcohol.
"What did I do?" I ask, searching his face. There is a strange feeling in my stomach. An unease at causing that kind of look on his face that I desperately search his eyes again for the answer.
"Why would you sleep in his bed?" he whispers, his lips brushing against my jaw. He's averted his eyes for this question. My pulse jumps to my throat at the contact, thumping painfully. No one has ever touched me like this. This softly and adorningly.
"What do you mean?" I ask, completely surprised by his question.
"His bed? Why would you go to his bed, Granger. Why do you do that shit to me?" he argues. I feel his tongue against my neck.
"Malfoy," I whisper, unable to think coherently. "I can't think straight when you're touching me like this," I mouth against him. He moves lower on my neck, lapping his tongue against a very sensitive spot, moving my head back for a better angle. I stare at the lights on the ceiling my vision completely blurring. He can surely feel my pulse in my neck soaring. He pulls my face back down to his.
"You sleep in my bed," he clarifies. His eyes find mine, trying to cement the idea.
"Why?" I ask, breathlessly.
"Why?" he laughs a little against my cheek and I feel the chuckle low in his chest.
"Because you are mine," he answers simply.
"Yours?" I ask confused, my pulse quickens again up to dangerous levels I expect. If Malfoy wasn't holding my head, I'm afraid it would lull to the side, and I would pass out.
"I was yours?" I ask again incredulously.
"Was?" he laughs again low. "You are mine, Granger. I don't give a shit if you don't remember. I never agreed to keep up this charade Potter had in place."
"Yours?" I question again. He kisses my neck tenderly.
"Mine," he answers possessively.
I try to pull his face back so I can read him, but he wraps his arms around me tightly and continues sucking on my neck. I need him to stop so I think coherently regardless of how good it feels.
"How long?" I question and I feel him smirk against my neck.
"Since Hogwarts," he whispers. Since Hogwarts. Years then. Years.
"Is this what everyone has been keeping from me?" I ask.
"Partially. I'm not everyone's biggest fan, remember," he laughs.
"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" I ask, pushing against his chest. He grabs my arm then and leans away from my neck, staring at me.
"Why? Do you have a problem with it?" he inquires smugly, brushing the hair out of my face as he assesses me. His face angles back in the light and I can see how big his pupils are. He's still fairly drunk. Is there a chance he could be lying?
In any other situation if someone had said this to me, I wouldn't believe a word they were saying. Maybe that was the reason no one had brought it up before. But Malfoy telling me, in this position where he's pressing hard against my body and kissing my neck tenderly. He wouldn't go this far for a lie. He wouldn't. People can't be that cruel.
"Are you lying?" I whisper, as the brief separate seems to get to him and he leans back in close kissing the other side of my neck.
"Malfoy I can't think when you're kissing me like this," I berate, my breathing loud. My chest and neck are flushed beet red. I can't help the moan that escapes. I should be embarrassed that he's heard it, but I can't seem to feel any embarrassment when his touch feels so tender. He chuckles deeply again.
"You like this," he says. A confirmation. Not a question.
"Because you can erase memories Granger. Not feelings," he hums as his mouth trails up to my ear. My breath comes forceful and faster as he starts to move dangerously. He squeezes my thighs firmly and it causes me to moan again.
"Have we done this before?" I ask, his mouth trailing along to my cheek and down to the corner of my mouth.
"Less times than I would have liked," he mumbles, trailing his mouth dangerously close to my mouth.
"And you wanted to? Be like this with me?" I ask, still trying to wrap my head around it. His laugh brushes the hair away from my face with a quick exhale.
"Yes," he says slowly, his lips so close to mine that they brush against mine as he speaks. He places a hand over my chest when the rapid rise and fall becomes very noticeable.
"Breathe love," he whispers, his fingers dipping below the line of my top to press against my skin, making the hyperventilating worse.
"Malfoy," I whisper, leaning towards him but he puts pressure on his hand, holding me a little away.
"Say you're mine," he says, his voice losing any semblance of intoxication.
"Why?"
"Because I don't share, Granger. Say you're mine, now."
The defiance in his voice turns me on. The demanding tone. The look of certainty. Every part of his possessiveness turns me like I would never have expected. Call it the situation. The familiarity of the house. The feeling of him touching my chest and my waist and the solemn certainty in his eyes. Call it whatever you want but the words came out of my mouth regardless.
"I'm yours," I whisper.
"Fuck, Granger," he says as his lips crash against mine. He pulls me tighter to him on the counter before his hands move up, cupping my face. It's so frantic I can barely breathe or feeling anything that isn't his lips pulling on mine desperately. His movements are frantic and caressing.
"Malfoy, I can't breathe," I gasp, pulling away from his eager lips.
"Draco," he whispers, pulling my mouth back to his hungrily.
"What?" I ask against his mouth.
"You call me Draco. Not Malfoy," he says, devouring my mouth again and moving down to my jaw as he tries to regain his own breath.
"Draco," I whisper gingerly.
"Fuck, Granger," he breaths loudly against my cheek. "I love you," he whispers, pushing me hard back against the cabinets before I have time to even process. His lips eagerly find mine again with even more ferocity this time.
The gate bangs outside. I hadn't notice Malfoy had been holding me against him because he slides me down slowly, so I sit back against the counter.
"What was that?" I whispers, his head already turned towards the front door.
"Baby, go into the room and hide, do not come out," he says, moving away from me. I grab his arm and squeeze.
"No. Not at all. Don't be ridiculous," I say, sliding down from the counter and pulling my wand out of my back pocket. Malfoy stands in front of me, facing the door.
"Don't argue with me right now Granger," he says, his voice firm. Any hint of intoxication is gone. He stands fully upright and sober right now. His stance is firm, and he seems to tower over me like a wall has erected itself in the centre of the kitchen.
I grab his hand.
"I'm not going anywhere. So don't argue with me," I say firmly. He glares back at me momentarily.
"Granger," he warns.
"Draco," I say, mirroring his tone but I see him soften as the use of his first name. He sighs and turns back towards the front door.
I glance briefly at the clock. It's 3:20am. I doubt it's a neighbourly call at this hour. We wait for a beat in the silence, and I think maybe it was just the wind. It had been very chaotic when I went to bed. Maybe it's just picking up again.
A knock sounds loudly against the door. Three individual raps. Doubt the wind could do that.
Malfoy takes his wand out.