A Darker Language of Flowers

by Ceilidhchaos

Yellow Acacia symbolizes Secret Love Lotus Corniculatus symbolizes a Warning of Revenge Oleander, a poisonous plant, symbolizes Seduction and Bewitching Desire Once upon a time there were three people in love, then the "good and righteous" stole two of them away. This is the story of the third getting them back and then making everyone responsible pay. Inspired by Xoana by seselt

5. Chapter 5 - 2002

AdlOF Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hermione walked back into her bathroom and exhaled in relief as the two men were still where she had left them. Sitting on the deep tub's bench side by side, both of their eyes closed, seemingly almost unaware of each other, but even more unaware that she existed at all.

Dressed in her swimsuit, she sat her glass and bottle of wine at the side of the tub. Grabbing her muggle body scrubbers and the men's body wash that she'd picked up at the Tesco. The body wash smelled strongly of mint and cedar, a fairly accurate muggle approximation of her sixth year Amortentia only lacking the scents of old books, Theo's clove cigarettes and the salt of their sweat. The memories that came with this scent, was almost too much. Almost.

Sighing once the weary nostalgia had passed, she poured herself a large full glass of the red wine and immediately downed almost all of it. She prayed to whatever deity was listening that it would have an effect on the intense tension that was running through her body.

She never imagined that their homecoming would be like this, not even in her worst nightmares. She had anticipated that there would be an adjustment period, of course, but the fact that they didn't even realize they were together once more, she could feel her soul cracking. She wiped at her face where she felt a bit of wine dripping down her chin, not that it seemed as though her company would notice.

If only Draco would give her grief about the darkness under her eyes and the state of her hair. She'd give up every galleon and knut in her Gringotts vault just to hear him suggest to Theo that they tie her to the bed for a couple days in order to make sure she slept. And Theo, her sweet and wonderful Theo, he should be chiding her about hiding at home now that the war is finally over. Asking if she currently had anything in her life other than work.

The young men before her sat still as stone sculptures in the warm water. If it wasn't for their tremulous breathing, she would have thought them petrified. The ragged sound and the rattling of their chests made Hermione choke down another sob; she wondered if the act of breathing itself was painful. It was clear neither of them were healthy. Their skin so dry and thin, their bones protruding in ways she'd never seen and they seemed so weak. The way they had staggered into the house, shivering from the rain, and Theo's lips beginning to turn blue. It was an image that she would not readily get out of her mind.

She wished she had a better idea what to do to help them. She was going to need to get in contact with a doctor, not a healer since she doubted they would actually help. Perhaps she could do some research on their symptoms at the Muggle community library in her neighborhood. They were so much worse than she had feared they would be, like wraiths of their former selves. It was as if they'd received the Dementor's kiss, but she had spent the last three years secretly reviewing their files to make sure they hadn't. As part of the first group coming out of Azkaban, every symptom they presented would be new territory. She not only desperately wanted to make everything right again, she was the one who stood the best chance of making it happen. None of the other parole supervisors had her experience, she was going to have to be the one that discovered a solution to this. Were the others in this bad of shape as well? Or had the guards been particularly rough with Theo and Draco because of who they were, because of who their fathers were?

First things first, she needed to get them clean. She took a fortifying breath, and grabbed her loofah. She tried to prepare herself for Theo to flinch at her approach again and Draco to look through her as though she were the wraith.

I will not cry. I will not cry. Crying serves no constructive purpose when there is work to be done. It had been her mantra for the last three years.

She paused, loofah in hand, wondering how she would go about approaching them, as she suspected that Theo would panic and possibly hurt himself, Draco, and her if she reached for him first. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment and counted to ten, willing her body to release the tension she felt. It couldn't help them if she was as tightly wound as a bow string and when that didn't help, she refilled her wine glass and took another long sip, letting the dark red earthy beverage do its job. Soon, she felt the loosening of her muscles, making all of this hellish despair a little more palatable.

"Draco, I am gonna wash you first." She addressed the blonde with a vacant expression. "Theo, you can see what I am doing and that I'm not going to hurt you." She kept her wine in one hand and sat it closer to him on the edge of the bath. She was right next to Draco now, her face in his face, the coarse loofah pulling the filth off his skin. She watched transfixed as his alabaster skin was revealed in slow degrees as the dirt was scrubbed away. His eyes were still closed and the rough rattle of his breath was terrifying. Did he have pneumonia? Could wizards contract it? The healers St. Mungo's sent to Azkaban were criminally negligent. As an Auror, she had always suspected, but before her was living proof.

She'd waited so long to be able to touch him, touch them again, but this is not what she had imagined all those times. It was like she was washing their bodies for burial, just the physical bodies of the men are loved, their souls adrift. Where was Draco's cutting wit or Theo's flirtatious charm. As she watched the flutter of Draco's closed eye lashes, she couldn't help but wonder, had they gone inside themselves? What she would give for Draco to tell her something in French, for Theo to recite some obscure muggle poetry from his mother's collection for her.

She wanted to scream at them, tell them that she was right here and they needed to come back to her already. Perhaps scrubbed their emaciated bodies a little rougher than she should have done, to shake them out of their silent state as she removed months worth of dirt from their bodies.

Instead, she gently washed Theo's back, mindful of all his old scars and cursing inward at the new ones that had not been there when the Aurors had dragged him away after his trial. Tracing the marks, she whispered to him, "Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!" When Theo didn't look up at her and smile or even cite the author and work to share some obscure fact with her about it, her heart broke all over again.

Hermione felt a rage growing from the spark it had been the last three years. Flaring uncontrollably, her need for retribution began to burn inside her like a frenzied inferno. Someone needed to pay for what had happened to Draco and Theo, to her boys. The damage that had been done to them was more than new scars and starved flesh, it was soul deep. She felt the clawing grip of fear that she would not be able to heal them from this horrendous hurt.

There would be a reckoning and Hermione Granger would be its agent. She would move heaven and earth to make sure that everyone responsible would get their comeuppance for what the damage they had done to her loves. No one who had been involved would be safe from the Golden Girl's burning need for reprisal.

Her vengeance would be brutal and she already knew who would help her achieve it.