Water

Water
Chapter Fourteen
Feedback: Please be honest, and I try to get back to you personally on certain issues.
Summary: "...You’re the one who needs help! You’re the one who makes my skin crawl whenever we stand in the same room! You’re fucked up Malfoy. And your father couldn’t even teach you anything other than how to fuck up everyone else with you-” Her wand went flying.

All my thanks to Gracie, my wonderful beta, for getting through this chapter as fast as ever. Any other mistakes are, unfortunately, my own. =)

Disclaimer: All these characters belong to JKR. I own nothing, much to my dismay, and make no money whatsoever out of this story!

Chapter 14.


Hermione stood up suddenly, untwisted the jumper that she’d hastily thrown over her dress, and stepped away from Draco. She looked at Harry, and then at Ron, before glancing back down at him as he began to push himself up. The air was filled with heavy breathing.

Hermione knew. She knew why Draco had just whispered to her “get away from me”, so quietly that she barely heard it, but understood it all the same. It wasn’t an order or a threat. It was a warning.

Hermione felt a light tingling in her fingers, as if the blood circulation in her body was beginning to press all the fluid against her heart, thrashing so wildly in her ribs that she could barely work it out. She could barely understand it. Apart from those words. Get away from him.

What the hell had she just done.

But amidst all that faint realisation, that slowly-numbing inward scream that was reverberating through her bones- Hermione was furious. She was furious with everything. And most of all, with herself.

“Hermione, what-”

“Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?” she cut in. Surely, she shook to herself as her skin seemed to slowly split with the terror, that would be something she would say in such a situation. What’s going on. Hermione Granger demands an answer.

But somewhere inside herself, she knew that it was already too late to act oblivious. It was too late to avoid the questions and the answers and sharp fractions of the truth.

Because Hermione was standing there. A thin, useless, laughable jumper thrown on her body and pulled down to her hips. It did nothing. Because surely they could still see the devastating rip up her dress, the flashes of fading red skin on her legs. The mark on her lip. And surely. Surely they could see her tremble with shock and remorse- remorse so effectively squashing her heart into liquid. Why did she come out to this?

Because she couldn’t stop herself.

Hermione had heard the roaring. She had heard it. It was only just outside their common room. Merlin. She was so destroyed by all these loud noises. So fed up of the sounds through walls and doors and ceilings that always and inevitably led to horrible things. Awful things. Things that never should have happened. And she’d heard it and she knew exactly who it was. Harry. And Draco.

Draco. There was the smallest part of Hermione that acknowledged it had been for him. The reasons why she had grabbed the nearest piece of clothing and fled out through the door. And not for Harry.

Not for Harry? Why in Merlin’s name not? Because Draco was helping her, was that it? Because he’d made something twinge inside of her? Big things? Heartstrings? Is that why she’d got it so fucking wrong and come out for him? How wrong. Just wrong. And tearing her apart. Because it just never stops.

Draco was on his feet now, his breath ragged. Hermione had to stop herself from going over to him again. Not because Harry and Ron were there. Just because. Just because it never stops.

She felt light-headed. More than, in fact. Her head had been balancing on the edge of a distant daze the moment Draco’s wand had touched her. Perhaps it soothed the pain, or distracted from it, or something. But right now the haziness, all the clouds, they made it all so much harder. So much harder to believe that it wasn’t a dream.

Harry and Ron were standing there. Trying to talk to her. She could hear their voices asking her questions, but she couldn’t hear what. Angry voices, concern, someone’s hand lightly touching the top of her arm.

And all the while Hermione was staring at Draco. And he was staring back. Head down slightly, fingers touching his lip briefly, but looking still. And that look. It said so much. It said why did you. Why did you come. And some other things that the clouds, all these clouds, they just wouldn’t let her see.

“Hermione.”

She felt a sickly lash of imbalance lapping over her muscles as she turned towards Ron. She opened her mouth, and of course the words didn’t come out. If only she didn’t have to speak. Couldn’t say the words. If only things were silent. Wouldn’t life be so much better silent?

“Hermione, please tell us what’s happened.”

The boys had turned there back on Draco. They were near to her, peering into her face, glancing down at her dress, confusion, frustration and vengeance marking their flustered features.

She knew that Draco was still looking, still staring at her whilst Harry and Ron brushed their hands against her, said her name, voices getting louder. Too loud. It sounded like shouting. Shouts shouting over one another. Grinding and grating and whirling around her softened brain as they pressed into it like clay. She felt sick. Uneasy, sick, distant.

What should I do Draco. Please tell me.

Help me.

And suddenly the clouds darkened, and Hermione’s body went limp.


*


Draco couldn’t stop himself. He just went for her, went to stop her body from crashing to the ground and-

He was stopped dead in his tracks as Ron and Harry got their first. Naturally. Naturally they did, but Draco wasn’t even aware enough to hate them for it. All he could think about was her, Hermione, head hanging down and breathing that he couldn’t hear anymore.

“She’s fainted-”

“We’re not fucking stupid!” snapped Ron, “Hermione?” They lowered her body to the floor.

“Get her in the common room.” Draco’s voice was monotonous. It was flat. But the urgency was screaming through it.

“Stay away from her, Malfoy,” spat Harry, shaking Hermione’s arm.

“She needs Madam Pomfrey,” said Ron, frantically.

“No,” replied Draco, desperate to take her from them, desperate to pull her into his own arms with some fucked up logic to carry her away by himself. “She’ll be alright in-”

“What the hell have you done to her?!” roared Ron, and suddenly, Draco was almost quite shocked that it was him, Harry still on the ground next to Hermione as Ron stood up.

He pushed Draco hard in the direction of the steps. He would have noticed how close he came to slipping down them were it not for the fact he ignored it.

He ignored it, and looked passed him. “Potter, I know what it is.” The healing charms- he’d fainted from them before. The effects they have on the body- it made sense, he realised, still frantic and desperate inside but realising nevertheless.

“I bet you do,” growled Harry, “I bet you know absolutely everything about this.” And suddenly Harry’s arms were underneath Hermione, and he was lifting her to his chest, slowly rising up to his feet.

No. Get your fucking hands off her.

“The password, Malfoy.”

But at least- at least Potter was listening to him. For some sudden reason.

“Firebone,” he blurted at the portrait, pushing past Ron and walking after them, “I can wake her,” he said, words fast, “I know the spell. My mother-”

“You think I don’t know it?” snapped Harry, stepping heavily into the common room and rushing for the sofa, Ron now on his heels in front of Draco, “It’s quicker if I just do it now and then we can take her to Madam Pomfrey afterwards, Ron.”

Draco fought the urge to protest once again. It was like swallowing stones. He knew what that would mean. Too many questions. Too many demands for an answer. She would crumble. And then they’d both be destroyed.

Harry took out his wand.

And Draco- Draco was only allowed to stand at a distance. A distance that was quite spectacularly killing him on the spot. He needed to be the one to help her. She needed his help. He was the healer. Not Potter. Not Weasley.

He and Granger were supposed to take care of this by themselves.

Harry pointed the tip to Hermione’s forehead and muttered a few brief words.

She stirred instantly, and Draco couldn’t help but let out a loud breath of relief to join the others. Ron’s head snapped in his direction momentarily.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Harry took his wand away and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Harry…what…” She blinked, looked up at him, face marked with the dull ache of pain.

“You fainted,” said Draco, the contempt in his voice screaming at her for murmuring Potter’s name. Her eyes, still blinking, swept over to his. He’d taken a step towards her, he realised. That must have been why Weasley looked at him like that.

Hermione sat up suddenly, pulled her body into a sitting position, as she seemed to remember- all at once- what exactly was going on here. Her expression. Potter would have probably done her a favour by letting her lie there unconscious for a while longer.

“We need to get you to the hospital wing,” said Harry, curling his arm round her back once again.

Bastard. If ever Draco wanted to hex him into fucking oblivion, that was the time. Fucking heroics. That was all it ever was with him. And is that what he was being when he kicked Draco to the ground a few moments ago? A sodding hero? It was so important that he just took his filthy hands off her and left them to it. As if that would ever happen.

“No,” said Hermione, as abruptly as possible, holding a hand to her forehead. She half-leaned away from Harry.

Draco noticed. And he was pleased.

“What do you mean no?” growled Ron. There was something about Weasley. Something about his voice and his posture. He didn’t seem as sympathetic as Harry. He just seemed angry. Angry and almost hurt. Even though, of course, really, it was nothing to do with him.

It was nothing to do with either of them. So why was everything about the three of them? Together. Always together. Something happens to one and all of a sudden the other two have been crippled for life. Get over it you idiots. She said no. She means no. Fuck off.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital wing, alright?” repeated Hermione, and now she struggled even harder away from Harry. He looked confused, pulling away and getting to his feet. Ron walked across to join him. Draco stayed where he was.

“What happened to you, Hermione?” asked Harry, his voice was halfway caught between gentle and demanding. Something short of terror.

It occurred to Draco that, at that moment, the two boys were suddenly completely ignoring his presence. Completely. As if this was nothing to do with him. As if they hadn’t just thrown fists and feet and elbows around.

As if Hermione hadn’t rushed over to him earlier. Run right past her best friends.

Yes. Extremely convenient that they were now ignoring the fact that he was standing in the same room as them. And weren’t they just utterly convinced that this was entirely his fault.

And it was.

But not like that.

Not that he didn’t deserve to take the blame.

“Nothing happened to me,” she murmured, weakly, grabbing a cushion from beside herself, and laying it firmly on her lap to attempt to hide her dress.

“It’s alright,” replied Harry, “You can tell me. You can tell me what happened.”

And then Hermione glanced up at Draco again. He felt his heart clench.

I don’t know, Granger. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you can say.

But he cleared his throat. Because that look she had given him. It was asking for help. And he didn’t care that he had no idea what to do. What to say. He just didn’t want to leave her alone like that. Not again.

“I think she just needs-”

“Don’t you dare fucking say one word, Malfoy!” shouted Harry.

His voice erupted in the soft-voiced surroundings like a boulder crashing down before them all. Everyone shook slightly.

Draco’s face fell to a frown. “I’d be careful, Potter. She doesn’t look like she’s too keen on having your hands all over-”

And before he knew it, Harry crossed the space between them to once again launch a powerful fist into the middle of his face. Draco heard Hermione whimper something as he stumbled backwards. Harry came towards him once again, and Draco drew his wand in an instant, pointing it firmly to Harry’s neck with an expression full of pure and utter malice.

“Wrong- fucking- move.” Because I’ll do this. I hate you enough not to care.

Ron’s hands immediately clasped around Harry’s shoulders, and he jerked him away from Draco’s wand. “Leave it, Harry,” he muttered. And then something quite unexpected. “You’ve had you’re turn.” And then Ron turned back around, and landed a second punch into Draco’s cheek.

That was too much. Too fucking much and they didn’t understand. They had no idea. Draco’s wand slipped out of his hand as he hurled his body at Ron- both of them collapsing to the ground as Draco pressed his weight on him, brought his arm up to swing his fist into his pathetic Weasley face- pathetic fucking bastard and how-dare-he-

Small hands grabbed his raised arm. Draco froze.

“Hermione get away from him,” spat Harry.

“Shut up!” she shouted, yanking on Draco’s arm harder. “Please,” she said, “Please just stop this. We can’t sort it like this. Just please…”

He heard the trepidation in her voice. He heard the terror and the anxiety and the sheer pleading panic in her words. He growled. Low and hard and angry. Because all that fear was their fault. Weasley and Potter. The most extraordinary dickheads he had ever had the disgrace of meeting. She pulled on him once more, and Draco felt his arm relax a little. His fist uncurling.

Ron pushed against him. “Get the hell off me.”

Draco stood up, and stepped away. He didn’t look at Hermione. He just glared at Ron. And then at Harry. And at how completely easy it would be to lose it. Lose it and never find it again. If it wasn’t for her-

If it wasn’t for her? Why should she matter? Why should she be a difference in all of this? It shouldn’t stop him from following through what he knew best. What he needed to do more than anything. Curl his fingers around Potter’s neck, and squeeze.

But those questions were useless a long time ago. Now they were simply air.

Draco’s teeth ground together. His jaw was stinging.

“You either calm down,” said Hermione’s quivering voice, “Or you can get out. All of you.”

Draco and Harry continued to stare at one another.

“So is that it then, Hermione?” asked Harry, eyes still on Draco, body still tense. “You expect us to just stand here in the same room as the fucker that’s done this to you?”

“Harry,” she replied, voice soft and exhausted, “He hasn’t done anything.”

Harry snapped his head towards her. Draco followed his gaze. Hermione’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes were watering. Her chest was rising up and down in forced control. And she looked pale. A sickly white colour. It was threatening to collapse her any moment.

“Don’t lie to us,” said Harry, his tone deepened, “Don’t cover for him. I don’t understand why you keep covering for him, Hermione.”

“I’m not covering for him!” she answered, raising her voice weakly. It seemed to hurt her. She returned a hand to her forehead.

Draco’s muscles tensed. “Can’t you see this isn’t the right time, Potter?”

“Oh yeah,” scoffed Ron, “You want us to leave you two alone so that you can threaten her to silence all over again?”

“No, Weasley,” growled Draco, “And unless you want her body on the ground again, I’d keep that arse of yours shut.”

“And why would you care, Malfoy?” questioned Harry, everyone’s eyes on Draco now. “Why would you care if she fainted again? Why would you even care to revive her? Feeling guilty maybe?”

The boy needed his face flattening.

“Harry-” sighed Hermione.

“No,” he barked, “If you won’t tell me- then he can.”

“Tell you what, Potter?” answered Draco, “What do you want to hear?”

“The truth, you bastard.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply.

Hermione’s words stopped him. “Stop making this about him, Harry.”

“What?” Harry sounded surprised. “Merlin, Hermione. At least let him fight his own battles-”

“Oh you really are pathetic sometimes, you know that?”

“What??” Harry’s frown deepened.

“Hermione,” protested Ron, “That’s hardly fair.”

“Oh isn’t it?” she barked, “Well I’m sorry, but it’s true. Recently, Harry, you’ve been quite unbelievably immature. So immature in fact that I’ve failed to recognise you on occasion!”

Draco smirked.

She seemed to catch that.

“And you can wipe that look off your face, Malfoy,” she growled, “It’s not as if you haven’t given him enough reason to be.”

He didn’t know how to react to that. He just let his smirk slowly fade. There wasn’t much point in it anyway. Things were hardly going to provide him with much to smile about after this.

Harry seemed enraged by his silence. “Where’s the comeback, Malfoy?” he growled, and then he turned to Hermione, “You think I’m being pathetic? How can you say that to me? Everything is different now. Nothing has been the same since you became Head Girl. You’ve both changed, Hermione. And come on- since when could you shut him up that easily?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Potter-”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“No I will not fuck-”

“Don’t.” Hermione was shaking her head. She looked down. “Alright,” she breathed, “Maybe that wasn’t fair. But you’ve hardly been fair to me. You’ve been so far from supportive these past weeks-”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Ron, frustration soaking his words, “But to be honest- the only thing I’m interested in finding out at the moment, is what the hell happened to you, Hermione? I mean what the hell is this?” He jerked a shaking hand in her direction. “You’re still wearing your dress from last night. And it’s torn. Your skin looks- it looks-”

“Ginny found your shoes in the bathroom,” Harry cut in, “You know what this looks like. We know what this looks like. So don’t bother side-stepping it anymore.”

Suddenly Draco felt compelled to say something. Suddenly- and because perhaps he felt guilty- he found himself stepping up closer to the three of them. Closer towards Hermione. And he remembered her words when he’d first brought her back here- after he’d found her. She’d mentioned the shoes. She’d told him. Why the fuck was he stupid enough to overlook something like that? Because that was clearly what had brought them here. Although it most definitely wasn’t the only thing.

“Do you really have to think hard about why she doesn’t tell you things, Potter?”

“I’m warning you, Malfoy.”

“All you two do is smother her. Everything she does. Every sodding move she makes. I think pathetic is a very apt word-”

“Don’t,” said Hermione, holding her hand out in front of Harry before he could take a full step forwards. She turned back to Draco. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Was she lying? “Just stay out of this, alright?” she continued, “In fact, maybe you should leave. I need to discuss this-”

“I’m staying here,” he growled, “Whether you like it or not, Granger. We both know I’m a part of this.”

“Oh we all know you’re a part of this,” spat Ron, “So perhaps you’d like to make our lives a hell of a lot easier and tell us what exactly that part is.”

“And perhaps you’d like make our lives a hell of a lot easier and just fuck off back to that filthy family of yours!”

“You bastard!” Ron’s arm rose.

“Stop!” exclaimed Hermione, and then they all heard the tears spill over into her voice, “Enough! All of you! This is stupid! This is all so stupid!”

“Hermione-”

“Be quiet, Ronald!” she interrupted, “If you want an explanation- then can’t we just sit down and talk about it? Rationally? Why does it always have to be about fighting, for Merlin’s sake? Grow up!”

“Grow up?” repeated Harry, “Considering you’ve managed to not-so-subtly avoid all our questions since- since Merlin only knows how long, Hermione- I don’t think you’re really in the position to-”

“Leave her alone, Potter,” growled Draco, long before he had any sort of coherent thought to stop himself, “You can already see this isn’t the right time. Do you really think-”

“Do you really think I give a shit what you think, Malfoy?” And then Harry turned to back to her. “Go on, Hermione. Explain. Explain to me why he of all people is telling me to leave you alone- telling me to ease up?”

Draco was noticing the opportunities. He was noticing every single opportunity he had to spit comebacks at Potter, hurl fists in his direction. And he was also noticing that he wasn’t taking them. Not all of them. Because he was so exhausted. Pained. Angry. Passionate. But exhausted.

“I’m not telling you anything until you calm down,” growled Hermione.

“Oh for the love of-”

“You too, Ron!” she insisted, “Neither of you are in the right frame of mind to deal with anything rationally, right now!”

And then Harry threw his hands up in the air. “Alright, I’ll make this simple for everyone.” He turned to face Draco. “Did you touch her?”

“Harry-”

“Shut up, Hermione.”

“No I will not shut up!” She went to go towards them but Ron placed an arm in front of her.

“It’s a straight-forward question, Malfoy,” breathed Harry, stepping closer to him, “Are you the one that’s done this to her?”

Which part?

“Harry, you don’t have the right to accuse-”

“But I’m not accusing him, am I?!” he snapped, “I’m just asking him a question!”

“Stop shouting!” she whimpered.

“If someone would just tell me what was going on-”

“No, Potter,” Draco’s voice grated across his. “No. I didn’t do that to her.”

Harry stared at him for a long second. A long second in which Draco could hear Hermione tell Ron to get off her. Tell him to leave her alone. Merlin. He wished they would just leave her alone.

“And you expect me to believe that?” came Harry’s voice, eventually.

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes at this inevitability. “Why bother asking the question then, you idiot?”

“I thought I’d give you a chance to admit it.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Yeah. Because you’re so good at telling the truth, right Malfoy?” Harry’s fists clenched. “You must be so thrilled that your father passed on so many of his wondrous talents to you. He really fucked you up, you know that-”

Draco growled, brought up his hands and shoved Harry backwards, hard onto the floor beneath. Hermione flung herself between them.

“That’s it,” she said, “Malfoy- get out.”

“What?” You have got to be fucking kidding me. Draco was the only one acting like half a man in that room.

“This isn’t helping,” she said, her eyes widening a little as they looked into his.

He looked back at her. “I’m not-” I’m not leaving you with them. I don’t like it. I don’t like what they do to you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Malfoy!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Granger!”

“Just leave before this gets even more out of hand, alright?”

“Why? Because you want me to?” Don’t forget that they’re here, Granger. Don’t forget that we have to put on a fucking show. Pull the wool over their eyes. Protect them from the big bad horror that is us. “Since when did I take orders from you?”

“Malfoy, you know this isn’t helping!” But she didn’t seem to understand. Not in that moment. She seemed too distracted and distraught and riddled with the what-the-hell-do-I-say-nows to acknowledge the fact that if he just complied to her demand- if he just rolled over and walked out like she wanted- Potter would be even more furious. Because a Malfoy never listens to a mudblood. And isn’t that rich.

But then Draco realised some more. He realised that maybe it was too late. And maybe she did realise what he was doing after all- but she knew before he did that there wasn’t any point. She’d blown it as soon as she’d rushed over to him. And he’d blown it as soon as he’d told Potter to leave her alone.

Draco fought a long harsh shiver from shooting down his back. He didn’t want to leave her. Alone to fight this. Not again. But he didn’t have a choice. Her eyes weren’t giving him any choice.

He growled under his breath, shot Harry one last look of absolute abhorrence and spun round on his heel. Stomach burning, shoulders aching, jaw stinging. But he wouldn’t start to limp in pain until he got out of the door. Until he’d left them alone.

Draco suddenly regretted turning away so quickly. He regretted that Potter was the last thing that he looked at. So he turned back, and glanced at Hermione once more. She was still looking at him. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. It said. It said I’m sorry.

He could have sworn it said I’m sorry.


*

“I wish-” Hermione closed her mouth. She paused and took another breath, as if in some last hope she could suck everything in around her, swallow it, and never let it back out again. “I just wish things hadn’t become so hostile between us.”

“We’ve been concerned about you.”

She fiddled with the buttons of her shirt.

Hermione had closed her bedroom door on her best friends’ incessant questioning with the absolute refusal to discuss anything further whilst she was- looking like that. Dressed like that. Betrayal, pain, bloody memories wrapped and hanging around her skin.

How could she possibly have stood there any longer?

She had put on the largest, longest, dullest clothes she could possibly find. Anything to hide the flushes of her skin, anything to take away an ounce of their horrific attention. Warm her, uselessly protect her. From that fucking air that she kept having to breathe.

No. She didn’t mean it like that. She didn’t mean- as if she wasn’t grateful to be living. As if she didn’t appreciate her existence. Love the world. Her world. Just at that moment-

She did mean it, at that moment. Hermione almost didn’t want to be there so much that not breathing would offer her respite. Permanently. And maybe she’d have lost everything after this, so why would it matter, anyway?

How ridiculous. You’re so stupid, Hermione. You’re so stupid. Pull yourself together. Teen angst isn’t supposed to be your thing.

“I know that you’ve been concerned about me.”

Ron leant forward slightly. “Yes. So can you please- now that you’ve got dressed, now that Malfoy has gone, now that we’re sat down and not shouting anymore- please tell us what happened to you.”

Hermione looked back at Ron, and then darted her gaze to Harry. She felt sad. And she knew she must look it, too. The concern on their faces. It told her.

She had been losing them, she felt it. Ron- almost. Harry- completely. And she wanted them back, more than anything. Hermione wanted her two best friends back to stand in front of her whenever Malfoy approached to jibe and sneer. She wanted them back to trip purposefully into him whenever his tongue slipped out filthy mudblood bitch. She wanted them to be hers again, so they could shoot him menacing looks whenever he mouthed a threat in her direction.

And most of all, she wanted Malfoy to do those things. All over again. She wanted him to be like he was before. Was that wrong? Was that wrong. Everything was wrong. And all she wanted to do was make it right.

“Hermione?”

And how could it ever be right with Malfoy. It was only Harry and Ron that made the real difference. In the long-run. In a lifetime. It was only those boys, those so-almost-men that would stay with her until she was old and grey and passing away in whatever bed, manor, family she had grown into. Or when lying on the battle field. That war-that-could-be. Should be. And most probably will be.

She couldn’t abandon them, and she never wanted to give them reason to abandon her. They needed her. She needed to look after them. Ron and his stupid misconceptions, mistakes, short tempers and wild accusations that made her furious. But those which she loved. And Harry. The way he used to be. Brave and strong and relentlessly determined to stay the true path like the hero that he was. Like the hero that she believed he would be, with or without the mark on his forehead. He was still all those things. Just now- now different. Because of Malfoy, and her and Malfoy, and her lies upon lies. Too dark and too wonderfully harrowing to ever be whiter than that.

She was still angry with him. For everything he had said, for the way he had treated her. For his fists and legs and infuriating suspicion that was simply bang on. But that still didn’t mean he had the right. It didn’t mean he could do all of this, push her even further away.

Hermione knew that deep down, in the very core of the matter, this was her fault. But Harry hadn’t helped. Harry had made it so many times worse it almost threw her into an exhausted rage at times. Her fingers just itching to press themselves against his lips and push against them firmly. Ron had even begun to lose it. Like she knew he would eventually. And she was grateful to him for trying in the first place but-

Merlin. This was all so, so irrelevant. These little points, these little digs at those around her just to make her feel slightly better about this righteous anger she was feeling. This righteous anger that she had absolutely no right to feel.

But above all of this- above it all- it was so important that she didn’t lose them. That they would still be around in the end. It almost meant more than telling the truth.

“This- happened last night.” She took another deep breath, couldn’t help but be cradled by the soft concern in Harry’s eyes. The melted anger, and sudden anxiety all over again for all she had to say.

That was love. Her, Harry and Ron. That was love.

“I just went to the bathroom. Because I had a headache. And-” Suddenly her hands began to shake. Her breath began to tremble- suddenly- Hermione was right back in that bathroom, standing there, beaten, heart pumping wildly underneath her tongue, all inside her head.

Before she knew it, Harry moved to her side, grabbed her hand, and began rubbing his thumb against the top of it. She looked at him. Smiled slightly. If only you knew.

“It wasn’t Malfoy.”

Harry’s thumb stopped moving, but he kept her hand in his.

“Who was it?” he asked, voice low and calm. But undeniably forced.

“If I tell you,” she began, “You must promise me not to do anything. There’s really nothing that can be done. And it’s too late now anyway. Because I would have gone straight away if I could have done. I would have- uh- gone to Dumbledore.” Don’t. Don’t start stuttering.

Neither of the boys spoke.

“Please. Promise me,” she insisted.

Ron let out a breath. “How can we promise you something like that, Hermione?”

“Because I’m asking you to. Because I can’t tell you until you do. I need to trust you on this.”

Ron looked over at Harry. Harry looked back. And they stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Who was it, Hermione?” repeated Harry.

“Not until you promise.”

His gaze fell slightly. He almost looked as if he were biting his tongue. And his eyes stayed there for what felt like an eternity. Breathing heavy, slow, controlled.

When he looked back up at her, he nodded.

“Say it.”

“I promise.”

“Ron?”

Ron shook his head. “Harry, mate,” he began. “You can’t honestly think we won’t-”

“We need to know the truth, Ron,” replied Harry, “That’s what comes first. The rest- the rest is up to Hermione.”

He turned back to her, expectancy dyed into every pigment of his skin.

“Promise, Ron,” insisted Hermione, avoiding Harry’s questioning look.

Ron rolled his eyes.

“That’s not a promise,” she frowned.

“Well- then-” She could almost hear his teeth grind together. “I promise.” And then he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Hermione opened her mouth before closing it abruptly, swallowing, and then opening it again. “Okay,” she breathed, “Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode.”

Hermione barely finished saying the first name before angry growls of shock, disgust, and other things she didn’t wish to explore escaped their mouths.

“Parkinson?” repeated Harry, his voice, if possible, decades lower than before. “You can’t- she can’t- why the hell…?”

“You must know why.”

Ron’s fists had clenched into a cushion. “Because she’s a filthy fu-”

“Harry?” asked Hermione, “You must know why?” she asked again.

Harry gritted his teeth. “Malfoy.”

“She thinks something is going on.”

“And is it?”

“No.”

No.

And that was were her heart stopped.

That was where Hermione Granger finally realised the truth about herself. That she no longer told it.

That she was living a lie. Decorating tales and friends and lovers with them. Wasting and spitting on every moral code she had ever set about to uphold.




*




Vicious circles. Harry felt- right then, there, and for the whole of that term- trapped in one.

Because he wasn’t completely unaware that his behaviour was aggressive. That it was hurtful. And that it most probably shocked Hermione, and maybe even Ron.

And he also knew that it was because of the hatred that was already there for Malfoy. He knew that if he could stand outside it all, take up that wondrous objective position, he would see things differently.

Not the fundamentals, of course. They would still exist. Malfoy was a bastard- always had been, will be. He, Ron and Hermione were best friends- the same going for that. And that this situation was- and yes, it had to be- entirely to do with whatever was going on between Hermione and Draco.

Whether it was Draco hurting her, lusting after her, or even- and Harry shook at the mere thought- loving her. Or whether it was just- something different. Not altogether as obvious. Something involving the both of them equally. Completely. And Harry didn’t even want to bring himself to think that. Even though he already had, and did- for the most part- every single day.

But it was how he felt about it that was most confusing. But so simple at the same time.

He hated Malfoy. He hated him. And he never felt the power of that word when it left his mouth or entered his thoughts. He never found it did the feeling justice. And so of course, so obviously- so naturally- it tore him up to think that Draco would touch her. Or had touched her. In whatever way. Whatever way.

That was the simple part, as far as Harry was concerned. Because that made sense even from an objective point of view. Or so he liked to think. Wherever the hell that objectivity existed in the world, because Harry didn’t believe in it. There was always too much emotion. Too many preconceptions. Too many feelings that, no matter how subtle, could change everything. Malfoy and Hermione. It was enough to make his stomach lurch.

Because Hermione was something. Like family but- not quite. Because it didn’t sound right in the same way Ron being family sounded. There was a separating factor. A defining something somewhere inside his head. That was the confusing part.

And that, undoubtedly, made his reactions even worse. That sheer frustration that he felt just knowing- knowing that somewhere along the line, the truth had been tainted, lost. He knew her too well to believe the things she said. And so did Ron.

Finally, Ron. Ron was feeling the anger. He knew, and he was sure that she did too. Because Ron had taken such a mature role throughout the past weeks, and even though he hadn’t completely lost it yet, he was still angry. All those talks with Hermione, all that rationality. Now it was more obvious than ever that something was going on, and she hadn’t told either of them. Not Harry with his wild and aggressive attempts at demanding answers, and not Ron, with his carefully composed, caring and quiet questioning. None of it worked.

She wasn’t saying anything because she didn’t want to say anything. And it was nothing to do with the way they were asking. It was just because. This was something she wanted to keep to herself.

And that must have been the realisation that hit Ron. Because it hit Harry too. Just as soon as she said “No”. No there isn’t anything going on between her and Draco.

How could that be the case? Harry had a mental list long enough to stretch around the world filled with the signs. The comments, the looks, the reactions that used to come- but didn’t anymore.

And if she didn’t tell him now? Then she would never tell him. Surely.

Harry felt the burning feeling in the centre of his chest. He needed to know. For so many reasons.




*




Harry parted his lips slightly, and sucked in the air around him.

“I-” He stopped a second, let go of her hand. “I want you to believe me when I say I won’t do anything.” To say those words felt like bringing up thorns. Scraping the insides of his throat because- Merlin- how could he not do anything? But if it meant- “If it means you’ll tell me the truth about what- if he’s tried anything- then I- uh-”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione sighed, and looked down. And then across at Ron. Her breath was shaking slightly. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Apart from the truth. Which isn’t as clean cut simple as you think it is.”

“We don’t think it is,” insisted Harry, urging her to turn back and face him, “We know it must be complicated. We just- you have got to understand, Hermione. It’s like- we have the right to know.”

Hermione shook her head slowly, eyes back down at her frantic fingers. “But you only have the right to know as much as I want to tell you.” She sighed. “And look. I want you to- to know as much as I do. And so that’s it. That’s what I know.”

“And what’s that?” asked Ron.

“You think that I have a relationship with Malfoy. But I don’t.”

“A serious romantic one?” replied Harry, “Probably not. But there’s something there.”

“He’s changed, Harry. Malfoy is- he’s going through a hard time at the moment.”

“Aren’t we all,” he muttered.

It took everything he had to swallow the bitterness in his voice. Because why should she care? Why should that change anything? Any hard times that Malfoy had fallen on where his own fault. He didn’t deserve anything Hermione had to offer him.

And all Harry did was save lives.

He sighed inwardly. Not that that justified anything. Because it wasn’t about that. He wasn’t seeking reward, he was just seeking perspective.

“Don’t,” she said, “I just mean- I’m just trying to explain why you’ve noticed the differences. Why he hasn’t been answering back so much.”

“And that’s because he’s going through a tough time?” frowned Ron, evidently trying to hide his scoffing tone.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” answered Hermione, exhaustion flooding her voice. “I just know that whatever he’s having to deal with right now has made him a little less aggressive. Because he’s so exhausted with it.”

“Less aggressive?!” Harry exclaimed, a little too loudly.

“Are you going to tell me he started the fight outside? Because I sincerely doubt it.”

“And why would you automatically assume it was us?” barked Ron.

“Well was it?”

He blinked. “Yes, but that’s hardly the point.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, Ron. That is the point. I know he didn’t start it because of the way he’s been acting recently. And I was right.”

“You rushed straight over to him,” murmured Harry, his voice overlapping hers.

Hermione fell quiet for a short moment. “He was on the ground.”

“But you rushed over to him.”

“He was on the ground, Harry. Don’t make me justify that. You know I would have done the same to either of you.”

“Exactly,” nodded Harry, “The exact same thing. Only we should be so different to Malfoy. We should mean so much more.”

“And you do.”

“You rushed over with the exact same concern you would have done for me or Ron. That’s why it looks bad, Hermione.”

She frowned. Harry could see the beginnings of what would soon get darker, crawling onto the skin of her cheeks. Her words were suddenly low, biting. “I’m not going to apologise for going over to someone who looked like they were getting their insides kicked in. And I can’t believe you would even try to make me feel bad for it, when you were the ones fighting like wild animals in the first place. Don’t come to me with your complaints about how I’ve changed, when less than half an hour ago you were the one who was kicking in Malfoy more brutally than Harry ever would. And you too Ron. It’s not something either of you would do. So don’t do this. Don’t make it about me when all I’ve been doing is trying to keep the peace.”

Ron’s head snapped up. “You’ve been trying to keep the peace? What do you think I’ve been doing? I tried so many times to help you, Hermione. I stuck up for you around Harry- Merlin- I was pretty much taking your bloody side at one point, but now it’s so obvious that something is wrong. And you’re treating us like we’re-”

“I know you tried to help, Ron-”

“All we want is the truth.”

“And I’ve said- I’ve said the- you know- what you want- what you need to hear! Malfoy has changed recently, and it’s made interaction easier. But it’s because it’s made interaction easier that Pansy thinks something is going on! And that’s why she beat me up-”

“How did you get back up here afterwards?” asked Harry, the concern in his voice so think that it almost sounded demanding, “How badly- I mean- is this what she did?” He gestured to her body. “Or have you used charms already to cover it up?”

“Can you please acknowledge what I just told you first before asking even more questions,” sighed Hermione. “Or else we’re going round in circles. You asked for- an explanation, and I just gave you one. Okay?”

Harry didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because yes. She made it sound plausible, because on the surface it was, and it fit. But deep down and underneath it all? There were so many little nagging things that didn’t. And most of all the big fat frantic feeling inside his ribs that was telling him it just wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. There were too many things left unanswered.

“I’ve acknowledged it,” replied Harry.

“And do you believe it?”

“I don’t,” murmured Ron.

She shot him a look. “And why not?”

“Because something isn’t right.”

“Well then I suggest you mull that one over until your brain is dried up with thinking Ronald, because you’ll never get anywhere. That’s your answer. That’s all I have.”

“If that was all there was to it,” began Harry, “Then why didn’t you just tell us before?”

“You were treating me like I couldn’t take care of myself! Like I wasn’t allowed to have anything that was just my business.”

“Why would you want that just to be your business?”

“Because we all know what happens when I bring Malfoy into conversation. Or when I so much as answer a question involving him. I’m fed up of all of it.”

“Well I still have questions,” said Harry.

“I’m sure you do.”

“Like what were you talking about last night? When I interrupted?”

“Prefect things-”

A low and synchronised groan emerged from the two boys.

“What?!” asked Hermione, defensively, “I’m sorry that you find it so hard to swallow. But I’m Head Girl. Malfoy is Head Boy. We do talk. We have to. There isn’t a choice in the matter unless we want the positions taken away from us. If you can’t appreciate that-”

“And what about the things Pansy has been saying?”

“We’ve been through this, Harry.” And that was true. Apart from it never seemed to change anything. It never seemed to make sense of any of it. “Pansy is jealous because-” She paused for a second. “I don’t know- because Malfoy is going off her, maybe? I mean the whole school knows they’re having problems. Merlin- the whole school knows Malfoy is having problems. And she’s looking for someone to blame. Someone that will piss him off just as much-

“What if he does like you? In that way?” asked Harry.

She stared at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“Malfoy always gets what he wants, Hermione,” stated Ron, as plain and simple as Harry would have loved to put it.

“And you think me being a- my heritage- doesn’t change that?” she retorted, “Because I sincerely think it does. He wouldn’t be seen dead with me.” She looked down.

There was something about the amount she was looking down that Harry hated. With a passion. Because Hermione rarely looked down, unless she was trying to hide the fact that she was unsure about something.

“So Malfoy had nothing to do with what happened to you?” asked Harry, shaking off the thought.

“No.”

“Please-” he said, gently, “Swear to us that he didn’t.”

“I swear, Harry. Malfoy had nothing to do with what happened to me- he didn’t instigate any of it.”

“And you can be sure about that?”

“Well-” And then she cut off. “Yes. I think I can. I mean I can.”

“You think?”

“Oh please, Harry,” she sighed, “I’ve had enough, alright? All this interrogation- I mean- you know what happened to me last night. Please, I- I’ve had enough.”

And then he realised that yes, she had. And he felt guilty for it. Because she’d been through so much, but he still needed to know. He felt so responsible for her. He felt so ashamed that he had let this happen. And the only way he could stop it from happening again, was by finding out the truth.

“Yes. Alright. Although, we still need to talk.”

“But do you believe me?” she asked, “When I say he didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“I believe that you think that-”

“Oh Harry-”

He groaned. “Yes, alright?” he mumbled, “He probably didn’t. Not if him and Pansy aren’t even talking at the moment. But that doesn’t mean he’s not still a danger to you.”

“Malfoy will always be a danger. To everyone. That won’t change.” She brought a hand up to her head, ran her fingers across the pale skin of her forehead.

She looked tired.

“We should leave, mate,” murmured Ron.

“I just-” Harry stopped himself. “Will you be alright, Hermione?”

“I need some sleep. A bath and some sleep,” she answered, “And then yes.”

Harry took her hand back, and looked down at it. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he mumbled, “We both are. Sorry that we weren’t there to stop it.”

“And we won’t- we can’t ignore what happened, you know?” added Ron, quietly.

Hermione turned to him as they stood up. “I need you to.”

“I’m not saying we’ll do anything about it,” he replied, “But- you know. You can’t expect us to act like you never told us.”

“Don’t make it harder than it already is,” she pleaded, “Give it some time. Please, Ron.”

He walked over to them. “Yeah,” he murmured, and put his hand on her shoulder. Harry noticed that it sounded forced.

Because they both knew. Hermione couldn’t expect things to go back to normal. They couldn’t before, and now they definitely couldn’t.

“Could one of you maybe,” she cleared her throat, “Get my wand for me? From McGonagall’s office? She’s probably wondering why I haven’t got it yet. Just tell her I’m not feeling well.”

“Okay,” nodded Ron, “I’ll come back up and give it to you. Now, yeah?”

“Yes, thank you, Ron,” she replied, watching as he turned to leave.

“Hermione?” asked Harry, recapturing her gaze once again.

“Yes?”

“You know I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

The door closed behind them.

“If I had known that- that bitch- I would have-”

“I know, Harry. There wasn’t anything you could do. Not even I saw it coming.”

“We’re both here for you, Hermione,” he murmured, grabbing her other hand.

“You always are,” she replied, “Things are just- we’re just disagreeing on them at the moment. But it doesn’t mean I don’t know that. I’ll always know that, Harry.”

And then he half-wished he hadn’t, but did it all the same, and pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her softly. Holding her to him. Because he didn’t want to let her go again. Not when she was like that. Not when she had been through all those awful things.

Harry was supposed to protect her.

And he was failing.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. It was all he had at that moment. When she was so close him. When things were so- like they were.

“So am I,” she breathed into his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

“We miss you.”

“I know.”

“Everything will be okay again. Eventually. We’ll make it okay, Hermione.” And maybe she thought he couldn’t hear her, but he felt her body begin to shake with it. “Nothing like that will happen to you again,” he swallowed, because the muffled sound of her tears cracked him slightly, “I won’t let it.”

But she didn’t answer. She didn’t say anything to him. Harry just felt her head bury deeper into his shoulder.

Vowing that he wouldn’t stop until this was sorted.

“We love you, Hermione.”



*



Draco brought a tentative hand up to the door.

There was this thing. This thing that always happened to Draco whenever he brought his fist up to knock at that door- her bedroom- knowing that she was behind it and that she would hear it. Know immediately that it was him.

Straight away, he was vulnerable. Straight away he had stripped himself down to his, by all accounts, fucked up heart and stood there with an eminent possibility of rejection leering over him. It was a horrible feeling, this thing in his head, this tiny little breath he would always hold in just because- of how likely it could be that- she might not answer. And then that would be it. She can hurt him through inaction. How terrifying it was that it had got to such a stage.

You could probably hurt me just by coming to the door too fucking slowly, Granger.

Not forgetting, of course, that Malfoys never knock. That in itself was a prime reason to not do it in the first place. But it was too late now. Maybe he should growl her name or something- just assert some sort of required authority into his veins.

But Draco shook the mental head within his own. He kept forgetting. Weren’t they past pretence? He didn’t know. They probably were, but sometimes it felt necessary all the same. Even if they both knew it was a façade. A smokescreen to cover up the mess. Draco thought that it probably made them both a feel a bit more comfortable.

Yes. Draco was distracting himself with these thoughts to ignore the fact that no one had opened the door just yet.

I can feel it, Granger, this stupid pain. It’s coming. And it’s so stupid.

“Granger?”

Your voice going up on the last part of that was a big mistake, mate. Say it again. Demand, don’t ask.

“Granger.”

And now you’ve just said her name twice in the space of ten seconds. You idiotic prick.

The door clicked, and opened.

“I’m sorry. I was getting dressed.”

Draco opened his mouth for a moments silence. And then spoke. “You’ve had a bath.”

“Yes.”

Draco couldn’t help but notice that that should have been a sentence where his voice went up on the last part. Because what the bloody hell was he doing telling her that she’d had a bath? She knows she’s had a bath. Her hair is all wet. Her skin is slightly flushed.

He cleared his throat. “So- er- we have to talk.”

“No- no we don’t. Not tonight.”

“But there are things we need to discuss. Least of all what you told those two bastards after I had to leave my own bloody common room and hide myself away somewhere.”

“Hide?”

“Looking like this? Yes.”

She swallowed. “Malfoy, I’ve-”

“Had a long weekend?”

She paused. “Well, yes. Something like that.”

“So have I.”

“I know. And I was thinking of getting some sleep.”

No. Don’t. Because if you shut that door on me we both know that all its doing is chucking another veil of that stupid fucking pretence over everything. Until the next time it burns through it all and scorches that superbly manufactured surface.

Because nothing that fake can stay real for that long. And I can see it in your eyes, Granger. We both know you shouldn’t shut that door.

“I want to know what you told them.”

If she had told them the full truth, he didn’t know what he’d say. He didn’t know what he’d do or how he’d feel. Angry. Because what a stupid naïve bitch to think things would ever be okay after Potter and Weasley found out about that.

But also- something else. Relived? That she wasn’t ashamed? And disgusted because of that fact.

Did she think that it was all too important to lie about? If she told them, was it because she thought it might happen again, and she didn’t want to have to keep the silence every time her skin brushed against his? She just couldn’t bring herself to keep that silence. It was Granger, after all. And maybe- maybe she had tried to bring them round. Felt that it was worth every try. If it meant- something. That something else.

And then the sick, perverted, callous sound of roaring laughter echoed somewhere in the back of Draco’s head.

The punch line to that pile of shit? And then he realised he was completely insane. Utterly. He had to be for that to cross his mind. To think that her reason for telling the forbidden truth could trace all the way back to some deep rooted feelings she had for him. And he had to be wrong, twisted, desperately in need of his brain clawing out just to think it.

Because if she had told them, then surely it was simply because she couldn’t lie any longer. And that was it. Because they were her best friends. Truth was paramount and la-di-fucking-dar. It was the Granger-Potter-Weasley code. The ‘good’ path. The right one. So far away from Draco she wouldn’t even be able to see him crumble. If she had told them, it would have undoubtedly been followed with a solemn promise never to touch him again.

And good.

Like he gives a fuck.

Hermione stared back at him, her hand clutching the side of the door threateningly. It could close at any moment. And although he would take little trouble in stopping it, he knew he wouldn’t. Because he was still feeling guilty. Feeling awful just looking at her. Seeing what Pansy and Millicent had done, and what she must still be feeling.

Draco still wanting her more than- whatever was left. In his life. Needing her.

“I told them all they needed to hear,” came her reply, so slowly, and after such a long time, it was as if night had come and gone by the time the words left her mouth.

“Which was?”

“What they needed to hear.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Granger.”

“Then don’t piss me off.”

Merlin. Those stupid fucking lips. What I wouldn’t give to sew them together. And then chew them back open again.

“I think I have every right to know, don’t you?” growled Draco, “A man needs to know whether or not he’s in danger of being pummelled by two holier-than-thou heroes every time he walks around a corner.”

“You have your beloved meatheads to protect you. Why worry about it?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have anyone to protect me at the moment, Granger. When was the last time you saw me walking around with Crabbe and Goyle?”

“Yesterday.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

Neither did he. Something about pushing all his friends away. But he’d rather sink even deeper into hell before he explored that little ray of sunshine in front of her.

“Tell me what you told them.”

Hermione sighed. It was a frustrated sigh. Because perhaps she realised that- yes, he should know. But that it meant giving into his demands. Demands for answers. And that was never the usual practice between them. Whatever the hell that usual practice was. Once upon a time.

“The short version? That it was Pansy that did it. Because of what she thought was going on between us. But then I told them that she was wrong. Since nothing is going on. Not like- not like that. And to be honest-”

Draco felt a short stab of something. Something horrible. But she continued before he had a chance to comprehend the stinging.

“-it’s not like I was completely lying, either. Because now? Nothing is going on.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Granger. You lied to them. Straight out. Not that I’m complaining. But don’t fool yourself by trying to pretend what you spun them was riddled with half-truths. The only truth in all of that was Pansy.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. She shifted her weight uncomfortably. “I told them enough. The rest- what I didn’t say- I was only protecting them. And protecting-” She cut off, and looked down at her feet.

“Protecting yourself?”

“Just go, Malfoy.”

“Or protecting me?”

He hadn’t meant to say that. He had only meant to think it. Her head snapped up, and she stared at him with wide eyes. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound emerged.

And he may as well continue that little gem. “I know that you feel guilty.”

“Excuse me?” She raised her head defiantly. Hand gripping the side of the door just that little bit tighter.

“About earlier,” drawled Draco, a for-some-reason unusually casual tone slipping off his tongue. And then he leant against the door frame. Why in Merlin’s name- but he did. “What they did out there to me. Your precious boys.”

“No doubt you brought it on yourself,” spat Hermione, and then he saw a slight glimmer of something in her eyes as they diverted onto his bruised cheek.

“I can see that,” he replied, “Walking out of my common room and over to the stairs does tend to incense people every now and again.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that sarcasm just doesn’t suit you, Malfoy?”

“Everything suits me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s it. As ever, this- us talking, it just doesn’t work, Malfoy. So I suggest we both just get some sleep-” And he only just managed to straighten in time to shove his body in the doorway before she slammed it shut. Because he couldn’t let her close it, after all. He couldn’t face another night of walls between them. He’d had too many of those.

She didn’t even seem surprised. Just angry. Very, very angry.

“I have my wand back, you know,” she scowled, clinging onto the side of the door.

“And how’s that?”

“Ron got it for me.”

And I would have got it for you if I hadn’t been smashed into the wall mere seconds after my departure. Not that it matters. Because I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad you got someone else to run your stupid fucking errands for you.

“What a star.”

“Get out. Or I’ll use it. It’s got to a point where I will definitely use it.”

Draco pushed on the door with a little too much force. He didn’t mean for her to stumble backwards slightly, the door banging into the wall behind with an almighty thud. But he wasn’t sorry. No. Suddenly, he was just as angry as she was.

“What made you think that would be how this would play out, Granger?” he snarled, “What made you think I wouldn’t even care what you told Potter and Weasley? That I wouldn’t need to know? That we didn’t have things to discuss? My reputation is on the line as well, you know. I have my own friends’ opinions to think about. My own life that it will destroy just that little bit further. You aren’t the only fucking person on the planet, Granger. And I’m a pureblood, remember? At least you don’t have anything to worry about on that front.”

Her expression cracked slightly.

Oh don’t look so shocked. Did you think I’d forgotten? I was brought up to remember it before anything.

Granted, it had been a while since he’d said it. Or even, secretly to himself, thought about it. And now it brought the familiar feeling of nausea back into his veins.

“You better not be-”

“What? Calling you a mudblood?” he spat, before he could begin to control the sudden burning inside.

She looked- hurt. Or not quite. Worse. Sad. Some stupid bloody disappointment splashed across her face as if she’d forgotten who he really was these past few days. Because it didn’t matter what they did, the things he thought, felt, the air between them- she was- who she was. With that blood.

That filthy rush of stinking blood and yes, Granger, yes I still know exactly what you are. So don’t look so surprised. It’s inescapable.

Hermione was staring at him, and she had been for a short while now, standing a few steps away from the door. If she bent her knees she would be sitting on her bed.

“The funny thing is,” she murmured, and the anticipation of her words made Draco’s heart clench, “I’m not the one who is ashamed of myself.”

“What?”

“You are.”

“Only ever for thinking it was forgivable to touch you.”

“So you remember it then?”

“Remember what?”

“You seem fine- absolutely fine acknowledging that we have things to discuss, but only as long as they are the parts that you want to talk about, right? I’m trying to do you a favour here by keeping the silence. Because all those other things- all those things about broken glass and crying-”

“Shut up.” Stop her there. “Just- shut up.”

“Exactly,” she frowned, “Do you really want to explore last night?”

And fuck. She was right. She was so right. There were things he didn’t want to talk about. And all that pain, all that blood and glass and- fists and vomit- that wasn’t something he was ready to think about yet. Or ever, if he could only have his way. But certainly NOT- not now. And not with her standing in front of him like that. That superior knowledge that she has.

You’ve seen Draco Malfoy cry. Well congratu-fucking-lations. I hope it was a good show.

But no. It wasn’t just Draco who should be feeling bad about that night. He wasn’t the only one who had painted the tiles with his heart. She had said his name. She had kissed him first.

She had lain there underneath him with her dress around her waist, knickers pushed aside, legs wide open for him. Completely. And he had taken her.

Suddenly Draco turned to leave. Suddenly, he found couldn’t be in the same room as her. Not with those thoughts, not with all those unspoken words, that hatred, need, intoxication overwhelming him.

“Now you understand.”

Oh that bitch better not mean to sound so smug.

He shot back around.

“Understand what?” he spat, angry that she was right. Right that he never should have brought it up. Because he wasn’t ready either.

“What it’s like for me,” she frowned, “Every time you make us talk. Every time I haven’t wanted to, but you’ve pushed me into it anyway.”

“This hasn’t got anything to do with that.”

“Yes it has,” she barked back, “We both know that if that had been me last night- doing the things you did- you would make me talk about it. Merlin- you would probably pin me to the bloody wall until I did, right, Malfoy?” Her eyes narrowed even further. “But as soon as it’s you- as soon as you find something you’d rather leave alone- then it’s left alone. That’s it. It goes unsaid.”

“I always get my way?” he growled, “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She shrugged. “You understand,” she answered, “I know you do. I just hope this has shown you something.”

“What the hell are you on about, you stupid bitch?” He took a step towards her.

She hopes this has shown him something? What the bloody hell did that mean? She had nothing to teach him. And is that what she thought this was now? The stupid twat thought she had the upper hand. Just because she’d seen Draco crying, and just because she didn’t make him talk about it. Oh how very saintly of her. Saint Sodding Granger. It almost had a ring to it.

“You know what?” he snapped, “Fine! Let’s talk about it! Because I don’t care. I don’t give a shit what you think. And I don’t want you to think you’re doing me some bloody favour by letting it go either!”

Hermione retreated just that little bit further, pressing her legs against the side of her bed. But her voice remained steady. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she breathed, “Because I know you don’t.”

“Oh shut up,” he replied, “Who the hell do you think you are? You reckon that by saying that you’ll make me feel bad for all the times I made you talk? Well you’re wrong. Like I said, I don’t care about last night. What you saw. It didn’t mean anything.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want. All I know is I’m not the only one who did things last night. And you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She looked down. “If you don’t care,” she murmured, “Then you won’t mind telling me.”

“Telling you what?”

Draco’s heart began to beat too fast.

“Why you were like that.”

“Like what?”

She looked up at him. And he knew. Stupid question.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You said you’d seen Pansy.”

Draco tensed. “I thought you said you didn’t care about that. That it didn’t matter.”

“Well it didn’t. Not at the time.”

“Then what did?” he replied, eager to steer away from the subject, “What did matter? Getting me to finally fuck those last traces of innocence out of you? Is that what suddenly mattered? Because that’s my question, Granger. Why did you so suddenly want that?”

“And you didn’t?!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking as she walked around the side of her bed, even further away from Draco as he realised he had taken another step.

“I never said that,” he replied, “I’m just saying we both did things that were out of character last night. Things we can’t necessarily explain.”

“And there’s no explanation for you smashing the mirror to pieces?”

“Why did you let me?”

“Answer the question, Malfoy.”

“Answer mine first.”

“Why did I let you smash the mirror in?” she asked, eyebrow raised angrily.

“Don’t be an idiot. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t see why I should have to answer any of your questions if you don’t answer mine! This is exactly my point. We always and only talk about what you want to talk about!”

“Oh boo hoo, Granger,” he mocked, “You have it so fucking hard, right?”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Granger,” he snarled, “You would have shut that door on me minutes ago if you didn’t want this. You know where this is going. You know exactly how it ends.”

“I did try to close the door. But as ever, your unsurpassable charm won through.”

He took those few remaining steps towards her, smirking because-

“Where’s your wand?”

But the question was muffled as she resisted against his sudden grasp of her wrists.

“Get off!” she shouted, shaking her arms violently.

“And this is the part where I say no,” he growled, swinging her round so that the backs of her legs were pressed against the mattress.

“Right,” she scowled, “And the part that comes next? Accio wa-”

He released a wrist to press his hand against her mouth, pushing her round in the process so that suddenly, and oh-so-delightfully, her back was pressed against his chest, her wrists pinned behind her, and her lips firmly covered.

His name was muffled beneath his palm. The short curses and angry demands completely smothered.

He pulled her head back slightly. Took notice of how- surely- she wasn’t struggling as much as she could have been. Exhausted, maybe. And probably.

He quickly swallowed the sharp stab of guilt that overcame him momentarily. Because she’d had enough of people doing this. But that didn’t matter right now. It shouldn’t stop him because he shouldn’t care.

He brought his head down to the curve in her neck.

Spoke slowly. “It’s true,” he breathed, words moist against her reddened skin, “We do always end up talking about what I want to talk about. And do you know why that is?”

She moved against him. And it was too good. Too disgustingly wonderful.

“Because I always get what I want,” he continued, eyes closed, and only because he knew she couldn’t see that. Couldn’t see the effect she was having on him. Not that she wouldn’t feel it in a matter of seconds. “I’m too strong for you. When it comes to this. And you know it.”

She resisted again.

He couldn’t help it. Any of it. “Granger,” he growled, low and deep from the very inside of his throat. He pressed his mouth harder into her neck, “It’s so good. You against me. Without being able to say a single fucking word. That tongue of yours is only good for one thing, after all.”

This was so important. All of it. Even if so much of it was a lie. Lies and half-truths and desperation. Because everything she saw last night needed to be balanced. That beyond crucial balance that was disrupted every time he saw her. He needed to assert the power. He needed to show her that those tears, that complete breakdown, it didn’t mean that was it. It didn’t mean she could have her way now. Quietly sweep poor old Draco aside because he probably doesn’t have the energy to stop her anyway.

He wasn’t going to lie. Not about what she did to his body. There was no point, and he would only come off as stupid. Pathetic. Trying to convince himself it wasn’t true. It was too late to pretend any of that. But what he could still hold onto- the last mirage that he could still stand behind- was that no- no you don’t make me feel helpless, Granger.

Even though you absolutely do. But you don’t need to know that. And that’s the important part. Even if sometimes I imply it- even if sometimes I almost let it slip- you don’t have that over me. I’m still Draco. Prince of Slytherin. Malfoy.

Isn’t that brilliant.

“I’m going to ask you the question one more time,” he continued, “And you know I won’t let you go until I get my answer.”

And yes. Fuck- yes. She wriggled again.

“You wanted me to take your virginity last night, Granger.” The words were so wet in his mouth. He could taste every single one. “And I did. And I know it hurt. But you loved it. That’s what I want to know,” he whispered, “That’s the answer you need to give both of us. Why was that? Why did you let it happen after all these weeks of relentless struggle?” He paused. “Why did you let me win, Granger?”

His hand had only just begun to loosen before her teeth bit down onto one of his fingers, hard enough to draw blood. He jolted instantly, sucked the air through his teeth, and pushed her forwards- hard and fast, face first onto the bed.

“You little bitch,” he growled, as she scrambled around to face him.

“Fuck off-” But he cut off her flustered reply as he pushed her rising body back down again, pressed his palms against her forearms and up towards her wrists.

And it was like every time he had ever done that to a girl. She arched her back. And he almost lost his mind. Because this time it was real. Not just foreplay.

He licked his lips, weight pressing down on her as he lifted his feet off the ground, kneeling fully on the bed above her.

“I swear I’ll scream, you bastard,” she breathed, and her voice almost sounded scared. Irate, scared and dusted with tears. To match the water in her eyes.

How can you do this to her.

“You know you won’t,” he answered, but his voice was flat, “Now answer the question.”

“I’d just been beaten up, you idiot,” she seethed, “You reckon I was thinking straight? Believe me, I wasn’t. And I regret it.”

“I bet you do.”

“I do.”

“Like I said. I’m sure.”

He felt Hermione attempt to lift her arms again. Her frown deepened with the failure. “And what about my question?” she growled up at him, breath trembling, “Why did I find you like that?”

“I think you’re forgetting who’s underneath whom right now, Granger.”

“Maybe it’s not about who can make the other one talk first,” she snarled, eyes narrowing, “Maybe what it’s really about is who’s brave enough to admit the truth.”

“You reckon the bullshit you just gave me was the truth?” sneered Draco.

“Why should I give you something you’ll never return?” she retorted.

“Did you think about me during that bath of yours, Granger?” he breathed, his voice hoarse in the air between them. “Did you think about what I did to you last night? How hard I fucked you? Did you think about the next time-”

“There won’t be a next time,” she cut in, defiantly.

“Right,” he nodded, eyes fixed to hers.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Malfoy-”

“You mean it, Granger,” he repeated, “You mean all of it.” Because that almost makes you even more beautiful. That belief. That faith. You keep it no matter what. Faith in doing the right thing, in believing that the right thing is out there to do. It makes you beautiful because I can taste those thoughts from you, Granger. It’s almost purity. It’s half-clean, tainted but real. It’s what I’m feeding off. Drinking in. Like water.

And then he lowered his head, so slowly, so softly through the air until his lips hovered just above hers. His gaze fell down to them, and he saw her lashes do the same. Both of them. Just staring. “There’s just one problem,” he whispered, almost mouthed the words. He saw her eyes move back up. “No matter how hard you try to convince yourself,” he breathed, “It won’t change that fact that you’re wrong.”

Her own breath seemed to have stopped. Her gaze, body, frozen.

“So tell me, Granger,” he murmured, licking his lips, “What part comes next?”

She was silent.

Draco couldn’t pretend that this- being with her like this- wasn’t the hell he dreamed about. Fantasised about. Fucked other girls to.

It used to be about the power. Or only the power. That was still there, that was still needed, but it was shadowed by something else.

It used to be about proving a point. To all of them, to everyone. They were just little ideas, little plans on how to do it. He would romanticise about cornering her in a corridor, covering her mouth, pushing her frigid little Gryffindor thighs apart and shagging her up against the wall where she stood. Sliding down it, doing it again, whether she wanted to or not. And that was all about getting to Potter. That was all about showing him he was in control- it was nothing to do with Granger. She was just a pawn. She was just the middle man. He hated her just as much, but she wasn’t worth proving himself to. He had nothing to show her. She was just a mudblood, so far beneath him that she barely registered as the annoying little smartarse that she strived to be.

He only considered doing those filthy things if it meant getting one over on her pathetic little lapdogs.

He swore it. That was the only reason.

And now.

Draco felt his mouth smother hers, felt his lips crash down, teeth clash, as his tongue pushed through her lips, touched hers, tasted it. He had to hold on just that little bit tighter, sucking on her bottom lip just that little bit harder.

Now it had changed. And why?

“Don’t-” he struggled against her mouth, trying to keep her still, “This is what happens- This is what we do-”

“Get off-” She bit down on his lip, but he only flinched, brought his head up, didn’t let her go.

“What if I said your name?” he growled, brought his mouth down onto her neck, scraped his teeth against the delicate skin.

“Don’t-” She twisted her wrists desperately.

“Why not?” His voice was low, muffled. “You said mine last night. It worked, didn’t it? It shut me up-”

“Malfoy-”

“It’s Draco.”

“Stop-”

“You can’t handle the idea, can you?”

“Just let me go!” she exclaimed, “You can’t do this every time! I’ve had enough of being-”

“You can’t handle the idea of me saying your name,” Draco ignored her. And he sounded almost angry- hurt. “Why is that? Why don’t you like it?” He pressed down harder.

Her expression was frantic. “I never- Just let me-”

“I can hear it in your voice.”

“It’s just a name, Malfoy,” she whimpered, “It doesn’t mean anything! If you don’t get up then I swear-”

“But it’s not just a name,” he continued, licking a wet line up her jaw, touching the corner of her mouth with his tongue.

Her head snapped round to bite him again, but he shot back up.

Draco laughed. Because it wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t not. “Merlin, Granger,” he breathed, “If I knew you were this much fun in bed, I would have ditched Parkinson years ago.”

Pansy.

Where was she right now. Who had she told-

“I’m flattered,” she spat, “Really. But she’s welcome to you. This? I don’t want this! Why would anyone ever want this?!”

How can you not? Right now.

Draco looked down at her, her body struggling, battling, each moment getting slightly weaker with the weight of his own. Of course he felt it. He was hard. Completely. He had been since the moment he had her pressed against his chest, hand covering her mouth, just like in all those little daydreams. Proving his point. Only this time it had nothing to do with Potter.

Because when he pressed his cock down onto her, a sound escaped her mouth. And it almost sent him over.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want this,” he breathed, bucking his hips.

Her eyes shut- it was only for a second- too short to be anything more, but too long to be merely blinking. “Don’t-”

And so he did it again. Her back arched instinctively, stretched her shirt against her breasts, opened her neck to him. He could see the faint outline of veins intertwining beneath her skin. It flooded his mouth.

He noticed something. Her wrists had stopped moving. With that contact, that movement between them, they’d stopped. He gently thrust forwards again. Hermione whimpered softly, and as she did so, he slowly loosened his grip on one of her wrists, closed his hand around hers and steadily, both memorised by that rhythm, the beat in the air, he brought it between there bodies.

“Touch me,” he murmured, voice almost lost to the heavy breathing around them. He held the back of her hand, pushed it down.

A small gasp escaped her lips. “Malfoy-”

“Draco.”

“Stop.”

“No.”

His head hung down with that feeling. That small feeling of heat from their hands, pressing her against his cock, a deep groan half-trapped inside his throat. And too much. Her slender hand so close, just outside his trousers. Not close enough.

“Please…” he murmured, before he could stop the word from leaving his mouth. He began to rub her hand against him. Feel that heat, that friction, burning through the fabric. Turning him, like she always did. Like her skin, lips, eyes- always had.

And she was letting him. Hermione was letting Draco move her hand against him, her breathing just as shallow, just as shaken.

“This isn’t right…” she breathed, his forehead rested against hers. “This won’t ever be right…”

But he couldn’t hear her. He wasn’t listening. All he could think about, while her hand moved against him, while her chest rose up and down- the only thing he could even begin to comprehend-

“Hermione.”

The air split between them.

He heard it rush through her mouth, fill her lungs. And he held onto her.

“Please don’t,” she stammered, “Please- I can’t-”

Draco raised his head. There were tears on her cheeks.

He leant down to kiss her- stopped. Just above her lips, and then brought his mouth up to her ear, breath soft but ragged against her skin.

“Hermione…” he whispered, heard her choke slightly on the tears. “I’m- I’m saying…”

Her name. It made so much sense.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” she breathed.

“Hermione.”

“I wish…”

But she stopped. She stopped as Draco’s lips fell onto hers once again. This time, with no battle, no struggle, just melting. I’m so sorry, but I had to say it- tongues sliding over one another. Both frowning with the pain of it all, as her hand began to move on it’s own.

Sadness. Because Every time he breathed her in, it made it harder. Harder to know that they shouldn’t be together. That it was wrong.

Hermione quietly crying as Draco panted above her. And it was beautiful, because it was so soft.

And it was so sad.

Because it was so wrong.



*

A/N: If the ability to review is difficult, and you have any comments, feel free to leave them on my livejournal (http://kissherdraco.livejournal.com) or email me (f-fortlessly@hotmail.co.uk). I’m grateful for all feedback!