Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (24/39)
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, voyeurism, oral, anal, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.


Many thanks to kazfeist for improving this chapter!



Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Twenty-four - Of arrangements, returns, and partings.




Draco opted to return to the Manor instead of back to London, and Apparated just inside the front door of his ancestral home. Already, in the late afternoon sunlight, Draco noticed the change. Far off inside the bowels of the house, Draco could hear the cracking and settling of wood, stone and foundations; the elves were still moving and altering the house just as he had commanded.

The entrance hall seemed sparse without the tables against the walls and the flowers in crystal vases. Instead, the marble was changed slightly, no more green and white polychrome marble, but dark oak wood flooring with only an area rug just below the stair case, which also was no longer made of marble, but of wood, darker than the floors. The ambience of the foyer was a bit darker, the walls above the wainscoting painted a dark and rich green hue.

"Welcome home, Master Draco," a raspy voice sounded just at Draco's feet.

Hobbin leaned against his cane heavily, his eyes nearly obscured by his bushy eyebrows.

"I hope the foyer meets with Master's approval."

"It's fine," Draco said absently, shrugging out of his cloak and letting it pool onto the wooden floor.

Ignoring Hobbin's huff of frustration, Draco moved through the foyer and to his left into the study. He did not want to see if his private rooms were ready, and just being so far as the main wing of the Manor made Draco feel uneasy...the refurbishment was not yet completed. Even though the study was decorated much differently than before, Draco could still feel the lingering presence of Lucius' taint on the house as a whole. It would take time to cleanse his home of Lucius and the memories and atrocities committed in this house... It was not just the decor, but the very wood and stone that held traces of magicks cast, spells, and darker remains of things that Draco did not want to remember. Blood had been spilled and soaked into the very core of the house, and not just his mother's lifeblood.

Falling into a black silk chaise, Draco laid back and threw his right arm over his eyes. Distantly the house groaned like a patient being purged of disease. He felt tired, as if he had been stretched too thin to be a substantial being. This feeling accompanied a strange unease that had been with him ever since talking with Millie.

Had what Millie said affected him, he wondered. Confusion and an odd niggling of guilt was slowly setting into his body, and he hated it... He had to get on track, do what must be done, and now...

As if his soul had splintered, his consciousness was left to lie on the chaise, while his body moved into action. Floo calls to the Ministry, to Gringotts, and to a certain solicitor named Cormac McLaggen to start the process of rebuilding his name and his estate. McLaggen had, at first, refused Draco's offer of employment, but after several well placed words of flattery, as well as generously promised incentives, McLaggen was now Draco's new solicitor. In fact, McLaggen was Halley's antitheses in almost every aspect except when it came to money...both were greedy, but McLaggen was more honest, more charismatic, and possibly, a bit more amiable. Draco vaguely remembered McLaggen at Hogwarts, a year ahead and in Gryffindor, but House alliances did not matter to McLaggen, apparently, and that in itself was a bit of a relief. Draco did not have to haggle...

By the time all the Floo calls were finished and Draco let his body fall back upon the chaise, it was dark outside the south-facing windows. None of the elves had bothered Draco, but when the darkness became too consuming, the wall sconces made of blue and red stained glass lit with enchanted candles and filled the room with dim and muted warm light. A mirror with a stained glass frame rested above the fireplace and as Draco turned his head to his left, he could see himself lying like the exhausted body he was on the chaise, his clothing blending in perfectly with the black silk, and only his skin and hair distinguishing him from the furniture.

'You should cut your hair,' Millie had said, and Draco thought that the woman was right. He reminded himself of Lucius...and he was disgusted.

There had been a time, long ago, when Draco knew he had loved his father. And there was proof that Lucius had, at one time, loved Draco. There were photographs stored somewhere in the attics, of a time when Draco was only a baby in which Lucius smiled into the camera...and for a long time, Draco wondered if someone had killed the real Lucius Malfoy, the one who smiled at the camera, eyes glittering, mouth moving to form a smile and a laugh; and replaced him with the harsh master Draco was left with growing up... In those pictures, Lucius seemed content, holding Draco as a baby, as a toddler, as a four year old, and sometimes holding his mother, kissing her neck or cheek, whispering lost words in his mother's ear to make her blush and smile... Draco had been convinced some doppelganger had taken his real father's place after Draco had turned five years old...killed the real Lucius Malfoy and left the Manor with a monster as its master...

Draco again threw his arm over his eyes. He did not want to think about it anymore and he sighed, slowly lowering his arm from his face again to glance into the mirror.

Just behind the chaise, reflected in the mirror, stood Draco's current problem.

Vulcan.

It was not enough that Vulcan had to echo in Draco's mind, but he had appeared to Draco only once before, reflected in a window, standing near to Draco or behind him. That first time had been in Italy when he and Hermione had stayed at the Albergo Accademia, just after the dinner with Divina...just after the arm had attached itself to his body. Draco could not see Vulcan clearly that first time, and although it did not unnerve him to see this apparition or manifestation of the consciousness now parasitically ingrained in his mind, it did annoy him. As if the glamour of eleven years had not been enough, he now had something more than a shadow stalking his mind and body.

But looking at Vulcan now, reflected so clearly in the mirror above the fireplace, Draco could only smirk. Despite being a lame god, Vulcan was easy on the eyes, perhaps rivalling Draco's own beauty.

Ah, how vain, Draco thought idly.

Vulcan's height was insignificant, but he was wide shouldered, stout, truly shaped to be a god used to the hard labour of forging the weapons for the gods. He was a dark, ruddy man, his age indeterminable, but not old, and neither old nor young. His hair was as black as pitch, falling long into his sharply angled face and longer in the back, pulled at the nape of his neck ‘by a thong. He wore no shirt, but about his slender waist was a belt that held up a pair of loose, dingy breeches. As for the rest of him, he was nothing short of being a god... He was handsome, his lips pliable and prone to curling over perfectly white teeth into a feral grin, but his eyes were the true indicator of what he was...red, burning orbs of fire and lava, Vulcan, whom Draco knew was fierce and not to be trifled with...

It was strange that they were so different, Draco light and Vulcan dark in appearance, when in truth, Draco possibly had the darker of hearts and souls.

“What now?” Draco asked mirthlessly, his eyes meeting Vulcan's in the mirror.

'It is nearly time to begin.'

The voice was different, distant as if Vulcan were truly standing just behind Draco, but Draco did not turn to try and see his guest; Vulcan was only speaking through his body, after all.

“Nearly time? Shouldn't we get this over with now?”

Vulcan chuckled, his lips curling maliciously over his perfect, yet sharp teeth. 'You understand so little, Draco, and your arrogance will perhaps kill you.'

Draco smirked. “Is it really my fault that Divina did not tell me all of the conditions?”

'Of course not, how could he have known? He did give you warning, but did you heed it in the very least? No. Your reckless nature will be your undoing.'

“I did what I had to do.”

'You only wanted power.'

“Is that so bad?”

Vulcan only grinned, his eyes burning into Draco's through the reflection of the mirror, nevertheless the effect was disconcerting. The god was part of his mind, but not privy to every thought that flitted through Draco's mind; therefore, Vulcan did not know that Draco was hesitant and regretful that he had been so brash as to assume the ancient artifact without prior research into its properties.

It was only through the integration of the arm that Draco now knew exactly what he had gotten himself into, and to say it was not a position that Draco entirely enjoyed would be an understatement.

'You mortals have lost your need for us gods, and we have passed on into myth...we existed once, ruled and awed our devotees, but in the end...we died like all gods do. But I remained through the sheer ingenuity that I was created to possess: by splitting myself, splintering my power into three pieces, I remained immortal.'

This bit of information had been startling, for now Draco knew through his own research and what was printed in the newspapers, that Voldemort had done a very similar thing...in creating Horcruxes. Therefore, it was not too much to assume that the arm was nothing more than a Horcrux containing the partial essence of a god.

'Two pieces lie dormant, hidden away and possibly lost through the march of time, but this piece...the ultimate piece of my own creation has passed between families for generations, the spawn of my own seed with a mortal woman. Had I known how my descendants would have desecrated my name, I would have never allowed this piece of myself to pass through such careless and weak hands. But now I have found a suitable host, more powerful than the mixture of my seed with a mortals', one far more capable of utilizing my power in the manner which would glorify my name.

You should have been my descendant, my dear Draco. Whoever begot your lineage, be it god or mortal, would have pleased me greatly.'

These flatteries had been uttered in Draco's mind only after Draco had returned to Britain, only after Draco had regained a modicum of control over his own mind and desires...only after Granger had horridly refused his advances and was separated from him through injury.

The flattery had ended there, and the taunting began. Draco knew it was all due to Granger, and the strange infatuation that his new other half had developed for the woman. Of course, Granger, or as Vulcan would call her...Hermione, was quite desirable, but the motives for Draco's attraction were far different from Vulcan's.

“So how should this play out, you old cripple? Why delay the inevitable?” Draco asked his other self in the mirror.

The feral grin had not faded from Vulcan's ethereal face, but widened.

'We shall see who is master of your mortal shell.'

Draco rolled his eyes. Not bloody likely...

“I would rather die than let you possess me.”

However, these words were more for dramatic effect than anything else. Vulcan had already possessed Draco to a certain extent, and it was only Draco's strong will and fervent image of an independent self that had allowed him to gain control over himself to the point that Vulcan was merely a voice in his head rather than the master of his body. Draco's own self had proved stronger than Vulcan had perhaps anticipated. Thus, a battle for control, complete control, had been in the foreseeable future for both.

'I gave you time to re-establish yourself in the land of your birth, I gave you time to do what you wanted to do...prove to those who had scorned you that it was possible for you to redeem yourself. Now I want one last thing before it is decided who will use your shell.'

Vulcan's voice was firm, just as it had been when the arm had first attached itself to Draco that night in Divina's kitchen. That night, Draco had been weak and very susceptible to Vulcan's supposed excitement of having a form to move and use again...and in that night, Vulcan forced Draco to admit things that he would have rather kept to himself when it came to Hermione Granger.

“You have another demand? What is it now?”

'Hermione, I want her one last time.'

Draco said nothing in return, but he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, partly from hunger, partly from anticipation. He and his 'guest' were not so dissimilar in truth.They both wanted power of sorts, control, and on the basest of levels, Hermione Granger. However, they differed on how they wanted power, control...and Hermione Granger.

“And then we can begin the process of killing each other?”

'I will not kill you per se, just consume your soul, your ego, but Draco Severian Malfoy will be alive in a manner of speaking.'

Draco chuckled.

“Conditions, first, wretch, and then I might concede to let you have Granger before I consume you myself.”

Vulcan quirked his chin, his reflection shifting slightly drawing up haughtily, as if insulted.

'You wish so soon to lose yourself forever then?'

“The victor remains to be seen, Vulcan. Out with it, enough with the mocks and taunts. Conditions?”

'Very well, there are two trials that will test your worth. If you can overcome these trials, I will concede and be consumed by your soul, sealed inside your body until you die. However, if you cannot overcome the trials...well, you know what will happen.

These trials have been the true test for every man who has dared don this arm, and you are the third to come so far.'

“So there was more than one person to wear the arm, more than Divina mentioned,” Draco asked, his curiosity quickly piqued.

'Six including you; only one who passed and that was over nine hundred years ago. I resided inside this man for many years until he died at a very old age. He was a wizard of immense power and influence, and he was my descendant, the only one of so many who was worthy of my name and my strength.

The rest were unsuitable hosts, their bodies too weak, or their souls too corrupt for me to grant such power.'

Draco thought at this statement.

“You did not find my soul corrupt?”

'You are not a murderer.'

This was true.

“But I am not a good man.”

Draco's words had come too quickly for him to full realize what he had said before it was spoken aloud... It was an admission of sorts, not uttered as a threat, but spoken with a sense of conviction that was totally unlike Draco's character.

'It does not matter. You are not inherently evil, as much as you would like to think. Slightly mad, perhaps; vindictive, domineering, and at times cruel, but not evil. You are human, and like all humans, you are flawed. I can ameliorate these flaws, with your cooperation...whether or not I am consumed.'

“You want me to be more in touch with my emotions?” Draco laughed. “You've done enough damage as it is with your petty sympathies.”

Vulcan's grin finally faded and was replaced by a harsh sneer. 'So you do want become like your father, cold, distant, and evil?'

Draco sat up, ready to smash the mirror as his anger filled him like a tidal wave of fire in his chest.

“You know nothing, you bastard,” Draco snarled.

'I know enough. You think that I am a totally isolated sentience, but I read your soul the moment I allowed the arm to penetrate your flesh and meld to your body. The moment your father abandoned his heart, he became emotionless and evil. In a sense, he was no longer human. He was a monster who only wished for more power...more and more, until it drove him past what you can understand as madness... Your madness is nothing more than your attempt to kill your heart, but you cannot do it like Lucius had, and thus you continue to suffer!' Vulcan snarled with as much venom as Draco.

Draco slowly lay back into the chaise, shutting his eyes momentarily to blank out the vision of his parasitic 'guest.' He could not deny the truth in Vulcan's words, but he would not admit to them openly, either. All the years spent in a haze of tears, hatred and pain had been because he wanted so badly to forget...to stop feeling.

“The trials? What is the first?” Draco muttered exhaustedly, opening his eyes again to see Vulcan in the mirror.

Vulcan seemed to study Draco for a moment, and then answered.

'The first is a test of your magical ability. With your own power, you must render poison harmless.'

Draco blinked, his face fraught with confusion, but Vulcan continued.

'The very ore that composes the arm, when worn, has an element in it that produces a toxin that is potentially lethal to a human body. It is a poison that has been circulating in your blood ever since the arm attached itself. I have only to activate the poison and attempt to kill you. It is a safeguard of a manner, designed to kill any soul who is not worthy of wearing the artifact. You must let your body counter the poison and render it harmless; this is done through the innate substance in a wizard's body that allows one to perform magic. Of course, you can understand that if a non-magical person were to don the arm, it would most likely kill them instantly. It is only a wizard's magic that activates, manipulates, and eventually controls the arm with the ease that you have had thus far. In this manner, you are to counter the toxin. That is the first trial.'

Draco said nothing for a long while, considering what must be done so that he could survive the first trial.

'Prepare for a pain which you could never comprehend. You will suffer long, and any weakness in your magical ability will lead to your death. If you die, obviously, I would be unable to attain total integration...the arm will fall free from your body to await the next host. However, if you successfully counter the poison, the next trial will immediately begin.'

“I have no break to recover?”

'None. This second trial will test your magical ability, and physical and mental stamina.

It will be a trial of your true self. I cannot explain the mechanics of this trial in terms that you will understand, but I can tell you that it is a trial that will test your will. You will fall into a trance, and the landscape of your mind will be the final battlefield. Here you will face your true self, and it seems that this will be the first time for you to do so.

To pass this trial, you must recognize your true self, admit to the parts of your self that you had tried to deny...your motives, your wishes, your desires...your dreams. Only then will you have won the right to the power that you have decided to take by donning the arm, my arm, and the extension of my power.
But if you lose yourself...I will consume you, and your soul will be mine.'

To Draco, it all seemed ridiculous, past the point of laughing or even announcing that he would be sure to win. Did he even have an inkling of what it all meant?

'Tomorrow night, we will begin. Instruct your servants that you want an isolated room, warded and sealed so no outside factors will disturb you. You will not need sustenance or outside aid, just isolation and time.'

Draco nodded once, the gravity of what he was nodding to only slowly starting to fall upon his mind.

'In the meantime, you need food and a bath. We will spend tonight with Hermione.'

At this, Draco sneered.

Freedom...he had dreamed of it for so long while in Japan and now that he was home, he was still a prisoner. He was still not free of his memories, his sins, and from the one woman who had brought everything back to him in the most personal way possible... Severus should have forgotten him completely...let him die. At that moment, he half-heartedly wished he could die...die instead of torturing himself with the thoughts and feelings that Hermione Granger inspired in his soul.


* * *


It was almost midnight when he found himself staring through the open door of Hermione Granger's small personal library, standing in the dark, letting the warm light from the room stream over him as he stared at the woman who had more control over him than Vulcan ever had.

He almost could hate her.

She was sitting on a couch by the fire, a strange Muggle device resting on her lap, her hair pulled up from her neck into a sloppy bun, her fingers tapping against the glowing device in a steady rhythm. Music was playing from somewhere that Draco could not see, the melody and the words unfamiliar, but pleasantly soft and slow. She was humming along with the music, her honey-coloured eyes glowing as they scanned the screen on her lap.

He was feeling strangely sentimental, and took a step forward, only to stop when a strange crackling sound filled the air.

“Take another step and you might get a nasty shock, Malfoy.”

Her voice was thick, as if drunk, but the tone was one of fair warning. He glanced at her again, his eyes meeting hers.

“The wards around this room are quite strong. I did tell you not to try and enter, didn't I?”

Draco smirked, standing just outside the open door, eying the room with mock curiosity.

“So much protection so I won't find your old love letters?” he drawled.

Hermione grinned. “You're in late.”

“Business... If I can't come in, can you come out?”

Hermione turned slightly away from him and shut the glowing device on her lap with a click. He vaguely remembered it was called a 'laptop,' but the meaning was lost upon Draco. He watched her as she set it aside on the couch to next grasp her cane and slowly lift herself to her bare feet.

“I suppose. Kitchen or sitting room?”

“Hm?” Draco hummed questioningly; distracted by the unsteady gait Hermione was using to cross the room.

It was obvious by her white-knuckled hand around the cane's head and the subtle furrow between her brows that she was in an extreme degree of discomfort.

“Obviously you want to talk, so which would be more comfortable?” Hermione asked, coming just to the door, looking up into Draco's pale face.

“Sitting room... Did Millie stop by?”

Hermione pushed past Draco gracelessly, glancing at her wand setting on a spindly table by the door, but did not pick it up. Instead she moved through the dark entrance hall and to the next door down and into the sitting room, the lamps illuminating the warm, red room automatically.

“She did,” Hermione grunted, falling onto the couch, her cane falling to the floor before she could manage to catch it.

Draco moved to pick up the cane, but Hermione nodded indifference and Draco sat on the arm of the adjacent couch, studying Hermione's casual clothing...her long black skirt made of what looked like linen and the plain black cotton tank top with thin straps over her pale shoulders.

“I suppose she told you about my visit.”

Hermione blinked. “She did. She told me a great many things. She told me that you were allowed to enter the Manor, and that you are in full possession of it again?”

Draco nodded slowly. “And she told me about the procedure.”

Hermione's lips drew up into a strange grin, “You're going to tell me to go through with it...but you're changing the subject, Malfoy.”

“I will release you from the oath, Granger, if that is what you're worried about. But I think I would like two more things from you before I do so.”

The grin faded and the pained look returned to her face, making her seem drawn and older than Draco remembered.

“Go through with the procedure.”

Draco surprised himself as much as he had Hermione.

“Why would you care, Malfoy?” Hermione gritted out, not out of anger, but pain as she clutched her left knee.

Draco did not answer, but moved from his perch on the adjacent couch and moved to stand before Hermione, gazing down at her coolly, his eyes like pieces of the hardest diamonds. “I don't, really...” he said softly, moving to kneel before her, his back pushing the coffee table between them away slightly.

Blinking rapidly, Hermione opened her mouth to protest when Draco rested his hands, one of flesh, one of warm metal, against her clothed knees. Slowly, the silver hand moved down the fronts of her legs to the hem of her skirt.

“What...what are you doing?” Hermione whispered, her amber eyes wide.

Draco did not answer, resting his forehead in her lap, the silver hand reaching to touch her left leg. At the contact, Hermione hissed through her teeth, but not out of pain...it was a bizarre tingling in her leg that made her hiss and suddenly the pain that had been racking her body for the biggest part of the day, slowly faded away.

“You'll go through with the procedure, won't you, Hermione?” Draco asked, his voice muffled as he spoke into her lap, his hands moving to grasp the hem of her skirt, just above her dainty bare feet.

“I...I...” Hermione spluttered, surprised that her body was no longer thumping with pain, and at the fact that Draco Malfoy was resting his head, silver tresses spilling over her skirt, upon her lap of all places. She was tempted to bury her fingers in those tresses, perhaps pet his head in reward for drawing away her pain. Vaguely she remembered this very thing happening once before... “If I must,” she answered finally.

Draco grinned into her lap, his hands wrapping loosely about her ankles. She smelled of lavender, and faintly of mint. If only fate had dealt a different hand... Slowly he raised his face to look up at Hermione, leaning back slightly, his fingers moving to the hem of her skirt again.

Her face was troubled, but Draco did not think about the reasons as to why.

“And the last thing, Malfoy?”

Her voice was trembling slightly, as if she were seeing something unsettling in his face.

“You...I want you...”

She blinked and soon her face clouded darkly, her eyes moving to look anywhere but his face and his eyes.

“No.”

“No?”

The hold on the skirt tightened.

“The oath is fulfilled. You have your accounts, your estate, your name...this must end.”

Draco began chuckling, the sound of his laugh startling Hermione so that her eyes moved to the open door, and he knew that she was about to summon her wand...for what? He would not allow her to hex him...to refuse him again. The chuckling died.

“The oath is only fulfilled when I say it is fulfilled,” he growled, his grip tightening on the fabric between his fingers so that the sound of ripping fabric met Hermione's keen ears. “Do you want to be free of me so badly, Granger?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Draco pulled at the fabric, ripping her skirt as high as her knees, startling her to silence. She still refused to meet his eyes, and Draco growled deep in his throat, moving to lean forward and catch her chin between his silvery fingers, forcing her eyes to his.

“If you want to be free, you must submit.”

The fear in her eyes was like a fuel to the burning inside Draco's bones. He wanted her once more. He could die tomorrow, and he wanted her once more.

“No,” she whispered, her lips trembling slightly. “I will not be used for your sick amusement any longer.”

“Then you will be bound to me forever, Hermione...”

“No...” she whispered again, in refusal of his words and in refusal to being at the mercy of his whims.

Draco released her chin and sat back on his haunches, ripping her skirt slowly upward so that the ruined fabric fell apart just above her thighs, the horrible scars and gnarled bone of her left leg clearly visible in the lit room. The damage to her leg looked worse than Draco remembered, the skin slightly bruised, her knee clearly swollen, the scars puckered and not clean white marks as he remembered...the curse was still affecting her body in a way that only an invasive procedure could reverse.

Running his fingertips over her knee, and along a tenuous scar than ran from her lower thigh and down the side of her calf, Draco's eyes softened momentarily.

“Leave me alone!” Hermione hissed, trying with failing hands to pull her skirt back over her legs.

Draco did not listen, did not care, and would not heed Hermione's words, but instead grasped her knees roughly and pushed them apart. Hermione whimpered, her hands moving to grasp him somewhere, anywhere, to push him away. And when Draco pressed his lips to her inner knees, his was rewarded with a slap that did not strike his cheek, but his left temple and ear. It was always a wonder how this woman could be so fierce with only a slap; painful ones that left his head spinning.

He pulled back, gazing at her coolly while she moved her hands as if to try to cover her legs out of modesty. Her face was flushed and her body tensed.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy. Leave my home!” she cried, taking her chance and beginning to rise from her seat. With her leg surprisingly pain-free, Hermione moved with as much power as she could, knocking Draco back on his haunches and moving past him...only two steps to the door, before it slammed shut before her magically.

“Stop this!” Hermione hissed, turning quickly to where Draco had also risen, her hair falling free of its upsweep and tumbling about her shoulders. “This sick game of possession must stop!”

In her fear and anger, Draco could have not wanted her more and in less than a blink of an eye, she was in his arms. Her blows landed about his face and neck as he lifted her lithe form and tossed her to the couch, the scarlet pillows and cushions softening her fall. She grunted as the air was knocked from her lungs, and quickly scrambled to rise again.

The side of his head throbbing from her slap, Draco moved with the speed obviously unnatural for a human and met Hermione just as she raised her upper body. He insinuated his hips between her thighs and grasped her neck loosely with his hands, pushing her upper body back down into the couch. Leaning over her, his eyes piercing hers, he could see his passive face reflected in her teary eyes.

“Please...” she pleaded, her breath short, unbidden tears beginning to stream down her flushed cheeks.

“It's not like you to be so weak, Granger. Where is the fire that would burn me if I tried to touch you?” he asked, his voice dull and monotone.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she gasped, her hands having fallen to her sides, the exhaustion from the pain and the stress of Draco's mere presence nearly overwhelming her...taking the fight out of her.

Draco did not answer, but slowly let his fingertips run along the edge of her tank top, along the straps across her shoulders and along the line of the square collar. He could see the pulse of her beating heart in a vein at the base of her throat, smell the sweat that had dried upon her skin through a day of pain, and as he lowered his lips, flicking his tongue to taste the indentation between her collarbones at the base of her throat, he could taste her fear and frustration.

He kissed her shoulders and her neck, her cheeks and the hot tears, and then he pulled away slightly to look down at her again. Her eyes were wide, but hazed, and her lips trembled as if she were about to crumble into a long, hard cry.

A small sympathetic pang of pain stung his heart, and Draco swallowed thickly. Running his fingertips again over her skin, he brushed away the airy strands of caramel hair from her face, letting the pad of his thumb brush over her tremulous lower lip.

“I do this...to imagine who I should have been if I had not been born a Malfoy...” he whispered, his voice thick with regret and his eyes stinging.

Hermione seemed stunned, but Draco did not think to care. Instead, he pressed his mouth to hers before she could form any more questions on those pale, plump lips that were made as much for kisses as they had been made for questions. The initial movement of the kiss evoked a muffled protest, but as his hands moved to cradle her head in his hands, the protest died away and she opened her mouth to accept him in wordless invitation.

She tasted like coffee, bitter potions, cream and buttered sweet biscuits, and Draco could not think of anything that tasted better. He hummed into her mouth, his tongue swiping at the tip of her tongue and soon the taste changed...coffee, bitter potions, cream, buttered sweet biscuits and something that was quintessentially Hermione Granger...like pomegranate and strawberries...a cornucopia of juicy fruits that were the delicacies of an age-long past...when the gods still lived and were still the power of the cosmos.

His mouth moved from hers to taste the line of her jaw, the tender spot below her ear, her throat, her shoulder, the softness of her upper arm, the slight depression between her breasts just where the neckline of her shirt mouldeld over her body, he tasted her, caressed her, marked her. And when her hands and fingers wove into his hair, pulling it free from its tie, he relished the breathless moans he was causing to issue from her throat. She pressed his head to her chest as he moved his hand to pull the tank top down and over the swell of her chest, dusky pink nipples contracting to hard pebbles in the air of the room.

Enveloping her left nipple with his lips, she moaned, her hips shifting slightly, her bare thighs rubbing against the expensive black fabric of his trousers. Draco released her flesh from between his lips and pulled away slightly, pulling his weight from her body, suddenly concerned that he was hurting her in some fashion.

The expression on Hermione's face was one of confusion, flushed, dark-eyed confusion. Draco inclined his head to the side as he looked down at her, and before anything could be said, she was in his arms for a second time under her roof. Like a flash of light to dark, Draco had Apparated them both into her bedroom, the yellow-orange lamplight outside the bedroom window the only illumination. He placed her to sit on the edge of her bed, her dainty feet barely skimming the rug on the floor by the bed.

“Draco...” she whispered, blinking rapidly as he ripped away the rest of her skirt, gentler this time, but the action itself imbued with a sense of disregard. Hermione could only shiver from arousal and the cool temperature when he roughly tugged her knickers down her hips and over her legs so that she perched on the edge of the bed, half exposed. The plain white fabric of her knickers dangling from her right ankle, she gasped as Draco fell to his knees before her, his hands on her knees, spreading them apart. His face was strangely flushed in the half-light, like a man awed by an image of a goddess he was about to kneel before and worship.

And worship, Draco Malfoy did...his lips pressing his kisses on either inner thigh, pushing his way forward, spreading her knees as he went until Hermione felt her eyes roll into the back of her head at the first contact of Malfoy's tongue to her already moist centre.

She fell back slowly into the bed as his hands wrapped around her hips and he tugged, the backs of her knees wrapping about his shoulders and his mouth pressed against her pubis, his tongue urging her to open for a taste. When he suckled her sensitive button, Hermione fell apart immediately, a startled and throaty whimper passing her lips and sounding like a siren's song to Draco's ears.

It was like ambrosia...her taste...her body...her warmth, and he drank from her body deeply and contentedly. With several more swipes of his tongue, his lover was sobbing. She had been quite aroused, and the scent of her arousal had been something he had noted, but did not clearly identify, the moment he had first touched her upon his return.

Kissing a trail backward, along her thighs and her inner knees, he flicked his wrist and all the buttons on his shirt and breeches came undone. He stood, shakily, toeing out of his boots and the rest of his clothing, all the while gazing down at the woman who was panting, eyes closed, upon the bed before him. Her long hair had come completely loose and was like a blanket of warm earth over the dark blue duvet.

Shrugging his long length of silvery hair over his likewise silver shoulder, Draco leaned over her, pulling off the remaining barrier of clothing from her yielding body. As he moved, the damp tip of his stiffened arousal brushed against her lower belly, causing her to open her honey eyes and stare up into his face in surprise.

“Draco?” she asked, her voice thick and unsteady, and it was not a name uttered in questioning, but uttered out of lust induced haze, as if to ascertain that all of this...his touch, his attentions, were truly happening.

“Shhh,” he soothed, his hands wrapping about her waist, lifting her up with unexpected strength so that the length of her body fell entirely across the bed. He crawled over her, his knees on either side of hers and began pressing kisses against her slightly rounded belly and her still swollen left hip. With his kiss and the gentle surge of pure magic, Hermione sighed as she felt her limbs lightening without the weight of pain or stiffness. She gasped as he kissed a trail up her ribs and to her breasts again.

Between the narrow slits of his eyelids, he could see the vacancy of all thought expressed through her very reactionary face. She was no longer pushing him away, but he did not delve into the reasons why, letting his own mind be consumed by the warmth of her body against his. Her hands grasped his shoulders as he kissed her neck again, his chest pressing against her breasts and their breathing falling into a tandem pattern, shallow, fast, and aroused.

Even Draco gasped, hissing into her shoulder as her small, cool right hand wrapped about his nearly painful erection, rubbing the moist head into her lower belly. In return, he snaked his right hand between them, his long digits finding her engorged clit easily, pinching it gently, and causing Hermione's hips to buck sharply. Fingers searching, he penetrated her core roughly and began the prelude to his intentions...to fill her...

Her grip tightened upon his cock as she began stroking in time with his fingers, but she was quickly approaching her climax again. Draco pulled his hand away, causing another whimper, and looking down at his Hermione again, noticed a renewed fire in those amber orbs.

She opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing as he nudged her thighs apart and quickly placed his straining cock at the entrance of her body. Pulling her legs gently to wrap about his slender waist, he leaned forward, his hands on either side of her shoulders, his neck straining to press a kiss to her damp brow.

The swift penetration made them both cry out, her body tight about him as if about to devour him entirely. Her brow, which he kissed again, was furrowed, and as he started moving inside her, the deep furrow softened as her hands clawed at his upper arms. Hermione's body was tight, tighter than he remembered, and he knew that between his fatigue and the heavenly sensations of her inner muscles clutching at his cock, it would not be long before he, too, would fall apart...

He growled, leaning back on his haunches, grasping her hips for leverage, his heavy length of hair tickling his hip as he moved. She was crying beneath him, not out of pain or fear, but crying for that release her body needed so badly. She reached for him, but he was too far away, her hands could only find his upon her hips, and fingers were soon intertwined.

“I release you...” he panted, the muscles in his chest rippling in the half light, his silver eyes strangely alight. “I find our oath...fulfilled...”

Hermione felt her blood burn in her veins and suddenly she was falling...falling off a precipice, her voice calling out in release, echoing through a void. And when she landed, Draco was there, his voice calling out as hers had, his lips trembling and his eyes shut so tightly that his long eyelashes were like half moons against his sharp cheeks. And he filled her body, crying and falling to rest his head to her damp breasts.

Reality slammed into Draco as he could finally hear Hermione's heart beat over his own in his ears. The oath had been fulfilled...and he had released her. Of course, the oath did not entail that he would never see her again, but there was this trial he had to survive first. Also the fact that Hermione had only accepted him because she had been obliged to do so...but it did not matter...he could die in less than twenty-four hours.

He rested his head on her breasts for a long while until he felt her body push out his flaccid cock; a small grunt accompanied this action, sounding from both of their throats. But when Draco finally lifted himself away from Hermione's hot and sweaty body, he was not surprised to find her in a deep and well-needed sleep. It had been a combination of the potions, the lovemaking, and the late hour, he knew, but as he pulled away from her, his legs trembling like a newborn foal's, he could not help but smile at the picture Hermione Granger made. The half-light was glistening off her skin and the mixture of essences smeared between her thighs. Tears were sprinkled on her eyelashes and her cheeks were still quite flushed. She was beautiful in the way Draco thought dangerous animals and predators were beautiful when sleeping...she had indulged him, and his chest hurt at the thought of this indulgence...

This was a good bye.


* * *


He had cast several cleansing charms upon her skin and placed her in bed properly, and all the while, she had not awoken. Again, in his clothes, even his cloak hanging over the crook of his silver arm, he wanted to kiss her one more time.

He did not... Instead, he stared at her sleeping face, wondering about things that could never be...
Draco moved to the door of the bedroom, but did not shut it as he passed through. Instead, he glanced back one last time and tried to smile. It hurt so badly to smile...

Magicking the lights off in the apartment, Draco strode through the entry hall and to the door. Making sure that all the locks were closed and the wards were raised, he paused before Disapparating. It would be so easy to just drop his cloak and go back into that room and lay himself down at her side...but it would be too hard to ever leave her side again. There was nothing holding her to him now...

With a shaky intake of breath, Draco focussed, his mind's eye bounding over the protective wards around Hermione apartment and stretching forward through space to the entry hall of Malfoy Manor, and with another intake of breath, Draco was gone.


* * *


Hermione Granger opened her eyes at the soft sound of someone Apparating, and felt a ragged sob pass her lips. It was over.


* * *


Two weeks later, Hermione Granger sat behind her desk at her office in Longbottom Apothecaries, gazing down at yet another letter from Gringotts informing her that another anonymous donation had been made...a grant to expand the research facilities to include the study of alternative treatments for Muggle diseases now hitting the Wizarding population.

The anonymous donor was none other than Draco Malfoy, and already Longbottom Apothecaries had enough money to expand their firm to found new branches in South America and the Middle East. It was too much money, more than Hermione would have ever expected, but then again, Draco Malfoy had never really been one to do anything half-way...except when it came to killing Albus Dumbledore, of course.

“What are you doing, Hermione! We have been waiting fifteen minutes for you to show up in the Hospital Ward!” a voice intruded upon Hermione's thoughts.

Hermione glanced up at the imposing figure of Millicent Longbottom, dressed in pale blue robes, fists upon her hips, glowering down at Hermione where she sat.

“I lost track of time, Millie...” Hermione began, folding the letter from Gringotts and stuffing it into a pile of other papers on her desk.

“Don't you even tell me that you're reconsidering!” Millie roared, her square jaw setting to form a harsh line of Millie's red painted lips.

“I'm not...” Hermione whispered, standing slowly, grasping her cane where it had leaned against her desk.

Millie sighed and let her hands fall to her sides. Hermione smiled sadly and moved around her desk, the wide window overlooking Diagon Alley at her back. She glanced at her dishevelled desk one more time, knowing it could possibly be months before she sat behind it again.

“You're ready?” Millie asked, wrapping her arm about Hermione's as they exited the cluttered office.

Hermione nodded. She was ready as she would ever be...she could only pray to whatever god that she would finally be free of the pain that had racked her for the last eleven years.

Little was said as Hermione walked with Millie's help through the labyrinthine building that housed the main offices and laboratories for Longbottom Apothecaries. There were several well-wishers along the way, all employees, and all old friends of some sort or another. And in less than twenty minutes, Hermione was dressed in a hospital gown, lying on her back in the surgical suite as Millie and several other Mediwitches and Mediwizards from St. Mungo's, the Apothecary, and as far away as the Salem Medical Institute were bustling about, ready to anesthetize Hermione.

“It will be fine, Hermione,” Millie said, grasping Hermione's hand, her face obscured by a surgical mask.

“I know...” Hermione whispered as she felt one of the nurses press a wand tip against her neck, beginning the anesthetizing process.

“Neville, Minerva, all of your friends will be there when you wake up,” Millie whispered, leaning down to Hermione's ear. With a quick, friendly kiss from behind her surgical mask, Millie watched Hermione's eyes shut and her face relax...

With that, the procedure began.