Trussed

Draco tensed, feeling a strong sense of deja vu at the sinking of his stomach in reaction to Hermione’s sobs. He simultaneously wanted to embrace her and run away.

Yet he couldn't help but feel responsible for this girl.

He reached out and gently grasped her wrist, and turned on the spot.

***

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, and she felt disoriented by flickering light on wooden walls. She was wrapped in a soft knitted blanket, cozy on a very plush sofa.

She sat upright when her eyes fell on Draco, knelt by a fireplace, checking a small kettle suspended above.

He didn't turn, but by the way his shoulders tensed, she could tell he'd caught the movement in his periphery.

He didn't say anything as he levitated the kettle to a small table, set with two teacups and a jar of honey. She noticed he was using Narcissa’s wand, and wondered what he had done with hers. His.

He sat down at the table, facing her, and set his wand down, pouring the two cups.

She simply blinked at him as he stirred a spoonful of honey into his tea, and then took a tentative sip of the steaming liquid.

He sighed. “What the fuck were you doing back there?” He didn't sound angry. Or surprised. Or anything but tired. Hermione swallowed and looked around at the quaint living space.

“Where are we?” Her voice was cracked and small, and she hated to admit that she did really want the tea.

“We’re in Switzerland,” he said, and brought a cup to her, as if reading her mind. She took it, and gently blew on the top, avoiding his gaze. “I got tired of people.”

She could understand that. “Why were you following me?” She chanced raising her eyes to his, and his expression seemed like it was questioning her intelligence. She looked away. “Theo.”

“Theo.” Draco confirmed, and sat in the lounge chair opposite her. “He told me I should take you to St. Mungo’s.”

“Why didn't you?” She asked bitterly, and stared at the fire.

“I have no fucking idea.” He took a sip of his tea. “Maybe I really wanted to know what you were doing back there.”

“You left me!” Hermione screamed suddenly, and threw her cup at the wall. Draco flinched as hot tea sprayed everywhere, but stayed put.

She flung the blanket off of her and stood, facing him with rage in her eyes. “You hurt me and humiliated me and manipulated me into loving you and then you left me to deal with all of it on my own!”

She grew even more angry at the sight of his defeated expression. He gently set down his cup on the side table and folded his hands in his lap. Why wasn't he fighting her?

“You're a monster,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

“I am.” Draco raised his eyes to hers. She looked wild, disheveled, hysterical. Beautiful.

Hermione lashed out and smacked him in the head. He raised an arm to block her assault, but she was undeterred as she hit him over and over.

He managed to get a hold of her wrists, but she continued to flail. He pinned her against the wall, wrists on either side of her head.

She stopped struggling and looked up at him, eyes hooded.

He gaped at her. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Please.” She breathed. “Please, I need you.”