Seven Times

Part 5.

The fifth time Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger was when he laid eyes on her two months later. He had seen her on the battle fields, but not in safety. Not in privacy, where he could grab her by the shoulders and shake the stupidity out of her. Not in a safe house, where he could lock the door to prevent her running from him. Where he could scream at her, and force her to face up to what had sent her running in the first place.

No, he’d seen her surrounded by death and magic, with blood staining the side of her body, leaving the shirt she wore wet and sticky as she stumbled to her knees, while the cloaked figure in black loomed above her. That being said though, the Death Eater who had used the Muggle knife on her hit the ground not a moment later, his face frozen in death behind the grotesque mask and his eyes glowing green.

She’d been hauled upright by Marcus Flint by one arm, as his free hand dived down the back of her pants. A dozen steps away, Draco faltered mid step when Marcus yanked a cloth covered Portkey out of her pocket, and closed Hermione’s hand around it. He let her go, steadied her once, and then yanked the cloth out of her hand as she began to fall again. She vanished from sight the moment Marcus tugged the cloth free, and it fluttered to the ground as Marcus turned back to the fight at hand.

When the remaining Order members returned to safety, Draco finally caught sight of Hermione as she headed stiffly towards the bathroom. Ignoring the sly looks being sent his way as he headed upstairs, Draco made a beeline for the bathroom. Ron and Harry came together at the foot of the stairs, and exchanged one long knowing look as Draco lingered outside the bathroom door. Ron tilted his head slightly as he stared at the blond, and then spoke quietly.

“Bet you a Knut that she Expulsos his arse out the door, before he can speak a word,” he murmured, and Harry chuckled quietly.

“Raise you to a Sickle that he uses Expelliarmus on her first, and if he can get close enough, that she slaps him for it like she did in third year,” he countered, and Ron pursed his lips as he considered the variables. Upstairs, Draco finally opened the door, and slipped inside.

This was their adorable if not prickly girl they were making the bet about. She was slightly unpredictable on the best of days, and Hermione could be right nasty when backed into a corner. But, that being said, Draco was as sly and as sneaky as they come - and when he was backed into a corner? He was worse than Hermione on a bad day, while suffering that mysterious business that all females seemed to suffer...

“Counter that, and raise you to a Galleon that he waits until she’s unarmed and in the shower before he makes his move,” a new voice drawled, and the two boys turned to see Blaise leaning casually against the wall.

“Why would he do that when it’s only going to piss her off?” Harry asked, and Blaise snorted.

“Please, Potter, at the heart of the matter, he is Slytherin. Self-Preservation, my friend, is our motto. She’s not going to leap out of the shower naked and demand her wand back now, is she?”

“He’s right, you know, mate,” Ron murmured, and Harry hummed softly as he looked back up the stairs again.

“How long to convince her that he‘s not doing it out of pity?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, and Blaise pursed his lips as he looked at the bathroom door.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said finally, and Harry blinked.

“Fifteen minutes?” Harry asked, and Blaise raised an eyebrow when a sudden scream echoed from up stairs.

“Fifteen minutes, and a slapped face for his efforts,” he confirmed, and Harry stuck his hand out.

“Deal.”

“Reckon she’ll believe him?” Blaise asked as the three boys moved towards the kitchen, and Ron snorted with laughter.

“Not on your life,” he drawled, and Harry chuckled as he sat down at the table for a much needed cup of tea.

***************

Draco rested his hand on the bathroom door for a moment, as he listened to the rustling of fabric. When the water started, he licked the corner of his mouth, before pushing the door open and slipping inside. Shutting the door silently, he locked it while warily keeping his eyes on the wavery image of slender lines behind the shower curtain. Draco could just make out that she had her hands braced against the wall, and her head bent as the water streamed over her head, the sound of water not quite masking the tears she was trying to stifle.

It changed things - those soft tears. It changed his approach, his plan, his need to demand, and know and make her believe. So did the fact that Hermione’s blood stained shirt lay on the floor; he stared at it for a long moment, before padding silently across the bathroom. Picking up the slender length of wood that rested on the counter top, Draco sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and twirled it between his fingers for a moment before speaking.

“Why’d he stab you?” he asked, and Hermione screamed as she stumbled in the tub.

“Get out!” she cried, and Draco raised his eyebrows.

“No,” he said calmly, and Hermione’s furious face appeared from behind the shower curtain.

“No?” she hissed, and Draco hummed slightly as he tilted his head, and twirled her wand again.

“Why’d he stab you?” he repeated, and Hermione scowled at him when she recognised her wand in his hand and disappeared behind the curtain.

“Granger, I will open that curtain,” he warned when she remained silent, and she mumbled something under her breath as her shadow sank behind the curtain.

“What?” he asked, and Hermione spoke quietly.

“He said that he wouldn’t use magic on a filthy Mudblood, that it was a waste of energy, magic, and that I didn’t deserve to die to with dignity like my fallen friends, that I deserved to die in the mud, face down, arse up, and…”

She trailed off, Draco filling in the rest of what the Death Eater had said to her easily. He remained silent as the shadow behind the curtain shifted and the scent of shampoo filled the air. And when ten minutes had slipped past, he stood up and shook out a towel.

“Come on,” he murmured, and Hermione laughed, the sound more sob than mirth.

“Why?” she whispered, and Draco reached out and yanked the curtain back.

He kept his eyes on her face as her arms flew up to shield her body, and held the towel out. He felt Hermione’s fingers brush his a moment later and turned his back as the water shut off. When he turned back to face her a minute later, she had dragged on a ratty robe he had seen Harry wear before, and was staring down at her feet. Her hair was wet and tangled, her face pale and pinched with fear and fatigue. Reaching out, he took her wrist, and led her from the bathroom over to the room he knew she slept in.

It took a lot to shake Hermione, and when she'd followed him silently and sat down on the edge of the bed without arguing, Draco bit his lip and sank down beside her. A simple spell had her hair untangled and slowly drying, and he dragged his fingers through the loose curls as she lowered her chin. It was so easy, he found, to lay back against her bed and pull her down with him. To curl her body into his, and wrap his arms around her.

They lay there silently, Hermione spooned into Draco’s body, her softer curves fitting the harder planes of his body. And when his hand drifted to the knot in the robe, she made no effort to stop him as he untied it and separated the two sides. Simple cotton knickers, and a fitted tank top, and Draco smiled slightly as he tugged the top up her ribs. It was easy to find the wound, even though the skin and muscle had been knitted back together by magic and potion already. Her body was bruised, and he traced the bruise with a light touch.

“It was Theodore Nott,” she whispered, and Draco let his knuckles brush her side slowly.

“Better him than you, Granger. Better him face down, that you with your arse in the air," he said flatly, and Hermione glanced up at him.

"Why?" she asked, and Draco snorted.

"Please, Granger - who else am I going to annoy for amusement? Who else would dare to throw a cup at my head?” he murmured, and she shook her head and closed her eyes.

"And people say that you never lost your mind. I know better - you're still bloody crazy," she whispered, and Draco chuckled softly in her ear.

"Never said I was sane, Granger, that's a common misconception. If I were sane, there is no way in hell that I would be able to pull off half the missions that we do."

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, and opened her eyes when his hand left her ribs and tilted her chin up.

"Tired of what?" he asked, and Hermione gestured helplessly.

"Of war. Of having to have all the answers. Of friends dying. I'm so tired of being scared, and waking in the middle of the night, and wondering if this was the day that we were going to lose. I'm tired of wondering if I'm going to die."

"You won't die, Granger. Not you. You and Potter and Weasley - you'll be regarded as the heroes of the war when it is finished. In years to come, the students of Hogwarts will read about the golden trio in Hogwarts; A history."

"They'll read about you too, Draco," she whispered, and he laughed softly.

"Maybe."

"What are you tired of?" she asked, and then jerked when the thud of heavy boots echoed as Draco toed them off.

He sat up, the comforting weight of blankets warming her when he lay back down behind her and covered them up. His hand was calloused on her side when it pushed back under her tank, and Hermione caught his hand in hers.

"I'm tired of misconceptions, Granger. Of miscommunication," he said finally. "Of people looking at me, and wondering when I'm going to run back to Daddy. Of facing war. I'm scared that I'm going to die, without ever knowing the truth of it all. I'm just tired."

His arm was heavy across her waist, and he stayed quiet for a long time. Hermione waited for a moment, and then she finally huffed.

“Why are you here? With me?” she whispered, and Draco remained that silent that she thought he'd drifted off to sleep while lying behind her.

“Because you saved me once,” he finally said. “Because we all have to grow up and learn right from wrong eventually. Because in a time when life is uncertain, you are the one consistency I can depend upon. You are the one person I can count on for not only a decent cuppa, but for a jab to the ribs and a hissed name when you think I’m being a prat.

“I know I can count on you to research something, so that when I go into battle, I’m fully aware of what I am facing, and what I need to do, because you said so. I know that you fight not only for Harry, but for the right to even be called a witch, and that you're frighteningly powerful. And I know it took you over a year to trust me, but once you did, I knew I had that trust for life, and that I would never do anything to betray that.”

His hand slipped out from under her tank, and settled across the base of her ribs. And when his thumb settled between her breasts, he barely moved it, just enough to bring comfort as he stroked the swell of flesh he could feel. Shifting slightly, he raised up onto his elbow, and stared down at her. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the tears on her lashes, and he lifted his hand and used his thumb to wipe them away.

“Because even though you never hesitated to use the Killing Curse on Nott today, you bleed in the dark for him now. You think that your hands are stained with blood, when you are as innocent now as you were at eleven.”

She kept her eyes closed as his breath brushed her jaw, but couldn’t contain the small sound of surprise when his mouth brushed hers. Just once - a brushing of skin on skin almost, before he lay back down and pulled her into his arms again. Traced those long fingers along her ribs, her side, and the tops of her thighs as he pushed his face into her hair and breathed in deeply.

When she woke up the following the morning, he was still there. Holding her, his hand under her top and cupping her breast, and the morning erection he sported poking into the small of her back. And in her sleep addled mind, she wondered why it felt right to be there with him, in a way it had never felt right with Ron or Harry. The boys were safety in the night - Draco was heat and sensuality. For the life of her, Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to pull away.