Seven Times

Thanks as always, guys. xx

Part 6.

The sixth time that Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger, he was riding on a cocktail of fear, adrenalin, and grief. Lack of sleep meant everyone had short tempers. Lack of sleep because Hermione had been snatched in the midst of a surprise raid, and that meant that fear over rode the issue of no sleep, and put everyone on high alert. Ron was beside himself with fear, while Harry had retreated into himself, letting a darker side of his nature take him over. While the Order planned and muttered over tea, Harry slipped away and sought Draco out.

“I’ve had enough,” Harry murmured in the darkness of Hermione’s room. He sat the edge of the bed, and smiled faintly when he caught the lingering scent of her shampoo on the pillows. Looking up at the small gathering of young men before him, Harry smiled darkly.

“I’ve had enough of Voldemort taking what’s mine. Of taking the people I love. It’s time to turn the tables…to take the fight to them. Who’s with me?”

And when Harry, Ron, Draco, Blaise and Marcus Flint disappeared in the middle of the night, chaos erupted at Grimmauld Place. While the Aurors flapped their hands and shouted over the top of one another, Molly silently held her cup of tea, and prayed that her boys would return to her in one piece.
That they would find Hermione, and bring her home safely. It was no use trying to believe that Hermione would not have been harmed - the dreams of them all making it through these days unscathed had shattered a year ago after Cho was raped, leaving a cold sense of reality in its place.

They found Hermione easily enough, but getting to her proved more difficult. The wards at Malfoy Manor still recognised Draco, but the home he had once loved was overrun with lower-level Death Eaters and werewolves. Nevertheless, anger, fear, loyalty and even love can provide strength in strange ways, and when the fighting stopped, when the shouting died away, those who had stood between the young men and Hermione lay dead.

Draco bolted down the stairs towards the hidden rooms, while Harry and Ron headed towards Lucius’ study to search for any new information. Marcus and Blaise headed down into the dungeons to see if Hermione were hidden below the flooring. Having been in the midst of the war for two years now, nothing much shocked them anymore. They’d seen too much, experienced too much, yet when they lit the dungeons with the tips of their wands, what they saw silenced them and stole any remaining jubilance in the face of their victory.

Blaise swayed once and whimpered, a long, drawn out mournful sound, as Marcus raised his wand and blew the door to the cage clean off its hinges. In the end it was Marcus who approached Hermione, while slowly drawing off the shirt he wore. He crouched down slowly beside her, his voice gruff as he carefully touched the badly beaten face of the girl who lay naked on the floor in a pool of blood. Even though she was chained down, she still fought violently against him as his fingers feathered over the gashes in the corners of her mouth.

The sounds that were torn out of her mouth were guttural, and when Marcus unlocked the metal collar from around her throat and removed the blood stained wadding from between her lips, she wrenched to the side and vomited. Slipping his arm under her neck, he slowly drew away the cloth that had blinded her, Hermione blinking up at him in fear as he slowly sat her up. And when he drew his shirt around her naked body, Hermione began to shake.

Biting his lower lip, Marcus pressed her battered face into the dip of his shoulder. Hermione was still for a moment before she chocked, and then screamed: a long, drawn out sound of pain, fear, hope and anguish, her fingers fisting against his chest as Marcus hushed her, while Blaise crouched down beside them and finished unlocking the remaining shackles that held her prisoner. And when Marcus lifted her into his arms, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

They stood together on the impressive lawns of Malfoy Manor, their quarry held safely in firm arms as Draco, Ron and Harry stood side-by-side. There was no surprise when Draco raised his wand, his shouted spell causing the Fiendfyre curse to take the form of a raging dragon. The flames swept through the Manor within a matter of moments, consuming everything it touched and leaving nothing in its wake. Backlit by the flames he had created, Draco looked at Harry, and nodded once, before he turned away as his childhood home burned to the tainted ground upon which it had once stood.

When Blaise and Marcus appeared in the dimly lit hall of Order headquarters, Marcus silently handed Hermione’s limp body over to the healers, as Molly plucked at his arm. Blaise murmured something softly to Marcus and Disapparated again, while Marcus summoned a new shirt. Staring up at the surly man before her, Molly could only hold her breath as Marcus slipped into his shirt, before he looked down at her and shook his head.

“I can’t stay, Mrs. Weasley. Draco’s gone after Lucius.”

“Why?” Molly wheezed, and Marcus smirked sardonically.

“Hermione was at Malfoy Manor. Draco, Harry and Ron will go after the man who went after Hermione.”

And when the five young men reappeared three days later, Draco waved away the concerned looks he was faced with, and headed silently up the stairs for a much needed shower. After being reassured of Hermione’s well being, the Order learned from hushed whispers that Draco had tracked his father to Spinner's End, where a duel had occurred.

“We saw the line he walks, Mum,” Ron whispered. “Not the Malfoy we knew, but the Draco we trust. Draco went mental when we found Lucius. He was hiding with Wormtail, Yaxley, and Dolohov. While we went after the others, Draco went after Lucius - it was short, and it was brutal. Lucius was unarmed - Draco snapped his wand in two, and left him defenceless."

Ron looked down at his hands and shrugged slightly, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

“He used the Cruciatus on Lucius… seven times. And in between curses, Lucius begged him to remember his loyalty. To remember his blood lines. Draco snapped over that. He kicked the shite out of him, Mum, before he stood back and… the look on his face. Lucius begged Draco to spare him, and Draco asked him if Cho had begged. If Hermione had begged. That’s when Lucius knew why we were there.

“He told Draco that he was a blood traitor, and the worst kind at that. He was betraying his pure blood, to roll in the dirt with the type of filth, on which the Death Eaters used to practice their curses. He asked him what it was like to sink into that dirt, to defile his name and his family with a Mud-blood, and Draco just laughed. He told Lucius that if Hermione was dirty, then he revelled in her type of filth. Lucius looked as if he was going to pop an artery…and…Draco just… smiled. And then he killed him.”

Looking up at the soft murmurs, a fiercely predatory look crossed Ron’s face.

“I dare any man or woman in this room to tell me he did the wrong thing. Because if it had been me in that position? I would have done the same thing.”

Shoving back from the table, Ron walked away, and headed up the stairs to find Lavender, where he knew he’d find a brief respite from war within her arms.

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

Draco rested his head against the closed door that separated him from Hermione and closed his eyes. Having showered, he had headed for bed, yet he had been unable to walk past Hermione's door. He didn't know what lay beyond her door - anger, tears, pain or repercussions. Running his fingers over her door slowly, he took a deep breath. He was bone deep-tired, yet every time he closed his eyes, he saw her as she had been - naked, covered in blood, and barely conscious as she was cradled in Marcus' arms.

The door opening silently as he pushed against it with his fingertips, and he lifted his head slowly. As his eyes adjusted to the dim candle light within, he saw that Hermione was lying on her side and that her eyes were open. They stared at each other for a long moment, with a threshold separating them, until Hermione managed a smile through trembling lips and patted the bed beside her.

Draco took a deep breath and stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind him as Hermione sat up slowly. In the dim light, Draco could see the faint bruising that stained her skin as she stared up at him, but it was nothing in comparison to what she had looked like three days ago. Standing where he was, rocking back and forth slightly with fatigue, Draco watched through hooded eyes as Hermione pleated the blanket with her fingers.

“Draco?” she whispered when the silence became unbearable, and he lowered his eyes.

“Did he?” was all he said, and Hermione finally caught on when he refused to come any closer to her.

“No. No… They were waiting for Voldemort to decide what to do with me. Besides, ” she muttered as she lowered her eyes, “why rape me, a filthy animal, when can they can practice spells on me instead? Why rape me, when Voldemort can hold a public trial, and offer me up as spoils of war? It didn't stop them from threatening me, though. From touching me."

Twisting her fingers together, Hermione managed a small smile. Draco closed his eyes and lowered his chin, pale, damp hair falling across his eyes as he breathed out slowly.

"Draco?"

He looked at her through dark eyelashes silently, and Hermione twisted her fingers and bit her lip.

"Did you have sex with Padma that night?"

She didn't need to clarify what night she meant. The silence remained between them, stretching out and becoming brittle as they stared at each other. And when he finally moved, it was to shake his head slowly. Twice to the left, twice to the right, and Hermione's face twisted slightly as she looked away.

"Is that why you left?" he asked when it was her turn to remain silent, and Hermione shrugged slightly as she finally turned her head and returned his gaze.

"Would you have ever come to me if you'd known differently?" he asked in a low voice, and Hermione blushed and lowered her eyes.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Hermione pushed her hair back over her head as she let out an unsteady breath, and when she squared her shoulders, he saw her wrap her courage around herself like silk as she returned his gaze evenly and answered the unasked.

"Yes."

His breath rushed out in a whoosh of air, and he slowly dropped the stained shirt he carried and let it fall to the floor.

“This will change everything, Draco,” Hermione whispered, and he looked up while undoing his belt.

He laughed softly, the sound slightly bitter as he shoved his pants down, and crossed the room towards her.

“It’s already changed, Granger. It changed two years ago. I was just waiting for you to realise it,” he muttered as he tugged the blankets back and slipped into bed beside her.

She never said anything as he pulled her across the bed and into his arms, but her eyes spoke volumes as she stared up at him.

“When are you going to realise that it isn’t pity that brings me here, Granger?” he muttered, and lowered his head to hers.

He wasn’t gentle when he kissed her; no fluttering lashes and feathering touches of his lips against hers. He was demanding, kissing her ruthlessly as he crushed her mouth under his. He mapped out her mouth with his tongue, and ran his fingertips over her face and throat as she touched his skin in return. Kissed her over and over, time and time again, while the stubble that covered his jaw scraped her skin.

And when he knelt up, his hands tugging at her top, Hermione sat up and lifted her arms as he lifted it up and off, baring her to his gaze. He never said anything as she lowered her eyes. Never said anything as he tugged her hands away from her chest, where she had crossed them. But he did groan softly when he cupped her breast in his hand, and shifted back over her, his weight pushing hers back into the bed as he went back to kissing her.

When his hand slid down over her hip, and under her knickers, he lifted his head and stared down at her, eyes hooded and burning silver in the dim light as he kneaded the soft skin of her bum. And when she took a deep breath and lifted her hips, he tugged those plain white knickers down and away, before he rolled between her legs, and rocked his groin against hers, much as he had done in the kitchen so long ago.

And when the beating of hearts was strong, when the heat had them kicking back blankets, Hermione closed her eyes and bit her lip when he kicked his shorts off and rolled back between her thighs. Her fear was unrealised, however, when he covered her mouth with his, and reached between them, his fingers sliding over slick flesh easily, slipping deep inside her and causing small shock waves to dance through her body.

She winced once at the slight sting she felt as he withdrew his fingers and pressed into her, and the deeper ache that came from having muscles and tissue stretch in a way that they hadn’t before. And when he stayed still, she looked up at him and saw that his lips were pressed together in a tight line as he waited for
her to move under him. So she did, and that's when she saw the real Draco Malfoy, the one, he couldn't hide behind icy walls.

It was heat and strength and warmth, and when it was over, when he lay with his face pressed into her throat as his body shook with the force of it all, she held him as lust turned to grief, and he shook for an entirely different reason. When she woke the following morning, Hermione felt the wet rasp of his tongue between her shoulder blades, and looked over her shoulder sleepily as his warm weight covered her and crushed her into the mattress.

He smiled slightly as he looked down at her, eyes heavy, hair tousled from both sleep and her hands, and a sound of satisfaction escaping his lips as he reached between them, and pushed himself in her body once more. It was slow, it was lazy, and the long, drawn out groan that escaped his lips and echoed in her ear as he lost himself in her, would stay with her for the rest of her life.