Water

Water
Chapter Seven
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual References, Strong language

Thank you to my betas, Jen (http://jenl3227.livejournal.com) and Dina (http://dianoram.livejournal.com) for correcting this chapter.

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


Chapter 7.


Hermione’s heart stopped.

Harry.

How long had he been there?

Oh, no. Please. Don’t look like that.

“Harry…”

Hermione never wanted to see him look like that again, not for as long as she kept breathing. Because he looked furious.

Inside-out fury.

Harry stood there, fists clenched, mouth tight, eyes hot. Hot and staring right past her and hitting the boy behind. Hermione didn’t dare to look, but she was sure Draco was staring straight back at him. And she was sure his eyes were burning, too.

Say something.

“Harry…?”

Why are you looking like that?

How much did you hear?

And why are you breathing so fast?

Isn’t it obvious? Look at him. He may as well have heard everything. And he probably has. Every single drop of poison.

She wanted to plead with him. It’s not what you think, Harry, it’s not, and I’m sorry.

But he was breathing hard. Wasn’t he breathing so hard? So devastatingly hard. Did it mean that… Had he been running? Had he only just got there? Doesn’t that change everything? Doesn’t that mean he can’t have heard it all?

But that look. Why was he still looking like that?

I can’t tell on my own, so please, just say something, say anything, say what you heard, tell me what you heard him say, Harry, and then I can say something back because...

Merlin, Hermione. Please stay calm, please stay focused.

...because I can’t touch the truth unless you know it already. I won’t touch it unless you’re already there. I won’t be the one to tell you, not right now.

I can’t be the one to tell you the truth because I don’t even know it myself, Harry.

But if you heard, if you heard Malfoy then you know already. Do you know already? Do you understand it, Harry? Because I don’t even understand it.

And you’ll hate me for it, won’t you?

Why are you looking like that?

I do, I do, I do want to say sorry- but then what if you ask what for? I can’t tell you what for. I won’t say the words because it’s too hard right now, in this moment, so many things in my head, I’m scared I’ll collapse...

Please, let me stay calm.

...And, Merlin, please, stop staring at Malfoy like that.

“Harry.” Her voice was harder this time, more demanding.

Can’t you see that I’m saying your name and that I need to know? I need to know what you heard. No one can do anything until I know what you heard.

They say silence is deafening, but that isn’t enough. It absolutely isn’t enough. This silence made her feel like she’ll never be able to hear again.

Whatever happened now, Malfoy, she was blaming you. Do you hear that? She was blaming you, just you and your violent words in her head, Malfoy. Every single one.

Because those words hurt.

Like hell.

She forced her voice to be gentle. “Please.” Pleading. “What’s wrong, Harry?” She was quiet, and how that was possible was beyond her comprehension. She was screaming it at him inside her head. “Are you…? Has something happened?”

No. Don’t pretend you don’t understand why he’s looking at Malfoy like that. He must have heard the shouting. And he must know that you know that. So don’t ask him what’s happened, because you both know what’s happened.

And then finally. Finally.

“Get away from him, Hermione.” Harry’s voice was deeper than she could ever remember hearing it.

What does that mean? She asked herself. How much does that mean he’s heard?

“Harry, what’s wrong? Please. Calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“No, you’re not—”

“Get away from him, Hermione.”

“Please, let’s just—“

“Shut up and get over here now!”

“No!” Hermione’s cheeks flushed fiercely. “Not until you calm down!”

Harry’s eyes shot towards her.

Look at his face. He can taste them. Can’t you see that he can taste all of the lies? The room is thick with them.

Hermione breathed out. “Let’s just go.” She took a tentative step towards him. “Malfoy and I are finished now. We’re finished, Harry. So let’s just leave.”

And then Harry was back to looking at Draco. She’d barely even noticed him take his eyes off the boy. And, Merlin, for the first time in Hermione’s entire life she felt grateful towards Malfoy. She was grateful that he had yet to say a single thing. She wondered if that was because he had heard her silently beg him not to. Or perhaps because he was still so completely raw from the last thing to have left his mouth.

The same thing that keeps going round and round and round in her own head.

But then true to form, back to reality, that appreciated silence was broken.

“What are you going to do, Potter?” Draco almost sighed it.

Hermione tensed.

Harry stared back at him. Long, hard, threatening. Cold. Livid.

“I suppose it’s been a while since everything has turned into the bloody Potter Show around here,” he drawled. “So why don’t you hurry the fuck up and show us all how it plays out? I’m dying to know.”

She had to hand it to him. He had well and truly mastered his usual contemptuous malcontent down to a fine art. He almost sounded casual, as if they had simply met in the corridor one night, exchanging the usual insults. It wasn’t as if they were standing in a room where the temperature had just risen five hundred and fifty degrees.

She couldn’t decide what it was Malfoy’s words did to her – annoy her even more or simply wash her down with relief.

“Stop it, Malfoy,” warned Hermione. “Just leave him alone, alright? We’re going to go now.” Aren’t we, Harry? Yes. “We were finished here anyway.”

Draco looked at her then. Finished? The look said. You know this is far from finished.

She looked away.

Hermione felt as if she’d seen that look a hundred times now. Their own familiar and private hell. Their fast-becoming-home.


*


Draco watched Hermione take the few remaining steps across the room towards Harry. They were slow. Slow and cautious and so terribly terrified. He watched her stand in front of him and reach out to touch his arm. A touch that was anxious, still timid and anxious. And soft. Fingers around his arm. Very soft.

Draco cringed.

Because that’s right. That’s the way. The fucking Granger way. Prance off with her bloody Potter, your bloody-fucking-Potter and his stupid save-the-girl glasses. I can hear your breathing, Granger. What you’re scared of. Scared how far he’ll go before he turns around and starts to scream at you.

Whore. Stupid whore. Is that what he’ll say? Because he probably heard every fucking word I yelled, right? Is that why you’re so worried?

Draco wished Potter had heard it all.

I almost fucking wish it, Granger, wish that he would leave you alone like you’re leaving me now. And don’t think I don’t know that you want to stay. If he wasn’t here, you would be staying.

Fuck all the Granger out of you.

Don’t tell me you didn’t want to stay for that.

Just to hear me say it again, at least.

My words, Granger, you heard them, you hear them. You fucking stink of them.

So that’s how I know we aren’t finished. We aren’t finished. This is nowhere near the end.

Harry had shaken off Hermione’s touch, and he was standing, still staring, still marking Draco up and down and through to his bones with tiny, biting, rancid revulsion. And Draco was spitting it all back at him. Straight in the face.

The feeling is mutual, Potter, I can assure you.

And Draco would have said it out loud, would have spat louder. But he was almost curious— curious at what this boy was going to do. This boy that was looking at him with the most menacing look he had yet to see him give. It was spot on. Textbook hate. He probably practiced it in front of the mirror.

But Draco didn’t care. He didn’t care at all. Whatever Harry did, Draco still had one thing— one thing that would win. Hands fucking up in the air win.

Because how much would it gall him to know Draco had tasted her lips?

He looked over at her. At Hermione.

I had those lips between my teeth, Potter. And I’ll have them again.

She was looking at Harry nervously.

“Would you please stop?” she whispered. “Stop looking at Malfoy like that. Let’s just talk about this, okay? Let’s just go back to the common room and talk about this.”

Draco almost laughed.

For fuck’s sake, Granger. Will you hurry up and realise already, you stupid bitch?

He didn’t hear anything. Nothing that could have told him the truth. And do you know how I know that, Granger?

Because he’s Potter. And he never would have stood outside that door for all that time. He never would have listened to me say so much as a wrongly fucking toned word, Granger. He would have burst in the first time I swore at you. He would have burst in the first time I called you a whore and a slag and a weak little bitch. He’d just got here. Can’t you tell? He never would have let you hear all that. Never would have let it touch those sweetly innocent virgin ears. Not if he could have helped it. He would have ran straight in.

And do you want to know why?

Because he wasn’t looking for the truth. He was looking for an excuse. An excuse to keep you away from me.

So you don’t have to worry yourself about precious little Potter. For whatever the reason he’s looking like that – whatever the twat thinks he knows or might know or wants to bloody know – he doesn’t. He doesn’t know a thing.

And so it’s back to you. It’s your choice to tell him or not, Granger. The Mudblood has her control back. I almost hope it destroys you. I hope he never speaks to you again.

I hope you come flooding back to me.

Because, Merlin, I want to know what it’s like to fuck you in despair.

Fuck you, then leave you. Out of my head. Out of my blood. Out of my absolute purity.

“Come on, Potter,” growled Draco. “Whatever it is. I dare you.”

“I warned you,” hissed Harry. His breathing was still hard, not as hard as before, not as fast, but still hard and long and fiercely apparent. “I warned you off her.”

“And?”

“And I told you to stay away.”

“I know.” Draco’s mouth twitched. “But I just couldn’t help myself.”

He knew Harry didn’t know the truth. And he knew he wouldn’t be the one to tell him. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck with that pathetically overemotional head of his. And so he would. For as long as he can he will. And the best part? All along Draco will know it’s more than just words. And so will she.

“Don’t, Malfoy…” Hermione was talking again, begging him. It made his heart jolt.

That voice.

Shut up. Just shut up.

“Just let us go.” Pleading still.

Why is that voice grating on him? Why is it so hard to swallow?

Harry spoke through gritted teeth. “We’re not going anywhere.” His eyes didn’t leave Draco’s for a second. “We’re not leaving this room, Hermione. We’re not going.”

“Harry, please.”

Because of course, noted Draco, Potter could have heard fucking everything as far as she was concerned.

Just put her out her misery, you thick bastard. Just say something to stop the bitch from trembling. Can’t you see her? She’s almost fucking crying.

And be careful. Because Draco has tasted those tears before. And they tasted so fucking good mixed with the vomit in his mouth. Last night. Up against her.

So just say something. Anything so she’ll realise.

“Why are you doing this, Harry?” asked Hermione, her eyes wide. “Nothing good can come from this. Don’t you see? If you and I just leave right now, we can sort this out. Whatever it is that has made you this angry, we can just—”

“I’m not leaving! Not until the bastard apologises to you!”

Hermione froze. That must have confused her a little.

And let’s make it even easier for her.

“Apologise for what, Potter?”

“For everything. For wishing her dead. For not being dead yourself, Malfoy.”

Draco could almost hear the realisation blossom underneath her skin.


*


Hermione played that back. One more time. For everything. For wishing her dead. And?

And?

For the touches? For the tongues? For the teeth and the lips and the hands? Are you forgetting or do you not know?

Does that mean…?

What did that mean?

Did it mean that Harry had only heard the last few words? The part where Draco had wished her dead? Was that really why he was so angry, so completely fuming before her?

That can’t have been it. That can’t have been it at all. She’d barely ever seen him look so— So like that. Wearing that expression on his face when he’d burst through the door.

No. There was something else wrong, she decided, she knew, and if it wasn’t what she and Malfoy had just been screaming at each other, then that was barely a relief. Because there was something else. There was definitely something else.

Hermione stared back at Harry with overwhelming uncertainty.

Harry said it again. “Apologise to her.” He was trying to calm his breathing. But Hermione saw that he looked so loud. So loud of mind, of misgivings, of must-be-saids. So where were they all, she asked herself, mind twisted into a painful knot of upheaval.

You came in and screamed a look. And why?

She didn’t want to ask him why, because what if she already knew the answer? Fuck. Fuck this mess. This mess of emotion. She couldn’t deal with it. Not with Harry, not with Draco. Not with all those spoken, so unspoken, whispered words.

Absolute exhaustion.

“You heard me say some nasty things, didn’t you, Potter?” frowned Draco. His voice had joined the depths – that deepness that Harry’s hung with. “And you couldn’t help but erupt through that door like you’re the world’s bloody hero.” His top lip curled. “What if you’re not her type? Did you ever think about that?”

“I warned you, Malfoy.”

Suddenly, Harry’s wand appeared.

Hermione gasped.

No. No wands. No magic. No fighting.

“Harry, put your wand away!” Her voice was frantic as she unsuccessfully pushed down on his arm. “This isn’t the right way to do this. If that’s what you're upset about- those things that he said to me- then it doesn’t matter, okay? None of it hurt me, alright?” Lies. Salt-bitter stale lies but please- put it down. Put it down before this air snaps in two and you get hurt, Harry. “You know his words mean nothing to me. I barely hear them, Harry.”

“It’s not just the words,” he growled, arm rigid, wand pointed.

“Then what? Will you please just tell me what it is, Harry?” She pushed down on his arm again. “And will you just lower your wand! This isn’t the way! It’s never been the way, alright? Has magic taught you nothing? All those years it’s maimed and destroyed, Harry? Just don’t do this. I promise you whatever it is we’ll sort it out. We’ll talk about it. Please.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “Why don’t you listen to her, Potter? Put down your wand,” he hissed, and then his eyes narrowed. “If you really hate me, if you really want to me to stay away from her, then show me. Show me. Come over here and prove it to me. Prove it to me without your wand.”

An open invitation.

Hermione felt the cold around them ignite.

What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?

“Put down your wand and prove it.” The invitation read. “Because it’s over too soon with magic, Potter. It’s over too soon with words. You can hardly hear the bones breaking. You can hardly feel the skin ripping—”

“No!” exclaimed Hermione. “Stop it! Stop it, Malfoy! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!” And she felt the slow rising panic of terror.

Terror-filled anticipation.


*


She would never understand.

That was what Draco told himself.

“Malfoy, please, no, don’t make him do anything...”

Not even that voice. You would never understand, Granger.

Because he’d finally found a way. There, right in front of him. A way to make the thoughts stop.

This was a chance of punishment. This was chance of beating. Fists and elbows and knees and ribs. A chance for blood. A chance for mercy. A moment of liberation.

He had needed it for days. Weeks. He had needed it since her. Since the dirty blood. Since it hit his mouth and swirled, licked, danced around his tongue and turned him mad. Pain for burying his face in her neck and whispering venomous words in his head about beauty and need and fuck-hard-fucks, and lips against skin against veins full of blood – that blood – and still no release. Not inside her, not around her- and no pain- no punishment, nothing battering against his body, and it was torture. Because his head would keep ringing and ringing and ringing out with what he deserved but never got – because his father wasn’t around to do it anymore. He was dead.

Yes. This was punishment for Draco. It was staring him in the face.

Because he had been begging for someone to do this to him since he’d felt her muddied heart against his chest.

His father was dead.

But now there was Potter.

Someone he hated nearly as much. And someone who hated him back. Just as his father had hated him.

Because you did, didn’t you, father? You hated your son for being such a disappointment.

So that’s why you’ll never understand, Granger. Two birds with one stone. He’ll get to be hero and I’ll get to bleed back. And that blood with be for my father. All for him. The final sorry. The one I can’t fuck up because your lips are too fucking close, Granger. The sorry for everything I’ve done, and everything I want to do.

That’s the invitation, Potter. And it’s funny because you’ll think I’m mad but I’m not.

I’m thinking totally, utterly, irrefutably straight. Straighter than I have in weeks.

Because Draco had never needed to hurt so much in his life.

Now come on. Because I know you want to.

“So why don’t you put it away? You can handle yourself, can’t you, Potter? The fucking prized possession of Hogwarts. Never a dull moment, and all that shit. You’re the deadliest weapon they’ve ever got their hands on in years. Congratulations, Potter – I bet they’d frame you in a cabinet if they could. Pop you in and out whenever they needed you.” He swallowed “So fight. Fight for your bastard father and whore of a mother, Potter.”

“Shut up.”

“Fight for your dead godfather and his twisted, perverted friends. Fight for the girl, fight for Granger, for all the times you’ve known I could burst through her door and under the covers and between her thighs—”

“I mean it, you bastard!”

“—and ravish her like the filthy fucking Mudblood that she is.“

“I said shut the fuck up, Malfoy!”

“So why don’t you make me?”

Harry’s fist met his jaw so hard and sharp he fell to the ground.

Draco could hear her. Somewhere outside it all. She was calling their names. No – just Potter’s name. Why just his name?

His jaw felt torn as he shot out his fist into the stomach of the body in front of him, the body keeling over, a fist into its chin to cause more pain. And then it fights back and Draco is down again, on the floor again, hard ash stone against his head – it’s buzzing and it’s punishing and it will all stop too soon unless he fights back harder. He grabs hold of an arm and pulls it down, dragging himself up, kicking hard into the body beneath him. His ankle is grabbed – twisted – pain rushes through him and he’s down again, up again, a fist breaking glasses and then an elbow across his own jaw as he tastes rusting metal against his tongue.

All the while she’s shouting – screaming – and this time his name as well.

He’s back down on the ground, panting, swearing – fuck you, you bastard, you son of Muggle whore – I’d take her and I’d have her – I’d do it all if I wanted to. For every word a new way to hurt and for every breath a new way of hurting. Then a fist, a jaw, a bloody nose. This was punishment. This was payback.

This was for you, Father. He’s doing what you can never do. And I’m sorry because I still want her and need her fucking-inside-out. Not even this pain can change that.

His fist flies out and into the face above him – shapes, shadows, growls and words and pain – fucking pain – she’s mine—

And suddenly – suddenly there is something else. Something new. It’s frantic and pushing between them.

No.

I can’t reach him anymore. Get out of the way, Granger. Get the fuck out of this, it’s not here for you, it’s my punishment and I need it and you can’t stop it just get out – just get out, get out and let it happen...-

Hermione’s body flew back into the desks and collapsed to the ground.

They froze.


*


One split second and Harry was there beside her.

“Hermione…” his voice rasped, scraping in his throat. “Hermione, are you—”

“Get off me!” she mumbled, tried to shout. “Just get away from me!”

“Hermione…”

“Get away!”

She pushed away the bloody hand. Fiercely, she looked up into his streaming face, screaming inside.

Are you happy now?! Look at you both! What the hell just happened?

“Are you hurt?” he asked her.

Yes. But I threw myself into you bastards so what did I expect? What the hell could I do? Every single spell had left me, every word was dry.

And look at you now.

Harry was staring down at her, panting. She could see the blood trickling down onto his lip. Red-to-be-purple splashed against his face. Lips cracked, parted. Wincing when he breathed.

Look. Look at what you’ve done to yourself.

And then Draco – Draco who was sliding down the wall at the opposite side of the room. His eyes were fixed on her. His breathing was coarse and callous. Fast wheezes. Drenched in bruises.

What was it? What was it that had darkened his face and given him that look? That look. The same one as last night. The same eyes he wore when speaking of blood and flesh and pure right and wrong.

Where were they both?

Where was she?

In a nightmare. And she wanted to wake up. Please. Someone. Shake her until she’s screaming wide awake.

Because here? Here, she couldn’t stay.

“Hermione— Hermione, are you hurt? ” Back to Harry.

“No. No I’m not. Just leave it.”

“You look hurt—”

“I look hurt?!” She laughed. Don’t be caring now, Harry. Not when it’s so bloody hypocritical I could scream. “Look at you! Look at your face!”

She had to know why. What could possibly be worth this much?

“What were you thinking? Why can’t you just tell me! Was it something you heard? Was it something we said? Just answer the question! Tell me! What the hell is going on and why did that just happen, Harry? What made you lose control like that? Why did you let him do it to you?!”

“Why do you think?!”

“I have no idea!”

“I know how he feels about you, Hermione! And you need to know too! You need to know because he’s dangerous! He’ll do something. He’ll take whatever he wants – and that’s you. That bastard is wanting you, Hermione! I promise I’m not lying to you. This isn’t my way of keeping you apart from him. I heard it all. I heard it all from that bitch Parkinson! She said he said your fucking name when he came, for fuck’s sake, so you’ve got to believe me! The bastard will take advantage of you and—”

The words kept coming, splashing around violently, deep into her eyes.

He knew what Malfoy felt.

So this is what he knew.

Draco said her name.

What Harry knew was even more than she did.

“—so you think I’m going to stand by and watch all that happen? You think I’m going to let you walk around up there in your own bedroom with that bastard on the other side of the wall? I’m not going to let you do that, Hermione. You can’t, because nothing is worth that much, and I mean that this time!”

Harry turned to Draco.

“Tell her! Go on, tell her how you feel, Malfoy!”

Oh, Harry, no. If only you knew.

Hermione was stabbed with the look Draco shot her. It was precariously dangerous. Warning. Warning her. He’d kept quiet this long but if she let Harry go on any longer he wouldn’t keep the silence. And Hermione wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready for Harry to know. Not here and not like this.

“Tell her, you bastard!”

Draco got to his feet.

“Harry, stop—”

“I want to hear him tell you himself, Hermione! Hear it from the son of a bitch’s mouth!”

Draco stepped forward.

It was the final warning.

Hermione grabbed Harry and spun him around.

“Harry, please, will you just stop!” She held his wrists tightly, pulling him in close. “This isn’t the way to deal with it. And I don’t care what Pansy said! We can talk about this. No fighting, no shouting, just calm down.”

Harry stared at her then. It was for a long moment. And her breath was held. Well and truly held so hard her head was thumping.

And then eventually he shook his head.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” Harry twisted his wrists out of her grip and grabbed her arm.

“Harry, what are you—”

“We’re going.” He pulled her firmly towards the door.

Hermione could almost feel Draco’s stare as Harry dragged her out of the room.

She turned back to glance at him – one last time – as the door swung shut behind them.


*