Haunted

Hermione spent the day in bed recovering. She drank the potions set out by Mrs. Weasley, she downed so much water she felt like fish and still, she was sore.

Rolling out of bed the next day was torture. Her skin was tightening up and was still very tender. She gimped her way to the bathroom for what seemed like the millionth time after all that water yesterday and did her business while contemplating a shower. She decided the beating of the water sounded much too painful so opted for a bath in its stead. Keeping her hand on the rim to judge the water’s height, she filled it and shed herself very gently of her clothing. Wishing she had remembered her wand so she could check what time it was, she sank into the cool water, hissing at the pain. It slowly eased and she was able to breathe normally. The house was quiet, Malfoy having not yet waken, and she listened to the sounds of life outside, the twitter of the birds, the rustle of the leaves. She could envision the beauty the summer produced and was glad for the hours she had sat outside and watched life, it was serving her well now. She wallowed in her newfound courage to go forth with her life. Millions of people lived their life every day blind. She could do so as well. And why not? She was still alive, she still had function in the rest of her body, she still had her mind. She was blessed to have been able to see for as long as she did so that now she could use her vivid imagination to help her through the rest of her life. She had her friends, her family. They were there for her. She shook her head thinking back over the last two months and the pity party she had thrown herself. If it had been anyone else she would have thrown them out the window.

A creak of the bed from the next room told her Malfoy had risen. She knew she should get out to allow him use of the room, but the water was soothing to her aching skin and she hadn’t washed her hair yet… He could wait a little while. It’s not like this was the only bathroom in the house anyway.

She dunked beneath the surface, the water cooling her face and creating a new world of hearing, the dull thrum of her blood coursing through her veins her background music. She could hear it growing louder, louder, ever louder as the fear took hold. Her chest constricted and her limbs itched to pull her up, but she resisted. She was fine, she was okay, she wasn’t in any danger. She wasn’t going to drown in this big porcelain tub. Using her hands as leverage, she held herself under, trying to talk herself away from the terror that clawed at her. She stayed under for as long as she could before rising and gasping for air, clutching at the sides as the panic caught hold of her swiftly. She scrambled for the side, needing out, she had to get out, get away from the water. The slick bottom caused her feet and hands to slip as she tried to grab purchase to anything that would pull her out. Her flailing limbs banged against the edges as she sobbed and caught the towel hanging on the rack next to her. She heaved herself over the edge with a wail and arms grabbed her, pulling her from the water, the dark doom trying to pull her back under, trying to drown her once again. She clutched at the warm body, the safety of life, and panted, her feet sliding on the now wet tile of the floor. But she was hefted up, held tight against a chest, pulled into a lap, the smell of Malfoy assailing her senses.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” he said and she could hear the calm in his voice and she knew. She was fine, she was safe, she was breathing. She took several deep gulps of air, steadying her head, slowing her heart. The shaking took over and she refused to let go, clutching him so tightly she was sure she was hurting him; his vise-like arms were certainly causing her no small amount of pain. As the adrenaline left her body she realized a few things very quickly: she was naked, she had just freaked out in a tub, and Draco Malfoy was holding her. And she was naked.

Embarrassment stained her cheeks and she pulled her arms around from his back to cover herself as well as she could while climbing out of his lap. Malfoy moved and a warm towel suddenly came around her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Are you alright now?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yes. Thank you.” Shame laced her words. After all that talk yesterday about not letting the fear take her over and she was terrified of a bathtub. Dear Merlin, she was pathetic.

“Do you want me to floo for Molly?”

“No!” she said hurriedly. “No, I’m fine, really. Please, don’t mention this to anyone. If they knew they’d never leave my sight. Well, my side, I suppose would be the better term. Please.”

She hoped he could hear the plea in her voice, she hoped he cared.

“I will under one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Stick to showers for a while, alright?”

A smile crept onto her face. “It’s a deal.”

They were silent for a minute, Hermione growing ever more aware of the fact that she was wearing only a towel and he had seen her completely nude. Although she was not embarrassed about her body, she was too practical for that, it felt overly…intimate to be standing in a steamy bathroom with a virile male wearing only a towel.

“So…” she said, hoping to move him along.

“So.”

She felt him there, floating in that chair Mr. Weasley had made. Her unease grew and she tightened the towel around herself. He cleared his throat and muttered something about breakfast. She felt the air shift as he left, swiftly and silently. She let out a breath and groped for the door, finding it and shutting it quietly. She decided she’d had enough of bathing and went forward with her other tasks, finally dropping her towel on the ground to hopefully soak up some of the water she had splashed out of the tub. Sticking her head out the door, she listened, trying to hear any movement Malfoy might make. When she figured it was clear she hurried across the hall to her room and felt for her dresser, counting her drawers and finding her undergarments, her shorts and a shirt she hoped matched. She could only imagine the ghastly outfits she’d worn since she’d gone blind. By the feel, she figured she had her jean shorts so she wasn’t too worried that they wouldn’t match. Jeans matched everything. Right?

Hermione made her way downstairs, her hands trailing on the wall, moving slowly to feel the next stair. She’d gotten better at this particular aspect, she thought. See? she thought. You’re adjusting already. How long did it take you to get ready today? Fifteen minutes? Smiling to herself, she made her way into the kitchen, and greeted Malfoy who was making noise behind the counter that separated the cooking area from the eating area.

“Here,” he said and grabbed her hand. Hermione felt a leap in her stomach at the contact but he just pressed a vial to her palm. “Molly said to take this right before eating. It should help with the pain.”

“Thank you,” she said and pulled the cork, setting it on the table. She drank the vile potion and felt around for the cork. But it wasn’t there. She ran her hand over and over the table then sank to her knees to search the floor in case she had dropped it and not heard it.

“Malfoy? Have you-?”

“Here,” he said and took her wrist. He pulled her to her feet and put her hand down on the table, right on top of the cork.

“Thanks. Must have missed it,” she said, embarrassed. She shoved the cork into the vial and sat heavily on the chair she pulled out.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” she asked distractedly, thinking about how much her skin itched right at that very moment.

“Your sight.”

Blunt one, wasn’t he?

“Yes. Very much.”

She expected him to tease her, at the very least berate her for the reason she was blind in the first place. But he said nothing and she wasn’t sure where he was for a moment until she heard the dull clink of ceramic hitting wood.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Sandwich.”

Hermione couldn’t stifle her laughter. “Is that really all you can make?”

She could almost hear the scowl in his voice. “Excuse me for not being an expert in the culinary arts, I was a bit busy learning how to properly skin a Muggle alive.”

Hermione was shocked into silence. She shuddered at the thought of the things he must have gone through.

“I’m sorry-,”

“Don’t mention it.”

Breakfast was held in stony silence. Hermione finally ventured forth. “Want to try scrambled eggs tomorrow?”

“Fine.”

She tried again. “How are your legs feeling today?”

“Dead.”

“Are-are they feeling any different?”

“No.”

“Well, we’ll just have to work harder then, won’t we?”

“Look, this new ‘positive outlook’ you’ve adopted is all good and well but it’s a little much for my stomach in the mornings.”

Hermione stayed quiet, pondering the hot and cold vibes she was getting from him. When she’d finished she waited for him to take her plate before asking her if he wanted to get started on the exercises. She got a grunt for a reply so told him to meet her in the drawing room.

She made her way into the room and felt along the couch, finally taking a seat in the middle of it and waiting patiently for Malfoy. She jumped when he spoke.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Hermione set forth working his legs with vigor. Her arms were sore and stiff and her hands ached every time she clenched them. Her skin was still very sensitive and every brush of cloth against it had her hissing in pain.

“You don’t have to do this.” His voice broke the silence that had fallen between them. She ignored him and felt her way through the soft-yet-coarse hair on his leg to his ankle, massaging it lightly and moving it in circles, the muscles fighting her the whole way. She worked through them and held her hands at his toes.

“Wriggle your toes,” she said. She felt no movement.

“It’s not going to happen, Granger. Just give it up already,” he snapped. She moved her hands to his heel.

“Press down against my palm,” she instructed. Again, nothing.

“I told you, Granger.”

“Are you trying?”

“Of course I’m bloody trying! I would like the ability to walk again, thank you very much!”

“The stop fighting me and work with me!”

He snorted and Hermione carried on, getting the same unresponsive result. When she had finally finished he left quickly and Hermione took a moment to collect herself before trudging upstairs to add another layer of the thick goo to her body. She didn’t know what made him act like that, but she was sick of it.

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Draco watched her voyeuristically as she layered the cream on herself, as her hands ran over that pink skin. He couldn’t figure the damn witch out. Her brow was furrowed in question and her clothes slowly met the same fate as she shed them and threw them on her bed. Draco was hornier than he could ever remember being. He’d had a near panic attack when she’d started yelling and banging around in the bathtub. He hadn’t thought about the fact she would be naked, he’d just gotten in that room as fast as his chair would allow and pulled her from the water, her fear potent enough for the both of them. He hadn’t realized until she was already curled on his lap, dripping wet and shivering, that she was completely nude. And utterly beautiful. Out of some misplaced sense of respect he had kept his eyes averted as much as was physically possible. But he couldn’t help it. Even bright pink with sunburn, she was stunning. All that training must have paid off. She was slim, with curves in all the right places. Now, he felt like a sick bastard but he couldn’t take his eyes away. He’d come to make sure she didn’t leave the house and now he was being the most perverted Peeking Tom. Growling in frustration, he turned away and glided back to his room, slamming the door shut and throwing himself upon his bed. He couldn’t take anymore; it had been far too long. He ripped down the zipper of his jean shorts and briefs and took himself in hand. Letting out his breath through his teeth he pumped himself furiously, his mind whirling with images of the cinnamon haired witch in the next room. Just the idea of her slinking down his body and taking him in her lush mouth made him twitch uncontrollably. It wasn’t long before he was spending himself on his chest, panting like a thirteen year old with his first “Wicked Witches” magazine. Disgusted with himself, he conjured a cloth and wiped himself down. Using his arms, he was able to leverage himself into a sitting position where he leaned against the shabby headboard. Light streamed in through the window and he glanced about at his surroundings, taking in the fact that he was in the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and he had just jerked himself to the image of Mudblood Extraordinaire on her knees sucking him off. He couldn’t believe what his life had come to.

He thought about his mum, the weak, sniveling creature she had become. She had sickened him with her unwavering devotion to a sadistic master. She and Lucius had tried to “steer him right” and he had suffered dearly for his first flight. He remembered begging his mother to come back to the Headquarters with him, to get away from the demented people with whom they were affiliated. Three hours later he was on his back screaming in pain while Lucius tortured him mercilessly. His mother had stood to the side, her eyebrows raised as if to say ’you should have known better’. Three months later she was dead by the same hand that had cursed him that day. When her dead body had been thrown at the foot of his bed upon waking, he’d known there was no reason to stay. He had thought he could help his mother, maybe even Blaise. But now he knew it was hopeless. They were all power-hungry bastards who would do anything for a bit more. He was disgusted with what he’d done, he had to get out. So when the opportunity arrived in the form of a bushy haired freak, he’d jumped at it. Not knowing, of course, that he would lose his mobility in the process. Life was ironic, wasn’t it?

He didn’t realize how long he’d been there until a knock sounded at his door.

“Malfoy? It’s me. May I come in?”

Draco cursed at Granger’s voice and tugged up his shorts before remembering the wench wouldn’t see anything anyway. He grunted his approval and she opened the door, her hand sliding along the wall as she stepped in.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she spoke to the window. “I just wanted to know if er, if you wanted some help with lunch. We could, you know, make something.”

“Something other than sandwiches?”

“Hopefully,” she said with a small smile. Even with that nasty gunk all over her she still looked pretty. What was wrong with him?

“Sur,” he said against his better judgment. “That’d be great.”

The next three days went on as thus. They would make meals together, Granger telling him what to do and how to do it, Draco doing it. They made a pretty good team; the things he wasn’t able to reach she grabbed as he instructed her which way to go. When she couldn’t find something he’d hand in to her. What he hated was that he couldn’t simply hand her the object and have her grab it; he had to take her hand with one of his and press it into her palm until she curled her fingers around it. He hated it because every time he touched her a very familiar and very unwanted stirring would make itself known in the pit of his stomach. As the pink faded, her skin took on a natural glow that made her chocolate eyes shine. With her new-and-improved attitude she was simply…radiant. She took on every task with a voracious appetite and she urged him to do the same. The gloomy house seemed so much more alive all of the sudden.

That was, until she came up to him on Saturday morning.

“Hey Malfoy, er, can I ask a favor of you?” she said rather hesitantly. He grunted, his normal reply, and turned the page of the Daily Prophet. Hmm, unicorn horns had jumped in price again. He sniggered at a photo of Mundungus Fletcher being apprehended for selling fake Invisibility Cloaks. Would he never learn?

“Er, well, see, my parents sent me this letter and Mrs. Weasley…well, I don’t know when she’ll be back. If I don’t write to them soon, they’ll worry. I don’t really know what else to do except…”

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

“Er, well, yes. If you wouldn’t mind.”

He did mind, not wanting to get into the business of Muggles, but he did it anyway.

“Hand it over,” he said and she made her way to his usual spot, her hand balancing on the back of a chair. He took the envelope she held out and turned it over and over. It was just the oddest thing…

“It’s called paper. It’s what Muggles use to write on,” she said, as if he had asked. He noticed there was no official seal and wondered how they knew who the message was from. He tore it open and pulled out more paper. He skimmed it through and his heart sank. He looked up at Granger, the blood running loudly in his ears. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

“Malfoy? Can you read it out loud, please? I’m still unable as of yet to read thoughts.”

“Granger,” he said, his voice more calm than he felt. “You might want to sit down.”

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A/N: Hey, hope you enjoyed, more coming soon! Check out my new story, “The Silence”. Let me know what you think!!!

XOXO

RynStar15

yourcookiedoughbaby@yahoo.com