Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Squirm	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 28992 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
This chapter is extremely dark and deals with topics of murder as well as containing graphic depictions of violence. If this is a trigger, please do not read beyond this point. But if you'd like answers, along with an insight into Draco's darkness, please, keep reading.
~A.
There's a spot in Knockturn Alley that's just sleazy enough for no one to question my motives called The Spiny Serpent. The door remains locked at all times and only opens to those with deceit in their heart. That isn't a metaphor -it literally is spelled that way, so all occupants know exactly what they're walking into; no one with pure motives can entire the pub, and that's just the way we like it.
Of course, it opens to me. Always has, even when I was a teenager. As the door swings open, I'm met with the robust aroma of dark ales, smoking tobacco, and residual dark magic. Honestly, the smell brings me back to my youthful days, as these were the scents which would fill my home on numerous occasions when the Dark Lord and his followers took up residency in the Malfoy Manor. It isn't a scent I associate with warm feelings, but beggars can't be choosers when running away from romantic counterparts in fear they might already know…
Considering it is only noon, and on the most potentially romantic day of the year, the pickings are slim for any company at all. A group of silver-haired, snaggle-toothed witches sit in a back corner, dwelling over older textbooks in hushed whispers; there's a hairy wizard off in the back corner, throwing darts at a moving picture from the Daily with the headline 'Auror Potter: Back in Black.' Besides these three hooligans, there's the alluringly seductive Veela hybrid bartender I've learned never to piss off, but always to compliment. I find it difficult to locate the will to as I approach the bartop and take a seat on one of the swivel stools, but I know if I don't, I'm liable to be cursed -or worse, my beautiful eyeballs could be pecked out should she decide to turn into a foul harpy.
"Rosita, you're looking marvelously well-groomed today. Pruning those feathers all night?"
Rosita rolls her olive colored eyes and pours me a shot of something strong. I've also learned never to question what she decides to offer, less I want to end up burned by fireballs like the werewolf in here last weekend who said her drinks were watered down.
"Last we spoke, you had yourself a girl," she says to me, leaning over the counter to show off her exquisite pair of tits. My loyalties might lie with Hermione, but my eyes can still appreciate the finer things in life. Merlin, those mounds are mouthwatering… "What are you doing here?"
I take my chances of pissing her off and sneer under my breath, "I don't see where that's any of your concern," before I throw back my shot. It's sour and bitter, and it burns my throat just the way I like it. I barely flinch as I slam the shot glass back down on the table and point to it, signaling I want another round.
"Don't tell me you're giving up just yet."
"I haven't given up on anything," I mutter, watching her pour me more amber liquid. "However, her insufferable ex continuously finds the need to block my path at any given chance."
Rosita strums her manicured nails along the table and sighs. "You haven't put him on the list, have you?"
"Men like him… they never go on the list," I grumble back, disheartened.
"Have room for one more?"
"It doesn't work like that."
"Too bad. I know an ex who deserves it…" She rests her chin in her hand and leans even closer to me, forcing me to inhale her thick perfume of lilacs and cinnamon. It isn't a pleasant scent, and I resist the urge to repel away from her. "So how do you know?"
"Hmm?"
"Who goes on? Who stays off?"
I shrug. "I'm not sure." My paranoia kicks in, and I grab her around the wrist. "Why are you asking so many questions today?"
"Easy there," Rosita simmers, using her partial Veela charms to force oxytocin to release in my brain. Quickly, I let go of her wrist and am given a reprieve. "I only ask because I can feel it in you, Malfoy. There's something wicked in that soul of yours."
"You're one to talk."
She all out laughs at me, twirling a section of her hair around her finger. "I think it's delicious -the darkness in you. You could use your talents for bigger things if you'd branch out."
"That an invitation?"
"If you want to call it that."
"Not interested."
She shrugs. "Fine. Suit yourself. But I know a few people who would be interested in your… expertise, should you find the want."
I snort a laugh and watch her pour me another shot. "Just keep the booze coming, Rosita. That's your job, after all."
I'm not sure how much time passes inside this hole in the wall bar, but it's long enough that the bottle of mysterious liquor is halfway gone, and the pub has filled up considerably more than it was before. My fingers keep finding their way to my scalp, tugging on the roots of my white-blond tresses in frustration. The only thing on my mind, playing on repeat, is Hermione Granger biting her lip just before I read the words on her obnoxiously pink note.
'I know.'
But what the bloody Hell does she know? Does she know as much as Rosita? That I'm dangerous? Does she know about my list? Does she know how many I've taken under my knife? Or does she suspect there is something wrong with me, as Weasley does? Is she conspiring with him? Is that way he was in her office this morning?
That note was fucking vague as Hell. I don't know what to make of it, and regret forms in me from not simply asking her what she meant before I stormed off in a fit of paranoid rage. What's worse is I'm not sure how to approach her from this point on. Do I hear her out? Can I take that risk of knowing she might actually despise me with every part of her soul? Am I some charity case? How can one witch crumble my pillar of depravities? I'm a cold blooded killer, and yet…
The door swings open, presenting a huge gust of Northern wind. It shivers me down to my bones -or, I think it does until the prickle in my brain begins to sting, and my head turns abruptly behind me, taking in the sight of a tall gentleman with a thick, black beard and matching, slick backed hair.
"Two pints, honey," he says as he approaches the bartop and takes a seat one away from mine.
His voice… there's something… infuriating about it. Though it might seem pleasant enough, I can hear the acidic drawl of a monster inside. The monster inside of me doesn't play well with others, especially so close to its kindred heart. There's a twitch of a smirk at the corner of my lips as I realize: this man is perfect for the list.
"I'll take a pint, too, Rosita," I chime in, tossing one finger up in the air, "You know what? I'm buying his round, too."
"I don't swing that way," says the man to me.
"You think I'm hitting on you?" I snigger. "That's cute. Even if I were bent, which I'm not, my tastes run a bit more… selective."
The man snorts in response. "Yeah, you ain't my type, either." He sets his wand on the counter. "So, why buy a stranger a drink, then?"
Rosita sets the pints in front of us, giving me an inquisitive look, to which I ignore and clink my mug with the man's. "Just came into a bit of luck, is all. Right place, right time, you know?"
"Sure…" He tosses back his drink and downs the mug in five gulps. Dribbles of ale fall down the sides of his mouth and soak into his beard, but he doesn't seem to care. He goes to the next one, and that's when I see it -the scratches on the sides of his wrist, just underneath the cuff of his coat. It's all I need to agree with my other side, and excitement brews inside my stomach.
"Got a name there, mate?"
The man raises a thick eyebrow, burps, and pats his chest with his fist. "Floyd."
"Hello, Floyd." You're going to die today.
Fuck yes. This rush… it's just what I need to take the edge off. The warm splatter of blood on my face is as soothing as a hot bath after a long day or Hermione's embrace. I'm able to think clearly now as Floyd twitches beneath the knife carving into his shoulder, toying with him. Tears trickle down his cheeks, and his muffled wails beneath the gag in his mouth are music to my ears.
"What's the matter, Floyd? Can't take what you dish out?" I smirk above him, stripping off my blood soaked overshirt and revealing the plain white one beneath. I've severed a brachial artery, which explains the newly paper-white complexion he wears.
I can read the crease in his brows: 'Sick fuck.' That's what he thinks of me.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree with him.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? I'm spending my Valentine's Day carving up a shithead instead of under the covers of my bed deep inside the woman I… Holy Hell. Do I love her? Is that even possible?
Love. No. I'm not capable of that.
So what is it that binds me to her? Why am I thinking of her, even now?
I pull the knife up into the candlelight and watch the crimson drip down my wrist. So beautiful, isn't it? The color red. The color of passion, of bravery, of anger. So much can be said in its boldness. I never appreciated its wonder until I saw it spill from someone's throat the first time…
Maybe I should hear her out.
"You ever been in love, Floyd?" I ask, twirling the hilt of the blade around in my fingertips. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you about this. It's not like you'll be around to give me advice on the matter. And judging by a scumbag like you, I doubt I'd care to take the advice from someone as perverse as yourself." I tap the blade on his cheek, and Floyd's eyes go wide. "Oh, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. I'm not entirely sure how I know you're a deplorable shitbag. I just… do." The tip of my knife skirts over his eyelid but not enough to bite. "But my question is, do shitbags like us deserve to love, Floyd? Are we capable of it?" I push the knife into the groove of his tear duct, finally piercing the skin. A fresh line of ruby drips down his cheek and pools into his eye. Floyd screams against his gag -I imagine the saltiness of his blood burns his sensitive cornea. Pity. "And even if we were, should we be loved back? Not that I think she loves me. But it's always nice to dream, yes?"
Ah, I'm not getting through to him. He's thrashing against his restraints, and I cast a stunning charm on him to hold him still.
Then, I lean over, holding the tip of my knife over his other eye. "I'll ask again. You ever been in love, Floyd?"
Then I drive the knife down and listen to the faint, muffled scream, followed by his body seizing up. "That's what I thought." A wicked smile crosses my face, and the knife slides easily through the soft tissue all the way back to the base of his skull.
I inhale the scent of death and exhale relief.
Hermione's brown eyes are the first thing that rises to the surface of my mind when I come down from my high. I can only imagine how disappointed she would be in me if she knew… if she saw me this way. Fuck, what am I doing? Why am I here? What the Hell is wrong with me?
I drop the knife, and it clatters at my feet, splattering my shoes with blood.
"Get it together, Draco," I whisper to myself.
It's now that I know what I need to do. I need to talk to her. There's no way she can know who I really am, can she?
I can play this off. I can… I can make this okay. Some memory modification, a little romance, and this can all be swept under the rug. I can't lose her. I can't…
My feet take to the steps leading out of the dungeons two at a time until I'm at the top. My hand is poised for the door when a faint knock stops me in my tracks.
"Draco?"
Hermione.
Fuck.
Shit.
Damn it.
"What are you doing here?" My voice carries shards of metaphoric ice in her direction, hoping to pierce her soul. Even if it's the last thing I want to do. "How did you…" The floo. I left it open. How could I have been so careless?
The doorknob turns, and even though it's locked, my hand goes to it and stills its movements.
"Can I come in? Please?"
I shake my head, knowing she can't see it. "I… no." My palms are soaked in a dead man's blood. I'd rather lose my entire inheritance before I let her walk through that door right now. "How long have you been here?"
"I only arrived a moment ago," she starts, jiggling the handle again. Eventually, she gives up and sighs. "Please… talk to me."
"Alright." I lean my forehead on the door, imagining her solemn face and knowing I could never resist it. "Let's talk."
"Really?" Her voice holds hope. I've given that to her, and isn't that entirely selfish of me to enjoy it so much?
"Let's start with the note." I pause, gauging her reaction. I'm met with only silence. "Just what the Holy Hell was all that about, Hermione? What do you 'know'?" I drain my voice of pleasantries and fill it with prideful sneering. I can't let her know how anxious I am to hear her answer.
"I imagine it's a bit difficult to explain through a door."
"This is as good as you're going to get, Granger." There I am, back at my roots of casting everyone at arm's length.
"Okay." I can already imagine her nodding. "Okay…" There's a soft thunk, like a hand touching the door. "I know what you are, Draco."
My heart skips a beat. Impossible. "And just what do you think I am?"
"You shouldn't blame yourself. If you let me, I can help you-"
"Answer the question. What. Do. You. Think. I. Am?"
"Lost," she answers. "Confused. Tortured… God, you must feel so alone… It started with headaches, didn't it? Sensitivity to sunlight and sounds? Then it heated, like water left on a hot stove. You had nightmares. And anger. And you began to turn away from everything and everyone-"
"Stop analyzing me," I snap, hating how she is accurate in every way. "I'm not one of your damn case assignments."
"So it's true, then. You know what you are, too."
I stare down at my shaking hands. "A monster…"
"No, Draco! No, you're not!" I can hear the desperation in her voice as she tries to comfort me. "You're not the monster. Open the door, Draco. Please. I'll explain everything, but you need to open this door."
"I can't."
"You can trust me."
Hot tears spring up in my eyes, and I shake my head. "No… I can't."
"Draco… please. I'm here. I'm right here for you. I can help you. All you have to do is open the door."
Open the door. Is that truly all I need to do?
"You don't understand. I can't trust myself. I don't know what I'd do..."
"You won't hurt me." She wiggles the doorknob. "I trust you, Draco. Trust me. I can fix this. I can help you understand."
For the first time in a long time, I want to trust someone again. I want it to be her. So, I unspell the door and turn the handle, holding my breath. Then I tug the door open and stand before her, bloody bones and all.
"Help me."
I told you this fic would get dark. Bigger reveals next chapter, along with some darkness. You've been warned.
~A.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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