Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Water	By : kissherdraco Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 183151 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Title: Water
Chapter Twelve
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Genres: Angst
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual References, Angst
Feedback: Please be honest, and I try to get back to you personally on certain issues.
Summary: "...You�re the one who needs help! You�re the one who makes my skin crawl whenever we stand in the same room! You�re fucked up Malfoy. And your father couldn�t even teach you anything other than how to fuck up everyone else with you-� Her wand went flying.

Author's note: I�ve written one at the end of this, because there�s some things everyone needs to know. But I�ve still got one on my LJ for those who like to look (and I�m very grateful for it!).

http://www.kissherdraco.livejournal.com/

To apologise for the horrible cliff-hanger, this chapter is roughly 18,500 words!

It has yet to be beta read completely. I�m sorry I keep posting things so unedited. I appear to have temporarily lost my beta reader�

DEDICATION: You lot know who the fuck you are� ;)

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

Chapter 12.

It�s funny to think that, all this time, Draco Malfoy must have been bordering on insane, swaying precariously on that ever foreboding edge of clarity and reason, only to fling himself over and watch, captivated as the ground came up and slammed him hard in the face.

It was an uncomfortable prospect, this insanity, to say the least. One that he rarely chose to think about and yet was forced to face nevertheless. Perhaps it was his father�s fault. This astounding throbbing in his head that incessantly preyed on his repetitive and often wholly terrifying thoughts. And quite honestly, where better place to start?

No one would ever understand what it was like. That power that he had over Draco. Lucius made him loathe everything and anything he so much as wagged a finger, raised an eyebrow, curled his lip in mild disgust towards. And so when his father told him, out-straight, explicit and raw, what to hate and what to love, Draco complied so naturally and without one fucking bat of an eyelid that it was done, over and done in the space of a small breath. He obeyed, understood, never questioned one single part of the foundations on which he led his life.

It was all planned. Ironed and laid out flat on his bed for him to anticipate every sleepless night he stared up at the ceiling and thought. The future was to be something both spectacular and harrowing, subversive and pivotal. Key to the fundamental beginnings of magic, the ways and whys and hows of the wizarding world. Each answer ending in a firm and resounding pureblood. Because we�re pureblood, Draco. Because concepts of innocence, humanity, mercy and repentance were nothing more than what made up the stagnant pool of civilisation in which the wizarding world had descended into. Blind to the truths and rudimental beginnings of what real magic entailed. It was to be Draco�s life, chosen path, ready-made future. He was to submerse himself in it.

Why. Why did you bother dying.

It was a waste of your time.

Draco lived inside his father, all those years, battling inside his ribs and choking on the black ash blood of his heart as he tried to reach the surface, come out and prove himself and show just how much it was that he understood. And then Lucius was killed. He disappeared around him and Draco no longer tasted the harsh colonial words of his father. If he closed his eyes and sucked his mind dry, he could almost forget the time he broke three of his ribs and cracked his jaw. Almost.

But there was this obstruction. A small snag in the freedom Draco had felt for those few short, exhilarating moments. Because when he lay in bed and closed his eyes the night his father never came back, he found, no matter how hard he tried, that still, he couldn�t sleep. And it wasn�t because he could hear his mother�s muffled screams of grief and anger anymore. She�d eventually cast a silencing charm on her bedroom since Draco paid her a visit and asked her to keep the noise down. Smashing glass and stone and wood to the floor and sobbing his father�s name from the very centre of whatever it was Draco could almost hear dissolving inside of her. And it wasn�t because he was mourning the loss of his dead father, either. That just didn�t come.

That never came.

So it must have been the fact that really, nothing had changed. The control his father still had over Draco was so glaringly inescapable that he almost wondered if it were an actual curse or not. As if, somehow, Lucius had used the dark arts to cast some spell on his incorporeal self and bury it deep inside the darkest depths of Draco�s head. Just there, forever, to shit on everything and anything that could possibly lead Draco to making a decision that wasn�t based on his father�s principles. It was simply unthinkable to go against those many, imperative laws that governed his life.

And that was why, as he ran through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, only just managing not to call out her name, Draco realised he had lost it. Completely. He was searching desperately and deliriously for the very scum his father gave his life to destroying. He could still taste her blood rotting underneath his teeth. He could still feel the wild silk of her skin against his cheek.

Draco Malfoy was long overdue his punishment for that. For all of it. It was one of the rare times he wished his father alive. Usually it would be so he could scream at him, stab deep and bloody blades into his body and watch him die all over again. And then sob his apologies for failing him, for cracking underneath it all. But when he wished it at times like this, it was only so the punishment was easier. Because he couldn�t do it by myself. He was too scared.

What was he hoping for? What was he going to do when he found her? Hermione. If he even found her at all. What would he say to Pansy without slamming her down to the ground and hoping her skull cracks open? Because he doesn�t hurt women. Not like that. Not in the way his father did all those nights his mother would come into Draco�s bedroom, slide down his door and weep, mumble apologies and excuses and he-loves-me-reallys before Draco told her that he didn�t care, and would she please get out now.

Draco burst into the girls� bathroom, panting. Two girls spun around and gasped at him.

�Granger?� he asked, not really knowing what else to say.

The girls looked at each other. �Er- no, she�s not in here,� said one of them, a confused expression of disapproval splashed across her stupid face.

Draco�s jaw clenched. But he was almost relieved. He turned on his heel, and left the whispering girls behind him, entered back into the darkness of the corridor. Headed towards the stairs, walking briskly, but not running like before.

He didn�t know where to go. Flung the doors open of a few classrooms, said her name again, but didn�t understand, all along, where he was going and what he was doing, and how he could possibly be caring so much that his heart had yet to resume beating since he�d noticed the three of them missing.

His voice was hoarse, strained inside his throat as half of his head begged himself to stop calling her name. Stop caring and stop looking and you have no idea how much you are going to suffer for this.

Draco took the next flight of stairs, two at a time. They could be anywhere. They could be outside. Nowhere near his pathetically frantic searching. And deep down, Draco almost wished he�d never find her. That way he wouldn�t have to face it. Face saving her. Or face being too late. Whichever it would be.

And then he heard it. Quiet, muffled, choking sobs coming from the bathroom to his left. Draco froze. Turned his head slightly and listened. He couldn�t hear anyone else. And that meant.

He was too late.

Suddenly, Draco was struck with the overwhelming need to turn back. Pretend he hadn�t heard anything. Stop himself from having to look at what Pansy had done. And all because of him.

But he thought this as his feet moved, breath quickened, and body pushed back the door of the bathroom, the sobs silencing immediately.

�Granger�?� She was in there. He knew she was in there.

Silence. And so Draco walked over to the only cubicle that wasn�t wide open and turned to face it. It wasn�t locked, but there was a body up against it, holding the door closed.

�Granger�� he said again. Not knowing. Not understanding, and still with no fucking idea what to say or do or think of himself in that moment.

�Please go away.�

Hermione�s voice struck him like a knife down his spine. He didn�t know what to say next, so he put his hands up against the door, pushed on it slightly.

�No!� she exclaimed from behind it, sniffing and stifling her tears. The sound made him wince, cringe with the heartfelt need to pull her into his arms. It was sickening. And just another reason to claw at his brain and drag his body the hell out of there.

But he couldn�t move. �Are you�� Draco trailed off. �Are you alright?� What have they done to you? And why won�t you open the door to me? I�m not here to hurt you. I don�t know why I�m here. I�m sorry that I was too late. Too fucking late. Too fucking useless.

�I just- I- please. I want to be alone right now.�

�Granger�� How can he ask, caring and hating himself for it at the very same time. �What did they do to you?�

There was a pause from behind the door. She sniffed again, maybe wiped her nose. �Who?�

No. Merlin, if you try and cover for them- �Parkinson. And Bulstrode,� replied Draco, through gritted teeth, �What have they done?�

�What? So- so you knew about it then?�

�What? Fuck- no, Granger. Of course I didn�t know. Otherwise I would have stopped it.� You would have stopped it? You�re completely insane. Draco tried the door again, lightly.

�Can you just go, please?!� she whimpered.

�Open the door.�

�No.�

�Open the fucking door.� Draco tried to keep his voice calm. He just needed to see her. Perhaps get her back up to their room. And then he could deal with it all. Dish out the retribution. To everyone. �I�m not going to- do anything. I just- you need to get back to your room. We can sort this out. We can-�

�We aren�t doing anything, Malfoy,� she mumbled, �Now just leave me alone.�

�If I push hard enough, Granger, I can open this door.�

�Don�t�� And then he heard the faint scramble of her legs moving on the floor, arm reaching up to lock the door.

�No-� he said, reacting to it and pushing harder. He clasped his fingers around the edge so that she couldn�t shut him out.

�Please don�t...� Her voice was so pleading, so pained and torn and desperate. And why? Was she ashamed? It almost made him crack inside.

�I just want to know that you�re alright.� Those words were horrific.

�I�m fine.�

�Show me.�

�Malfoy-�

�Then I�ll go and get Potter and Weasley. Maybe you�ll show them?� For the smallest of seconds, Draco felt bad for the blackmail. At a time like this. But it truly was the smallest of seconds, because no matter how bad things got, he was still a Malfoy.

Hermione paused. He could hear her trembling breath behind the door. Draco thought to himself. Why was it so necessary for him to see her? He came. He was too late. And maybe that was for the best. Now just go back downstairs, leave her to it. Pretending isn�t easy, but it isn�t impossible. So pretend not to care. Just like you told your bruised mother against your bedroom door.

And then- slow, cautious- a few shaking fingers wrapped themselves around the edge of the door, just below Draco�s hand. He let go, heart now thumping tremendously, and Hermione gradually opened it.

Draco took a step back. Lips parted in shock.

It was her expression. That�s what cut him deeper than anything else. Her head tilted down, eyes looking at the floor, hair tangled and matted in front of her face. Half-dried blood down her chin, smeared across her wet cheeks. She was clutching her stomach with one arm, her shoulder with another, the skin ridden with small and spectacular explosions of faint red and purple. She was shaking. Severely. Broken skin on both elbows. A small cut just below her chin. Draco could barely breath.

And her dress. They had ripped it straight down the middle, right up to her thigh. The same one he had leant against, pressed his lips up against, touched with fingers and tasted in his throat. A large, dark, disturbing blemish running it�s way over the skin and around the outside of her leg. There were long, deep and scorching scratch marks along the inside of her thigh. Sharply manicured nails that had dug into her skin and torn right down it, small bursts of blood along the lines of scarlet.

She wasn�t wearing her shoes. They were kicked into the corner, one heel snapped off. Draco saw that her knuckles were reddened, quickly bruising underneath the skin. The part of him that still functioned in that moment hoped beyond anything that she�d hit them. Just managed to fight back, if only for a moment.

Draco could see another bruise, so deep in was almost blue. It disappeared underneath the stained fabric of her dress. And he thought that there must be others. Burning there beneath the silk. The ones on her stomach, maybe. And that was why she was holding it like that.

�It looks- looks worse than it is,� stuttered Hermione, her head finally raising, her eyes looking straight into his. They were blank. Draco tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

�Granger�� he rasped. Not knowing. Completely distraught. He saw her body sway slightly, and he rushed up to her, put his hands on the parts of her arms that he couldn�t see hurting. �Hold onto me,� he murmured. Her fingers clasped onto his arms. Nails digging in hard. She stifled another sob. �Come on,� he said, voice low, muffled between their bodies, �Let�s go upstairs. Get you sorted out.� But he spoke the words as if they weren�t his own. They just came out. Lips moved and tongue steered and he had no idea. What to say. What to do.

He walked with her to the door of the bathroom.

�It really does look worse than it is�� she was muttering, looking down at herself, taking her hand from Draco to clutch slightly at the rip in her dress.

�It doesn�t matter,� said Draco. Voice monotonous, emotionless.

�I bruise easily.�

�It�s okay.�

Nothing was okay. But he didn�t have anything else. He was too busy ignoring the voice in his head, the one that was screaming at him to let her go. The one he always had to block out whenever he touched her. Looked at her. Thought about her. And it was stronger than ever tonight. But not only that. Draco was too busy hearing the burning of his insides.

He looked about for any stray students as he placed an arm around Hermione�s waist, helped her up the stairs and round the corners of the gloomy corridors. They saw no one. And thank Merlin. Because neither of them needed anything else to worry about, at that moment. His mind was in one simple droning continuum. Get her to her bedroom. And then sort this out. Get her to her bedroom. Sort this out.

And then pay.

He mumbled the password to the lady in the portrait, who began choking on a glass of wine as soon as she saw Hermione.

�Open the fucking portrait,� growled Draco, now holding even more of Hermione�s weight. The picture swung open and they stepped inside. He let out a mental breath. Because at least that was something, making it without being seen.

�I can make the stairs on my own,� muttered Hermione, pulling weakly away from Draco. He held onto her. �Malfoy?� she frowned, �Please. I want to go up by myself.�

�But�� Draco paused. But what. Just say the damn words, there�s not a lot else that can make this situation anymore desperate than it already is. �I want to heal you, Granger.� He swallowed. �I mean- I need to heal you.�

�I have a few healing potions in my-�

�For what? You need something a little stronger than what you can buy in Hogsmeade, Granger.�

Hermione stared at him. He thought that she looked completely broken.

Draco lowered his head. �Look,� he breathed, staring at the ground, �I know a few charms. Things that my mother taught me. She used to heal me, sometimes. You know. After this sort of thing.�

Hermione frowned. �What? Heal you from-� she cut off, and then her face fell. �Oh.�

He refused to look at her.

�I would rather-�

�For fuck�s sake, Granger,� he scowled, raising his voice slightly. She winced. He regretted it instantly. �Just let me,� he mumbled, �Or they�ll be a lot of questions tomorrow.� Then he thought that he should say something else, just to add a little Malfoy. Make it selfish. �I can�t be bothered with Potter coming up to me and shooting bad-boy threats in my face all day. He�ll think it�s got something to do with me, and I could do without that sort of hassle.� Confused. Utterly confused, because what he had really meant to say was. I�ll kill them. I�ll kill them both for doing this.

There was a brief moment, and then he saw Hermione nod out of the corner of his eye. Inside he was pleased.

When they reached Hermione�s bedroom, he sat her down on the bed.

�My shoes,� she murmured.

�What?� He took a step back from her. For some reason finding it difficult to maintain eye contact.

�I left them in the bathroom.�

�Does that matter?�

�I don�t know,� she replied, tucking a knot of hair behind her ear. The bruising on her knuckles was beginning to show clearly now. Draco�s voice dropped as he asked without thinking.

�Did you manage to hit back?� He didn�t know if it was an inappropriate question or not. He didn�t understand sensitivity. That�s something he would always admit to himself. Draco wouldn�t know sensitive if it came up and slit him in the throat.

Hermione snapped up her head. Stared at him. �I don�t-� But then her frown faded. �I tried. She was too strong.�

�Bulstrode?�

Hermione nodded.

Draco�s jaw began to work again.

�What about your knuckles?�

Hermione looked at her hands. She seemed confused. �I don�t know,� she mumbled, �I don�t- I can�t remember.� And then her eyes began to water. �Please, Malfoy. You know I really just want to be left alone. Can�t we do this in the morning?�

�Are you bruised elsewhere?�

Hermione�s eyes fluttered up to the ceiling. She bit her lip. �Please,� she breathed, almost under her breath.

�Show me.�

She looked back at him. �No.�

�If I can�t see them, then I can�t use my wand to heal them, Granger.�

And then something appeared to change in her expression. Something between disappointment and relief.

�Of course,� she murmured, �There�s nothing you can do tonight.�

Draco frowned. �I�m doing this, Granger. I�m getting it over-�

�You don�t have your wand.�

Draco�s mouth closed. His lip twitching slightly.

Of all the nights to not have his wand. Of all the nights. For Parkinson and Bulstrode to fuck things up so royally, for the need for revenge to be so fantastically pungent in his head. The despair and desire to mend all her broken skin. Draco growled loudly. He needed that wand. He needed it for so many reasons. To hurt, to heal, to fucking sort out the sodden mess in his head.

�I�m going to get it back.�

�Don�t,� mumbled Hermione. She put a hand to her face and wiped away the reforming tears. When she took it away, Draco saw that she�d smeared the blood a bit further across her cheek. She saw the faint traces of blood transferred onto her palm and quickly put her hand down. She started to bit her lip again.

�Where are they?�

�What?�

�The wands?�

�Malfoy-�

�The Heads of Houses have them in their offices, don�t they? Does that include ours? What time is it, ten thirty? Snape should be there. I didn�t see him in the hall. I�ll go and ask for it back. I�ll say that I broke something in my bedroom. Or that I spilled some ink over my desk and I need it to tidy up-�

�Stop,� breathed Hermione. She was staring at him with wide eyes.

Draco caught himself. He hadn�t realised. But he was shaking. Hard and uncontrollably. He balled his fists in an attempt to steady himself.

�This is just something I need to do, Granger,� he said, slowly. And that was the truth. Because it truly was something he needed to do. He didn�t know why, as he kept noting amidst the hastened panic inside his head, but in that moment it was important that he get his wand back. He suddenly felt helpless without it. And it wasn�t just for Granger, it was for him. He needed it. Needed to just do something to change anything about the situation they were standing in.

A small part of Draco even thought that if he left the room, the strong and anxiously overwhelming need to kiss every little cut and bruise all over her body could dissipate into nothingness. If he just closed the door on this wild and completely unethical concern for her, then perhaps he wouldn�t feel the need to return. He could just breathe. And let her heal herself, or whatever she wanted to do. He couldn�t deal with these feelings. He couldn�t understand a single one.

And then if none of it disappeared. Well then he would still go. Get his wand and return. Heal her. And then deal with the rest.

�I�ll be back soon,� he mumbled, secretly somewhere inside himself, hoping that he wouldn�t have to return.

Hermione didn�t answer. She was looking at the ground, tears flowing freely down her face.

�Granger�� he said.

She looked up slightly.

�I�ll be back,� he repeated.

And suddenly, he absolutely and completely meant it.

*

The moment Hermione stopped crying into her pillow was the moment she started to think that, with everything she had done, with everything that had happened, she just might have deserved everything the two girls had given her on that bathroom floor.

It made her stop crying because she wanted to scream instead. With anger. The idea that the very thought would even so much as cross her mind was so incredibly disheartening and infuriating that she didn�t know what to do. She just stopped thinking it. Told herself that no matter what she had done, no matter what she felt, she hadn�t deserved that.

Not the haul of Millicent Bulstrode�s heavy foot thudding into her stomach, three of four times. Not the sound of Pansy using more variations of the words �fucking mudblood� than Hermione thought possible. And not this feeling. So shaken and terrified and angry, despondent, desperate, forlorn. How dare they make her feel like that. So low. And in so much tremendous pain her whole nervous system was starting to turn numb.

It�s not something one ever thinks about. Having their hearts bruised and beaten out of them and squashed against the mirror opposite in a bloody mound of dripping mess. And whenever Hermione thought about death, she never considered the pain.

The pain.

When Pansy had dragged her nails, deep and burning, gashing down Hermione�s thigh as the words �whore� and �slag� reverberated through her head like broken glass vibrating against her skull, Hermione had lashed out. Her only successful attempt. Smacked Pansy just above the eye with the snapped heel of her shoe. It made her scream, fall back, bleed. And Bulstrode had stopped punching her for a second, rushed over to Pansy. Hermione remembered that feeling. That sharp but distant feeling that if she could only pull up and onto her knees, she could try and crawl away. And so she tried. Could only drag herself into the nearest toilet cubicle, slam the door and slump herself up against it. Couldn�t even reach up high enough to the lock the thing. And then she heard Millicent growl, a full forced kick against the door that sent Hermione�s body thrashing forward, chin smacking the edge of the toilet. Her heart beating, all this time, so hard it was more vibrating that it was anything else.

And then just as Millicent opened the door to finish it, cloud her mind and send her away into that delightful darkness, Pansy had told her to stop.

�Leave it, Millie.� And then, �She�s got to have enough strength to drag herself out of here. I don�t want people finding her lying there unconscious. Too dodgy.� The only problem being that it was too late, thought Hermione, because she was already too weak to move.

When she heard the door of the bathroom swing shut, that was when Hermione had started to sob, harder and louder than she could ever remember doing.

She opened the drawer by her bedside table, and took out a small bottle of clear liquid. She took out the cork and downed the contents. Mild pain relief. And she would do anything- anything to relieve a moment of it.

Hermione lay back on her pillow, felt the dampness against her cheek, and closed her eyes.

Amidst all the hurt, flailed legs and arms and brutal swings, there was something else searing her brain into sinters of confusion. Anger. Something between relief and frustration and her head aching so tremendously even the darkness was hurting her eyes.

It was Malfoy. And because no matter how hard she tried to overlook, distort, detract from it all, he had come looking for her. Come looking as soon as he knew. And it terrified her that of all the voices she could have heard enter that bathroom where she sat, slumped and purple against the closed door, she was most grateful to hear his. And not simply because of the questions Harry and Ron would have asked. But because.

Apparently, in that moment, it had been something she had needed.

And through all that time, all those seconds she had spent heaving for air on the ground, she had wanted it to be Draco to walk through that door and save her. Draco to beat them the hell away, gather her up into his arms, and nestle her into his face. Place his cool lips on her burning skin. And lay her onto her bed. Rescued. And safe. With him right beside her.

It was such bullshit she would have laughed at herself. If she had it in her. To think any of it were possible. To think her life would have gone that way, permitted such things.

But she couldn�t forget that he had come, all the same. Draco had come for her. And it made her heart resume the beating so fast and furiously that she almost wished the realisation had never dawned upon her.

She was so hurt, emptied and confused. And she mustn�t kid herself. There was nothing left in her for comfort. Because even now he had left her. And deep down, Hermione knew, this was the same world she had been beaten in, and in that same world, cruel and callous and criminal, Draco may not return.

And maybe that was for the best.

*

You fucking arsehole.

�I won�t tell you again, Potter,� growled Draco, �She�s not feeling well. Now sod off.�

�I�ll �sod off� once you�ve told me the truth,� glared Harry, �She would have told us first if she was going to bed. You and I both know that, Malfoy.� Harry closed his mouth and clenched his jaw, refusing to step out of Draco�s way.

He had stopped him just as Draco headed towards the stairs that led to the dungeons. Or more specifically Snape�s office. Muttered words about looking extremely pale, and then proceeded to interrogate him in such a fantastically Potter-like manner, Draco was finding it increasingly difficult not to pummel the irritating little bastard and watch him trip down all the stairs. Perhaps finding it equally as difficult to understand why he hadn�t done so already.

Draco was angry. Very angry that Harry was bothering him at a time like this. And yet almost too exhausted to show it. He wanted to save what he had left.

�Merlin, Potter,� growled Draco, �The girl goes missing for ten minutes and you launch a bloody search party. Is it any wonder she�s got a headache? You barely give her the space to breathe.�

�I care about Hermione,� frowned Harry, �You know. Like a real friend. And she�s been gone for almost three quarters of an hour. If you understood anything about friendship, Malfoy, then you�d understand why we�re worried.�

�Just get out of my way.�

�I know something has happened. And I�d bet my life on it that you�re involved.�

Draco rolled his eyes. �Seeing as I regard your life as being really quite worthless, Potter, that doesn�t mean much to me.�

And then Draco almost laughed at himself. Harry Potter�s life was worthless, right? He only saved the god damn school time and time again. Only turned out to be Hogwarts� symbol of hope and pride and all that was right with the big bad world. My. Should he be getting down on his knees now and repenting his words to the gods?

Because if Potter was worthless. Then what the hell was Draco?

�Don�t think I don�t know,� breathed Harry. Draco wondered what exactly that look on his face meant. �Before, when you two were outside. You were threatening her. You�ve done something.�

�Don�t be so ridiculous, you melodramatic prick.�

�Fuck you,� growled Harry, fists tightening, �Something is going on, Malfoy. And I�ll find out what.�

�That�s great,� he nodded, �But would you mind finding out what somewhere else?�

�You�ll pay.�

Yes. I know I will.

Draco wanted him to leave. So why he couldn�t stop enticing him to stay and shoot out comebacks was beyond him. Maybe he just wanted to get something out of it.

�Hermione-�

�Isn�t around here. She is, however, upstairs in her bedroom. As I have said. Perhaps about sixteen times. I would give you the password, Potter, but since she hasn�t done so herself already, I�ll assume she has a good reason and respect her wishes.�

Something flashed across Harry�s eyes. Draco had brushed up close to something. And he had a pretty fucking good idea what it was.

�If I find out you�re lying-�

�If you don�t believe me then you can go ahead and search the whole castle for her,� he hissed, �You do seem desperate enough, Potter. Tell me, have you ever asked her?�

�What?�

�For a quick shag.� Just words. Just a means to an end. �I mean, what do I know? The mudblood bitch could be a complete slag-�

Draco�s head smacked to the side so violently, he almost felt his neck crack.

He paused there for a moment.

Strange. Because suddenly, Draco felt that he had, indeed, just got that something out of it after all.

�Don�t you- ever-� hissed Harry, breathing heavily with rage, �-call Hermione that again.�

Draco darted out his tongue to his lip, tasted a drop of blood, and then straightened back his posture. Good old predictable Potter. So easy with his punches. He stared at Harry. Stared at him with a cool regard, and noticed him take a small step backwards.

The collision with Harry�s fist had reminded him. And now he had had enough of their pathetic games. Remembered what was undoubtedly and immorally the most important thing in his head. The plan. And Potter was interfering. As always.

Draco brought a hand the corner of his mouth and wiped away the blood. �I mean it,� he murmured, �Get the fuck out of my way.�

�Don�t worry,� spat Harry, �I�m going.� He touched the throbbing of his hand briefly, before turning to the side and walking away from Draco. Perhaps he was shocked that he didn�t get anything in return. But quite honestly, Draco didn�t see any reason to hit him back. It just didn�t make sense. Draco watched him walk back around the corner. So now that was over and done with.

He could hear the faint noise of the hall from here. He wondered to himself how it was possible for it be so early. Not even eleven o� clock yet. The whole night had felt like a constant and never ending scramble to the surface, and he hadn�t got anywhere near it. Not once.

As his feet found the bottom of the stairs, Draco began to wonder again. What it was that was happening to him at this very moment, and why it seemed so different from all the times before. He didn�t understand why he was still moving, still intending to get his wand and help the girl he had begged to die so many times in his life. He wasn�t even fighting against the battle in his head. He agreed with all the wicked things and wild protests against his actions. And so that was why it was strange. Very strange that he was still moving, still doing, still directing his thoughts towards the mudblood Granger. All the while, that voice in his mind urging him to swing his body around, and smash his head against the wall.

Soon. Later. Just let me do this one thing, he told himself.

*

Snape had only asked him a few questions. Told him that he absolutely must not under any circumstances re-enter the hall with his wand. Told him that it was only under the trust of Head Boy that Snape was giving it back to him. But Draco knew it was because of their understanding. Because of the rank sympathy he felt radiate from Snape�s eyes whenever he saw him. There and without his father.

Narcissa had spoken to Snape on many occasions. He had almost started to wonder if they weren�t shagging each other quietly behind Draco�s back. But then he realised that he didn�t care and wouldn�t care, and that he had more important things to torture himself with anyway. So the notion never lasted very long in his head.

Snape�s pity was the only pity he would allow. It got him things, got him places. It was a useful connection. Snape didn�t even know that Draco knew- knew that it was pity- but he did. And tonight of all nights, he cared even less that that was all it was.

There had been this natural order. This specific balance in Draco�s life. Something that continued even after his father had died. He hadn�t realised just how important it was until now. He hadn�t believed that anything could possibly destroy it so magnificently, shatter it into tiny pieces of a life he once felt had meaning. And it didn�t matter that the meaning was fucked. That he barely understood it. Because it was there, and that was the main thing. And now Draco wanted it back more than anything.

It had gone too far. It had all disintegrated so extraordinarily that Draco barely knew how to think coherently anymore. He hadn�t meant any of it to happen. He never imagined Parkinson. Not once, not in any of it. The girl barely crossed his mind even when they were shagging, and now there was Granger, and he�d almost forgotten he�d ever felt the skin of another girl underneath him. And yet, now, right now, she was the one lying upstairs, battered and bruised and torn into, and all because of that bitch he�d forgotten about. Disregarded. He should have known Pansy would never let anything like that slide.

He should have known.

Maybe he should have left Hermione alone. All those times she begged him to. He should have just turned around and walked away and saved himself before he fell this far. Saved her. But a part of him believed it had been too late from the very start. That he had stepped right into rock bottom as soon as he realised what was happening to him, and there was no chance he could have stopped it. He told himself this because he knew that surely- surely if he had a way of preventing the psychosis, then he would have done it. Done anything it would have taken to never, never feel like this.

And now it wasn�t just him. It was Granger too. She was broken and desperate and none of it would have been that way if it weren�t for him. He didn�t know what to think of it. Because before, he�d wanted her to snap like that so much. More than anything. Surely her pain, that blood, all those things Parkinson and Bulstrode did to her- it was the punishment, her punishment for doing this to him.

But that justification made him feel sick. And then he thought about the fact he was feeling sick. And felt worse. Because he shouldn�t feel so bad for thinking of it in that way, surely. It makes sense. It makes the sense of a Malfoy. It�s the hard grey slate bounce board of emotion he was raised up to be. Mother don�t kiss me. I don�t need to be touched. Don�t hold my hand and I can sure as fuck apply the potion to my own back. I�m the reason he did it, it�s my fault. So let me take care of it and get out.

What was the plan again? Heal her and then sort it out? How was he going to do that? He barely knew where to start. He didn�t have anyone else, only himself. Only himself to sort it out. But it didn�t matter how scared he was because it was necessary if he ever wanted a chance for redemption. Too be put back on his path. To follow the way he was supposed to follow-

-and suddenly Draco stopped.

Stopped dead.

Because in that same suddenly, Draco came to realise that he was staring Pansy Parkinson right in the fucking face. And she was staring back. The most sickeningly infuriating tear-out-her-teeth audacity to look at him with disgust. Because of course, she didn�t know he knew. Not yet, at least.

Pansy Parkinson. There.

Draco stood. Just stared. Tried to work out a way of connecting his head to his words to his mouth. But her presence had simply struck him dead. The loathing he felt for her was such a rush of intense and absolute abomination that it rooted him to the spot, and he couldn�t drag his eyes away from her, knowing what she�d done- knowing what she thought she could get away with.

�What?�

He heard her speak. Stupid, defiant tones of confusion. The sheer ridiculousness of such a �what could you possibly want� question.

�If you think it�s alright to just stand there and gape at me, Malfoy, then you can fuck right off, let me tell you. I�m not in the mood tonight.�

Draco noticed a cut above her eye. It was deep, not deep enough. Long, and nowhere near as long as it should have been. It was the same colour as her dress. Blood. But it looked like it was healing already, somehow.

Draco opened his mouth. �You�re hurt.� He could barely hear his own words for all the rushing of blood in his ears. But, Coax her into it slowly, he told himself. Although he didn�t really know where it was that he would lead her.

The light in the corridor was faint, but he could tell that her skin had flushed darker at his words.

�I tripped on the stairs.�

�And smashed your head against the wall?� Draco�s voice was dry and monotonous. Almost too quiet. It was sarcastic but too emotionless to tell.

�Something like that.�

The way she said those words. Draco thought that she may have suddenly realised that he knew. By his tone. By his staring. She seemed to be busy thinking thoughts underneath her stupid still-attached skin. How was he going to react to it � that was the question clearly pin-pricking her cautiously flickering eyes.

�You healed it. How?�

�Some potion I got from Millicent.�

Draco nodded twice. �Where is she?�

�Who?�

�Bulstrode.�

�In the hall.�

�Is she hurt as well?�

Pansy�s eyes narrowed for a split second. She straightened her posture. �No. Why?�

�Only you, then.�

�What do you want, Malfoy?� she frowned.

Draco wondered why she didn�t just come out and say it. Tell him what she had done with a smirk of vengeance and pride stretched across her face. What would he really do, after all? As far as she was concerned, he was only shagging Granger. She thought she knew him. She thought his feelings only ran so deep. She wouldn�t be thick to think it, after all, that was how it used to be.

�Well?�

And so he answered her. Even though whatever explanation or excuses she could give him would be meaningless, wasted breath. He didn�t know how else to deal with it, there and then. He needed to use words so that he could work in the revenge. Just how. It was too soon and he didn�t know but it was too late to think now. He wanted her heart ripped out. Would make her pay.

�Why did you do it?� he asked. Voice sinisterly calm, deep, desperate. In fact, Draco noted, with an anxiously clear realisation, that even inside he was calmer than he should have been. Quietly wanting to slice her open.

And Pansy didn�t bother to play dumb. True to style, she never was one for stepping around a issue. So she gave her justification. Her reason in full.

�Because she�s a filthy mudblood whore with a filthy mudblood cunt, and one day soon, it�s going to get her a fuck load more than a few beatings. She deserves to fucking rot in hell for being such a traitorous little bitch.�

Draco�s mouth twitched.

�What�s wrong?� continued Pansy, determined spite plastered across her features, �Disappointed she�ll be too broken to be your little slut tonight?�

But he didn�t hear the last comment, because the first was still reeling inside his head. The first was still. Screaming. Mudblood whore, mudblood cunt, traitorous bitch. Draco had said so much worse before. But something about this was different. So glaringly different.

His jaw clenched. No words could even describe. That sudden desire. Need. To wrench open her mouth and claw out her tongue until she choked on her own blood for all those dirty, wretched words. For that malevolent, warped explanation. For words that meant so much to him, because there were him. Him and his father. And his whole required existence.

�Apologise for that.�

Pansy frowned. Her head moved back slightly into her neck. �What?�

�Apologise for that.�

�For bloodying up Granger?�

Draco shook his head. �For those words.�

�Fuck off, Malfoy. You can-�

�Apologise.�

�Why should I?�

Draco took a step towards her. He didn�t realise until she took one step away from him.

But she didn�t understand. She couldn�t possibly fathom how important it was that she apologised in that moment. Important to his fucking head. Which had suddenly jarred so very violently he felt his brain swelling with hot, growing, biting fury. Pure rage.

�Because you�re wrong,� said Draco. He spoke the words without giving a thought to what they all could mean. What it might show. But he didn�t care. Important- Merlin- so fucking critical.

�No.�

�I mean it, Parkinson.� And now he didn�t need to worry that it wasn�t showing. Because his voice had become so deep, it dripped with cold, ferocious warning. And she heard it. She even flinched slightly. Perhaps she didn�t understand either, why those words were so suddenly gashing into his brain and ripping it apart. Bad words. Nasty things. All just piteously precious ways to conform. Conform to those hideous foundations that were crumbling beneath him. Because Pansy was still the same, don�t forget, she was still everything he�d left behind, everything he was begging to have back again. She still believed.

Draco took another step towards her, and noticed that she had begun to tremble.

�And what are you going to do, you sick bastard?� she spat, pressing her hands into her dress to stop the shaking.

But it didn�t stop. Her tremors were hard, like his, shaking with fear whilst he shook with that passionate rage he felt drill into his skin the very moment he realised what must have happened.

That initial calm. That sweet, small, short air of composure � Draco was losing it with every second that plummeted past. Suddenly, and all just because of the words he�d used plenty of.

She spoke again. �You�re fucking mental, Malfoy,� she murmured, �What the hell has happened to you?�

�Wrong answer.�

�What?�

�Try again.�

Pansy looked confused now. Bewildered and afraid and so like Hermione had looked at him the night he couldn�t stop throwing up. That night after he had tasted her for the first time. And thought of nothing else but her.

How dare she. How dare she look like that, like Granger.

�I�m not apologising for-�

Draco growled, loudly, teeth clenched. And she jolted.

Yes.

Her whole fucking not-as-bruised-as-Granger�s body shook. Because he could feel it, and she could see it. Why did she look so surprised? Did she expect them to engage in small talk all night? Did she expect him to whack her on the back for such a spectacular job? And what if he wasn�t impressed, what then? A sharp wag of his finger, don�t do it again, and then on you go?

Draco attempted to catch himself for a second. Ask himself that if he suddenly so adamantly needed that apology- if he didn�t get it, what would he do without it? What the fuck would he do to her, because there were so many things he had to hold back on. Absolutely unquestionably had to. There were some things that happened in his life that made him wake up drenched. And those things should never happen again. Especially not at his hands.

But this attempt- this attempt to grab his mind and shake it out of the sudden delirious passion that overcame him was faltering. Near failing. It scared him just as much as it was scaring Pansy, now, trembling in front of him. If she just apologises, he can work it out from there. Until she did- unknown, misunderstood, terrified- he was quietly losing it further. Descending.

�Look�� Pansy was beginning to see it. He wasn�t a stranger to her, after all, he noted. She knew he had a darker side, knew that when he wasn�t pleased, it showed. And there was a wall close behind her, she realised, as he saw her head dart behind quickly to audition her escape routes. But none of them get the gig, love. Believe me. You�re as fucking trapped as she was.

You stupid bitch.

��I�m not sorry, alright?� And then her voice lowered. She seemed to wince slightly, touch the cut on her head with a few cautious fingers momentarily. �But it wasn�t meant to hurt you.�

Draco�s attention seemed to snap to those words. Snap more to them than the thought of what it would feel like to open that cut back up for her.

�What?� His voice was hoarse. Disbelief soaking his words.

�I hate you for it,� murmured Pansy, a look of hidden panic flashing through her eyes as she began to realise there were some things she shouldn�t have said. And that now all she had were words. �But I didn�t do it to hurt you. I thought it would help me forget. But it didn�t.�

And then so almost on cue, he wasn�t entirely sure, Pansy sniffed, and Draco became aware that the tears had begun to form in her eyes. Her lip beginning to tremble.

�You hurt me so much,� she mumbled, lifting an unsteady hand to her mouth, �Can�t you see that? And all with her. She was the worst part.�

Draco shook his head. Stone. That familiar bounce board. Her tears meant fuck all. �Why did you do it, Pansy?�

�Because I love you, Draco.� It all seemed to happen within the space of a moment, because now she was beginning to sob. Heavily. He didn�t even spare a thought to note that the words were like empty air to him. Like subdued and careless silence. Meaningless. Trivial. About seventeen years too late.

�And you think�� He had to swallow slightly, swallow the rising anger. �You think that makes it alright, do you?�

�I�ve never been so in love with anyone,� she whispered, �I never will be. Ever again. You couldn�t possibly understand what that feels like.� Something jerked within him. He watched as the tears flooded her cheeks. She was crying more than Granger had cried, and that pissed him off. �You�ve ruined my life. Both of you. All I did was give her a few cuts and bruises to fuss over in return. It�s nothing compared to what that mudblood has done to me.�

Draco�s fists clenched. �And is that why it�s so awful, Parkinson?� he seethed, voice barely a growl he felt the need to suppress it so much, �Because she�s a mudblood? Because she�s not pure like us?�

�You know it matters, Draco.�

�What about because she�s beautiful?� he said, words slow and sharp and penetrating through her, �More beautiful they you�ll ever be?� He took another step forwards.

�Don�t,� she murmured, the dirty black wetness of her cheeks smudging under her fingers. �Don�t pretend she�s anything more than your latest fix, Malfoy.�

He shook his head again. She seemed to want to ignore it.

�She disrespected me, Draco. I got my revenge.�

�And what about me?�

�What about you?�

�What about your revenge on me?�

Pansy stared at him. Wide, watering, darkened eyes. She shook her head. �I- I don�t want revenge on you, Draco,� she stammered, caution fired up in her cheeks.

�But Granger? It was alright to punish Granger?�

Pansy�s eyes turned with that same hesitant confusion. �Why do you care so much, Malfoy?� she sniffed, sobs determinedly dying down. Draco thought that they may be more genuine than they first appeared.

�I just do. And so I need you to apologise.� A lot more than apologise. Pain. But for some reason. It�s the most important place to start.

�To her? That filthy fucking mudblood?�

Draco�s eyes narrowed. �Listen to yourself,� he growled, �Listen to your fucking excuses. Why are you hiding behind the blood, Pansy? Why do people always hide behind the blood?�

She frowned. �What?�

�You know as well as I do. It�s got nothing to do with what�s running through her veins. It�s just Granger. Granger as she is. Everything you want to be, Pansy, deep down inside.�

�You�re fucking backwards.�

�It�s because you think I chose her over you. And maybe deep down inside yourself you can see why.�

�But you fucking hate her, Malfoy!�

He nodded. �But I don�t lie. I don�t pretend.� Even if he wanted to he couldn�t.

�I don�t understand.�

�You made a mistake.�

�I don�t regret it-�

�You fucking will.�

Pansy�s mouth closed. His words seemed to shake her slightly. Cause her to step even closer to the ever-nearing stone of the wall behind. But even through her fear, through her caution and anxiety and the warning across her skin, Pansy Parkinson found the heat inside herself to show him again. Show just how hurt she was. Just how fucking cut deep and scarred forever, and Merlin he couldn�t have cared less in that very moment even if she had been his father�s murderer. Because she hurt Granger. She hurt-

�She�s a slag, Draco! What makes you think you�re the only one who�s getting any? What makes you think you�re not just another whore for her to lie back and be fucked by?�

�Shut up.�

�She�s got Potter, remember?�

�Nothing is happening between her and Potter.� He really didn�t have to say that. Didn�t have to acknowledge the comment. But he had without realising. It was all too much in that moment and he was losing control of the words.

�You reckon? How na�ve can you get, Malfoy? Look at the bastard! He�s the fucking hero of Hogwarts, faces death wherever he goes! Do you really think the prospect of those two seeking rampant comfort in each other�s beds is the most unlikely notion you could venture upon?�

�You�re wrong.� You�re wrong because there�s been no one else. They�ll never be anyone else. It hurts too much.

�And even if they haven�t yet- they will. Either him or the Weasley dick. You�re wasting you�re fucking time with her, Draco! She�s already taken.�

�Don�t you know when you shut that sodding mouth of yours, Parkinson?�

�The truth hurts, Malfoy.�

�So I suppose it will hurt when I tell you how I thought of her. Not just once. Not just twice, Parkinson, but every fucking time you opened up your legs to me! Sucked my cock. Touched my lips.�

That fear, it was still there, but he could see it slipping from her. That rage now, the rage from his words. The fury from his own tongue. Now suddenly the air around them had gotten so cold he could barely breathe for all the frozen hatred and wicked words thrown out between them. And all the while. He just thought death. Shut up and I want to kill you. I want to fucking kill you and I don�t know why I�m still standing here giving you the mercy of my words.

�How do you think it will end?!� she retorted, �What do you think you mean to her, Draco? This is Granger, Hermione fucking Granger the mudblood. And you�re nothing more than a fucking reform project to her! See if she can change you, turn you good. You mean nothing! You mean absolutely fuck all! I�m the only one that cares for you, Draco, I�m the only one that has ever cared!�

�Shut up!� Because her voice, those words, they were beginning to grind. And Draco�s heart was beginning to pump just that little bit too fast. �The only one that�s ever cared? Is that how much you value yourself, Parkinson? Don�t talk like you were the only twat to ever grace my life with your caring compassion!�

�But can�t you see, Draco?� her voice was frantic, she stepped away from the wall and closer to him. He didn�t like that. Flinched back slightly because that was how hard, that was how much he couldn�t stand the fucking thought of her. �What do you think will happen when Potter and Weasley find out?�

�About what? Nothing has happened. You did this to her. And it was all for nothing.�

�You�ve fucking admitted it to me!�

�I�ve admitted feelings, Parkinson! Wake up! They amount to absolute shit for people like us! What the fuck are feelings? What good have they ever been to this excuse for an existence? That�s not how our world works. You know it- we both fucking know it!�

�You�re wrong! Because I have them, and you hurt them, and they mean so fucking much! If you don�t believe me then how about you run upstairs and remind yourself of what Granger looks like? Study every little cut and bruise and know that it was all for you, to show you, to fucking scream my feelings at you because there is no other way you�ll listen to me!�

�But why her?!� he shouted. He shouted so loudly he could barely contain the sheer desperation any longer. �Why the fuck her, Pansy?! Why not me? Why not get some of your fuck buddies to try it on with me? It�s only Granger, Pansy, she wouldn�t fight back as hard- you knew she wouldn�t fight back as hard! She�s not like that! She didn�t stand a fucking chance! You could have killed her if you wanted to! And you�re sick for it!�

�I�m sick for it?!� That trepidation, it had seemed to vanish completely. �You�re sick for this whole fucking thing, Malfoy! You�re sick for caring about her! Sick for wanting to feel her fucking insides like that! Taste her rotten mudblood skin!�

�Don�t say that word again, Parkinson!�

�But you say it all the time!� She looked utterly and completely exhausted. Drenched in anger, love, the desperation to make him understand. But he couldn�t. He couldn�t understand anything. �What�s happened to you, Draco? Where have you gone? Can�t you see what she�s done to you?! Telling me not to call her a fucking mudblood! That was all you knew her as!�

�I said stop!�

�She got what was coming to her! And don�t you remember, Draco? Don�t you remember how you would have loved to have seen all that only a few years ago?! See us beat the mudblood to the ground!�

�I mean it!�

�Given the chance again, I�d do it! Ten times over! And yes! I�d probably kill her next time because look- just fucking look at what she�s done to you- done to us! A mudblood, Draco! A mudblood! That�s all she is, that�s all she�ll ever be and you can�t forget it! She�s the filthiest slag in the whole fucking school and she�s gone and fucked up even more by being a fucking mud-�

It all happened. Slowly. For Draco.

It all happened. As if he had collapsed in on himself for the smallest of seconds. Lasting an eternity.

He felt it. His hand was still shaking as her head snapped back and smashed with her body against the wall behind.

He could hear a stifled scream, as the loud whack of her skull against the hard abrasive stone echoed around them. And he may have been slightly surprised that she wasn�t out. Out just like that. But instead sliding unsteadily down the wall, lulling her head, moaning. He may have been slightly surprised. But he was too caught up. Too caught up pointing his wand hard and straight in the very direction of her chest. And his head. All that was in his head-

-fucking slag fucking die for what you�ve done you hurt her you hurt her and she�s mine and no one can hurt her like that you haven�t seen her she�s broken and you�ll pay and now I want to see you break harder and die and never come back you can�t ever touch her again she�s mine you�ll never understand just how much I want you to-

Die. And the words on the fucking tip of his tongue, so close he had never been so sure of anything in his entire life- never cared less for what he was about to do- never wanted it- needed it- done it with so much passion and hatred and anger and fucking die I just want you to-

And then suddenly. Her words came. Sobbing from beneath him. It stole the air around them.

�Draco�please�I�m sorry�� His head shook, tried to shake out the sound. Concentrate. Look at her and see what she did and- ��please�don�t hurt me�please��

-but it was too late. Because he couldn�t fight the memory. That sudden rush of memory. It hit him so hard he could barely stop himself from stumbling backwards. That memory.

His mother crumpled and lying, broken by the door as his father stood above her. Head bleeding from the floor, nails broken from the scratching, eyes blackened by his fists. She had touched her head, touched it and seen the blood and Draco remembered the fear in her eyes when she looked back up at his father. He had muttered words about betrayal. Thumped his fist so hard into the middle of her face that her head had cracked back and hit the oak behind it. Swaying slightly, he remembers, before dropping. Draco thought, still never understood why he was wrong, but thought she was dead. Just then, in that split second, he had truly believed that that was it. Over. The final blow. But through the darkness of his hand across his face, he heard her speak. Words. Barely, but there. And that wet, rank, pungent fear radiating from his mother�s heart caught him. Tangled him up. And in all of his short and distorted life, he had never felt so helpless. So utterly weak as he stood there, away from it slightly, by the side, his ribs throbbing, arm twisted, eyes wide as he stared at his father�s wand. His father�s wand that was pointing straight in the direction of her chest.

�Please�I�m sorry�Lucius�love�� Trembling. Terror. Desperation because she loved him. She didn�t understand why but she did. She loved the man she knew he once was. Knew he could be again if he only let himself be. �Don�t�don�t hurt me�please�stop��

�Draco�please��

�please�

His wand dropped to the ground.

Draco keeled over, heaved, and vomited.

Vomited up every single part of him that promised if there was ever anything he wouldn�t follow, wouldn�t accept as a way of life- it was that. His father. And his fists. And his mother lying broken by the door.

And the bile was thick, as yellow as ever. And he gagged again on the taste. Noticed, somewhere in the back of his head, that Pansy had scrambled to her legs, stumbled away, left him alone, as he heaved and vomited again in a puddle at his feet. The acid burning his tongue raw.

Because he absolutely would have killed in her in that moment. Absolutely if it hadn�t have been for the smallest part of humanity that was still left inside of him. Somewhere.

Draco knew that he never wanted to become like his father. The way he destroyed her. His mother. Completely.

But Draco also knew, that now, it was too late.
*

He couldn�t remember making it back upstairs. There just seemed a blur of moving stone, firelight, heavy breathing as he stumbled violently through the portrait hole and fell flat onto his hands. He needed to get to the bathroom. It was so important, because he felt so sick. So sick.

You�ve become him. Look what you did. You would have done it.

He dragged himself back up, gagged again, swallowed it down and threw himself at the stairs to his bedroom. His foot missed the first one, so he grabbed onto the side of the wall and tried again. Staggered forth towards the distant glow behind his bedroom door, damp hand slipping on the handle as he attempted twice to open it.

For everything now. You�ve failed to become of him what you should have become. And worse. Because you�ve become of him what you said you never would.

The sickness. It was so raw, so strong, writhing, churning in his stomach and twisting it, wringing out the blood inside of him- all he needed was that small release. To grab the ever familiar edge of the toilet, shove his head inside it, and smell that magnificent smell of retribution. Hope that this time his heart might just come out with it.

And your hand still throbs. From her jaw you heard crack, from the head you heard hit the stone behind and trail down the wall like you�ve seen before. Like you�ve seen done before. So many times. It was so easy. Maybe that was because you knew exactly what to do. Knew exactly where to aim to hurl her body backwards and collide so hard.

Draco dived for the toilet, bent his head over and retched into it. Nothing came. No. That wasn�t right- something needed to come, something needed to get out of him. That feeling- get it out. He arched his tongue to the back of his throat, back as far as it would go, and then felt the choking come again. He spat this time. Just a little. Spat and was breathing heavily into the hard white hole of the toilet. His faint groans were echoing inside it.

All those times he�d seen his mother cower with fear. He made it sound like hundreds. But he had only been at home long enough to have seen a few. Enough to know it always happened, and enough to know he would never. Never. Hit a woman in his life.

He wanted to be so many things that he father was, have that power, glory, unashamed belief and drive to follow and breathe a meaning so spectacularly destructive and pivotal to life. He loved his father. He needed his father. But he said he would never- out of all of it, that was one thing he wouldn�t do � use his strength the way his father did on skin. Because he felt those pieces of his mother when he turned away and couldn�t bring himself to touch her, comfort her and tell her that even if his father did those things, he was always there. Because he wasn�t, he couldn�t be. And she had made him promise, one night, the one night it got too much and Draco fought back. Writhed on the floor in excruciating agony as his father forced his callous wand upon him. She had taken her son upstairs, when they were alone and he had disappeared into the night again, laid him on his bed and wept. Told him that whatever he did, however he pursued the divine rights set out before him, he mustn�t. Must promise never. Never to hurt the ones he loved the way that Lucius did.

Draco was silent. But he swore it, quietly to himself.

He�d hurt so many boys. Younger boys, older boys, the ones that didn�t stand a chance. He�d cornered them reading by the lake or crossing the common room to breakfast. If they ever disrespected him, Draco would make it known. He knew violence because he�d grown up around it. Knew it because he was to live it. But all along, just that one threshold, that one line of pain he would never cross. He didn�t know why there was such a difference between the two, and really there wasn�t, not fundamentally at least, but all the same. He would never hurt a girl. Not one. Not even Granger.

Granger.

So many mistakes. So many bleeding in his fucking face mistakes to soak up around him. There was nothing left. No point. None of it mattered anymore. Because he�d failed his father. And now he�d failed the last part of himself that hadn�t fallen. Hadn�t stopped.

Draco could still feel that. That desperate pain and anger and determination to scream the words at Pansy and watch her suffer under his wand. Would it have been death? Was that what he would have shouted? Would he have killed her? Was he that fucked and falling and absolutely gone to take it further than his father ever had? Was he worse? He didn�t know. Draco couldn�t tell. He could only retch again and try and bring something up. But he hadn�t eaten enough that day. And without food, it was only bile. Perhaps he�d even run out of that. A puddle of his vomit still oozing through the cracks of the paving downstairs.

When he traced it back, right back, to the very beginning. He liked to pretend it was because of her. Liked to think it was Granger. But it wasn�t, it can�t have been. Because really, truly, he knew it had always been him. All along, just him, and everything he relentlessly tried to be. She may have been the reason he failed. But he was still the reason that she was the reason.

Draco�s head was clouded. It had been since the moment he�d laid eyes on Hermione�s broken body. But the haze was so thick now he barely understood where his own breathing was coming from. Why the distant reflections in the pale surface all around his head were so wrong. Completely wrong. Gone. Failed and useless.

He desperately wanted to taste his own vomit again. But tonight, Draco realised, tonight he was empty.

He felt himself lift his body from the toilet, cling onto the cistern as his legs felt too sliced by shame to move. He leant towards the sink, almost falling into it, hands grasping the edge roughly, almost shaking it against the wall. The water tap shot on. He bent his head down, filled his hands, and then filled his mouth. The taste was harsh, carbonic. The water did nothing to wash it away. He tried again. Same taste, same acid. So then the water ran hot, very hot, because Draco waited long enough. And he tried it again. It stung his tongue a little, which took it away, he thought, somewhere in the back of his mind. He looked up at himself in the mirror. There was a bruise beginning to form on the left hand side of his jaw. The shot Potter had taken. He had in fact been disappointed at how light it was. How very faint the bruise was.

The water stopped running, and the room went silent once again.

How had he managed it. How had he achieved the end of his life already? After only seventeen years. Draco felt old. He felt used. He felt utterly depleted and done and finished completely. It was over now, it had to be over. Because he came so close to becoming- or he already was- he wasn�t sure anymore- the very person he swore never to be. It didn�t matter what Pansy had done. It didn�t matter how much he had wanted to see her suffer. Draco had thought that if anything, out of all the nothingness and desperation inside of him, he could at least control that. He could at least hold back his hands. Use words instead, poison her with words. Lead her into thinking he loved her, maybe. Fucked her. Over and over. And then discarded at the right moment. Used, bruised, heart so fucking destroyed it would never have repaired. He would have done that, happily. All of it. Anything for what she did to Granger. What she did to that girl that he- something inside of him- he-

Draco was beginning to remember something. Amidst the sound of banging skulls and yelps of pain, pleading and begging for mercy. It had been a while.

Punishment.

He desperately needed to be punished. For every fucking mistake. For every slip of the tongue. And there seemed nothing more fitting than the end. Did there not? There was no chance of redemption anymore. No clawing his way up from what he had done this night. Gone in search of Granger. Felt for her. Felt his eyes water at her pain. And then found Pansy. And- over at his hands. It had been so close to being over.

Or maybe he should just stand here. Stand there and look at his reflection and soak up the suffering. Maybe death was too good for him. Too easy, too kind.

And he was only young. Young and honest enough to himself to admit it. He didn�t have the courage. Not to take his own life. Not to leave behind existence completely. And wouldn�t it be easier to let it drown him? Draco admitted it. He was a coward. And what did it matter? He may as well be anything now. Because he�d become everything he hated.

Maybe there was nothing left for him. Because maybe Pansy was right. Hermione loved Harry. She loved Ron. They loved her back. She had her family wherever she went and she wouldn�t give it up for anything. And so why for him? Why for the most pathetic boy she knew? She pitied Draco after all, don�t forget. And now. Even though he hated it. He couldn�t blame her. Not one bit.

Draco had pitied his father for the violence. The way he used to hit his mother. He pitied his father for not being able to understand, for not being able to see how wrong- how deeply horrifically wrong- on every level, in every way- that pain. Those beatings he dealt out were wicked. Too wicked for anything he lived his life for. He pitied his father for not being able to see that.

How ironic. How fucking laugh until your eyes bled poignant was that? I pity you for doing those things, Father. Although, congratulations, because you might have managed to pass on every single fucking one of them. Onto your son. I bet you can�t wait to see how I�ll turn out. Now that I�ve taken that first step. Why couldn�t you have given me your power instead? Your power to become what you were. Because I never felt any of it. Not truly. I only ever felt lost.

And Draco didn�t see. Not in that moment. He couldn�t see how any of it could ever change again. He was so used to falling, with no way back, no foothold, no arms to engulf him and hold him close. So why not now?

He was so ashamed.

That reflection in front of him.

He looked too much like his mother. Not enough of his father.

And look. Look at what you�ve done to me. All this time and I still wish I could see more of you in my own fucking face. How wretched. How weak. You�ve torn me apart and I still need to hear you. Need to be with you again. Just want to feel the back of your hand beat me into shape. It�s so simple that way. So I need you, because look what I�ve become without you. I don�t understand. Why have you done this to me? And all my fault. How did you manage to produce such a outstanding mental fuck up. I bet you still regret it. Lying there, rotted in your grave. I know I do. I regret every fucking moment.

Draco fingers were gripping the side of the sink tighter. Whenever he thought for this long, whenever he allowed his head to indulge, he always felt that potent passion begin to simmer in his blood, feel the anger, resentment, sheer abhorrence at life and everything that it�s given him. Everything that has amount to nothing. Not even Granger. Not even Granger wants him.

And surely that tells you something? She�s turned her back enough times. Why don�t you get the fucking hint you stupid twat? Wake up and smell the fucking rank reality around you. You�re alone, you�ll always be alone, and to even so much as think about the comfort of a mudblood is horrendous. It�s beyond saving. The very thing you should have trodden on weeks ago has rejected you. Seen all that you are and all that you�re not, nothing, no one without the voice of your father.

You�re pathetic, because you�ve got nowhere on your own- couldn�t even fucking hold it together long enough to make it to the end of school. Couldn�t even stop yourself before it was too fucking late-

Suddenly, the mirror cracked in front of him, straight down the middle and off to each side. And then it cracked again, splintered further and a shard of glass fell and shattered into the sink. Draco noticed his knuckles were bleeding. And then he punched it again.

Punched it again and again until the glass was falling, breaking off and bouncing down the floor around his feet, spectacular smashing all around him, harrowingly magnificent echoes of broken hearts and tongues and lungs exploding, shredded, trampled all around him and again. Draco kept punching, he didn�t even notice he couldn�t stop, just kept hurling his fist at whatever reflection of skin he could see- feel the glass pierce his skin- and somewhere in the very back of his mind he could hear a roaring- a desperate, split of emotion escaping his open mouth, bared teeth, as he roared again. And again. And his blood dripped into the sink and stained the fragments of skin and eyes and teeth and before he could realise it there was nothing left but the wall, and Draco had fallen to his knees, head only just missing the edge of the stone sink as he collapsed to the ground, hands stinging and bleeding by his sides, head lulled forward, body rocking, and the roaring, the loud and rippled roars cracking, breaking, finally defeated. And his breathing was ragged, as his feet, fractured skin, dragged him around to the wall. Slowly.

Anguish. Sorrow. Torment. Misery. Where Draco sat. Hung his head. And felt the tears wash over him. Body shoved to the cold stone corner of the bathroom. Bloodied hands gripping his hair. Draco Malfoy sobbing out his soul.

I think congratulations are in order, Father. You must be so proud.

*

Hermione sat up so fast her head almost splintered in two. That noise.

She was knocked out. Out completely from the potion. And now the sharp ache and sting of her body returned full thwack as the splitting sound of mind-shattering glass sliced through her brain and right into her heart. It skipped a beat at her very first thought.

They�re back. They�re back to finish me off.

But then the crashing continued, and now, fully awake, she looked towards the bathroom door and realised, so quickly it rattled her brain again- that it must have been. Malfoy.

How long had she been asleep for? What had been the last thing that he had said?

I�ll be back soon. I�ll be back.

So what in Merlin�s name- and how- why could she hear such horrific smashing?

And then her heart jumped again, worn out and raw, as she heard the terrible sound of roaring. Low and angry screaming to compliment the piercing clashing from behind the door.

Hermione swung her legs off the bed, winced a little as she pushed herself up from it, and rushed to the door as fast as her body would allow, stumbling slightly as a sharp pain shot through her ribs.

�Malfoy?!� she shouted, voice hoarse, too quiet, and barely heard through the noise on the other side of the door. She banged a trembling fist against it.

But the smashing continued, that roaring. She could hear his voice cracking slightly. And her mind started to spin, started to whirr and twist and run over all the terrible possibilities, all of what could have happened to make him do this. Be there. Insanely furious and consumed with such horrific violence.

And in fact it terrified her. He terrified her. Because she didn�t trust him, she never had and she still didn�t, and she could hear him so clearly. He sounded like a madman. Something had happened. She didn�t know what but it had done something to him, driven him completely over the edge. She put her hand to the door again but then stole it away. The beating in her chest as fast as ever. Because she couldn�t face it. No more. No more violence. And it was true. She was well and truly fucking terrified by it.

Fucking terrified. And just as the thought that someone- at some point in the time he had left, had fired him up like this- someone like Harry, oh Merlin please not Harry- the sound of shattered glass fragmenting against the floor had stopped. And Hermione stole her anxious thoughts away from the danger of her best friend, and back onto Draco.

Because the sound replacing the glass. That sound was so much worse.

She could hear it as hard as the throbbing in her head. Malfoy was there, somewhere on the other side of that door, and he was crying. So loudly, suddenly, completely and absolutely unmistakably. And everything around her seemed to stop.

Hermione had never heard him cry. She had never heard anyone cry like that before. He sounded so, so unbelievably hurt and dead and- she couldn�t even describe. That sound. No words in her dried up, used up head. Draco sounded broken. More broken that she had ever known.

It froze her mind. Her tongue. It stilled the ferocity inside her ribs.

Without realising it, without thinking twice or even thinking to move, Hermione�s hand had grabbed the handle of the door, pressed her fingers to it tightly, and turned it. And the door had opened, unlocked, unobstructed. Swung open completely.

And the sight. There was no air in that room. Because she couldn�t breathe.

Draco was sitting there, back slumped against the wall to the side of the stony grey sink. He was shaking. Head was hanging forward and resting, slipping slightly on his knees. His hands lying either side of his bent legs- just lying there, bleeding. And he was heaving. Heaving heavy, darkened, heart-wrenched-apart sobs. Shoulders back and forth as he gasped at the air around him.

�Malfoy��

Someone had spoken, whispered. And it may have been her. Because there was no one else there but her. And Draco. Tears falling to the floor.

She noticed the glass now. The few thin cuts of it still hanging from the wall. It was everywhere around it. Large, sharp shards scratching the insides of the sink, smaller, split pieces of it littering the floor around. His bleeding hands. That was why. Draco had punched the mirror to pieces. Furiously and relentlessly hurling his fists into the glass until they were too raw to bare thinking about. And why. Why did you do this to yourself.

�Malfoy�� the voice came again. And this time she knew it was her. Because this time she had taken a wary step towards him, voice slightly louder than before, but still a whisper.

He seemed to react. Brought his bloody hands up to his head to cover his ears. The crying didn�t stop, didn�t even quieten at her words. It didn�t seem to matter that she was there. He just didn�t want to hear her, that was all.

�Malfoy�stop��

Fuck. He looked. He looked so desperately destroyed. That sound was tearing apart her heart. And it truly felt like that, that literal feeling. This must be it, she thought amongst it all, this must be what it feels like to split in half.

She took another step towards him. A tiny piece of glass pierced her bare foot. She winced. Sucked the air through her teeth, but only lightly lifted it from the ground again. Didn�t bend down to tend to it. Didn�t even think of it again.

Hermione glanced to the other side of the sink. His wand was lying carelessly on the floor, half obstructed, half in view. So he found it. He went and got it. He was coming back with it. Is that right? Then what. Why�why are you crying so hard, Malfoy, please. The sound was slowly dissolving her.

�What happened?� she whispered. Stepped slowly around the glass, desperate to stay away, but desperate to feel him near to her. Be near to him. Find out. Why. Stop him. Because please-

He flinched slightly at her proximity. May have looked up so very slightly, momentarily, sobs quietening almost unnoticeably. Because Draco was still crying. Crying for it all.

�Please Malfoy��

He drew his legs in closer. Even if he said something like, just anything- fuck off, shut up, bitch, whore, mudblood- it would help. Just to hear him murmur something from his lips so that she knew he was still inside of himself. Somewhere. He was still alive, breathing, not so desperate and broken and aching on the floor like this.

Hermione felt her eyes sting. Her vision blur.

�Please�� she said it again, and her voice fell. She swallowed, desperately stilling the rising water in her eyes. She was a few feet away. And she bent her legs, crouched to the ground and ignored the agony of her body�s bruising. Watched his agony instead, cutting her up deeper than anything that had touched her that night. �What happened to you?� she asked, low and cautious, �Why are you�please talk to me. Please. Talk to me, Draco.�

Draco.

Hermione noticed it when he noticed it. Afterwards. A split second afterwards.

Draco.

Her heart began to thud. She hadn�t even meant-

He looked up.

��Malfoy.� She couldn�t help herself. Muttering a useless correction under her breath. Voice weak and feeble and far too late- but still. He had looked up.

His sobs muffled down to silence.

They stared at each other, Draco�s face soaked. Cheeks, eyes- red, sore and drowned. They looked pale. Too pale to be anything at all. And underneath the flush of his skin he was white. So white and so drained of any colour, blood, life. Staring at him seemed to push her too far. Just lose that tiny bit of control. And a tear spilled over and onto her cheek.

�What happened to you�?� she asked, quietly. Wary. Desperate to know why why do you look so defeated. She felt another tear drop.

�I�m�sorry.� He sounded so unlike the boy she knew, the thought actually crossed her mind- Hermione actually considered the fact, for the smallest of seconds, that this couldn�t be him. Not Malfoy. Not sounding like that.

�For what?� Her voice was trembling.

Draco shook his head. He was matching her tears. Better- he was beating them. He had so many. �I meant- I wanted to heal you. I�m sorry. I just- I came back but I-�

�Shh�� she breathed. Because those weren�t the words he had to say to her. She didn�t care. She didn�t care about the pain anymore, not whilst he was before her like this.

�Granger,� he said, voice cracking under the tears, �Everything that�s happened�I didn�t want��

She hushed him again. More apologies. She didn�t want them. That can�t have been what had him down to the ground like this. Shaking and sweating and soaking up the tears. Hermione shuffled, very slowly, nearer towards him. Almost held her breath as she stopped, closer now. Close enough to rest her hand on his. Which she couldn�t do.

�Is that why�?� But that couldn�t be all. �-why you�ve done this?� she breathed, �Because you�re sorry?�

He brought his hands in front of his face. Turned them over to the front, and then to the back. Seemed to stare harder at the side with the most blood. Draco nodded. �If you knew what it meant��

Hermione felt the confusion buzz around her skull. Deadened slightly, but there all the same. There wasn�t a day that didn�t go past when she wished she understood. All those times. All the those desperate things he had said to her, pleading for her to understand. And now here she was again. Useless. Clueless. Confused. �What it meant�� she repeated, question in her voice.

�The things I�ve done.�

�Malfoy-�

�I need to be punished.�

Hermione frowned. Punishment. She still didn�t understand. �I don�t�� She let herself fall forward onto her knees. It brought her even closer to him. �It�s not always that simple, Malfoy,� she murmured. Didn�t know what else to say. As usual. Didn�t even know if it made any sense to him.

�He would have killed me.�

She shook her head. �Who?�

Draco didn�t answer. Just stared at his bleeding knuckles.

�Who would have killed you, Malfoy?� she asked again.

�My father.�

Hermione felt something sharp and fierce ripple momentarily down her spine. It was the very same moment that his earlier words came flooding back to her. The things he had said about knowing the healing charms. The reasons why he did.

Things that my mother taught me. She used to heal me, sometimes. You know. After this sort of thing.

�Malfoy�� she began, looked down at his hands and then back up to his face, �Those things he did to you-� She shook her head again. Draco had beaten plenty of people before. He�d done plenty of wicked things. He had seemed so irrevocably evil. But Hermione couldn�t imagine what it was like even for him. To live with Lucius Malfoy as a father. �-they weren�t right, Malfoy. You didn�t- no one deserves that. Not from someone they love.�

More tears seemed to fall from his eyes. �It�s wrong,� he rasped.

�Yes. It�s wrong.�

�Then- I�m wrong.�

She shook her head. But didn�t know what to say in return.

�I saw her, you know.�

�Who?�

�Parkinson.�

Hermione�s heart jolted. �Oh.�

�I was angry.�

She didn�t reply.

�I was so angry.�

�It doesn�t matter now, Malfoy,� she breathed, looking down at the ground. �It�s done.�

�But you don�t understand.� Draco was shaking his head.

�I know I don�t. But it�s over.�

She didn�t want to think about it. Didn�t want to be reminded of the pain and the throbbing and the blood that was only just beginning to slow.

Draco was still shaking his head. He seemed to tremble harder now. If he had calmed down at all before. �It�s not over,� he murmured, and she could hear a quiet sobbing return to his deadened voice. �It�s never over.�

�Please don�t cry, Malfoy,� she murmured. Merlin, please don�t cry. She can�t hold you together. She can�t hold herself together. And she�s given up knowing why she should want to do either. �I don�t know what happened,� she breathed, �But you just need to sleep. I�ll clean this up.�

�It�ll never be over,� he whispered, elbows moving to rest on his knees, as he buried his hands in his hair and leaned his head down. He had begun rocking slightly again.

Oh no. �Malfoy, look at me.� But he wouldn�t. �I don�t- I just- please. Stop.�

�I�ve made too many mistakes,� he muttered, and she almost wondered if it were to her. If it wasn�t to himself instead. �He hated me for them. And I hate myself for them.�

�Malfoy��

�I hate everyone around me.� He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, and brought them back again, clutching it. �This place. This whole fucking place. I want to leave it. I need to leave.�

She knew. He wasn�t just talking about Hogwarts. Not just the school. Hermione only needed to hear the way his voice sounded to tell her that.

Draco was trembling hard. Shivering. She didn�t know if it was because he was cold. Or just mad. Slowly, softly insane. He sobbed again. He opened his mouth- perhaps he wanted to say something again. More of it. Whatever it was inside of him. But it closed just as soon, because he couldn�t swallow down the tears. They started up again.

�No�� Hermione tried to stop her own. �Please, don�t.� But she couldn�t. Couldn�t look at him without feeling herself twisting harshly inside.

He shook his head in his hands.

�I�m sorry�� he murmured, closed his eyes, squeezed them shut.

�Please�� she choked.

Because she felt it too. She felt it there, between them. That exhaustion. That pain. That feeling of the never ending, the forever, the hurt without end. She felt it radiate off him in waves, thick, sardonic, grief-stricken waves. They consumed her. Because she knew that he was dark. Dark inside and not quite right. But she needed him all the same. And she was frightened. Frightened for a fleeting, scorching, telling moment that he might just have given up. Given up completely.

Hermione barely realised it. Because the tears were coming now and she couldn�t swallow them. And he must have been able to feel her breath against his skin. As she leant forward. Saw him look up. Please don�t give up. Closed her eyes- I think I need you. And brushed her lips against his, so lightly, pressed so softly. She felt his breath still, felt his body freeze beneath her desperate warmth. And then she pulled back, still close enough to almost touch, and let herself cry. Hermione just let herself cry. And the feeling of Draco�s hand, trembling as it raised to her cheek, only brought more tears. More tears as she raised her own, and touched his face tentatively, grazed her fingers just above a darkening bruise on his chin. He rested his forehead against hers.

�I�m sorry��

His apologies. Again. Scraped from the very bottom of his soul. She didn�t want them. She didn�t want any of them. Hermione pressed her lips into his once again, and felt them part, felt his tongue slide out and into her mouth, lick along her own, out onto her bottom lip. That feeling. She remembered now why it was so necessary to her. Why she needed to feel him like that, the wetness of his mouth engulfing her own, her lips, her tongue. And if she hadn�t been crying already, this kiss, it would have brought her there. Blurred her vision. She felt him pour his soul into her, felt him shake against her lips, shake with silent tears.

She didn�t object. Didn�t stop him when she felt her body slowly pushed to the ground, as Draco rose up, leaned down, didn�t part his lips from hers for a second. If she stretched out her legs, she knew, she�d scrape against the glass and bleed some more. But it didn�t matter. It didn�t matter because Draco was there now, aching body on aching body, and his tongue was moving deeper in her mouth, moving harder over her lips. Their eyes closed. As they lay there, kissing through all their passion tears.

It hurt when he ran his hand down her side, brush against her ribs. She winced into his mouth and he realised, pulled away to apologise again but her hand grabbed the back on his head, pushed him back down. It hurt. All of it hurt so much. But still, she didn�t want to stop. She needed this.

They both needed this.

He tried to murmur her name. Some sort of question. Caution. But she ignored it. Pushed her tongue past his lips again and knew that she could taste it- the faint traces of vomit- but she didn�t seem to care. Barely seemed to notice. And then his hand reached around to the back of her bent leg, rested it softly behind her knee, and slid up her thigh, slowly, lightly. It stung her. But she didn�t flinch. Because something about his fingers on her skin like that was too breathtaking, and when she shuddered, it wasn�t for the pain, it was for that. His hand at the top of her thigh, his fingers stroking her skin underneath the tears and creases of her pale silk dress.

Needed this beyond words.

His kisses had left her mouth now. Were tracing wet and hesitant marks along her jaw line, grazing the tip of his tongue against the tiny cut under her chin. It made her shudder again. And she moved a hand between them both, slid it inside his shirt and raked her nails lightly against his skin. She heard his sharp intake of breath as she moved one of her knees to the side, pressed her thigh in between his legs. She could feel his erection through the roughness of his trousers. And it was the first time in her life that Hermione unashamedly wanted more of it.

She could feel moisture on the outside of her thigh. Blood. She didn�t know if it were his or her own. The deep nail marks or the bleeding knuckles. Hermione gasped as Draco�s fingers reached the top of her thighs, slid across her skin, and brushed against the dampness of her knickers. All the while his tongue now, heated and hungry in the curve of her neck. Her pulse racing against it. His teeth nipping so slightly he may have thought she didn�t notice. But she did. She was noticing every single throbbing moment of their embrace. Loud and heavy breathing just echoing, echoing as she writhed her broken body against the broken hardened floor. So sudden. All of it so sudden, so quick, so necessary.

She pressed her thigh into him again, and he groaned. Mouth left her neck and moved back to her lips, kissed her harder this time, more despair and need and desire than before. Less caution. Slowly, as every moment passed, with less caution. She could taste dried blood on the corner of his mouth. It was devastating, and it made her throb harder.

�Malfoy��

She didn�t know what she was moaning for, breathlessly against his lips, but she didn�t have time to think it through, finish it and mean it and be careful be so careful because he was already there- his fingers already sliding into her knickers and pushing them in between her folds. Draco�s breathing was ragged, she could feel his muscles tensing, feel him press his cock against her thigh harder. And then the first heated noise, the first loud whimper to break the breathing all around them- Hermione�s head rolled to the side as he brushed his thumb against her clit. And he responded to it, murmured �Fuck� into her neck as he licked his way across the reddening bruise on Hermione�s shoulder.

Hermione breathed �Again.�

And Draco growled. Moved his thumb over her swelling nub faster this time, and then faster, repeatedly. The ache of her body was tremendous, and the delirious pleasure from Draco�s hand was driving her wild to suit the insanity of the pain and pleasure together. Deliciously. And she knew he was finding it hard to keep breathing. Keep sucking in air through his lungs.

Hermione could feel tears. Was she still crying? Lying there as Draco sucked at her skin, moaned and growled and fingered his way around her flesh, so lost in it all. So completely lost in it all.

She didn�t know what to do. Hermione didn�t understand what was expected of her. But it didn�t seem to matter there and then. As she arched her stinging back off the ground and gritted her teeth together, two of Draco�s fingers sliding slowly into her, slowly and as far as they would go, as his thumb continued to rub against her clit, knickers pushed completely to the side as she felt him soak his hand in her.

�Fuck- Granger��

Somewhere from someone. She arched her back again and bit down on her lip. A sharp pain was throbbing on the side of her ribs. She felt something ripple across her skin where the bruises stained the surface. Hermione was in pain. But she didn�t care. Because there was something else as well. A brash, burning, beating sensation of pleasure rising in between her thighs. Rising fiercely.

�Don�t�stop�� She thought she only said it in her head. But she didn�t. And it made him growl again. Press into her again. Bring his fingers out of her and thrust them back in. And not just once. He continued it now, breath ragged and hoarse, moving his thumb around and over and around her clit until Hermione�s tears were so incessant and hot and alarmingly satisfying that when her body shook, shook violently and arched and convulsed around his fingers, she barely heard herself moan out his name, as she came.

�Malfoy..!�

Waves, waves of harsh and brazen pleasure consuming her beaten body.

Hermione�s head fell back to the floor, and Draco�s bleeding hand shot behind it. She wasn�t able to catch her breath, suck up some air and regain a moment�s consciousness, as his lips latched onto hers, tongue battled through her teeth and around the underside of her mouth. She felt his hand leave her heated flesh, almost moaned at the loss of contact before she felt his fingers, soaking, hot, push between the far corners of their mouths, and into his own, where he pushed his tongue against them, swirled it around them. Hermione would have been surprised, she would have been so surprised, but she wasn�t. Because she didn�t care. It didn�t matter. Draco was tasting her, and all it did was make her wet.

And so she moved her hands down to the zip on his trousers. She pulled at it and suddenly found her hand stilled. Draco had left her mouth. He was staring at her, face moments from hers.

There was question in his eyes. Pale, wild, but cautious. Still wet, watering, uncertain. But she didn�t want to think about it. Didn�t want to consider an answer and think it through. She couldn�t do that tonight. So she lifted her head and recaptured his lips in hers. And he groaned into her mouth, his hand reaching down to meet hers as it furiously pulled at his trousers.

She moved it away, and then she felt him leave her lips and growl, suck the cool air through his teeth as he released himself from the overbearing heat of his clothing. Hermione looked down between them, wanted to see, just watch his body, his glistening erection in his trembling hand. Her lips parted. And once again that need. That unabashed need for him. It was severe.

Her dress had been pushed up to the top of her thigh. She could feel the air of the bathroom sting her skin. Draco didn�t pull down on her knickers. It would have hurt her. Would have only hurt her more, and she knew this as he pushed the crotch aside with hastened, rabid fingers.

She felt the tip of his cock positioned at her entrance. And her heart was beating so wildly, blood rushing so fiercely over and around and across her skin. And before she could open her mouth for any last regrets, any last protests- she had none- Draco breathed, clenched his teeth- and thrust into her so completely, he engulfed himself to the hilt.

The pain. Hermione had expected it. But it didn�t make it any easier. It didn�t make it any easier that she was already hurting and throbbing down to her bones. Draco felt her tense, felt that flinch of skin and muscle, and his head bent down, his eyes screwed shut with pleasure, and through his teeth �I�m sorry� on the very last of his breath.

He waited there for a few moments. Waited there, slowly grinding his hips against hers. She could feel his blood rushing underneath his skin. He was consumed. He was wild with the desire, the feel of it. And she wondered how he managed- how it was he managed to stay still and wait as the sharp pain inside her subdued slightly, the walls of muscle around his stiffened cock adjusting, barely, but slightly all the same.

�Granger�� he rasped out.

Hermione took a moment. A moment whilst a hand grabbed lustfully at the back of his head. A very brief, saturated moment to recognise the fact that it was over. The terrifying fact that she had nothing to hide behind any longer. That she had, irrevocably, unavoidably, chosen Draco, and betrayed her best friends.

But she needed this. She kept telling herself. And he needed this. There and shaking above her. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful as she saw his muscles ripple in heated frustration underneath his shirt. And it was only one nod, one small downward jerk of her chin that did it. And Draco groaned, pulled out of her, and then thrust back inside again.

And continued to move in her, Hermione feeling every single jerk of her body against the cold and hardened ground, every single moment that he drove into her, so deeply, so harsh and desperate and waited-too-long-so-long-for-this eyes looking down on her. She looked back up at them. They had clouded over. Draco�s face was clenched, his jaw, his teeth. Forehead scrunched in desperate pleasure as he continued to move, body pounding recklessly into hers as he seemed to forget- as the feeling of her seemed to consume him so much that the pain didn�t matter anymore.

And it almost didn�t. It almost left Hermione as well, almost but not quite, as she moved beneath him, began to meet the thrusts with a small upward tilt of her hips, one of his hands pinning a wrist to her side, another grabbing the underside of her hip as he groaned above her, head thrown back in agonised pleasure, murmurs of Granger fuck so dirty beautiful so fucking dirty Granger above her as his breathing became more choked, as his thrusting became more erratic.

He was stretching her. And the feeling almost felt spectacular through the lessening traces of discomfort. His tongue had found hers again, and once more they entwined, passed over and pressed so fervently into one another that Hermione almost began to whimper. Bursts of tiny pleasure rippling through her insides, the sound of skin smacking against skin echoing through the room, heavy groaning, growls, breathing so coarse it reverberated off the walls. And the movements, they were getting harder, he was impaling her completely now, such absolute and devastating friction between their bodies.

Draco�s grip was fierce, and she could feel his fingers burn through the skin on her wrist. His teeth pulled at her lip as he moaned her name into it again, swore and cursed and fuck fuck fucked flooding from his mouth as tight wet scream for me so wet for me I�m so sorry followed with a rush of madness, pure madness, seeping from his eyes and fingers and brutal beating of their hearts together, and then-

�Say- it-�

She hadn�t heard the first time. As her head rolled from side to side and his body hit hers in a rhythm beginning to lose itself. Draco�s breathing sounded unnatural. And his teeth grinded.

�Say it- again- Granger��

��What?� she barely managed to rasp out. Barely managed to mumble through the ferocious slamming of his body against hers. Through the desperate fight of pleasure and pain destroying her skin.

�My- name��

Hermione could barely think as he moved above her, moved wildly and lost and completely overtaken by whatever it was in his eyes. A feral darkness, the haunting power of his desires as he growled at her, pressed down harder on her hip.

She whimpered, ��Malfoy-� as her head began to rock harder than before.

�No��

And then she realised, suddenly, in the back of the whirling mess of throbbing pain and distant pleasure splintering through her mind- she had to think- think and try and know what to say- but then he said it again, and he seemed so near to something so soon and so desperately that she had to- she found she had no choice- the words just came out, felt necessary-

�Draco�� and then again, because he pushed into her even harder at the sound of it, felt her body jerk so violently against the floor she knew it had to be broken, but that it didn�t matter, not in that moment, and not in the moments after, not whilst she was with him, as she said it again, as she screamed it this time-

Draco�

And the sudden rush of hot, burning fluid inside of her was overwhelming, as Draco shook, severely, eyes shutting tightly, and took short, sharp, heated gasps above her, as the ecstasy washed over and across and through his trembling muscles.

He stayed there, immersed completely for a few short moments, as Hermione stared up at him, eyes wide, full of him, before Draco�s arms buckled slightly. And so not to fall heavily upon her, he pulled out slowly, groaned, and fell down hard next to her on the dampened stone of the floor.

Draco was panting. Fiercely.

�Granger��

She managed to turn her head slightly, very slowly to the side. There were tears running down the side of his face. Like hers. Just the both of them. Lying there battered on the ground.

But nothing left his mouth to follow. Just silence, just the quiet vibrations of his body, and she looked back up at the ceiling. Tried to close her eyes and feel the warmth of him inside her body once again. Anything to quell the burning devastation of what they had done. Or anything to get it back again. Her body was ablaze with the pain.

Her mind had clouded, and maybe that�s still where she lay. Now. Delirious. And she wanted to stay there for as long as possible. Forever. She wanted to stay there so that they didn�t have to remember why it was they were crying, lying there and just crying. Quietly, and to themselves. To each other.

And then, through the darkness of her closed eyes, Hermione felt something touch her hand. Felt hot and moistened fingers hesitantly press themselves underneath her palm. Wrap themselves ever so softly, cautiously, over her reddened skin. Her heart skipped a beat.

Hermione opened her eyes. So slightly she turned her head towards him, towards Draco. He was staring at the ceiling, breathing still deep, face still dampened. He wasn�t looking at her. He didn�t even seem to notice her. She would have almost thought he had collapsed in on himself again. Forgotten. Despaired.

Where it not for his hand shaking lightly against hers. Terrified that maybe, just maybe she�d shake it away.

If there was something she should have known in that one surreal moment, it was that Hermione, lying there hand in hand with Draco Malfoy, should have regretted it so much more than she did. But she couldn�t seem to make herself. Not tonight, at least.

Hermione looked back, closed her eyes, and tightened her fingers around his touch.

And slowly, after a short eventually, Hermione felt the trembling of Draco�s hand begin to soften.

*

A/N: I hope that wasn�t too much of a let down for you. I know Hermione and Draco�s �first time� has been built up so much, but it was very confused in this chapter. So much pain mixed in. I�m sorry if you felt it detracted from how �hot� it should have been. (Personally, I know my first time was far from x-rated erotica!).

Anyway, this is basically a short note to inform readers of the updating in the future. Writing this story takes a lot out of me, as I�m sure many author�s can relate to. I have been neglecting a lot of work that I desperately need to get back on top of, so I�m going to take a short break from writing.

This isn�t one of those �short but by that I mean pretty long� breaks, I will honestly try and keep it as quick as possible. I just need to regenerate a bit, and get back a lot of the inspiration I have lost whist worrying about all my mounting work on the side.

I�ve explained more on my LJ, and for those who check it, I�ll keep you posted on how long I reckon it�s going to be until Chapter 13 is churned out. You can ask me anything you like about it on there, or email me (f-fortlessly@hotmail.co.uk).

Thank you to all those who have reviewed so far! Please don�t forget about the story, I honestly won�t take forever! And this will get finished.

Oh, and a big, big thank you to Gracie, who liked my story enough to nominate it over at the Dangerous Liaisons Awards site! Thank you, and it is such an honour.

*
- 11
- 12
- 13
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Water