Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 11
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Answers in this chapter... you're not going to see it coming. (Closes eyes and prepares herself) Alright. Here we go.
~A.
Have you ever planned something in your head, down to the last gruesome detail, only to have it go completely in the opposite direction? I thought she'd run in the opposite direction, scream at me to go away, possibly hex me on the spot and floo the Ministry. I prepared myself the moment I opened that door; a thousand different scenarios ran through my head, each more disastrous than the last.
However, I'm not prepared when our eyes meet and all I can find is sympathy.
"Help me." My words hang in the air between us like dust particles, too scattered to grasp and take back. I stand before her, dressed in blood, my gaze a withering shell of who I am when I'm alone. Standing before her, I've never felt so small. My knees knock together, and a weary exhaustion fills me up to the brim. Suddenly, all I want to do is fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness. Beg her to understand. Beg her to see the human in me… if there's any human in me left to give.
Then, she takes a step forward. "Oh, Draco." Her hand extends, slowly, as if I'm some thestral meant to bolt should she startle me. And like a thestral, I observe her hand with interest, wondering if I can truly trust her. To both our surprise, I let her place her hand on my blood-splattered cheek, leaning into her touch. "How long?"
How long what? How long have I been killing? Enjoying the thrill of blood dripping over my skin? Contained a darkness in me that's been devouring my soul? "Years." My cheek brushes against her palm, and my eyes close automatically. "Say it."
"Say what?"
"Tell me I'm unforgivable."
Her other hand comes up and cups my face, a perfect tipping point to let my emotions boil over. I'm butter in her hands, spread thin and warm. I want… I want…
"Come with me."
The next thing I know, I find her hand in mine, and she's dragging me down the corridor towards the parlor. I'm not worthy enough to follow her, but I do anyways, simply because I'm not strong enough to resist her presence. I barely register my surroundings until I find myself in my leather armchair, Hermione's hands moving swiftly to the bottom of my crimson stained shirt to remove it. My hands catch her forearms, and I meet her gaze, finally, shaking me out of my lost in translation thoughts. "Stop this."
"You need new clothes," she says stubbornly. So stubbornly that I allow her to finish her task, and the thin material of my shirt brushes over my head and arms before dropping to the floor at my feet. Hermione produces her wand next and conjure up a bowl and towel. "Aguamenti." The bowl fills with water, and she dips the tip of the hand towel into the bowl before bringing it to my cheek and dabbing. Silence falls between us, uncomfortable and stuffy, as she cleans my face and neck with careful consideration. My fingers dig into the armrests of my chair, and my jaw is so tight my teeth ache. I want nothing more than to recoil from her, but I am too entranced by her willingness to see this through. Inspired to do the same, I relax my posture slightly as she moves the cloth down my neck, pressing it to my skin like a compress.
"Why?" I ask.
"It isn't your fault."
I snort a laugh.
"It isn't, Draco."
"What would you know about any of it?" I sneer, dutifully sticking my nose up in the air and turning my gaze elsewhere. "You should be horrified right now."
"Who said I wasn't?" she eloquently counters. Hermione wrings the towel over the bowl of water, dripping droplets of watered down red into the water. Then she brushes the material over my nose and cheek. "Tell me when it started."
"You said you knew what was happening to me. Explain."
"Answer my question first."
"It was hardly a question," I reply. "More of a demand, really…"
"Draco."
I lick my lower lip, finding myself smirking. No matter the situation, my name from her mouth is deliciously sinful. "It began with headaches, as you said."
"When?"
"After the War."
Her eyes trail down my neck, to my collarbone. "I see." She dabs the cloth there in gentle strokes across my chest. "The headaches. Describe them."
"Mind numbing. Like a needle pricking the back of my skull."
"Mhmm…" she nods. "What eggs it on?"
"Noises… No, more than noises. High frequencies."
"And then what?"
Do I give her the chance? Could this all be some figment of my imagination? Have I finally gone around the bend and lost my mind?
"We both know what comes next," I say. "The only question is why you aren't turning me into the proper authorities."
"It isn't your fault-"
"-Yes, you keep saying that. But I don't think you understand, Hermione. I enjoy it." My hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her closer, between my legs. Her knees rest on the floor, but her head hovers just inches from mine. I want her to understand my presence in her world and see the terror in her eyes when she does. Only then can I obliviate her memories in good conscience. "It's euphoric. I'm high as a kite when I do it, and I don't plan to stop. Not even for you." My heart is in my throat, choking me as my stare chokes her.
"I can help you."
"I highly doubt that. I am what I am."
"You're only this way because you've let a darkness into you."
"Tell me about it."
"Not metaphorically. Literally." Our eyes meet again, and this time hers hold a sense of resolve. "You're not this way because you're evil. You're this way because you've been cursed."
Cursed?
"The headaches. The detachment. The… bloodlust…" she swallows. "They're all signs you've been cursed by a Dybbuk." The sound of the word is like cymbals crashing against my eardrums, and I wince. Fuck it all! What the Hell was that?
"A what?" I mutter out, shutting my eyes and cursing the way my head throbs.
"A Dybbuk."
"Fuck!" I release her wrist and clamp my hands down over my ears while it feels like quill tips are being shoved into my eardrums. "Stop saying that word!"
"Fascinating…"
Before I know what's happening, Hermione has climbed into my lap and placed a hand on each side of my face, turning it this way and that. The pulsing pain lessens, and I will my eyes back open, though my hands stay firmly shut over my ears. "What did you do to me?"
"I didn't do anything. Though, it does confirm my theories." Her muffled voice is soothing. She doesn't look at all frightened by me, only in awe. "Only someone affected by the creature is repeled by the name. You're cursed, Draco. And if you continue down the path you walk without intervention…"
"What?" I ask. "What will happen to me?"
"You'll become a Dyb… one of them. For good. Unhinged. A restless spirit out for revenge. There will be no retrieving your soul."
Is there a soul to save at all, in any case? I can hardly see the appeal. "I… you're wrong." I shake my head. "I'm not cursed. I'm damaged. Mental. You should be calling St. Mungos to lock me up, not... " Her nose brushes against mine. "What are you doing?" I now notice there are tears in her eyes.
"Stop pushing me away. I know what I'm talking about. My entire career is based off of the knowledge of magical creatures. Do you think I'd confront you if I thought saving you was futile? Do you really think I'd risk my career on a hopeless cause?"
"I've killed people, Granger."
"I know."
"You should be frightened of me."
"I know."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I won't give up on you." Her lips brush dangerously against mine. "I can save you."
Save me? "And who says I want to be saved?"
"Stop it. Of course you do. Why else would you ask for my help?"
Does she not understand? This… Dybbuk or not, it doesn't matter. If I'm cursed, or mentally conditioned, it makes no difference. I've killed. Murdered. I'm beyond her forgiveness, and she needs to understand it.
"Get off me."
"No."
"I said get off me." I dig my fingers into the back of her hair and tug her head back, forcing her to see me for what I am. "There is no saving me, Granger. I'm not one of your little projects. I'm broken, and there's no fixing me. And if you don't get out of here right now, I'll break you, too."
"You won't hurt me," she whispers, stark still in my lap. There's a challenge in her eyes. "This is part of the Dybbuk curse."
"Stop saying that word!" I growl as pain floods inside my mind.
"Look at me, Draco!" she shouts back at me, and it startles me to the point where I release her hair and am transfixed in her stare. "I'm not going anywhere, do you hear? I'm going to see you through this. We can lift this curse."
I can feel the prickle in the back of my brain, and I'm conflicted. Every fiber of my soul is screaming to accept her help, but there's a layer of numbness inside me that won't let my feelings break through. "I like the way I am, Hermione. I don't want to be changed." And even as I say it, I'm not sure if I believe it. "Besides," I coil one of her chestnut curls around my finger and tug, "I think the you before me is smitten by who I already am."
"I-"
"-Are you really going to deny it?" My eyes bore into hers, demanding her attention. "If you've known what I am -what I do for so long, and yet you'd be willing to go out on dates with me and let me fuck you over my work desk," I emphasize my point by gyrating my hips against hers, "then I say you like me just the way I am."
Her eyes flutter closed half a moment, but she catches herself, brings them back open, and stares stubbornly at me. "I'm here to help you. The more you let the darkness in, the more it will consume your soul."
"Would a good person want to tie you up and shove a cock down your throat just to shut you up?"
She glares evenly at me. "You don't mean that."
"That's the thing." I can already sense my patience wavering. "I really, really do." Curling my arms around her waist, I draw her close to me, pressing our bodies against each other just before I smash my lips against hers. Never in my life did I imagine my darkest secret would be one I could share with the one person I cared about. It's liberating. Freeing. She thinks she can save me... ha. She'll try. But if she likes me as I am now, what's to say she couldn't join me over here in the darkness? She wants to see the good in me? All I want to do is show her how very bad I can be.
It's only going to get darker from here on out, so I suggest preparing yourself. More answers on what a Dybbuk is next chapter. I didn't make it- it really is a lore.
~A.
- 11
- 12
- 13
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