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
- 14
- 15
- 16
Squirm has been nominated for a Dramione award for "Best WIP" (work in progress) -please, if you'd like to vote for it, go to:
goo .gl/ forms/ SzBPZ9IR8CKHOVbV2 (just take out the spaces)
I'm up against some very amazing works, and feel very honored (and a little out of place) to be nominated for this dark work, but I will say this: I've poured my darker parts of my soul into this, and I think it shines through in the most connecting of ways. There is a darkness in all of us. What we do with it, and if we let it control us, is what makes up who we are. We are not our darkness. We are our decisions.
~A.
Somehow, I've ended up back in Knockturn Alley, looking for something -someone to sate my appetite. This morning, I woke up next to the woman of my dreams: someone who cares about my well being, even when I know damn well I'm beyond redemption. Now, I've gotten my way, and I couldn't feel worse. I thought being in control was supposed to make me feel powerful, but it's only added to my stress and built a layer of regret.
I thought I was empty…
So what are all of these emotions? How do I control any of them?
I need…. I need to…
"Knock it off, Verl."
"Ah, come on. You know I'm only playin' with you."
It's as if something clicks within my subconscious, and I turn towards the conversation, spotting a younger couple in the darkness of an alley just to the side of Borgin and Burkes. The girl is pressed up against a wall by the boy, and he's running his hands down the side of her skirt, pensive.
"Seriously," she says, jerking out of his reach. "We shouldn't even be here. I'm going to find Jewel and Roman."
"Don't be like that, Bessie. I only want a peek-"
SMACK.
"Touch me again and I'll yell rape." Bessie grabs up her holiday bags and scurries out of the alley, nearly running smack dab into me. "Er… sorry, Mister."
I give a compliant nod, allowing her the freedom of leaving Knockturn Alley in one piece. Verl doesn't take notice of me as he kicks the wall and curses under his breath. He runs a shaky hand through his hair, void of remorse. The only thing I see in his eyes is what I see when I look in the mirror; a need to hurt, and his victim has just left before he's been given an opportunity. He can't be more than seventeen, freshly graduated from Hogwarts if I had to guess. He's young… has all of the opportunity in the world to get his life together, and yet…
My feet stalk over to the alleyway, and his eyes turn up toward me in confusion.
"Er… yeah, mate. Can I help you?"
With a heavy jerk, I grab him by the coat collar and drag him deeper into the alley, away from prying eyes.
"Oi! No need to get rough! I've got money!"
"Shut up," I demand, slamming him up against the wall. There's a stinging in my chest I know won't go away without getting my fix. One look into the sod's eyes and I see: he's made for my list. "Verl, is it?"
"I-I…"
"I bet you think you're hot shite, don't you? Bet that wasn't the first time you've tried to take advantage of someone."
"Whoa. Mate. You got the wrong impression-"
I jerk him forward and then back, smacking his head into the bricks behind him. "I've got the right impression. And don't call me 'mate.'" My fingers go to his throat, latching on like a vice. I feel so far away from the situation, looking at it from the inside but having no control over my actions. This time, it feels different. It feels… tainted, somehow. I see the fear in his eyes, but it doesn't stir what it should from me.
This man, if left unchecked, will continue on to be some sort of rapist. I've seen his kind before, skirting around in the sleazy pubs I like so well. They have a deadness in their eyes… like goat eyes. Void of life, void of a conscience.
But as my fingers grip his throat tighter, and I begin to choke the life out of him, I can't help but feel… wrong.
Something is so wrong.
I close my eyes, choking him harder. It's when I realize what is wrong: Hermione's face is the only thing I can see behind my eyelids. She wears a look of disappointment -one which only grows when I hear Verl's strangled cry.
Kill him.
I can't.
My eyes come back open, watching as Verl turns red under my grip. I can see it -he's on the verge of no return. Just a little longer, and his life will be a fleeting memory of dear Bessie and all the other woman he's molested. Only a bit more…
Stop it.
My fingers release involuntarily, and I back away from him as Verl struggles for breath.I have no idea what's come over me, but I can't finish the the Hell has happened to me? His left eye holds a few broken blood vessels, making my mark known to him. Good. I hope it serves as a reminder.
I could obliviate him, but then the message wouldn't sink through.
"Get out of my sight," I tell him. "Mention this to anyone or try anything like what you did to that girl again, and you'll be dead before you can say 'mate.' Got it?"
Verl nods vigorously, running his hands over the bruised skin of his neck. "Y-yeah. G-g-got it." And then he veers past me, making a B line for the more lit parts of Knockturn.
I stare down at my fingers, still curled in the shape to take his life. Something in me has changed.
What has Hermione Granger done to me?
Two days. It's been two bloody days since we've spoken. I've been at the mercy of my own self control, nervous and agitated.
I'm not empty anymore. Every step fills me up with something new and yet sold familiar: anger. More than that, it's a fuming, volcanic fury ready to erupt at any moment. I'm not sure why I'm so angry, but I know it's consuming every resolve I have to go home after work and ruminate over the fact Hermione and I don't see eye to eye on things. I've been so 'good' lately, I thought, perhaps, her therapy was working but…
No. All I want to do is hurt. Someone. Something. I want to break glasses and throw knives and gut a stomach open with my bare hands. How dare she try to keep me like I'm some sort of creature to add to her menagerie? How dare she think she can control what I say, what I do, where I go… How dare she keep me from killing?
She was only trying to look after you…
Lies! Giving out commands telling me my actions won't be tolerated? That's what an owner says to a dog before kicking it. And now to ignore me!
She's done nothing but care for you and put up with your shit.
Oh, please. She's far too up my arse to see I'm no good for her. Really, what traumatic events has she undergone to seek comfort in my arms? In a murderer's arms…
Well, there was the War.
Yes, there was that. It affected us all, to some extent. I remember my aunt laughing shrilly as she carved into Hermione's arm. I remember the guilt, the frustration I felt in that moment. I hid in my room and smothered my face in a pillow to muffle the sound. And now, I'm the one carving people up… I'm the one making them scream. And I can't even do that properly now...
Damn this Dybbuk.
Damn it, indeed.
I give a loud sigh as I pace my study, coming down from my anger. My hands fidget with the buttons on my shirt, looping and unlooping them in systematic movements. I should be leaving, off to a pub to get my fill of whiskey and loose women and victims… so, why haven't I? What's holding me back from doing any of it? What's this tightening in my chest?
It's called a conscience.
Preposterous. I haven't had one of those in…
My head jerks up. I'm overcome by a theory, and I dash across the floor to my desk, hands still wobbling from the adrenaline. "Where is it? Where is- aha!" I find the book hidden under a pile of work notes I brought home with me. 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.' There's already a bookmark on the page I need, and I read the words aloud, mind churning as I soak in the definition. "A Dybbuk-" I nearly drop the book from the excruciating, stabbing pain in both my ears, but I press on, "is a malicious possessing spirit believed to be the dislocated soul of a person who has passed on... " Dead. It means dead.
After hearing Hermione go on and on about the spirit, I assumed it was some ancient entity. But it could be anyone, couldn't it? Anyone who died. Anyone who left with unfinished business and anger in their hearts. And what better time to harbor unsatisfied souls than the Second War? Particularly, the Battle of means, if the spirit who has cursed my soul has unfinished business…
Knock, knock, knock. Silence. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNO-
"Goodness, Draco! It's two in the-" Hermione jerks her door open to see me this time standing not in blood but rainwater, soaked head to toe. "-morning." She stares, bewildered, at me for some time, watching me as I shake. "Are you alright?"
"Depends on your definition," I reply, unsure if I should move, or stay put, or go the fuck on, or come the fuck in. Frustrated, I blurt out, "You're in my head."
"Actually, I'm in my doorway."
"No. I mean… I can't get you out of my head." I begin to pace, hands tucked behind my back to hide the spasms in my fingers. "I left you, and I had every intention of killing after that. I had him -in my grasp-" my hand comes out in front of me, imitating my strangulation of Verl.
"Did you?" she whispers.
My hand falls to my side. "I couldn't. You… you're in my head."
Relief washes over her face, and she clears her throat. "And?"
"And?"
"And you're sorry for what you said?"
"You can't be serious right now." I turn toward her, eyebrows drawn together. "I tell you I managed to stop myself from killing someone, and you still want an apology?"
She straightens her shoulders and says, very serious, "Yes."
I raise an eyebrow, perplexed at her boldness. Slowly, I cross the distance between us, until we're but a foot from each other.
"Admit it, Draco," she says. "You're not empty inside. You only wish you were."
"What would you know of it?" I sneer, hearing the uneasy edge in my tone.
"If you're empty, you don't have to hold yourself accountable. But that's exactly what your curse wants from you. The more you embrace your emotions, the closer you'll become to who you once were. But the first step is admittance. So… yes. I want you to apologize. I want you to face your demons head on and own up to your mistakes."
Wow. Even now, at two in the morning, she's still working. "I'm not one of your monsters."
"Not if you admit what you did wrong. If you keep running from your emotions, you will become one. And if you do," there's a sternness in her voice, "I'll be forced to put you down myself."
My throat tightens. "Promise?"
"If I feel you're beyond saving, yes. I promise."
A month ago, I'd have been amused at her for even thinking she could. I'd have taunted her, twisted her words around and shoved some reality down her throat. Now, I cling to those words like a buoy as if they're my saving grace.
"I was wrong," I admit, though it leaves a foul taste on my tongue, "I… I need your help."
"And you're not empty."
"No… I'm not."
Her hand slips into mine, and I feel its tug as she guides me inside. "Hello, Draco. It's nice to see the real you, for once."
A vote for me would make my heart sing, but vote from your heart and who you thinks deserves to win, whomever that may be.
Good luck to those in the Winter Dramione Awards!
~A.
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- 16
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Squirm