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Nightmares	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 12275 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from this writing.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
START HERE for the final group of chapters!

“I love you”
Hermione kissed Ron goodbye, and Apparated to her ‘appointment’. She’d been going nearly daily to Malfoy Manor for a week and a half now, and lying to her friends and family still hadn’t gotten any easier. Her gut still wrenched with guilt as she crossed the threshold of the Manor, and followed the elf up the stairs to her and Draco’s usual meeting place.
He stood on the opposite side of the desk, already pulling memories out, and placing them in the pensieve. Hermione marched wordlessly to the desk, and waited for him to finish, before she dived right in, not bothering to wait for him. He usually joined her, but once or twice, he’d opted to let her watch alone, for whatever reason. She suspected he watched the scenes from above, in private, where she couldn’t see his reaction to watching himself supposedly fall in love with her. She’d kept telling herself it wasn’t possible that he actually cared for her, that his infatuation was just the result of isolation and the need to support his growing child.
He’d not spoken of his feelings for her since his confession, and she’d not asked, preferring to ignore it, the same way she ignored the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, the way her knickers would get damp when he came too close to her, or the way his eyes were sometimes red-rimmed from insomnia, drinking, or sobbing. She ignored a lot, but there was so much that she was forced to face. Like the truth he’d told her about how she’d shoved the comb at him, and sat down, wordlessly demanding he brush her hair after a bath. She couldn’t ignore the friendly way that they slept in the bed together now in the memories, after she’d needled him into taking half of his enormous mattress. She couldn’t stop staring at the way the memory of the blond seemed to get more lively, and more gaunt every day. As though his will to keep her alive was literally draining his own life force.
She watched the scene form around her, the usual bedroom, herself sleeping soundly as Draco entered, and snapped the door quietly shut. She’d been keeping track of the days, sometimes watching more than one in a single sitting, and felt her stomach churn with guilt once more as she watched the blond slip beneath the sheets on his side of the bed, and try to get comfortable without waking her. It didn’t work.
“Malfoy? You’re back?” Her sleep-heavy voice mumbled from under the covers, her body shifting under the blankets to see him.
“I am. Sorry I disturbed you. Go back to sleep, pet.” He said soothingly, and for once, the memory girl didn’t get upset.
“You’re shaking. Are you alright?” She’d sat up, and was leaning toward the blond, a worried look on her face visible through the darkness. Hermione walked closer, the better to see and hear what was happening in the memory.
“Fine.” The word was curt, and he rolled away, facing the door, and hiding his expression from the concerned captive. The observing Hermione could clearly see his face, his brows pulled together, his eyes wide, fearful.
“You’re not fine.” The memory tugged at his arm, and forced him to face her once again, where she was met with a glare. “What happened, why were you gone so long?”
“I-” His mean expression froze, his words cut off in whatever he was planning to say as he looked up at her distressed face. “I just lied to the Dark Lord.”
Hermione gasped, and touched his face gently, as if checking for any signs of damage. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. I think I got away with it. I hope I did.” His honesty made the standing woman reel, the way their eyes were meeting in the dark, darting back and forth, each gauging the other. She could feel the tension that was building, until finally, Malfoy broke it. “ I told him you were broken, and would do anything I ordered you to, without the Imperius. He seemed pleased with that, but wanted proof, so I gave him a few addresses he already knew, and said they were information I’d managed to get from you. He’s sending a few men to double check them, but I imagine your friends are long-gone. He also doesn’t know that I’ve been sending owls to Hogwarts, or I’d be dead, or worse already.”
“Owls?” Hermione, who’d been shuffling back underneath the blankets sat back upright, and stared down at him with interest.
“Yes. You said, for me to be a better father than mine was, I should start by helping bring an end to this war, so I’m doing what I can. A non-descript owl, with coded messages, sent right under the noses of Snape and the Carrows, because it bears the Malfoy seal. I’ve been delivering what information I can on the Dark Lord’s plans to McGonagall.”
“You-” Her eyes were wide with astonishment, and she was looking at him with something Hermione couldn’t recall ever looking at Malfoy with before. Respect. “You’ve been feeding information to the Order? For how long?”
“Two weeks. I sent the first letter the day after I told you about the pregnancy. Simple stuff, not even bearing the Malfoy crest, just a letter from an unnamed student, explaining that I had assignments to make up, and would be maintaining contact until my grades improved. Lots of hints and rubbish essay answers meant to bore the reader, and catch the attention of anyone from the Order. She only responded once, not with her name or anything, but her handwriting is unmistakable. She kept up the ruse of student-teacher conversation, and gave me a discreet address to attach to my letters so the owls can get them to her without anyone being the wiser who they’re actually addressed to, in case they’re read.”
“Well that’s… Incredibly brave of you.” Hermione breathed, lying on her back, and staring in awe at the ceiling.
“Or incredibly stupid. I’m not certain yet. I don’t even know if I’m helping. All I know for certain is that I’m putting both of us in insane amount of danger, and risking the life of our child by playing the turncoat.” He sounded angry with himself, and Hermione watched as her duplicate stared at him for a minute, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“If You-Know-Who wins this war, my life, and the life of our child are as good as forfeit anyway.” She whispered. His eyes darted back to her, and they simply stared at each other for a long moment.
“I’ll protect you. Both of you. I swear.” His voice was solemn, his face serious, and Hermione held her breath as his hand stretched across the distance between them, and settled over her flat stomach, resting his palm just above her womb. They lay like that for a moment, connected by one simple touch and a few words, and then his eyes closed, and the memory faded to black, leaving Hermione standing alone, and confused for a few seconds before the next portion faded in.
The blackness surrounding her lightened slowly, leaving her standing once again in the room, where the memories of herself and Malfoy were still lying in the bed, his arm still stretched out, and to her surprise, she saw that while sleeping, they’d cuddled up to one another, his face was buried in the back of her hair, his arm wrapped around her waist over the blankets, and their legs bent together at the exact same angle.
She watched as the memory of Malfoy stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and his face scrunched in confusion as he looked down at the woman curled up beside him. He stared silently at her for several minutes, and then laid his head gently back next to hers, and slowly lifted his arm from her waist, to stroke a few curls back from her face, tucking them behind her ear. He closed his eyes, placed his arm back over her side, and the memory faded out once more as he fell back asleep.
Hermione felt like throwing up as small snippets of feeling washed over her. Warmth, comfort, and a tingling in her scalp. She could practically feel his fingers brushing her hair back, the weight of his arm settling over her waist, the gentle squeeze of his fingers over her stomach, possessive, and protective. The warmth spread, flooding her belly, and seeping into her knickers. She licked her lips nervously as the next memory came into focus, her own memories of the incident swirling around in her head as she watched Draco’s side of events. She could hear her own voice whispering as the blond stirred from slumber once again.
“It’s not right… He raped you…”
Draco sat up and looked around, his eyes worried, until they landed on the closed lavatory door.
“ It’s just that you’ve been alone with him for a few weeks now… That’s it…”
He rolled from the bed, and walked to the door, knocking gently, and calling through it. “Granger, you in there?”
“But you didn’t feel this way when you were alone with Harry and Ron…:”
“I’m just fine, Malfoy.” Her own voice called through the door, sounding not quite right to her ears. Slightly distressed, if anything.
“That’s because they’re your best friends. Draco was nothing but pure emotion to you. The isolation is trying to trick you into thinking your hate is something it’s not…”
“Are you sure? You sound… upset.” Malfoy tried the door handle, but it was locked, rattling uselessly in his hand.
“I’m fine! Just… A bit of morning sickness.” She lied, the internal debate she was having with herself still ongoing in Hermione’s memories. She could see her own face swimming before her eyes, and she knew that on the other side of the door, she was standing in front of a mirror, hands gripping the sink, a horrified expression on her face.
“He’s worried about me, that’s got to count for something… No, he’s worried about his genetics, that’s all.” Her hand gripped her stomach, but she let go swiftly, as though she’d been burned, the feeling too similar to how Draco’s hand had felt on her last night. She’d been awake since then, hating her response to him, arguing back and forth whether it was real or not, worrying about her sanity.
“It’s too early for morning sickness, Granger. Just open the door?” He sounded a bit peeved, his face in the memory scrunched with concern.
“Go away! I just want a bit of privacy, that’s all.” Her voice wavered through the door, her eyes tearing up as she heard the doorknob rattle once more.
“Granger, open this door.” His voice held steel, and she heard her own sniffles through the wood, and in her mind. He was going to open the door one way or another, she just didn’t know it at the time.
“Go away!”
“He’ll keep the baby safe, but what about after it’s born? What will he do then? Will he try to keep me from it? Will he try to get full custody? Damn! I need to research the wizarding laws regarding pureblood heirs, and rape pregnancies!”
“Alohomora!” Draco magicked the door open, and stared at the sight before him.
Hermione was collapsed on the ground in front of the sink, tears streaming down her face, arms clenched around her stomach, face ashen with red splotches as she shrank into the porcelain stand, away from the approaching Malfoy.
“Granger, are you alright? Is something wrong? Does it hurt?” He was kneeling next to her, his arms reaching out, one hand resting over her arm before she shook him off, and pushed him away.
“No! It's fine! Just… leave me alone.” She was glaring daggers at him, and he started at her a minute, confused.
“Is this about last night?” He asked, leaning back, staring at her incredulously. “Because YOU curled into ME. I didn't force you to sleep next to me, Granger.” he sounded angry, and Hermione saw her own face twist with rage.
“No! This is about you not leaving me alone, Malfoy! How hard is it to just do as you're asked? Just. Go. Away!” She shouted at him, making him flinch back. He hissed at her, and waved his wand, settling a shimmering barrier around the echoing walls.
“Shh! If someone hears you shouting, they might get suspicious!”
“So, what? You'd probably enjoy the excuse to rape me again!” She accused, her eyes glittering meanly. He stared at her in shock for a moment, his face transforming to fury slowly as their eyes stayed locked.
She almost expected the hand that was gripping his wand with white knuckles to swing up and hex her, but instead, Malfoy stood, and strode from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as he left. Hermione was pulled into darkness once more, but she could nearly hear the slamming of his bedroom door as he left her completely alone in the memory.
“What was that really about, Granger?”
She jumped a foot in the air at the soft voice that came from behind her.
“Malfoy! I didn't realize you were here.” She stammered, clutching her heart as he lifted a single brow at her fright.
“Of course not, you were entirely focused on the memory. What did you remember?” He asked, his eyes piercing as he stared her down.
“I… I was worried you were going to try keeping me from it, once it was born…” She said, unable to meet his eyes as she recalled the warmth that had flooded her body at his touch. He nodded, and let his eyes wander to the room that once again surrounded them. She was slumped at the desk, her face resting on the pages of a book as Malfoy walked through the door. He paused, taking in the sight of the unconscious woman, and his face filled with sadness, and a trace of leftover anger as he stared at her. After a few moments of this, he sighed, and walked to her side, touching her shoulder gently.
“Granger. You should go to bed.”
She stirred only a little, and then was still, soundly asleep despite his shaking.
He sighed again, and bent, hooking an arm under her legs, and the other around her ribs, lifting her more easily from the chair than she'd have expected of his slim form. The watching pair could only stare at their counterparts as he placed her in bed, tucked her in, and took her place at the desk, looking over what she'd been reading. Hermione tiptoed closer, to see the words on the page over the memory’s shoulder, and saw that she must have had Dippy bring her a book on pureblood traditional marriage and birthing laws. She'd fallen asleep on a rather boring page about the laws of inheritance and lineage purity.
“Why were you reading that?” The Draco standing behind her asked, as the one at the desk pulled a book on childbirth toward himself.
“I was looking for any laws that might support my fears. I wanted to be prepared if you tried to kidnap my child.” She answered matter of factly. He shrugged, and the memory fast forwarded, the windows lightening, the girl in the bed stirring awake, and the man reading staring pointedly at the pages of his book as she awoke.
“Malfoy?” her sleep-thickened voice asked as she sat up. She was unceremoniously ignored. She frowned, and rubbed her eyes. “You were gone for two days. What were you doing?”
Again, she was ignored. Her face flushed with irritation, and she huffed, and rolled from the bed, stalking into the bathroom without another word. When the door clicked shut. Malfoy snuck a glance to make sure she was out of sight, and let his shoulders droop, before he stood, and slipped into the bed, still keeping to his own side. The memory swirled to black as he passed out, and reformed a half a second later as the door to the bathroom banged open, and then was thrown shut once more, an angry, damp-haired witch looking away from him in the bed, to grab her comb, sit down in a plush chair, and begin yanking angrily at her curls.
The now awake Malfoy stared balefully at her a moment, his glare piercing, before he heaved a deep sigh of suffering, rolled from the bed, and walked over to her, holding his hand out for the comb. They both froze for a moment, their eyes meeting, before Hermione turned away, slapping the handle into the waiting palm. The dark circles under his eyes seemed nearly indigo against his pale skin, and the bloodshot color seemed to be more bloody than white. If Hermione hadn’t seen him breathing, known how warm he was to the touch, she might have suspected the black clad figure to be a spectre, come to haunt the poor trapped girl.
He began gently brushing her hair out, his fingers sifting through the wet mas as he went, alighting on her scalp to turn her head from side to side, all the while her face twisted with discomfort unrelated to her scalp.
“Malfoy, I- I’m sorry about what I said.” She finally managed to stammer, just as he was leaning to set the comb down. He paused, his hand outstretched for a moment, before he pulled it in, and continued brushing her already tangle-free hair.
“Why are you sorry? It’s probably true.” His voice held venom that his expression lacked, and the sitting Hermione huffed in disagreement.
“I was just emotional, and lashing out. I… I know you don’t actually enjoy this any more than I do, and that you were just trying to help. I- I forgive you for what you did.”
His hands froze, still in her hair, and he stared down at her head for several moments, his chest barely rising and falling with breath, his eyes unblinking, as though waiting for the other shoe to fall.
“Thank you.” He finally breathed, running the comb once more through her hair, before setting it aside. “Don’t touch it.” He ordered, as usual, as she turned to face him.
“You look awful, you should go back to bed.” She said, a trace of worry in her voice as she looked him over. He shrugged, and shuffled back to the behemoth of a mattress, flopping down on it, and closing his eyes. Hermione watched him for a moment, before she stood, grabbed a book from the desk, and sat on the bed across from him, leaning against the pillows, and settling in to read.
They stayed in silence for a few moments, and Hermione only knew Draco wasn’t asleep because of the ongoing memory, the quiet breathing and occasional turning pages soothing, and restful.
“Granger…”
Her head snapped up from her book, and she looked over at him, a bit startled that he was still awake.
“I thought you were asleep…” She stated, a bit redundantly, her surprised face giving that exact thought away.
“It’s difficult to fall asleep.” He shrugged, and his eyes swept over her, his tongue wetting his lips as he gathered his courage to say something. “Could I… Could I lay my head on your lap?”
She hesitated, thinking it over, staring at the dark circles under his eyes, the tired pull of his brows.
“Sure. Just don’t wiggle about too much, I’m trying to read.” She agreed, leaning a bit farther back to give him the space, and turning her eyes once again to her book. He sat up, and shifted towards her, slowly leaning down, until his cheek was pressed into her thighs, his shoulder snug against her hip. Her eyes stayed on her book, and his closed, but the memory kept going, giving evidence to his lack of sleep to those watching.
“Why did you want to do that?” Hermione asked, turning to look at the onlooking blond.
“It was comfortable, and helped keep me resolved to save your life.” He said bluntly with a carefree shrug of one shoulder as the memory finally faded out as he fell asleep on her. She didn’t have to ask why he was having trouble sleeping, remembering her own time on the run, through the woods. She couldn’t imagine being as close to Voldemort as he’d been, having him in the same house, constantly, and be actively betraying him. He must’ve been one step away from a heart attack for weeks.
The memory faded back in and she saw a strange lump on the bed, which took her a few moments to figure out. They were tangled together, his head was still on her lap, but he was on his back, her head lying on his chest, her whole torso curled around him, her feet tucked underneath herself. One of her hands was resting in his hair, and one of his was laying across her knee, above his head. He was blinking slowly awake, his eyes quickly finding the unconscious witch on his chest, and he winced as he brought his arm back down, his muscles obviously sore from the position. After flexing his fingers a few times, he let them slowly drift to her hair, and touched the drying spirals of chestnut. He was staring at her with an emotional expression, and Hermione realized that he was beginning to care for her. She looked at the current Malfoy heir and took in his shuffling feet, his averted gaze, and bright red cheeks, and realized that he was embarrassed by what she was seeing him do. She looked back just in time to see the memory’s lips move, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She frowned, and waved her wand, dragging the images backward, and stepping closer as his lips parted to speak again. Even standing right next to the bed, she couldn’t make out what he was saying, so she set the dream back a few moments once more, and leaned in, nearly pressing her ear to his face to hear the whisper of breath that carried the words not even an inch past his lips.
“I love you.”
She jerked back, eyes wide, watching as her unknowing past slept soundly through his confession, and turned to the embarrassed blond who watched his own fall into madness.
“Well, obviously you didn’t mean it. You were just emotional from being constantly stressed, and, and… Stockholm syndrome or something.” She babbled, meeting his silvery gaze with panicked defiance, trying her best not to think of the very same confession he’d offered recently. He couldn’t have meant it. They’d only been trapped together for a few short weeks, not nearly long enough to form a proper love.
“I meant it. I’d fancied you for years, you know. And then this, believing that you were going to be the mother of my child, the simplicity of sharing a room, the way you made me want to be a better man…” He gestured to the way they were lying together on the bed, comfortable, despite their past, and then sighed. “It was stressful, yes, but… Being in that room with you was like a dream. An escape from the nightmare of reality. The stupid schoolboy who was terrified of anyone finding out he wanted you was gone, and I fell. Hard.” His cheeks were crimson as he spoke, and Hermione felt her own face blazing in response. “Why do you think I drink so much now? I didn’t just lose a child when you miscarried. I lost the woman I cared about enough to risk my own selfish skin for. I lost a better family than the one I was born with, and all you lost were your memories.”
She watched as his eyes reddened with his words, sparkling with unshed tears, his face twisting in pain, but before the tears could fall, he waved his wand, pulling himself out of the Pensieve, leaving her alone in the room with the ghosts that she couldn’t recall. She looked back to the scene feeling hollow, a gaping sympathetic hole where her heart had been. Two weeks was too short to form a real attachment… Unless he’d started it with an already unrequited infatuation. She knew from the last scene that her own memory was starting to feel SOMETHING. Maybe not love, but definitely a warmth of comfort when he was around. And his words rang in her head over and over again as she watched her own eyes flutter open, and she looked at him, stroking her hair, and smiled sleepily.
Family.
Love.
He was thinking those things when he looked at her, seeing her as more than a captive broodmare, and her gentle smile up at him was obviously more friendly than it should have been. Another flood of emotion ran through her, and the images swam before her, the obliviation no match for the emotional trigger of the memories.
She was staring into his silver eyes, marveling at the color, so clear, so sharp, even in the darkness, and looking at the rest of his face. He looked slightly better rested, but his hair was mussed, and she didn’t think the shadows would ever leave his face, but the smile he returned made them disappear in the lightness of the moment. She could feel his hair under her hand, feel the gentle tug of him touching her own hair, feel his breath rising and falling under her cheek, and felt a pang of worry for him. He’d taken the dark mark, he’d joined the wrong side, and he’d raped her, more than once. But still, she worried. There was a strange innocence to him that she was terrified would be destroyed before the war came to an end. He’d been a cruel child, petty and vicious, but who had he had to guide him? Death Eaters, maniacs, fanatics, and racists. And still, he tried to salvage what he could, passing information along, keeping her safe from the rest of the cult, and determined that his child would not be raised the same. She admired him, hell, she’d almost say she trusted him. It was a slow growing thing, but it was there. And she could see something in his eyes. The same warmth that was spreading through her chest, and she couldn’t stop the stupid smile that stayed plastered to her face as she sat up, and stretched, suggesting that they sleep right-way on the bed, or risk being sore in the morning. As they shuffled around, tucking themselves in and lying their heads on pillows, Hermione’s foot stretched out, bumping his leg, and she stayed like that, just barely touching him with her toes, but it was enough. It was a comfort, and they fell quickly to sleep, leaving Hermione standing in the dark Pensieve, heart hammering with the remembered feelings, panic flooding her as she realized that so far, nothing Draco had told her had been a lie.
She pulled herself free of the magic, and straightened her back, staring down at the innocent-seeming swirl of white memories in the basin, unable to form words even as she saw him out of her peripheral, leaning in.
“You look shaken. There wasn’t much more to that memory, so… What did you remember, Granger?” His voice was almost smug, and entirely too hopeful. She backed away, into a chair, and collapsed into it, staring at the damning pool of memories.
“Nothing.” She lied, trying to make her hands stop shaking. He didn’t call her on her lie, simply sat and watched her for a few moments. Finally, he spoke, steepling his fingers together as if he was giving a lesson.
“You know, at the time, I didn’t realize it, but looking back through the Pensieve, I noticed something about that memory. You were looking at me the same way I was looking at you. It makes sense, I mean, if you know what happened in the next few days, before the miscarriage, but at the time, I couldn’t see it. I was so worried about making it out with all of us alive that I wasn’t paying enough attention to realize I wasn’t the only one developing feelings.”
“I wasn’t.” Hermione denied, glaring at him for daring to say it. She wouldn’t ask about what was about to happen. She wouldn’t let him know he’d gotten to her.
“You were. Even if you deny it, or don’t remember, you’ll see.” He nodded, watching her with a piercing gaze as she stood, and turned for the door.
“Hermione.” She froze, the sound of her name on his lips too familiar, too emotional. She closed her eyes, steadying herself for the worst before she turned to look at him.
“What?” She snapped, glaring as he pushed out of his chair, and came around the desk. He stepped right up to her, so close she could feel his gentle breath fanning across her collarbone. He stared into her chocolate colored eyes with his bright silver ones, all traces of his previous tears gone, leaving only the exhaustion and the hope.
“Who are you trying to convince?” He asked, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in the harsh set of her eyebrows, the thin line of her lips, her slightly quivering jaw.
“No one.” She whispered back, her voice cracking slightly over the lie.
“Is it working? Does lying to yourself make you want to actually go back to Weasley? Does it take away that pesky urge to kiss me?”
She wasn’t sure if there even WAS a right answer to his questions, so she just glowered, trying not to look at his lips. How had he known that she’d want to kiss him? That she hadn’t actually thought of Ron for hours, so enveloped in what was happening, or rather, what HAD happened between them, that she couldn’t even spare a thought for her boyfriend. She wanted to run away from Malfoy, but every day she saw proof of their growing connection, every day she reinforced that connection by showing up at his house to watch the memories of their time together, she wanted less to run back to the Burrow. She felt more and more like she was betraying Ron, that though nothing had happened, just her presence in Malfoy’s space was a betrayal of what they’d built in Malfoy’s absence. And the more she felt that what she and Ron had now was a betrayal of what she and Malfoy had shared.
She could see the hope in Malfoy’s eyes, knew that every day she avoided the truth, that every time she left, it was destroying him a little bit more. She knew that if Ron ever found out she’d been coming here, locking herself up alone with Draco Malfoy, letting him brush his knuckles across her hair in such a familiar fashion, it would destroy her relationship, and possibly even their friendship.
She pulled away from the gentle touch, and stalked from the office, feeling tears prick her eyes as she found her way out of the Manor, and stood on the stoop, unsure where she wanted to go, but positive that she had to leave, and didn’t want to face Ron just yet.
She Apparated to the first place that came to mind, entirely sure that it was a poor idea, and not finding much in her that cared to make a better choice.
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Nightmares