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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
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- 23
I've had a few of you ask if this has a HEA.
While I cannot answer, I can say this: It's going to get a Hell of a lot worse before anything gets better.
Thank you to everyone who gave me a large playlist from Facebook to work with when getting me in the mood for this chapter. There was one suggestion -Seven Devils by Florence+The Machine- that gave me chills. My goodness. It's perfection at its finest. Every suggestion was well worth the while, though.
And here. we. go.
~A.
"Irma Leopold."
The name, said from my lips, feels like dozens of razor blades slicing at my vocal chords. It's painful, to say the least, and I choke.
"Don't stop," Hermione encourages me, moving to stand beside me, her hands on my shoulders. I stay kneeled before the veil, physically shaking and mentally exhausted. The darkness inside scratches and drives its talons into my soul, ripping at me from the inside. Gods, it hurts so fucking much, but I press on, reading the next name on my list.
"Phius Gamp."
The whispers behind the veil grow louder, feeding me hisses and taunts I cannot understand.
"Keep going." Hermione's hands rub my tired shoulders, and my eyes fall half-closed, lost in the sensations.
I already know the next name. "George Bones." The veil's curtain whips back and forth. My ears are pierced with a shrill, high-pitched moan I can only describe as otherworldly. The words the souls trapped inside shout begin to solidify, but it's still unclear as to what is said. Again, I continue on, despite the mounting pain writhing inside me. Each name is like a new wound to my core. Name after name pours from my lips. "R-Rosy Doge… Thomas Ogden… shit! I can't!" I can't, it's too much! Every nerve feels like it's being singed with a hot poker.
"One more," says Hermione, soft and sure, "If you stop now, all of this will be for nothing. Don't let it win!"
"F-Floyd Stokke!"
A large gust of wind pushes the curtain forward, causing its frayed edges to whip in our direction. Then, the curtain stills.
"You've done it, Draco," Hermione murmurs.
But what have I done, exactly?
I gasp for breath, my ribcage tightening like it's being squeezed. Lightheaded as I am, I focus on the curtain, wondering what comes next.
"Hermione-"
"Shh."
The silence drags on, and the monster inside of me paces, back and forth, ready for a moment of my intermittent weakness. Until, with a loud, boisterous scream, voices chime out in unison, screaming-
Mur—er—Mu—der—rrrr—Mur—der—er—Murderer—!
My journal drops to my knees as my hands abandon it and clamp down my ears. "Make them stop!" I shout, desperate. "Stop them! Shite! I can't take it!"
"What are they saying, Draco?"
Mur-der-er— MU-DER-ER—
"I know I am!" I scream at The Veil. I jerk away from Hermione's grasp and angrily pick the book back up, rearing tit back. "I fucking know it! Tell me what's wrong with me! Tell me who's inside me!" I aim the book back behind my shoulder, ready to toss it into The Veil, but Hermione's fingers wrap around my wrist as she yells, "You mustn't!"
I don't want to exist. Anything would be better than this torture. Death would be a sweet release from my sins being put on display. Fuck, I'm so weak… I'm so fucking weak…
Mur-der-er— MU-DER-ER—MURDERER, MURDERER, MURDERER—
The vicious chants continue, echoing in my ear drums.
"Help me," I beg; I'm unsure if it's to Hermione, or the voices, or to the cosmos, or even my dark passenger. I just know I can't bear another moment of this pain.
The chanting stops.
A bitter laugh escapes my throat. Letting go of all resistance to throw the book, I say to Hermione, "They've stopped."
"What did they say?"
"Murderer." I set the book back down, eyeing the names on the pages. "It's all they said, over and over. Murderer."
"You're not the murderer. It's the soul inside of you."
"If it isn't me, who is it?" I ask, voice just above a whisper. I'm exhausted beyond compare, but I fight to keep my eyes trained on the tapestry. I'm suddenly so angry with wasting my time with these useless souls. "Is that all you can say?" I taunt, my voice growing louder. "Murderer!? Hmm? Well, come on, then!"
The wind picks back up, seeping from the curtain. A hoarse, guttural voice beckons me. Only the one, and it makes my sweat turn cold.
The wench thinks she can control me… control us. Such a pretty thing, isn't she, Malfoy? I bet she'd be even prettier with her blood spilled on the floor.
My eyes skitter over and glance up at Hermione. "I-"
Shut up. My mouth snaps shut.
"Draco?" she asks.
I get it. Really I do. Girly's got chops and a fine ass. Following around her skirt tails has been mighty fun, hasn't it?
That voice… I know that voice.
And you trust her. That's going to get you killed. Lucky you have me to deal with things like that.
It can't be… you're dead.
Kind of the point, isn't it? I appreciate you letting me tag along all these years. All the alcohol, and loose women, and never having to deal with the impotent slags who looked down on me for what I was. But what they didn't know, Malfoy-what they didn't understand was that I liked who I was. Sinking my teeth into people. Hearing the children scream. Oh, and did they ever-
"Gr-Gr-" I struggle to force the words out of my mouth, to warn Hermione.
Oh, no. Can't have you giving it away, can we? After all, we haven't made her bleed...
I glance down at the journal, my body stiff and unwilling to do as I tell it. It's as if someone has cut all the chords to my spinal system and rendered me useless. - Quickly, I try to reason it out in my mind, thinking of when I acquired this book… in the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts.
But you weren't dead yet.
Didn't have to be.
But the book called to me.
Called to you? The voice snorts. Nah, Malfoy. You're just a kleptomaniac. Wanting this thing was all you and your greedy little soul. It's how I got inside you so easily. And inside Hermione-
Don't say her name!
Ha, I'll say whatever I want to say.
But the inscription…
What? I can't have a soft side for poetry? -Ah, who am I kidding? Pretty, wasn't it? My mother wrote it the night before I killed her in her sleep.
"Draco?" Hermione calls my name, but she feels like a million miles away. I feel my mind slipping; he's taking control again, morphing my opinions and points of views to his own wolfish needs. I can't let it happen. You can't have her -I've already had her. Over and over and over again. Apparently, you don't get it. I'm not giving up this body so easily, now. It's young, full of life. I can kill so many more people while I'm here. Now, we've been real careful about who we've killed because you're a high profile, but if you don't shut up and sit down, things are going to get dicey. You get me, Malfoy? Dicey.
Hermione sits in front of me now, her hands on my cheeks and a determined look in her eye. "Did you hear it? Did you hear your Dybbuk?"
Fear fumbles my words into nothing, and I stare up at her, horrified. How can I begin to explain the monster inside of me? Where do I even start? It's worse than I ever thought possible.
Somewhere behind us, a door slams. "What the Hell, Hermione?"
Well, well. Lookie who decided to come and piss on our doorstep. Go on, Malfoy. Have a look. He just might make the list this time. My head whips around.
"Ron," Hermione growls, a slight edge to her voice, "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Weasley's face is so red it looks as if it's been submerged in boiling water. "What the bloody Hell is he doing here?"
"Have you been following me?" she seethes, her eyes glaring daggers at him as she massages my cheeks in gentle circles as she turns my face back to her, attempting to stir a reaction from me. But my body is anchored. I have no control, now; no say in what it does.
"I owled you last night-"
"I wasn't home, Ronald."
"I did that texty-thingy you taught me how to do-"
"My phone was dead, Ron! And you followed me here?"
"Technically," Weasley says, "I had you followed."
"That's not any better!" Hermione releases my face and stands. "How dare you!"
"I've been worried about you!" he shouts back. The itch, the passenger -he doesn't like the yelling. "You've been avoiding me, aren't home in the middle of the night, tell me there's a dangerous case you're working on but not to be worried!? And then you have the nerve to ask for my help pulling Ministry archives on things that could get us both locked away in Azkaban…!" His voice shakes, and his tone drops lower, more serious. "And then I find you down here, locked away with him." There's a pause. "It's him, isn't it? The dangerous case you're working on. He's the reason you're acting loonier than Luna Lovegood!"
"Ron, let me explain-"
"Fucking Merlin, 'Mione!"
There's a cold silence between them while I struggle to move my fingers. It's not 'Mione. It's Hermione… You're just going to let him come in like that? Turn you both in? Go away. Nah, he won't turn her in, will he? Just you. Once he sees that ledger in your hands, he's going to have enough to lock you away for life. And then he's going to fuck her- Stop it - fuck your girl like you didn't even exist. Is that what you want, Malfoy?
"Why are you even down here?" Weasley asks, softer this time. I can hear his feet echo around the hall as he approaches. He stops next to me and glances down. "What's wrong with him? Is he hexed?"
"Draco," Hermione says, and my eyes snap up to hers on someone else's command. "You found out who it was, didn't you? Give me a name. Give me a name and I can end all this. We can fix this. Together."
A name? Is it really that simple? Of course, it isn't. She doesn't know what she's talking about. She's too close to it all -maybe it was a good idea, you falling for such a young, fresh piece of flesh. We can use this. We can break her… over and over again.
"What'd you do, 'Mione? Obliviate him?" Weasley stares down at me in wonder. "Blimey, I've never seen him look so… well, I don't know what I'd call it, exactly."
"He's sick, Ronald," Hermione snaps. "He's been infected."
"Infected?" Blue eyes flicker back to The Veil behind him, and then Weasley turns his attention on me. That's when he notices it. The journal in my hand. Fuck. Fuck, indeed. What are you going to do, Malfoy? You going to keep fighting me? Or do you want to stop being a little pussy about this and let me take this body out for a walk? "Oi, Hermione. What's this?"
"Leave it-" she starts to move toward the journal, but Weasley is quicker and gathers it up in a flash, out of my useless fingertips.
"You said you were looking for something -is this it? Is this the…?" Weasley's eyes trail over the names on the page, and he pales exponentially. For a dumb bloke, he catches on quickly. "This is in Malfoy's handwriting. Isn't it?" He doesn't wait for a response. "It is. I'd remember this gaudy penmanship anywhere." He looks me dead in the eyes and crouches down, pushing the notebook in my face. "Why do you have this list, Malfoy? Why do you have a missing persons list in your possession?" His Auror hat is on, brimming with questions. "Did you steal it? What're you doing with-"
"That's quite enough, Ronald!" Hermione grabs the notebook out of his hand.
Weasley stands back up, towering over her like a daunting figurehead whose face resembles a moldy turnip. "You have ten seconds to explain it, Hermione, or I'm going to the Minister of Magic myself."
Ten seconds. You hear that, Malfoy? And I bet the shit can't even spell up to ten, so I'd hurry if I were you.
I'm not giving you control. Sod you.
"Alright," Hermione whispers, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. It touches a jealous, possessive nerve in my heart. Don't touch him, Hermione. Can't you see he's willing to turn you in for helping me? "You're right. When I told you I was looking for a dark object, this is it."
She told him about a dark object?
I think the better question is: why wouldn't she tell you about it unless she was working you the whole time?
Hermione wouldn't do that. She's trying to help me rid myself of you!
Or, she's been using you to further her research? Why bring Weasley into it unless she planned on coming clean, eventually? The answer is easy. Because she never cared about you. She wanted Weasley there to clean up the mess she's made once she's through with you.
You're wrong.
Look at her. Touching him. Touching him while she wears your bracelet. That's cold, Malfoy.
No... she wouldn't... she loves me. She wouldn't betray me. She loves... but who am I, compared to Weasley? Weasley, with no blood on his hands? Weasley, who can offer her a pure, untainted soul? Weasley... I can't believe I'm second best to a Weasley... I'm not. I'm better than him.
You feel it, don't you? That anger? That resentment? You must remember; it's the way you felt the day you let me in. You remember how betrayed you were that day. The day your family abandoned you in that cold, impressive Manor- she's going to leave you, just the way they left you. But I've been there for you, Malfoy. I've kept you safe. I've kept you alive. Feel that pain? But I can make it go away. I can make the pain go away. You'd like that, wouldn't you? -You want to risk winding up in Azkaban for some tasty pussy? You be my guest. I hope you've gotten your fill of living, Malfoy, because when you're rotting in that cell, you'll be begging to slit your own throat.
For years, there's been an itch in the back of my mind. I've fought it, tried to wrestle with it, even scratched at it in hope of relief. Today, I give in to the itch, letting it crawl up my brain and into my veins. I can't go to Azkaban. I won't let it happen. For too long, I've been fighting the shadow inside of me, but tonight I let it loose. I let the monster inside of me free from its cage and off its leash. Tonight, I am my monster, and my monster is me. We are two halves of a complete being, and we refuse to allow Hermione Granger to use us a moment longer.
There's a small fracture in my heart as I take one last look at the woman I love. I won't let her hurt me. I'll hurt her first. I'll fracture her in ways she can only imagine.
The darkness begins. Will Draco make it out of this? Let's find out.
A/N: I gave lots of hints as to who his Dybbuk is, but I can't speak his name just yet. There's a reason.
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