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Temporary	By : sabreenthequeen Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 25226 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

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Chapter
28: It Was Him

I
remained in his arms. Sobs were emitting from deep within my throat,
all the way from my heart, bubbling up. My body quaked from the
tremors, and my tearless eyes locked straight with the unseeing, cold
gray eyes before me: dead and hanging on the wall.

His
arms, which were wrapped protectively about my trembling form, his
lips which were against my cheek whispering words of comfort into my
ears, were frightening me. They conjured memories of those very
hands, though not controlled by the same mind, which hurt me. The
fear they instilled was causing me to panic.

I
shrugged away from him, yelling at him to leave me alone.

“Go
away!” I screamed, my throat dry and raspy. “Don’t
touch me.” My eyes were blazing in fear and in anger. The dead
man on the opposite side of the wall was forgotten. The fact that my
lover had come to rescue me was gone. I was enraged and frightened. I
thought Draco was the cause of my grief and I didn’t want his
vile, hurtful hands to touch me.

I
was trembling. My eyes darted about his body, clad in black robes. He
reached out for me. “Hermione! What’s wrong? It’s
me. It’s me, Draco.” He grabbed my hands. I was already
climbing off the bed, trying to escape from him. “It wasn’t
me who did it. It was Lucius. He’s dead now. He can’t
hurt you.” He pulled me into his arms and I remained stiff in
them. My brain had stopped functioning. I was confused and
devastated. Nothing made sense and my mind refused to think
logically.

“Get
away from me!” I yelled again. “Hands off!” I tore
away from his frantic embrace. I was scared again. Scared and
frightened.

“Hermione!
Think goddamn it! It’s
me. It’s me Draco. I
said I won’t ever hurt you. Use your head!”

“NO!”
I told him, trying to pry his hands off my upper arms. His hand was
holding them in a vice-like grip. With his other hand, in his sheer
frustration to get me to stop yelling, to get me to calm down and
think rationally, he slapped me. The impact had silenced my wails. It
had stopped my heart from beating. It had stopped my brain from
functioning…

Stopped,
but then it started up. And in that moment of lucidity, I did what
anyone would do, I cried.
Tears were unleashed, sobs echoed in the room, and I collapsed into
his arms.

“I’m
sorry, Hermione. I didn’t want to slap you, but I had to. It
wasn’t me. You know it wasn’t me. I killed him,”
his soothing voice continued to whisper to me. We sat upon the cursed
bed, trembling and crying.

“I
know,” I told him. “I know…”

And
for a while we just remained there, locked in each other’s
embrace. I was longing to touch him, to feel him for so long, and
life had been so cruel to me as to deny me that, as to make me
frightened of his touch.

This
Draco, my Draco, had
killed his father, was said to kill Muggles, and was a Death Eater.
He had changed, but even so, he was simply mine: My Draco who would
do anything to protect me.

Harry
and Ron trust him, and even by Snape’s words I could tell there
are truths hidden from me. Perhaps although this Draco had done the
Unforgivable, he was still my lover. And nothing would change that.
Nothing would change the fact that I trust him and that I love him.

“Let’s
get you out of this place,” he whispered to me, his cool lips
brushing against my temple. I nodded and buried my head deeper into
his chest and held him tighter. God, I missed him.

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We
entered his room in Malfoy Manor, via floo-powder. I had no desire to
look around me and see what was in there. I did, however, look at the
bed. The mattress was hard, but comfortable, the sheets not silk, but
cotton for comfort. The duvet was a magnificent forest green and it
felt homely.

Still
wrapped in the sheet that he put around me before leaving the
dreadful place where Lucius had taken me, he tucked me into his bed
and crawled inside beside me.

“We’ll
talk later,” he said, pulling me into his arms and snuggling me
into his body, “You need rest.” He still wore the black
outfit, but had taken off his robe. His arms were warm and
comforting. Now this was the body that I remembered. These were the
hands that belonged to my Draco.

I
shook my head, protesting. “I don’t want to sleep now,”
I told him, even though my eyes were drooping. “I want to know…
I have so much to ask you.”

“I
know,” he replied, his voice was breezy. “But we could
always talk later.”

But
his voice did not console me. I could tell he did not believe the
words he said himself. There was no telling when we could talk, or if
being in his arms for this brief moment would last. And I was
determined to know, desperate
even.

I
wasn’t the type of person to always know things last, but here
I was in his arms like a blind bat. I was sailing in treacherous
waters, and without knowing the cause of the peril, I would not sail
in peace.

“Why
did you become a Death Eater?”

There,
I asked it at last. A question plaguing my mind and heart for days,
ever since I saw the Mark on his arm. Ever since my life had taken a
turn deeply downhill and changed me forever.

“Because,
Hermione, I always wanted to.” His answer was so precise, so
smooth and innocent, yet deadly at the very same moment, that I was
silent.

He
always wanted to. It was such a
simple, but heart shattering answer. I wish I never asked.

“But
I never meant to do you any harm,” he told me, reaching out to
cup my cheek. “I love you,” he said sincerely, “and
you know what I’d do for you. I go against the world for your
safety. Not even mine, but yours.”

My
eyes became teary and I snuggled into deeply his arms. Moments of
silence ticked by, and I thought I would be content with this answer
of his, but it only made me what to know more. I broke away from, and
sat up.

“Why
do Harry and Ron trust you?” I asked him quickly.

He
sat up too and looked into my eyes. His gray eyes held mine and then
the connection broke when his gaze went down to his arm. He lifted up
the sleeve of his shirt and extended his hand towards me, palm up.
With his right hand his fingers lightly brushed over his arm, tracing
what seemed to be an outline of sorts.

My
eyes flickered up to his face. His brows were furrowed, his eyes
closed, and his jaw hard; he was in pain.

I
looked back down on his arm and in the spot his fingers had briefly
touched, my name burned bright blood red into his flesh. I stared in
horror and amazement. Soon the color retreated and died away, and
what remained was a light pink scar, which marred his perfect pale
skin.

“This
is why,” he said, wiping a way a hint of blood that trickled
from the ‘M’ in my name.

I
gasped and shook my head in denial. “You’re crazy. Crazy,
Draco...Why?”

I
knew what it was, what etching my name on his flesh meant. It was an
ancient spell, a bonding curse tied in with an oath of some sort.

“I
gave the Order a vow. I promised that I would never harm you or let
any harm be done to you. If I fail, the poison that was on the blade,
the blade that I used to write your name, would sink into my veins.”

I
trembled and my vision was becoming blurry.

“For
now the poison is suspended on the surface, magically. If I break my
word, I die. Simple as that.” His lips twitched to a smirk,
small and barely noticeable. “That’s why they trust me.”

“When’d
you do this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“They
very day I knew you were with him.”

“George?”

“Yes.”

I
was silent, processing his words, the information, but it didn’t
make sense. “Despite the fact I betrayed you?”

“You
cannot love him, and that’s all the consolation I need.”

I
furrowed my eyebrows; I didn’t expect that response.

“How
can you be so sure?”

He
shrugged his shoulders. “I just know.”

I
put my head in my hands. The room was getting darker now, and my head
was spinning. Suddenly, I remembered him—George. I remembered
how he kissed me, how he saved me. I remembered his hazel eyes and I
remembered his dimpled smile.

And
then I remembered his death and began to cry.

“What’s
wrong?”

“He
died because of me,” I heard my voice whisper hoarsely. My body
was shaking again and I realized I was cold. He pulled me into arms
and rocked me slowly. I never knew being in his arms could relax me
so much. It was as though his arms had the effect of calming down
every bit of worry and pain I felt. Soon my eyes were beginning to
close and I was getting ready to fall asleep. However, just when I
was drifting away into the land of sleep, content in his arms and
happy with his answers, I felt him go rigid.

I
pulled back slightly and looked at him, once again his eyes were
closed tightly in pain.

“What
happened, Draco? Are you okay?” I cupped his cheek and rubbed
his shoulder. I wondered what was wrong.

His
right hand clutched his left forearm tightly. “The Mark,”
he said. “Master is calling me. I have to go.”

“But
Draco—”

He
shook his head and got out of bed, grabbing his cloak and mask. “I
have to go now. You’ll be safe here. Just go to sleep, and I’ll
see you in the morning.” He kissed my forehead and walked
swiftly toward the French doors that led to the balcony. Summoning
his Darkwing, he was ready to depart.

I
got out of the bed and followed him there. I didn’t want him to
leave, but I had no choice. He had to go and that was final. I knew
better than to make him stay.

He
jumped over the railing and climbed on top of his broom. “Go to
sleep and close all the doors,” he told me. “Don’t
worry about me, I’ll be back soon.”

I
nodded my head.

“Wait,
Draco,” I called out, remembering another question I
desperately wanted to know the answer to. I raced off to the railing
and gripped the iron tightly. “Who took the pictures?”

“Which
ones?” he asked, his broom hovering up and down, getting ready
to zoom off into the distance.

“You
know… those pictures…”

“Oh,
those? I took them,” he said nonchalantly. He gave me a quick
smile, kissed my cheek, and told me to be careful. Before I knew it,
he took off. And I while I watched his body form a little speck in
the moon-lit sky, I twisted my ring around my finger, my mind spun
fast trying to piece everything together.

He
took the pictures.

Subconsciously,
I slipped my ring off my finger, letting the gold diamond ring fall
upon the marble floor. The sound of it rang through my ears,
vibrating inside my body. It went in circles until it finally
stopped. The diamond caught the light from the moon and was
reflecting it, sparkling and blurring my vision.

I
sank down onto the floor and held my bare hands in front of my face.
I didn’t know what emotions I felt or what to think of anymore.

I
thought about Draco writing his name on his arm like a madman. I
thought of how all the times he was so sweet and kind to me. I
remembered his tender lips, and his gentle hands.

And
then, that other side of Draco, the murderer, the one with the Dark
Mark sealed into his skin, binding him forever into the clutches of a
lunatic, the Death Eater.

I
envisioned the pictures. How everyone in Hogwarts, no, the entire
Wizarding world saw. I imagined how teachers felt. I worried about my
reputation. And when envisioning all those perverted boys watching me
do something so intimate, I never felt more disgusted. But what
sickened me more was that it was those very pictures that alerted
Lucius of my relationship with Draco in the first place, and the
cause of the death of my baby.

I
remembered all that and I didn’t know what my feelings for
Draco were at that moment. I loved him for showing me that I was
beautiful, that I could love, that I didn’t need to be a good
girl all the time.

But
I hated him for making my life so complicated. I hated him for being
the reason of all this pain.

I
couldn’t believe it at first, but it was true. He said it
himself. He took the pictures and made my happy life skyrocket down
straight to misery.

And
all this time, it wasn’t someone else who made it happen,

It was him.

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