Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Pound of Flesh	By : PennilynNovus Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 145349 -:- Recommendations : 9 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, and Warner Brothers. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm writing it for my own amusement (and y

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6: Pieces of the Puzzle

Standing next to the sofa, looking down at Draco, Hermione felt a twinge of guilt. He�d invited her back to his place, given her two amazing orgasms, and come to sit with her, trusting that she wouldn�t harm him, and she�d betrayed his trust. She knew he would not realize what had happened or how she had used his trust to her own ends, and that she was doing her job, but she still felt like a miserable excuse for a person.

Then she forced herself to look at his face. He was Draco Malfoy, and whether or not he had been coerced into all the Dark activities he�d participated in, he had still been an unforgiving little prick all through their school days.

But he�s not, now, a little voice inside her head pondered.

�Just because he can�t remember,� she told herself firmly.

She knelt next to the sofa, repositioning Draco so that he would be lying comfortably, and lightly touched his cheek. He did not stir; he appeared asleep with the hint of a relaxed smile on his lips. Forcing herself back to her feet, and back to her job, Hermione turned her attention to his flat. She jumped into her boots, zipping them as she glanced around, trying to decide where to start first.

Professional training kicked in, and she headed to the bedroom. She�d found that people normally kept their most private secrets in their bedrooms. If she was to find something in Draco�s flat to indicate any more about his past � who had delivered him to this life, how he had ended up in this apartment building, and whether anyone else from their world had been in contact with him � she figured she would find it somewhere in his bedroom.

She eased down the darkened hall toward the two doors at the end. One door stood open, and she reached inside, feeling the wall for a light switch.

The overhead light flicked on, revealing a rather Spartan bathroom. Hermione almost moved on, but she ventured into the tiny space, not wanting to leave any stone unturned. Two thin towels hung on a plastic rod next to the tub, which was enclosed with a clear shower curtain. She drew the curtain back, examining Draco�s cleaning implements, and found nothing out of the ordinary.

She carefully replaced the shower curtain and turned her attention to the sink and medicine cabinet. The sink area was cluttered with an electric razor, various skin care products, and small votive candles. So far, the only thing she�d discovered from her search was that Draco liked to primp, and she already knew that from her observations at the club.

The medicine cabinet yielded slightly more interesting results, however. In place of everyday cold medicine, bottles of herbal remedies lined the shelves. Hermione examined each one, reading the ingredients and finding several of them quite similar in recipe to healing potions. An orange prescription bottle stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of the contents of the cabinet.

Curious, Hermione reached out and plucked it off the shelf. She read the label, surprised to see that Draco was on medicine for depression. She noted the doctor�s name � S. Thomas � and quietly replaced the bottle.

Areas to explore in the bathroom exhausted, Hermione turned off the light and ventured across the hall to the closed door, which could only be Draco�s bedroom.

She pushed the door open, wand poised � just in case. When nothing jumped out to grab her, she tried to locate a light switch to no avail.

�Lumos,� she said, shielding her eyes against the bright light emanating from her wand. She spotted a lamp sitting on a table next to the bed and crossed to turn it on. Soft light warmed the darkness, and the shadows receded to the far corners.

Standing next to the bed in the middle of the cozy room, Hermione spun slowly, not sure where to look first. Her first impression was of being in a Slytherin dormitory. The walls were sage, the opulent curtains the same shade of green as the ones in the main room, and the bed was decked in a forest green duvet and light grey sheets. The floor was the same battered wood featured in the main room, covered with another white shag rug.

The walls were rather bare, save for one large print of a silver Chinese dragon hanging over the head of the bed. A worn wooden chair sat next to the window, and the table beside it was piled with books.

Hermione stepped around the bed, noticing the titles of the books. They were course books for A-levels. Hermione flipped through them, her eyebrows raised, and found that Draco was studying Chemistry, English, Psychology and General Studies. She didn�t know when he had time to go to school on top of his job; perhaps he did it in the mornings. She put the books back the way she�d found them and skimmed her trained eye across the other contents of the table.

A large stack of post was piled next to the books, and Hermione picked it up, examining each letter. There was nothing of interest and she replaced the stack of post, careful to leave it as she�d found it. The thrill of the hunt began to course through her veins as she turned away from the table and set her sights on his bedside table.

She pulled open the drawer and peered in, and bit her lip as she spied an unopened box of condoms, massage oils, silky handkerchiefs and a pornographic Muggle publication. Draco was well prepared for action. She shut the drawer and knelt to look under the bed, but there was nothing there but dust bunnies.

Growing frustrated with the lack of any viable information, Hermione stood, brushing off her knees. Maybe she was looking in the wrong area. She sat on the bed and reached under the pillow, and paused as she felt her hand brush against something. She pulled out a black journal, the place marked with a twig from a Hawthorne bush. She exhaled in triumph, knowing she had just hit the jackpot.

Just before she flipped open Draco�s journal of private thoughts, she felt another twinge of conscience. She squashed the feelings of guilt and flipped open to the first page. It was dated for February of that year.

Random weird dream last night. Was flying on a broom with a bunch of other blokes also on brooms. Some sort of sport? It was so strange, so real. I could feel the wind, and the broom, and that Harry bloke was also there. I don�t know what it is about him, but every time I dream of him, I wake up feeling so angry. Then the dream shifted into a nightmare, and that red-eyed snake-faced man was yelling at me. And then I woke up.

Hermione looked up, blinking. She wondered how many of these dreams Draco was having. And she wondered if Draco had kept journals before this one, and where they might be. She jumped to her feet and rushed out of the bedroom, down the hall and back into the main room.

Draco was still stretched out on the couch, looking almost angelic in his sleep. Hermione tore her eyes away and turned her attention to the massive bookcase, looking for other journals. She scanned the shelves, and spotted five journals grouped together on the topmost shelf. She grabbed them without preamble, and sat down on the shag rug, ripping the top journal open.

The front page was dated the previous May.

Well, things are looking up. I passed my GCSEs with flying colors�

Hermione flipped it closed and cast it aside, opening the next journal. She repeated this process until she found what she was looking for:

June 17th, 1998

Dr. Thomas says I need to keep a journal. She says it will be helpful for me to catalogue my thoughts, and any memories that might pop up. I don�t see how this is going to help any and I don�t think Dr. Thomas has a clue as to what she�s doing. I don�t remember anything, no matter how hard I think, and no matter how much I talk to Dr. Thomas.

The things I can remember are jumbled right now. I can�t tell which memory comes first. Is it sad that all of the memories I have are of not remembering?

I am on stage, loud music, bright light in my face, and for some reason, taking off my clothes is the most natural thing in the world. Was I a stripper before? Why don�t I remember anything before that fucking woman abandoned me at the Revue? It feels so natural but at the same time I feel so� I feel like I should be doing something else. But what?

The woman� I can�t remember her. Louie can�t remember her either, and he had a full conversation with her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Whoever Louie was had also obviously been the recipient of a memory charm.

So now I�m in my flat, and I don�t know how to use anything. Dr. Thomas and Mr. Dearborn, the man who owns this building, walked me through how to use the stove and the phone, but I feel like I�m from a different planet. Nothing makes sense. It�s all so foreign.

Mr. Dearborn understands what I�m going through, he says. Apparently, he can�t remember the first twenty years of his life, either. So when he read about me in the paper, he offered to let me live here, and Louie gave me an advance � apparently, the women at the Revue can�t get enough of me � so here I am.

Hermione closed the journal, unwilling to chance Draco rousing before she�d had a chance to copy his journals. She conjured a ream of parchment and her favorite quill, which never needed re-inking, and set them to copying.

As the quill flew across the parchment, she glanced over at Draco. His blond hair fell across his cheek and fluttered gently with his slow breaths. Her eyes traveled over his body, which was relaxed in repose. One arm hung limply over his stomach, the other was curled underneath his side. His black shirt was still halfway unbuttoned, revealing his tan, hairless chest.

Adorable.

Hermione blinked and shook her head. As the quill continued to copy, she glanced at her watch. It was much too late to pay a social visit to the landlord, so she decided she would add it to her list of things to do. �Raid the doctor�s office and visit the landlord,� she sighed. �That�s a good start.�

A scan for magical residue in the flat revealed only minimal accidental magic. No doubt Draco was experiencing odd things he couldn�t explain. Hermione stood and tucked her wand in her boot. The quill scratched to a halt, the copying process complete, and she shrank the stack of parchment and quill, and tucked them into her boot. Then she bent to retrieve Draco�s journals and replaced the five she�d discovered on the shelves before going to return his latest to his hiding place under his pillow.

The Hawthorne twig fell from the page it was marking onto his soft duvet, and Hermione picked it up between her fingers. Draco had peeled the bark from it and sanded it down. It resembled a very poorly made, crooked wand. She ran her fingers up and down the length of it, unnerved. For not remembering, he was trying his hardest to be a wizard.

She opened the journal to replace the twig and saw her name � well, Jane�s name � on the page.

�going on a date with Jane tonight. I�ve never met anyone like her � at least, not that I can remember. Something about her is different, she feels different. She feels right. She feels like something I�ve remembered at long last. Her resemblance to the girl in my dreams � Hermione � is so bizarre. It feels like I�ve been waiting all my life to meet her.

Hermione slipped the twig in between the pages, gently closed the black book, and put it back in place. She sat down on the edge of Draco�s bed and cradled her head in her hands. What was she doing? Getting revenge had been motivation enough the first time; trying to determine how Draco had come to be at a strip club in Soho when he was supposed to be dead was acceptable, but involving his emotions like this � it just didn�t feel right. It felt unethical.

To slip out without explanation, to leave him to wake from her Stunner on his own, it just seemed cruel now. Better to rouse him and leave. And then she�d keep it strictly professional as she continued her investigation.

She knelt next to Draco�s unconscious form, brushing the hair off his cheek. With her wand out of his line of sight, she cast the counterspell, rapidly tucking her wand into her boot again. He stirred sluggishly, his face contorted in a frown. He blinked, cracking open an eye.

�Jane?� he asked, opening both eyes.

�Hey, sleepyhead,� Hermione greeted him, pulling her hand back.

�Did I fall asleep on you?� Draco asked, sounding confused.

�Must have been that head rub I was giving you.�

Draco blinked again, sitting up slowly. �Sorry about that.�

�I should probably go,� Hermione continued, rising to her feet.

�You don�t have to,� Draco said quickly. �You can stay.� He rubbed his face, his movements still slow. �I want you to stay.�

�I wish I could,� Hermione lied, giving him a regretful smile. �I have a family thing I have to do in the morning.�

Draco frowned again, pushing himself up from the couch, stumbling slightly. �Alright,� he said, taking her hand and pulling her close. He touched her cheek with his fingertips, and in spite of herself, Hermione leaned into his touch. �I�ll walk you to the tube.�

�No,� Hermione said firmly. �I can make it there on my own. You�re half asleep.�

�It�s too late for you to be walking on your own,� Draco protested, yawning widely.

�I can take care of myself,� she told him, covering his hand with hers and bringing it down from her face. She squeezed his fingers and let go.

�I�ll call you tomorrow.�

�I�ve got that family thing,� Hermione reminded him.

�Oh, right,� he said, yawning again. �The next day, then.�

Hermione crossed to the door and Draco followed, rubbing his eyes. �Jane,� he said as she started to open the door. She paused, and Draco stepped up to her, pulling her into a warm embrace. She closed her eyes as he pressed his cheek against her face. He placed a lingering kiss against her lips, and she felt her heart beat quicken.

�Goodnight,� she said, pulling open the door and stepping into the hall.

Looking slightly forlorn as he leaned against the doorframe and watched her go, Draco answered, �Goodnight.�

*****

Sunday morning, feeling unusually sluggish, Hermione rolled out of bed, nearly stepping on Crookshanks, who glared at her reproachfully. �Sorry,� she muttered, a wide yawn splitting her face. Through blurry eyes, she read the clock, feeling rather glum.

She was due at the Burrow for brunch in an hour, which meant she�d better get a move on. With another enormous yawn, Hermione trudged into the bathroom, intent on taking a nice lukewarm shower. She wasn�t looking forward to another humid day at the Burrow, but the wedding festivities had officially begun, and there was no way for her to sneak out of them, no matter how hot it was, or how tired she might be.

�That�s what you get for staying out so late,� she grumbled to herself. Then she calmly reminded herself to shut up and stepped into the shower, letting the water hit her in the face.

When she emerged from the water half an hour later, she felt much more awake, but still quite sluggish. She wasn�t quite sure how many drinks she�d had the night before; frankly, she was amazed she�d had enough wits about her to search Draco�s flat. Not a heavy drinker by nature, Hermione doubted she had any hangover remedy in her possession, which meant she�d have to stop by the Apothecary on her way to the Burrow. There was no way she�d be able to endure the good natured and extremely loud Weasley family with the way her head felt at the moment.

After Hermione was dressed in a lightweight, sleeveless shirt and a pale blue cotton skirt that she hoped would minimize her discomfort from the heat, she pulled her hair back into a high ponytail, the ends of her curly hair just brushing against the nape of her neck. She paused, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She was disturbed to note two distinct emotions � shame and dread � clouding her brown eyes. Neither belonged there on the day when her two best friends began the weeklong celebration for their impending wedding.

The dread was an old emotion, one she tried to bury down where nobody else would see it. The shame was an old emotion, as well, but one she had not seen for years.

For a long moment, she forced herself to examine her eyes. It wasn�t often that she really stopped to look at herself; she was not, by nature, a girl terribly concerned about her appearance. I look old, she thought, focusing on her eyes. The war had aged her, forced her to do things she�d never wanted nor imagined she could do. Her wide-eyed innocence was a thing long gone, replaced by a much more guarded, cynical worldliness. The shame and dread in her eyes only exacerbated the situation.

Frowning slightly, she turned away from the mirror. The dread was wearying, and she grew frustrated with her inability to deal with it. She knew its cause well: a tall man with red hair and freckles named Ron Weasley. After their confrontation the previous day, she was not looking forward to sitting in the same room as him, let alone attempting civil conversation. Ever since their split, the idea of seeing Ron filled her with dread and longing.

The shame, while an old emotion, she was sure had reappeared now for a new reason. Indeed, she was quite clear on its cause: a tall, pale man with blond hair and absolutely no idea that before he was a stripper with amnesia, he�d been a wizard, and the woman who was like something he�d remembered at long last was actually someone he�d despised mutually.

She pursed her lips in displeasure. Beating herself up after the fact was a pointless waste of time. Hadn�t she already decided to keep it strictly professional from then on? She had plenty of other things to concern herself with, like the wedding of her two best friends, or� she paused, searching wildly for other matters to concern herself with.

Of course, she remembered, nodding her head. There was the reenactment group; she needed to investigate it to make certain that there was nothing illegal happening. Places like that could be breeding grounds or a training arena for future Dark wizards.

And, she added in her head, you�ll figure out who stuck Malfoy in a strip club when he was supposed to be dead. And you�ll keep your knickers on while you do it.

�Oh, shut up,� she said aloud, exiting her bedroom with Crookshanks at her heels. After bending to scratch him behind his ears, she grabbed her purse, made sure she had her keys and her wand, and rushed out of the flat, intent on stopping at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley.

At street level, Hermione paused, taking a shallow breath as the moist midmorning heat assailed her. The sun was behind her, blocked by the row of buildings that lined the short Muggle side street. Grateful for the relative coolness of the shadowed sidewalk, Hermione slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and made her way the few blocks to the Leaky Cauldron.

Without removing her sunglasses, she passed through the uncomfortably warm inn, nodding to Tom, who looked older and smaller every day. She stepped into the courtyard, finding the archway open and a frazzled young mother with two screaming toddlers and a mess of spilled bags at her feet trying to make her way in.

Wincing slightly as the toddlers� cries changed to a frequency that would shatter glass, Hermione stepped forward. �Need help?� she asked with false cheeriness.

�Yes, please,� the young woman said, weary desperation in her voice. Hermione stepped over the pile of bags and began to gather them as the young mother pushed the double pushchair through the arch, into the courtyard. �I�ll be so happy once I can Apparate again,� she sighed, turning back to take her bundle of bags from Hermione.

�Oh,� Hermione said weakly, noticing then that the young mother was pregnant.

�Hogwarts, yeah?� the woman said, squinting slightly as she looked at Hermione, ignoring the wails of the twins in the pushchair.

Grimacing slightly as the continued screams bounced back and forth in her pounding head, she nodded. �Yeah, class of �98.� Well, that was mostly correct, anyway.

�Me too!� the woman said. She suddenly looked excited. �You�re her, aren�t you.�

Hermione stifled a sigh, knowing what was coming. �Who?� she asked politely.

�Hermione Granger, right?� the young mother smiled, her eyes wide. �You are, aren�t you?�

Sorely tempted to say no, Hermione plastered a fake smile on her face and extended her hand. �That�s me,� she answered.

The young mother quickly shifted her bags to her other hand, dropping half of them. �It is you!� she exclaimed loudly over the cries of her twin, grasping Hermione�s hand in her damp, sweaty grip. �I�m so honored, Hermione � may I call you Hermione?� Without waiting for an answer, she rambled on, shaking Hermione�s hand enthusiastically. �You probably don�t remember me; I�m Sally-Anne Perks � I mean, O�Malley � from Hufflepuff. Oh, my husband is just never going to believe � and my boss � oh, that I�ve met you! We�re big fans � I mean, we heard what you did in the war � �

�Oh?� Hermione responded automatically, pulling her hand free.

�Well, yes, I mean, there were rumors in the common room that you and Ron and Harry were out fighting the war when you didn�t come back � �

�I�m sorry,� Hermione interrupted, glancing at her wrist only to discover she�d forgotten her watch. �But I � �

�Oh, of course, yes. But I just wanted to tell you � well, ask you � how did you master Memory Charms so quickly? It took me forever to get a handle on them, and I work in the Obliviator�s office!�

�Necessity,� Hermione answered shortly, stepping back. �I need to be on my way, you see � �

�Oh, of course,� Sally-Anne said quickly. �But, I�m curious; why did you turn down the job in the office? It�s just � well, you were amazing at it, according to the rumors and what my boss says. I know it�s none of my business � �

�No,� Hermione agreed, rubbing her forehead briskly. �I did what I had to do in the war to survive. After it was over, I didn�t want anything more to do with stealing people�s memories from them.� Not to mention that it was hard enough living with what some of those stolen memories had led to. She took a final step through the arch into Diagon Alley. �Good seeing you again!� she called as the arch closed, blocking out Sally-Anne�s disappointed face, and silencing the screeching of her children.

Heaving a massive sigh, Hermione rubbed gingerly at her throbbing temples and stared at the pebbled ground at her feet. Then the clock outside Eeylops began to ring the hour, and swearing quietly, Hermione hurried to the Apothecary, keeping to the shadowed side of the street.

After purchasing the Hangover Potion, she slipped back outside and ducked into the alley between stores. She uncorked the one of the vials and drank it down. With a sigh of blissful relief, she felt the potion sinking into her muscles. She tucked the empty vial into her purse and hurried back to the archway. She paused, however, not wanting to run into Sally-Anne O�Malley and her children again. She risked it, though, knowing she was now definitely late.

Sally-Anne and her children were nowhere to be seen, thankfully, so Hermione turned, heading for the Floo. She braced herself against the heat and tossed some Floo Powder onto the weak flames. �The Burrow!� she called, stepping into the tall green flames.

She emerged in the kitchen at The Burrow, nearly bowling over Mrs. Weasley.

�Oh, there you are, dear,� Mrs. Weasley said, sounding relieved. �Everyone is out back.�

�Sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I needed to stop at the Apothecary this morning and I ran into an old classmate,� Hermione blurted, trying to brush soot off her sweaty, sticky skin.

�Here,� Mrs. Weasley said, shoving a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and frosted glasses into Hermione�s hands. �Be a dear and take this outside. I know Ginny will be happy to see you�re here.�

Pasting a fresh smile onto her face, she walked out into the shady back garden, carefully balancing the tray. Mrs. Weasley followed behind her, levitating a tray full of food in front of her.

Hermione spotted Ginny standing with Harry in the shade of a large tree, talking with the short man who had officiated Bill and Fleur�s wedding. Harry spotted her first, and nudged Ginny, who turned quickly. A relieved smile broke out on the young bride-to-be�s face, and she hurried over to Hermione.

�Thank Merlin you�re here,� Ginny said in an undertone, taking the tray from Hermione and setting it on one of the long tables nearby. �Luna is late, too, and I was beginning to think I�d forgotten to tell you two when to be here.�

�Sorry, I � � Hermione began, but just then, Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together and called everyone to the tables set up under a copse of shady trees. As she seated herself next to Ginny � and diagonally from Ron, who was studiously ignoring her � she glanced around at the many smiling faces surrounding her. Bill and Fleur, and little Victoire sat at the other table with Teddy and Mrs. Tonks. Percy and Charlie settled in to the other table as well.

George sat down next to Ron, sending Hermione a bright smile before turning his attention to Angelina, who seated herself next to him. In the midst of all the confusion, Luna appeared, Dean Thomas in tow. Ginny made a quiet sound of relief and Hermione patted her on the back.

Luna took the seat across from Hermione, and Dean squeezed in between her and Ron. �Sorry we were late,� Luna said calmly while everyone settled into their seats.

�It�s alright,� Ginny said, smiling wryly. �Hermione was a little late, as well.�

�I had to stop at the Apothecary,� Hermione excused, keeping her eyes on Dean and Luna, though she was aware that Ron was now paying attention, as well.

Dean smirked and leaned across the table. In an undertone, he joked, �Morning After Potion?�

�No!� Hermione exclaimed defensively, feeling her face flushing. On their own accord, her eyes flicked to Ron, who was glowering now. �Hangover,� Hermione whispered.

Dean laughed quietly and patted her arm. He looked about to respond, but Harry practically leapt to his feet just then, sending an aggrieved look at his future wife while rubbing his shoulder with a pained expression on his face. Catching some unspoken communication, he glanced from Ron to Hermione. Understanding lit his face and he cleared his throat, gathering everyone�s attention,

�Ginny and I want to thank you all for being here with us. You�re all here today because you are the most important people in our lives, and we wanted you to be a part of our wedding.� Harry paused, taking a moment to look around. He met Hermione�s eye and she smiled at him, willing to overlook her own troubles to focus on her best friend�s happiness.

Harry returned the smile and took a deep breath. As he continued speaking, Hermione slid her eyes over to Ron, who was watching Harry with a small smile on his lips. Further up the table, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley held hands and looked on, Mrs. Weasley dabbing her eyes with a hanky now and then.

�So we thank you for being a part of our lives. When we�re married on Saturday, we do so knowing that we have all of you there supporting us. We could not ask for better friends, nor family. Cheers,� Harry said, lifting his glass of lemonade high.

�Cheers,� Hermione repeated, knocking her glass with Dean and Luna. She started to pull her glass back, but then Ron turned, raising his glass to hers.

�Cheers, Hermione,� he said, meeting her eyes.

Hermione paused, caught in the intensity of his gaze. There was anger simmering just beneath the surface, and that didn�t bode well. But he twisted his face into a faint smile, which looked as though it hurt him, and tipped his glass toward hers. She nodded once, and tapped her glass against his. She just hoped she wouldn�t be around when his temper exploded. Past experience, however, told her this was a futile hope.

�Cheers, Ron,� she said.

Author's Notes: I so apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I'm getting married in a little over two months from now, so it's difficult finding time to write amid all the wedding planning.

I know I may have raised more questions than I answered in this chapter, but there are some answers coming up next chapter. Up next: Watching Damien King

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A Pound of Flesh