Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Under a Nameless God	By : PickledWinry Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 6449 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own harry potter or make money from it.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Ginny came around her room a few times a week, just to have the luxury of crapping in private. That was the sort of girl Ginny was, oblivious to how delicate she seemed. Which suited Hermione just fine. She didn't need fairies in her garden, she needed warriors at her gate. So it was Ginny that Hermione started trusting with her story. How she had slept with Draco and how the spells had been undone.
Ginny was the person who noticed the way Draco changed. Gone were the smothering insults, the leering looks. Draco had replaced them with a singular focus. He was trying to do something, get something... what Ginny wasn't sure. Either he wanted Hermione to suffer, or he was suffering himself. There was nothing they could do to stop him, really. Hermione was Head Girl, he was Head Boy.
And so the dance continued.
Draco was not giving up. He was determined, for whatever reason, that Hermione Granger would suffer for her slight against the Malfoy name. That was what Hermione guessed, at least, with how often he showed up, pounding at her door, demanding she speak to him, make it right.
It was getting embarrassing. He would show up during her morning walks, he would show up at the library. He seemed determined to shove himself into her life. Yet, Hermione didn't mind. He couldn't tell. It would destroy whatever sliver of respect the Wizarding World had for his family. After all the work his father put in to get off, the gold, the bribery, well… Draco couldn't destroy that.
He would get her for something, one day, she was certain. But right now, it didn't seem real or important. In the outside world, without the aid of teachers and friends, Draco might do real damage. But they were seventeen, with classmates to focus on, sex and drama and magic. It wasn't real. Just like the elves didn't seem real, or the way the food just appeared.
Even six years after coming here, Hermione didn't feel like it was truly her's. And maybe it wasn't, on some level. There had been theories that children unable to access magic fully in the womb don't sense it as strongly. Still, Hermione loved it here, wouldn't leave it for the world. Or her world. She wouldn't leave it for the dead-end muggle existence she would have entered.
She had seen what her mother gave up for a child and how relieved the woman was, without motherhood digging lines in her face. Hermione had told everyone she couldn't take back the spell. She had seen how happy her parents were, how their memories filled in her silhouette with vacations and dinners out.
Without a daughter, they were happier. They were better. Thinner. Prettier. And Hermione wanted that. She wanted the ease of living and dying for just herself. Maybe loving someone. Maybe being alone with her books.
The idea of Draco Malfoy existing outside of the castle—of her existing outside—didn't make sense to her. She had always been here. Or in the schools of her younger years. This had been half her life. The terror of being in the outside world, of her magic having actual purpose, didn't bother her. What mattered, in the end, was that people were going to grow apart. She would meet people who didn't understand why she always checked her bag three times, or why she needed to think so deeply on things. People died if she didn't check her work.
Would they understand her nightmares? Would they think fondly of her quirks? Maybe Harry and Ron would move on without her. And maybe she would be the last one to remember everything with the same vivid hunger and pain. She had always had a good memory and the war was still real to her, when she let herself think about it. When she didn't pretend, it happened to other people.
She didn't want to be like Molly, screaming into the cold air, when they told her that her twins were a broken pair. One in the grave, the other living. She couldn't handle the idea of being broken by yet another person.
So when Draco showed up again, demanding she talk to him, she didn't hold back her anger. She told him to leave or she would tell the press what he did. What a monster he was. What a fucking idiot he thought—She was not going to let him hold her to his stupid rules.
Still, he didn't listen. He never did. He was determined to make a mother out of an unwilling witch. And she should have known the determination to be cruel also strips one of the ability to recognize the right for anyone to be hurt. Other than themselves. Draco was the spoiled, cruel son of a death eater. Hermione should never have played his game in the first place.
But play she would.
- 5
- 6
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Under a Nameless God