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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Drinking Game

Hermione lay in bed next to Ron, feeling the earlier potion slipping from her body, leaving her fatigued, but unable to sleep as her mind worried over everything. She hadn’t told anyone anything, telling them it was private, and she’d prefer to keep it that way. She could tell Ron was still angry with her for not being candid, and felt uncomfortable laying in bed next to him, even though he was fast asleep. She didn’t deserve his care, or his companionship.
She rolled from the bed, and paced the room, trying to calm her racing mind, and nervously twitching fingers. She hadn’t called to make an appointment yet, and even with the potion, didn’t think she could tell a complete stranger everything that had happened to her at Malfoy Manor. She couldn’t tell her friends either. She paced back and forth faster, feeling as though her head was going to pop off if she didn’t relieve the pressure. She couldn’t do anything about Ron being angry with her. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to tell him. She couldn’t do anything about having been assaulted, except maybe get revenge. She refused to stoop that low. That only left one issue she could deal with, and put to rest. Her guilt over the failed pregnancy.
She grabbed her cloak, and left the house, for the second time throwing caution to the wind, and ignoring how much angrier Ron would be if he awoke to find that she’d run off again.
She appeared on the steps of Malfoy Manor, pulling her cloak close around her shoulders as she knocked on the door, the August night air unnaturally chilly against her face.
“Yes, miss? Is you here to see Master Draco again?” The same elf answered the door, looking more awake than last time, and Hermione nodded curtly, unable to voice her traitorous admission. She felt like just being here again was a further betrayal of Ron.
“Please follow me, Miss.” The elf said, not arguing, but instead leading her right inside.
“Thank you.” Hermione managed as the elf led her through the foyer and up a flight of stairs. She recognized the path to Draco’s bedroom, and felt a shiver go up her spine. Would she be forced back into that cage? Forced to relive her captivity again, as she spoke with Draco?
“Here we are, Miss.” The elf announced, knocking softly at the door.
The door was yanked open a heartbeat later, and Malfoy stood there, still fully dressed, but his hair disheveled, and his eyes red-rimmed.
“Granger. You’re back.” he said flatly, without surprise, or glee. He stepped aside, holding the door open, and Hermione stepped into the room, realizing that it wasn’t his bedroom, but rather an office. There was an open decanter on the desk, and half-filled glass next to it.
“Care for some Firewhiskey?” He asked, his fingers skimming the crystal bottle, as he moved behind the desk, and collapsed into his chair. She followed his example and took a chair opposite him.
“No thank you. I came to speak, not to drink.” She said, giving him a chastising glance as he lifted his glass to his lips.
“If you’re here to talk, then I’m definitely going to keep drinking.” He said, taking another sip, and giving her a wretched look of agony.
“Fine. I wanted to talk to you about… what I saw in the pensieve.” She said, swallowing her emotions. She wouldn’t be stopped just because she wanted to cry. If she needed to, she could cry, and speak.
“I figured as much.” Draco drawled, taking another sip, as though it were a game, getting him closer to being totally sloshed with her every sentence.
“I’m… Sorry. I know it meant a lot to you, and it’s my fault…” She said, finally getting the words she’d tried in the hospital through.
“No it’s not.” Draco said, needing no clarification that she was speaking of their combined wreck.
“I should have taken better care of myself, or relaxed more, or-”
“No, it wasn’t your fault. It was Bellatrix’s fault.” Malfoy growled, his face darkened with rage. “When she… put her hand in you, she wasn’t clean. There was an infection, and that’s why… That’s why you’re no longer pregnant.” He finished with a face to rival the healer’s detachment. Hermione held her breath a moment, thinking over his words. Bellatrix seemed to be at the crux of her every torture.
“Why did you come back to St. Mungo’s, instead of just leaving me there?” She asked, dying to end her curiosity.
“You collapsed because of me. I felt it was my responsibility to see to your well being.” He sounded rehearsed, and his face was still impassive. Hermione narrowed her gaze at him, recalling with perfect clarity the expression that had been on his face after she’d awoken. He’d been worried for her. More than some chivalrous obligation demanded.
“Bullshit. Why did you come back?” She pressed, leaning forward in her chair.
“I never left.” His mask transformed into a mocking sneer. “I just stepped out to relieve myself when the troupe of idiots arrived.”
“How’d they know I was there?” Hermione asked, recalling how they’d arrived at noon, and she’d collapsed at least in the early morning. It hadn’t even been light out.
“You’re Hermione Granger. If you end up in the hospital, everyone will know.” He scoffed, giving her a grimace.
“Malfoy, why didn’t you leave?” She persisted, feeling as though this were one of the few things she could do. She could get answers from him. He stared at her, unwilling to answer the question, the glass tilting to his lips again, and he drained it in a single swallow, setting it heavily back on the desk, and pouring himself another glass. She noticed that he poured much more than was considered standard.
“Sure you don’t want a drink?” He asked, lifting his glass once again. She shook her head and stared him down, refusing to back away from the question.
“I want an answer.” She said, her mind filled with half-formed memories of him taking care of her, reading aloud, protecting her.
“No.”
“No? What’s that mean?” Hermione asked, bewildered.
“It’s an answer. ‘No’. As in ‘no, I’m not answering your stupid question’. Or ‘no, I’m not going to stop drinking’.” He disdained.
“Dammit, Malfoy!” Hermione snapped, standing to slap her hands on the desk, and look down at him.
“What, Granger? Are you so eager to hear the whys and wherefores of what I do? What do you want? You want me to say it’s because I enjoyed seeing you suffer? You want me to say I couldn’t stand being away from you? Just tell me, and I’ll say whatever you want!” He said, looking up at her with a challenge in his eyes.
“I want the truth.” Hermione retorted, “Something you seem to be allergic to.”
“You want the truth? Ha! I’ve given you the truth twice, and you’ve so far managed to collapse both times.”
Hermione sat back down, glaring at him, and refusing to admit that he had a point.
“So, Hermione, if you want the truth, have a drink, get pissed, and maybe you’ll remember while you’re blacked out.” He shot at her, sipping from his tumbler again. Hermione stared at him defiantly for a moment, trying to ignore the swirling brown liquid that his fingers held aloft. The liquid promised refuge from her current emotional storm, and she understood why he was drinking so diligently that night. She stood, glowering at him as she leaned in, one hand on the desk supporting her. Malfoy watched her, waiting for her to spit some insult, or accusation at him.
Hermione took the glass from his hand, and leaned back again.
“Hey!” he protested, reaching a hand out, and halfway getting to his feet. Hermione lifted the crystal to her lips, and swallowed, grimacing as the fiery alcohol seared it’s way to her stomach. She held the empty tumbler out to him, and he took it, sitting back down, giving her a knowing smirk. He silently refilled the glass, and lifted it to his lips, swallowing half of it, before offering her the rest. Hermione stared at it for a moment, considering, and took it, downing the rest. She knew she shouldn’t be getting drunk. She’d have to Apparate home, but she couldn’t stop, as he offered her a third, and fourth. She just wanted to numb the pain of finally knowing. Finally remembering.
The Firewhiskey didn’t burn so much on the fourth swallow, and she sat down, pulling the chair closer to the desk, so she wouldn’t have to lean in to take the alcohol from him. He poured a fifth drink, and sipped at it, breaking their earlier stride, and set it on the desk, forcing her to lean forward anyway. She lifted the glass and took a few sips, setting it back between them.
“Feels great, doesn’t it?” Malfoy asked, taking his own sips. Hermione frowned at him, and stayed her hand, feeling the dizziness beginning to set in. Anymore, and she risked not being able to make it home.
“Are you done?” His voice was soft, and she looked up to see his face was sympathetic instead of mocking.
“I think so.” She said, leaning back, trying to avoid the temptation of getting completely wasted. Draco downed the rest of the glass, and stoppered the decanter, standing to put it back on a shelf that held other crystal tumblers, and a smaller bottle of bright green liquid. Hermione watched him set the alcohol down, and step around the desk, looking no more drunk than when she’d walked in. She frowned, and wondered if it was her own tipsy mind playing tricks on her.
“You want your answer now, Granger?” He smirked at her, leaning against his desk next to her, leaning down to look into her eyes.
“Yes.” Hermione implored, looking up into dark grey eyes.
“You carried my child. I took care of you for three weeks. You sped right through that month in the pensieve, so you didn’t see what was right in front of you. You didn’t see the nuances, the tiny details. Did you see me brush your hair after a bath? Did you witness your own smile when I brought you a stack of maternity books? Did you even realize, Hermione, that in that one, short month… I fell completely in love with you?”
Hermione stared up at him in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, and call her stupid, claim it was a horrid joke. His eyes were wide, his mouth set in a serious line, and Hermione realized slowly that he wasn’t joking.
“I hate that I obliviated you, Hermione. I didn’t want to. But you begged. You begged me to take it away. So I did. I took away the entire month, and everything that had come with it, and I forced myself not to think about it. I forced myself to forget how I felt. Told myself it was just an illusion from being so isolated for so long. Tried to reason that it was just paternal instinct to care for the mother. But do you know what, Hermione?”
She shook her head mutely, half in answer, half in denial. He couldn’t be saying this. She shouldn’t even be here.
“After four months apart, the moment Dippy told me you were waiting in the sitting room, I knew. It wasn’t an illusion. I’m still enchanted by you; even when you’re screaming at me. And the worst part?”
Hermione shook her head again, feeling her mouth go dry with nerves. His voice had lowered to nearly a whisper, and she felt as though she should get out of there, fast. Something bad was bound to happen when he was looking at her so soulfully, his voice so deep and quiet.
“You don’t feel anything for me anymore. You don’t really remember what we shared, and you don’t believe that I could actually be telling the truth. Don’t shake your head, I can see it in your eyes. You may not remember, but I do. I remember everything. I can still remember how to read you, Hermione.”
A shiver went up Hermione’s back, and a faint memory trailed into her thoughts. Malfoy’s voice, saying something. She closed her eyes, and struggled to remember. What was it he’d said?
-She sat in the chair at the desk in his bedroom, her back straight, her hair draped over the back, a tugging feeling coming from her scalp. Draco was brushing her hair, gently untangling the damp curls before she went to bed.
“You’re so nervous, pet. Relax. I’m not going to bite.”
“Don’t call me pet, Malfoy. And I’m not nervous, I’m just uncomfortable in this chair.” She wiggled for effect. Malfoy chuckled, and stepped around to her side so he could see her face.
“You can’t lie to me, I can read you like a book.” He disappeared behind her again to continue brushing her hair, and she felt her face flushing with embarrassment. Should she deny it further, or just let it drop? Could he really tell what she was feeling so easily?
“And I’ll stop calling you pet when it stops making you squirm.” He added, his fingers combing along her scalp, making her shiver.-
Hermione looked up at him with a frown, feeling a mixture of irritation with the memory, and unsettled that he was staring at her with a piercing grey gaze. He was reading her.
“I remember you brushing my hair.” Hermione admitted, glaring at him as he smiled slightly. “I remember you calling me ‘pet’.”
“Hahaha, I’d almost forgotten how much it riled you.” He grinned down at her, his face glowing with humor, his eyes looking down at her. “Do you remember how much you liked me brushing your hair? You wouldn’t admit it the first few times, but after awhile, you asked me to, instead of making me offer every time.”
Hermione scowled at him, not sure if he was telling the truth or teasing her.
“You’re making that up.” She accused, scowling up at his humored face.
“I’m not. You might remember eventually. The first time you asked me to, you didn’t even really ask. You just handed me the brush, and sat down, as if it were my sole duty to serve you.” He laughed again, and leaned forward further, his glittering eyes peering into hers as he spoke. “I didn’t mind, though. I loved brushing your hair. Especially when it smelled like my soap.”
Hermione gulped nervously, seeing possessiveness in his eyes. Her drunken mind cast around for a reason to escape, to remove herself from his overpowering presence, and the strange nostalgia he produced.
“I have to go.” She stood hastily, and backed away, scooting the chair away so she could flee. “I have to be back before Ron wakes up.” She shot, knowing the reminder of her boyfriend would do both of their heads some good.
“Alright. I’ll walk you to the door.” He pushed off from the desk, and she noticed, finally, he’d gotten less graceful. He wobbled slightly, and led her from the office, down the dark hallway, and descended the stairs, all in silence, occasionally stumbling and swaying.
“Goodnight, Malfoy.” Hermione said, hurrying through the door, her heart hammering as she slipped past him.
“Come back if you’d like to talk, or drink again. Maybe next time, I’ll tell you more of the truth.” He baited her, getting the last word in just before she Disapparated. She materialized in front of the Burrow, and she leaned on the door for support, closing her eyes, and trying to wash the possessive look Malfoy had given her from her mind. It felt like the other expunged memories, familiar, but unable to place. She slunk into the house, and tiptoed up the stairs, all the way to Ron’s room at the top. Hermione dropped her cloak to the floor and slid into bed, not bothering to change from her jeans and t-shirt.
“Where’d you go?” ‘Ron’s voice startled her, and she jumped, grasping her chest, and trying to calm her heart rate.
“Jeez, Ron, you scared the crap out of me.” She chided, relaxing back into the pillows. “I went for a walk, and had a few drinks.” She answered him, knowing he could probably smell the alcohol on her. She’d had enough that the room was spinning worse when she lay down. She closed her eyes, trying to steady the room, and her breathing.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Ron sounded hopeful.
“No.” Hermione shortly rejected, rolling to her side, so her back was facing him. “Goodnight.” She offered, closing her eyes.
Visions of blond and grey swam in her mind, his admissions and retellings floating around and around inside her head as she tried to sleep. She could feel the brush running through her hair, could hear the sound of soft breathing behind her. She drifted off amidst thoughts of the past, and memories she’d recalled, all swirling together to form the images of a dream.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Nightmares