Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Shiver	By : valkyrie136 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 21253 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to the fandom. J.K. Rowling does. I do not make any profit from Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does.

Chapter List
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Warning: This story contains elements of rape and violence.
These can be triggering for some readers.
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I return to a quiet house.
To call it a home would be a lie because there is nothing warm or pleasant to
make this ‘home’.
It’s the middle of summer but it is always cold here.
There are no conversations, no screaming or loud voices. No laughter. There
is nothing to give any indication that a family lives here.
My children are with my mother, and yet I am certain that were they here they
too would be silent. They would not look me in the eye, and they would tip toe
around me as if walking on egg shells.
Just as their mother does.
A servant greets me.
‘My wife?’
‘In bed, Master Malfoy.’
I don’t lose my temper. I have come a long way from the angry youth I once was.
It was a long journey to reach this point, and every day I pay for the amount of
time it took me to reach this point.
Quietly I make my way towards the stairs, and then to the back of the house.
She doesn’t get enough sleep, and that bothers me. She struggles with insomnia,
among other things.
My wife is sitting in a chair near the window, staring listlessly outside.
There are circles under her eyes, and her hair is unkempt and wild, tumbling
down almost to her waist. Pretty brown curls. I love them, I like to wrap those
curls around my fingers after I have taken my pleasure in her body...but it has
been so long since we last
lay together that it seems almost like a dream.
Or maybe a nightmare.
‘Hermione, did you have a pleasant day?’
She does not even look at me. And I ignore the pain tearing up my heart.
This is my fault.
My wife has the glassy eyes of a doll and does not speak to me. She looks through
me, not at me.
There was a time, I can recall, when she used to glare at me with hatred. She
would rage at me, beat me with her fists, before dissolving in tears.
I used to think there was nothing worse than that; to be hated by the one you love.
How wrong I was.
To be hated is to be seen and acknowledged.
The woman before me is a lifeless doll, staring at nothing with glassy eyes.
Numb to everything.
When she fought back...when she lashed out at me ....at least then there was
something I could feel, however twisted it was at least she saw me.
'Hermione.'
Silence.
What else did I expect?
I close the distance between us, carefully moving at a slow and measured pace
so as not to startle her. Kneeling before her, I lay my head on her lap. She’s warm,
and smells of eucalyptus. Calming. Relaxing.
I inhale her scent, hugging her close to me. Her arms hang limply at her sides,
and for that I squeeze her more tightly.
‘My day was very bad. I made a few mistakes...It seems your husband is not the
best at charms...' It's a lie. I was distracted, because I was thinking of how much
I did not want to return to this cold house but I don't tell her that.
So I keep talking like an idiot.
'...and then I was so unhappy I wanted to rush home and see you because seeing
you makes me so happy.’
She does not respond. And I feel like crying. I feel like screaming and shaking
her until she does something. But I don’t, because this is my fault, and I’m an
adult now.
‘I love you so much, Hermione.’
Nothing.
I look up at her and see that she is looking away, eyes closed. Ignoring me.
Probably pretending that I am someone else, or that she is someone else or even
somewhere else. Anywhere but here.
I know I shouldn’t. But I am tired and exhausted. But most of all I am also selfish.
That has not changed and probably never will.
It is because of my selfishness that I will never be able to please the woman I love.
‘Can you not pretend, just for a moment, that I am not a beast?’
No response. She looks down at me with pained eyes. I can see that
she is close to tears.
My hands curl into fists and I feel my frustration turn into something dark
and angry. I focus on controlling myself, but it is difficult. There is
something dark and unpleasant inside of me.
She knows what to do to awaken that darkness.
I hate those eyes. Always, she looks at me with those eyes.
‘Then I’ll just be what you want me to be,’ I say with a smile, ‘Because you
hate me, right?’
She let’s out a whimper, and I release a brittle laugh. More sad than I am
angry, more miserable than I have ever been. This is my life.
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I have been on hiatus and am trying to get back in the swing of things.
I was so uninspired for a while.
I am working on updating my Lumione story and am stuck on Gods
and Monsters. Reviews are appreciated, and as always, thank you.
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Shiver