Chapter Text
Hermione Granger
September 12, 2007 | 6:57AM
St Mungos, Rm 2013
“Spread your legs, love,” He said down at her, with hooded eyes. He had a deep accent, one that would make anyone tremble underneath him. Anyone but her. She did as she was told, and his hungry gaze dipped down to her black satin knickers.
They were made of mostly lace and left little to the imagination. She was completely shaved and waxed so that her skin was smooth and glowing gold. Maybe if she ever got her body back, she’d let the hair grow until she became a forest.
That’s what she thought bitterly as he stood there in front of her, stroking himself, his eyes devouring her like a starving man. It’s how he always looked at her, and she knew he wanted to own her. He talked about stealing her from her owner all of the time, but she sensed it wouldn’t be much better living under his roof. She would just become his personal sex slave, and would never be left alone.
She would be his whore that he would keep a secret from everyone, or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would be brazen and parade her around in front of everyone.
“Play with your tits,” he growled, the words pulled from somewhere deep in his chest like he’d been holding them in too long.
She didnt hesitate like she used to.
She brought a hand up and twisted one of her nipples roughly, while letting out a soft moan.
It was fake, of course.
She felt nothing as he crawled over her, his body heavy, cock hard and hot as it brushed the inside of her thigh, pressing against her like he owned her. Of course, he did for the night, and like every night he paid for her he took her wrists and tied them together before tying them to the bed post.
She let out another fake needy moan and lifted her legs so her thighs caged him. Just for the night, and the next one, she would get a break. She always did, and those are the only nights that she looked forward to. They were the ones where she could open the book that had been gifted to her. She always got a book if she was good for the wizard or witch who paid for her. Did the things they wanted to please them without putting up a fight.
And the books pleased her.
She felt shame for that, for being easily pleased for the night.
That’s how the memories filter in now, sudden and random. Still, Hermione can’t quite picture the men in them, except this one; she knew exactly who it was. The voice alone was enough to set off memories of the nights she was forced to spend with him. She was afraid to say it out loud, though, because what if he came to find her. She had never thought he would be like that. She had never thought he would do something like that to her, but then again, he had always wanted her, and she did not want him.
So paying for her was the only way he knew to get at her, and Merlin knew he was swimming in galleons. He often paid for several nights for her. And now, whenever she thought about what she let him do to her body she wanted to vomit. She could feel it burning up her throat.
If she had just been stronger than maybe she wouldn’t have been in the situation she had been in for so long.
Turning over in her bed, she looked out the window where the sun was just barely peeking through the drawn blinds. It was quiet in her room, and even outside in the halls.The only sound was her heart beating softly on her diagnostic chart. She wondered briefly if it ever sped up when she slept, and the nightmares descended upon her, but Draco never said anything.
She knew she would get discharged soon, now that she was awake and doing better. They told her maybe in a few more days, and in a few more days, she had no idea where she would go.
September 12, 2007 | 4:50 PM
St. Mungos, Rm 2013
A brush pulled through her locks gently, and then soft fingers threaded through them, separating each section so it could be woven into a braid. The motion pleased and comforted her in equal measure. The scent of the hospital, lavender and healing rose water, drifted around her. It hadn’t always comforted her, but now that she had spent time in this safe space, it did.
Luna pulled each lock with care, her soft voice humming as she worked. It was a Muggle song, which surprised Hermione, and one she had always loved. She could feel it deep in her marrow, a song she had once dreamed someone might sing to her.
“Luna?” Hermione asked softly.
Luna hummed in response.
“How do you know that song?”
“Everyone should know the beauty of Muggle music,” she said, so matter-of-factly that something about her answer struck a chord deep within Hermione.
She didn’t say anything more. She just let Luna plait her hair until the braid fell gently down her back.
Luna nodded at the chair beside Hermione’s bed. All Hermione could think about was how she had woken to find Draco asleep in it.
Which was ridiculous.
And Innocuous.
It meant nothing.
As if Luna could read her mind, or perhaps because Luna always just knew, she cocked her head and said, “He didn’t leave your side much while you were pulled under.”
Pulled under?
Is that what it was?
It had felt worse than that. Like being dragged down by an anchor that sank into her chest. Relentless and heavy. It had taken her swiftly, drowning her before she even had a chance.
“Why would he do that?” Hermione said more to herself, but Luna heard.
“You must know the answer to that question, Hermione.” Luna tutted, pulling the lost lock of hair. It tickled briefly, but it was the sort of feeling that left her feeling taken care of.
Mothered.
She hadn’t been mothered in years.
She tied a red ribbon around the end of the braid firmly and moved to sit down next to her.
“I don’t, Luna,” Hermione said quietly, confusion pulling tight across her features as she looked at her friend. “I really don’t.”
“Draco has always had feelings for you.”
It still felt strange, hearing Luna call him Draco. Not Malfoy, not the boy who had made her life hell for years. But Luna said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hermione had learned, piece by piece, that Luna had seen a side of him no one else had. He had brought her food in the dungeons, made sure she was kept safe, and checked in on her when no one else remembered she was there. It had carved out a strange, silent friendship between them, something Hermione hadn’t known existed. It might have unsettled her, but it didn’t because it felt right to her.
She let out a humorless laugh. “He had a funny way of showing it.”
“He didn’t know that’s what it was then.”
“Are you trying to tell me he was just being an absolute prat to me because he liked me?” Hermione asked incredulously.
“Something like that.”
“And how do you know?”
Luna tilted her head and offered a soft, dreamy shrug. “Intuition.”
Hermione didn’t believe her; he was hot and cold with her. He stopped occluding when he was around her, and sometimes he would be so open with her that she couldn’t breathe. But other times, he would treat her like he probably treated all his patients, with warm detachment.
Still, she couldn’t help it by letting herself have a little bit of hope that maybe Luna was right.
There was a soft knock at the door, the perfunctory gentle warning that someone would enter whether she wanted them to or not. The two witches looked as it slowly creaked open, and Draco walked in.
He wasn’t dressed in Healer Robes, but in charcoal gray trousers and a white button-up shirt that he had rolled up on his forearms. Hermione’s gaze drifted down the length of him before she could stop herself, lingering for a little too long at the buckle of his belt. An uninvited and vivid thought flickered in her mind of what it might sound like when he unfastened that buckle. The metallic clink, the soft rush of breath, and the fabric shifting under his long fingers.
She blinked then, ridding herself of the thoughts.
But she was sure she was completely crimson.
She was almost afraid to look at him, and when she did, he had raised his eyebrow at her. A smirk just barely graced his face.
“Did I interrupt something?” He asked, his tone almost playful.
“No!” She squeaked out a little too quickly, which made his eyebrow raise even higher, and not for the first time, Hermione hoped Luna wouldn’t be her Luna self and tell him everything.
“I was just getting ready to leave,” Luna said as she stood up. Hermione felt her shoulders sag in relief that she chose not to be too Luna in that moment.
“I’m not on the clock, so I was thinking of taking Hermione out to the lake nearby.” He said as he moved over to the bed and looked through her chart before looking down at her. “You could join us if you’d like, Luna,”
Luna shook her head and gave Hermione a conspiratorial look, to which she just rolled her eyes.
“No, I'd better go, Nev is expecting a dinner date tonight.” She bent down and hugged Hermione before adding, “I’ll make sure to be here to help you when you’re discharged.”
Then she put a hand on Draco’s arm, squeezed it briefly, and said goodbye. She floated out the door, her purple and teal skirt floating behind her like it was alive.
Draco summoned her some slippers for her feet and helped her put them on. Something he didn’t need to do, but she wasn’t going to complain. Again, it was like someone was caring for her, and it almost made her cry. The way everyone was treating her, like she was fragile, and the old Hermione might have hated it. This new Hermione didn’t know it was something that she needed.
“Ready?” he asked, looking up at her, his gray eyes warm and steady in a way that made something inside her loosen.
She nodded, swallowing past the sudden tightness in her throat. “Yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Brilliant,” He stood up and held his arm out for her to take. Aside from the day she woke up, and her hand had developed a mind of its own, she had not been close to him except for when he was checking her vitals.
She realized she had been hesitating a beat too long when he said with a grin, “I don’t bite.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Pretty sure...can’t say the same for you though.”
“Excuse me!?” She felt herself blushing from shame, but he didn’t know that. He couldn’t know that. She reminded herself, though, that he knew a little bit of where she had been. What she had been doing.
“Oh shit, Granger I didn’t mean it like that.” He rushed to say, realizing what he had implied, “I’m only referring to the fact that you punched me in third year.”
She let out a quiet breath of relief and took his offered arm. It was surprisingly warm and muscular, and she felt her brain misfiring to indecent thoughts again, which stamped down immediately.
“Well,” she said, a bit steadier now, “you deserved that punch, for the record.”
“I absolutely did.” He smirked. “But I’m hoping I’ve atoned since then.”
Hermione gave him a sidelong glance as they stepped into the hallway together. “I think perhaps you have.”
Draco Malfoy
September 12, 2007 | 5:15 PM
St. Mungos
The whole walk to the lifts, he internally berated himself for saying what he did. He hadn’t meant it like that, although if he let himself think about it, he would absolutely love it if she bit him. Because what he really wanted to say was that he didn’t bite, unless of course she wanted him to. He would happily oblige.
He was also fairly certain he had walked in on Luna and Hermione having a conversation about him, judging by the way her cheeks had blushed so prettily. He didn’t miss the way her gaze roamed across his body, or where it landed. The way her irises almost blew wide, before she stopped whatever thoughts that had started to invade her mind.
What he wouldn’t give to have been able to use Legilimency on her that very moment.
Draco pressed the lift button with one long pale finger, and he felt her watching him.
He didn’t look at Hermione but knew instantly her gaze was on the veins along the back of his hand, tracing the way they flexed and shifted with movement. He’d rolled up his sleeves that morning, more out of habit than anything, but now he cursed the decision.
Her eyes were on his forearm, the one where the Dark Mark was, or at least it should be. He knew she was thinking that it was gone. That he must have done something to have it removed, but he didn’t.
It was still there, and he was exceptionally good at glamour charms. He was exceptionally good at all magic, really, but he was no longer the boy who would boast his superiority to anyone. Besides, he knew Hermione was and could be just as powerful.
It did help a tiny bit that the mark had faded quite a bit, but unfortunately, he would always have it.
He wondered, as the seconds dragged and her eyes kept lingering, if she believed it was truly gone. If she thought he’d managed to erase it, somehow scrubbed the darkness off of him like you could with dirt. Something about the idea tightened something inside his chest. A horrible mixture of guilt and hope.
The lift doors opened with a chime, and unfortunately, it was not empty.
There were two other Healers already inside, one who stepped off just as they got on, and the other, much to his dismay, was Lila. She looked at him with a predatory look. And he wished very much that he had never shagged her in the supply closet, but it had been a time when he was at his lowest after Astoria died. He wasn’t exactly known for making smart decisions when he was falling apart.
She gave him a look, and he clenched his jaw.
“Going down, Healer Malfoy,” she said, her tone syrupy and suggestive.
He didn’t bother responding with words, just a curt nod. She reached out and pressed the button for him anyway, her nails tapping against the panel. Lila didn’t say anything to Hermione, ignoring her completely like she hadn’t just stepped into the lift with them.
He felt Hermione go still next to him, but it wasn’t the stillness that came from fear. He could tell she was battling something inside of herself, and the tension started to rise off her like steam. She stared at the panel of the floor numbers, her expression completely blank, and he hated it. He hated what might be going on inside her head, but at the same time, he had his own questions that he hoped the answer to might be yes.
Had she seen the look Lila gave him?
Did she care?
He felt the sudden need to protect her somehow, and his hand slipped down and took hers in his. It was small and cold, but it fit in his hand like it was meant to fit there. Just like he knew it would.
“Will you be having drinks with us tonight?” Lila asked the question, landing like a splash in still water.
Draco exhaled slowly. “Not tonight, Lila. I have to get home to my son.”
The words came out sharper than he intended. He wasn’t angry with her, just exasperated with her, and desperately wanted her to give up. He could feel Lila’s disappointment invade him like a sour taste in his mouth.
But Lila’s reaction impacted him very little when he felt Hermione’s reaction to the exchange.
She didn’t say a word, didn’t move an inch, but he felt her retreat. Her hand slipping out of his, and he could feel the loss of it. It was like he was watching a door shutting quietly in her mind. Like she’d just learned something she didn’t know, and he realized then that he had never told her about Scorpius. It wasn’t something he purposely kept out of conversations with anyone. He just never discussed Scorpius with his patients. He knew Hermione was different, that she wasn’t like any of his other patients, but they were just getting to know each other.
He did want to tell her everything though, she made him want to tell her everything. Which was why he was a giant mess when it came to her. He would do things like what he was doing today, taking her for a walk outdoors, and in the same breath, completely close himself off from her. He realized that maybe he was also messing with her head.
The doors to the lift slid open, and Hermione stepped out ahead of him, separating herself from Draco and Lila. She moved towards the doors, and Draco made to follow her, but he felt a hand wrap around his forearm. Fingernails pressing into his pale skin.
“Is it true?” Lila asked conspiratorial.
He turned slowly. “Is what true?”
“That the Golden Girl finally cracked? I heard she went completely mad, wouldn’t be surprising, really, after where they found her.”
Draco’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped into something dangerously calm.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t have the time to educate you about it.”
He wrenched his arm from her grip and stepped out of the lift without another word. Of course, he had plenty more he wanted to say, every last bit of it the kind of thing a possessive boyfriend might say.
Which he wasn’t.
Not officially…which was a dangerous thought.
But something inside of him perked up at the idea of it , and Merlin, he wanted to drag her to his bed and fuck her senseless.
No, stop that...that’s the last thing she needs.
“Granger!” He called after her, but she kept walking. Her back was stiff, and her hands were not necessarily in fists, but they hovered just shy of it. They curled like she was holding herself together by force alone.
He knew maybe he should have told her about his son, but this seemed a bit over the top. Like maybe there was something else going on that he didn’t understand. Either way, he couldn’t let her go out on her own, not when she was still a patient.
He picked up his speed to catch up to her, which didn’t take long. She was, after all, short, and he reached her in two quick strides. He wasn’t entirely thinking straight, but he grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to a stop.
She scowled up at him and tried to pull her arm from his grip, but he just gripped tighter.
“You can’t go outside without me.”
She looked away from him, and then she nodded once, “Fine, but I don’t need you to help me walk.”
They walked down a cobbled path toward the small lake on the far end of the property. They sat on one of the benches together and looked out across it. Autumn was starting to show in subtle ways, like the leaves slowly changing, and the crisp breeze that was gently blowing. It pulled wisps of hair from her plait, and they framed her face. Along with her smattering of freckles and the fire in her deep brown eyes, she was the most beautiful witch he’d ever seen.
He swallowed hard as he looked at her, her own gaze studying him closely.
“You have son?” She asked casually.
“Yes...” He paused, and then added more quietly, “I’m sorry I should have mentioned him to you.”
She shook her head, “I’m not mad at you Malfoy, you don’t need to apologize for that.”
She didn’t seem to want to elaborate anymore, and he didn’t want to push her. She hadn’t cracked, and she still had her wits about her, but she was fragile. She walked on a thin line of healing or breaking, even more.
Instead, he just sat with her in the quiet of evening and watched her just be.