He can't leave the room. Her room. And it's all the Order's fault. Confined to a small space with only the Mudblood for company, something's going to give. Maybe his sanity. Maybe not. "There," she spat. "Now your Blood's filthy too!" DM/HG. PostHBP.


21. Scars

As Draco was slowly stirred awake by the hum of feline purrs, his brow creased with confusion when he realised that the space next to him was empty, save the snoozing cat that was near his feet.

Quickly ignoring the pet, he flattened his palm against the spot where Granger should have been and felt the traces of her warmth tingle his skin. Hesitating as his sleep-blurred brain caught up, he slowly twisted his body to find her sitting at the window; her silhouette set against the garish and gold light of the morning. Squinting as his eyes adjusted, and rising into a sitting position, he concentrated on her weary and strained expression, and frowned at her distracted gaze.

Still clad in yesterday's clothes and her cheeks glossed with yesterday's tears, she was clutching her legs tightly to her chest and resting her chin against her knees. Her lips were dented from relentless chewing, her mouth bent in a mourning frown, and her eyes were bag-crested and bloodshot. All she did was stare through the window pane.

So still.

Barely breathing.

He absorbed every detail of her with calculating eyes, churning the information around in his head and trying to determine what he was supposed to do. Merlin knew he didn't have the slightest idea how to ease her distress, but the need to scratched under his skin anyway, and he didn't even try to resist it.

He cocked an eyebrow when she parted her lips and breathed heavily against the glass, lifting a finger to draw a mindless pattern in the condensation. With a sigh of defeat, he called her name.

Hermione absently dragged her finger across the misty window and narrowed her eyes when she realised what she was doing. She and her mother had left little messages on the bathroom mirror when she'd been little; just little things like I love you or Goodnight.

Her hand fell limp at her side as she read what she'd absently scribbled.

See you soon.

She shook her head when Draco's blurred voice seeped into her ears and snatched her back to reality. "What?"

"Have you even had any sleep?" he repeated in a blank tone.

"Oh," she exhaled. "A little…I mean enough-

"Doesn't look like it," he said stiffly, tossing her blankets off him and sitting at the edge of her bed. "You should get some more."

"No, it's fine," she mumbled, and Draco hated how distant she sounded. "I wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep now anyway-

"Don't say you're fine when you're clearly not," he scolded, perhaps too bluntly. "It's bloody irritating-

"But, I am-

"Save it," he grumbled. "Why you Gryffindors insist on covering everything up with fucking fairies and sunshine is beyond me-

"I'm not-

"You feel disorientated, right?" he questioned sharply. "Like your mind is doing cartwheels, and you have no idea what to do with yourself."

Hermione felt her mouth move with silent words. "I…how…

"In case you haven't noticed, we're in a similar boat here, Granger, so I know it's fucked up."

"A similar boat? What do you-

"I've been missing since June," he reminded her in a deadpan voice. "I'm sure my parents think I'm dead; decomposing somewhere in a shallow grave dug by one of your lot."

She cringed. "Draco-

"It's true," he interrupted, regarding her with a detached expression. "What other believable story could Snape have invented to account for my absence?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured sincerely. "I didn't realise it had been so long for you, but perhaps Snape-

"Even if he said I was missing, I would be presumed dead after this long," he reiterated, cocking his head when she grimaced. "Don't give me that sympathetic look, Granger. It's not like I'm actually dead-

"But maybe-

"I have accepted that, Granger," he silenced her. "And you will accept your circumstances too, but you need to get over all that 'I'm fine' crap-


"So we're going to have a shower," he stated sternly, rising to stand and scowling at the uncertain look she gave him. "Come on. Get up."

"Draco," she sighed wearily, bowing her head. "I don't think I'm in the right frame of mind for-

"I never mentioned shagging you," he interjected with a scowl as he neared her. "Now come on-

"Draco, I just want to stay here-

"Tough shit," he snapped, snatching her arm and yanking her to her feet. "Don't make me drag you-

"Draco, let go," she groaned, struggling against him. "You're hurting me."

The determined blond flinched but kept his grip firm at her elbow as he pulled her with him, adamantly refusing to acknowledge her protests no matter how much her pleading tone harassed his ears. He knew he was being rough but he forced himself to be indifferent, because it was necessary. Granger might not see it, but she needed this. Needed him.

His scowl hardened as she dug her heels into the floor and clawed at his hand.

"Stop fighting me," he warned over his shoulder, slinging his other arm around her abdomen to get a secure hold. Her flailing limbs were making it difficult. "Fucking hell, Granger-

"Just leave me be," Hermione tried, frustrated tears threatening to slip past her lashes. "What difference will a sodding shower make anyway? It won't-

"Stop it," he growled as he finally managed to get her out of the bedroom. "Trust me when I say the inactivity will only do more damage-

"I said I was fine!" she shouted. "Put me down!"

"No!" he yelled back, shoving her into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. He gulped down the uneasy feeling wedged in his throat when he realised she was crying again, but he remained firm with his intent. "Don't you fucking dare try the door, because I'll just drag you back in here until you get the message."

He tried not to be affected when she put distance between them and studied him with wary eyes. Did she really believe that he would hurt her? Scoffing and shaking his head to cover his offence, he stalked over to the shower and flicked it on, testing the heat against his fingers and keeping his eye on his dejected lover in the mirror.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione muttered behind her breath. "You are being ridiculous-

"Take your clothes off," he instructed steadily, tugging his own top over his head. "Or are you going to be an awkward bitch again?"

She stared at him with the sparks of defiance flickering in her eyes, before she released a haggard breath and began to slowly tear her away her clothes. Draco kept his unflinching glare on her as he pulled down his trousers and boxers in one swift motion and then stalking up to her with heavy strides. He ripped her jumper out of her grip and chucked it to the side with growing impatience, batting aside her hands before he reached for her jeans and knickers and yanked them down her legs.

Hermione sucked in a hefty gulp of air and attempted to back away, but his hand was already fixed around her wrist. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I haven't got all fucking day," he hissed coldly, spinning her around to remove her bra before she could protest.

He battled the temptation to admire her nudity and give into the instinctive twinge in his groin as she stood before him; infinitely alluring to him since the first night he had bedded her. Every inch of her honey skin belonged to him, whether she liked it or not, but he needed to carry this out and finish what he'd started. Feigning indifference, which was testing when his body yearned to react to her, he tugged on her wrist and guided them to the shower.

"Get in," he told her, rolling his eyes when she predictably hesitated. "Fucking fine. We'll do this the hard way then."

She yelped in surprise when he picked her up, and he gritted his teeth in an effort to ignore her bare and squirming body as he stepped into the shower and positioned them under the scolding rain of whispering waterdrops. The sweet steam wrapped around them like a veil, and Draco silently willed her to forget the outside world in this misty cocoon.

Reality was an obstacle.

Always getting their fucking way and screwing with their secret sanctuary away from it all.

Away from the War.

From his past.

From everything.

And he came to acknowledge that he had settled into their sanctuary, despite every attempt at resistance. Reality was simply a muffled memory in here. With her.

What the hell would he do when…

He felt her hands pushing against his chest.

"What are you playing at?" Hermione questioned hotly. "Let me out of here-

"No," he refused, keeping her in place under the water. "This is what you need-

"Don't tell me what I need to do," Hermione argued in a low voice. "Don't you dare tell me how I should be dealing with this-

"So, what?" he goaded. "You're just going to sit in your room and mope all day?"

"I was not moping!" she protested loudly. "Shut your mouth, Draco!"

"Well, stop being so fucking pathetic!" he carried on relentlessly, invading her space and looming over her. She really had no idea how idea how beautiful she was to him then; her cocoa curls streaked across her face and shoulders like rivulets of coffee, but he baited her regardless. "Crying about it like some shitty little Hufflepuff is hardly going to make things all rosy again!"

"I know that!" she spat, giving him a futile shove back. "Don't you think I know that?"

"Then stop whining about it!"

"You were a sulky prick when you first came here, so don't be such a sodding hypocrite!" she fired back. "I have every right to be upset! I am human!"

"Then why the fuck bother lying and say you're fine?" he retorted sharply, bringing his face close to hers. "Come on, Granger! Let it out! Why say you're fine when you're clearly not?"

"BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!" she screamed, her features creasing into a look of weary acceptance as her chest heaved between them. "WHAT THE HELL CAN I DO, DRACO? I CAN'T DO A BLOODY THING!"

There you go. Scream it out, Granger.

"AND IT FUCKING HURTS, DOESN'T IT?" he roared back, hating himself when she clenched her eyes shut, but she needed this. He knew she did. He knew her. "YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT-

"Stop it!"



"BUT THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO!" he shouted, so loud it scorched his windpipe. "ACCEPT IT, HERMIONE! THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN-

She slapped him. Hard.

And in the next second she was grabbing his face and smashing her lips into his.

Do what you need to do…

She sucked, licked, tasted, gorged.

Draco felt her claw her fingernails against his scalp and grab desperate fistfuls of his ice-blond hair to pull him even closer. As close as possible. He could taste her need behind her teeth and at the back of her mouth, and he knew he'd accomplished what he'd intended. He matched her; tongue for tongue and bite for bite, as his hands went wild over back, sides and waist.

All his.

But he willed himself to remain poised. This was about her. What she needed. And for a moment, that terrified him.

Her throaty moan glided over his tongue and brought him straight back to the now. Her. Twisting them together, he slammed her up against the tiles with a wet slap and dipped his hand between them to cup the heat between her thighs. Entering her with two fingers, as deep as he could, and thumbing her sex-bud with a practiced pressure that he knew made her tremble, he swallowed her sigh and kissed her hard. Hard enough split lips and coax blood. Her blood, his blood. It all tasted the same.

"Take what you need from me," he murmured, his husky tone rumbling between the heavy breaths and thrumming lips.

Keening and stabbing her nails into his shoulders, Hermione rocked her hips into his touch, encouraged by his words and too consumed to resist. Godric, she loved his hands and fingers - in her hair, on her skin, inside of her - and right now they were pushing perfectly against the enigmatic spot beneath her stomach, and coaxing smouldering sensations to flutter in her system.

But it wasn't enough.

"More," she whispered between clashing lips, hoping he would understand her meaning.

Draco immediately withdrew his hand and grabbed her thighs, hitching them up and snaking them around his torso. He didn't trust himself to slip between her folds. Not yet. He needed to keep his head. He was so hard that the muscle under his strained skin throbbed with pain. She'd never been like this; uninhibited and her nerves completely discarded as she let the passion and her need to forget overtake her, and it was so fucking arousing. But he needed to keep his head. It was about her.

Her. Her. Her.

She was breaking the kiss again.

"Draco," she hummed, like his pulse. "Please…

Catching her bottom lip between his teeth to stifle his groan, he hoisted her a little higher so he could grab his length, and the moment he'd pressed himself at her slit, she clamped her legs tighter and engulfed him. Draco sucked in a shallow breath at her unexpected and brazen movement, but this was what she needed; to let the instincts ride her and abandon thought.

Abandon reason.

Abandon everything but the flesh and the ache.

She was tugging at his arms, neck, face; anything she could reach to pull him into her. To melt them together. Her legs were like a possessive vice around him; locking him in her slick warmth, so tight that Draco shuddered. Blind lust. Raw. The most honest kind. He bucked into her, guided by the own desperate sways of her body to invent a rhythm of obliging thrusts to the sounds of smacking skin and the drumming shower. And is was fast.




Fucking friction. Everywhere. From their scraping teeth, to the thuds of hips, and the clawing hands; all wrapped up in humid steam and echoing whimpers. And Hermione was alive, almost knocking him of his feet as she writhed and tried to find her release. Find the fire. Hunt for it. A strangled sound tumbled out of her mouth when he pushed against the spot that burned her core and made her soul quake.

"There," she sighed, parting their lips and lifting her chin. "Kiss my neck."

Draco instantly buried his face into the sensitive curve by her shoulder and sucked her skin. He knew where his tongue teased her best; right under the line of her jaw and beneath her earlobes, and her fingernails grazed up his spine to confirm what he already knew. Her moans were louder now, no longer lost between lips, and they spilled into his ears and pushed him just that little bit closer to the edge.

But that was okay.

That was okay because he could feel the muscles in her legs beginning to tense and clench with spasmodic jolts, and her lusty mewls were climbing to a higher pitch.

There it is…

Nothing felt closer to bliss than those twitching ripples that marked the beginning of the end. The climax. The everything and anything. Like bold feathers gliding over steel. He couldn't help but tip his head back to witness her raptured features; eyes sealed, slack-jawed and her whole body rigid as she let it course through her veins, blood, bones. Anywhere it could reach.

Tucking his hand between them, his fingers sought to massage her swollen flesh again, just to make her sex-static last for those few extra moments. He let her absorb every millisecond of the madness, waiting until her internal flexes ceased before he stole two more thrusts and found his own release.

He smothered his choked groan into another kiss as he let go; his vision blurring at the edges, and the tension behind his navel bursting. Let her have him. His climax was short-lived; he'd worked solely around her needs and wants, and subsequently rushed his own desire, but he really didn't care. It had been for her.

Her. Her. Her.

But the exhaustion swept over Draco anyway, and he surged all his strength into his arms to keep his lover steady as his knees crumbled and caved. They slid down the tiles and landed in a graceless mess of weak limbs at the base of the shower; foreheads touching and panting so hard their lungs ached and threatened to rupture.

Hermione was completely limp against him as he used the remainder of his strength to gather her close and lace his fingers into her tangled curls. Trembling. Shivering. Relishing. The shower droplets sprinkled their flushed bodies, slowly bringing back normal sensations and urging their senses to function again.

Let it subside.

Let them linger.

"I…," Hermione struggled to speak through her heavy breaths. "I think I got a bit…carried away," she finished, and Draco could picture the blush crawling into her cheeks. "I'm sor-

"Don't you dare fucking apologise, Granger," he grunted.



Merlin knew how he managed it, but he'd carried them back into her bedroom and settled them at her window-seat, covered in a clumsy collage of damp blankets and towels as she rested her back against his chest and sat between his legs. He couldn't help but indulge in a private smirk as a sated sigh left her and shattered the lazy silence.

"Feel better now?" he asked with a cocky tone.

He could practically hear her brain working as it dawned on her. "You were winding me up on purpose before," she accused slowly. "Weren't you?"

"Very shrewd of you, Granger," he replied, his lips twitching with amusement. "Yes, I was."

"Dare I ask why?"

"Because you needed to vent," he provided with a blasé shrug. "Despite what you Gryffindors preach, sometimes anger is the answer."

Hermione tossed his statement around in her head and dampened her lips. "And you thought riling me up when you don't have a wand was a good idea?"

Draco snorted. "I'm pretty confident you won't be firing anymore hexes my way, Granger," he said. "I'm sure you like all of me in working order-

"You may have pushed me too far if you'd carried on," she warned, but it was half-hearted. "You were being a right tosser-

"But it worked," he reminded her smoothly. "So now we're past all the 'I'm fine' crap, we can move on-

"Godric, you are such a conniving git," she mumbled with an edge or irritation. "I suppose the sex was a nice little perk to your plan?"

"I didn't know you were going to pounce on me," Draco told her, his voice rich with mirth. "I assumed you would simply shout for a while and possibly give me a few slaps." His chuckle vibrated down her spine. "But it was certainly a decent surprise."

Her brow creased with thought. "You really didn't plan that?"

"I planned to piss you off," he explained with another shrug. "I didn't know exactly what you would do. But like I said; you needed to vent."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut before a word could escape. The temptation to point out that he had done something dangerously close to unselfish made her tongue tingle, so she clamped it between her teeth. With the shower-steam still ghosting across their skin and the atmosphere relaxed, she didn't dare risk a comment that would make him defensive and shatter the calm. And she felt…normal again; still inevitably upset about her parents, but better.

He had made her feel better.

He had thought about her.

The silence was stretching as her eyes fell to his leg, and she leaned forward to finger the scar she'd never noticed before. "How did you get this?"

"When I fell off my broom in the Quidditch match," he replied after a pause. "Second Year."

She hummed as the memory stained her brain. "And this one?" she asked, moving her inquisitive fingers to his other leg, just below his knee.

"Same as the other one."

Finding herself intrigued, she carefully shifted to face him and peeled away the blankets, leaving him bare and beautiful with only a towel to cover the tops of his legs and his crotch. Ignoring Draco's suspicious look, her eyes roamed him curiously and glinted when she found a thick mark on his arm. "I think I know this one," she couldn't help but smile, pointing to it. "Hippogriff?"

"Very fucking funny," he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

"No," she quipped, moving to his chest and finding another. "This one?"

Draco clenched his jaw and met her eyes. "That one's from the Curse Potter hit me with last year."

Cringing as the unavoidable tension drifted between them, she desperately searched for another scar to comment on, but the rest of him was apparently flawless. "Is that all of them?"

"You missed one," he told her, lips lifting into a smirk as he pointed to a barely-there mark by his nose. "Ring any bells?"

Her eyes widened as she peered at the tiny blemish. "From when I punched you?" she questioned, grinning when he nodded and eagerly abandoning the Sectumsempra scar. "You know, I'm not apologising for that."

Draco snorted. "I never asked you to."

"And I have one to match," she smiled, showing him the faint graze on her knuckles. "Should have known better than to punch your pointy face."

A sarcastic retort almost shot her down, but he let it fizzle in his mouth when he spotted the long, white mark on her shoulder. "Since we're on the topic," he said, gesturing to her flaw. "What's that from?"

"Last year," Hermione said, tilting her head to give it a glance. "Ron accidentally shoved me off the couch and I caught the table."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Weasley is such a clumsy twat," he muttered, but his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the rather nasty scar on her ribs, just peeking above her towel. "How the hell did you get that one?"

"Department of Mysteries," she frowned, adjusting the towel to hide it completely. "Dolohov got me with some Curse. Quite a bad one."

The uncomfortable silence returned.

Draco momentarily wondered how he'd missed the flaws to her sun-kissed skin, but maybe he'd just never really seen her before, or taken the time to look. That odd flicker in his gut was back with a vengeance; practically permanent now, and he still had no idea how to broach it, but he tried not give it any heed as Hermione slowly eased herself back into her previous position, leaning against him.

And he knew her; flaws and all, and it only seemed to encourage the inappropriate stirrings in his stomach.

She had scarred him.

And he didn't mean the mark on his face.

Hermione's mind was equally distracted, for she knew exactly how to identify the erratic sensations in her gut. She just didn't know what do about them.

And a scary thought had seeped into her skull.

Harry and Ron. Her parents. All gone.

And her separation from Draco was ultimately inevitable, no matter how much she'd been ignoring that fact.

What would she do when…

"Do you want to read another book?" she rushed out frantically, summoning her wand into her hand.

His sigh tickled her shoulder-blades. "Fine."

"Any preferences?"

"Not another depressing play," he remarked in a dry tone, secretly relieved for the distraction. "That Shakespeare bloke you're so bloody fond of must have been suicidal, or wanted his readers to be."

"He wrote comedies too," Hermione murmured, flicking her wand to Accio one of her favourites. "I love this one."

She felt his chin sink into her shoulder as she turned to the first page, adjusting the book against her knees so he would be able to read it comfortably. She'd selected A Midsummer Night's Dream; a book laced with magic, conflicts and forbidden romances.

And a happy ending.

Hermione closed her eyes.

Because that can happen in fiction.

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