Chapter Text
Spin: (v) a rapid turn; revolution
It was poetic in a way, Hermione thought. It felt fitting that she should meet her demise on the floor of Malfoy Manor. The floor beneath her spun into a dizzy oblivion. She needed to breathe. Hermione writhed, clawing at the hands wrapped around her throat.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Did you steal it?” Bellatrix hissed, foul breath invading Hermione’s senses. Everything about her reeked, polluting the world in a vicious ugly rust colour. Her grip tightened around Hermione’s neck and she convulsed, hands grasping trying to alleviate her airways. Hermione needed to breathe.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Where did you get the sword?” The questioning tone had gotten more frantic. Hermione couldn’t breathe. Another putrid orange crumbling shriek accompanied the growing weight on her chest. Hermione couldn’t breathe .
“Bella, you’ll kill the girl!” A feminine voice cried out but Hermione couldn’t place it. The edges of her vision started to blur. She had more important things occupying the forefront of her mind. Hermione couldn’t breathe.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Mudblood, filth!” The pressure on top of her chest disappeared abruptly and Hermione gulped down large gasps of air. She needed to breathe.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
The relief was short-lived as a different pain took over. A thousand pins simultaneously pricked up her spine, a million needles embedding themselves within the layers of her skin. A burning started, burning flames licking up her legs. Hermione couldn’t see the fire but her skin felt like it was melting, turning her into a muddled bloody stain. A ringing took over her ears and everything slowed down, dulling into the background. It was too dark, a splattering of ink across her vision. Vaguely, she thought she heard someone scream⸺a guttural ripping sort of agony. She thought it might have been her.
It took too much energy to keep her eyes open, but she knew she couldn’t close them, though the reason why alluded her. Hermione felt her hand being yanked, and the threadbare sleeve of her sweater was pushed up. Her nerves were on fire, the pain growing ten-fold.
A knife dug into her left arm, “That’ll teach you to lie to me, Mudblood!” Hermione’s head lolled to the right and she’d almost managed to forget exactly where she was until she spotted him .
He stood still, unseeing and unmoving. Draco looked unaffected, eyes fixed somewhere above the scene unfolding as if he didn’t know the precise taste of her lips or the sound of her voice; like he didn’t know her. Hermione knew though.
Hermione knew his figure and knew that stance. She knew the brightness of his eyes and the taste of his kiss. She knew the colours of his rage and the hues of his defeat. She had burned him into her memory during all her lonely nights. She had thought about his sunset smiles and emerald assurance. She thought about his stormy blue melding into greys that teased the edges of the abyss.
She thought about the way he held his quill and the ring he wore on his thumb. Looking closer, she thought she could just make out the familiar band of silver he never removes. Some days Hermione wished she was that ring, just so she could feel his hands again.
Maybe he didn’t remember anything at all. Hermione wonders if Draco Malfoy would actually let her die. She lay limp, having lost the energy to protest and fight.
A scream broke through the muddled fog and Bellatrix’s torment paused. For the first time since she fell to the floor, Draco reacted. He whipped out his wand, striding in her direction. It was then she realized it wasn’t the ground that was moving. Rather, the crystal chandelier above her had started swaying precariously. That was odd, there was no reason for it to be teetering so dangerously.
Hermione felt someone’s arms wrap around her, holding her tightly to them.
“Hang on, Hermione.” Draco. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten anything after all. She tucked her head into his chest and even in her delirious state, Hermione still managed to note how soft the fabric felt against her cheek.
“Survive, Hermione,” he whispered. “You have to end this.” She wished she could find her voice, tell him everything she hadn’t before. Hermione wanted to stay here in his arms and never let go. The sound of glass shattering breaks though her wishful haze.
“Let go of her, Malfoy!” Hermione heard Ron’s voice. “Your bloody Aunt has done enough damage!” No. He had it all wrong. Hermione had to tell him; explain everything about Draco. She needed to tell Ron about the colours!
Hermione tumbled into Ron’s grasp. Her body jostled with each step as he ran. Each jerk sent a fresh sting of pain through her veins.
“Hold tight, ‘Mione!” She heard Harry plead. Hermione wanted to nod, to tell him she was okay but she couldn’t figure out how to move her tongue. The last thing she saw was Draco’s blood streaked face before the world faded into a never ending isolating ebony abyss.
Hermione scrambled to her feet, running toward him. The door to the Room of Requirement was firmly shut, confining the raging fire behind it. She knew she ought to turn away, to follow Harry and Ron’s fading footsteps but the sounds of his agonising scream still echoed in her ears.The piercing raging red had nearly blended into the background of the flames, but it was brighter than anything else she could see⸺the only thing that mattered. The gut wrenching sound had turned her blood to ice and made everything fade until it was just him. The terror that had gripped her soul was unlike anything she could comprehend.
Hermione jumped into his awaiting arms and he staggered backwards with the force, nearly falling to the ground. “ Draco. ”
He wasted no time in grabbing her face, pulling her into a searing kiss. Unlike her memories, there was nothing cold about it. She twisted her hands into his shirt, he was here. He was real. He was alive. She had survived the Room but here, in his arms, she swore she was still burning. A desperate ember on the edges of his bright scarlet and orange fire.
“You’re so stupid , Hermione” he managed to say in between their shared breaths. Nothing mattered, nothing except the fact that he was here and he was still breathing. “What were you thinking ?”
The truth was, she hadn’t been thinking, not at all. All that mattered in that moment was getting him out. In a matter of seconds she had been forced to confront a reality where his colours may cease to exist. Hermione wanted nothing to do with that sort of cold and cruel world.
“You- You’re okay ?” Her voice breaks but he didn’t seem to notice as he continued to pepper kisses across her face.
“Hermione.”
“Draco.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Are you ?” He questioned. She shook her head, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing her eyes shut.
“You should’ve let me die,” he whispered against her ear.
Hermione let her fingers travel up and tangle in the matted strands of his fine hair, pulling back to rest her forehead against his. “I’d sooner kill myself.” A crash rumbled through the space, and they broke apart, heads swiveling to watch part of the corridor cave in. Their little bubble of peace came crashing down around them, broken into a thousand fragments at their feet. Hermione gritted her teeth, she knew she had to go.
“Come with me, ” Draco pleaded, imploring eyes searching her face. “We’ll be safe .” The words were warm and she longed to linger in them. She wanted to coax them out and watch as they played and mingled with all the dust in the air. She wanted to catalogue the new shades and compare them with everything she already knew. She wanted to choose him.
“You know, I can't,” she said softly. Her greedy hands tracing his face, trying in vain to memorise every inch. Her fate had been decided all those years ago, when they were still innocent and free. “Draco, I lo—“
He pressed a final kiss to her lips, swallowing her sentence. “Survive, Hermione.” The harsh order was a heavy weight in her chest, a promise that she wasn’t sure she could keep. “Survive and tell me when it’s all over.” She nodded, prying herself away from his embrace though everything in her body begged her to stay. Hermione turned and she ran.
It’s all she ever seemed to do.
The poets had been right in the end. It ended not with a bang, but a whimper. Riddle’s knees buckled as he fell. Months, no years, of anticipation had led to this breath of time. He slumped over, defeated at last. Nothing but a mere mortal, a mockery of the immortality he seeked. Like the dawn of a new day, the darkness was replaced with a wash of white, blanketing her surroundings as the disbelieving and hushed voices started up. Flickers of colours slowly swarmed and mingled with the barren white, hesitant and unsure. Faint wavering shades, unable to comprehend the conclusion come at last. There were no cheers. The very notion of celebration felt abstract, disjointed and fragmented. All relief was delayed and happiness withdrawn in the face of everything and everyone that had been lost.
Her school was in shambles, broken beyond recognition. Nothing at all like the safe haven it had once been, and yet as Hermione walked through the rubble covered head to toe in dirt and grime, she had hardly ever felt so clean.
Hermione spotted him across the courtyard, wisps of ivory curling around him. His head tilted up to the sky, battered and worn. Alive. It was more than she had dared hope for. Perhaps sensing her gaze, Draco lifted his head up and their eyes locked. A thousand things she ought to have said. A thousand more she didn’t dare voice.
Draco started to step forward and Hermione felt her heart leap. This would be it, the moment they’d been dancing around for years. The concluding spin to their dizzying choreography. She started to step forward, to meet him halfway, her confession ready but the words died in her throat.
Kingsley and a few other men stormed up to him, and he tore his eyes away from hers. Hermione watched them exchange a few words and Draco’s shoulders slumped in resignation. Her brows furrowed but then one of the Aurors pulled out his wand. A thrumming glowing white beam wrapped around Draco’s wrists, shackling him ; the unmistakable manacles of an arrest. Hermione sucked in a breath. She had spent so long simply trying to get through it all, she’d overlooked the obvious conclusion. She should’ve known better than to believe in happily ever afters by now, she was too old for fairy tales.
He spared her one last look before the small group of wizards let him away. She lifted her hands to her chapped lips, tracing the ghost of his kiss and Hermione realized this may have been the last time she would ever see Draco Malfoy.
Thunder rumbled outside as the torrent of rain grew stronger. The night sky itself was mourning alongside her tonight. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself for her misery. It was a bitter pill to swallow; to be the very reason behind your orphaned state. The warnings in her texts hadn’t tried to hide the dangers, and yet foolishly she had chosen to be optimistic. One must eventually reap what they sow, and now it was Hermione’s turn to repent.
She shivered as she sensed a disturbance within the wards she had hastily thrown over her childhood house. It hadn’t been home for a long time. Her hand wrapped around her wand, body falling back on muscle memory. Hermione shook off the worn blanket that had become her companion of sorrow for the past week before waddling up toward the window. The wind howled as she spotted a shadowy man approaching the porch. Her heart thrummed beneath her chest, but for once it wasn’t the result of crippling fear.
A flash of lightning broke out across the darkened night, illuminating the weary man that she had tried in vain to banish from her thoughts. Her feet carried her to the door, hands already swinging it open before he knocked. Draco Malfoy stood in front of her and he was a ghost of the brilliance she remembered. Her greedy eyes raked over his face and took in the bruises under his eyes and frailty of his skin. His once strong hands were more bone than flesh and looking at him she knew that the war wasn’t quite over for him either. Hermione still thought he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“What are you doing here?” She croaked out, finding her voice.
“I needed to see you.” The smooth baritone of his voice was hardened by the cruel years, but she recognized the wispy remnants of an emerald sheen. She hadn’t seen that colour since she was eleven. It was dreadfully faint but it might as well have been the brightest thing in her bleary isolation.
“How did you find me?” Hermione couldn’t find the strength to fight the lump that had formed in her throat, eyes burning as she recalled the last time they had stood this close. Her face in his hands and his burning lips insistent against hers as his colours etched themselves on her heart.
He gulped, shifting his weight. “A lucky feeling?” The sky groaned above them and he shivered taking a step closer to her⸺not close enough. He ran a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back and out of his way. “Why did you testify?” The clouds rumbled and the sky wailed, continuing its tantrum.
“Come inside, Draco.” She stepped back mechanically, eyes never straying from him as he made his way in. The thud of the door swinging shut reverberated in the silence, broken only by the rain pelting down from the heavens.
“Why did you testify?” He repeated, begging for an answer he should already have known. “Answer me, Hermione,” it was the sound of her name that broke her, tears welling up at last.
“You know why.”
His eyes seemed to soften, “tell me anyway.” Hermione decided to do something better. She moved closer to him, hands clutching desperately at the soaked shirt that hung too loose on his bony frame. Hermione rose up on her toes, pressing her lips against his, trying to convey everything that she wasn't brave enough to put into words.
It was an inelegant clash of tongues and teeth; a blur of desperate hands as she tried to mark him the way he had stained her. His arm curled around her waist, pulling her close. The other snaked its way up her side to cup her cheek as his grip on her tightened. It was nothing like the first time.
This was an explosion, an orchestra of the colours of their desperation. The fire she remembered magnified ten-fold. He had always been her forbidden fruit, and that made him all the more sweeter. His insistent lips melded against her, coaxing her with the worst sort of temptation. The kiss transformed into something more steady, a raging resignation to fate. Her half formed hazy dreams never did do him justice.
Her own hands traversed a path over his chest, and locked themselves around his neck as she pressed herself into him. Everything blurred into insignificance as his mouth worked against hers and Hermione did her best to match his pace, divulging all the secrets she had held close for so long. Draco groaned as he pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against hers.
“Never thought I’d step foot out of Azkaban,” he said, in between laboured breaths. Merlin knew she had missed his voice, had missed the familiarity of his colours, had missed him . “Some days I thought you were a dream,” Draco confessed with eyes as dark as the storm clouds outside darting across her face.
“If it is, I don’t want to wake up,” she whispered. It was all the permission he needed as he led her back against the door and his lips slanted over hers once again. Reverence was the word that reverberated through her as he gazed at her with pupils blown wide, looking at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real either. Hermione reached up to touch his trembling hand.
Hermione couldn’t remember the last time everything had all looked so vibrant … so alive. She had never felt the reality of her existence so keenly; had never truly been able to comprehend her insignificance in the universe till she had tasted it on his tongue.
His thumb swept across her bottom lip; fingers moving up to caressing the arch of her cheekbones before moving to bury them in her hair. Draco’s hands traced the curve of her back as he pulled her flush against him. Hermione whimpered as she threaded her fingers into his fine hair, her heart racing with desire and her senses flooded with a squirming ache. He peppered kisses down her jaw and Hermione arched up against him. Draco continued his descent down her neck, suckling at every new bit of discovered skin. She whimpered at the firm tugging in the pit of her stomach; a heat of want pooling within her.
Impatiently, Hermione dragged him back up, pillowing her lips against his, lightly nipping as one of his hands tightened its grip while the other slipped down from her curls to trace across the dips of her collarbone. Hermione wondered if he would leave little indents, or bruises, tangible proof to accompany the truth. She hoped he would, evidence that this was real— that he was real.
Hermione lifted her leg and hitched it around him, dragging him even closer. She smiled against the curve of his mouth as she felt the evidence of his mirrored lust pressed up against her core. A delectable shiver of pleasure curled down her spine as she lost herself to the sensation. Instinct took over as she rolled her hips against him and took immense delight in the moan that escaped him.
“Need you, Hermione,” he whispered into her ear, pressing her further into the wall, sucking her lip as he begged entrance. Her hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. It was a heady power to wield, knowing that she was the one responsible for his dishevelled composure.
Hermione wasn’t quite sure how they made their way to her bedroom, dropping down into a tangled heap on the mattress. She ran her hands over his scared chest, his shirt having been discarded somewhere along the way. She vowed that one day she would kiss them, memorise the story behind every single one.
“Draco, I haven’t- I’ve never-” she divulged in between exchanged kisses. Draco slowly pulled back, holding her face in both of his hands. The rest of the world faded away and it was just him in this tender moment, angelic in the moonlight cascading in the room.
“Neither have I,” he offered her a sheepish grin. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that crept over her own face, spotting the first remnants of that yellow she loved so dearly. He whispered her name like a prayer as they shed the last barriers of clothes between them. The storms' continued rage outside went entirely unnoticed by them as they gave themselves to each other. “Show me, Hermione.” So, she did.
Hermione helped guide his hand down her body and led him to the unyielding ache. She taught him what he needed to know. Lucky for her, Draco had always been a quick learner.
His lithe fingers played and teased and his burning gaze never left hers as he studied her responses. She shuddered in his arms as the coil twisted tighter inside of her, a string being pulled taut. His fingers dipped inside her folds before pulling back up while his mouth dropped down to lick her breasts. Hermione writhed and preened⸺everything was too much and entirely not enough at the same time. When the string finally snapped, Hermione arched against Draco, unraveling with a mess of incoherent mumbling.
He looked entirely too pleased with himself and Hermione sought to remove the smirk right off his face. She summoned her wand and cast a quick contraceptive, with a light laugh. Hermione readjusted her position, climbing further up her bed and beckoned him closer in between the cradle of her legs. Her heartbeat was deafening as it pounded out a rigid staccato under her skin.
“Are you sure?” He mumbled and she caught the first wisp of a deepened rose shade previously unknown to her. He grabbed her wand from her, casting it off to the side.
“More than anything,” she replied, leaving no room for hesitation. Hermione bit her lip as she felt him lined at her entrance. Her breath hitched as he entered her slowly, his eyes snapping closed as his breathing grew harsher. A whimper escaped her as he fully sank into her. It was an odd sort of burn and she wriggled trying to adjust to the fullness.
“Okay?” He rasped. Hermione swallowed, shifting slightly and saw his jaw drop open as the movement dragged out a groan. “Damn it, you’ll be the death of me,” he murmured and the initial discomfort faded as she took in the pleasure painted clearly across his face.
“Draco?” She spoke softly into the shuddering quiet, reaching up to brush his matted hair away from his face. His eyes slowly fluttered open, looking down like he was trying to memorize her just as much as she was him. It was strange to be so intimately connected with another person; not knowing where she stopped and he began.
“Okay?” He questioned again, his voice hoarse. She ran her hands down his back, pressing him closer inside of her in answer. Slowly, Draco started to move, giving into instinct as his pace hastened. Hermione leaned forward to feather kisses across his shoulder. She let her hands roam freely across his skin, helping him to the same precipice. His breathing got more ragged as he got closer to the liberating cliff; the world spinning around them.
A guttural sound escaped him as he finally fell, collapsed on top of her. The deep rosewood hue curled around her. It wrapped around their tangled bodies, tying them together. It was a pleasant sort of weight and Hermione locked her ankles around him, never wanting him to leave. Draco placed a lazy kiss at the base of her throat, pulling back to look up at her through hazy eyes. The world had always been so convoluted for Hermione, annoyingly bright and startlingly bold. Draco buried his face into the crook of her neck and she felt the words more than she heard them. Nothing but a faint blush hovering in the air between them.
As she lightly traced her response onto his scarred back ⸺ I Love You Too ⸺ Hermione had never felt more at peace.
Hogwarts was frightfully unchanged. People swarmed past her, their feet wafting dull shades across her vision. A giggling group of girls were huddled in the far corner, loudly exchanging idle gossip. A gangly fourth year mumbled apologies as he brushed past her. A sea of returning students made their way across the bridge towards the gleaming gates; towards the start of a new school year. Hermione stood there watching all the students move on. It was a pity she couldn’t do the same.
Ron and Harry had warned her in their medley of ruby and sapphire that this might happen. It’s why they hadn’t had the heart to come back. For the first time since the official letter had arrived, Hermione found herself wishing she had heeded their advice. The prospect of an Eighth Year was far less appealing now that she was actually here. Hermione tightened her grip on her satchel as the chilling Scottish winds picked up.
The spotless castle was ready to welcome a new generation, even as it hadn’t quite bid adieu to hers. A step forward would be a step towards closure⸺a step toward the end of a chapter. Time had moved on. Maybe one day, she finally could too.
Hermione waited, still as a statue, paying no mind to the bitter bite of the September air. She watched as the last of the lone stragglers managed to make their way to the gates. Hermione’s eyes scanned the place that had been her second home for so long, wondering why it looked like a stranger. She couldn’t reconcile this Hogwarts with the one that resided in her nightmares. The happy memories have since been distorted, plagued by treacherous musings of altered paths. Vaguely, she thought some of the bricks look more worn than they ought to. Hermione didn’t know if she was simply imagining the blood red undertones, or if the walls had also been irrevocably stained like her.
There had been so much blood that day.
“It should be different, shouldn’t it?” A familiar drawl called out from behind her. She heard his footsteps come closer and then saw him in her periphery. He was hunched over with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. With a knitted hat and the collars of his overcoat turned up, he was hardly recognizable.
Hermione recognised him though. She knew the impressive emerald of his assurance and the weary grey of his desperation. She knew the ebony of his despair and the yellow of his delight. Hermione knew him now. Some part of her felt like she always would.
“I thought you said coming back was the dumbest decision I’d ever made,” she said quietly.
“It is.”
“Why are you here then?”
He turned around to settle his stormy grey eyes on her silhouette. Draco didn’t reply. Hermione thought she heard him anyway.
“You didn’t have to do it for me, Draco.”
“I had a feeling I couldn’t put faith in Weasley or Potter to show up.”
“I’m a big girl. I can do this.”
“How long have you been standing here?” He asked, accusingly.
Hermione outstretched a hand without turning to look at him. His hand slipped into hers, curling around her ice cold fingers. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the feeling, how easily her fingers fit into the spaces between his.
“Merlin, Granger.” He moved to cover their joined hands with his other one, rubbing them in effort to restore some warmth. The corners of her mouth tugged upward into a smile.
“It’s cold, Draco. You ought to go in.”
He scoffed, “I’m perfectly fine.”
She finally turned toward him, “thank you.” Hermione had spent her whole life being the unwavering pillar of support; it was nice to have the gesture returned. His piercing eyes softened as he wrapped his arms around her to pull her close. The smell of sandalwood and hearty spice engulfed her as she pressed her face into his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.
“You’re here,” she mumbled.
“Where else would I be?”
Surrounded by his arms and shielded from the cold, Hermione was content. They stood there for a long time⸺hours or minutes, days or years; she didn’t know. Hermione had considered herself an expert in Draco Malfoy, become familiar with all the shades in his palette and had thought she had him pegged. It had irked her when she was younger, how rapidly his colours seemed to change with every passing moment, but she knew better now.
“You silly girl. I can’t leave my best enemy to face the academic year without a proper rival.” She playfully shoved him, before burying herself back in his arms. Hermione had always wondered why she could see what others couldn’t. Hours of research had led her down a rabbit hole of auras and otherworldly phenomena. Hermione had thought it might be the result of the magic in her veins, but if such other individuals existed, she hadn’t found any mention of them.
“I love you, Draco,” she whispered. His arms squeezed tighter around her.
“And I love you.”
Initially, she thought she understood the pattern, even if there wasn’t a list of attributes intertwined with colours she could memorise. Hermione thought she understood how to predict someone by the virtue of their supposed inherent nature.
Draco was dark and light and everything in between. A patchwork of progress and a tapestry of mistakes. Proof that her hypothesis had been false. People weren't meant to be classified and categorized and thrown into neat little boxes to be tied up with string.
She looked up at Draco, an iridescent shimmering emanating, changing and melding as he hummed promises and reassurances. He was a study in alternation, ever changing with time and perspective and Hermione, for one, couldn’t wait to see what colour would appear next.
