Chapter Text
Chapter Fifty-Eight
There has only been one other time that Hermione saw Draco look the way he does right now.
The night they returned from Charon Estate. The moment his Bind had crumbled, and he’d begun to lose his faculties. When he’d panicked and claimed that he’d ruined her, that he should die, that he didn’t deserve anything. When he’d shown a glimpse of the intense, burning self-hatred he felt inside. The one time he’d truly shown the reason why it was so difficult to love a man like him.
That night had changed something for Hermione. She’d begged him to listen to her. She’d tried her hardest to assuage his fear. She’d told him he hadn’t ruined her. She’d reminded him that they planned that evening out themselves, that she’d consented to it all. She’d begged him not to Bind. To please, please stay. But he’d left and it had nearly destroyed her. It had shown her that he had a power over her heart that no one else had. It was the first night she realized that she needed him in some capacity, and the first night that she realized he needed her.
“Theo betrayed us,” he says, his voice bitter. “He fucking betrayed me.”
“Now hold on a second,” Hermione says, slowly standing up from the armchair. Her eyes dart about the room. He’s at the dead center. Ron and Harry are behind him. Ginny is only a few yards away from him. Hermione and Neville are in front of him.
And he is very, very fast.
“How did he betray you?” Neville asks, sitting forward in his seat, but making no move to stand. He obviously doesn’t see the imminent danger. Nobody else seems to see it but Hermione.
“He told.” Draco looks at Hermione and in his eyes, she can see a deep wealth of pain. “He told Voldemort that I’m in love with you.”
Hermione feels sick to her stomach. This is bad. This is very bad. As far as Voldemort was supposed to know, Hermione was Draco’s unwilling, tormented prisoner. They’ve worked very hard to ensure that Voldemort believes that story. For him to find out that it’s all been an elaborate, deep-rooted lie?
There’s no telling what this means.
“Why would Theo do this?” Hermione says. She’d thought Carrow would be the one to expose them. Not Theo. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“Because Voldemort threatened Tracey.” Draco runs another anxious hand through his hair. “When he found out that Theo was there with me at the New Year’s party, he threatened Tracey to get as much information as possible, and when Voldemort demanded to know why I would kill so many people for you, he told them the truth.”
“What else happened?”
“What else? What else?” He lets out a mirthless laugh. “What else?”
Draco has begun to pace. He moves back and forth, back and forth across the lounge. To an outsider, he looks like he’s worried. But Hermione can tell what’s really going on: he’s very clearly unraveling. This is exactly the moment he’s feared for weeks. The very moment he’s worked so hard to avoid. He’s risked everything to keep this from happening.
Suddenly, he grabs a nearby floor lamp and spins, hurling the lamp across the room. It thrums through the air, spinning tail over top and narrowly misses Harry’s head as it crashes into the far wall, the lightbulb inside of it shattering into hundreds of pieces.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Everyone stands in bated silence as Draco seethes.
“Fuck,” he groans, dragging the word out as he doubles over at the waist, burying his face in his hands. When he stands up straight again, he scrubs his face with his hands and his eyes are frenzied. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“Can’t do what anymore?” Hermione asks.
He stops pacing and stares at her. There are so many cracks in his walls that it’s like they’re about to collapse.
“I just can’t do it anymore.”
“Can’t do what anymore, Draco?”
“I’m sorry.”
His walls shatter.
There’s a split second of silence. Hermione holds her breath, panic beginning to rise within her chest as she realizes what’s about to happen. How much danger everyone’s now in. Her friends could be killed, dead in the next thirty seconds. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s never planned for this to happen.
Ginny begins to back away as Draco starts to tremble. His hands cover his face as his breathing becomes laborious, borderline hyperventilation. He sounds like he’s sobbing and laughing at the same time, and it’s terrifying.
“You wanted to know.” Draco’s hands curve and tremble violently, his claws jutting out as he looks down at them in horror, as though they’re covered in blood. “So I’ll tell you.”
Hermione takes a step back.
“He’s taking you away from me.”
No. Oh, God. No.
“I don’t want to do this.”
It’s clear that everyone’s confused. Neville’s on his feet now, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do.
“I don’t want to…but I have to.”
His eyes, as violet as amethysts, seem to glow in the firelight as he bares his fangs in a virulent hiss.
As realization dawns upon her, Hermione springs into action.
“Everybody go!” she screams. “Go! You need to go!”
Ginny tries to run into the corridor, but Draco is too fast for her. He slams his open palm against her sternum and sends her flying into the back of the lounge. She shrieks as she goes soaring across the area, her back crashing into the wall near the open doorway. She slides down to the floor, unconscious. In the next second, Draco flashes forward, wrapping his hand around Neville’s throat and slamming him down onto the carpeted floor. Neville manages to get his hands around Draco’s wrist for a split second before Draco slams his head against the floor once, twice, thrice, and then he’s unconscious, too.
All of this, in less than ten seconds.
“That’s my sister!” Ron shouts, throwing punches to try and catch Draco in the face and side of the head.
Draco dodges every single one, sidesteps Ron, and heads straight for Harry.
How could she forgive him for this? How, when she’s been begging him to stop Binding for weeks? When she knew something like this would happen? When she knew he’d lose control and hurt someone?
Draco reaches Harry, his hands clutching either side of his head and hauling her kicking and screaming up into the air. He whips around and tosses him the same way he did the lamp, sending him spinning like a top all the way to the other side of the lounge. Harry arches downward and hits a medium-sized bookshelf, all of the books toppling to the floor with the shelf itself falling on top of his prone form.
Hermione screams.
Ron gives a good fight, but he, too is no match for Draco’s speed. Draco hurls him across the room as well, and his large, muscular body destroys a table full of priceless heirlooms in the process. A portrait goes tumbling to the floor and lands on top of him.
Melody appears in the room, freezing with terror immediately at the sight of her employer and friend’s meltdown. Hermione can tell; she’s never been in this situation with him. She doesn’t know what to do.
And when the sound of her arrival draws his attention, his unsettling violet eyes falling upon her, she immediately begins casting spells. Wind spells. Fire spells. Water spells. They all go shooting toward him.
He dodges them all, and lunges.
“Draco, please! No! No, don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!”
Her words seem to get through to him, if only momentarily. He stumbles backward a step, shaking his head out as though ridding it of water, and drops his forehead into his hand.
“I can’t…Melody…you need to leave…”
Draco is beginning to tremble again. His control is slipping. His hands are shaking, claws growing once again, and he’s baring his fangs. His messy hair shrouds his eyes as he dips his head down, fighting against the growing urge he has to hurt Melody.
“Melody, please!” Hermione pleads. “Please, you have to leave. Please!”
Melody finally Shifts away, leaving the space she’d just occupied empty.
Hermione stands up straight and begins to sidle towards the doorway, calling for his attention.
“Draco.”
His head snaps up, predatory gaze sharp as a hawk upon her. His eyes follow her as she continues to inch to the side, closer and closer to the doorway.
She has to speak to him as if he’s a wild animal, because right now, that’s what he is. He’s been Binding his human emotions for so long, letting them burrow too deep, and now that he’s freed them, they’re running rampant, mingling with his magic and leaving nothing behind but the one thing he can never be rid of.
The vampire.
“We’re alone now,” she says, her tone soothing. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
His expression is surprisingly sincere. Almost piteous, like he’s looking at a sick patient that’s going to die. Which is wild. He’d never kill her or hurt her. If he were going to, he would have knocked her out with all the others.
Right?
“You have no idea what I want.”
“Then tell me,” she whispers, finally in the doorway. She can see the fireplace at his back, cold and void of flame. “Tell me what you want, so that I can give it to you.”
“I want you to run, sweet girl.” He says it as if his heart is breaking, and in his eyes, there is nothing but anguish, running as deep and pure as a river through the Earth. “Because if I catch you…I'm going to devour you.”
“You told me…” she chokes out. “You told me never to run.”
“I won't let him have you. I won’t let any of them have you.”
“You told me.”
“Run.”
“But—but you told me—”
He appears directly in front of her, snarling down into her face like the monster he is. His fangs are as sharp as daggers and the violet of hunger is prominent in his eyes. Those violet, violet eyes, so deep a purple that she could get lost in their depths. His pale hair falls forward, reminding her that this is Draco, Draco Malfoy, her Draco who she loves, who told her he loved her, and she doesn’t even get to tell him she loves him back.
“I TOLD YOU TO RUN!”
With a hoarse sob, she does exactly as she’s told.
She runs.
The hallway seems to stretch endlessly, vast and suffocating, the marble floor gleaming beneath the flickering candlelight. Hermione runs up the stairs as fast as she can, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as she tears up them, her boots barely skimming the cold stone. Her heart slams against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that drowns out everything else.
Except him.
She doesn’t hear his footsteps. But she feels him, the air behind her thickening. It turns heavy with his presence, the entire manor holding its breath. He’s close.
She makes a sharp turn, into the hallway that leads to her bedroom. The walls stretch even taller here, lined with oil paintings that seem to watch her imminent demise with glee. The sconces cast long, trembling shadows, spectral fingers that reach for her as she runs.
Her room. It’s just at the end of this corridor. If she can reach it, she’ll be safe. The Veil is her last and only bastion. The first gift he ever gave her, and the first sign she should have noticed that his feelings for her were more than just hunger.
She pushes harder, her legs burning as she lunges forward, fingertips already reaching for the doorknob. Almost there. Almost—
Something snaps around her scalp, yanking her back so violently she chokes on her own breath. Clawed fingers, digging deep into her kinky curls and tangling there, scraping her hard enough to break skin. A cry rips from her throat as her head jerks backward, her entire body following the motion as her feet leave the ground. A brutal ache spreads across her skull, the sharp sting of roots threatening to tear free as her momentum is ripped away.
Her back collides with something solid.
A breath of warm air brushes her cheek as Draco leans in, his fingers tightening in her hair, coiling around the strands.
“I told you not to let me catch you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “So close, kitten.”
A shudder runs through her as his other hand trails lazily down the length of the side of her throat, his touch featherlight yet deliberate.
“But not close enough.”
Her breath comes in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling against the unyielding press of his body. His scent surrounds her, that sandalwood scent she loves that brings her such comfort, which now brings her terror. Her pulse pounds against his fingertips, erratic and wild, betraying every ounce of fear in her body.
Draco inhales deeply, dragging his nose along the curve of her jaw.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the sound barely more than a whisper. “Even now, you have no idea how good you smell. Makes me want to die with you.”
Hermione shudders, her body betraying her even as her mind screams for her to fight.
He shifts, moving closer until she can feel the press of his fangs just above her pulse point.
“So warm,” he murmurs, voice dripping with hunger. “So alive.”
Her fingers curl into fists.
No.
She will not be his prey. She will not let him do this to himself, to her, to them. She won’t let Voldemort tear them apart.
With all the strength she has left, she twists against his hold, trying to drive her elbow into his ribs, to break his hold. It’s only when she does this that she realizes he’s shaking. Trembling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his lips brushing her skin, a ghost of a kiss over her pulse. “I don’t want this either. I want to be with you more than anything. I want this life we have, here in the manor, exactly the way it is.”
His fangs scrape, just enough to make her breath hitch.
“But to allow them to have you…to let Carrow take you and hurt you and rape you…just so I can have you alive? How selfish. How selfish.”
She freezes and the lack of movement enables her to feel his tears hitting her skin, rolling down the skin on her throat and dripping over her clavicle, disappearing into her dress.
Draco is crying.
“And it’s because I love you that I can’t be selfish with you.”
He spins her around and drops her, until her spine crashes against the floor just beside her bedroom door. Her curls spill out around her head as soon as she hits the ground, and he hovers over her. There's devastation written on his face, like the end of Atlantis and Alexandria, and as he descends upon her, his mouth latching onto the side of her neck, she realizes that this truly is the end of an era.
He's going to kill her.
The moment his fangs sink into her flesh, Hermione steels herself against the lustful feelings that rise within her. Even as she feels it rising within her, caressing her, coaxing pleasure out of the depths of her body, she resists the urge she has to give in. Because she knows that tonight is different. Tonight, if she gives in, she dies.
Draco’s tongue laves against the wounds his fangs have created and he sucks, siphoning out her precious blood. Hermione can feel it escaping her body, rushing out of her veins as though it’s desperate to find its way into his waiting mouth. Her hips and body writhe against her will, her fingers grasping onto the fabric of his shirt and pulling him ever-closer. A voice at the back of her head tries to soothe her, tries to remind her that he loves her, to tell her that this is necessary and that a life with Carrow is worse than no life at all.
No! No, that’s wrong! That’s all wrong!
“Draco,” Hermione whimpers, her voice sounding broken as she pushes against the iron wall that is his chest. “Draco, stop.”
He growls in response, his fangs scraping voraciously, eliciting a cry at the ensuing lance of pleasure that bolts through her lower half. She tries not to squirm beneath him but it's nigh impossible when all she wants to do is beg him to touch her and kiss her and fuck her.
“Draco.” She pushes harder, beginning to pound and beat her fists against his chest, trying as hard as she can to push, push, push. “Draco, please stop. I’m begging you, please!”
He says nothing, his hand coming up to grip the side of her neck and force her throat more firmly against his mouth. He makes a broken, anguished noise the more blood he drinks, and she feels his tears mingling with her own on her face.
Why is he doing this to them, if it’s causing them both this much pain?
Hermione bursts out into terrified tears. She doesn’t want to die, but she can feel Death sauntering closer with every drop of blood that Draco consumes. She doesn’t want to die, but she has no choice. She’s going to. And every second that ticks by brings them closer to the point of no return. He won’t be able to change his mind. He won’t be able to be convinced because even if he were, it would be too late.
She’ll already be gone.
“Please, Draco, please stop,” she wails, still beating her fists against him, kicking her legs and feet against the floor. “No, no, no. I’ll die! I’ll die!”
He lifts his mouth just enough so that he can speak, and his lips brush her skin when he does.
“I know.”
His words send chills rippling down her already-cold spine.
“I don’t want to die,” she sobs. “Please, Draco. I love you. I don’t want to die.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He’s crying, too, and he presses his forehead to her shoulder for a moment. “Fuck. Fuck. I know.”
“Then please stop.”
“I can’t.”
He takes a deep, hitched breath and bites her again. Even though it feels good, she screams at the top of her lungs. It echoes through the corridor, through the hallways, through the entire manor.
How asinine, to be killed by the person you love most in the world. To be killed by the one who swore to protect you, all because he thinks this is the way to do it. That the alternative would be so much worse. When it would be so much simpler to just…
“Be selfish,” she whispers.
“Hm?” he mumbles.
“Be selfish.” She can’t speak any louder. She’s too weak, and her vision has gone hazy. “You’re a selfish, spoiled, conceited man, Draco Malfoy. So I don’t understand why you can’t be selfish now.”
He rises up and stares at her, blood dripping from his mouth.
“But…you’ve been pretending,” she goes on, tears clinging to her lashes and dripping down into her blood-soaked hair. “You’ve been doing nice things for me, risking your life and taking care of me and my friends. You’ve been selfless and the one thing you want to keep is the one thing the universe is telling you that you can’t have?”
With the last of her strength, Hermione lifts her hand and places it on the center of his chest. Right on his sternum. She can feel his heart beating. It’s pounding a rapid tattoo, singing for her and only her.
“You have earned the right to have whatever you want, Draco,” she says. “And you have earned the right to feel.”
It’s like a house of cards.
He dissolves into tears, collapsing on top of her with his head pillowed on her stomach as he begs her forgiveness over and over and over, so that the last thing she hears before unconsciousness are the words, “Forgive me.”