She stayed astride him as they progressed, as things grew warmer and the world around them blurred away. There was nothing but Draco, his hands and eyes, the beating of his heart. She re-explored his body. He was different, he felt damaged in her hands. He had scars she didn't recognise, and his fingers twitched sometimes when he was pulling her closer and trailing his hands across her skin.
She laid against the length of his body, relishing the heat of him while his hand traced up the curve of her spine. He nipped along her shoulder until she gave a low moan and her body shuddered against his. She kissed down his throat and along his collarbones and took note of how he reacted, the ways he tensed and his breath caught, the way his fingers twisted in her hair and slid possessively down her throat.
Mine. She could feel it in his touch, but he didn't say it.
Mine.
His eyes weren't like a wolf's. They were a dragon's, deadly and possessive. He stared at her as though she were all that mattered in the world. It made her blood burn.
Her thighs bracketed his hips as she sat astride him and shifted. She met his eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her pulse was racing, and she knew he could feel it.
She drew his hands to her hips as she slowly lowered herself. His eyes turned black, and his jaw tensed as he gave a low hiss between his teeth, but he didn't hurry her as she paused and adjusted to the sensation and then rolled her hips forward.
It was — familiar, in both good ways and bad.
Over the table, she'd tried not to pay attention, not to how it felt, how it touched her inside, the sensation or the movement. She'd torn her mind away and focused on the bite of the table against her hipbones, the clock, the texture of the wood beneath her fingertips. Poetry. Potions. Anything else.
It had always been a matter of experiencing it as little as possible.
Now she wanted to notice what it was like. They were connected. He was in her and under her. His hands guiding her hips as she moved with him.
It was good. It had felt this way when they used to have sex, she was certain.
The heat of his touch was like a fire. It wasn't too fast or too much for her. He went as slow as she needed him to.
It used to be slow. She remembered that. Slow and intimate as he whispered against her skin. The burning reverence of his touch as he used to make love to her.
That's what it had been. Making love.
That's what they'd had.
Her eyes burned, and she dropped her head down as her shoulders shook.
“I love you.” She gripped his hand in hers so tightly it hurt. “I wanted my whole life to show you.”
Chapter End Notes
"Hermione, I'm tired." by bookloverdream.
Reaching for the portrait by bookloverdream.
The war had eaten him by thegirlthatreadsfantasybooks.
"Hands steady enough to build a bomb" by ellefair.
Chapter 69
June 2005
Severus is coming. Severus is coming.
Hermione felt as though she were turning to lead. There was constant aching pain in her chest, and a stone seemed to be lodged in her throat; she felt it each time she swallowed.
A palpable sense of horror and despair spreading around and through her. It was as if she was drowning with the rising tide; the water had reached her face, sliding slowly across her skin, lapping a little higher each minute. She was locked in place and could do nothing but sit, feeling it draw over her.
She wanted her occlumency back.
Now that she remembered having it, she felt its loss. Death and mutilation, everyone she'd seen die, right in the forefront of her mind. It hadn't always been that way. There used to be space from the emotional agony, but now there wasn't.
Soon Draco would be another person who'd died because she couldn't save him.
She didn't think any amount of occlumency would ever make the pain of it fade.
If she could just occlude a bit, she thought she'd be able to say everything she felt she needed to say, to ask him what she wanted to know. Instead, each time she tried to broach the subject, her voice would break, her shoulders would begin shaking, and she'd start crying and then hyperventilating.
Draco would stoically let her cry and then wrap his arms around her and calm her when she started overbreathing.
She'd jerk away angrily.
She wanted to scream at him. Stop accepting this. Stop being resigned. You're breaking my heart. Stop acting like it's alright. It's not alright. It's never going to be alright. Stop being resigned.
It was easy to be angry at him — at least she was still trying. He was just going along with it.
She finally broke down and raged at him until she had a panic attack. His plans were stupid and selfish. It wasn't fair that he got to die, and she was left to live with everything. If he'd just let her help him rescue Ginny, none of this might have happened. He should have let them work together. If he hadn't been so controlling and not tried to do everything by himself — everything might have been different.
He just stood there without a word while she vented it all. Until she started hyperventilating and collapsed on the floor with her arms protectively wrapped around her stomach. He shushed her and rubbed circles on her back while she cried and tried to shake him off.
“Don't do this to me, Draco. Don't do this. Don't — don't — don't — don't—”
Afterwards, he was called away, and she was left to seethe and obsess and realise he was doing it intentionally.
He could read her thoughts. He knew the ways her mind tilted. Prior to Montague's attack, he'd gone out of his way to needle her and make her hate him. He'd given her a target, something to focus on; a way to channel her stress. If she was angry at him, she was less self-destructive. Her rage dampened her guilt.
Then leaving would be easier for her.
She didn't want to be managed.
She swallowed her anger after that. She didn't want to waste the time she had by being angry.
But when she was alone, she wanted to scream and break everything within reach. The manacles physically prevented her from doing anything but cry. She was burning with rage, and devastation, and guilt without any capacity to channel it. She felt as though it was poisoning her from the inside, as though the emotions were corroding the blood in her veins.
She obsessively kept going through all the stacks of books that covered the floor of more than half of her room. If she read them enough times, maybe she'd have a breakthrough, maybe she might see something she'd overlooked before.
When Draco visited, she tried to ignore the fact she was leaving.
He had an unusual amount of availability leading up to the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Lucius was responsible for “hunting”, and executions had been placed on hold until the anniversary celebration.
Draco was able to spend most of his time with her.
She poured herself into him. She wanted every detail of him.
They made love several more times. After the first time, it was easier. She was confident that she could handle it, that she could stop if she needed to. She could communicate things to him physically that she struggled to verbalise without crying.
She could hold onto him and wish to never let go.