Hermione's fingers trailed along walls as she walked. She never had panic attacks inside the manor, but the sensation of the wall beneath her fingers was steadying.
The moonlight cast long, sharp shadows across the floors and walls.
A thought abruptly struck Hermione. What if Malfoy died? Would she even know? Probably not. Not for days. Healer Stroud would come and take Hermione to be transferred to some other legilimens. Maybe Voldemort would bring Snape back from Romania and order him to impregnate her instead.
What if she were already pregnant? The thought made her cold. What if she were pregnant and Malfoy died? Would Voldemort wait for her to give birth and then drag her memories out himself? Or would he make Stroud abort the baby so Hermione could be transferred? If she carried it to term then, what would happen to it? Would Voldemort give the baby to Astoria?
Astoria would kill it. She'd torture it to death. If it looked like Malfoy and Hermione, Astoria would probably tear its eyes out and burn it, starve it to death...
Hermione gasped and started hyperventilating in the hallway.
There was nothing she could do. Nothing. She couldn't do anything.
She had spent months wishing Malfoy would die but now the thought filled her with terror.
What if he was dead?
She kept breathing faster and faster. Her hands and arms started pricking as though there were needles grazing her skin. Her chest felt compressed as though she were being crushed. She couldn't make herself calm down.
Suddenly there was a shifting in the darkness. Hermione froze, choked down a gasp, and glanced around.
Malfoy stepped out of the darkness. She was certain he hadn't been there a moment before.
The moonlight caught his pale hair and skin, and he looked terrifying and angelic at the same time.
She stared at him, feeling her initial panic fade away. He wasn't dead or dying. The sense of relief she felt at seeing him—
She tried not to dwell on it as she studied him carefully.
There was something about his face...
The tension in it seemed slightly eased from the hard cold expression she was so used to. He looked less on the verge of a breakdown.
He came closer to her. His eyes traveling down her slowly as he sized her up.
"Granger."
Her name rolled from his lips like a purr. She felt a shiver of uncertainty pass through her. He never called her by her surname, not once since she had arrived. She was always Mudblood.
Her eyes widened.
He was drunk.
His steps remained steady and his voice was unslurred, but — she was sure of it.
She didn't move.
He drew nearer, until she shuffled backwards, but he kept coming closer. Until she was trapped against the wall, and he was mere inches from her.
"Oh, Granger." He sighed, staring down at her. He raised a hand and placed it across her throat, but didn't squeeze; he just left it there. She could feel the heat of it seeping into her skin.
She stared up at him. Even drunk, his expression was a mask. She wasn't sure what he intended to do next. He slid his thumb lightly along her neck and she felt her skin prickle.
He sighed again. "If I'd known what pain you'd cause me, I never would have taken you."
He just stood there, holding her throat. She could feel her pulse fluttering against his hand. She wasn't sure what he meant; if she was supposed to apologise.
She could smell the alcohol on his breath.
"But," he said after a minute, "at this point, I suppose I deserve to burn. I wonder, if you'll burn too."
His face was suddenly close to hers, she could feel the air from his words brushing against her skin.
His lips crashed into hers.
Chapter End Notes
"If You'll Burn Too" by _knar.m_
"I wonder if you'll burn too" by dragonly.art
Warning: This chapter contains a brief episode of self-harm.
He tasted of firewhiskey.
It was a punishing kiss. The moment their lips touched, he crushed her body against his. His hand on her throat slid back and up to the nape, tangling his fingers in her hair as he deepened the kiss. His other hand reached up and cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand for a moment before it slipped down along her body.
He angled her head up as he kept kissing her. His tongue pushing into her mouth before withdrawing as he nipped her lips. Hard enough to hurt, but not to bleed. Then, when she was gasping for breath, he pulled his mouth away and started kissing along her throat.
Hermione was frozen in shock. Pliant and stunned in his possessive hands.
He was pulling at her clothes. She could feel the outer robe slipping onto the floor, and the top buttons of the dress open as the cold manor air hit her. He ripped buttons off as he exposed her and explored her bared skin.
He was grinding himself against her as he pulled the dress down over her shoulders, stripping her to the waist.