“We're a fucked up pair,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I can't believe it ended up like this. I did want to kill you the first time I saw you. I assumed you'd rape me or at least force me to have sex with you and amuse yourself by hurting me, and then someday, I'd get to kill you. I was looking forward to it. But I always felt that you were only showing me a mask; someone you thought would be easy for me to hate. Maybe if I'd been less lonely, I would have believed it, but you reminded me of myself. I thought at first we were the reverse of each other. Now—,” she looked over at him and extended her hand, “—I think we're mostly the same.”
His eyes were dark as he interlaced his fingers with hers and pulled her slowly back toward himself; until she was in his arms, their bodies pressed against each other. He kissed her. He kissed her, and she kissed him.
Life was not cold.
He drew his head back and kissed her forehead, sliding his hands along her shoulders and caressing her throat in a way that had grown familiar. He kissed between her eyes. “You're a better person than I am.”
She lifted her hand up to catch his jaw in her palm. She felt as though she couldn't possibly touch him enough.
“I never had to go as far. Like you said, I still had space to be naive. Even though I knew some of what was happening, it didn't occur to me how far the Order would go. I knew Kingsley was manipulative, that he uses people's impulses to get the results he needs. But — I'm not a strategist; I don't know how to think of people that way in the long term. Even when I try to,”—she rested her head on his shoulder—“I don't know how to stay detached about it.”
He turned her face up toward his. “You keep people alive. You look at them, and you try to keep all of them alive. That is considerably more difficult than calculating all the ways you can use them or kill them. I imagine it costs you more too.”
The corner of her mouth quirked sadly, and she looked down. Draco rested his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes. It felt as though their souls were touching.
She turned her head until his nose brushed against hers, and she tilted her chin up so that their lips met.
She wanted to spend the rest of her life lost in that moment.
She drew back reluctantly. “I have to go. I'm sure the Order is waiting for an explanation.”
Draco didn't let go. “You should eat.”
“I have to go,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
His fingers twitched as his hold tightened. “Take a shower. I'll order you something. Any preferences?”
“Draco,” she took hold of his wrist and firmly pulled his hand off of her. “You can't keep me here. I have to go.”
His expression flickered briefly. Just enough to reveal a shard of possessiveness and something ravenous and desperate that she couldn't quite place. Then it all vanished as he withdrew his hands and let her stand.
His expression was cold and closed, but his eyes burned.
Hermione reached out and touched his face, tilting his head back. She pressed a kiss on his forehead.
“I'll take you up on that shower.” She pulled the flat sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself as she gathered her clothes off the floor. She could feel Draco's gaze as she crossed the room.
The bathroom had an enormous claw foot tub that Hermione gazed longingly at before stepping into the shower. The unmistakable scent of sex hung around her, and she still had traces of blood on her from the previous day. Not all of it was hers. She could feel it in her hair as she started to wash it.
She scrubbed herself rapidly from head to toe before stepping out and drying off. She glanced in the mirror. The bathroom was brightly, almost starkly lit. Designed for women who applied make-up meticulously and wanted to be able to inspect their every pore. Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, clutching the towel against herself.
Grimmauld Place's poor lighting was much kinder to her. She barely recognised the person in the reflection.
As she was staring, Draco came and stood at the door. He'd pulled a pair of trousers on.
“You're right, I do look like a corpse,” she said after another moment.
The hollows of his cheeks flushed, and his eyes dropped to the floor. “You should eat more.”
She shrugged. “It's stress. It's not like they don't feed me. I'll eat again when I can sleep again.” She looked over at him with a critical eye. “You're not exactly sporting a healthy body weight yourself.”
He looked down at himself and then back up at her, arching an eyebrow. “Who do you think causes my stress? You are a nightmare to worry about.”
She glanced away, her throat tightening slightly as she started to scourgify her clothes. “I — do actually have a foraging partner now.”
“The Patil who lost her foot. The one you trained.”
Hermione looked up and stared at him in the mirror. “How did you know?”