The Concussion
Hermione woke slowly, warmth encompassing her as she could feel fingers dancing over the naked skin of her back. Soft voices broke through her consciousness even as she tried to ignore it, pushing her face deeper into the warm mass she cuddled into, the soft clinking of a glass pulling her further out of sleep.
Her eyelids finally fluttered open, trying to keep her breathing even. Light invaded the room, revealing the tattooed stomach, the patchwork ink intermingling with numerous scars tracking their way across his torso and down his legs. The burning arousal had finally subsided, but not before it had left her with a slew of wet dreams deserving of her bunk back during her teenage years, all of which starred a certain blond who she currently laid on.
The rustling of paper above her tipped her off to the time, the glaring sunlight spurring her to action.
“What time is it?” Her voice was rough from sleep as she rolled over, pulling the sheets up to cover herself. She winced, the sun glaring into her eyes to aggravate the migraine that had been building to wake her. She groaned against the pain, hands coming up to guard her retinas.
Malfoy’s wand clattered against the nightstand as he picked it up and the drapes screeching closed in response to whatever charm he threw their way.
Gentle hands came up to cup her head, massaging into her scalp, “Hermione, what’s wrong?” Malfoy’s voice was soft and she sighed thankfully, trying to slowly remove her hands bracing her eyes from the onslaught of the light.
“Just a headache,” she shook his hands off, gently climbing to the edge of the bed. The dim surroundings still stabbed through her retinas, “I need to get to work,” Hermione stood on shaking legs, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea accompanying the pain in her head.
In a flash, Malfoy was in front of her, cradling her head in his hands once more, “Granger,” his low voice was filled with concern, “You’re not going to work like this,” his words held an air of authority while his thumbs stroked down her cheeks, “Open your eyes, love,” She whimpered against the flashes of searing agony driving themselves through her temples as she tried.
“I can’t just stop working to be your slave, Malfoy,” she spat back at him, wincing as the words left her mouth louder than she’d meant to speak.
His breath left his chest, frustration filling his gaze as he stared down at her, one of his hands sliding down to allow his fingers to wrap around her throat while his eyes bounced back and forth between hers. There was no pressure there as she challenged him, her squinted eyes holding as steady as she could make them at the moment, “You no longer go anywhere without my permission,” the growl filled the room, every syllable enunciated like he struggled to hold onto his temper at that moment, “Your pupils are blown out and they’re two different sizes, get back into bed before I order you to,” The hand wrapped around the delicate skin at her throat guided her backward a step until her legs hit the bed, immediately collapsing out from under her. “I’m getting you a pain potion and a sleeping drought, I’ll owl Kingsley to let him know you’ll be taking the next few weeks off to recover from the concussion you have now made worse, and I’ll be having my healer come in to look over you,” her eyes finally closed, loosing the battle with the migraine as tears from the pain and burning in her retinas falling down her cheeks.
A sigh met her ears from in front of her as unseen hands guided her back into the soft cushions of the bed, warm blankets surrounding her with his scent, “When was the last time you got more than a few hours of sleep, Granger?” gentle fingers ran over her skin as though he couldn’t stop himself. She hissed in discomfort as they made their way over her forearm, meeting the sensitive skin of her scar.
Snatching her hand away to turn on her side away from him, her voice was muffled by a pillow she pulled over her face to buffer to light, “A week, maybe two?”
Hands were on her back again, pulling her to face him and nudging the pillow out of her eyes, “And the scar?” She didn’t have the strength to fight against him, letting her squinted stare examine the concern and fury flitting across his face.
“Never healed,” her voice was breathless as more tears fought to fall from her pained gaze.
She seemed so vulnerable in this moment. Draco’s breath caught looking at her, his beautiful witch caught in pain and constantly feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. Never again. It didn’t matter if she realized it or not, but he would never leave her on her own to try and fix the world. Never leave her alone again, period.
Hermione squinted up at him, Malfoy’s face a mask of barely restrained anger and frustration before he left her alone while the cold invaded the spot he’d vacated.
Her eyes shut again against the raging onslaught behind her temples, the confusion riding Malfoy’s every action working to just make it worse. She felt like she didn’t understand anything.
She went for six years not seeing the man only to swoon at his feet the second he’d come back into town. There was more going on, he was not a good person, or at least not in a legal career but all he had to do was look in her direction and her panties practically melted. But none of it made sense, he realized this ‘overwhelming attraction for her’ only to stay away ‘for her to live a happy life’? People didn’t actually do things like that, they were selfish and self-obsessed, and the Malfoy she knew didn’t do anything that didn’t put himself first. Her tired eyes strayed to the door, like get someone medicine? Or take interest in their less-than-stellar sleeping habits?
Groaning she pulled the pillow roughly back over her face, trying to block out the devil’s advocate making the pounding behind her eyes worse. Maybe it’s time to just accept the fact that we’ve all grown up. The thought washed over her with a stabbing pain straight through her temples, the nausea striking back with a vengeance, propelling her out of bed in a mad dash to the bathroom.
Hermione’s knees slammed into the floor as she retched violently, her entire body shaking as the room spun around her. Her fingers clung to the porcelain trying to keep herself upright as wave after wave of nausea pushed her back down.
“Hermione?” Malfoy’s voice echoed carefully through the cracked bathroom door, “Oh, my love,”
She didn’t look up from the toilet to acknowledge the concern in his words but regardless the tapping of dragonhide boots met her ears just before she could feel her hair being pulled back away from her face. His fingers ran through her hair and scraped down her back, doing his best to comfort her.
His body covered hers from behind as he kissed the side of her head, sitting with her until she finished, the warmth from him seeped into her bones helping to center her swirling brain.
Coughing out the last of the stomach acid echoed loudly in her ears before she felt Malfoy leave. Trying to ignore the immediate sensation of loss washing through her as she tried to catch her breath, dry heaving every so often. Thankfully, she didn’t have the brainpower to analyze her feelings on the subject before he dropped down next to her again with a cup of water.
“Rinse and drink,” he urged, pushing her hair from her face before she looked up, thankfully taking the water. He didn’t say anything, just letting her drink her fill until finished before taking the glass back and reaching up to the counter for a damp towel and gently wiping her face free of the mess.
Groaning, she leaned on the toilet for support as he finished with her face, throwing the towel haphazardly back towards the sink.
“Back to bed, love,” with that he scooped her as gently as he could into the cradle of his arms to stride the short distance back to the bedroom, setting her on the edge of the bed. Hermione’s hands blocked her eyes from the remaining sunlight and a shirt appeared, forcing her hands to move for it to slide over her head and down to her thighs, “Better,” His lips pressed against her temple again, pulling her hands out of the way of her eyes, “Open again for me, I’m going to get my healer here soon, I need to know what to tell him,”
She whimpered peeling her eyes open as much as she could stand, his face filled with worry in front of her, brows pushed together and those perfect lips twisting into a frown as he examined her eyes, “I think you’ve aggravated your head injury, did you hit your head last night?” a thumb trailed down her cheek.
“I-I don’t think so,” she shook her head, “I don’t have any gaps in my memory either,”
He sighed before letting her close her eyes again, “Dammit, Hermione if you had just rested and let me take care of you after you first got the concussion this wouldn’t have happened,”
She couldn’t summon the energy to think up a properly witty response, just giving a snort in his direction and blindly crawling towards the cocoon of warmth she’d created before her body had rudely interrupted her. He helped her pull the covers back, a pop sounding before he cupped the back of her head and a potion bottle met her lips. She couldn’t have questioned it if she wanted to, greedily drinking the small potion down.
“Don’t think I won’t punish you for that later,” he growled, tucking her in.
“Whatever,” she barely heard her own voice, sleep taking her before it could meet her ears.
Draco examined the sleeping witch, frustration and confusion warring for dominance. Frustration won out, the stubborn witch refused any help. He was sure the ginger was aware she was missing by now, his eyes lingered on the raw skin of her arm peeking out from behind the pillow she’d pulled tight to her face. Shit, whatever curse was laced into the blade his psychotic aunt used never went away. His fingers went to the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the anger he could feel lurking under his skin, a battle that was quickly lost.
The snap of apparition was the only warning he gave, dropping into the tiny clinic on the outside of Wiltshire. The mousey man behind the counter nearly fell out of his chair, balding, brown hair brushing the wall behind him as he righted himself, “Mr. Malfoy,” his exclaimed greeting interrupted by the glare Draco leveled at him, “W-What can I help you with?”
Draco did his best to school his features into something kinder, it wouldn’t do to scare the healer he kept on call, “My fiancée has joined me in the Manor at long last, it seems she’s having some complications resulting from a concussion sustained during an attack on her about a week ago, Healer Ricketts,”
His look of surprise quickly disappeared, brows drawing together in thought, “Of course, I can be there in an hour?”
Malfoy shook his head, “Thirty minutes at most, she has a severe migraine along with nausea and vomiting,”
Zacharias Ricketts’ eyes widened in surprise, immediately reaching for a bag to fill with supplies, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes, any idea of what’s possibly caused aggravation of the injury?”
He gave a short shake of the head, “No further injuries to the head, however, I fear she’s not been resting as she should, nor has she reduced the amount of advanced problem-solving needed to recover,”
The healer gave a short nod, muttering to himself as he went, “That would do it,”
“Thirty minutes, Moppy will guide you upstairs to the bedchamber, I’ll meet you there,”
He shook his head, giving the worried man a small smile, “Fear not, I’m sure with proper rest she’ll be right as rain in --,”
Draco didn’t stay to listen to the old man’s reassurances, the crack of his apparition echoing off the small walls before he landed in the entrance hall to the ministry. His long strides made short work of the entryway, and the elevator was quiet, the everlasting sneer on his face putting an end to any comments made in his presence. Regardless the sideways glances from Aurors promised rumors would be swirling before lunch.
Deposited at the highest offices, he made his way quickly down the hall, not stopping to speak to the secretary before stepping into Minister Shaklebolt’s office. A wave of his hand closed the door, silencing any outcries from the woman behind the desk.
Kingsley pointedly ignored his presence, quill scratching quickly over a document while another hovered next to him. Draco could feel his control snap tight on the thread keeping it tethered. Pulling out a chair he took a seat across from the unbothered minister, trying his best to remain outwardly calm when every impulse screamed at him to throttle the wizard for his neglect of Granger. His witch needed someone to take care of her, Shacklebolt’s refusal to force her to take a break made him complicit in her injury. No, if he keeps going with this line of thought he’ll be dragged from the ministry and directly to Azkaban. Assuming he doesn’t make it to Potter’s first. A sneer broke through his façade just at the name, Shaggy haired bastard has been watching her neglect herself for years, encouraging it even, as long as she was there to help clean up whatever mess he made.
“Mr. Malfoy, to what do I owe the pleasure?” his tone was unentertained at best, Draco felt his temper flare, very few wizards could speak to him as such and not find themselves splattered against the nearest wall, Kingsley’s refusal to be intimidated tested him almost beyond his limits.
He released a steadying breath, mask in place as he met the minister’s eyes, “Hermione Granger will be taking a two-week leave of absence,”
The man’s bald head wrinkled as his eyebrow rose, “And why is she not here to deliver that news herself?”
His glare returned, “The neglect of her department resulted in her working through and aggravating her injuries after being concussed,” he nearly growled at the Minister of Magic, “She’s currently incapacitated and attempting to rest in between bouts of vomiting,”
The surprise on Shaklebolt’s face flashed only for a moment, “And she’s no longer staying at the Potter’s?” his voice drawled on the question, probing for information.
Malfoy chuckled, stretching his long legs as he stood to examine the minister’s bookshelf against the wall, finger scraping through the thick layer of dust resting there, “No, as stated in the betrothal contract filed with the Department Marriage and Family Services, her residence is officially changed to Malfoy Manor, her flat is being emptied and her leasing contract ended as we speak,”
The quill floated to the ground as the minister lost his grip, the surprise hidden before blasting across his face, “You can’t honestly think I’ll buy whatever – farce you’re trying to pull,” his words stumbled out, the wizard launching to his feet.
“I can assure you, no pretense is at play,” Draco could feel his grin widen, his most possessive instincts screaming in victory at the public ploy claiming her for himself, “The contract was presented to her as of Monday last week, amendments have been made and notarized, and at this point, no competing contracts have prior claim,” he glanced towards his elder, nearly steaming out his ears, “As of next Monday, with no other offers to compete against, the betrothal will be irrefutable,”
Kingsley stumbled back at the realization, “She hasn’t signed it,”
“Stubborn to the end, but rest assured that will be amended before the end of the week,” Draco’s thumb scraped over the hovering constellation globe adorning the shelf.
“Y—You have no right,” his words were a whispered hush around the office.
His grin froze on his face, turning to face the older Wizard, “I have every right,” his voice deathly quiet, “Even now, she could be pregnant with the next Malfoy heir, and you have the gall to question that?” Draco could feel the thread holding his control begin to fray.
Shaklebolt stood his ground, “She’s made it no secret she has no intention of entertaining your.. offer,”
“Regardless, the law is the law,” his face fell as he stared down the old Minister, “Do you wish to bring it in front of the Wizengamot?” Kingsley gaped at him, the Wizengamot would sooner pass laws terminating their own positions than question the pure-blooded traditions they were founded in.
“Only family can raise such concerns,” Shaklebolt’s voice sounded weak as took a step back, bumping into the chair behind him. Draco nearly laughed at the show of defeat, the fury riding him waning in the face of his victory.
He tsked, “Such a pesky thing, these laws,” he turned to face the wizard head-on, taking a slow step towards the desk between them, “Regardless, I’ll be taking care of my fiancee while she recovers from her injury,” Draco’s eyes narrowed, “I wouldn’t be expecting her to return to her position,”
Kingsley glared back at him, “She would never quit the Aurors without good reason, there’s no logic in it, and whatever marriage,” he spat the words back at Malfoy, “—you have does not give you full control of her and her affairs,”
He shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not,” a smirk curled his lips, “It’s a good thing I have logic on my side,” he glanced around the office before reaching for the handle, “Especially with your current replacement appearing to be McMillon,” he chuckled again, “If only we’d had a Minister more willing to place safeguards for Muggle-born employment opportunities,”
The glare Shaklebolt sent him as he crossed the threshold could have frozen over hells, he laughed as he left, anger unwinding from his chest with the verbal victory.
Malfoy’s arrival was announced with the crack of his apparition back in the bedroom, lights dancing behind her eyelids with the sound. Even muffled by pillows pulled over her head the noise made her groan with the flash of pain in her head.
The bed dipped next to her, cold hands running slowly over her arms to pull the pillow away, leaving her to stare into the silver eyes above her. Concern lined his face as his palm immediately went to her forehead.
“You’re burning up,” his eyes went to the door before glancing at his watch, “The healer should be here by now,”
Hermione’s eyes squinted against the pain from the natural light leaking through the curtains, “I’ll be fine, I’m sure it’s just the flu or something,” she reached for his wrist, eying him suspiciously as she pulled his hand away.
He snorted, both hands gravitating back to feel if the skin on her neck was as hot as her forehead, “The damn flu doesn’t cause migraines, Granger,” she pulled at his wrists, realizing how weak she really felt.
Malfoy stared down at her hands, frowning, his brows knit together trying to assess her state. A truly worried Draco Malfoy was not a sight she ever thought she’d see. It’s almost… sweet? No, it would be sweet if he didn’t also force her into indentured servitude the night before. She scoffed at the thought, drawing a glare from the blond leaning over her.
He finally relented, letting go of her neck to sit back on the edge of the bed, “Fight me when you can have the windows open without wincing, Granger,” he sighed, hands pushing through his hair, defeated. Malfoy glanced at his watch again, fiddling with the strap and leg jiggling on the floor, “Where’s the damn healer?” his words were murmured as he got to his feet again, long legs striding the length of the room before turning back. She tracked his movement with her eyes as he paced, struggling against the obvious realization directly in front of her.
How could the arrogant, entitled prick she knew during her youth grow into the surprisingly caring, determined, albeit arrogant, strong, attracti—Shit, where was she going with this? Criminal, yes this man was a criminal. Not sweet or caring, criminal for sure. Were the two mutually exclusive?
Hermione’s eyes burned with the effort of watching the confounding man pace until they closed, rather than struggling to follow, “Malfoy, sit down, you’re making my head worse,” the bed caved next to her nearly immediately, the scrape of his palms meeting her cheeks.
“Granger, this is serious,” his growl met her ears, “You could have brain damage,”
One of her eyes cracked open, a grin dancing over her face, “Malfoy, one concussion isn’t going to cause brain damage,”
Malfoy scowled down at her, “It could if you bounce your head on the pavement as hard as you did, then refuse to rest and heal,”
Her eyes rolled, trying to hide the grimace that went with it.
“You don’t even have enough brain power to argue with me, how am I supposed to know you don’t have brain damage?” his lips twitched to the barest glint of a smirk before the troubling frown returned.
Her own frown reflected his, the confusion growing even more, “I’m sure with some rest we’ll be back to bickering in no time,”
Malfoy’s eyes lingered on her arm, frown deepening “I hate seeing you in pain,”
Her brows drew together, the migraine muddying her thoughts making it hard to assess his meaning before her mouth opened to reply. There was nothing she could think of, no questions she could ask that she hadn’t already. Certainly not at the moment, anyway, the only thing she could do was trust that he wouldn’t hurt her for the time being. Or order her to do something unsavory. The doubt crept up her spine, regardless of the man he’d grown into, genuine or not, he’d done truly terrible things in the name of a terrifying ideology that leads to nothing but death and pain. Every cell in her body ached to believe in his declarations, but her mind continuously reminded her that not everyone is what they seem, and there’s no telling what he truly wanted.
Both their eyes snapped towards the door and her mouth clicked shut as it swung open. A short man with balding brown hair and a white cloak, a small black bag clenched in his hand like a shield.
“You’re late,” she winced against the deep sound echoing from Malfoy’s throat.
The mousey man stepped inside, “Apologies Mr. Malfoy, I had some trouble finding a tome I needed regarding brain injuries,”
She heard Malfoy’s soft scoff before his hand waved the healer farther in, the other finding her hand buried in the sheets while the man deposited his bag onto the bed on her other side. Their eyes watched as the healer twitched his wand, the diagnostic spells dancing around her body until centered and swirling around her head, Malfoy’s hand tightening on hers, fiddling with her ring finger as though the emptiness was noted. Hermione shut her eyes against the lights flashing and the growing nausea as the healer hummed his displeasure at the assessment. Malfoy, thankfully, stayed silent next to her, heel jiggling irritatingly against the bed while his fingers circled the empty area, scowl securely in place and aimed at the frustrating man and annoying noises.
After what seemed like a lifetime, the lights dissipated, the healer making notes in a small notebook until the shaking of Malfoy’s leg became too much to ignore.
“She’ll be fine, Mr. Malfoy,” his gaze turned to Hermione, “Where did you say this injury was originally assessed?”
“St. Mungo’s,” She murmured.
“Ah, that would explain it,” the scratching of his quill filled the room once more, “I would venture a guess to say that my assessment would probably match theirs, however the healer’s treatment at St.Mungo’s generally errs on the side of caution with regards to the intervention in brain injuries, certain potions they don’t like to prescribe due to addictive tendencies within the general population,” his head shook in frustration, “Regardless, refusing to take the time you’ve needed to heal has had a cost, your recovery should be much farther along,” Stern gaze turning between her and Malfoy, “Keep her in bed for the next three days minimum, no advanced cognition, reading, writing, arithmetic, etcetera, or strenuous activities for the next two weeks,”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open, what about her research? How was she supposed to get this stupid contract overturned if she can’t research? Now she was the one glaring at the healer, Malfoy’s chuckle at her despair muffled where he pressed her fingers to his lips.
She snatched her hand back, trying to push herself up farther before Malfoy’s hands landed on her shoulders to keep her down, “Surely, no reading for two weeks is an exaggeration?” her voice was rough as she struggled.
The healer’s brow quirked at her, “Miss, your refusal to rest has resulted in your delayed healing, I would say two weeks is a rather conservative estimate. In fact, based on the ocular sensitivity we’re now seeing, I would think a month would be more appropriate,”
“A month?” her squeak sounded with her collapse back to the bed, her weak struggle against Malfoy’s firm grip lost entirely.
The healer nodded resolutely, “A month,” eyes turning to Malfoy once more, “I trust you’ll enforce the regimen?”
He gave a solemn nod in return, “Of course,” her eyes danced over the tattooed digits trapping hers to his cheek, the vibration of his deep rumble tingling in her fingertips.
The healer huffed his agreement, “I have a potion for her to take now and a prescription for an apothecary, for the same thing once daily over the next two weeks,”
Hermione reached up for the slip before the healer eyed her and handed it off to Draco before slipping a small potion bottle into her palm.
“What addictive ingredients are in this exactly?” She eyed the mixture cautiously.
“Dragon claw is what worries the healers at St. Mungo’s, they refuse to prescribe it unless for the most extreme of circumstances,”
She glanced back at him, “Isn’t that the active ingredient in Baruffuio’s?”
“Precisely, a surplus of the ingredient will cause the enhanced mental magics that characterize Baruffio’s brain elixir, however, a small amount has been proven to help heal and replace damaged brain tissue when needed,” his chin jerked to her, working to reload his bag with the various instruments he’d scattered about, “Bottom’s up,”
Hermione glanced at the potion before back at Malfoy holding her other hand firmly in place, an expectant look on his face. She grimaced at the smell before swallowing the contents of the small vial in one go, Malfoy quickly taking it from her, to allow her to settle back into the bed, pulling the covers around her while the healer made his exit.
She watched closely until the door clicked shut, eyeing Malfoy suspiciously, “You can’t possibly think that he’s right about not reading for two weeks,”
His eyebrow went up, “Granger, I’m not letting you near books until he gives the o.k.”
Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “So, you’re just going to force me to be bored in bed for the next two weeks?”
“No one can force you to do anything, my love,” his chuckled whisper made her stomach flip as his lips brushed against her temple, “If I could, half my problems would already be solved,”
The pounding of the migraine was finally beginning to wane, “So then what am I supposed to do?”
“Today?” his eyebrows rose with surprise, “Today you sleep and recover like you need to. When you’re feeling better then I’ll show you around the manor, you can walk the gardens and take tea with Moppy,”
“And after?” his silver eyes bored into hers, more unspoken questions lingering in the air.
He sighed, getting to his feet, the resignation lined his face, “You’re not leaving, Granger, make your peace with it,” his exit was swift, leaving her to contemplate her fate.
Nothing about her life made sense anymore. Everything had been simple, she’d had a job she worked a little too hard at, her friends that she spent too much time with, a crappy ex sure, but who didn’t have one of those? Malfoy descended into her life like a blast-ended skrewt and now, in true fashion, her peaceful life of overworking, reading, and dinners with friends was burning down around her. She was engaged by a contract that she definitely didn’t consent to, chances are the Wizengamot would find whatever loophole they wanted to give her the sack, and now—tears filled her eyes before the thought even broke the surface of her consciousness. Now, she was an indentured servant to a man who – if he wasn’t a drug kingpin of the wizarding underworld – spread darkness wherever he stepped in the world and was clearly willing to force her hand in whatever way he could, regardless of his statement.
Her eyes lingered on the closed bedroom door, the fluttering in her stomach rising, worst of all, she was hopelessly, wretchedly attracted to the man.
Her head began to pound again with the effort of trying to figure her way out of this colossal mess. Legally speaking, her options were nil. Any attempt to present her case and get the betrothal contract overturned would have her laughed out of the Wizengamot, not to mention if Malfoy brought up her ‘breaking and entering’ as a defense, she’d be thrown into Azkaban. She could reach out to Ginny, but that may put baby Potters in danger and she’d willingly drag Malfoy down the aisle herself before she let him target anyone in the Potter family. Her eyes glanced to the window, she could run.
Her hands covered her mouth at the wave of nausea accompanying the thought. Leaving everything and everyone she knows behind. She could feel the blood drain from her face with the consideration, the idea of not getting to see her baby niece and nephew grow up left her feeling dead inside. Harry and Ginny were her family, the only family she had left, if she couldn’t fight for them who could she fight for?
Hermione ran to the toilet, her knees bruising as she skidded across the marble, violently convulsing as her body rejected whatever acid was left in her stomach. Fingers clawing into the porcelain for support, her chest heaved with the exertion. Fight? She’d already been through one war, and even today she never seemed to stop fighting. Battling with the Wizengamot to hold corrupt members accountable, struggling to improve her own rights as a woman and a muggle-born, grappling with her thoughts and traitorous body. It was never-ending.
Her head dipped as she ran her fingers through her hair, propping her elbows on the rim. A losing battle at that, even unconscious she’d sprawled across him boneless as a scarf. The longer she stayed here the more she could feel her willpower chipped away.
It would be so easy, just to trust him, believe that he would take care of her like he promised. A small voice echoed in the back of her head, even Ron, who’d been her friend for more than a decade, had turned around and stabbed her in the back once she’d lost her usefulness. Malfoy had never been her friend, what would stop him from doing the same?
Her arse hit the cold tiles as she fell back off her knees, pulling her legs up, she curled into herself. Tears finally broke through the mask she’d become a pro a donning every morning. She was hopeless. For years known as the ‘Brightest Witch of her Age’ but she couldn’t find one viable solution to getting out of this. What a joke, she snorted into her knees. On top of it all she was quickly running out of time, if she didn’t contact Ginny soon there wasn’t a doubt in her head the firey witch would storm the Manor, blasting spells first. She’d put a target on her own back just to break Hermione out and then she’d be down to a measley two options – Go with Ginny and bring Malfoy’s wrath down on the Potters or pretend she’d been here of her own free will.
She needed to buy herself more time, Hermione’s grown echoed in the luxurious bathroom, she needed to talk to Malfoy.