I just wanted it to stop
Hermione (Present)
Hermione sat alone in the desolate chamber of her mind. The archway that once stood open, inviting warmth and connection, was now sealed shut by a massive iron door. Sobs wracked her body, each one a painful reminder of how she had failed Arys. The room felt unbearably cold without Draco, but the physical discomfort was a welcome distraction from the agonizing emptiness in her heart.
As it often happened, she sensed his presence on the other side of the door. His energy, once a source of comfort, now brought a fresh wave of grief.
"Go away," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
A soft thud echoed through the chamber, followed by the rustling sound of his form sliding down the unforgiving metal. Her heart twisted, but she couldn't bring herself to open the door.
Her tears flowed freely.
His muffled voice penetrated the barrier, laced with anguish. "Please, just let me in." His words shook and cracked.
"I can't," she replied, her voice a mere whisper amidst her sobs.
"I just...I just want to hold you...we don't even have to speak." He pleaded desperately.
"No...please, just leave me alone." The words were a lie. She longed for his touch, his warmth, but the guilt and pain were too overwhelming.
He didn't leave. She could feel his presence, his unwavering devotion, even through the cold steel. He sat there for hours, a silent witness to her sorrow, his love a constant ache against the unyielding door.
****
Her first few weeks back at the manor had been of relentless sadness. The grand halls and familiar rooms offered no solace. She hadn't seen Draco or anyone besides Mippy, Dolly, and Ruby, their attempts at comfort falling flat against her despair. Each morning, the simple act of getting out of bed felt nearly impossible. Her room, a frozen snapshot of her past life, mocked her with its untouched perfection. Food lost its appeal, sleep evaded her.
In the early days, desperation had fueled her, driving her to explore the grounds in search of an escape. But the floos remained stubbornly closed, and shimmering wards encased the estate, an impenetrable barrier. The realization that she was trapped, that she had failed Arys, crushed her spirit. With no way to gather information about his whereabouts, her hope dwindled. The enchanted steel bracelet on her wrist, a constant reminder of her powerlessness, rendered her magic useless.
Without her magic, she felt like a hollow shell, a soulless zombie drifting through the vast estate. She would wander aimlessly, collapsing in the grass to let the rain wash over her, or stare blankly at the walls of her room, lost in a haze of grief and dread.
Her once curvy frame had become gaunt, the delicate bones of her wrists and collarbones stark against her pale skin. The nightgown she wore, a haunting reminder of her capture, hung loosely on her, its once pristine fabric now stained and creased. Her hair, once meticulously cared for, was a tangled mess, matted and unkempt. But she didn't care. The world had lost its color, its vibrancy. Nothing held meaning anymore.
Sleep offered no respite, only a relentless parade of nightmares. She would relive the brutal assault, the hard fists and steel-toed boots shattering her ribs, the agonizing image of bubbling skin and insides strewn across cobblestones.
One crisp autumn morning, she ventured out, her resolve momentarily stronger than her despair. She walked for hours, the chill air biting at her exposed skin, numbing her senses as she trudged through the vast estate. In the distance, the familiar outline of the cottage emerged, a place that once held so much joy and warmth. But now, it brought only a pang of sorrow. The sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the grounds, and exhaustion weighed heavily upon her.
The thought of seeking shelter in the cottage crossed her mind, but as she approached the door, a wave of memories washed over her. She saw Arys and her, laughing and climbing the trees, sharing quiet moments reading in the sun-drenched grass. The contrast between those cherished memories and her current desolation was too much to bear.
Instead, she turned towards the garden, a place of beauty and serenity in happier times. But now, the first frost of autumn had claimed its vibrant colors, leaving behind a stark landscape of withered flowers and barren branches. It seemed frozen, lifeless, mirroring the state Arys was likely currently trapped in.
She made her way to the pond, its surface rippling gently in the fading light. For a long while, she stood there, staring into its depths, her heart aching with an unbearable weight. The pain was all-consuming, and she craved any distraction, any escape from its relentless grip.
With a sense of numbness, she began wading into the icy water, its coldness a shock against her skin. Deeper and deeper she went, until the water enveloped her, a chilling embrace that promised oblivion.
With a final surrender, she allowed her head to slip beneath the water's surface. The world fell silent, her loud thoughts and the rustling leaves replaced by a tranquil hush. She gazed upwards, the sky muted through the rippling water, before closing her eyes and allowing the darkness to envelop her.
The familiar burning sensation in her lungs grew, a desperate plea for air, but she made no move to break free. Her head felt light, her limbs heavy, as consciousness began to ebb away like the tide. In those final moments, a single thought echoed in her mind, a whisper of regret and love, "I'm sorry, Arys. "
Powerful arms seized her, wrenching her from the water's icy grip. Her limp body was hauled from its depths, and a blurred face loomed above her as the world slowly regained focus.
"HERMIONE! WHAT THE FUCK!" The words echoed distantly, as if she were still submerged.
Draco's terrified face swam into view, his white-blonde hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes wide with horror. Water dripped from his soaked clothes, evidence of his frantic plunge into the pond.
"WHAT WERE YOU BLOODY THINKING?" His voice was raw, as if he had been screaming.
She couldn't meet his gaze, couldn't bear to speak. Instead, she let her head fall to the side, her eyes fixated on the ancient oak tree.
"I just wanted it to stop," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
Pain contorted his features as he gathered her closer, her lifeless form cradled against his chest. His entire body trembled with a mixture of fear and rage.
The familiar sensation of Apparition engulfed them, and in an instant, they were back in her bedroom.
"Dolly!" Draco's voice boomed through the room.
Dolly materialized with a soft pop.
"Yes, Master?"
"Get her into a warm bath right away," he commanded, his eyes never leaving hers.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, his expression a mixture of anguish and something she couldn't quite decipher. Then, with a stiff turn, he strode towards the door, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The door slammed shut behind him, followed by the resounding crack of wards and the distinct click of locking charms. She was alone once more, trapped not only within the confines of her room but also within the prison of her own grief.
****
The following day, an unexpected visitor pierced the gloom of her isolation. Bright light flooded her darkened room as the curtains were gently pulled open.
Astoria stood before her, a vision of serenity amidst the chaos. Hermione, finally allowing her eyes to flutter open, took in the familiar women. Astoria's dark, smooth hair cascaded down her back, her makeup was flawless, and a beautiful purple dress accentuated her graceful figure. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her posture poised and elegant.
"Hello, Hermione," Astoria greeted, her eyes shimmering with a hint of sadness.
Hermione remained silent, her gaze fixed on the unexpected visitor.
"I brought you some books," she continued, "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I just brought my favorites."
She settled beside Hermione on the bed, her movements gentle and considerate.
"Did Draco send you?" Hermione's voice was raspy, unused.
"Yes," Astoria admitted, "but I also want to be here."
Hermione looked away, unsure how to respond.
"I can't say that I agree with his methods," she added softly, "but I do know that he is trying to protect you."
Hermione scoffed inwardly. Did Astoria know about Arys? Did any of Draco's friends know the depths of darkness he was capable of?
"Malfoy men are possessive to a fault," Astoria mused, "overly protective of their women. My mother told me that Lucius was the same with Narcissa."
Rising from the bed, Astoria retrieved a brush from the nearby table and approached Hermione slowly, a silent request hanging in the air.
Hermione, surprisingly, acquiesced. She allowed Astoria to gently brush her hair, the witch's touch soft and soothing as she tamed her wild curls into a neat braid.
"Don't give up on him," Astoria whispered. Hermione knew she was referring to Draco, but Arys's cool blue eyes and dark hair filled her mind.
"Theo and Pansy are coming by in the morning to pick you up for training," Astoria informed her.
A flicker of hope ignited within Hermione. If she had access to these people, perhaps she could glean more information about Arys.
Hermione nodded, a silent vow forming in her heart.
Mippy appeared with a quiet pop, a tray filled with food in his hands.
"Miss Astoria, I have brought the things you requested," the elf announced.
"Hello, Mippy, it is so nice to see you," Astoria greeted warmly, rising to meet the elf. "Thank you so much, it smells delicious." She accepted the large pot and bottle of wine from Mippy, who blushed and vanished with a satisfied smile.
With effortless grace, Astoria pulled a small table closer to the bed. She poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Hermione, and then removed the lid from the pot. The aroma of the soup was indeed enticing. Astoria filled a small bowl and offered it to Hermione.
Hermione stared at the soup, a wave of guilt washing over her. It felt wrong to eat and drink wine while Arys was likely suffering somewhere. But the ember of hope in her chest grew stronger, reminding her that she needed her strength for what lay ahead.
Astoria, sensing her hesitation, sagged in relief as Hermione finally took a tentative bite of the soup.
"Astoria..." Hermione began, her voice hesitant.
"Yes?"
"I don't know... Everything just feels so bleak right now..."
She saw the empathy in Astoria's eyes, a fleeting glimpse of something deeper than the bubbly kindness she usually displayed. It made her wonder if there was more to this witch than met the eye.
"Just take it one day at a time," Astoria advised gently.
Astoria opened one of the books she had brought and began reading aloud to Hermione as they ate their soup and sipped their wine. The sound of Astoria's voice, the warmth of the soup, and the flickering hope in her heart combined to create an unexpected moment peace.
********
The suffocating fog of despair gradually began to dissipate over the next few weeks. Each morning, like clockwork, Theo and Pansy arrived to whisk Hermione away for training sessions. Though her magic remained inaccessible, they filled the hours with rigorous exercise and combat drills. At first, Pansy observed with a bored air from the sidelines, but eventually, her competitive spirit ignited, and she joined in, sparring with Hermione. Pansy's surprising agility and quick reflexes challenged Hermione, and she found herself learning new techniques and strategies from her unexpected opponent. The camaraderie between Theo and Pansy, their constant banter and playful jabs, reminded her of her bond with Arys, resulting in a bittersweet pang in her heart. Yet, after her encounter with Astoria, a newfound resolve had taken root within her.
Every evening, Astoria returned. Hermione found herself anticipating their time together, their shared meals transforming into a cherished ritual. They would giggle over glasses of wine, their voices intertwining with the words of the books they read aloud. Astoria never mentioned Draco, a silent understanding passing between them, and for that, Hermione was grateful.
One afternoon, after an especially grueling training session where Hermione had finally managed to wrestle Theo into submission, she returned to her room, her body drenched in sweat and her hair a tangled, sticky mess.
Dolly awaited her arrival, silently selecting clothes from her wardrobe.
"Dolly?" Hermione's voice was tinged with confusion.
"Miss Hermione!" Dolly exclaimed, her voice filled with a nervous excitement. "Master Draco wishes you to join him for dinner tonight."
Hermione's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the elegant outfit Dolly had laid out for her. Her teeth clenched, and her fists tightened at her sides. "No," she stated firmly.
"But Master Draco insists!" Dolly pleaded, her large eyes wide with worry.
"You tell Master Draco," her voice was cold, her anger simmering beneath the surface, "that he can take his dinner invitation and shove it up his arse."
Dolly winced visibly at the harsh words.
Hermione, seeing the hurt in Dolly's eyes, softened slightly. "My apologies, Dolly," she sighed. "My anger is not directed toward you."
Dolly's shoulders slumped as she looked down at the floor. "Dolly has prepared all of your favorites... if you change your mind..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
She couldn't bear to be the cause of such sadness in the gentle creature. "I'm sorry, Dolly," she said, a small smile gracing her lips. "I will go, but only because I can't resist your delicious cooking."
Dolly's face lit up with relief. "Would you like me to help you bathe first?" she asked eagerly. "I believe this outfit would best suit the occasion," she added, gesturing towards the elegant silver dress on the bed.
She shook her head. "No, thank you, Dolly. I will go as I am."
*****
Hermione strode purposefully towards the dining room, her anger simmering with each step. Over an hour late, still dressed in her sweat-soaked training attire, she flung open the grand doors with a resounding crash that echoed through the opulent dining room. She stood defiantly in the doorway, her gaze locked with the imposing figure seated alone at the opposite end of the long, polished table.
Draco's silver eyes met hers, their intensity momentarily piercing through her anger. Then, his gaze flickered down her disheveled form, a flicker of concern crossing his brow before he abruptly looked away, his attention returning to the glass of whiskey in his hand.
"How nice of you to finally join me," he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he idly twisted his signet ring.
She remained silent, her rage intensifying with every passing second. He sat there, impeccably dressed in a black suit, his hair slicked back, a few rebellious strands framing his face. Even in her fury, she couldn't deny the flicker of attraction that still stirred within her.
"Release me," she demanded, her voice a low growl that reverberated through the room.
He feigned contemplation for a moment, his lips curling into a smirk. "No," he finally replied, his voice curt and dismissive.
"Release me, Malfoy," she repeated, her voice rising slightly, her control fraying at the edges.
"Why? So you can get yourself nearly killed again?" he countered, his eyes still fixed on his drink as he continued to play with his ring.
"I can take care of myself," she said through gritted teeth.
"Your experience in the square... and in the garden... would suggest otherwise," he stated confidently, his arrogance grating on her nerves.
"At least... take this thing off of me," she pleaded, gesturing to the enchanted cuff on her wrist. Her magic thrummed beneath her skin, a wild, untamed force desperate for release.
"Can't do that," he said smoothly, his nonchalance infuriating her further.
"Fuck you," she hissed, her voice barely a whisper.
"Name the time and place, love," he shot back.
Her rage exploded. She marched towards the table, her movements swift and determined. Grabbing the nearest object - a delicate crystal vase - she hurled it in his direction with all her might.
The vase sailed through the air, but just before it could shatter against him, an invisible force halted its trajectory, suspending it in mid-air. He didn't even flinch, his gaze remaining fixed on his drink as if nothing had happened. The tension in the room crackled, a silent battle of wills raging between them.
She closed the distance between them in a few swift strides. He remained unmoved, his gaze stubbornly averted. With a guttural cry, she slammed her fists against his chest, the force of the impact sending him crashing against the back of his chair.
“Look at me!!” she screamed, her voice raw with emotion. He continued to ignore her, his indifference fanning the flames of her rage.
“Look at me, you coward!” she roared, her voice echoing through the vast dining room.
Finally, he slowly raised his head, his eyes meeting hers. But the Draco she knew was gone. His eyes were clouded and gray, devoid of any warmth or emotion. They were empty, dead, as they held her gaze. He was occluding, and he was occluding hard.
A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips. His eyes slowly traced the contours of her face. In their depths, she saw a flicker of something else, a spark of pain struggling to break free.
“Why? Why are you doing this?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “How could you… hurt Arys?” She chose her words carefully, desperate to keep her knowledge of Arys's survival a secret.
His body stiffened, and his shields snapped back into place, obscuring the vulnerability she had briefly witnessed. He tore his gaze away from hers, staring out the window into the darkness.
“It was the only way,” he said coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion. “You were going to leave. It was the only way I could keep you safe.”
She reached out, her fingers gripping his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes once more. She tried to penetrate the walls he had erected, to rekindle the spark she had just seen, but his gaze remained cold and unyielding. Frustration bubbled within her, threatening to consume her. With a choked sob, she released his chin, her hand falling limply to her side.
Without another word, she turned and fled the room.
When she entered her empty room, a wave of unbridled rage washed over her. She grabbed her vanity and hurled it towards the ground with a resounding crash. The contents of its drawers scattered across the floor. Amidst the chaos, a glint of light caught her eye.
She rushed towards the scattered debris, falling to her knees as she desperately reached for a small pocket mirror. They must have overlooked it when they searched her belongings after her capture, its true nature hidden behind its mundane appearance. She had forgotten she even carried it. As the warmth of her hands seeped into the mirror, its reflection began to stir and ripple. A few moments later, familiar bright brown eyes stared back at her.
“Hermione?” Ginny's voice echoed tentatively from the mirror.
“Oh, Ginny!” She could barely contain the tears that welled up in her eyes.
“Hermione, we've been so worried about you!” Ginny cried, “We heard what happened at the square and that you were taken to the manor. Are you alright?!”
“I'm so sorry, Ginny. I've failed us.”
“Failed us? Hermione, your safety is what matters most.” Ginny barely managed to say through her sobs.
“I jeopardized our mission...and now I fear that we will never discover Arys’s whereabouts.”
“Hermione,” Ginny's voice was firm as she regained her composure, “you are more perfectly positioned now than ever. You have direct access to Malfoy himself - use it to your advantage.”
Doubt gnawed at her. “He’s too smart... too powerful, Ginny. He will never slip up.”
“He is smart, that is undeniable,” Ginny conceded, “but he has one weakness. You.”
She pondered Ginny's words, a flicker of a plan taking shape in her mind.
“Gain his trust,” Ginny continued. “Get him to lower his guard enough to get what you need from him.”
“How do I do that?” She asked eagerly, a newfound determination in her voice.
“Allow him to think you are beginning to forgive him. Give him subtle glimpses into the Hermione he used to know, the person who used to care about him. Allow him to think there's still a chance that you could be his.”
Hermione's stomach churned at the implication. Could she deceive him?
“I will try,” she responded, her voice laced with uncertainty. “I just don’t know that I can pull it off…”
“The Order is still searching for leads throughout London in regards to Arys’s whereabouts,” Ginny assured her. “I will let you know if we discover anything of value.”
“I will continue to check in and update you on my progress as well,” Hermione promised.
“Hermione, please stay safe. I love you.”
“Love you too, Gin.”
She closed the pocket mirror, carefully concealing it within the depths of her wardrobe.
She sat on the bed, her mind racing as she replayed Ginny's words. What lines was she willing to cross to save Arys? The answer came to her with chilling clarity: there was nothing she wouldn't do to bring him back.
******
The next day, after training with Theo and Pansy, Hermione lingered in the training room, alone. Knives lay scattered around her, and she idly tossed them towards the target across the room, hitting the bullseye every time.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway, someone was approaching the training room.
Draco entered, his stride halting abruptly as he took in the sight of her on the floor, surrounded by the scattered weapons.
"Hello," she greeted, her voice carefully neutral, her anger buried deep within her. She continued to throw the knives as he silently approached, his gaze fixed on her with an unreadable expression.
"Have you come to check on my progress?" she inquired without looking at him.
"No," he replied curtly.
"Why are you here then?" she asked, finally glancing up at him.
"I - I don't know," he admitted.
She continued to throw knives. He watched her for a moment longer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His gaze drifted towards the door, and she wondered if he was about to leave.
"How about a wager?" she proposed, her voice tentative.
His eyes lit up at her words, a flicker of interest replacing the emptiness. She suppressed a shiver as she remembered their first wager, the memory a bittersweet blend of excitement and regret.
"What kind of wager?" he asked, his voice low, his gaze piercing into hers. She saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and guilt gnawed at her stomach as she contemplated her next move.
"We fight," she declared, "without magic. If I win, you remove this cuff from my wrist for one hour a day, under Theo's supervision."
Draco scoffed. "I am not going to fight you."
"Why not?" she challenged, a playful smirk curving her lips. "Afraid you'll lose?"
Her smile seemed to momentarily disarm him and his mouth parting slightly. She could see his resolve wavering. He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a smirk of his own. Her eyes followed the movement, and she internally chastised herself for the way her body warmed in response.
"Okay," he conceded, "if I win... you will join me for dinner in the evenings. And if we remove your cuff, it will be under my supervision, as your magic surpasses Theo's."
She considered his terms, a frown creasing her brow. She wasn't willing to sacrifice her dinners with Astoria every night.
"One dinner per week," she countered.
"Three."
"Two."
"Fine," he agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"First one on their back loses," She declared.
He nodded, his gaze fixated on her as she rose and assumed her fighting stance. The air between them crackled with anticipation.
She lunged forward, her first jab aimed at his ribs. He blocked it effortlessly, a smirk playing on his lips. Undeterred, she attacked again, varying her angles and techniques, but he seemed to anticipate her every move, dodging and weaving with grace. Blow after blow, she continued her assault, frustration mounting with each failed attempt. He was impossibly fast, his movements fluid and precise, and it was clear he was barely exerting himself.
She tried a new tactic, a sweeping kick that Pansy had recently taught her. He ducked beneath it with ease, his smirk widening. She realized she needed to change her strategy. She couldn't win by relying on brute force alone; she needed to get closer, to penetrate his defenses, to catch him off guard.
With a renewed determination, she closed the distance between them, her movements quick and agile. She pressed forward until she was mere centimeters from him, their breaths mingling in the charged air. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as she invaded his personal space.
They stood frozen. She could feel the warmth of his ragged breath against her skin, his silver eyes darting between her lips and her eyes.
For a heart-stopping moment, she lost herself in the intensity of the moment. The weight of her mission, the carefully constructed walls she had built around her heart, crumbled. All she could focus on was the intoxicating scent of him, the way his gaze held hers captive, the raw longing that pulsed through her veins. It wasn't the calculated seduction she had planned, but a visceral, overwhelming urge that threatened to consume her. She wanted to kiss him, not to manipulate him, but because her body ached for his touch, her soul yearned for a connection she had long denied herself.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the moment shattered. Clarity returned, her resolve hardening as she remembered her purpose. With a swift movement, she dropped into a crouch, her leg sweeping out in a powerful arc. Draco, caught off guard by her sudden shift, stumbled backward, his legs giving way beneath him. He landed on his back with a thud, his surprise evident in his wide eyes. Before he could react, she was on him, her foot pressing against his neck, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips.
He reached for her ankle, his grip surprisingly strong. With a powerful tug, he pulled her down, their bodies colliding, her weight pinning him to the ground.
"I believe I won," she declared, her voice husky with exertion, her eyes locked with his.
He gazed up at her, a flicker of amusement dancing in his silver eyes. "I believe you did," he conceded, his voice a breathless whisper. Awe and something akin to wonder shone in his gaze as he took in the sight of her, flushed and victorious, straddling him on the floor.
"I will be by tomorrow afternoon to remove your cuff," he said, his voice regaining its usual composure. "One hour a day, in my place of choice."
They disentangled themselves slowly, the air still thick with electricity. She turned to leave, her heart thrumming in her chest, her mind reeling from the unexpected surge of emotions. Draco remained motionless on the ground as he watched her leave.
As she reached the door, she paused, turning back to look at him one last time. His hair was tousled, his expression a mix of confusion and longing, as if he couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened.
"I will still have dinner with you," she said, her voice softer now, as she let a flicker of the old Hermione shine through. "Once a week."
Draco didn't respond, his eyes crinkling in bewilderment as she left the training room, eyeing her as if she was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.