The Gallows Chapter 14

“What else did you get from my vault?”

Pain — no, it wasn’t pain, it was acid mixed with fiendfyre ripping through her arm. Hermione screamed, vocal cords tearing, the taste of iron coating her tongue. Filthy hair tickled her cheek and she tried to jerk away only to find herself pinned to the rug beneath her, growing steadily wetter with her blood.

“Tell me little girl: what did else did you take from my vault!”

Another scream, black spots bursting across her eyes.

“Nothing, we didn’t take anything.” But the words were more a moan of agony. “Please.”

Lightning struck, her back bowed, muscles clenched and she could not breathe. Not as it skittered through her veins, as her lungs locked and she seized.

“Granger.”

A cackle rippled through her ears.

“Granger, wake up.”

Claws curled around her shoulders, shaking her.

“Granger, wake up!”

Hermione gasped, bolting upright before hunching over the side and retching onto the floor. She heaved again, empty stomach contracting painfully, cold sweat dripping from her cheeks and dampening the curls around her face.

Cold hands skimmed across her neck and she jumped.

“Shhh, it’s just me,” Malfoy rasped. “You’re safe. It’s just me.”

His hips pressed against her as he leant over, gathering her hair from her face as another wave of nausea roiled. But he didn’t stop talking in that low rasp, just as she did those nights he woke up in a panic: It’s just me. You’re safe. We’re safe. It’s just me.

Eventually, Hermione slumped and two hands drew her down until she was resting against a wide chest. A shiver rippled down her spine and Hermione wondered when it was the dream had changed. What an odd dream, to be held by Malfoy as he shushed her in soft words, guiding her head back down onto the pillow.

Long arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer and her whole body seemed to sigh. Yes, this dream was strange but so much better than the other. A rumble vibrated through her back and it sounded a bit like someone was humming a melody she couldn’t quite place. And with each breath she took, each note of that song, her body relaxed further and further into sleep.

…

It was well before dawn when she woke again, her head curled beneath Malfoy’s chin, an arm slung around his chest. His chin was tilted down, lips softly parted in sleep, a scarred hand covering hers where it rested over his ribs.

Merlin, so it hadn’t been a dream.

Slowly, she worked to extricate herself from his hold, sliding through the sheets and careful to avoid the puddle of sick on the floor before picking up her wand and vanishing the mess. It was a relief to rinse her mouth out in his bathroom, splashing cool water on her face to soothe the itching tightness left over.

Casting a tempus, she grimaced — only a quarter ‘til two. She eyed Malfoy’s large shower contemplatively before finally padding back into the dark room and sliding into the bed.

“You okay?”

She froze in the act of flipping her pillow. “Yeah, I just… needed to rinse my mouth out.”

Malfoy didn’t respond, so she shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable. Her left arm throbbed uncomfortably, as if the memory lingered in her scar and she sat up with a huff, pressing her fingers against the heated skin.  

“Granger?”

A hand touched her back and not for the first time did she realize how strange it was to be in bed with him. Gods, it was like they were actually married. She exhaled loudly through her nose, scratching at the mark.

“It’s fine, just—just ignore me.”

After another moment, Malfoy sat up as well, turning his body towards her. Freezing tremoring fingers curled around her wrist, tugging it away as she tried to scratch at it. A small part of her mind wondered if this was how it had started with Malfoy and the mottled scars around his dark mark.

“Does it hurt?” Somehow, the question felt intimate whispered in the dark between them as he traced the jagged letters beneath the glamour.

Mudblood.

“Not usually,” she answered just as soft, shivering as his fingers pressed against the scar, the coldness of his skin a balm to the burn.

Malfoy gave a soft noise of understanding and, in the faint light slipping through the curtains, she could just make him out: the soft furrow between his brows, the gentle slope of his nose, the way his lips slightly curled down at the edges. A lock of hair fell in front of his face, and without thinking Hermione tucked it behind his ear.

Gray eyes met hers for only a moment before dropping back to the scar on her arm. The scar that was visible there in the dark, the glamour washed away by her nightmare. Her heart thundered in her ears as slowly he lowered his head, the soft silk of his hair brushing her elbow, before his lips pressed to the word etched across her skin.

There, safe and quiet in the deep dark of night, for the first time Hermione thought she could truly imagine how easy it would be to close the distance between them. To wrap her arms around his neck and press her mouth to his, to pull the loose shirt over his head and kiss every scar that shone across his skin.

And then Malfoy cleared his throat, carefully lowering her arm back to the bed. “Goodnight, Granger.”  

Before scooting away towards the opposite end and lying down with his back to her.

…

That morning didn’t mention the night before as Hermione got ready for work, nor did they discuss it when they ate their breakfast together. Instead, he asked her about her new case and whether or not she thought Theo and Harry were fucking yet.

Bollocks. Speaking of fucking.

But it didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up and so Hermione left Malfoy with an awkward see you tonightbefore rushing towards the door.

All day her skin burned from where his mouth touched her. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his face, the way his eyes pierced hers, the slow press of his lips. There had been an apology there in that kiss, she knew, one he knew he did not need to give and yet still felt the need to say in his own way.

Midday a note appeared across her desk from the Minister for Magic’s office and she grimaced before carefully stowing away her notes and moving towards the lifts. Level one was quiet, with only a few workers bustling about since it was lunchtime and Hermione sighed with relief, shooting Kingsley’s receptionist, Valentine, a warm smile.

“Go right on in, Miss Granger, he’s ready for you.”

Hermione steeled herself for a long moment before stepping through the door. Kingsley was standing beside the large enchanted window beside his desk, staring out into the bustling streets of London.

“Hello, Kings.”

Kingsley’s chin dropped to his chest before he turned to her. “Hello, Hermione, have a seat.”

Her pulse quickened as she took the offered chair. “Have I done something wrong?”

The Minister for Magic blinked before conjuring a white handkerchief to blot the top of his head. “Of course not, I apologize, I only wanted a moment to speak with you in private.”

Oh, so this would be about Malfoy then.

“I know the thirty days are almost up.”

Kingsley let out a sigh of relief. “And?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, a spot that felt raw after the repeated abuse, and smoothed the fabric of her skirt over her knees. “I plan to speak with him about it tonight.”

A soft patter of rain started outside the window, the light in the room darkening for a moment before the sconces on the wall brightened to accommodate the change. Kingsley sat back in his chair, steepling his fingertips before him in a way that reminded her very much of Dumbledore.

“How are things between you two?”

She laughed. “Are you asking as my friend or as the Minister?”

Kingsley grimaced, tilting his head from side to side. “A little bit of both.”

Clicking her tongue, Hermione scanned the room. The walls were bare save for one filled with moving photographs. She spied herself there, the two of them shoulder to shoulder staring up at the ruined castle of Hogwarts but she couldn’t remember who it was that had taken the photo. Perhaps Angelina or Dean.

“We’re… friends.”

He gave a soft noise that sounded more like a question than understanding, but he nodded all the same.

“The Wizengamot, and I would say the vast majority of the wizarding community, are looking for any excuse to do away with Lord Malfoy. I wouldn’t put it past them not to wait the full thirty days before they come to collect him and he is sent back to Azkaban.”

Anger itched at the back of her skull. “Would they even travel that far or merely avada him in our bedroom?”

Kingsley’s brows raised but he didn’t comment on her slip, only placed his forearms on the desk. “I don’t agree with their methods or their reasoning—"

“He was a child, Kings. A boy of barely sixteen when he was marked and you know as well as I do—”

“That the killing curse never left his wand, yes. But others did, Hermione. And his surname still is whispered with fear. He is a symbol and there is nothing the Ministry loves more than to use a symbol to their advantage.”

Hermione shot to her feet. “Then stop them! You are the Minister for Magic.”

The sigh he gave was as heavy as her chest felt and he nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose before smoothing his brows. “I am trying—”

“You are obviously not trying hard enough if the Wizengamot is readying the troops to burst into my home and murder an innocent man.”

Kingsley’s cheeks darkened and he took a deep breath. “The Malfoy name—”

“Is merely that: a name. Just as Voldemort’s was before they made it into an unforgivable. If they take him before the thirty days are up, Kingsley I will not hesitate to defend myself and my family, do I make myself clear? If a single Ministry representative crosses the apparition line of the manor without proper notification and warrant, I will not hold back.”

She didn’t wait to hear his response. Ignoring him calling her name, she charged through his office and to the lifts, hitting the button for level three before she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

His surname is still whispered with fear.

He is a symbol.

The doors slid open and she threw back the grate, stopping up to one of the reception desks and managing a tight smile at the bespectacled witch.

“Hello, I’m here to change my name.”