The Gallows Chapter 15
Theo and Pansy were at the manor when Hermione arrived home. She was still seething from her conversation with Kingsley and already wondering if she’d again acted rashly—and somewhat horrified at how easy it was to change her surname. The idea of bringing up to Malfoy that she was now Hermione Jean Malfoy felt like something she should put off for a while, maybe until things were settled.
Maybe never.
She threw off her clothes with a huff, stomping into the bathroom and running the taps as hot as they could go, stepping in before it was even half full.
“Knock, knock,” Pansy called, though she neither knocked nor waited for Hermione to invite her in, instead breezing through the bathroom door.
“Jesus Christ, Pans,” Hermione cried, crossing her arms over her chest.
Two perfectly penciled eyebrows raised. “Sorry, who?”
With a roll of her eyes, Hermione shook her head. “Not important. What in Merlin’s name are you doing in my bathroom?”
Pansy pursed her lips, green eyes flicking to Hermione’s crossed arms and back to her face. “Nice tits, Granger.”
“Is that why you’ve come in here? To tell me about how great my tits are?”
She gave a sparkling laugh, striding over to perch on the edge of the tub and frowning down at the steaming water. “You’re seriously taking a bath with no salts, no potions or bubbles, just… you?”
“Yes,” Hermione gritted out.
Pansy clicked her tongue. “You’re a human tea bag.”
“Again, is there a reason why you are encroaching upon my bathing time?” Hermione shifted, twisting her knees to the side just to ensure she was completely obscured.
With a haggard sigh, Pansy shook back her hair, nails tapping on the edge of the tub. “Draco mentioned that you had a hard time last night and that the elves are wanting you to decide on what should stay or go within the manor.”
She slid a little deeper into the water. “He certainly is verbose these days.”
Her Slytherin friend grinned. “A bit too verbose for your liking?” Hermione lifted an arm, twirling her hand in encouragement for Pansy to continue. “Anyway, I wanted to offer to take over the job if you’d like. I was close to Narcissa and…” She looked down at her nails, flicking them back and forth in the water. The corner of her mouth twisted and there was a brief shimmer in her eyes before she sniffed. “And I think I would know what she would be all right with keeping and getting rid of.”
Hermione reached out, grabbing Pansy’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, Pansy, that would be a huge help.”
Pansy sighed, shaking back her hair again and staring at the ceiling. “Well, you’ll owe me one and that will come in the form of shopping this Saturday so,” she looked back at Hermione, flicking some water in her face, “prepare your tits.”
…
Theo and Pansy were gone by the time Hermione was ready to see Malfoy.
Well, perhaps she wasn’t ready to see him, given the way her stomach twisted into knots from even the sight of the connecting door. Tugging on a pair of leggings beneath her sleep shirt before heading in, she reasoned it would be better to have the conversation wearing more clothes than less.
She knocked on the connecting door, surprised when it opened.
“Hello,” Malfoy murmured.
The image of his lips on her forearm raced through her mind and she wondered if her blush was as obvious as it felt. “Hello.”
He was dressed in another pair of soft black sleep pants and t-shirt, different from the slacks and sweater ensemble he’d changed into while she had gotten ready for work that morning. Perhaps it was good for him to change his clothes, to feel like there was a marker of his day beginning and ending.
After a moment he stepped back to allow her through and Hermione steeled herself as she placed the tray onto the coffee table, taking her usual seat on the floor across from him.
“Maybe one of these days we can try an actual table,” she grumbled, grabbing a pillow from the nearby chair to sit on.
“Maybe,” Malfoy answered, settling himself with far more grace than he had a right to.
She had to admit the nutrition potions were doing their work. Malfoy had filled out, his shirts no longer as baggy as they had been even a few days ago. They spent a few minutes in companionable silence as they dug into the thick stew, save for the crackling fire and Draco’s soft coughs when he took bites too quickly.
“How was your day?”
It was such an innocuous question. Her day was not the thing she wanted to discuss and yet it was the exact thing they had to. Slowly, Hermione put down her spoon, wiping her mouth with her napkin.
“Kingsley summoned me for a meeting.”
Malfoy froze before he slowly put down his spoon as well. “A meeting.”
She nodded, swallowing the lump of potato that now felt permanently lodged in her throat. “It’s been twenty-six days since we… since the trial.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “So, he called you in to remind you that my death is imminent.”
“No… He called me in to remind me that the timeline is fast approaching and we would be wise to—well—you know…”
“Fuck.” Malfoy answered curtly.
Merlin, this was not going well. The raw part of her cheek she could not keep from biting throbbed as her teeth grazed it.
“They’re looking for any reason to take you, Malfoy.”
The laugh he gave was bitter and for some reason she could not help but wonder if she would ever hear what his real laugh sounded like.
“So?”
Hermione choked, heat rising in her cheeks. “So, it’s important that we…”
“Fuck.”
“Sooner rather than later.”
He said nothing, only looked at her with something like disgust written on his features and Hermione could not help but remember who he truly was to her: the boy who had made her cry all throughout her childhood, who reminded her on almost a daily basis that she was beneath him. Draco Malfoy had been the one to teach her what the word mudblood meant before it was ever carved into her skin.
“You don’t want to.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, his tremoring hands clenching into fists. “No.”
“They are going to kill you, Malfoy.” She leaned forward, forearms pressing into the coffee table.
“They are going to kill me either way, Granger. Forgive me for trying to spare myself.”
Her stomach twisted painfully, dinner turning to lead. There was nothing there in his face anymore, no anger or amusement. Nothing, just like the way he had been that morning in Azkaban.
“Spare yourself? Am I that horrid? You would rather die than fuck me?”
Malfoy shook his head, hair spilling in front of his face. Had it been only last night that she’d brushed it back? That his lips had touched her skin?
“You’ve completely lost the plot.”
An incredulous laugh slipped through her lips and she pushed to her feet. “I think I have a pretty good handle on things. After all this—after you’ve crawled out of the pit they put you in, you’re willing to hand yourself over to them rather than bed a mudblood.”
Malfoy followed, towering over her, rasp heavy in his throat. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she raised her brows. “Good to see at least your penchant for arrogance is still alive and kicking.” She made her way towards the door before spinning around again. “You know what it is that hurts the most, Malfoy? The fact that I thought I was wrong that day when we had been bonded. That maybe your time in Azkaban had changed you and your blood purist ideals. But it’s clear that I was wrong.”
“Granger—”
“Don’t worry, Malfoy, I won’t sully your sheets for another night. Godric knows how hard it is to get mud out of silk.”
The connecting door slammed shut behind her, vibrating in its frame. She leant against it, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes and resisting the urge to scream. With a wave of her wand, she extinguished the lights in the room, jerking back the cold covers and sliding in. Hating how big the bed felt, how odd not to hear his slow, deep breaths.
Hating how it smelled of fresh linen and her own perfume.
She would never admit that when she finally fell asleep, it was with her pillow wet and her curls sticking to her cheeks.