The Gallows Chapter 17

When Hermione tentatively came into Malfoy’s room for breakfast, it was to find it seemingly empty. He wasn’t waiting in his spot by the fire nor seated on her side on the bed. Pulse thudding in her throat, she finally opened the closet door.

Malfoy was seated with his back to the wall, forearms resting on his knees, staring at the rack of black and gray robes before him.

“Malfoy…”

He flinched, eyes squeezing shut and hands clenching into fists. But he said nothing as she stood there and if it hadn’t been for the tremor in his hands or the way his shoulders hiked up to his ears, she could have pretended he didn’t know she was there.

Something sharp spiked through Hermione’s chest at the sight of him. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something—anything—before it closed again, berating herself for being surprised that he had retreated.

It has nothing to do with your blood status.

I’ve ruined you.

After a long moment, she exhaled and nodded, backing out of the closet slowly and closed the door. She ignored the ache between her thighs and the tender bite on her shoulder he’d left behind, as she made her way down to the traveling parlor. And by the time she made it to her desk, she was sure she had mastered it—the coldness he was so adept at. Sure that she had built a wall of ice between falling asleep with him still buried deep inside her, cocooned in his arms, and the emptiness of the morning.

“Hey, Mione, you’re here early…” Harry wandered into her office, Ron on his heels.

She turned, ready to give him a smile, to explain she wanted to get a jump on her tasks, but when she opened her mouth all that came out was a quiet sob. Her hands clasped tightly together between her knees and she curled forward on herself, the gray fabric of her dress turning black with her tears.

Hands closed over her shoulders while her office door shut, Ron’s whispered muffliato barely audible. Harry lowered to his knees, gently tugging her hands to clasp them between his before Ron came to stand beside them, a hand tenderly placed between her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. “Take your time.”

She hated that the war had taught all three of them how to face this sort of agony. Ron needed space when he broke. They all knew it was best to let him leave and that later he would return looking for a shoulder to lean on. But Harry was much like her—after a life absent of comfort, Harry craved reassurance. It was almost as if he needed a witness to his pain to assure him that it was real, that he was real.

That he had not died that day in the forbidden forest.

It was Harry who took the lead when Hermione broke, Ron more comfortable with standing a little on the sidelines, ready to jump in once she calmed and shift the conversation into solutions. This tiny bit of normalcy was a reassurance to Hermione, whose world felt as if it had gone through a wood chipper and she was now on the other side, trying to piece it back together again.

But she didn’t know how to tell them what happened, about the night before and Malfoy’s subsequent silence. As she hiccupped, Ron stroked her hair while Harry murmured quiet, meaningless words meant only to soothe, and she thought that perhaps she didn’t need to.

“There’s no need to worry anymore about the timeline, is there?” Harry asked in a soft voice.

Hermione shook her head, a fresh wave of tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Did he hurt you?” Ron interjected, tension sweeping through his limbs.

She shook her head again, opening and closing her hands in front of her like she might find the answer there between her palms before Harry took them again.

“He’s—he’s shut down,” she finally managed. “Back to h-hiding.”

Both wizards were quiet so long she looked between them, brows raised in question. Ron shifted uncomfortably, shooting Harry a pleading look. Harry sighed, hanging his head.

“I think it might be time for me to have a conversation with Malfoy.”

“Oh Harry—”

He squeezed her hands tight. “I’m not going to chastise him, Hermione, I promise. But I think it’s time for us to have a long overdue talk.”

Squeezing her hand one last time, Harry stood, smoothing back his hair and wiping beneath his eyes. “Our shift gets done around three and Theo tells me they usually leave the manor around that time, so I’ll make my way over there when they’re about to leave.”

Brows furrowed; she worried the raw spot inside her cheek. “I don’t know, he’s already in such an agitated state…”

Rubbing his glasses on the arm of his robes, Harry shrugged. “Then it can’t possibly get any worse and perhaps might get a little better.” He leant down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Take it easy today all right?”

Still frowning, Hermione nodded, forcing her expression to smooth as Ron mirrored Harry’s affection and they made their way towards the door.

“Use the private floo up here, okay, Mione?” Ron said, turning back to her before exchanging a look with Harry. “I have a feeling that once news breaks about the sealed bond there’s going to be an absolute shitstorm.”

 From the looks she’d caught the last few weeks and the frenzy around her, Hermione didn’t argue. She only nodded again, promising them both that she wouldn’t go to the atrium or cafeteria alone, before they both sent her their crooked smiles and left her alone with her paperwork.

…

“Salazar, all they need is a moat and level two will be a completely fortified palace.”

Hermione swiveled in her chair, mouth popping open in surprise. “Theo, what are you doing here? Is he—”

Theo lifted his hands placatingly. “Draco is fine. Or well…” he wandered in, leaning against Hermione’s desk and staring at the framed photograph of her, Harry, and Ron propped on the opposite end. “He’s the world’s biggest prat but Blaise said I’m not allow to call him that until he’s crawled out of the hole he’s dug for himself. However, I did get some choice words in before Blaise stopped me.”

Replacing her quill back in the holder, Hermione sighed. “What sort of choice words?”

Clicking his tongue, Theo shrugged before looking down at her. “That he’s ruining whatever chance he might have at something other than suffering in favor of being miserable.”

“Misery is all he’s known, Theo…” She hated how soft her voice was, the heat that pooled at the corners of her eyes before she swallowed and shook her head.

“Well misery is all he will ever know until he pulls his head out of his ass and sees that he’s been given an opportunity that he is currently squandering,” Theo answered sharply, face pinching with uncharacteristic anger.

 “So, he told you that we…” She grimaced.

His brows shot up. “What? No, no of course he didn’t. He hasn’t said a godsdamned word since the three of us arrived this morning, but it’s not hard to put two and two together. Pansy and Blaise are with him now but I was told I needed to take a break.” He put air quotes around the last words.

“So you thought you’d come to the Ministry?”

Theo blinked innocently. “Can’t a bloke visit a friend?”

Hermione frowned. “Harry’s out in the field, wasn’t he?”

“That’s beside the point,” Theo waved away the accusation, “and anyway, Potter won’t let me within a broomstick length of that tight little body of his and that is not for lack of trying.”

Finally, a small bit of the gray cloud of this morning dispersed as Hermione giggled at Theo’s utterly exasperated face before tapping his thigh to release the parchment underneath his hip. “So how can I help?”

“Convince Potter to let me take him on a date,” Theo answered immediately, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Just one date, a touch of snogging, perhaps a little over the trou—”

“Theo.”

He exhaled in a gust. “Just the date then, please. And in return I’ll come with you and Pansy to your shopping outing tomorrow to act as a buffer. Besides, Potter and Weasley said it’s best for one of us to come with you two just in case things get dicey. Pansy could bring a whole city to her knees if given the chance so really I’ll be there for the public’s protection, not yours.”

Hermione deliberated before nodding. “Fine, fine. It’s a deal.”

Theo smiled widely, clapping his hands together with excitement before pulling a small box from the inside of his robe pocket and restoring it to full size.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, Granger. Now, I’ve brought lunch because it seems Draco isn’t the only one who needs a bit of encouragement in that department.”

…

Hermione considered putting off going home, she really did. Even after Theo was gone her stomach twisted into knots at the thought of returning to the manor to find him still holed up in his closet refusing to speak.

But when it was half eight and she could no longer concentrate on the parchment spread out on the desk, she admitted defeat with a sigh, packed up her belongings and headed to the floo. The manor was as quiet as the tomb it was most days and she took her time on the stairs, each step another stone dropping into the pit of her stomach.

Perhaps she wouldn’t go to his room tonight. Perhaps she would give herself a much-needed break. A long bath, maybe, and some time with one of her favorite books.

Hermione made her way into her bedroom, focused on throwing her outer robes onto one of the chairs, followed by kicking off her heels. But when she looked up, she stumbled back a step, staring into shining gray eyes across from her.

Malfoy’s back was to the darkened windows, arms crossed over his chest that lowered as they looked at one another. His hair was damp, but he’d pulled half of it up off his face to expose the sharp line of his cheekbones. She couldn’t help but note his clothes, the gray trousers and black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms exposing the myriad of scars across his pale skin.

They stared at each other for a long moment and again the silence in the room felt like an outside observer, the bed between them a reminder last night and how he’d buried deep inside her. The bite mark on her shoulder ached as she lifted her chin, making the memory all too real.

“Potter came to see me today.” His words were slow, careful.

Hermione nodded, but she didn’t leave the space beside the door. “He told me he wanted to speak with you. I tried to caution him against it but—”

“He was right to,” Malfoy rasped quietly, cutting her off. He blew out a breath, hands splayed wide against his trousers. Hands that had gripped her hips, hand dipped between her…

With an exhale, Hermione focused on his face, only to find herself lost in the curve of his lips. She knew how soft they were now against her skin, beneath her ear, on her scars and tried not think of how they might feel against hers.

“I think he might be the only one who understands what it’s like,” he continued, unaware of her preoccupation.

She cleared her throat. “What it’s like...?”

Malfoy nodded, taking a step towards her. “To resign yourself to death, to wish for it even, and then find yourself very much alive.” Another step.

Her shoulders hit the wall, unsure if she would be able to bear his proximity only for him to shut down again, to flinch away. But those gray eyes were flicking back and forth between hers, dipping down to her mouth, to her shoulder where he must have known the mark of his teeth still lay, before sliding back to her face. Another step and he was in front of the bed, the sheets made and no doubt changed, but his attention slid to them all the same as if he too was remembering.

The stretch of him. Those desperate, pitiful whimpers she had made, the way she’d begged. His own cries, his restraint, the warmth of his release, and how they had fallen asleep still joined. He traced the pattern of the duvet beneath one finger, that muscle working again in his jaw.

“Is it selfish to wish to protect myself from more pain? I keep telling myself that it isn’t. That you’ll be happier with distance, that we are nothing to one another.” Embarrassment sliced red hot through her chest and she was grateful he was looking at the bed instead of her. “But I can’t stop thinking about the look on your face this morning and how it… how it kills me to know I put it there.”  

Her hands twisted together and she looked down at the floor beneath her bare feet, the red marks on her toes from the heels that were a little too tight. There was no thought in her mind of how to respond, no diplomacy she could reach for. So, she chose silence rather than to scream.

“Are you hungry?”

That was the question he was asking? Hermione kept her eyes trained on the ground. She’d trapped herself into a corner and had no idea how to get herself out.

Cool fingertips touched the skin of her wrist and she jumped. Malfoy was right there, taking her loosely by the hand and guiding her through the connecting door and into his bedroom. But unlike all the other times they ate on the floor, the coffee table was replaced with a small round table and two comfortable looking chairs, complete with a white table cloth.

He didn’t let her hand go, not until he’d pulled out one of those chairs and deposited her into it. Their dinner was already laid out but she found she could only stare at the pasta and salad, her stomach twisting into knots.

Is it selfish to wish to protect myself from more pain?

“I’m sorry,” she breathed finally, her hands held loosely in her lap.

She could hear that Malfoy had frozen, napkin rustling as it was placed back onto the table.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Granger?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her head towards the warmth of the fire. “Because I never stopped to consider what you might have wanted. All this time I have continued to make your choices. You say that you’re the one who ruined my life,” unable to bear it, she turned back to him, his face swimming in her vision, “but aren’t I the one who ruined yours?”

He blinked at her, face slack with surprise, but when he didn’t respond she pushed on.

“Do you still want to die, Malfoy?”

That gray gaze held hers for so long it was clear he was truly considering the question. And then he gave her a soft shake of his head. “Not right now, no.”

A breath caught in her throat. “But sometimes?”

Malfoy nodded slowly and it was his turn to look away towards the fire, the light of it gilding his features, softening the agony on his face. “Sometimes, yes.”

Biting her lower lip, she nodded though he couldn’t see it. Not with the way his eyes were fixed on the flames as if he was barely holding himself back from walking into them.

They were silent for a long time after that. And, eventually, Hermione rose from her seat and made her way over to the bed. She was too tired for modesty as she waved her hand to unzip the gray dress, letting it pool at her feet while she summoned a shirt from her wardrobe.

She would never admit what a relief it was to be back in this bed, enveloped by his scent. To know that one day she might slide in just to feel surrounded by him like this made the relief bittersweet. That one day she might wake up and he would be gone and all she would have left was this.

It wasn’t long after that the bed dipped behind her and though Malfoy didn’t pull her into his arms like she wished he would, he did place a hand on her back, fingers spread wide as she shook with sobs, sure he could hear them.

And she knew at that moment she didn’t care.