Big 5 by derryere [NC-17]
Exchange Story for leeharding123
Title: Big
Author: derryere
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex 'n DRUGS 'n ROCK AND-- I mean, language.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Author Notes/Beta Credits: Okay, a HUGE HONKIN' shout out to sandi_wandi who beta'd this on a supersuper short notice and did an amazing job (Otherwise you'd all be reading about drug dealing squids right now) aaand saved my buttkes. AND!! To yuying_luo, my non-stop support system.
Summary: When it rains, it pours. When you're Draco Malfoy, it's a fucking monsoon.
YOUR BEST SHOT
When not a prisoner to your captivity
be a slave to your freedom.
Old habits die hard.
Draco had tens of pieces of old parchment and yellowing papers pinned to rotting pieces of the wall with sharp twigs to prove it.
He usually used the paper from the bags Granger brought him food in, and sometimes, when she had some with her, he asked for a piece of parchment from the scroll she was writing on while stuffing his mouth.
Draco wasn’t an extraordinary artist. He practiced with some charcoal and managed to go from stick figures to men with small heads and large pants. All in all, he was pretty pleased with the progress. Some parchments were dedicated to old, mapped out Quidditch games he’d learned by heart. Some were silly little stories he’d written out, tales from his childhood, stories mother read to him before bedtime. Only one of the pieces was scribbled under by numbers, crosses and arrows; his own makeshift calendar.
About two months ago Granger stood by his wall, interestedly looking at the masterpieces. She’d long before tried to question him about its cause, but this instantly angered Draco and put him in such a foul mood that she knew better now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stop by one of his favourite Quidditch games drawing and smile a little. With a flick of her wand the little brooms started to move along the arrows, Quaffles were thrown and goals were made. The small crowd of stick-people cheered in the background with every earned point, and above a charcoal seeker flew in and out the image, searching for a charcoal snitch.
He’d sneered and said nothing of it; she shrugged and told him to roll up his sleeve.
No one knew that once she’d left he stood there for hours; mesmerized by the game and its accuracy, his heart skipping a beat each time his team made the deciding goal. Over and over again.
He hasn’t seen her for three weeks now.
He hasn’t seen anyone, for that matter.
Draco was starving.
He was lucky he hadn’t eaten the cake the last time Granger visited. The morning after the girl had disappeared, so did his appetite for a good day and a half. He stored the cake with a few other jars he’d kept for those just-in-case situations and a couple of big nuts in a cupboard on the far end of the room.
The farther away from him, the better.
He turned the mattress, took a swim in a small brook that hid between the trees behind his cabin and waited.
To forget or to explode or for her to come back - he honestly didn’t know.
But none happened.
That’s when his mind started working. Perhaps she told Potter and Weasley? Or maybe she lied, said some awful untrue things about him and convinced them never to return to the cabin again and he’d be stuck there until the end of times.
Perhaps she just finally said he was healed, and they all forgot about him…
Or perhaps she really was planning on burning down the cabin with him in it now.
Sleep, no matter how many drawings he hung on the wall behind his bed, became a rare thing.
So it was really no wonder Draco was still awake at 4 am on an August night when the door of his humble abode flung open loudly.
Draco shot up in bed, the name Granger hanging off his lips.
But it wasn’t her.
“MALFOY!” bellowed Weasley, stumbling into the cabin with difficulty. “YOU! OUT!”
He held his wand high, unsteadily directed at Draco’s head. He was sporting a bloody noise and a great number of ugly bruises. His left eye hung shut a bit lazily; too thick to open completely.
Draco jumped to his feet but didn’t move from his spot. He was instantly nervous, breath heavy in his throat.
“Well?” Weasley shot, nudging his wand from Draco to the door. “GO ON! Move, boy!”
Draco eyed the door briefly. “No…” he said, not trusting this one bit. “I’m-I’m not going.”
Groaning in frustration, Weasley staggered closer. “You wanted to leave, now you get to leave!” he shouted to his steps. “SO LEAVE!”
It had to be a trap. “Y-you can’t make me,” he muttered quietly. “I’m not afraid of you.”
With an insane chuckle Weasley dragged himself to Draco, wildly waving with his wand until he found a steady point - Draco’s neck.
“So the boy wants to struggle?” said Weasley sweetly, all too near Draco’s face. “Wants to duel?”
He swallowed, the wand poking further into his skin. Draco remained silent, looking away from Weasley’s instable face full well knowing nothing good could come of speaking his mind at a moment like this.
“Tell me then, Malfoy! Do you want to duel? DUEL, LIKE A MAN!”
Sweat had begun to form on his forehead, a first drop collecting at the point where his eyebrows met as he pulled them into a frown.
Weasley reluctantly pulled away, taking a few steps away from Draco before assuming position. The said boy started at him, perplexed.
“Well?” urged the redhead. “DUEL, MALFOY!”
A little hopelessly, Draco looked down at his vacant hand and then back to Weasley, brows raised in fearful question.
“Oh…” said Weasley, standing straight again. He quickly reached inside his robe, pulling out a long wooden sti-
Merlin above.
He threw it to Draco and it fell on the ground just before his feet.
His wand. His wand! Without hesitating or giving Weasley the time to grab it back Draco snatched it from the floor - his fingers had barely touched it and he already felt stronger than he had in months. The magic sparked in his palm in a pleasant buzz, as though saying ‘Hello, Draco. ‘S been a while.’
Draco licked his lips, not daring to look away from his wand in fear it would disappear again. The same one he’d carried with him ever since he turned ten, the one that had gotten him into far too many trouble than it was worthy.
“MALFOY! Are you gonna make a move or WHAT?”
His head snapped up. Weasley was now leaning against the table, seemingly waiting with his arms wide in invitation.
“Take your best shot, ferretboy!”
And despite his wand, Draco felt the danger now more than ever.
He swallowed. “What the hell is going on?”
“What are you asking questions for?” Weasley shouted in reply. “CURSE ME ALREADY!”
“Where is everyone, Weasley?” Draco said pointedly, ignoring the request. “What are you doing here by your-“
“DEAD!” interrupted Weasley.
“W-what?”
“Everyone!” he added in vague explanation. “You asked where they were, Malfoy. THEY’RE DEAD! Everyone’s DEAD!”
Draco’s heart was in his throat, pounding so loud he could barely hear himself breathe. Was Weasley serious? Was-was it over? Did they-
“Aren’t you happy, Malfoy? I thought you’d be. HELL, I’d be, if I were you!”
“What…” he began, licking his suddenly dry lips. “Which…I mean, who…”
“Who won?” the other fell in. “WHO KNOWS! No one won, everyone won, does it matter? They’re both dead now. What the fuck does it matter?”
“Both?” Draco frowned, a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You mean…Potter? Potter and…”
“WHO ELSE COULD I MEAN, IDIOT?” Weasley exclaimed, pushing himself off the table. “Fuck, enough talking, Malfoy. That’s not why I’m here.” He advanced Draco again, spreading his arms in the same manner as before. “Hit me with your best shot, bastard.”
Draco might as well not have seen it. His mind was reeling, hundreds of thoughts and possibilities and none of them involved Weasley. “And Granger?” he asked urgently. “What about Granger?”
“GO ON, MALFOY!” the redhead ignored the question entirely. “Crucio, Imperio - AVADA KEDAVRA ME FOR ALL I CARE! Just get the FUCK on with it!”
“I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, WEASLEY!” shouted Draco in return.
“Why the fuck do YOU care about Hermione, Malfoy?” Weasley exclaimed, letting his arms fall back down.
“IS. SHE. ALIVE?”
With an impatient moan Weasley made a wild movement, turning his back on Draco and seemingly making towards the door. “I should have known you wouldn’t have the GUTS,” he scolded over his shoulder, stopping at the wide open entrance. “You’re not even like the rest of them, Malfoy. You’re as ugly in your head,” he said, tapping his temple with his wand. “But as weak as child, you are. Useless.”
The door slammed shut behind him, and Draco could still hear him shout “USELESS!” a couple of times as he made his way back through the woods.
And with a blunt clarity he wished away, Draco realised a number of things.
The war was over.
It was over and he’d missed it and…
And he was free.
It scared him shitless.
THE UNINVITED
The big, fat, uninvited.
The sight was so familiar that Draco thought he would double over right there and then and hurl his lunch up. Right there, just fall to his knees and tuck his stomach, open his mouth and wait. He could never really do it on cue though. And even when he was sick it grossed him out enough to persuade himself he WAS NOT - because hey! It’s all in your head, buddy!
But right now he actually FELT nauseous. There was no food, no lunch or dinner sitting on his stomach - only one pint and some nuts. PEANUTS, if you will, salted ones.
Draco swore off nuts a long time ago, thank you very much.
And in the middle of it all, he somehow still had half the mind to turn to her for answers.
“What the hell…” he paused, swallowing away a nasty taste. “Okay. Okay - just, it’s okay! Just tell me what the HELL are we doing here, and it’ll be OKAY!”
She opened her mouth, eyes widening in innocent disappointed.
“I…I though that…”
Oh, HELL no.
“You though WHAT, Granger? WHAT?”
She looked around her somewhat hopelessly, as if the answers could be written down in little notes peeking through the walls. “You said you were done, Draco,” she replied, a bit too whiny. “If you’re done then there’s really no need… Don’t give me that look!” she exclaimed at his flared nostrils. “This is the perfect place to start over, Draco! A clean sleeve, a fresh page! No one would come looking for you and-“
“WHAT?! You-WHAT?” He licked his lips, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be fucking KIDDING me, Granger! You actually think I’d consider staying in this dump?” Raised brows, looking about him. “AGAIN?”
She was making tiny noises with her teeth, clicking them together in an anxious way that pissed against his nerves. “I wasn’t actually thinking it’ll take considering,” she quipped. “You see, I THOUGHT it’d be a no-brainer! You know, Azkaban - or the cabin? The CABIN, or Azkaban?” She cocked her head, pretending to be thinking it over. “I see where you’re coming from here, Draco. Tough choice, REALLY. I’m cracking my SORDID BRAIN here!”
Draco scoffed. “No one will send me to Azkaban if you’ll tell them not to.” He took a moment, grinned - “As long as I’m under YOUR care, Granger, you can do whatever you want.”
Her eyes flickered. He was getting angry with him, and not in that ‘oh Draco because of you I couldn’t go through with my compulsive obsessive DISORDER’ kind of way, like before, but real anger. The kind he remembered from before, way back when he bothered counting the tiny hairs on his chest.
“I risked my whole career just now. I threw YEARS of training, time - EVERYTHING, just to get your ungrateful little ass over here.” Her mouth tightened into a scrawny little line. “Do you even CARE, Draco? Do you feel ANYTHING? As in, at ALL?”
“Listen to me, Granger,” he took a step towards her, holding a finger up and close to her face. “I didn’t ask for jackshit. I NEVER asked you for anything - ANYTHING! So this?” Draco threw his arm about the room, not breaking eye contact, “Couldn’t mean LESS to me. There’s a fucking difference, Granger, between doing someone a favour and FUCKING with someone’s life.” He pulled back a bit, scowling like he was impressed with himself. “Uninvited at that.”
He noticed she was breathing somewhat heavier, that she was trying to hide it and calm herself down - and failing. In an ugly way.
“Who’s fucking with your life?” she spat, jaws clenched tight. “You seemed to be doing that so NICELY all by yourself.”
“IT’S MY LIFE!” he shouted back, using the forced of his finger again. “Not yours, NOT WEASLEY’S - NOT POTTER-“
“Harry’s dead.”
“I fucking know he’s dead, bitch - HELL, WHO DOESN’T?” He laughed at this, as if he was insane and she just didn’t know. “I read a newspaper, right? And this was-what? About a month ago? First Daily Prophet I read in FOUR YEARS - and still, BAM! On the front page, there’s Potter, with his big UGLY face. Apparently they managed to find a recording of his voice and are now planning on transforming it into a SUMMER HIT.” Draco forced a smile but it was all but amused. “SING. Four years after his death, and Potter’s going to SING FOR US, GRANGER!”
Granger’s fists were balled at her sides. He wondered whether she’d actually have the guts to hit him if he went on about Potter in the Hit parade.
“You’re such a waste of breath,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why you’re still alive, really. Because, really, it’s ridiculous when you think about it - no matter what you do, Draco, you always end up in so much SHIT. And everyone keeps jumping on the line for you, RISKING THEIR NECKS - and there’s Draco Malfoy!” She opened her palm towards him, as though introducing him to a public. “ON HIS LAZY ASS! Doing absolutely DIPSHIT, not bothering to thank a living soul except his own.” Granger stopped, brought her hand to her mouth in mock surprise -“Oh, but then again - you don’t have one, do you?”
It kind of amused him, how she thought this would hurt him…on some level. And how it visibly surprised her when he remained so unaffected it was blatantly obvious she might as well would’ve said nothing.
But then again, she didn’t know what Draco knew, did she?
She’d been so busy with keeping her posters and drawings up, her walls and bedcovers up to her nose just to get a decent sleep and a momentary escape from her gnawing conscience - she never stopped to think that hey, HEY, maybe my drawings don’t like to be meddled with. MAYBE they like being a frozen Quidditch game or Pinup Witch or WHATEVER! Maybe they just LIKED not moving, or just trying to move without her help - because who asked her, anyway?
Who invited this girl to the party, ANYWAY?
Gatecrasher.
“Why did you bring me here, Granger?”
“Well I THOUGHT you actually WANTED to quit your scumbag existence and try to make something good of-“
“NO, I don’t mean why you brought me HERE, you idiotic bint,” Draco snapped. “I meant why - I meant, why did you bring ME here?”
She swallowed. And he had her, he had her by the balls now.
“W-what do you m-mea-?”
“I’m sure I’m not the very first ex Death Eater fellow you people caught, tied up and brought down to the Ministry with ya’,” he caught off in a casual tone. “There were loads of people you knew, just like me. Boot, for example! Crabbe and Knott and - well, let’s be fair, a shipload of Slytherins. A few Ravenclaws, two or three Hufflepuffs and do I even recall one Gryf-“
“YEAH I know the numbers, Draco! What’s your point?”
Draco smiled at her. And it was this close to being genuine.
“Right here,” he said, spreading his arms and looking down at his feet and back up to her. When she frowned he continued, in a tone that he loved to use. A tone that she hated - and he knew this for a fact - because it showed the world how much he LOVED the sound of his own voice.
“The Daily Prophet…” he said, slowly and clearly as if she was deaf. “Is an interesting paper. The copy I got last month - Geoff got it from his brother, actually - had this strange section towards the end. You know that?”
She blanched a little, blinking at him a little apprehensively. “The Muggle Section,” Granger said dryly.
“YES! Yes, THAT ONE!” He snapped his fingers. Like it was on the tip of his tongue. Like he really didn’t remember. Yeah. Right. “So anyway, I was like - hey, interesting!”
Granger made a noise. As if she had a great laugh, picturing him getting excited over Muggle stuff.
Fuck, he bet she was.
“So this article,” he continued a little louder. “It was about shells, right? And these shells they- wait, did you read it?” Draco looked at her expectantly.
Draco noted it took her a moment to observe he actually asked her a question and wanted her to answer. And that this was a question that made her want to answer, instead of his guts out.
“N-no… I don’t think I have. I don’t remember anything about shells, are you sure that was it? Because I usually read all of the-“
“Anyway,” he cut her off, wanting to finish his story while he was in such a talkative mood. “I read it and I thought to myself - we’re kind of like that, aren’t we, Hermione?” Draco winked. She shivered. “We are. We ARE kind of like those shells on those beaches. We both start at the same place - Hogwarts or… whatever. But we’re mirrored, you know? We’re bivalves opposing and- you get this, Granger?” He paused and she opened her mouth, only to be cut off by him once more. “And then there are all these currents, and they’re working on us and I go this way and you go that way you end up in Texel or-yeah, well, working at the ministry and I end up on the Shetlands. Or, well…” he paused, adding a small chuckle. “On the streets, selling Muggles Wizarding candy.”
She looked at him all the while, still a bit blank and devoid of understanding. “I don’t…” she began. “I don’t believe I’m following you.”
With an impatient sigh he reached into his inner pocket, taking out a folded, cut out article. “Here,” he said, handing it over.
After casting Draco two or three distrusting glares, Granger folded the paper open.
“Shoes and Shells by Patrick Peterson,” she mumbled the title out loud. “Each year biologists find an extraordinary number of shoes on the Scottish beaches-“
“No, no, not that one,” Draco interrupted. “Turn it over.”
She frowned, but did as he asked all the same. He could almost hear her stop breathing for a moment. He was watching her intently as she eyed the black and white picture of herself smiling, shaking hands with the Minister of Magic. Hermione Granger, new head chief of Magical Department of Defence, the title read.
“This…” she started, quizzically looking up. “That’s the article they wrote about me when I got my promotion…”
Draco shrugged. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “And I thought you were dead.”
She blinked at him, dumbfounded. “What?!”
“No one ever told me otherwise, douche,” he replied simply. “But that’s when it hit me, you see.”
Granger closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get her thoughts clear and in order - preferably a line, please.
“You didn’t want me arrested at all, did you, Granger?” he said. “Not really. Always sending CRAPASS Aurors after my ass. All that shit with busting apartments half hour after I left…see, I never really got it. Why the hell would the ministry do such a shitty job? ON PURPOSE?”
He posed the question to the room.
Granger watched him carefully, but offered no reply.
“And that’s when I realised… THAT is it, isn’t it? THAT is why I never got caught. Why I always had those idiots running after me…it’s because of what you said earlier. In the office.” He stopped to look straight into her eye, grinning. “You actually feel guilty.”
He could have stood there, watching her face go through all kinds of emotions for-fucking-EVER. It was the sound of the scrunching paper that brought his attention to her hand - she was clutching onto the article, fisting it into an angry ball. She had small hands, he noted. Fingers a little plump but red - although this could very well have been caused by him right now - and knuckles white, shaking at her side.
“So l-let me get this straight,” she said in a voice higher than usual, swallowing a lot as if she was dealing with air pressure or some shit. “Today, you get yourself arrested.”
She looked at him.
Draco nodded.
“On p- purpose.”
He pulled a face, like ‘eh, more or less.’
“You got yourself arrested,” she repeated again, like people did when they came some kind of life altering conclusion. “Because you thought I’d save your ass anyway.”
Draco frowned, crossed his arms as if to ask her where the HELL she was going with this. Because duh, wasn’t this all obvious?
“And all of that.” She made a circling movement with her chin. “Is because you think-you thi-“ Pause, inhaling. “You think I’m feeling guilty. About something.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Because you do.”
Draco kind of wondered whether her eyes had been closed until now, because otherwise he would’ve never thought them to open that more.
With a mighty groan, Granger threw the paper at him. It was very unfortunate for her, of course, that the paper barely made it half a foot before twirling downwards and landing on her shoes.
“THIS IS NOT FAIR!” she yelled, unexpectedly shoving him hard. It made him retreat half a step because she really wasn’t strong enough. Not like before, anyway.
Or maybe he got stronger?
“So you do?” he asked urgently. “You DO feel guilty! I KNEW IT!”
She tried to shove him again, but her fists aimlessly met his chest - he didn’t move an inch.
“YOU TRICKED ME!” she shouted to make up for it. “You TRICKED ME, you arrogant ASSHOLE! WHILE I RISKED MY--!”
“Really now, Granger,” he said lowly, slowly wrapping his hands around her punching little wrists, “who asked you?”
She stopped, looking up seriously.
“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “Who ASKED you to do any of it? Because from where I’m standing, this whole thing is completely YOUR fault.” Draco peeled her hands off his chest, dropping them because it was dirt. “Big fat uninvited fault, at that.”
She stepped back, a little shocked at herself and at him, holding her hands balled to her chest.
“You wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for me, Draco.”
Granger looked so damn hurt - all of a sudden! As if she could cry if he said something like DEAD KITTENS! Or whatever. And it was so strange for him because this wasn’t the demeanour he expected, and demanded and wanted from her.
She was really, really supposed to get angry.
“That…that must mean something. Doesn’t it? It must.”
SWALLOWS
Follow the sun
Before the countdown
The stupid ghost couldn’t follow him outside the walls. Couldn’t, because it was bound to poop water with magical laws and containments and no matter how hard she’d try, HE was the one who could always escape.
He was the better one.
Having the flesh and all that stuff.
His heart was pounding loudly against his chest and ears and he was grateful for that - otherwise he’d convince himself to hear her wails in the walls. In the piping and the lake and GOD, even the fucking rain!
Draco really didn’t care she was there for him to use as he saw fit. It didn’t matter that he only talked to her when everything sucked and that he ran away from her when he was feeling good, while she was chasing him through water pipes down halls until he gave up and ran outside.
But Draaaaco! Waaaait up! I thought we had such a nice talk yesterday! Why are you running away from me, Draco? You don’t want your friends to know you’re friends with a ghost, right? IS THAT IT, DRACO? DRACOOOOO!
He closed his eyes, wincing at the thought of Blaise walking in on him an Myrtle, having a heart to…plasma-heart conversation.
But he was still the better one.
And in control.
He was COMPLETELY in control.
“We better go back inside.”
Draco froze. His eyes snapped open and ears twitched a little. He braced himself against the wall, trying to move his head closer to the corner from which around the voice came.
“I don’t want to go inside.”
“Hermione, it looks like it’s about to rain. Are you planning to sit here in the rain? Because I’m not. So basically you’d rather get a pneumonia and hide from him foreve-“
“I’m not hiding! I…”
Pause.
“I just prefer not to be in the same room as him, that’s all. So that -- you know, so I won’t chop his head off.”
There was the sound an uncomfortable shifting, robes scraping against brick.
“And it’s not going to rain, anyway.”
“How d’you know?”
“The swallows - right there, you see them, Harry?”
Draco cast a quick glance at the sky, counting a few dots that resembled birds flying high above the castle.
“They fly high when the mosquitoes fly high. The mosquitoes fly high when it’s warmer up there - rain cools the higher altitudes down.”
“Aaah…”
“It’s true, though. I’m not making this up.”
“I don’t doubt you.”
“Good. Because you shouldn’t.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
With a frown Draco looked up at the sky again. He always thought mosquitoes flew high because they tried to reach the sun or moon….
Or something.
“Yeah. I’m gonna go inside now.”
“But it’s not going rain…”
“I don’t care. I’m cold - I’m going inside.”
“Fine. FINE! Just wait a second, Okay? I want to finish my notes.”
“You ALWAYS want to finish your notes, Hermione.”
“Just a second-I’m almost done, just this one more line-“
“Fine. Finish your notes.”
“Thank you.”
Draco stayed there for another minute before deciding he’d had enough. He pushed himself off the wall, choosing a path along the rose gardens. It took three steps and he could vaguely hear Potter add in the background-
“This is going to take another half hour, isn’t it?”
3
Number three
It was so warm. So fucking warm and how come he didn’t notice this until now? FUCK, this must’ve been the first heat wave in years.
How did he stay with that jacket on for so long?
The sweat was dripping down his forehead, his back and upper lip. Draco felt disgusting, for showing glandular weaknesses in public like this.
Yeah. Fuck his mind, fuck it, old habits die hard.
Granger didn’t look comfortable either. She’d taken off the jacket of her suit and draped it over the seat. Sleeves of her blouse were rolled up and from what he could see, she was at least as awkward about the sweaty situation as he was.
And he’d said it so many times now, and she answered to questions he hadn’t even asked and it just wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t admit and he wouldn’t give up the smugness and FUCK.
They were stuck.
“How hard is it to UNDERSTAND, Granger?” he rasped, clawed hands held up in desperation. “ALL I’m asking from you - ALL I WANT FROM YOU, is for you to STOP IT. Just STOP trying to save me, OKAY? JUST FUCKING STOP! How hard can that be? HOW HARD??”
She bit her lip, AGAIN, and shook her head. “Why?”
“W-WHY?!” Draco exclaimed. Was this girl serious? Here we go, AGAIN. “Because I never ASKED you to-“
“If I’m having guilt problems - which according to you I have - then I’m not doing it for you,” she said simply. “I’m doing it to soothe my own conscience. So why should I stop?”
Pause.
“…Theoretically, that is.”
Draco stared at her, completely exasperated. “BECAUSE, Granger,” he began, for what seemed to be the millionth time that day. “You make it impossible to escape you. Wherever I go, whenever I try-to-FUCK, I DON’T KNOW! START OVER! Make a new life for myself, whatever! Whenever I try anything-there’s ALWAYS you. With your big fat UGLY head, somehow always messing it up. Whatever it is I do, you always find a way to try and help, and you ALWAYS ruin it. ALWAYS! And I just can’t…I can’t get-“
“In control?” she finished for him.
He was stopped in mid sentence, gaping at her. “What?”
“Control,” she repeated. “Because that’s it, isn’t it?”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “What are you on about, woman?”
“Well, it’s like you said - ‘whatever it is you do’.” She shrugged. “And you always do it for the control. You’re always in it for the control. You can’t stand the thought that something might happen that could affect you outside your control. It drives you insane.”
“N…no…” He swallowed. “No it doesn’t.”
2
Number two
Her back followed the most marvellous paths. He followed it with his finger, one finger going up and down and up again and she smiled a little in her sleep.
It probably tickled her.
He opened his palm and stretched the five digits to the curve of her hip and his bones made quiet knicks and knacks - he suddenly felt very rude, lying next to a creature made of circles like that, making funny noises with his bones. His hand travelled to the expanse of her belly, pulling her closer and prepping his chin on her shoulder hoping quietly he was made of such figures, too, when aligned with her.
The cabin had one window and the clearing wasn’t large enough to let much light in during the way, let alone at nights. Out of habit he kept track of the moon and the stars, noting them down with a brownish stone on a piece of paper that hung next to the calendar.
And it was so strange, so peculiar for him to see a weak light fall on the bed from a half-full moon. Because it wasn’t supposed to be there. It really wasn’t!
Along a train of thought with no rules or direction, Draco pulled some lines, four lines, boxes - he wondered whether his father was alive and whether he still let the moon stay put only to please mother, and what happened to moths when they tried to reach the light of the moon and if it was possible to get stuck in the fabric of the universe.
And whether the universe being infinite meant things like numbers couldn’t exist. Things like tiny particles that never stop splitting in two and the way everything about her went in circles, like her breasts and tip of her toes. And if that meant infinity was really a subjective thing, that loads of infinities existed and they were all just part of one big honking infinity…
He thought he wouldn’t mind spending the rest infinity being a part of her breasts.
Really.
Then the thoughts slowly died away, and all that was left were strings of the big words he’d normally be too embarrassed to think of - like… like if her back aligned so perfectly with his chest, did that mean she was mortal for him like that. Because although together they felt like doppelgangers, they formed all that was everything-- individually they were a part of it. They were a part with an ending, a beginning and a middle and…
Oh look…
Half full moon!
Little stick figures cheered in a charcoal Quidditch stand, so, so happy because the deciding goal has just been made and their favourite team won.
Draco didn’t notice; he was asleep, the faintest of smiles ghosting his lips.
NUMBER ONE
The exception
One thing was certain. He was scared of many things. Yes, granted, although that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as they were there. You see, it was okay to be scared of the boogie man, of the butcher’s dog and nasty insects that suck your blood in the middle of the night. It was all right to be scared of all that threatened him. It wasn’t all right to be scared of all that didn’t.
“Yes, it does. It scares the living daylights out of you.”
She typed on a typewriter in her office, with ten fingers at once and so fast sometimes her fingers were a blur on his pictures. The ones on the ceiling of Geoff’s guest room. She didn’t even have to look down, each hand is controlled by the opposing brain half, crisscross connected. He always laughed at the thought - she wrote with crossed brains, she did. And he felt them as he lied on his back, the currents and whirlpools that drifted his left sock or shoe or ear shell so far away from everyone else were now gently pushing him back. Quietly apologising for the mistake and hoping he could still find his other sock. Shoe. Whatever.
“If I were to do something completely out of your grasp right now, you’d panic. You’d lose it.”
Defeat, bitter as it was, never failed to grant a certain sense of relief. The kind of feeling that scares you to death and thrills at the same time - like carrying the moon on your shoulders all your life and suddenly saying - ‘Hey, I’m letting go.’ And you don’t know if the moon will fall or float away or just stay in place - because you’ve been carrying it ever since you can remember and it’s just all you know. And your fingers stretch and you straighten up, and your bones make funny noises but it’s good -- and then, then you just…just let go. And it’s amazing. It can kill you and it can mark your life and it can make you feel so useless - but that’s okay, because your hands are free. And you can make your own importance now, and you can reach for the sun and pull both socks off before you take a bath and be a big person.
He was the one to make the first step. He always was, because it was always his set boundary that was crossed and he was okay with that. She expected it, she provoked him, she wanted it all the same. Draco took her sleeve, nudging her closer. Come on, then. If we must. If we HAVE to do this, then. Come on, then, it’s not like we have a choice.
So she talked of a theory.
And I don’t think I ever told you thank you. For, you know, saving my life and all.
Number one theory, she called it.
So thank you.
“You see,” she began, “unlike all the other valid numbers, number one could never be a pattern.”
Death freaks me out.
Number one was an exception.
It’s…big.
[end]
Assignment: BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: romance/humour, arrogant draco, happy ending
What rating would you prefer? PG, M or NC 17
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): angst, rape
Final Author Notes: Uh, right, woah. Remember you requested something romantic with humour and no matter WHAT, no angst? Yeah. SORRY ABOUT THAT.
* Additional Scene - This is what COULD have happened in the cabin, during Potter's SUPER DUPER intimidating investigation. Personally, I think this one is slightly more plausible.
"No, I guess you don't," Potter agreed. "But you do need it to lift the wards. Or do you plan to roundhouse kick them in the face too, Malfoy?"
Draco blinked. "Dude. What the fuck?"
"Roundhouse kick -- that's like--"
"I KNOW what that is, you fucking retard," he cut Potter off. "Chuck Norris, dude? LAME."
"Hey!" Potter exclaimed, pushing a hand to Draco's chest. "You take that back! I'll have you know Chuck is a very spiritually inspired man!"
"Oh my god!" Draco shouted. "You're GAY!"
"Harry, dude, come on," Weasley muttered out of the corner of his mouth, pushing him off Draco. "I thought we weren't going to talk about Chuck anymore--"
"NO RON!" he SCREAMED, backing away. "IT'S NOT FAIR! You know how FAR his videos got me? WHERE DO YOU THINK I GET MY INSPIRATION FROM?" Potter walked back a few feet, mumbling "okay, okay" while making sure he had room by stretching his arm. Then, in a swift movement, he leaned back on his right foot and threw his left in the air with a mighty "KAAAHYAA!"
Draco was shocked, Ron looked down shaking his head and Hermione banged her head against the nearest wall.
"Waydago, Harry," Ron said. "Way to SCARE the shit out of Malfoy, really."
"OH, COME OOON!" Harry whined. "That was COOL!" He turned to Draco, an eager look on his face. "It was, RIGHT?"
"Jesus Christ, Potter!" Draco shifted as far away from him as he could. "FUCK OFF!"
"You mean..." he began, a little disappointed. "It didn't...scare you?"
Draco raised his eyebrows. "Everyone who thought Potter's kick was made of the lame raise theirs hands."
Three hands shot up.
"Aaah, man!" Potter cried, shoulders dropping. "You guys SUCK!"
When no answer came, Harry grumpily stormed out of the cabin, muttering something about 'cultural barbarians' under his breath.
"That guy is fucked in the HEAD," Draco said after the door slammed shut. "And I mean like, FUCKED."
"Yeah," Hermione said, sliding into the newly vacant chair. "We know."
"YEAH!" Ron agreed. "The other day, right? He comes up to me and goes, 'hey hey HEY, Ron, what do you think if I try to get Voldemort's ass by pointing my fingergun at him and going like: BOOYA!!' And I was like, the HELL??"
"Wait..." Draco said slowly. "Wait, I thought the Chuck fingergun move was thought to make girls--"
"YEAH," Hermione interrupted. "We KNOW."
"Holy shit!"
"Yeah."
"Jesus Christ!"
"Exactly."
*
ps. Don't be lynchin'!
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione fic exchange.
Title: Big
Author: derryere
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex 'n DRUGS 'n ROCK AND-- I mean, language.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Author Notes/Beta Credits: Okay, a HUGE HONKIN' shout out to sandi_wandi who beta'd this on a supersuper short notice and did an amazing job (Otherwise you'd all be reading about drug dealing squids right now) aaand saved my buttkes. AND!! To yuying_luo, my non-stop support system.
Summary: When it rains, it pours. When you're Draco Malfoy, it's a fucking monsoon.
YOUR BEST SHOT
When not a prisoner to your captivity
be a slave to your freedom.
Old habits die hard.
Draco had tens of pieces of old parchment and yellowing papers pinned to rotting pieces of the wall with sharp twigs to prove it.
He usually used the paper from the bags Granger brought him food in, and sometimes, when she had some with her, he asked for a piece of parchment from the scroll she was writing on while stuffing his mouth.
Draco wasn’t an extraordinary artist. He practiced with some charcoal and managed to go from stick figures to men with small heads and large pants. All in all, he was pretty pleased with the progress. Some parchments were dedicated to old, mapped out Quidditch games he’d learned by heart. Some were silly little stories he’d written out, tales from his childhood, stories mother read to him before bedtime. Only one of the pieces was scribbled under by numbers, crosses and arrows; his own makeshift calendar.
About two months ago Granger stood by his wall, interestedly looking at the masterpieces. She’d long before tried to question him about its cause, but this instantly angered Draco and put him in such a foul mood that she knew better now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stop by one of his favourite Quidditch games drawing and smile a little. With a flick of her wand the little brooms started to move along the arrows, Quaffles were thrown and goals were made. The small crowd of stick-people cheered in the background with every earned point, and above a charcoal seeker flew in and out the image, searching for a charcoal snitch.
He’d sneered and said nothing of it; she shrugged and told him to roll up his sleeve.
No one knew that once she’d left he stood there for hours; mesmerized by the game and its accuracy, his heart skipping a beat each time his team made the deciding goal. Over and over again.
He hasn’t seen her for three weeks now.
He hasn’t seen anyone, for that matter.
Draco was starving.
He was lucky he hadn’t eaten the cake the last time Granger visited. The morning after the girl had disappeared, so did his appetite for a good day and a half. He stored the cake with a few other jars he’d kept for those just-in-case situations and a couple of big nuts in a cupboard on the far end of the room.
The farther away from him, the better.
He turned the mattress, took a swim in a small brook that hid between the trees behind his cabin and waited.
To forget or to explode or for her to come back - he honestly didn’t know.
But none happened.
That’s when his mind started working. Perhaps she told Potter and Weasley? Or maybe she lied, said some awful untrue things about him and convinced them never to return to the cabin again and he’d be stuck there until the end of times.
Perhaps she just finally said he was healed, and they all forgot about him…
Or perhaps she really was planning on burning down the cabin with him in it now.
Sleep, no matter how many drawings he hung on the wall behind his bed, became a rare thing.
So it was really no wonder Draco was still awake at 4 am on an August night when the door of his humble abode flung open loudly.
Draco shot up in bed, the name Granger hanging off his lips.
But it wasn’t her.
“MALFOY!” bellowed Weasley, stumbling into the cabin with difficulty. “YOU! OUT!”
He held his wand high, unsteadily directed at Draco’s head. He was sporting a bloody noise and a great number of ugly bruises. His left eye hung shut a bit lazily; too thick to open completely.
Draco jumped to his feet but didn’t move from his spot. He was instantly nervous, breath heavy in his throat.
“Well?” Weasley shot, nudging his wand from Draco to the door. “GO ON! Move, boy!”
Draco eyed the door briefly. “No…” he said, not trusting this one bit. “I’m-I’m not going.”
Groaning in frustration, Weasley staggered closer. “You wanted to leave, now you get to leave!” he shouted to his steps. “SO LEAVE!”
It had to be a trap. “Y-you can’t make me,” he muttered quietly. “I’m not afraid of you.”
With an insane chuckle Weasley dragged himself to Draco, wildly waving with his wand until he found a steady point - Draco’s neck.
“So the boy wants to struggle?” said Weasley sweetly, all too near Draco’s face. “Wants to duel?”
He swallowed, the wand poking further into his skin. Draco remained silent, looking away from Weasley’s instable face full well knowing nothing good could come of speaking his mind at a moment like this.
“Tell me then, Malfoy! Do you want to duel? DUEL, LIKE A MAN!”
Sweat had begun to form on his forehead, a first drop collecting at the point where his eyebrows met as he pulled them into a frown.
Weasley reluctantly pulled away, taking a few steps away from Draco before assuming position. The said boy started at him, perplexed.
“Well?” urged the redhead. “DUEL, MALFOY!”
A little hopelessly, Draco looked down at his vacant hand and then back to Weasley, brows raised in fearful question.
“Oh…” said Weasley, standing straight again. He quickly reached inside his robe, pulling out a long wooden sti-
Merlin above.
He threw it to Draco and it fell on the ground just before his feet.
His wand. His wand! Without hesitating or giving Weasley the time to grab it back Draco snatched it from the floor - his fingers had barely touched it and he already felt stronger than he had in months. The magic sparked in his palm in a pleasant buzz, as though saying ‘Hello, Draco. ‘S been a while.’
Draco licked his lips, not daring to look away from his wand in fear it would disappear again. The same one he’d carried with him ever since he turned ten, the one that had gotten him into far too many trouble than it was worthy.
“MALFOY! Are you gonna make a move or WHAT?”
His head snapped up. Weasley was now leaning against the table, seemingly waiting with his arms wide in invitation.
“Take your best shot, ferretboy!”
And despite his wand, Draco felt the danger now more than ever.
He swallowed. “What the hell is going on?”
“What are you asking questions for?” Weasley shouted in reply. “CURSE ME ALREADY!”
“Where is everyone, Weasley?” Draco said pointedly, ignoring the request. “What are you doing here by your-“
“DEAD!” interrupted Weasley.
“W-what?”
“Everyone!” he added in vague explanation. “You asked where they were, Malfoy. THEY’RE DEAD! Everyone’s DEAD!”
Draco’s heart was in his throat, pounding so loud he could barely hear himself breathe. Was Weasley serious? Was-was it over? Did they-
“Aren’t you happy, Malfoy? I thought you’d be. HELL, I’d be, if I were you!”
“What…” he began, licking his suddenly dry lips. “Which…I mean, who…”
“Who won?” the other fell in. “WHO KNOWS! No one won, everyone won, does it matter? They’re both dead now. What the fuck does it matter?”
“Both?” Draco frowned, a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You mean…Potter? Potter and…”
“WHO ELSE COULD I MEAN, IDIOT?” Weasley exclaimed, pushing himself off the table. “Fuck, enough talking, Malfoy. That’s not why I’m here.” He advanced Draco again, spreading his arms in the same manner as before. “Hit me with your best shot, bastard.”
Draco might as well not have seen it. His mind was reeling, hundreds of thoughts and possibilities and none of them involved Weasley. “And Granger?” he asked urgently. “What about Granger?”
“GO ON, MALFOY!” the redhead ignored the question entirely. “Crucio, Imperio - AVADA KEDAVRA ME FOR ALL I CARE! Just get the FUCK on with it!”
“I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, WEASLEY!” shouted Draco in return.
“Why the fuck do YOU care about Hermione, Malfoy?” Weasley exclaimed, letting his arms fall back down.
“IS. SHE. ALIVE?”
With an impatient moan Weasley made a wild movement, turning his back on Draco and seemingly making towards the door. “I should have known you wouldn’t have the GUTS,” he scolded over his shoulder, stopping at the wide open entrance. “You’re not even like the rest of them, Malfoy. You’re as ugly in your head,” he said, tapping his temple with his wand. “But as weak as child, you are. Useless.”
The door slammed shut behind him, and Draco could still hear him shout “USELESS!” a couple of times as he made his way back through the woods.
And with a blunt clarity he wished away, Draco realised a number of things.
The war was over.
It was over and he’d missed it and…
And he was free.
It scared him shitless.
THE UNINVITED
The big, fat, uninvited.
The sight was so familiar that Draco thought he would double over right there and then and hurl his lunch up. Right there, just fall to his knees and tuck his stomach, open his mouth and wait. He could never really do it on cue though. And even when he was sick it grossed him out enough to persuade himself he WAS NOT - because hey! It’s all in your head, buddy!
But right now he actually FELT nauseous. There was no food, no lunch or dinner sitting on his stomach - only one pint and some nuts. PEANUTS, if you will, salted ones.
Draco swore off nuts a long time ago, thank you very much.
And in the middle of it all, he somehow still had half the mind to turn to her for answers.
“What the hell…” he paused, swallowing away a nasty taste. “Okay. Okay - just, it’s okay! Just tell me what the HELL are we doing here, and it’ll be OKAY!”
She opened her mouth, eyes widening in innocent disappointed.
“I…I though that…”
Oh, HELL no.
“You though WHAT, Granger? WHAT?”
She looked around her somewhat hopelessly, as if the answers could be written down in little notes peeking through the walls. “You said you were done, Draco,” she replied, a bit too whiny. “If you’re done then there’s really no need… Don’t give me that look!” she exclaimed at his flared nostrils. “This is the perfect place to start over, Draco! A clean sleeve, a fresh page! No one would come looking for you and-“
“WHAT?! You-WHAT?” He licked his lips, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be fucking KIDDING me, Granger! You actually think I’d consider staying in this dump?” Raised brows, looking about him. “AGAIN?”
She was making tiny noises with her teeth, clicking them together in an anxious way that pissed against his nerves. “I wasn’t actually thinking it’ll take considering,” she quipped. “You see, I THOUGHT it’d be a no-brainer! You know, Azkaban - or the cabin? The CABIN, or Azkaban?” She cocked her head, pretending to be thinking it over. “I see where you’re coming from here, Draco. Tough choice, REALLY. I’m cracking my SORDID BRAIN here!”
Draco scoffed. “No one will send me to Azkaban if you’ll tell them not to.” He took a moment, grinned - “As long as I’m under YOUR care, Granger, you can do whatever you want.”
Her eyes flickered. He was getting angry with him, and not in that ‘oh Draco because of you I couldn’t go through with my compulsive obsessive DISORDER’ kind of way, like before, but real anger. The kind he remembered from before, way back when he bothered counting the tiny hairs on his chest.
“I risked my whole career just now. I threw YEARS of training, time - EVERYTHING, just to get your ungrateful little ass over here.” Her mouth tightened into a scrawny little line. “Do you even CARE, Draco? Do you feel ANYTHING? As in, at ALL?”
“Listen to me, Granger,” he took a step towards her, holding a finger up and close to her face. “I didn’t ask for jackshit. I NEVER asked you for anything - ANYTHING! So this?” Draco threw his arm about the room, not breaking eye contact, “Couldn’t mean LESS to me. There’s a fucking difference, Granger, between doing someone a favour and FUCKING with someone’s life.” He pulled back a bit, scowling like he was impressed with himself. “Uninvited at that.”
He noticed she was breathing somewhat heavier, that she was trying to hide it and calm herself down - and failing. In an ugly way.
“Who’s fucking with your life?” she spat, jaws clenched tight. “You seemed to be doing that so NICELY all by yourself.”
“IT’S MY LIFE!” he shouted back, using the forced of his finger again. “Not yours, NOT WEASLEY’S - NOT POTTER-“
“Harry’s dead.”
“I fucking know he’s dead, bitch - HELL, WHO DOESN’T?” He laughed at this, as if he was insane and she just didn’t know. “I read a newspaper, right? And this was-what? About a month ago? First Daily Prophet I read in FOUR YEARS - and still, BAM! On the front page, there’s Potter, with his big UGLY face. Apparently they managed to find a recording of his voice and are now planning on transforming it into a SUMMER HIT.” Draco forced a smile but it was all but amused. “SING. Four years after his death, and Potter’s going to SING FOR US, GRANGER!”
Granger’s fists were balled at her sides. He wondered whether she’d actually have the guts to hit him if he went on about Potter in the Hit parade.
“You’re such a waste of breath,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why you’re still alive, really. Because, really, it’s ridiculous when you think about it - no matter what you do, Draco, you always end up in so much SHIT. And everyone keeps jumping on the line for you, RISKING THEIR NECKS - and there’s Draco Malfoy!” She opened her palm towards him, as though introducing him to a public. “ON HIS LAZY ASS! Doing absolutely DIPSHIT, not bothering to thank a living soul except his own.” Granger stopped, brought her hand to her mouth in mock surprise -“Oh, but then again - you don’t have one, do you?”
It kind of amused him, how she thought this would hurt him…on some level. And how it visibly surprised her when he remained so unaffected it was blatantly obvious she might as well would’ve said nothing.
But then again, she didn’t know what Draco knew, did she?
She’d been so busy with keeping her posters and drawings up, her walls and bedcovers up to her nose just to get a decent sleep and a momentary escape from her gnawing conscience - she never stopped to think that hey, HEY, maybe my drawings don’t like to be meddled with. MAYBE they like being a frozen Quidditch game or Pinup Witch or WHATEVER! Maybe they just LIKED not moving, or just trying to move without her help - because who asked her, anyway?
Who invited this girl to the party, ANYWAY?
Gatecrasher.
“Why did you bring me here, Granger?”
“Well I THOUGHT you actually WANTED to quit your scumbag existence and try to make something good of-“
“NO, I don’t mean why you brought me HERE, you idiotic bint,” Draco snapped. “I meant why - I meant, why did you bring ME here?”
She swallowed. And he had her, he had her by the balls now.
“W-what do you m-mea-?”
“I’m sure I’m not the very first ex Death Eater fellow you people caught, tied up and brought down to the Ministry with ya’,” he caught off in a casual tone. “There were loads of people you knew, just like me. Boot, for example! Crabbe and Knott and - well, let’s be fair, a shipload of Slytherins. A few Ravenclaws, two or three Hufflepuffs and do I even recall one Gryf-“
“YEAH I know the numbers, Draco! What’s your point?”
Draco smiled at her. And it was this close to being genuine.
“Right here,” he said, spreading his arms and looking down at his feet and back up to her. When she frowned he continued, in a tone that he loved to use. A tone that she hated - and he knew this for a fact - because it showed the world how much he LOVED the sound of his own voice.
“The Daily Prophet…” he said, slowly and clearly as if she was deaf. “Is an interesting paper. The copy I got last month - Geoff got it from his brother, actually - had this strange section towards the end. You know that?”
She blanched a little, blinking at him a little apprehensively. “The Muggle Section,” Granger said dryly.
“YES! Yes, THAT ONE!” He snapped his fingers. Like it was on the tip of his tongue. Like he really didn’t remember. Yeah. Right. “So anyway, I was like - hey, interesting!”
Granger made a noise. As if she had a great laugh, picturing him getting excited over Muggle stuff.
Fuck, he bet she was.
“So this article,” he continued a little louder. “It was about shells, right? And these shells they- wait, did you read it?” Draco looked at her expectantly.
Draco noted it took her a moment to observe he actually asked her a question and wanted her to answer. And that this was a question that made her want to answer, instead of his guts out.
“N-no… I don’t think I have. I don’t remember anything about shells, are you sure that was it? Because I usually read all of the-“
“Anyway,” he cut her off, wanting to finish his story while he was in such a talkative mood. “I read it and I thought to myself - we’re kind of like that, aren’t we, Hermione?” Draco winked. She shivered. “We are. We ARE kind of like those shells on those beaches. We both start at the same place - Hogwarts or… whatever. But we’re mirrored, you know? We’re bivalves opposing and- you get this, Granger?” He paused and she opened her mouth, only to be cut off by him once more. “And then there are all these currents, and they’re working on us and I go this way and you go that way you end up in Texel or-yeah, well, working at the ministry and I end up on the Shetlands. Or, well…” he paused, adding a small chuckle. “On the streets, selling Muggles Wizarding candy.”
She looked at him all the while, still a bit blank and devoid of understanding. “I don’t…” she began. “I don’t believe I’m following you.”
With an impatient sigh he reached into his inner pocket, taking out a folded, cut out article. “Here,” he said, handing it over.
After casting Draco two or three distrusting glares, Granger folded the paper open.
“Shoes and Shells by Patrick Peterson,” she mumbled the title out loud. “Each year biologists find an extraordinary number of shoes on the Scottish beaches-“
“No, no, not that one,” Draco interrupted. “Turn it over.”
She frowned, but did as he asked all the same. He could almost hear her stop breathing for a moment. He was watching her intently as she eyed the black and white picture of herself smiling, shaking hands with the Minister of Magic. Hermione Granger, new head chief of Magical Department of Defence, the title read.
“This…” she started, quizzically looking up. “That’s the article they wrote about me when I got my promotion…”
Draco shrugged. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “And I thought you were dead.”
She blinked at him, dumbfounded. “What?!”
“No one ever told me otherwise, douche,” he replied simply. “But that’s when it hit me, you see.”
Granger closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get her thoughts clear and in order - preferably a line, please.
“You didn’t want me arrested at all, did you, Granger?” he said. “Not really. Always sending CRAPASS Aurors after my ass. All that shit with busting apartments half hour after I left…see, I never really got it. Why the hell would the ministry do such a shitty job? ON PURPOSE?”
He posed the question to the room.
Granger watched him carefully, but offered no reply.
“And that’s when I realised… THAT is it, isn’t it? THAT is why I never got caught. Why I always had those idiots running after me…it’s because of what you said earlier. In the office.” He stopped to look straight into her eye, grinning. “You actually feel guilty.”
He could have stood there, watching her face go through all kinds of emotions for-fucking-EVER. It was the sound of the scrunching paper that brought his attention to her hand - she was clutching onto the article, fisting it into an angry ball. She had small hands, he noted. Fingers a little plump but red - although this could very well have been caused by him right now - and knuckles white, shaking at her side.
“So l-let me get this straight,” she said in a voice higher than usual, swallowing a lot as if she was dealing with air pressure or some shit. “Today, you get yourself arrested.”
She looked at him.
Draco nodded.
“On p- purpose.”
He pulled a face, like ‘eh, more or less.’
“You got yourself arrested,” she repeated again, like people did when they came some kind of life altering conclusion. “Because you thought I’d save your ass anyway.”
Draco frowned, crossed his arms as if to ask her where the HELL she was going with this. Because duh, wasn’t this all obvious?
“And all of that.” She made a circling movement with her chin. “Is because you think-you thi-“ Pause, inhaling. “You think I’m feeling guilty. About something.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Because you do.”
Draco kind of wondered whether her eyes had been closed until now, because otherwise he would’ve never thought them to open that more.
With a mighty groan, Granger threw the paper at him. It was very unfortunate for her, of course, that the paper barely made it half a foot before twirling downwards and landing on her shoes.
“THIS IS NOT FAIR!” she yelled, unexpectedly shoving him hard. It made him retreat half a step because she really wasn’t strong enough. Not like before, anyway.
Or maybe he got stronger?
“So you do?” he asked urgently. “You DO feel guilty! I KNEW IT!”
She tried to shove him again, but her fists aimlessly met his chest - he didn’t move an inch.
“YOU TRICKED ME!” she shouted to make up for it. “You TRICKED ME, you arrogant ASSHOLE! WHILE I RISKED MY--!”
“Really now, Granger,” he said lowly, slowly wrapping his hands around her punching little wrists, “who asked you?”
She stopped, looking up seriously.
“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “Who ASKED you to do any of it? Because from where I’m standing, this whole thing is completely YOUR fault.” Draco peeled her hands off his chest, dropping them because it was dirt. “Big fat uninvited fault, at that.”
She stepped back, a little shocked at herself and at him, holding her hands balled to her chest.
“You wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for me, Draco.”
Granger looked so damn hurt - all of a sudden! As if she could cry if he said something like DEAD KITTENS! Or whatever. And it was so strange for him because this wasn’t the demeanour he expected, and demanded and wanted from her.
She was really, really supposed to get angry.
“That…that must mean something. Doesn’t it? It must.”
SWALLOWS
Follow the sun
Before the countdown
The stupid ghost couldn’t follow him outside the walls. Couldn’t, because it was bound to poop water with magical laws and containments and no matter how hard she’d try, HE was the one who could always escape.
He was the better one.
Having the flesh and all that stuff.
His heart was pounding loudly against his chest and ears and he was grateful for that - otherwise he’d convince himself to hear her wails in the walls. In the piping and the lake and GOD, even the fucking rain!
Draco really didn’t care she was there for him to use as he saw fit. It didn’t matter that he only talked to her when everything sucked and that he ran away from her when he was feeling good, while she was chasing him through water pipes down halls until he gave up and ran outside.
But Draaaaco! Waaaait up! I thought we had such a nice talk yesterday! Why are you running away from me, Draco? You don’t want your friends to know you’re friends with a ghost, right? IS THAT IT, DRACO? DRACOOOOO!
He closed his eyes, wincing at the thought of Blaise walking in on him an Myrtle, having a heart to…plasma-heart conversation.
But he was still the better one.
And in control.
He was COMPLETELY in control.
“We better go back inside.”
Draco froze. His eyes snapped open and ears twitched a little. He braced himself against the wall, trying to move his head closer to the corner from which around the voice came.
“I don’t want to go inside.”
“Hermione, it looks like it’s about to rain. Are you planning to sit here in the rain? Because I’m not. So basically you’d rather get a pneumonia and hide from him foreve-“
“I’m not hiding! I…”
Pause.
“I just prefer not to be in the same room as him, that’s all. So that -- you know, so I won’t chop his head off.”
There was the sound an uncomfortable shifting, robes scraping against brick.
“And it’s not going to rain, anyway.”
“How d’you know?”
“The swallows - right there, you see them, Harry?”
Draco cast a quick glance at the sky, counting a few dots that resembled birds flying high above the castle.
“They fly high when the mosquitoes fly high. The mosquitoes fly high when it’s warmer up there - rain cools the higher altitudes down.”
“Aaah…”
“It’s true, though. I’m not making this up.”
“I don’t doubt you.”
“Good. Because you shouldn’t.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
With a frown Draco looked up at the sky again. He always thought mosquitoes flew high because they tried to reach the sun or moon….
Or something.
“Yeah. I’m gonna go inside now.”
“But it’s not going rain…”
“I don’t care. I’m cold - I’m going inside.”
“Fine. FINE! Just wait a second, Okay? I want to finish my notes.”
“You ALWAYS want to finish your notes, Hermione.”
“Just a second-I’m almost done, just this one more line-“
“Fine. Finish your notes.”
“Thank you.”
Draco stayed there for another minute before deciding he’d had enough. He pushed himself off the wall, choosing a path along the rose gardens. It took three steps and he could vaguely hear Potter add in the background-
“This is going to take another half hour, isn’t it?”
3
Number three
It was so warm. So fucking warm and how come he didn’t notice this until now? FUCK, this must’ve been the first heat wave in years.
How did he stay with that jacket on for so long?
The sweat was dripping down his forehead, his back and upper lip. Draco felt disgusting, for showing glandular weaknesses in public like this.
Yeah. Fuck his mind, fuck it, old habits die hard.
Granger didn’t look comfortable either. She’d taken off the jacket of her suit and draped it over the seat. Sleeves of her blouse were rolled up and from what he could see, she was at least as awkward about the sweaty situation as he was.
And he’d said it so many times now, and she answered to questions he hadn’t even asked and it just wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t admit and he wouldn’t give up the smugness and FUCK.
They were stuck.
“How hard is it to UNDERSTAND, Granger?” he rasped, clawed hands held up in desperation. “ALL I’m asking from you - ALL I WANT FROM YOU, is for you to STOP IT. Just STOP trying to save me, OKAY? JUST FUCKING STOP! How hard can that be? HOW HARD??”
She bit her lip, AGAIN, and shook her head. “Why?”
“W-WHY?!” Draco exclaimed. Was this girl serious? Here we go, AGAIN. “Because I never ASKED you to-“
“If I’m having guilt problems - which according to you I have - then I’m not doing it for you,” she said simply. “I’m doing it to soothe my own conscience. So why should I stop?”
Pause.
“…Theoretically, that is.”
Draco stared at her, completely exasperated. “BECAUSE, Granger,” he began, for what seemed to be the millionth time that day. “You make it impossible to escape you. Wherever I go, whenever I try-to-FUCK, I DON’T KNOW! START OVER! Make a new life for myself, whatever! Whenever I try anything-there’s ALWAYS you. With your big fat UGLY head, somehow always messing it up. Whatever it is I do, you always find a way to try and help, and you ALWAYS ruin it. ALWAYS! And I just can’t…I can’t get-“
“In control?” she finished for him.
He was stopped in mid sentence, gaping at her. “What?”
“Control,” she repeated. “Because that’s it, isn’t it?”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “What are you on about, woman?”
“Well, it’s like you said - ‘whatever it is you do’.” She shrugged. “And you always do it for the control. You’re always in it for the control. You can’t stand the thought that something might happen that could affect you outside your control. It drives you insane.”
“N…no…” He swallowed. “No it doesn’t.”
2
Number two
Her back followed the most marvellous paths. He followed it with his finger, one finger going up and down and up again and she smiled a little in her sleep.
It probably tickled her.
He opened his palm and stretched the five digits to the curve of her hip and his bones made quiet knicks and knacks - he suddenly felt very rude, lying next to a creature made of circles like that, making funny noises with his bones. His hand travelled to the expanse of her belly, pulling her closer and prepping his chin on her shoulder hoping quietly he was made of such figures, too, when aligned with her.
The cabin had one window and the clearing wasn’t large enough to let much light in during the way, let alone at nights. Out of habit he kept track of the moon and the stars, noting them down with a brownish stone on a piece of paper that hung next to the calendar.
And it was so strange, so peculiar for him to see a weak light fall on the bed from a half-full moon. Because it wasn’t supposed to be there. It really wasn’t!
Along a train of thought with no rules or direction, Draco pulled some lines, four lines, boxes - he wondered whether his father was alive and whether he still let the moon stay put only to please mother, and what happened to moths when they tried to reach the light of the moon and if it was possible to get stuck in the fabric of the universe.
And whether the universe being infinite meant things like numbers couldn’t exist. Things like tiny particles that never stop splitting in two and the way everything about her went in circles, like her breasts and tip of her toes. And if that meant infinity was really a subjective thing, that loads of infinities existed and they were all just part of one big honking infinity…
He thought he wouldn’t mind spending the rest infinity being a part of her breasts.
Really.
Then the thoughts slowly died away, and all that was left were strings of the big words he’d normally be too embarrassed to think of - like… like if her back aligned so perfectly with his chest, did that mean she was mortal for him like that. Because although together they felt like doppelgangers, they formed all that was everything-- individually they were a part of it. They were a part with an ending, a beginning and a middle and…
Oh look…
Half full moon!
Little stick figures cheered in a charcoal Quidditch stand, so, so happy because the deciding goal has just been made and their favourite team won.
Draco didn’t notice; he was asleep, the faintest of smiles ghosting his lips.
NUMBER ONE
The exception
One thing was certain. He was scared of many things. Yes, granted, although that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as they were there. You see, it was okay to be scared of the boogie man, of the butcher’s dog and nasty insects that suck your blood in the middle of the night. It was all right to be scared of all that threatened him. It wasn’t all right to be scared of all that didn’t.
“Yes, it does. It scares the living daylights out of you.”
She typed on a typewriter in her office, with ten fingers at once and so fast sometimes her fingers were a blur on his pictures. The ones on the ceiling of Geoff’s guest room. She didn’t even have to look down, each hand is controlled by the opposing brain half, crisscross connected. He always laughed at the thought - she wrote with crossed brains, she did. And he felt them as he lied on his back, the currents and whirlpools that drifted his left sock or shoe or ear shell so far away from everyone else were now gently pushing him back. Quietly apologising for the mistake and hoping he could still find his other sock. Shoe. Whatever.
“If I were to do something completely out of your grasp right now, you’d panic. You’d lose it.”
Defeat, bitter as it was, never failed to grant a certain sense of relief. The kind of feeling that scares you to death and thrills at the same time - like carrying the moon on your shoulders all your life and suddenly saying - ‘Hey, I’m letting go.’ And you don’t know if the moon will fall or float away or just stay in place - because you’ve been carrying it ever since you can remember and it’s just all you know. And your fingers stretch and you straighten up, and your bones make funny noises but it’s good -- and then, then you just…just let go. And it’s amazing. It can kill you and it can mark your life and it can make you feel so useless - but that’s okay, because your hands are free. And you can make your own importance now, and you can reach for the sun and pull both socks off before you take a bath and be a big person.
He was the one to make the first step. He always was, because it was always his set boundary that was crossed and he was okay with that. She expected it, she provoked him, she wanted it all the same. Draco took her sleeve, nudging her closer. Come on, then. If we must. If we HAVE to do this, then. Come on, then, it’s not like we have a choice.
So she talked of a theory.
And I don’t think I ever told you thank you. For, you know, saving my life and all.
Number one theory, she called it.
So thank you.
“You see,” she began, “unlike all the other valid numbers, number one could never be a pattern.”
Death freaks me out.
Number one was an exception.
It’s…big.
[end]
Assignment: BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: romance/humour, arrogant draco, happy ending
What rating would you prefer? PG, M or NC 17
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): angst, rape
Final Author Notes: Uh, right, woah. Remember you requested something romantic with humour and no matter WHAT, no angst? Yeah. SORRY ABOUT THAT.
* Additional Scene - This is what COULD have happened in the cabin, during Potter's SUPER DUPER intimidating investigation. Personally, I think this one is slightly more plausible.
"No, I guess you don't," Potter agreed. "But you do need it to lift the wards. Or do you plan to roundhouse kick them in the face too, Malfoy?"
Draco blinked. "Dude. What the fuck?"
"Roundhouse kick -- that's like--"
"I KNOW what that is, you fucking retard," he cut Potter off. "Chuck Norris, dude? LAME."
"Hey!" Potter exclaimed, pushing a hand to Draco's chest. "You take that back! I'll have you know Chuck is a very spiritually inspired man!"
"Oh my god!" Draco shouted. "You're GAY!"
"Harry, dude, come on," Weasley muttered out of the corner of his mouth, pushing him off Draco. "I thought we weren't going to talk about Chuck anymore--"
"NO RON!" he SCREAMED, backing away. "IT'S NOT FAIR! You know how FAR his videos got me? WHERE DO YOU THINK I GET MY INSPIRATION FROM?" Potter walked back a few feet, mumbling "okay, okay" while making sure he had room by stretching his arm. Then, in a swift movement, he leaned back on his right foot and threw his left in the air with a mighty "KAAAHYAA!"
Draco was shocked, Ron looked down shaking his head and Hermione banged her head against the nearest wall.
"Waydago, Harry," Ron said. "Way to SCARE the shit out of Malfoy, really."
"OH, COME OOON!" Harry whined. "That was COOL!" He turned to Draco, an eager look on his face. "It was, RIGHT?"
"Jesus Christ, Potter!" Draco shifted as far away from him as he could. "FUCK OFF!"
"You mean..." he began, a little disappointed. "It didn't...scare you?"
Draco raised his eyebrows. "Everyone who thought Potter's kick was made of the lame raise theirs hands."
Three hands shot up.
"Aaah, man!" Potter cried, shoulders dropping. "You guys SUCK!"
When no answer came, Harry grumpily stormed out of the cabin, muttering something about 'cultural barbarians' under his breath.
"That guy is fucked in the HEAD," Draco said after the door slammed shut. "And I mean like, FUCKED."
"Yeah," Hermione said, sliding into the newly vacant chair. "We know."
"YEAH!" Ron agreed. "The other day, right? He comes up to me and goes, 'hey hey HEY, Ron, what do you think if I try to get Voldemort's ass by pointing my fingergun at him and going like: BOOYA!!' And I was like, the HELL??"
"Wait..." Draco said slowly. "Wait, I thought the Chuck fingergun move was thought to make girls--"
"YEAH," Hermione interrupted. "We KNOW."
"Holy shit!"
"Yeah."
"Jesus Christ!"
"Exactly."
*
ps. Don't be lynchin'!
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione fic exchange.