A Forbidden Birthright

Chapter Nineteen

Her room was a suite, thanks to Allard upgrading it, with a beautiful balcony view of the city beneath her. She was only a block or two away from the French Ministry Headquarters, and it would be an easy walk to the Wallace Fountain, which was the visitors entrance. Noting a coffee stand just outside, Hermione planned to stop by on her way in the morning. She'd wanted to go to the Archives immediately, but Allard had insisted she relax and enjoy the city, and they could continue business tomorrow. He had agreed to give her a tour. If she happened to conveniently get lost, her mistake. 

She took the opportunity to lie flat on her back in the bed, conjuring little animals out of glowing sparks, and watched them dance around above her. It was the first time in multiple years that she had taken a solo trip to a place as luxurious as this. Something inside her told her she didn't deserve it, but she pushed the voice away, smothering it. Her room was too beautiful for her head to get in the way of her enjoying it. 

She padded over to the spacious bathroom and turned on the shower. France was somewhat more industrial than Scotland where Hogwarts was, and it wasn't often she could stand under a spray of endless hot water. Even though she loved baths, showers were something she missed from the muggle world. And magically powered showers? Far better than muggle ones. 

Slipping out of her clothes, she undid the pins from her hair and stepped under the stream of water, the room filling with steam. As she washed her hair, relishing the clean feeling and lavender and musk scent of the shampoo, she allowed her mind to wander. To consider the things she hadn't given enough time to. And, as bothersome as it was, she had to think about Draco Malfoy, because if she didn't, he would only keep resurfacing in her thoughts like a boomerang. 

She had expected to hate him after what he did to her in her own home, to hold on to the hate she had for him being a cowered, but she could feel it fading. There would be moments where his mask would slip and he would interact with her like a genuine person, like a human being of emotion, and it always distracted her from who she had always decided he was. Who she'd always seen him to be. 

And the one thing she couldn't stop thinking about was their chance encounter in the library. The way the back of his fingers had accidentally caressed her skin. How it felt as though a lightning strike had shot through her, a buzz she'd felt in her core. He had looked so vulnerable, so soft, as though he had descended into a version of himself he tried not to be. The kind of person he deemed to be weak and easily manipulated; the kind of person who couldn't stop themselves from caring. 

Whether Hermione liked it or not, whether it was subconsciously intentional or not, she had exposed herself to him. She had revealed what she wanted, her darkest thought, the moment his hand wrapped around her throat. The dark desire in her eyes, the way they had dared him to do it, had begged him, told him something she had never said out loud. That sometimes, she thought death was the only escape. That it would be better than the nightmares, than the memories and the pain, than that stupid fucking word carved into her arm. Because if she was dead, how could she feel empty? 

And he had seen it. Had read it like a book she opened for him and pointed to the very line that hovered behind her eyes. And when he saw her arm in the library, for the first time since it had been put there, she'd thought he'd almost looked sick. She could see the memory of it happening register on his face, and then when he'd realized what she had been trying to do all this time. Why she bothered with the dark magic and the old grimoires. Why she risked it. 

She was looking for a way to counteract the curse that addled her skin, that kept it angry and still caused pain. It sometimes felt as though a thousand tiny slivers of hot glass were lodged in each letter, just under the skin. But they were too small to take out, no matter what she did. No matter how many spells or potions she used or brewed, there was nothing she could do.