Vacivitas

Chapter Fourteen

Trigger Warnings: borderline attempted non-con by Draco. Don't worry—he doesn't do it. It's another one of his stupid demonstrations because he always has to follow up being nice with being an ass napkin.

Buckle up.

Chapter Fourteen

Narcissa Malfoy is dead.

That knowledge drifts to the forefront of Hermione's mind when she wakes. From what she remembers of her, Narcissa was a put-together woman with an air of regality about her that only she could have. Every time Hermione had seen her, she walked with her head held high, black-and-white hair slicked back into a severe chignon. Lucius may be an awful man, and their son a prat with an inability to have an emotion without short-circuiting, but Narcissa never inspired negative feelings in Hermione. If she thinks back to the last time she saw the woman, when they were all in the Malfoy Manor drawing room, she remembers that Narcissa flinched every time Hermione screamed.

So did Malfoy.

Malfoy hadn't shown any emotion other than anger when his father told him about his mother's death. Maybe it was because he'd been focused on Hermione. Or maybe it was because he's seen so much death that he's now desensitized to it—even in family. But it doesn't fit her idea of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was never someone who hated his parents. From what Harry said, the reason he let the Death Eaters into the castle was because he wanted to save his parents.

That must have changed. Because the amount of vitriol she heard in his voice when he spoke to Lucius yesterday was...Intense. He talked to him like he hated him for more than just who he was as a father. Like he blamed him for anything and everything bad that had ever gone wrong in his life.

Maybe it's Occlumency. It was easier for Malfoy to Occlude as much as possible, letting only enough out to fuel his anger. Whatever he can do to keep from falling apart. She wonders what a broken Draco Malfoy would look like.

She wonders if she'll be the one to see it when he collapses.

Hermione turns her head to the right, seeing the now-familiar décor of his room. It's surreal, what her life has become. She's gone from lying prisoner at the bottom of a filthy pit, wasting away, to being purchased by Draco Malfoy. To being taken to Malfoy Manor and told she's going to be a food source for someone whose blood is just as filthy as hers now. Coming up with plans to manipulate him to get her only friends back. Eating like a queen. Dressing like a Pureblood witch of stature. Lying in Draco Malfoy's bed after his father nearly killed her. Healing bite marks and trying to brew a potion that will keep herself from becoming aroused by them.

Being told she's a good girl by the one person she never thought would want to say something like that to her.

She can't think about that. If she does, the guilt will consume her and frankly, she doesn't think that's fair. Harry is dead. Ron is dead. The life she knew is dead. The war is over, and they lost. There's nothing she can do to go back, to change time and make something different happen. There's no Time-Turner powerful enough to fix this. To allow the guilt to eclipse her would be the end of her. Hermione always wanted to do the right thing. She wanted to be at Harry's side and fight when the time came. She did what she had to do, Obliviating her parents so she could sacrifice for the cause.

But she's no martyr. She doesn't want to die. She wants to survive, even if that means opening herself up to look at Draco Malfoy in a different light. That's why she's clinging to this new life. It's alien, but it's not isolated. There's one fragment of her old life remaining, even if it's one of the worst fragments.