Vacivitas

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It has arrived.

The smut of all smuts.

xxx

Chapter Thirty-Nine

They land just inside the Manor, the stairs before them, the Drawing room to their left, and the corridor to the Dining Hall and library to the right.

"You guys are back!"

Faye and Tillian are sitting on the lowest stair. Faye is smiling as though the sun shines from within her. Hermione's face feels hot. She already suffered being caught by Faye mid-snog last night. She doesn't want her to make a thing out of it. At least not until she and Draco have fully fleshed it out.

"Took you long enough," Tillian adds. "We had to come inside. It was getting too cold."

"What did you end up doing?" Faye asks. Her eyes are fixed upon Hermione, resolute and unwavering.

She definitely knows what they ended up doing.

"We had a snowball fight and played a game in the hedge maze," Hermione responds. Beside her, Draco stands like a statue in silence.

"That sounds fun," Tillian says. "We've just been sitting here. Actually, Malfoy. We wanted to ask you something."

Draco eyes him with wariness. "What?"

Faye points to the Drawing Room doors, which are and have been firmly shut since Hermione arrived. "What room is that? We tried to go inside, but the doors are locked."

A tiny, panicked bird flits around Hermione's heart. She hasn't faced the Drawing Room yet. She hasn't thought about what happened there in years. It's something she and her brain seemed to have silently agreed to tuck away into a locked box deep within. She didn't like to remember the way it felt.

Not to be crucioed. Lucius had refreshed her memory on that curse already, as had Draco during their visit to Charon Palace. The torture isn't the underlying issue.

The problem is the man standing right beside her.

As the thought crosses her mind, fleeting though it is, Draco clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. It makes it look unruly, half-damp as it is. The look on his face is familiar to her, lingering in the liminal space between guilt and fear. Fear that Hermione now understood, but that her mind didn't. If she were to let the memory of that day out of the box, she fears it would change the way she feels. She might never forgive him.

What if it makes her hate him?

She's not ready to face it.

"That room is off-limits," Draco says smoothly. "It remains locked."

"Oh," Faye says. "Why?"

The silence that follows shows Hermione that Draco is letting her control the result of this conversation. She's glad for it, but apprehensive. This isn't something she wants to relive.

But Faye and Tillian are her friends. They're family. It's not that they deserve to know. It's that Hermione deserves to have the right to tell them. This is her trauma. This is laid into the stone of her foundation, and it makes her who she is. It was a day that changed her in body and mind, forcing the last vestiges of childhood away and leaving a deep hole in her perception of the world, life, and herself.

Everyone is quiet as Hermione walks over to the Drawing Room and stands in front of the doors. She hesitates before placing her palm against the wood. It's cold. As cold as the snow outside. She lets the icy chill engulf her hand, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. Behind her, she heard footsteps. Faye and Tillian flank her sides. Hermione isn't sure if Draco is behind her or not.