Damaged Goods by slytherin_after_dark

Chapter 20

- NOT MY STORY!! ALL CREDITS TO @slytherin_after_dark ON A03!!
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They arrived in the Manor with a sudden snap. Malfoy instantly let go of her and walked away, taking off his robes, bunching them up, and throwing them into a corner aggressively. He cursed under his breath and grabbed the back of the chair, leaning against it, not meeting her gaze.

It had happened to him. That's what he had just said. A permanent Imperius curse. Impossible.

His hands were holding onto the chair so tightly, his knuckles had turned white. The glass chandeliers were vibrating with fury. The Manor really was connected to him; sensing his emotions.

She didn't understand how he could have been under a permanent Imperius curse. And by whom? When? There were so many questions in her mind but her chest felt too tight for her to speak.

Malfoy still hadn't said anything as he switched from one foot to the next. She hugged her arms around her, readying herself for whatever he was going to say. He seemed so agitated; he barely knew what to do with himself.

"Don't ever do that again," he seethed.

She remained quiet and he stood back up straight. His face was ashen with fury and he looked at anything but her.

Low murmurs came from some of the portraits on the wall.

"Quiet," he scolded and his oil-painted relatives stopped talking.

Malfoy was holding on to his secrets like a cloak. Anytime he had to reveal something, it seemed to cause him almost physical pain. Judging by how taut his face was, this was the biggest one he had shared with her yet.

"The scar on your chest..." she swallowed; her voice slightly trembling. "It's the only one I didn't recognize. Does it have something to do with the permanent Imperius curse?"

His hands clenched and unclenched but he remained quiet. Then he walked in fast paces to a cabinet in the corner. He grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey and yanked the cork out with his teeth. Hermione stood very still as she watched him take a big gulp from the bottle. Just as he finished swallowing, he put the bottle to his lips again.

"What do you want from me, Granger?" He asked angrily, almost accusingly.

"The truth."

"Why? Do you think because you spread your legs for me that makes you entitled to that information?"

Cruelest when cornered. She could already see it form in his eyes. The wall had gone up again.

Only this time, he had no way out. He had already shared the basics with her. There was no way to avoid the details any longer. He seemed to know that as he took another angry swig from the bottle. Checkmate. There were no more moves he had left.

She waited for him to talk. He sat down on the couch that looked like an artifact.

"Fuck it, I guess," he said quietly, almost more to himself.

Hermione was afraid to move or even breathe. There was a quiet sadness that settled over him. She assumed that's what Draco Malfoy looked like when he had lost. And she knew this felt like a loss to him. A loss of control over his own secrets he was guarding so dearly.

He held out the bottle to her. "Might as well get comfortable, Granger." It didn't sound like a warm invite. There was a sharpness to his words that could cut through glass.

She walked towards him with measured steps and took the bottle from his fingers. A sip of remarkably smooth Firewhiskey went down her throat.

He opened the cufflinks of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the tattoos on his forearms as well as the mark.