Slow Grenade

Chapter Fifty-Four

Bellatrix cackled with delight as she dragged the blade across Hermione's skin, causing dark beads of blood to flow from the wounds like tears. Greyback sharpened his claws on the stone floor, slowly raking deep grooves through the red pools surrounding her.

"No one is coming to find you, Mudblood."

Hermione woke with a start, sitting bolt upright. A thin layer of sweat coated her skin and she gasped desperately for breath.

"Hermione!" a distant voice called.

Shaking her head, she grasped blindly for her wand. Why hadn't she woken up? Hands were suddenly gripping her shoulders and she screamed, frantically trying to get away.

The voice seemed familiar this time. "It's okay, it's okay," it said soothingly. "It's just me."

She blinked rapidly, desperately trying to clear the fog from her mind.

"You were having a nightmare, it's okay, I've got you, take some deep breaths."

The bed dipped and warmth enveloped her as Draco pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around her body.

"What are you doing here?" she croaked.

"I'm sorry, I just – I heard you screaming, I had to see if you were okay."

Rubbing her eyes she realised that, in her anger, she must have forgotten to use locking and silencing charms.

"I don't sleep properly anymore," she admitted quietly. "Not unless there's someone with me."

"I know how you feel," he said, shifting behind her. "What was it about?"

Hermione unconsciously moved her hand toward the letters etched into her arm, fingers brushing gently against them. "The Manor."

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered, pulling her closer. "I'm so sorry."

"But you found me," she murmured sleepily, her breath growing slower.

This time, she awoke peacefully as pale sunlight began creeping into the room. She was cocooned protectively within two warm muscular arms and the scent that wound around her felt like home.

Then, stiffening suddenly, she remembered the previous night. This wasn't a dream; he was really there. It was too much, too soon, and she needed him gone.

"Draco," she hissed.

Stirring, he groaned and curled them more tightly together. Hermione pushed herself away and stood abruptly to the side of the bed. She repeated his name, louder this time, and threw a pillow at his head.

The noise he made didn't sound entirely human, but at least he was awake.

"You have to get out," she told him, arms folded across her chest.

"No, Granger," Draco growled, pressing his temples tiredly. "We need to talk about – about everything."

It had not yet been twenty-four hours since her arrival at Hogwarts and she could already feel her anger rising again: it was too early and she needed coffee.

"What do we have to talk about, Malfoy? Where do we even begin?"

"You kissing fucking Weasley?" he ground out.

"That's where you want to start?" Hermione cried, staring at him incredulously. "In the grand scheme of things I'm fairly certain that rates pretty low down our combined list of sins."