Days bled into one another, a monotonous blur of shared grief. Hermione remained by Ginny's side, a constant presence in the face of the unimaginable. They moved through the motions of daily life – meals barely touched, nights filled with restless sleep and tear-stained pillows. But through it all, there was a silent understanding, a shared language of loss that only those who had walked through the valley of such sorrow could comprehend.
Blaise arrived like a beacon of quiet strength. His initial awkwardness, a stark contrast to his usual flamboyant nature, soon melted away into a gentle, comforting presence. He didn't bombard Ginny with empty platitudes, but simply offered a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, a silent understanding of the pain that gnawed at her soul.
Together, the three of them navigated the treacherous waters of grief. Hermione, ever the strategist, found solace in practicality. She helped Ginny sort through the wreckage of their plans, dreams, and shared moments with Ron. Blaise, with his surprisingly gentle touch, coaxed Ginny out of her self-imposed isolation, gently nudging her towards a semblance of normalcy.
The shared grief in the air felt suffocating to Hermione. While Ginny found solace in Blaise's presence, she felt a growing unease with every passing day. The weight of her secret, the knowledge of Draco's involvement in the fire, was a constant lead weight in her gut.
His playful demeanor, once a source of amusement, now felt like a cruel mockery. Every time their eyes met, she saw a reflection of Ginny's shattered happiness, a happiness stolen by Draco's obsessive actions. The warmth of their shared meals turned cold, the comfortable silences became deafening reminders of her silence.
The urge to confess, to unburden herself of the truth, gnawed at her. But the potential consequences – the devastation it would unleash on Ginny, the possible destruction of her fragile support system – held her back. Draco's possessiveness had morphed into something monstrous, something that thrived on destruction.
—------------------------------------
One evening, as they sat in the dimly lit living room, the oppressive weight of grief hanging heavily in the air, Ginny finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a restless sleep. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the only sound breaking the silence that had settled over the room. Hermione watched her best friend's face, lined with sorrow even in sleep, before shifting her gaze to Blaise.
He sat across from her, his expression unreadable in the shadows cast by the flickering firelight. They exchanged a look over Ginny's sleeping form, a silent understanding passing between them, though it was tinged with an unspoken tension.
After a moment, Blaise stood, his movements careful, as though afraid to disturb the fragile peace. He made his way toward the kitchen, the wooden floor creaking softly underfoot. Hermione hesitated, her mind racing, but then she quietly followed, unable to bear the silence any longer.
In the kitchen, the light was dimmer still, casting long shadows across the walls. He leaned against the counter, his back to her, as if sensing what was coming. Hermione took a moment to steady herself, her heart pounding in her chest as the words she'd been holding back threatened to spill out.
"Blaise," she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of what she was about to say.
He turned slowly to face her, his eyes dark and intense, a mix of determination and wariness flickering in their depths. He didn't speak, but the tension between them crackled like a live wire.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I... I know what you and Draco did," she finally said, the words heavy, hanging in the air like a sentence.
For a moment, there was only silence. His expression didn't change, but a shadow passed over his features, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. The room seemed to close in around them, the walls pressing in with the weight of her revelation.
He turned to face her, his eyes dark with a mix of determination and wariness. "What is it, Granger?"
She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. "I... I know what you and Draco did."
For a moment, the room seemed to freeze. The words hung between them, heavy with accusation. Blaise's expression hardened, his posture shifting as he crossed his arms over his chest, a wall of defense rising around him.
"And what is it that you assume we did?" His voice was calm, almost too calm, as if he were testing her, daring her to say more.
Her throat tightened, but she pressed on, her voice trembling. "I never wanted this. I never wanted anyone to get hurt."
Blaise let out a humorless chuckle, a sound that sent a chill down Hermione's spine. It was hollow, devoid of any real amusement, a sharp contrast to his usual confident demeanor. He took a step closer, the dim light casting shadows across his face, making him appear almost menacing.
"Noble of you, Granger," he said, his gaze hardening as he fixed her with a stare that was both piercing and unyielding. "But the world doesn't work on wishes and 'never wanting to hurt anyone.' Sometimes, you have to make hard choices."
Her heart pounded in her chest, her resolve wavering under the weight of his words. There was something in his tone, something dark and unforgiving, that made her question whether she was truly ready to uncover the truth. But she couldn't back down now. Not after everything that had happened.
She nodded, tears streaming down her face as the weight of Blaise's words settled heavily on her heart. "He wasn't an angel, Blaise. But Ginny is suffering because of it. I don't know how to make it right."
His eyes softened, just for a moment, but it was enough to reveal the depth of the turmoil beneath his hardened exterior. "There's something you need to understand, Granger. My loyalty lies with Draco, and that won't change. But that doesn't mean I don't love Ginny. She's... she's everything to me."
His voice grew quieter, almost reverent, as he continued, "Her laughter, a melody that chased away the shadows in my soul, forever changed the tune of my life. Her strength, a blazing fire that ignited a courage I never knew I possessed. Her kindness, a boundless well that overflowed, nourishing the parched corners of my heart. She's the missing piece I never knew I craved, the sun that chased away the endless night. Without her, my world would be a barren wasteland, devoid of color, devoid of love. She is my everything, and to love her is to breathe, to truly live."
Her heart ached with the sincerity in his voice, the raw vulnerability that he had allowed her to glimpse. She could see it now—the deep, unyielding love Blaise had for Ginny, a love that had changed him, made him more human, more real.But then his expression hardened again, a wall going up between them as he steeled himself.
"However, I won't apologize for protecting my family," he said, his voice resolute. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe, even if it means making hard choices. You might not agree with them, Granger, but that's the reality we live in."
Her eyes narrowed, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. "And who defines family, Blaise?" she demanded, her words slicing through the thick tension between them. "Because by most measures, burning down a house with people inside doesn't exactly scream 'protecting your loved ones'."
For the first time, he faltered, his usual calm demeanor cracking ever so slightly. The smoothness of his voice, always as polished as obsidian, hitched with a note of something darker, something unsettled.
"The Malfoys are my family, Granger," he admitted, his tone heavy with an unspoken burden. A shadow passed over his face, deepening the lines of worry and conflict that had been etched there by years of difficult choices.
"And in this twisted world," he continued, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes, "that includes you, by marriage and circumstance." He paused, his gaze locking with hers, daring her to deny what they both knew. "Don't play innocent. You know the dance, the unspoken vows whispered in hushed tones, the lines drawn with blood, not ink. We made our choices when we entangled ourselves with Draco. And while you may detest them, these are the lines I won't cross."
Her retort crackled with defiance, her Gryffindor spirit flaring bright and unyielding. "We are not some cold-blooded mafia bound by blood oaths, Blaise!" she shot back, her voice sharp and resonant in the tense silence. "This isn't about blind loyalty or lines drawn in darkness! We're supposed to be the light, remember? The ones who fight for a better world, not perpetuate the cycle of violence!"
Her voice wavered then, trembling with a mix of anger and something deeper—perhaps fear, perhaps a flicker of despair. "Surely there must be another way. There has to be."
His response was slow, deliberate, as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, his eyes narrowing slightly. His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no warmth behind it.
"Easy there, fiery one," he drawled, his voice tinged with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down her spine. "Perhaps not the Muggle mafia, but we certainly have our own brand of… tradition."
His words were like a slap, a cold reminder of the world they were entrenched in. "Don't ever forget that you are part of the Sacred 28 now," he continued, his tone dripping with a blend of mockery and resignation. "And being entangled with Draco Malfoy thrust you right into the heart of it, whether you like it or not, mia cara."
He raised an eyebrow, a question lurking in his dark eyes. "Speaking of Draco," he said, his voice a smooth caress that sent shivers down Hermione's spine despite its coolness, "What's his public persona these days?"
Hermione swallowed, the weight of his scrutiny heavy on her. "He, uh," she stammered, her mind scrambling for the appropriate facade, "runs a potions supply company across Europe, I believe." The words felt hollow, even to her own ears, as if they were flimsy constructs trying to shield her from the truth.
He scoffed, a humorless sound that scraped against the tense silence. "A carefully constructed front, Granger," he drawled, his voice laced with a knowing amusement. "Perhaps one you've chosen to believe in. The Malfoy fortune extends far beyond vials and ingredients, tesoro. It reaches into shadows you can barely comprehend."
She felt a chill run down her spine as she realized that the truth she had been avoiding was far more sinister than she had imagined. His tone was smooth, almost conversational, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable.
"Draco," his voice dipped to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in just enough to make the moment feel suffocating, "has become a force to be reckoned with since his Hogwarts days. Trust me, the wand he wields in business meetings is a far cry from the one he uses for..." He trailed off, letting the unspoken threat hang heavy in the air like a storm cloud about to burst.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she grappled with the implications of his words. The image of Draco as a mere businessman, someone who had managed to distance himself from his family's dark past, began to crumble in her mind. Was she naive to think that they could escape that world unscathed?
His eyes searched hers, the silence between them thick with tension. "You're smart, Granger," he said finally, his voice softer, almost pitying. "But don't let your love for him blind you to what he's capable of. The Draco you know isn't the Draco the rest of the world deals with."
A cold dread slithered down her spine, icy tendrils wrapping around her heart. The image of Draco she'd carefully cultivated in her mind—an aloof potioneer with a hidden kind side, a man she could save—began to crumble. Blaise's words painted a far more sinister picture: a Draco shrouded in a web of darkness, a darkness that threatened to consume them both.Hermione's voice barely escaped her lips, a horrified whisper.
"To do what?" The weight of Blaise's words settled in her stomach like a cold, iron weight. Love, she'd thought. A twisted, complicated love, yes, but love nonetheless. This? This was something else entirely—a chilling revelation, a glimpse into a world far darker than she'd ever dared imagine.Blaise's gaze held a chilling indifference, devoid of warmth or amusement. It was as if the man standing before her was someone else entirely—a version of Blaise she had never seen before, and one she wished she hadn't.
"To control," he explained, each word a hammer blow, "to eliminate, to build an empire. Draco's long past playing house, Granger. He's a predator in a bespoke suit, a wolf with a silver spoon. And you, my principessa," he leaned closer, his voice a silken threat, "are now a valuable piece on his chessboard. He'll stop at nothing to keep you safe, even if the price is painting the town red."
Her breath hitched, her mind racing to comprehend the full implications of Blaise's words. The man she loved—the man she believed she knew—was a far cry from the charming, reformed aristocrat she had imagined.
This Draco, the one Blaise described, was ruthless, calculating, willing to cross lines she hadn't even realized existed.
His expression remained unsettlingly calm, his dark eyes unreadable as Hermione's words echoed through the room. The stark contrast between her fiery outburst and his composed demeanor only heightened the tension.
"Is that what you think this is?" he asked, his voice smooth and cold, like a blade sliding through silk. "Domination?" He took a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "You think we do this for sport, for the thrill of power? You've been living in a dream, Granger."
Her hands clenched into fists, her fury barely masking the fear that gnawed at her. "You burn down a house with people inside, Blaise. You make threats, you manipulate. What else would you call it?"
"I call it survival," he replied, his tone sharp as a knife. "You can stand on your moral high ground all you like, but the world we live in isn't kind. It doesn't care about your ideals or your righteousness. The only thing that matters is whether you have the strength to protect what's yours."
Her breath caught in her throat, the words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. "And that justifies everything? The lies, the violence, the destruction?"
Blaise's gaze never wavered. "In this world, yes. Because if we don't protect what's ours, someone else will take it. And they won't be nearly as merciful."
"Merciful?" her voice cracked with disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. "You call what you and Draco do merciful?"
"Compared to what others would do, yes," he answered, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "We're not saints, Granger, but we're not monsters either. We do what needs to be done to keep our world intact. And sometimes, that means making choices you can't even begin to understand."
Blaise flinched at the vehemence in her voice, but his gaze remained unwavering. "This is the world we live in, Granger," he said, his voice firm but edged with a hint of weariness. "A world where lines are blurred and allegiances run deeper than blood. We make choices, difficult choices, to protect those we hold dear."
"By burning down houses with people inside?" she spat back, her voice dripping with disgust. "That's your idea of protecting family?"
His jaw clenched, the weight of her accusation hanging heavy between them. He knew he couldn't justify the act, not truly. But the unspoken loyalty that bound him, the ingrained code of their world, made it difficult to fully condemn it either.
"Draco does what he believes is necessary," he finally said, the words heavy on his tongue. "His methods… may be unorthodox, but his purpose is not without reason."
"Draco's purpose is control!" She countered, her voice rising with each word. "He's built an empire of fear and intimidation, and you expect me to just accept it?
Her shoulders slumped, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a physical burden. "But this isn't the world I ever wanted," she whispered, her voice thick with disillusionment.
He watched her, a flicker of empathy softening his hardened features for a brief moment. "We don't always get to choose the world we live in, Granger," he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "The choices we make, the allegiances we forge, they shape us in ways we can't always predict. But one thing remains constant: we protect our own, no matter the cost."
A heavy silence descended upon them, thick with unspoken emotions and the grim reality of their situation. Hermione wrestled with the truth Blaise had revealed, a truth that painted their world in shades of darkness she had previously chosen to ignore. Blaise, burdened by his own loyalty and the weight of his actions, awaited her response, a fragile truce hanging in the balance.
"And what about Ginny? Does she know the truth about what you do?" Hermione asked, her voice breaking.
"She knows nothing," Blaise replied. "And I'd like to keep it that way. It's our job to keep our loved ones safe, even if it means getting our hands dirty."
She looked away, tears welling up in her eyes. "Blaise, you killed her brother. There is no universe where she will ever forgive you. You burned his house down with no mercy. Why would you do that?" Hermione finished, fully crying.
"Granger, we kept tabs on him for months," he said, his voice firm. "Every move, every interaction. He wasn't subtle, not with you. Abuse and imprisonment." He paused, his expression softening slightly.
Shame and anger warred within her, leaving Hermione feeling exposed and raw. Shame for not having confided in Draco, anger that he had remained blind to the harsh truths that now shattered her world. She struggled to push these feelings aside, trying to hold on to the memories of a better time with Ronald. But the reality was undeniable.
"But you didn't say anything," she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears.
Blaise's sigh was heavy, laden with an unspoken weight. "It wasn't my place to interfere," he said reluctantly, his voice rough around the edges. "There are unspoken rules in this world, Granger. When it comes to Draco Malfoy, especially regarding someone he… cares for, stepping in is a dangerous game. Even if it means watching from the sidelines as things unfold in ways that are often beyond our control."
Her eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and disbelief. "So you just stood by, letting it all happen? Because of some unspoken code?"
His expression softened, his gaze flickering with a troubled sincerity. "It's not just about codes. It's about survival. In this world, making the wrong move can have catastrophic consequences. Sometimes, the safest thing is to stay out of it, even when it means living with the burden of knowing what's really happening."
Her heart pounded, caught between the desire to lash out and the overwhelming sadness of her situation. "I thought we were friends," she said quietly. "I thought you'd care enough to do more than just… watch."
His eyes were dark, filled with a mix of regret and a deep-seated resolve. "I do care, Granger. More than you know. But the reality is, we all have to make choices that aren't always clear-cut. I'm sorry for the pain this has caused you. But some battles are fought in shadows, and sometimes, the only way to protect those we love is to let them navigate those shadows on their own terms."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A wave of despair crashed over her, drowning her in a flood of memories so painful they left her breathless. The room around her blurred, her world reduced to the haunting echo of Ron's voice, a ghost of cruelty that refused to fade. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against her cheek, where the phantom sting of his slap lingered, a cruel reminder of the powerlessness that had consumed her in that moment. The memory of his hand meeting her skin, the sharp crack of flesh against flesh, reverberated through her, a sound that would forever be seared into her soul.
She could still feel the oppressive grip of his insecurity, a shadow that had loomed over their entire relationship, choking the life out of her with every passing day. How had it come to this? A harmless conversation with Cormac McLaggen, an innocent exchange of words, had been enough to trigger his wrath. And what followed… three days locked in a room, the darkness closing in around her, his words a venomous whisper that echoed in the silence: "You'll learn your lesson."
The injustice of it all was suffocating, a vice around her heart that tightened with every thought. She had given so much of herself to him, bent herself into shapes she didn't recognize, all in the futile hope of mending the cracks in his fragile ego. And for what? To be met with violence, to have her spirit crushed under the weight of his insecurities.
It had started so subtly, so insidiously, that she hadn't even realized what was happening until it was too late. The first time he had grabbed her arm too tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh like iron clamps, she had brushed it off as a moment of weakness, a slip in his temper. But the outbursts became more frequent, the apologies less sincere, until one day they stopped altogether. That day, he hadn't apologized when he slapped her. He had simply looked at her with cold, unforgiving eyes and told her it was her fault.
Her chest tightened as the memories assaulted her, a vicious onslaught of fear and shame. She remembered the way he would hover over her, his anger simmering just below the surface, always ready to boil over. How he would corner her, his voice low and dangerous, making her feel small and insignificant. The way he would twist her words, turning her own thoughts and feelings against her until she doubted her own sanity. The suffocating loneliness that had engulfed her when she realized that no one else could see the monster he was becoming.
She had been so close to breaking, to losing herself entirely in the abyss of his control. The Hermione who had once stood tall, who had faced down Death Eaters and battled alongside Harry and Ron in the war, had been reduced to a shadow of her former self. She had become a prisoner in her own mind, shackled by fear and self-doubt, too afraid to reach out for help, too ashamed to admit that the boy she had loved had become her tormentor.
But even in the darkest moments, a flicker of defiance had remained within her, a small, stubborn spark that refused to be extinguished. It was that spark that had driven her to fight back, to find a way out of the darkness. It was that spark that had given her the strength to finally leave, to walk away from the man who had once been her best friend, but who had become a stranger she no longer recognized.
Now, standing in the present, the weight of those memories threatened to pull her back under, to drown her once again in the pain and fear. But she had learned to swim. She had fought her way back to the surface, had clawed her way back to herself. And she would not let those memories define her.
She had survived Ron Weasley. She had survived the war. And she would survive this too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The devastation surrounding her mirrored the wreckage of her own trust. Ron's betrayal, fueled by insecurity, had a domino effect far more destructive than she ever imagined. The past was unchangeable, a harsh lesson etched in stone. Yet, with this newfound understanding, Hermione steeled herself. The future stretched before her, and she would face it with a heart tempered by truth.
Her breath hitched, a sob trapped in her throat. The weight of the truth pressed down on her chest, a suffocating heaviness. "But taking a life..." she whispered, her voice thick with tears, "it's so... final."
His gaze softened, but there was a steeliness beneath it, a hardness that spoke of choices made and lines crossed. "It is final, Granger," he conceded, his voice low and deliberate. "But sometimes, finality is the only way to protect what's most precious to us. There are some lines, once crossed, that leave no room for second chances. Ron crossed that line the moment he raised his hand to you."
Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating with the weight of Blaise's words. The Draco she had known—the man she had loved—had been shaped by the same unforgiving world that had driven Blaise to these dark conclusions. A world where power was currency and survival often required actions that left permanent scars on the soul.
She searched his face for any sign of regret, of remorse, but found none. Only a grim resolve, a certainty in the choices he and Draco had made. "I know what Ron did to me," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I know he was dangerous, that he hurt me in ways I still can't fully comprehend. But even knowing that…"
"You still can't accept what had to be done," he finished for her, his tone devoid of judgment. "I don't expect you to. You're not like us, Hermione. You have a different kind of strength, a different kind of light. But in our world, light can be blinding, and darkness—" He paused, searching for the right words, "—darkness is where we thrive. We did what was necessary to protect you, to protect Draco, to protect everything we've built."
Hermione closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks as the full reality of what Blaise was saying sank in. "And Ginny?" she choked out. "How do I ever look her in the eyes again, knowing what you've done?"
He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his own burden. "Ginny's world is different. She doesn't know about the shadows we move in, the lengths we go to in order to keep her safe. And if I have anything to say about it, she never will. I love her, Granger. More than I ever thought I was capable of loving someone. But that love—" His voice broke, just for a moment, revealing a crack in his otherwise impenetrable façade, "—it doesn't absolve me of what I've done. It just gives me something to protect. Something worth fighting for."
A chilling silence settled between them, thick with unspoken truths and the unbearable weight of the choices they had made. Her mind raced, torn between the darkness that had consumed her past and the uncertain light that might guide her future. She knew Blaise was right—Ron had crossed a line, and in doing so, had sealed his own fate. But accepting that… accepting that Draco, her Draco, had been a part of that final, irreversible act was something she didn't know if she could ever reconcile.
"Do you really believe this is the only way?" Hermione finally asked, her voice trembling. "That this is the only way to protect the ones we love?"
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. "In our world, sometimes it is. But that doesn't mean it has to be your way, Hermione. You're stronger than you know, and you can choose a different path. But understand this: Draco will always do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Whatever it takes."
"Burn someone alive? Who did it actually? You or Draco?" Hermione's voice trembled with a volatile mix of anger and fear, the words barely controlled.
He leaned back in his chair, his expression calm and unyielding. "It was Theo, if you want to be technical."
The tremor in her hands wasn't from the cold stone floor anymore. It was a primal fear clawing its way up, a chilling realization of just how far these people she once called friends were willing to go. "Theo?" she gasped, the shock evident in her voice. She hadn't expected to hear his name.
"Yes, Granger, Theodore," Blaise replied coolly, his calm demeanor almost mocking. "Loverboy has secrets too. He's good at crafting, after all."
Her mind reeled with this new information. Theo had always been quiet, reserved, the gentle soul of the group, but she had never suspected him of being capable of such violence. "Theo... I can't believe it."
"You should, Granger," Blaise said, his voice carrying a hint of cold amusement. "Everyone has a dark side. Theodore just happens to be more useful than most."
A chill ran down her spine, an icy grip of dread that froze her in place. "Why? Why would he do that?"
Blaise's eyes hardened, his tone shifting from cold amusement to something darker, more dangerous. "Because it needed to be done. Don't you understand? Ron was a threat, and Theo understood that. He knew what was at stake."
She shook her head, her emotions a whirlwind of disbelief and rage. "This is madness. You can't justify murder!"
He leaned forward, his gaze intense, locking her in place with its force. "This is the world we live in, Hermione. Sometimes, we have to make hard choices to protect those we love. Ron crossed a line, and Theo made sure he wouldn't cross it again."
Her voice quivered with the effort of holding back tears, anger boiling just beneath the surface. "Madness. This is all madness. There had to be another way."
His eyes held a steely glint, his expression unrelenting. "Perhaps there was, but it would have been slower, riskier. And in our world, the weight of protecting loved ones leaves little room for idealism, Granger. We make the choices we must, and we live with them."
Her breath hitched, her fury flaring hot and wild. "You think you're protecting us? You think this—this brutality is somehow noble? It's not. It's cruel, and it's twisted."
His composure wavered, his voice lowering to a deadly whisper. "Don't mistake necessity for cruelty. What Theo did, what Draco and I sanctioned, wasn't about nobility. It was about survival. It was about ensuring that you, that all of us, wouldn't fall victim to Ron's insanity again."
Her tears finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks as she glared at Blaise, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. "And what about Ginny? What happens when she finds out the truth? You think you're protecting her? You think she'll thank you for killing her brother?"
His expression darkened, a flicker of pain crossing his features before he masked it with indifference. "She'll never know. And if I have anything to say about it, she'll never need to. But even if she did, I'd do it all over again. Because, Granger, when you love someone, you protect them. Even if it means becoming the monster they fear."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their conversation pressing down on both of them. Hermione stared at Blaise, her heart torn between the man she once trusted and the dark truths now laid bare before her.
"You're wrong, Blaise," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "This isn't protection. This is destruction. And I won't be a part of it."
Blaise's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "You already are, Hermione. Whether you like it or not, you're part of this world now. And you'll have to decide whether you're strong enough to survive it."
Hermione took a shaky breath, her resolve hardening despite the tears still streaming down her face. "I'll survive. But not like this. Not with blood on my hands."
He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment. "Then we'll see just how strong you really are, Granger. Because in our world, strength is the only thing that matters."
His voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Let me ask you something, Granger. What would you do if you knew that someone wanted to harm Lysander?"
She froze, her mind racing as the weight of his words settled over her like a shroud. Slowly, she turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest.
"I..." she began, the words sticking in her throat. She knew what he was getting at, and it terrified her. "I would probably kill them," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
His expression softened, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He nodded, the gesture slow and deliberate, as if to let the gravity of the situation sink in. "Exactly," he said, his voice low and intense. "Sometimes, we have to do the unthinkable to protect those we love."
The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with the weight of the unspoken truth between them. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at Blaise, the enormity of his words crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
"You see," he continued, his voice a quiet, deadly whisper, "we're not so different, you and I. We both know what it means to protect, to go to any lengths for the ones we care about.
What a hypocrite. She would kill anyone if someone touched Lysander.
Ron had been a threat, and they had acted accordingly. But the cost, the brutal finality of it, gnawed at her. Looking at Blaise, a man she once considered a rival but now saw as a stranger shrouded in darkness, Hermione knew one thing for certain. She would protect Lysander, at any cost.
Her voice trembled with a mix of fear and anger as she spoke. "What should I do with Draco? I can't even bear to hear his name right now, let alone look at him." Her desperation was evident, her eyes searching Blaise's for any sign of an answer.
Blaise rose from his chair, the atmosphere between them thick with tension. He disappeared briefly into another room, and when he returned, he held a small vial filled with a translucent liquid, its surface shimmering ominously in the dim light.
"Veritaserum?" Her voice barely concealed her shock, her eyes wide as she stared at the potion in Blaise's hand.
"If you really want the truth, this is how you'll get it," he replied, his tone disturbingly casual. "Or," he added with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, "you could make it a fun drinking game, loosen things up a bit. Your call."
Her agitation surged, her pulse pounding in her ears. "This isn't a game, Blaise! This is my life—my marriage!" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the tense silence, and she took a step closer, her hands trembling as she reached for the vial. "Give it to me," she demanded, her resolve hardening even as her fear gnawed at her insides.
He handed her the vial, his expression unreadable. "Be careful what you ask for, Granger. The truth can be more dangerous than the lies."
She stared at the vial in her hand, the weight of her decision pressing down on her like a physical burden. She could feel the liquid sloshing inside, the promise of answers, but also the threat of uncovering something she might not be ready to face. With a determined breath, she clenched the vial tightly.
In an instant, with a loud crack, she disapparated, leaving behind the suffocating atmosphere of his home. She reappeared in the familiar confines of her own house, the silence around her deafening. The vial felt like it was burning a hole in her hand, the reality of what she was about to do settling heavily on her shoulders.
The truth, or the destruction of everything she held dear—she knew the choice had already been made. But the fear of what she might uncover threatened to consume her.
Caro mio ben. Credimi almen senza di te languisce il cor.
—--------------------------
tremor of fury coursed through her as she Apparated into the heart of their home, a place that now felt foreign and suffocating in its silence. The once warm and comforting space seemed to close in around her, the air thick with the weight of unspoken lies. The rhythmic pounding of her heart echoed in the oppressive stillness, a relentless drumbeat against the emptiness that surrounded her.
Every object in the room, every carefully chosen piece of furniture, seemed to scream the truth of his betrayal, each one a silent witness to the deception that had unraveled the very fabric of her life.He was gone, vanished like a ghost in the night, leaving behind a void that threatened to swallow her whole. But with a chilling certainty, Hermione knew this silence was only temporary. He would return, and when he did, she would be ready.
A snarl escaped her lips as she tore off her robes, the fabric whispering to the floor with a violence that mirrored the storm raging within her. She had no desire for comfort, no inclination to retreat into the warmth of familiarity. Instead, her hands moved with purpose, rifling through her wardrobe until they settled on a specific dress—the one that always drew a flicker of something in Draco's otherwise impenetrable grey eyes.
Was this manipulation? A descent into darkness to match his own? The thought gnawed at her, a bitter taste on her tongue, but she pushed it down, her resolve hardening with every passing second. This wasn't about seduction; it was about tearing down the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself, about ripping the truth from the cold, calculating heart that beat beneath his chest.
As she slipped into the dress, the silky fabric clinging to her skin like a second layer of armor, her mind raced with a thousand possibilities. She knew Draco would be disarmed by the sight of her, that his guard would slip just enough for her to strike. And strike she would, with all the fury of a woman scorned, with all the determination of someone who had been deceived and betrayed by the person she had once trusted above all others.
Oh tonight Hermione would fuck Draco's mind.
The Veritaserum vial pulsed ominously on the table, a tangible symbol of her cold, calculated fury. As she picked it up, a chill seeped into her fingers, spreading through her veins until it settled like ice in her heart. This wasn't justice. She knew that. It was a violation, a dark descent into the shadows where she would meet Draco on his own ground. It was a betrayal of the twisted bond they'd forged through years of conflict, passion, and reluctant trust. Yet, in this moment, she was willing to gamble it all—to shatter whatever fragile trust remained between them—just to drag the truth into the light.
The room was thick with tension, the air almost too heavy to breathe. Hermione's thoughts swirled in a storm of doubt and determination. Could she really do this? Could she force the truth out of him, knowing it would rip them apart?
Before she could fully wrestle with her conscience, a sharp pop echoed through the room, piercing the silence like a dagger.
Her head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat as Draco materialized in the doorway. He froze, his usual composed demeanor faltering for a split second, and in that moment, she saw it—the relief that flickered across his features, quickly overshadowed by a fresh wave of fury that mirrored her own.
But then his gaze fell upon the vial in her hand. A shadow passed over his face, and for a moment, the mask slipped entirely. Recognition blazed in his eyes, followed swiftly by a terror so raw and stark it sent a chill down Hermione's spine.
"My love," Draco rasped, his voice laced with a tremor he couldn't disguise, the words almost a plea. "What is the meaning of this?"
The air between them crackled with tension, thick with unspoken threats and the weight of betrayal. Hermione's gaze never wavered, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination that matched the storm brewing inside her. She had made her decision, and there would be no turning back.
"We need to talk, Draco," she said, her voice low and edged with steel. "And this time, I won't settle for your lies. I want the truth. All of it. Especially about Ron."
The name fell between them like a heavy stone, an accusation that cut through the air. Draco's face twisted, his usual composure cracking under the strain of the moment. Rage flickered in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by a raw, unmistakable fear.
He took a step toward her, as if to close the distance, to regain control. But before he could move further, Hermione slammed her hand down on the table, the vial clattering ominously against the wood. The sharp sound sliced through the silence, a clear warning. Draco froze, his gaze snapping to the vial, then back to her, his eyes wide with something like panic.
"Don't you dare," she hissed, her voice laced with a dangerous edge that left no room for argument. "We do this my way, or not at all."
The scene crackled with unspoken threats. He stands frozen, his carefully constructed facade barely containing the storm brewing within. Opposite him sits Hermione, a warrior queen on the verge of a battle she desperately wishes to avoid. The vial of Veritaserum rests on the table between them, a potent symbol of the truth she craves and the heavy price she's willing to pay to get it.
Malfoy was scared of her, that's for sure. Always intimidating, always ready for a fight. He would fight every one of her fights, just to make sure that she's happy. Tonight he will be the one who's going for a walk. With a leash and harness on.
His eyes flickered to the vial on the table, a flicker of recognition passing through their depths before a steely mask settled back into place. His jaw tightened, and a silent understanding passed between them. He knew what the vial held. He knew what it meant.With a measured breath, Draco settled into his chair, the tension in his muscles coiled tight beneath a carefully maintained facade of composure.
"This is how you choose to play it?" His voice was a low rumble, threaded with a challenge and tinged with apprehension.Hermione didn't flinch.
Her eyes held his with an intensity that belied the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. "I need answers, Draco," she countered, her voice thick with the weight of everything unsaid, everything she needed to know. "The truth. All of it."
He glanced at the vial again, his gaze lingering on it as if it were a venomous serpent poised to strike. For a fleeting moment, something like fear flashed across his features, gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of cold detachment. "Veritaserum," he finally acknowledged, the word clipped, resigned.
"Yes," she said, her voice unwavering despite the turmoil roiling inside her. "Why did you do all those things, Draco? Why do you let them happen? I need to hear it from you. Unfiltered. Unvarnished."
Selective transparency is not honesty.
And may the fire of who you are burn you alive until you are capable of standing in the fucking truth of it.
His jaw clenched tighter, his eyes hardening. A long pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension and the burden of the past. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he reached for the vial. His hand trembled slightly as he uncorked it, and for a brief moment, Hermione glimpsed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his mask, a flicker that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
He raied the vial to his lips and downed the potion in one swift motion. The effects were immediate. A slight glaze clouded his eyes, and his posture slumped ever so slightly. The truth serum had taken hold.
He started to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. His eyes darted down, momentarily breaking eye contact, a flicker of shame betraying his carefully constructed facade. He quickly forced his features back into a mask of indifference, but the hesitation hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Her voice hitched, a tangle of emotions threatening to unravel. "Draco," she started, her voice barely a whisper, "there's something I never... I never wanted to tell anyone about my past relationship with Ronald." Shame burned in her throat, a stark contrast to the cold fury that had fueled her moments ago. "There's so much..." she trailed off, the weight of unspoken trauma threatening to crush her.
The air shifted, the hostility giving way to a flicker of something akin to understanding in Draco's eyes. "I thought..." he began, his voice barely audible, "that you wouldn't trust me with this, my love. With something so..." Shame seemed to seep into his voice, replacing the defiance.
Her sigh echoed in the tense silence, a weary release of the anger that had coiled around her. As the sound faded, a flicker of something new crossed Draco's face—an unexpected vulnerability that had long been hidden beneath his stoic exterior. Perhaps, she thought, there was a sliver of understanding, even empathy, beneath his usual mask.
Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze head-on, her voice quieter now, laced with raw vulnerability. "Draco," she began, her voice thick with unshed tears, "please tell me honestly... why did you kill Ron?"
The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched tight. After what seemed like an eternity, a choked whisper escaped his lips. "Because, honestly, my love... I just..." He faltered, shame bleeding into his voice. "I wanted him out of the picture for a long time."
The revelation hit Hermione like a physical blow. A cocktail of anger and bitter betrayal flooded her, leaving her breathless. She had sensed his silence hid secrets, but this blunt admission was a harsh reminder of the twisted reality they were trapped in.
"Gone?" she echoed, her voice taut with disbelief. "Is that all it was? Just... wanting him out of the way?"
His gaze flickered up to meet hers, his eyes pleading with a desperation that belied his usual cold demeanor. "It's not that simple, my love," he rasped, his voice thick with conflicting emotions. "There's more... a tangled mess of reasons I can't explain right now." His breath hitched as he struggled against the Veritaserum's compulsion, the truth clashing with the walls he had meticulously built around his heart.
Draco squirmed under her penetrating gaze, the potion forcing him to confront his deepest truths. A deep shame flushed his face, stark against his usual icy demeanor. "The thought of you..." he stammered, his voice barely audible, "with him. Happy. With a family..." The sentence trailed off, too painful to fully articulate.
The room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his confession. Her bewildered frown deepened. "Happy?" she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Why would Ron even think I'd be happy with him? And a family? That's…" The word caught in her throat, a strangled laugh escaping her lips. "Absurd."
Draco flinched at the sharpness in her tone, but the potion's effects forced him to remain vulnerable. His voice cracked, the mask of control shattering as he unleashed his deepest, most guarded feelings. "BECAUSE I WANT TO HAVE A CHILD WITH YOU! I WANT A FAMILY WITH YOU, MORE THAN ANYTHING IN MY FUCKING LIFE!" His voice broke, the years of unspoken longing spilling out in a raw, unfiltered torrent.
The room fell into a stunned silence, the enormity of his confession hanging heavily between them. Hermione's world spun, the emotional landscape she had carefully navigated now shattered by the brutal honesty of Draco's revelation. The truth lay bare, a complex web of love, desire, and dark choices, leaving Hermione to grapple with the fragmented reality of her once-beloved husband.
The initial fire in her eyes began to flicker, replaced by a dawning realization. The truth she'd carefully locked away, a secret desire she hadn't even admitted to herself, now echoed back in his confession. The idea of a family, not just a family, but children only with him.
A tremor ran through Hermione, a deep, physical ache that squeezed at her heart. This wasn't the cold echo of a manipulated connection, but something real, raw, and terrifying in its beauty. His choked plea, the vulnerability etched on his face, unearthed a longing she hadn't dared whisper even to herself. The yearning for a family, a future intertwined with his, bloomed in her chest, a fragile bud against the harsh realities of their situation.
A heavy silence descended upon them, thick with unspoken emotions. The air itself crackled with raw vulnerability and a tangle of desires laid bare. Years of denial, a dam she'd meticulously constructed, threatened to burst under the relentless pressure of Veritaserum and Draco's startling confession.
The aftershock ran through him, a flicker of hope battling the disbelief in his stormy gray eyes. The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of her confession. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, Hermione spoke. "Draco," she began, her voice raw with a truth she'd buried deep, "there's no one else. I never… I never considered anyone but you."
The weight of her confession hung heavy in the air. It was a truth she'd buried for so long, a truth that shattered the carefully constructed narrative of their manipulated bond. A love she'd convinced herself stemmed from obligation roared with a fierce independence. It was a terrifying vulnerability, laying bare the deepest corner of her heart.
"Black mascara, like a warpath of tears, stains my cheeks. When will you see it, Draco? The wreckage you caused, reflected in these tired eyes? Bags that hold the weight of unspoken feelings, the designer mask hiding the turmoil within."
What you done me?
"You, selfish man, never saw the impact of your lies. My once-steady hand, now smeared with kohl, a testament to the sleepless nights spent battling the truth. How can you understand the labyrinth you built in my head? The way you twisted my emotions, making me question everything?"
Fucked her mind.
Maybe when you see the wreckage, Draco, the designer facade crumbling, the mascara a trail of unspoken hurt – maybe then you'll grasp what you've done. The love, the confusion, the sleepless night– a tangled mess you helped create."
"Love, please" Draco pleaded but she cut in.
"You made your bed, Draco. Now lie in it, and try to comprehend what you've taken from me.
Can you understand the impact of your killing spree, Draco? Can you even begin to understand what you've done to me?"
He flinched at the harshness in her voice, the words cutting deeper than any curse. Shame flooded his features, a stark contrast to the raw vulnerability the Veritaserum had exposed moments ago.
"Darling," he rasped, his voice thick with remorse. "I... I don't deserve your love. You shouldn't have to carry the weight of my choices."
He took a shaky breath, his gaze falling to his lap. Images flickered in his mind – the battles, the casualties, the face of Ron Weasley staring back at him with accusing eyes. "I know what I've done," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Be a Lilith, never Eve. Draco was on his knees for this woman. He would let her walk all over him, so at least she would acknowledge him.
A heavy silence descended upon them. Draco braced himself for her anger, her rejection. But when he finally met her eyes, he saw a flicker of something else – a deep sadness that mirrored his own.
"Can you forgive me, love?" he pleaded, the question laced with desperation. "Not for what I've done, but for allowing myself to become the darkness I was raised to believe in? Can we find a way forward, together, despite the burden we share?"
"Draco," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "Forgiveness... It's a complicated word. But…" she continued, a flicker of hope battling the anger in her eyes. "The potion revealed something else too. Your fear, your regret. And a love I never dared to believe existed."
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I can't erase the past. The lives lost, the scars left behind… they'll always be a part of us. But maybe…" she opened her eyes, searching his gaze. "Maybe we can learn to live with them, together. Not forget, but move forward. It won't be easy. It will require a lot of work, a lot of time, and a lot of trust."
A tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. "Can you handle that, Draco? Can you handle the burden of forgiveness, knowing it might never be fully given?"
He can handle anything that she gives him, at least she would talk to him. Kiss him. Fuck him. Make babies with him. He was a lost cause. He only wanted one thing, which was her.