#ajoy3

And the mad woman locked inside. That, he could never forget.

She looked wild as she lunged from the table, chained and dirty. Draco had never seen a creature so unkempt. Her deep voice called out “Cissy!” in such tormented sob that Draco had been afraid that the creature was going to hurt his mother, and was astounded to see his father do nothing but look on as the lunatic pawed at Narcissa. She gripped his mother, the woman's dirty nails digging into Narcissa’s shoulders and wept. It was not until she heard his mother choke out a sad string of, “Bella, Bella” that he realized this was his aunt. Tears trailed down her filthy cheeks as she finally crouched down to inspect Draco. Her bony hand reached out, gripping his chin as she turned his head left to right.

“He’s got a bit of Black in him, eh?” She murmured, a crooked smile revealing rotten teeth. She began to card her hands through his hair and Draco froze, locked up in fright. It was all he could do just to breathe. “A little too much Malfoy, but we can work around that.”

“He’s a credit to both houses.” His mother said proudly.

“He’s a Black, Cissy. The last one. He’s got to carry on the legacy.” She looked at him seriously, leaned in to get a better look, and spoke slowly. Dangerously. “When the Dark Lord calls again, he must be ready to answer for the House of Black.”

He felt his mother pull him back, a hard tug on his shoulders, away from his aunt. When their time was up, they made no moves to visit again.

Bellatrix terrified him as a child. The witch she was before Azkaban was not the same as the one now his mother always said. She had always been a bit untethered, unpredictable. But the time in Azkaban, the isolation, the shame of losing her war, it had driven her mad, depraved.  She had once worn silk robes, but now she was draped in chains, stripped rags falling off her shoulder. Snape handed Draco the paper, his aunt holding a placard that read ‘prisoner 93’. She screamed, silent, unheard, as her matted and tangled hair flew around her. Draco swallowed as he tore his eyes away, pushing the paper towards his professor.

“I knew your aunt. In school and from… other associations.” He said evenly. Steady; Unashamed. “She will try to contact your family. She will try to contact you.” Snape looked at him seriously, “You must inform me if she does. I cannot stress the importance of this.”

Draco bit his tongue, did little else but nod. He turned on his heels to head back to the dungeons. He knew all summer that something was going to happen, felt the change in the air. It had been building up, winding towards a climax.

The coil was snapping.

~.~

Draco knew it was his aunt.. But until that moment, she seemed abstract. A portrait hidden away, not a flesh and blood family member. She was not someone he had to claim- not someone he could claim. She was too far removed from his life to be real. Until then.

A few Slytherns clapped him on the back, congratulated him that his aunt was free. Like they had been waiting for it. Like Draco should have been waiting for it.  

“To think they put a pureblood witch in a cell, just because she took up against muggles and mudbloods?” one had said. “Maybe she’ll keep up the work now that she's out again, eh? Good riddance!”

They seemed to have forgotten that she did not set her sights on only muggleborns, but on any wizard who disagreed with their cause. She followed blindly, faithfully.

Longbottom avoided him in the halls, and up until that moment he had always thought him a coward. Bellatrix was safely contained by the dementors, nothing to be afraid of. And yes, maybe their interactions did not leave the kindest impression on him, but Draco had never done more than sling an insult.

He was afraid, and had every right to be. It was easy to lock Aunt Bella away for Draco. She could be tucked nicely into a side drawer and forgotten about.  For Longbottom, she was just as present and cancerous as the day she cast that curse on his parents. Draco had only tasted this fear, and it left him in shambles.

Longbottom- Shit, he lived with it every day. He was stronger than he gave him credit for; not that he’d tell a soul that. Not when his housemates were giving him sly smiles, whispers of congratulations.

He knew he should share in their excitement; It would look odd if he didn’t.

It made him feel ill.

Draco couldn’t help but notice that Hermione looked as sick as he felt as she read the paper over breakfast. She folded it, a deep frown on her face as she stuck it into her bag. A mass breakout, they called it. He could see Potter and Weasley, shoulders hunched and faces pinched. From his spot, he could pick up bits of their conversation, all focused around Sirius Black. The two oafs were not as quiet and discreet as they thought themselves to be. Unsurprisingly, she seemed to be the only one who saw it for what it was.

He wondered if she felt it too, like they were at a precipice. Wished he could tell her how uneasy he felt.

Wished he could do more than steal glances over his morning tea.

~.~

The days passed, and no mention of Bellatrix came for him. Weeks after, he waited for the owl each morning, looking for clues in his mothers letters to let him know what was happening. They didn’t look any different than usual; she still sent sweets and her warm regards.

Draco held out hope that maybe Bellatrix used this opportunity to start over, to lay low.

All he could do was hope.

~.~

She seemed a little more cheerful, smiled a little more.

It was nice to see the color in her cheeks, the liveliness brought back to her. Felt good to focus on her instead of worrying about a psychopathic aunt raising the manor while he was tucked away at school.

He noticed that she was meeting with a larger number of students. Secretly, of course, and never for long. Never would he tell.

It wasn’t just Gryffindors she was associating with. Every house but his own was making contact with Granger, passing her notes, discrete nods in the hallways. The exchanges happened so swiftly, so often, that it was almost infectious. Several times Draco almost found himself nodding in her direction, before he clenched his fists to remind him that no, he and Granger were not involved in whatever she had going on. Fuck, they weren’t even amicable. It was like she was a damn ring leader in a cult with all the attention she was getting. Not that one would notice on the surface. You had to really watch Hermione to see those things going on. But luckily for Draco, that's all he had to do.

Umbridge had officially asked him to trail her, was sure that Hermione was the key to whatever she was trying to riddle out. He smirked as he accepted the mission, “I’ll be on top of her, professor.”

Fuck, he wished he could be.

Or under, or behind. Hell, he’d settle to just be near her, skirt hiked high so he could see her white panties. In the library, against the stacks. Or in his bed, hands twisted into his sheets as he gripped her thighs and drove into her. He’d take her right on Flintwicks desk if she’d let him. Merlin, he would give her anything if she would let him.

She walked by with Weasley, purposefully leaving Potter alone with Chang. She had her petite hand wrapped around her elbow as she whispered something about ‘space’. She was trying to contain a smile- awful at it, really. And looking at Weasley in a way that turned Draco’s stomach. Big, brown doe eyes, stealing glances. She had thick, heavy lashes- how had no one ever mentioned that? Never talked about her bedroom eyes?

Maybe because they were always directed at a bloody weasel, no one could take notice.

He noticed.  What he wouldn’t give to have her look that way at him.

Merlin, they weren’t even amicable.

~.~

It occurred to Draco that he may have a problem.

A small one. People all over the world suffered, people died everyday. He just had an infatuation.

A slight obsession, perhaps.

Mild. Completely mild.

Fucking ludicuris.

He and Hermione were not friends, yet he knew so much about her. Too much, some might say. He memorized her schedule, how she liked her tea. Knew she preferred cappuccinos should they be offered. Knew that when she stretched, she always put her hands high above her head and twisted to the right first. Knew that when she did that, the hem of her shirt would ride up, exposing the slightest amount of skin that left him salivating. Knew she often scoured informational texts, but far preferred fiction. Knew she liked to twist a loose curl around her finger as she read, idle, preoccupied. It drove him mad, made him want to demand her attention. She never fucking noticed.

That wasn’t even the problem. He was perfectly self aware that he was a sick bastard.

The issue was everyone else.

What would Slythern think if they knew Draco Malfoy was half hard every time he watched Hermione Granger take house points away? He’d be exiled, ridiculed. And if the news ever got back to his mother- she wouldn’t be able to handle it. The tears and theatrics that would ensure already gave Draco a headache. Merlin forbid his father found out…

History has shown what happens to pureblood wizards in his family that married beneath station. Marred their bloodlines so badly they were burned out of family records.

And for what?

It’s not like she would choose him anyway.

~.~

Ron Weasley was a terrible prefect. He liked to take house points away as an act of power, a way to boost his ego. Draco found it incredibly pathetic that Weasely needed a silver badge to feel important, but that was not the part that bothered him.

It was that he idiot didn’t even take it seriously! He seemed to make up his own rules, dock points based on his mood. And it became abundantly clear that if your skirt was short and legs toned, Weasley would let you off with a warning.

Even more infuriating was that he was paired with Hermione. He’d have to see them walking together, talking about Merlin knows what. Sometimes he’d make her laugh, but most times, he trailed behind her like a sad puppy.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered how different it would be had Hermione been sorted into Slytherin. He was certain she’d look stunning in green.

~.~

It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing how disgustingly one sided it was. Logically, Draco knew that he and Hermione were never going to happen. Never meant to. Never would be.

That did little to curb his imagination. It was so wild that it was hard to distinguish fact from fiction.

She didn’t want him, not like he wanted her. Hell, Hermione didn’t even like him.

No, not Hermione. Granger.

When had he started referring to her as Hermione? When had she begun to feel comfortable, familiar?

Granger. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Prissy little Granger who was the first to correct someone when they made a mistake. Stuck up Granger who knew better than anyone else in the wizarding world- maybe the muggle one too. High strung Granger, who had one hell of a right hook, didn’t take shit from anyone. Always the boss, had to be the one in charge. It made Draco want to push her down, make her submit. No, that was the wrong train of thought. Prudish-  Granger alway had her oxford buttoned up tight, wore sweaters. He’d bet anything she was wild underneath. Granger, who-

Fuck, he needed to get his mind off of her. Needed to get Hermione out of his head.

Draco took a deep breath and reminded himself that he didn’t know her. Not really.

Granger.

Granger.

Granger.

~.~

Snape had never been the sort of professor who took an interest in his students, let alone those from other houses. At best, Draco could describe his relationship with Snape as awkward, but tolerable.

When Snape had asked him to stay behind after class, his heart nearly stopped beating. It had to be about Bellatrix. He was delivering news to him, passing a message his way. Something too horrid, too secret that his mother could not even code it in her daily message.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Draco.” He said, much to his surprise.

“What?” He scoffed, both relieved and genuinely confused at what the professor meant.

“You may think you are keeping it under wraps, but you stare far too long at the girl.” Draco swallowed hard.

“Its none of your business.” He spat. “And it’s nothing to get upset about.”

“Perhaps.” He drawled, considering Draco’s words, the defensive way he crossed his arms over his chest. “But, if it were… something…. More-”

“-It’s not-”

“Then I should remind you that your aunt has recently escaped Azkaban.”

“I’m well aware of that, thanks.” Draco snapped.

“If she finds that you hold even the slightest bit of affection for Granger-”

“Affection?” He countered. Snape kept steady, kept pressing on.

“She will crave her flesh clean from her bone. Bellatrix will turn her fingers into jewelry. So should this be anything more-”

“How many damn times-”

“BUT SHOULD IT-” Snape's voice rose to a timber he had never heard, made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “I may be able to help.”

Draco froze, almost too afraid to breathe.

“Help how?”

~.~

Pansy was nothing if not a good distraction. Better than the Greengrass sisters, and aside from them, there were very few options left for Draco.

Yes, there were others available in different houses. Pureblood ones too; but it was expected that Draco would bed and wed a Slythern. Asinine traditions and expectations.

He was becoming increasingly tired of expectations.

Like valentines day.

Whose brilliant idea was it that witches needed the red carpet rolled out for them, just because it was the 14th of February? Chocolates from Switzerland, jewelry that dripped in gems. Cards and romantic gestures, adding layers of intimacy to a relationship. It felt forced and unnecessary; He didn’t give a damn about it.

Pansy, on the other hand, could talk about nothing else. She was good at that, filling the void with conversation. She didn’t prattle on like Astoria did, but kept it going at an easy pace. They were friends, and it somehow made it more bearable to try and replace Hermione’s name with Pansy.

He wanted to hold Pansy. Wanted to lick his way down her neck, grip her curls- no, short, cropped hair, as he brought her head back to bite the junction of her shoulder, suck it until it bruised. It was Pansy he imagined accidently running into in the prefects bath, tanned skin- fuck, pale skin covered up only by a bath towel.

Pansy was the one to enact that with him, but it was Granger on his mind. To be fair, he couldn’t help where his thoughts strayed as he rocked his hips between Pansy’s legs- his blood was flowing away from his brain.

Of course, it left Draco with mixed feelings. The sex was good- of that he had no complaints. But it was unfulfilling. Not enough.

Empty.

At first he had felt guilty about using Pansy, taking his needs out on her while he fantasized about someone else. The first few times the guilt had gnawed at him so completely that he felt sick enough to almost admit it to her. But then he remembered that though Pansy may like him as a person, she liked his Gringotts vault just as much. That without his money behind him, she might not be so keen to take his arm.

They were friends. Cut from the same cloth. They both knew what it was.

When she hinted (heavily, multiple times) that she might like to go out on Valentine's day, Draco didn’t mind taking the trip to Hogsmead. They were official, though no one had publicly said so, and a gentleman must treat his witch right- even if he thought the holiday was total bollocks.

He had met her in the common room, earrings in hand, flowers in the other, bundled and ready to brace the winter's chill. She had accepted the gifts gracefully, tugged on his bottom lip as she kissed him in thanks, and before long, they found themselves strolling through Hogsmead. Pansy looped her arm through his as they headed to Madam Puddifoots for tea, bags from Honeydukes in hand. The day hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, but the throngs of people crowding the street, obnoxious in their love, decked out in reds and pinks set him on edge. Best of all, it was entirely Granger free. A day without running into her. A day without having to see her sandwiched between Potter and Weasely.

That was until they passed The Three Broomsticks.

It wasn’t even his idea to stop in, to freaking spy. But as they walked by the shop Pansy caught sight of Granger and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is that Granger?” She twisted her neck to get a better look. “At the Three Broomsticks for Valentines day. Oh, that’s rich.” He couldn’t say that she cackled- no wellbred woman would- but the sound was dangerously close.

“Probably just waiting for Weasley.” He answered darkly. He hated the idea of the two of them together. Hated the thought of her waiting for him. Did Weasely know how lucky he was that she even gave him the time of day? What did she see in him anyway? It certainly wasn’t his intelligence. Revolting orange hair, freckles, lanky build, was that really Grangers type? The reason she tied her hair up with red ribbons, wore a red sweater?

“Think Madam Puddifoots was too expensive for a Weasley?” She snickered. “Let’s pop in Draco.”

“In- In there?” He balked. “Whatever for?”

“I want to see what the Golden duo does without their third. I imagine they’re terribly boring. I’d bet Granger quotes from the dictionary and Weasley pretends to understand.”

Draco often wondered the same thing. They had nothing in common. What could the two possibly talk about? He wasn’t eager to find out, felt mouth turning down at the thought of Hermione leaning in to kiss-

“You want to spend our date watching Granger?” He asked.

“And Weasley, yes. Draco, this is loads more interesting!.” She smiled as she tugged him towards the door. “Like dinner and a show!”

Well, she had him there. In his very limited free time, when he wasn’t busy following Granger from one place to the next, he was fantasizing about doing it. Weasley was just never part of it.

No, he was doing this to get away from Granger, not drag others into his obsession.

“Pans, why would we want to subject ourselves to what I’m sure will be a disgusting display?”

“For the laughs, of course.” Pansy tilted her head as she appraised him.

“Seems incredibly juvenile.” He turned his nose up, hoping she would take the bait.

“You used to be more fun, Draco. This sort of thing used to get a rise out of you.” She pulled him forward, dragging him along. Despite having followed her just yesterday, having company made it feel seedy.

He rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be lead forward, quickly claiming a seat near Grangers table. Not too obvious, one would really have to look to catch a glimpse of them- but still close enough to eavesdrop. Draco made sure to get the seat facing away from her. He didn’t fancy seeing her make eyes at a weasel.

“I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine. They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print." He recognized that voice. Draco turned to Pansy and mouthed “Who..?”

“That's loony Lovegood.” She whispered.

"I'm supposed to do this for free?" Skeeter? Why on Earth was Rita Skeeter meeting at Hogsmeade? With Lovegood no less?

"Well, yes.” Draco heard her voice and it sent a shock through him. “Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of Azkaban...."

Draco’s eyes blew wide, taking in the new information. Pansy seemed less interested, though she still listened intently.

"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" He could practically hear Skeeter seething.  

Draco couldn’t help the smirk; tried to control it by biting down on his bottom lip. His girl- she was damn good.

~.~

Umbridge is mad. No, that wasn’t even the right word for it. Livid, perhaps. Crawling out of her skin was a rage that was palpable, might be more accurate.

Thanks to his stunt and Hermiones brilliance, students were no longer allowed to read the Quibbler- not that he was anyway. Still, everytime another hammer hung up one of Umbridge's decrees, Draco felt himself suffocated a little more. Nevermind the fact that she was chomping at the bit to get Potter and his accomplices. He had thought that she saw him for what he was, but now he wondered if there was something more. Draco had his own reasons for hating Saint Potter, but Umbridge… it was almost as if she was threatened by him, for how harshly she reacted.

When Goyle had caught him talking with Lovegood and Longbottom in the hallway he had promptly split the trio up, and in the process, Potters glasses may or may not have been cracked.

And because nothing could ever be easy in his life, never achieve any sort of balance, he realized that if Potter was unhappy, so was Hermione. He couldn’t enjoy his nemesis getting what he deserved if he knew it would upset the witch that filled every corner of his thoughts.

He picked a fine time to give a shit about Potters well-being. Umbridge was hungry to make an example of him; it fell on Draco to tell Crabbe and Goyle to ease off.

Life just wasn’t fair.

~.~

He never used to care about what upset her. Used to call her a filthy little mudblood to her face.

Somedays, he missed that. Missed the time in his life when things were so uncomplicated. When he stopped making them complicated. At least if he could touch her, hold her, fucking taste her, it would make it worth it. What was it all for? What was the point of wanting someone so badly, crave them so completely that it made you question everything you thought you knew?

But then Draco would catch sight of her, legs curled as she read one of her blasted books, sunlight catching on her chestnut curls in just the right way that she looked angelic. Unashamed to be herself. Content with her own company. Smiling at whatever nonsense filled the pages. It must be a fiction story; must be one she was familiar with from the way she lazily turned the pages, like she had lived the story more than once. And in that moment, it would feel like Draco could finally breathe; like air was filling his lungs for the first time. It reminded him why it was worth it.

~.~

Why did prefects have to patrol with their houses? Just once- just once, couldn’t Malfoy and Granger be paired on the schedule? Perhaps to patrol someone outside, secluded, away from everyone?

Why was it always Pansy who unfastened his buckle in the empty classrooms, stroking his hard cock instead of Hermione? Pansy, who was caged between his arms, back against the cobblestone wall as she panted into his ear. He’d hike her thigh up higher, grip it tighter to lock her in place as he rocked his hips into hers. And when he’d come down, the ecstasy and joy washing away, he’d wonder “Is this what she’s doing with Weasley? Are they fucking at this very moment?”

The afterglow never lasted long when he was on rounds.  

~.~

They caught them inside the room of requirement. Caught all of them, red handed, wands drawn. Dumbledore’s Army they named themselves. Rule breakers was what Umbridge had said.

Draco had to be there. Crabbe and Goyle were practically giddy with excitement a Umbridge cast spell after spell to dismantle the wall. Pansy, who stood to his side, looked like she was going to burst from the drama. All Draco could do was try to remain calm. He willed the wall to hold, said every counter spell he knew to hold it up. He knew what the other members of the squad were doing, knew the curses and jinxes they gave as punishments. For all the rules plastered throughout the school, it was lawless. Worst, he heard rumors of Umbridge, and what she had done to Potter. He remembered the frightened look Hermione gave him as he tugged down his sleeve. Draco worried if she would see the same fate, once the wall was down.

What would he do? If Umbridge was determined to make an example of the golden trio, how should he react? He couldn’t sit by and watch her be tortured. He couldn’t just stand there and let her come to harm. He would have to do something; there was no scenario in Darco’s mind in which he could bear witness to Hermione hurt and in pain, with him on the sidelines.

He could see it all in his mind, a course of actions ready to be played out. All them leadinging to the rescue of his witch and the shame and isolation that would follow. Not just from friends and family, but also from her. She would never want to see him again if she knew in the inner workings of his mind; knew how desperately he wanted her. All of her. It wasn’t worth denying anymore. He was a sick fucking freak, and she would be better off without him nearby. And that would be the end of it- he would never see Hermione again.

He focused, begged, and willed the castle to listen. The room of requirement was supposed to fulfill a need, and all he was asking that the walls would stay up. It wasn’t good enough.

When Umbridge stepped through, the bright light of the corridor bleeding in, his eyes immediately went to Hermione. His stomach sank low to find she was already looking his way, looking at him.  

Each one was marched down to her office, made ready to give an account. All the while Draco formulated his plans and readied himself for his move.

~.~

On the list of things that Draco Malfoy thought to be unlikely, Dumbledoor taking the fall for Saint Potter and vanishing into thin air with a bird topped the list. He always figured he’d fuse himself to the chair inorder to avoid being cast out of Hogwarts. Leave it to the greatest wizard of all time to add the theatrics.

The whole school was in an uproar. He was certain his father would march down to the castle and pull him out, drag him back to the manor. His mother was over protective on her best days, and she would never stand to have her only child in a school filled with turmoil.

But when his father did not come, and Umbridge settled in behind Dumbledore's desk, he had a dreadful sense of foreboding that something big was about to change- and not for the better.

~.~

The Weasley's may be a menace, but the twins knew how to leave with a grand gesture. The only thing funnier than the entire fiasco was seeing how flustered Hermione had been.

~.~

Draco hadn’t meant to find her asleep in the library. For once, he was too preoccupied with his own studies to follow Granger around- O.W.L.S. were no laughing matter. The amount they were expected to memorize and recite was borderline criminal. No one would ever use half of the charms he was required to know, but he still had to spend his days practicing with wand and quill.

He had meant to get a book- just pop in and out- but as he walked to the stacks he saw her there, at her usual table, head propped on top of her folded arms. Her breathing was heavy, even, as her chest rose and fell with each intake.

Draco lowered himself to the floor and took a seat near her. They couldn’t sit at the same table, of course. But close enough that he could keep an eye on her while she slept. He picked up his wand and practiced charms, making paper birds dance overhead.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours before she woke. Draco wasn’t sure; it was like being caught in a haze to see her so vulnerable. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked herself awake, stretching high overhead, twisting to the right first, like always.

That was when she saw him.

“M-Malfoy?” She stuttered, embarrassed. It made him nervous to look at her so directly.

“Finally awake, Granger?” He snarked. “Thought you were going to spend the night here.”

“Wh-Why? What are you doing?” She was desperately trying to connect the dots, put the pieces together. Draco longed to drag it on, hold her there in the moment forever.

“You were sleeping, dummy.” It was quick, too quick. He should have put more thought into an explanation. “It's dangerous to be so carefree, you know.” He added.

“I must be dreaming,” She said, giving her cheek a gentle slap.

“Then you must have very boring dreams, Granger.” He smirked at her, unable to control it. “I like mine a bit more exciting.”

“I was sleeping-” She started.

“Thought we’ve covered that-”

“And you thought... you were the one to what, look out for me?” She was skeptical, and it was only fair. “Did you do something to me while I slept Malfoy? Do I have ‘idiot’ written across my forehead or something? Just tell me now and get it over with.”

“I didn’t do anything!” He objected.

“Sure, Draco Malfoy would just watch over me while I slept for no reason.”

He answered defensively. “I may be a lot of things Granger, but first and foremost, I am a gentleman. And a gentleman would never leave a witch in such a vulnerable position. You’ve no doubt studied charms. Not all of them are good natured. So yes, I looked out for you. My training as a wellbred wizard wouldn’t allow me to leave a witch alone like that.”

Hermione frantically ran her hands through her hair, trying to control the frizz and volume. Draco wanted to tell her to stop, that she looked fucking beautiful with it wild, untamed. But instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “No matter who the witch is.”

She nodded, as if any of the bullshit he said made any sense. As if he wasn’t watching over her for his own satisfaction, for his own peace of mind.

“Why didn’t you just wake me?” She managed, still eyeing him suspiciously.

Draco shrugged. “Have you seen yourself Granger? The bags under your eyes are incredible. You should submit them to a medical textbook.”

“Ha, very witty Malfoy.” She said, collecting her things into her bag. Draco did the same, stretching as he stood from his chair. “I- I just have been preoccupied- with my studies, I mean.” Hermione looked away from him as he rolled his neck; it made Draco immediately straighten, worried that he had become too casual, made her uncomfortable.

Of course he had! He was fucking watching her while she slept for crying out loud.

“Right.” His throat felt dry as he swallowed, then turned to leave. Two steps forward, and she in front of him, chocolate eyes holding him in place.

“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t- I mean-” Hermione bit her lip as tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t often he got to catch her off guard, to watch the wheels work in Hermione’s head. When she spoke, her voice was lower, a sexy timber that shot right to his groin. “Thank you.”

Hermione took off in a brisk walk, leaving him behind.

It was a good day.

~.~

They had caught them by Umbridge's office. All hands were on deck looking for the group. Umbridge made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that nothing, barring death, was off limits. It set the group alight with a hunger for the hunt. Even Draco felt fired up to catch them.

If he didn’t get to Hermione first, who knew what would happen?

It was easy to find her, easy to know which set of footsteps were hers. He had trained for that moment, laid in wait, and now she was his. He’d crucio anyone who thought to put a hand on her. Draco led the charge, determined to be the one in control, needed to be the one.

Her hand reached out, ready to grip the door handle when he found them. They were quiet, even charmed their shoes to not make a sound, so to say Hermione was surprised to find Dracos large hand clamped over her mouth was an understatement. He worried that his ring knocked against her teeth, because the next thing he knew, he could feel her tongue dart out, as if licking a bloody wound. Her breathing came in quick bursts, hot and panicked. Draco’s other hand splayed across her stomach, pulling her in, closer than they had ever been before. The rest of the squad had followed suit, the sound of a struggle behind him.

She was making a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and Draco could feel the fear coursing through her. He leaned in, so small a movement it would be missed, until his lips were near her ear.

“Shh.” He begged, and felt her try to twist to look his way. Weasley let out a mangagled scream as his arm was bent backwards. “I won’t hurt you.” It was barely more than a breath, hardly a whisper. Hermione froze, eyes wide. Longbottom groaned as Crabbe knocked his head against the wall, a small trickle of blood running past his eyes. Hermione's voice began to hitch.

“Shh.” He begged, flexing his fingers that dug into her hips. “Please.”

Hermione was a smart witch- the brightest of their age. Draco silently willed her to understand.

If she made noise, if she struggled, it would have to look like he was hurting her. And for the life of him, Draco had no idea how to do that without traumatizing her. He ran his thumb over her cheek, small enough that it would appear to be a twitch, delicate enough that he prayed it was soothing.

“You got her, mate?” Goyle asked.

“Just brains and no brawn in this one.” He joked. “Granger barely put up a fight.” He squeezed her again, hoping beyond hope that his comment would not make her fight harder.

Remarkably, she stood still, her chest rising and falling as his arm crossed over it.

He didn’t miss the way Pansy looked him up and down, Granger held flush against him. He way his hands lingered on her skin.

“Let’s bring them into Umbridge’s office.” Pansy offered, “that’s where she’s expecting them.”

~.~

He should have kept a tighter hold on her- should have known she’d insert herself into any problem, try to solve everything.

Umrbidge had been tickled pink to see a job well done. More than happy to peg Potter as the main culprit. She wasted no time interrogating him; When Potter would not budge, not give up their secret weapon, she held her wand up, on the brink of the cruciatus curse. Draco felt his muscles weaken, his jaw go slack, felt energy drain. He heard her rumors, but that was nothing in comparison to seeing a professor ready to torture students. Wizards his age. Peers.

And if Harry was first, he could guarantee who was next.

Turns out, he didn’t need to wait for Umbridge to drag her forward; his damned witch offered herself up. Hermione rushed forward, and just like that, she was out of his grip, slipped away from his grasp. She was shouting, claiming that she knew where the secret weapon was, that she could take Umbridge to it.

In the woods. Of course it was in the bloody woods.

The headmistress pushed Potter and Hermione out the door, ordering the squad to keep a close eye on the rest of the group.

~.~

As Draco watched Ron Weasley run out of the office, he knew that the twit would brag to everyone that he had bested him in defense.

Not even in his damn dreams could Ronald Weasley beat him in defensive spells. Did he know that every summer, every holiday, his father made him train in them relentlessly? Did he moron really think he was able to bloody his lip and get that many right hooks in if Draco hadn’t thrown the match? Hell, he leaned in to every punch. When he let the jinxes render him paralyzed, Weasley hovered above him, examining his work. He smiled- wide, far too much gums, as he walked over him, stepping on Draco’s hand along the way.

He was oozing satisfaction, brimming with ego.

He could practically see him puff his chest out as he ran to Hermione to save her.

As long as he saved her.

Add in her grandfather's similar remarks, mixed with her friends approving appraisal of his physique and it all added up to a giant headache for her. They meant well, she really, really knew they did, but it was hard to imagine going out on a date with Hojo when she could hardly leave her bed. She saw ghosts at every corner, memories of a dog demon haunted her house and her dreams. She’d walk down the road and find herself falling back into the past, mirages of small huts instead of skyscrapers lining the street, a demon prowling around every corner; panic flooded her when a passing car would lay on their horn, jolting her back to the present. Every area of her life seemed to have Inuyasha and their history embedded, and she didn’t know what to do other than leave her bedroom window open at night for him.

It had been her mother’s doing, these dates with Hojo. Kagome had been in the yard, bow tightly gripped in her hand as she let loose arrow after arrow, her muscles tight and tense from months of neglect. Sure, she practiced, but aiming at a target and aiming at a foe were two totally different workouts. She shot until the sweat beaded down her skin, the sun burning hot as she collected her fallen arrows and drew back the string again. Her mother had approached, her small, gentle hand stilling on her shoulder, a look of concern in her eyes. Her mother wanted to help, but had no idea how. She was worried, but did not know why. She reasoned that it must be over Inuyasha, and she wasn't entirely wrong. The hanyou was only one of the reasons she couldn't sleep at night.

‘He’s a nice boy, Kagome. Inuyasha is gone. You might just find you enjoy Hojo’s company.’  She had given her a smile laced with concern, and Kagome felt she had no option but to nod her head and agree to go out.

So that’s how she found her Friday nights became a standing date with Akitoki Hojo. The first time he had taken her out, they had gone to a small noodle shop and Kagome cried. She had wanted Inuyasha to try this Ramen so badly; it was flavorful, but not too spicy. She had tried it with Ayame, and immediately wished she was sharing a bowl with him instead. She knew he would never be able to enter the shop, even with a hat covering his ears, so she had ordered take out for him. The moment she had it in her hands, she had rushed through the well with the steaming bowl, eager to impress him with a dish that wasn’t instant.

She had tried to put on a brave face; After all, Hojo had done nothing to deserve a date covered in tears. He had simply taken her to get a tasty meal and she cried so hard she hiccuped. He smiled fondly at her, pearly white perfect teeth beaming at her. She was so happy to go out she was moved to tears, he said. Of course she was! Who wouldn’t be thrilled to dine out when they had spent the last several years bedridden. As he handed her a cloth to dry her face he smiled, and Kagome couldn't notice his lack of fangs.

Without a doubt, the man was skilled at polite conversation, and Kagome wasn’t sure if she was thankful for it or not. He had an amazing ability to keep the dialogue going, never touching on anything deep or delicate, choosing to keep all topics well, topical. A lull in the conversation did not seem to bother him, easily finding a subject that they could discuss. It was tiresome to keep up with him, the constant chatter about trivial things made her head ache. It was better, she supposed, that he fill the silence as she stared at him, lost in a world of her own.

It didn’t seem to bother him that she was not the best companion, so she tried not to overthink it. Kagome doubted he had anything under the surface, no hidden layers of buried trauma, and she chastised herself, wondering why she needed a lover with complexities in the first place. Hojo was nice, and that’s the entire reason she was here in the first place.

“I’m so glad your illness cleared up, Higurashi.” He walked with his hands in his pockets, looking totally harmless. Not like others she knew, who walked with their shoulders squared, arms crossed over a broad chest, a nonverbal signal to fuck off.

“Thanks,” she murmured, not entirely happy herself.

“I’ve wanted to take you out for so long.” He admitted, a boyish blush rising on his cheeks. “I knew if I waited, you would get better. Did the herbs help?” He asked eagerly.

The sidewalks were littered with people, and Kagome had trouble concentrating. So many bodies pushing past. So much potential for danger. Not like back home, with its wide-open spaces, villagers keeping a distance. The only one who breathed down her back was Inuyasha, and that she didn’t mind. He was safety, protection. Sometimes he would walk past her, bumping her shoulder along the way, other times he would hover, his large frame engulfing hers as he wrapped his arms around her midsection. There were never people around then.

Not like now.

“The herbs?” She repeated dully, gazed locked on steps of the shrine ahead. How many times had she climbed them after school, two at a time, looking for a flash of red around the estate? “Yes, they helped.” Kagome tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“I knew they would!” Ever the optimist. Hojo smiled with the ease of someone who had never had to worry much.

He walked her to the steps, offering to take her up all the way but she declined. Hojo kissed her chastely on cheeks, grinning as he pulled away. Nothing like the hungry and demanding kisses of a demon. There was no time then; They would sneak away from the group for a moment of privacy, one ear trained for danger, the other focused on her sighs. They could never be anything but quick; demons attacked from high and low, and they often only had time to steal a kiss before they were interrupted. Would he have been gentler, if they had time? Whispered the words her heart ached to hear if they could love each other right?

“I’ll see you next weekend… Kagome.” His brown eyes were so bright as he tasted her first name on his lips. She nodded, biting down on her tongue and turned to ascend the stairs. ~.~

Mama had been bursting with questions, in what quickly turned into a weekly dating debrief. She wanted to know how Hojo was, where they went, what he said. It wasn’t that she was nosy- Mama had never overstepped in her business before, even when she ought to- she was simply thrilled to see her daughter home and acting like a typical woman her age. She should be out dating, she claimed, not mooning over someone unreachable. So many fish in the sea, and she was such a pretty girl! Her mother seemed to have an endless supply of cliches, but Kagome suffered through them. If she could make it through this bit, then she could go upstairs.

The first thing she would do would be to turn on the bath. Steam would rise as the water filled the tub, too hot for comfort. She needed it that way; it kept her grounded in the present. She did not often have the luxury of daily washing, let alone a bath, and hot water was only found at an onsen. Yes, if she kept the water hot, it would remind her that she was in the present, and that is where she would stay.

Once clean, hair brushed body lotioned, she tugged on her pajamas and headed towards the window. Leave it open, and he might come in. She always left it unlocked for him, even in the blisteringly cold winter, just in case. Kagome tugged off the covers and climbed in, trying her best not to look against the wall. He would be sitting there, sword against his chest like there was anything to defeat.

Bellatrix appraised him from top to bottom, clicking her tongue as she turned his chin. Every fiber, every muscle, every atom screamed at him to look away, pull his jaw away from her claws, and go anywhere else. Fucking Hogwarts sounded better than this hell. And it had only been a minute inside.

“He’s too thin, Cissy.” She snapped. “Much too thin. What have you been feeding my nephew?”

“He eats well, Bella.” She defended. “Draco has quite the sweet tooth, in fact.”

She smiled at that, teeth rotten, sharp. “Is that so?” Some memory sparked in her eyes; something from long that had nothing to do with him. She turned to Narcissa. “Just like Daddy?”

“In many ways.” She answered proudly.

“Right, right. Of course.” Bellatrix smoothed down his hair, carding her pale, cold fingers through the blonde strands. She leaned in close, voice dropping to a languid whisper. “Last of the blacks.”

“I’m a Malfoy.” Draco spit it out before he could bite his tongue. He was scared of his aunt, always had been. But now she didn’t just act like a fiend from a nightmare, she damn well looked like one too. It churned his stomach to have her so close. He could still smell Azkaban on her, as if the filth was a permanent fixture on her skin. He didn’t intend to say a word to her, but all the nonsense about being a Black dredged up his memories of their last visit. Why was his mother not pulling him away, as she had done then?

“Ha! A Malfoy.” She gripped his hair by the roots as she laughed and tugged. Hard enough to make him wince, quick enough that she instantly let go. Easily could have been brushed off as an accident. Easily could have been a misunderstanding. “Well, Draco… I have to say I’m surprised. After hearing what your traitorous father did-”

“-father?”

“- I’d think you’d be all too eager to shed the Malfoy shame. Take up the Black name, live your legacy.”

“He will do no such thing Bella.” His mother finally intervened, after what seemed like an eternity. She stood between Draco and his aunt, and Draco was sure his heart rate had doubled since he saw the main gates.  “And I thought we discussed letting me talk to him first. He has no idea-”

“He should be upset that he failed, not that he has to live the consequences of it!”

He was a pot boiling over. A volcano ready to explode. Too much energy in his body. Too many thoughts racing through his head. The busts on the pedestals shattered around him, wandless magic crackling through the air as he roared, “What the fuck is going on?!”

Narcissa and Bellatrix immediately stopped, turned to face him, stunned to silence.

His aunt smiled. “Just like a Black.”

~.~

Had it been an insult or a compliment? It rattled around in Draco’s head. His knee jerk reaction was that she was speaking from a place of pride. But when Draco learned that Bellatrix had killed her cousin Sirius Black, he wondered if her words were indeed a threat.

~.~

Interestingly enough, the news that his father had been locked away did not startle Draco.

His mother thought to be gentle, that the news might blow him over, literally knock him down. Instead, it crashed over him, a wave so intense he felt numb.

Of course his father was in Azkaban. There was no way he would allow this madness; his aunt and her lunacy, the vermin that came and left the manor to skulk around his home. These people wouldn’t be invited for a holiday party at Malfoy Manor, let alone encouraged to board unless something dire had happened to his father.

In some respect, it surprised Draco to know his father had failed whatever half-baked mission they aimed to achieve. Lucius had always been so confident, so in control of everything and everyone. In all his life, he had never seen his father incompetent. It was difficult to imagine what it looked like.

From the way his new house guests snickered, the gossip that was swapped in not-so-hushed whispers in the halls, it had been a sight to see. That was the way those assholes put it anyway.

Two men, Yaxley and some lackey of his, seemed to revel in it. Bringing the Malfoy name down into the mud gave them a sick sort of pleasure.

“Just a matter of time until this place falls into the right hands.” Yaxley said, smirking as he glanced towards Draco. “The Dark Lord promised me some big rewards to clean up after Malfoys fuck up..”

Draco snapped his attention to Yaxley, trying up his courage as his squared his shoulders. Yaxley was a tall man, slim, but fit. If he threw a punch, Draco was sure he wouldn’t escape without a few broken bones. And wouldn’t he love that, the filth he was?

“Don’t you dare say another fucking word against my father.” He seethed.

“Draco! Stop!” His mother rushed to him. The woman seemed like a magnet since he came home, never far from his side. His mother gripped his arm as she pulled him back. Draco had clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.  “Draco, Stop.”

He felt like hitting Yaxley, felt like shaking his mother off of him, but he could feel her fingers dig into his skin, her hands trembling.

“Mind your temper, boy.” Yaxley took his time as he moved his gaze to Narcissa, looking her up and down slowly- too slowly.  “Mummy won’t always be around to protect you.”

“Don’t fucking look at my mother-”

“-Mother, father. Where should I look then, boy?”

“Yaxley.” She commanded, “You are a guest in my home. I will not have you acting in an uncouth manner. Please take your leave for the night.”

Yaxlet nodded, but sized Draco up before he turned to leave. “S’fine. The Dark Lord asked for me anyhow.”

“Lowlives.” Narcissa hissed. “Not worth your time, dear.” His mother had said, gripping his arm as she pulled him back. Draco had clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He fucking hated this.

Draco twisted out of his mothers grasp and stormed the stairs, eager to get to his room, to find comfort in the only four walls that had any ounce of normalcy.

So it should have been no surprise to see his Aunt Bella waiting for him at the landing, arms crossed, lips pressed together in disapproval. In the shitshow that was now his life, it made sense that he wouldn’t be able to carve out even a minute of refuge for himself.

“Should’ve taught him a lesson.” She spat. “Scum like that, talking to a Black that way.” She craned her neck to see if Yaxley was about, then raised her voice to yell,  “Disgraceful!”

“Right?” He felt his lip draw up in a sneer. “Makes me fucking sick.” Draco rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots in his neck. He had only spoken a few times to his aunt, and never typically alone. He had thought she would have pounced on him, if the way she acted his first day back was any indication. But it seemed that the Dark Lord kept her busy.

“Just a lousy upstart, that Yaxley. Thinks he’s in The Dark Lords good graces because he did one mission for him and earned some praise.” It was clear his aunt felt the same distaste he did.

Draco found himself saying, “As if that's all it takes.” Though he was unsure why. In his house of enemies, perhaps he was trying to find an ally.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward. “The Dark Lord isn’t a fickle man, Draco.” Her voice was low, serious. “But he does not take mistakes lightly.” She gripped his forearm as she spoke, eyes ablaze with passion. “It's serious business, not something to be toyed around with for status, like that Yaxley.” He watched as Bellatrix brought her hand to his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb. “You know better though, right love? Why we need to do this work? We can’t let the Yaxley’s of the world look down on us.”

“No,” he said, the words sticking in his throat.

“So we need to stick together, you and me.” She spoke slow, searching his eyes. “Cissy is too tender-hearted, always has been. She can’t endure this much longer.”

Draco nodded his head in agreement.

“We need to get this family back under control. You and me, Draco.”

~.~

As scary as Bellatrix had seemed to Draco as a child, he had to admit he somewhat admired her. She was unafraid of anyone; perhaps it was simply that she was crazed and fear was no longer an emotion she registered.

But when Bella hexed Pettigrew for speaking to Narcissa in a demeaning, demanding tone, he couldn’t help but feel that maybe they were on the same side.

~.~

If Draco had thought that Aunt Bella had made an idle proposition earlier, he was sorely mistaken. Draco took family seriously- the Malfoys were known for it- but Bella had a devotion to the Black name and lineage that made her a woman possessed.

“You’re our last hope, Draco. The prodigal son, eh?” She smiled at him like a snake.

Being the last hope didn’t just involve a title. Apparently it required him to wake before dawn and train. Bella was quick with a wand; it made him shudder to think how lethal she would have been if she had been in practice all these years. If Draco had assumed she’d be rusty with a few spells, he was sorely mistaken.

The bitch hit hard.

Every spell, every curse was merciless. One to stiffen the muscles, to set them on fire. One to turn the blood to lead. One to boil the skin, one to derail the mind. She taught him curse after curse, dueling with him until he got it right.

‘Why can’t she have her own damn kid?’  Draco wondered. ‘Why pin all her hopes on me?’

When he could not perform, could not match her sophisticated skill, she turned angry. Face red, brows furrowed and teeth clenched.

“No!” She shrieked, aiming her wand at him. She sent a spark of electricity his way- a curse to seep into his bones. “Do you think your opponent will be as forgiving as me?” She broke the spell, leaving Draco huddled and wheezing.

“Do it again.”

~.~

Even night time proved to give Draco little peace. With his head on his mountain of pillows, a cooling charm over his four poster bed, a light comforter to balance the temperature, he still could not get comfortable. He found himself balling his hands into fists, cursing under his breath until he could not take it anymore. With a quick silencing charm, he would scream until his voice was hoarse.

It was only when he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, that he was able to close his eyes. No sooner would he shut them, but the events of his day would flash in his mind. Where was his father? Was he faring well? His mother, his poor mother, how much more could she take? How much more could he take?

No. He needed a distraction. Needed to focus on something else. Something pleasant- fucking anything. Something consuming.

Granger.

She was probably at the Weasleys, spending her days filled with obnoxious red-heads and Potter. The idea filled his belly with fury. What would they be doing, all alone with nothing but the summer heat? Did Weasley have his hands all over her? Pawing away like an animal no doubt. The clumsy oaf probably couldn’t piece together how to unhook a bra, let alone give her an ounce of pleasure.

No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be right. He had heard before that Potter spent his summers with whatever bit of a family he had. That Granger went home to hers. He had heard her talking once, about trips and teeth. It made little sense, but it had instantly relieved him to know that she did not spend her time with those two in the summer. Most likely.

Probably.

No, definitely. That's what he had to go with. He needed something positive. Needed to believe there was still something left for him, even if she never was his.

~.~

The Dark Lord was due to have a visit soon, at least that was the gossip around the kitchen. His mother had fretted nervously, ordering the elves from this room to the next, making them clean and re-clean every surface on the estate.

As anxious as it made Narcissa, Bella seemed to be buzzing with energy.

And it only made her push harder.

And kinship he had felt with her had quickly dissipated. It was clear she was self serving, though she did have some affection for her sister and nephew. All in the name of family, no matter how twisted and fucked up it was.

“ Why are you incapable of doing this?!” Bellatrix screamed. It was early and Draco still felt sluggish. “Lazy like your father! No ambition! No follow through!” She punctuated each insult with a flick of her wand, the hex cutting to the bone. Draco could feel blood trickle down his forehead, dribbling down his brow. His lip was split in two, the taste of iron in his mouth. Taking the back of his hand, he tried to wipe away the fresh cuts.

“I don’t want to fucking do this anymore.” Draco spat. He had never wanted to do it in the first place.

“Oh, sweet Draco. You think it's a choice?” She let loose curse, one that made his body feel like glass- stiff and fragile. Draco was sure that if he made even the slightest movement he would shatter. She strode over to him with impatience.

“This is your destiny, Draco. You need to seize it! When the Dark Lord comes, he will want to know your heart is pure. Is your heart pure, Draco?”

He swallowed, trying to control his breathing. “Yes.” He answered too slowly.

“Of course it is, dear. And your mind? Free of treacherous thoughts? No ideas of rebellion rattling around that brain of yours? Scheming like your father-!”

A pain unlike anything Draco had experienced crashed through his head. He had practiced briefly with Snape- but it was nothing in comparison to this. Snape had been intrusive, poking and prodding- giving him room to defend himself. Teachable moments, perhaps.

This was different.

Bellatrix did not poke, she shredded. It felt like a knife ripped apart every synapse, lit every thought ablaze. She turned over the images, rifled through his memories. The ones of his childhood, the anger he felt towards Potter.

But of course, Potter lead to Granger.

He tried to shut her out. Tried to keep her away from Hermione. But Fuck, Bellatrix was skilled and he was so weak. So fucking weak.

Filthy images, fantasies, passing glances filled Bellatrix’s mind. An obsession laid open for his aunt to see. His darkest secret, exposed to the most dangerous individual he knew.

She would kill him now. He was certain of it.

By the time she took her claws out of Dracos mind, she was panting.

“That filthy mudblood?” She whispered. “That filthy-” She sent a curse, fire in her eyes.

“-little-” Another, jabbing at his spine.

“Mudblood-” She curled her lips in disgust as her wand slashed through the air.

“-Whore!”  

He was crying, there was no use denying it. He would spend his last moments on Earth curled up in a ball. Lying in fetal position, waiting for death at his aunt's hands.

Bellatrix crouched next to him, resting her chin on her palm. She looked furious, gritting her teeth, rage barely contained.

“This won’t do. It won’t do!” She screeched. “You were meant to carry on the Black name.” Her tone turned sad, remorseful. “How can you be so like Andromina? Poor Cissy, to go through this again.”

No, not like his aunt. Not like the one that had been disowned. The one better off dead.

“I- I’m not.” He was missing a front tooth, could feel the broken bones and shattered bits in his mouth.

“And the Dark Lord? What will he say?” She cut her eyes to her nephew. “Your mother will pay the price for this too. The Dark Lord, he’ll say our family is tainted, the seed is bad! The line full of traitors! Your mother, my dear Cissy-!” Bellatrix seemed to conveniently forget that she was part of the line she so easily called traitorous.

“It’s, its just-” He breathed in, broken ribs stabbing. “Just an attraction.” Draco panted. “Thanks all. Aunt Bella, I, I swear.”

She considered him for a moment, a crumpled heap of a man.

“A passing attraction, you say?” She rolled her neck as she sucked on her bottom lip.

“It is.” He turned to look her square in the eye. There was a moment of pause before she answered.

“That better be all.” She breathed a sigh of relief.  “Young children do have peculiar tastes.”

“Right,” He was exhausted, utterly defeated.

“I remember when I was in school, some of the questionable boys I found cute. No accounting for taste in these years, you know.”

“You’re ri-right Aunt Bella. It’s- its nothing serious.”

“If it’s nothing serious, then it’s nothing to trouble the Dark Lord over.” She said quickly.

“Y-Yes, Aunt Bella.”

She nodded, as if listening to him from far away.

“We’ll just have to train all the harder. Won't we, love?”

~.~

As Draco nursed the bones he was currently regrowing, he wondered if Hermione would have like the manor. Before his aunt, before the wild creatures had taken over it.

He wondered if she would have liked the garden, would have minded the peacocks. He drifted to sleep, dreaming over Hermione Granger on his broomstick. Hugging him tight, hugging him close.

~.~

The day the Dark Lord had come had been surprisingly cheerful. Bellatrix had been away since the night before, so he was out from under his thumb. He had taken an early breakfast with his mother, now accustomed to being awakened before the sun even rose. After a light breakfast, he had retreated to the library, found a book he had been meaning to read, and drifted off to sleep in the plush leather arm chair. It had been the time he had slept well since he had arrived home.

A loud pop had awakened him. An elf cleared its throat, announcing his arrival.

“Master Draco is needed in the dining room.” He wrung his hands nervously around his shirt. Even the elves had not escaped the wrath of their new guests.

“Thank you.” He sighed heavily, not ready to leave. Not ready to give up on his dream of normalcy.

This had been typical for him, had been his everyday once. Now it was nothing more than a vacation from his daily life. Misery was his new normal.

“Master Draco must come quickly!” The elves' voice lowered. “Misses says it's urgent.”

Draco stood and pushed open the heavy oak doors and walked towards the dining room.

If there was one thing Inuyasha was sure of, it was that he was never going to survive this quarantine.

It wasn’t the social distancing, the restrictions about on crowd sizes, or even the competitive nature toilet paper had brought out in people.

It was that staying with Kagome was going to be the death of him.

Miroku and Sango had gone overseas on a trip, planned long in advance and scheduled for the beautiful weather, only to return home and find their city in lockdown. A minimum 14 day quarantine was required for anyone re-entering the country, and with Sango living with Kagome, and Miroku with him, they risked exposing their roommates to a virus the could potentially have.

So Kagome, the problem solver that she was, had come up with the brilliant solution that he could crash at her place, and Sango could stay at his. The pair could hunker down and ride out their 2 week isolation, without the chances of getting anyone sick, and Kagome and Inuyasha could just learn to live with each other.

Perfect plan, right? Less risk of infection and they could keep each other company.

In theory, it all sounded good- it made sense and yeah, he had agreed to it; but what she had actually arranged was for the slow torture of the hanyou.

Inuyasha had been in love with Kagome for well over a year. Once Miroku started dating Sango, Kagome inexplicably came with the package. He would come home to find the pair of girls sitting on his couch, waiting for Miroku to get ready for whatever plans they had that night. It was annoying, at first, to find strangers in his living room, but the more he got to know them, the more he enjoyed their company.

Especially Kagome’s.

She was bright and happy, always smiling whenever she looked at him. And to be honest, he didn’t mind. He was never much of a people person, but he found himself easily caught up in her. They had become friends in their own right, meeting up without their roommates. It was easy to be around her, even easy to fall in love.

There were times he suspected that she felt the same; he thought she was flirting from time to time, but he couldn’t be sure. She was friendly with everyone, so what if it was just his wishful thinking? If he had made a move on her, and she rejected him, could their friendship recover?

Those were all things that used to occupy his thoughts before.

Now all he could concentrate on was how not to cum in his pants every time she walked by. Did she always own shorts that short? Did she know that he could see the curve of her ass every time she bent over- and Gods did anyone need to bend over this much?

Never mind her shorts, he was certain that she had stopped wearing a bra the last two days. And sure, it was her own house and she should feel comfortable, but Kagome kept it rather chilly and her nipples always seemed hard, pressing against her shirt, driving him to distraction and making him feel like a creep.

And because they were friends, and because of Kagome’s nature, she was friendly. She was touchy- light gestures, but frequent enough that it felt flirty. When they sat on the couch- now his new bed- she was close- so close that when she leaned over to get the bowl of popcorn she was practically on top of him, her full breasts grazing his side. When she wasn’t practically sitting on top of him, she had her long, slender legs draped over his thighs, completely relaxed, as if this was a normal thing people did with him.

None of it was normal; people didn’t playfully shove him when he was being an ass, or fall asleep on his shoulder during a T.V. show; once it happened the first time, it was like a door had been opened, and she frequently leaned into him- almost a cuddle- and each night he tried to work up the courage to wrap his arm around her.

The problem was, he didn’t want to come off as a creep; he wasn’t sure if she was sending him signals or he had experienced so much blood loss from it all rushing to his dick that that’s what it seemed like. He wondered if he should try out some of the COVID-19 pick-up lines Miroku sent him daily; Since all the public libraries are closed, how about I check you out instead?

Kagome didn’t seem the type.

She was in the shower, one room away and just the thought of the hot water running down her body had him hard. He had been walking around this week in a state of permanent arousal and his balls were so blue he wasn’t sure if he’d recover. He needed to do something, needed a distraction. Everything smelted like Kagome, and being stuck inside with her for so long, he couldn’t help but imagine fucking her on every surface of her apartment. He had never really wanted to screw someone on an end table, but the image of her bending over, holding onto the corners for support as he slammed into her cunt from behind.

A distraction. That’s what he needed.

Dishes weren’t sexy. He could do a mindless chore and focus on something other than the way Kagome’s tits bounced when she did yoga in the morning, bending and moving her body in ways that he didn’t know a human could.

Dishes. He needed to turn on the cold water and get his hands wet. This was going to be the longest 2 weeks of his life.

~.~

The door opened, the slight creak making him turn his head instinctively; She emerged, a cloud of steam surrounding her, a green towel wrapped around her and thick, creamy thighs exposed and dripping wet. Her black hair usually had a wave to it, but now that it was damp it was curling, framing her face in a seductive way.

“Damn!” He quickly turned his head and muttered an apology apologized. He had expected her to scream, or to throw something at him for catching her in such a state, but instead, she stood still, as if considering her options. Casually, as if was the most normal thing in the world, she walked over to the sink where Inuyasha stood, hands deep in the suds.

She smiled and it totally caught him off guard. “You didn’t have to do that.” She said.

Inuyasha did his best to focus on the pan; it really should have been soaked and required his attention. Not Kagome, or the way her breasts looked amazing, pressed together in the towel that was barely tied together. “I-I don’t mind.” He sputtered.

Kagome liked that; from the outside, he was a stoic half demon, his claws intimidating and muscles threatening enough to keep people away.  Yet here he was, nervous like a teenager, blushing, because of her. Kagome knew that he was more of a puppy than a demon, and deep down she loved it.

She loved him.

It had been a hard week for her; at first, she was thrilled and nervous and a million other emotions when he agreed to spend this time in her. Sango had been encouraging her for months to ask him out, but she never seemed to find the nerve. When he had come to her apartment, bag of clothes in hand, she took it as a sign that maybe, just maybe, he was into her just as much as she was into him.

She had thrown him hint after hint, had practically sat in his lap the other night, and he still kept his hands to himself. He looked so damn good all the time and she was beginning to lose her mind. Even now, washing the damn dishes she wanted to push him against the sink and strip him of that red shirt that hugged his muscles so deliciously.  

She would never have dreamed of being this bold if it wasn’t for Sango and Miroku tirelessly reassuring her all week that Inuyasha was definitely into her. Normally, she would have never been so daring as to approach someone this way, but over the past week, she came to understand that Inuyasha was the nervous type. He had been trying- badly- to hide the fact that he was turned on by her, his sweat pants doing little to hide his rather large boner. While her plan was to put him out of his misery (and hers), a part of her liked teasing him, seeing him pushed to the brink and strained. At night she imagined himself finally losing control, taking her roughly and leaving marks on her body. She wanted to get him there, to get him so frustrated he has to make the first move.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”  She asked, the same smile plastered on her face. Her fingers played with the bottom piece of the towel .

“Sure.” He answered, cheeks slightly pink from blushing. She smiled and he wondered how someone could look so dazzling.

“Great!” She jumped a little in her excitement and his eyes were glued to her heaving chest. “I’m going to get changed and I’ll be right out.

Inuyasha nodded dumbly, willing himself to calm down before he needed another cold shower.

~.~

She was wearing a white cotton shirt, and her body was still wet from the shower, sticking to her curves, making them more prominent. Inuyasha mentally cursed, both thrilled to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra again and also in agony. She was trying to kill him, he knew it.

“Your place, or mine?” She asked, trying to suppress a smile; Inuyasha was obviously flustered, taken off guard by her comment, by the way her pert nipples were showing again.

“What?” He asked, brows knitted together in confusion.

“I’m asking,” She drawled out, “Do you want a change of scenery? We can watch it in my room. You’ve been trapped in the same space for a week now. I thought you might like to mix it up.”

Great. Now she was inviting him into her room. It felt like it was a signal, but he couldn’t be sure. Kagome was friendly by nature and maybe this was her way of being kind since he couldn’t really leave the apartment. And to be honest the idea of seeing anything other than the living room, kitchen and bathroom  sounded downright exciting; but that also meant that he would be even more confined, surrounded by her scent.

Not like the entire place wasn’t doused in it anyway. It should make no difference where they watched the movie.

“You-You wouldn’t mind?” He stammered. Since when did he fucking stammer?

“Don’t be silly. I asked, didn’t I?” She answered brightly. How much more obvious could she be?

“But, wont it be…I dunno, awkward?” He was 12. He was sure he had regressed to a pubescent boy. That had to be only reason he was acting like this.

Or maybe it was the fact that all week Kagome had been bringing him to the brink of insanity. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, tugging him along towards her door.

“You really surprise me sometimes.” She said with a laugh. If he didnt make a move tonight, she would give up.

God, she hoped Inuyasha would just kiss her already.

~.~

Kagome’s room was very much her. It was simple, but cozy, the bed flush against the corner of the wall, a decent-sized tv placed in front, standing on the tall dresser. Her desk was against the other wall, a bookcase pushed by its side. There were small touches- a few nicely framed photos and knickknacks that were proudly displayed, but overall, the room had a warm and welcoming feeling. The space was neat and tidy, but her bed was unmade, the green comforter in disarray, showing that Kagome was, perhaps, not the world’s most graceful sleeper.

“Sorry.” She murmured, walking to the bed to set it right. Inuyasha told her to leave it, and she nodded, making a comment that they were just going to mess it up anyway. She had the good grace to blush, just a little, however she did not correct herself.

Inuyasha waited for Kagome to climb onto the bed first, and he stood awkwardly, trying to figure out his next move. When was the last time he was in a girls room like this, just as a friend? Normally when he and a woman were near a bed, there was only one logical course of action. What the hell would a friend do?

Choosing to sit at the end of the bed, he sat up perfectly straight, too afraid to get comfortable,  and waited for her to turn on the movie.

Once the screen lit up, Inuyasha felt content that he could relax- they were on her bed for crying out loud, but they were farther apart than when they sat on the couch, so the likelihood of him having to touch her was minimized.

The room, however, was filled with her scent.

It was faint, but he could detect traces of her desire, faded aroma of her release clung to her sheets. He would bet his life that she had a toy hidden in her nightside draw, just from the strong scent alone. Damn, the image of her pleasuring herself, alone in the bed-  this bed- was enough to make his cock twitch.

Kagome leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed, as she massaged the back of her neck and letting out a soft moan as the tension released. She opened her eyes, only to find that he was smoldering, burning.

“What?” She asked, the hint of a smirk curling the corner of her lips.

Inuyasha swallowed hard, breathing in through his nose, trying to calm his nerves- a huge mistake- all it served to do was give him a better taste of her delicious scent. He had to do something- had to say something or he was never going to survive.

“L-look.” He started, words shakier than he meant, “I-  I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, and fuck, I could be interpreting this wrong, but-“

Kagome stared at him wide-eyed, hand still resting on the column of her neck. ”But?”

“B-but it seems like your putting out signals, and fuck, I know this is awkward, and I’m not trying to make it that way, but for the love of God, please stop teasing me so much. I cant take it.”

Kagome blinked innocently, hand moving to the collar of her shirt, toying with the fabric as it exposed small glimpses of her neck.  “But what if I like teasing you?”

“So you admit it? You’ve been teasing me on purpose?”

She smiled at that, beautiful and mischievous, a side he had not expected to see. He was even more shocked to watch as her hand drifted over the curve of her breast, his eyes drawn as she circled her nipple with her delicate fingers. Kagome arched into her own touch, biting down on her bottom lip to keep in a low moan. When she looked his way, she did not see the reaction she had hoped; he was stationary, taking in the scene before him, a blank expression on his face. Worried that she had crossed the line and made a huge mistake she stilled, praying that she had not misinterpreted things and make her house guest uncomfortable.

“Should I stop?” She asked, searching his eyes for an answer. As if hearing her voice had snapped him out of a trance, his eyes darted up to hers, heavy lidded and hungry. He took a deep breath, the scent of her making him dizzy. Quickly, he shook his head no, as if to say please don’t fucking stop.

Kagome bit her bottom lip as she ran her fingers down, gripping the hem of her shirt,  small hand disappearing inside.  With better access, she pushed her bra up so that she could squeeze her full breast, the cotton shirt bunching from the movement, exposing her flat stomach. Inuyasha’s brain was scrambling to catch up, trying to process the fact that he was watching Kagome touch herself, in front of him, for him. His hands seemed to move on their own accord, reaching into the band of his sweat pants to grip his throbbing erection and pull it free. Had he ever gotten so hard, so quickly? He felt a twinge of embarrassment- he had never done something like this before- and this was a really sudden development, but the way her scent spiked as she watched him stroke his cock left him little room to feel anything but utterly turned on.

If Kagome had felt nervous about touching herself in front of Inuyasha, the sentiment was long gone. Seeing the effect she had on him was hard to deny; his dick was hard, beads of precum leaking out, coating his head in his excitement, made her feel powerful and bold. She reached down, her hand easily slipping underneath her pajama shorts and quickly delving into the slick heat. Her lips pasted as she gasped, the pleasure so much more intense being watched than when she touched herself alone. Half-lidded, hungry with desire, she wanted to drink in the sight of him, all of him, but it was hard to tear her gaze from the sinful way he was moving his hand. A low growl caught her off guard, forcing her to meet his stare. The way he looked at her set a fire in her belly, causing her to buck her hips, grinding the palm of her hand against her sensitive bundle of nerves. Inuyasha breathed in, intoxicated and dizzy from the scent she was giving off.

“Fuck,” Inuyasha hissed through clenched teeth, pumping his hand up and down his shaft, trying to match his rhythm to hers. No longer able to handle himself, he rose his hips to push his pants down, revealing the full length of his member, much larger than Kagome had thought. Now that he was fully revealed, Kagome saw that his hand couldn’t close completely, his cock much too thick; she wondered how it would feel inside of her, stretching her core to its limit.

He wanted to leap forward, to push her back against the mattress and bury his cock inside her sweet pussy; he was reluctant to break the spell, almost scared to speak, lest she change her mind and stop the best show he had ever seen in his life.  He couldn’t see much, her body still covered by her clothes, but he was able to see and smell each movement she made. She whimpered at his curse, his eyes glued to the way her hand moved beneath her shorts, the other pulling and tweaking her right nipple.

“Let me see,” He begged, “Please.”

Slowly, she withdrew her hand, her fingers slick and coated, only to wiggle out of her pajama shorts, revealing a pair of white underwear, trimmed with lace at the top. How could she wear something so pure looking and be so damn seductive? Her fingers dove down again, but this time, she pushed the fabric of her panties to the side, allowing Inuyasha to watch as she placed first one, then two fingers inside her dripping cunt. He couldnt believe he was this close to her, to the woman he had craved so long, watching as  she pumped and curled her fingers, reaching a spot only she knew best, mewing each time her thumb circled her clit. He was hungry to touch her, to taste her, but starving to watch as she made herself cum.

Inuyasha felt like he was in heaven; even in his wildest dreams he could not come up with this scenario; She was calling his name now, broken pieces of it, as his other hand lowered to cup his balls, tight and heavy, ready to jizz. The pressure felt so good, so he gave them a slight tug, his other hand giving the head of his cock a slight squeeze when it reached.

“Can I come closer?” He asked, voice husky. Kagome nodded, and in a flash he was near her, pushing her back and spreading her thighs to make room for him. Kagomes breath hitched, excited and nervous, and completely focused on the way his hand returned to his cock. They were close, his dick mere inches above her pussy, wet and waiting; so close that she was sure he was going to line himself up and push into her, finally, but that never came. Instead, he continued to stroke himself, up and down, the pace much faster now, his breathing ragged.

Kagome, not one to be left behind, continued her to pump her cunt, fingers brushing against his as she worked herself to the brink.

“I’m close,” She panted, biting down on her lower lip as she rocked against her hand. Her thighs were wrapped around his waist, and his hips were jerking forward, each motion making him grunt in an almost feral way. His sack was brushing against her enterance, the sensation alone enough to bring him over the edge. He was close too, but he’d be damned if he came before her.

“Come for me, baby.” He commanded, loving the way she whimpered, the way she bucked harder against her hand, grinding her clit into her palm.

“Come baby.” He said through gritted teeth, his own hands rubbing and tugging his balls, swirling his thumb over the head of his cock, so wet and ready for release.

Kagome came with a muffled cry, body writhing, and Inuyasha drank it in greedily. Each movement, each time she thrust, brought his dick a little closer to her pussy, and with a strangled call of her name, he nut, hot white cum shooting out, onto her stomach. She moaned at his release, turned on at the sight of him utterly undone.

For a moment, he was unsure of what to do; it had always been his dream to be between Kagomes legs, but what the heck did he do now?

She reached between them, her fingers still coated with her desire and lightly traced the length of his cock. He had just cum, but he was already ready for round 2, her touches feather-light, barely there.

Gods, she was such a tease.

“S-stop,” her mouth felt dry, her tongue thick. She choked on the words as his amber eyes widened slightly. Just for a moment. Long enough to register movement. With a grunt, he released her shoulder, and she fell back to the ground with a thud. So ungraceful for a princess. Dust kicked up around her as her body fell back. “You are no gentleman.” She spat, tasting the dirt residue inside her mouth. “Never claimed to be.” The demon shrugged, sniffing slightly. The world felt so heavy. She was tired and hungry, her mind swimming from the sudden events in her life. However, the anger remained. In that moment, Kagome was sure it was pure determination and anger that kept her carrying on. She was a princess. Respected and loved by her people. Treasured by her grandfather, even if she was second choice. She would not meet her fate this way. A princess must die old and in bed, rose petals scattered around her, silks draped over her carefully. Not filthy and starving, mud caked onto her feet, dirt deep under her nails. Kagome refused to let this be her end. Perhaps the demon had expected her to stand, expected her to put one foot in front of the other, as if nothing was wrong. He certainly held little compassion for her circumstances. Did he kidnap women often, Kagome wondered. Was this so routine for him that he felt no remorse for his part in her fate? He certainly bled like a stone; was his conscious as calloused as the rough hands that had grabbed her? She would stand; she would, but she needed to rest, need a moment to collect herself and pull herself together. When the demon received no reaction other than seething anger, he paused, as if mulling over a thought. He eyed her suspiciously. It may have been the first time he had truly considered her since their unfortunate acquaintance.  Kagome could tell he was debating on whether he wanted to say it, whatever it was. He seemed to be a calculated solider, but he gave too much away on his face. He was expressive, even if he did not intend to be. Kagome supposed that in battle, when it was pure rage etched into his amber eyes, that alone would be enough to do a solider in. “I might not be a gentleman, but I have not harmed you, not in the way those assholes would have. Not like half the soldiers I have come across would.” He stepped in closer, peering down at her. “You know how many women I come across, lives ruined by soldiers who take what they want? I might not be the type of gentleman at your fancy court, but I haven’t laid a finger on you, princess.” His voice was low, a slow anger boiling to the surface. “And I suppose I should be grateful?” She asked in astonishment, “That you are less of a devil than you could be? That you have only kidnapped me, starved me past hunger, beaten down,  just not by your hand?” She could feel her lips pulling back in a snarl, an expression she had never worn back home. Another time, another life.

“You’re alive though, ain’t ya?” He barked out. Almost as if he saw himself as a hero in this bizarre situation. “That has to count for something.” “But still your prisoner.” She answered quickly. She raised herself up on her elbows, determined to meet his gaze. Amber, blazing. Like the sun rising, the morning set on fire. Kagome watched as he ran his red tongue over a sharp fang. Lethal. Everything about him screamed danger, yet Kagome could not find it in her to cower. If he would stand tall, she would stand taller. She was a princess, royalty in her own right. Magic in her veins. Perhaps not the sister he aimed for, the one with the looks and brains, but she had enough sense in her to see this through. If she did not find her way to the Hojo tribe, her family would be in danger. Her people, unsuspecting, unprepared, would be at risk too.

“Better a prisoner and alive, then free and dead.” The way he spoke made Kagome want to slap him herself. As if her situation were inconsequential. As if she should be thankful to him, for pulling lightly on her chains. “’Sides’, you’re only my prisoner until we get back to camp. Then I turn you over, Princess.” A chill ran down her spine as she processed this information. She knew, in the back of her mind, that she would be brought to someone with a higher ranking. Knew that all along really. The solider was clearly important in his ranks, but not high enough to keep a princess as a consort. No, she would be passed off, but to who? Would it be to a king, or just the highest bidder? “Right. So I should be thankful that I have not been degraded further- yet. Always something to look forward to. And where will you bring me? Who is the highest bidder for your prize?” She hoped he did not notice the tremble in her voice, hoped she had enough will to steel it. He smiled, one corner of his mouth curled, a mirthless smirk that held no joy behind it. He might be handsome, Kagome thought. Had he come to court, his wild hair tamed and tied back, skin scrubbed clean from all signs of travel, a hand out-stretched for a dance rather than a slap to her face… she may have found him attractive. May have accepted his advances, should he be so bold. May have danced with him, may have flirted. Hid behind her fan as she smiled at him, cheeks red and blushing. She may have spent the night, tucked between her thick fur and covers, thinking of when she may see him again. That was not her situation. As handsome as he may be, a suitor he was not. A jailor, a profiteer. A scoundrel and the only thing standing between her and freedom. She was his prisoner, alone in the woods, pretending to be the sister he really was after. Briefly, it crossed her mind that even if they were back home, his attention would be drawn to her Kikyo. All eyes fell on her, and she would fall into the background. Kagome mentally chastised herself for such a thought. She hoped that wherever the stray princess had gone to, she was safe. Damn this self-proclaimed rogue and his smile. He was dangerous without exerting any strength. “Who will I belong to, once I am out of your custody?”  She managed to ask. “That would ruin the surprise, princess.” “I-“ ‘I’ve had my fill of surprises.’  That was what she wanted to say. What she would have said, had her stomach not interfered. Loud and unladylike, the rumble took her by surprise, and she snapped her mouth closed. The hanyou eyed her, cheeks red from embarrassment as she kept her blue eyes down and barked out a laugh. Kagome pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as laughter rocked through the hanyou.

“That’s what it takes to shut you up?” He laughed, a true laugh that seemed almost unnatural coming from a solider such as he. When all he received in response was a glare, he rolled his eyes and leaned forward to extend his hand. “Let’s go, princess. It would be ‘ungentlemanly’ of me to ignore such a loud and honest request.” She had never been treated so rudely. Never had been dismissed in such a manner. As if she were a nuisance for needing basic necessitates. Kagome pursed her lips together. A lady does not lose her temper but bites her tongue. She could hear her tutor’s words ringing in her ears, echoing from a time long ago. A mantra of her youth. However, she did not look like a lady, covered in dirt, sweat smeared down her face. Her beautiful dress torn, feet covered in blisters. Her dark hair, which had once felt silky to the touch was knotted, twisted in ways even her attendants may not be able to unravel. She pushed away his hand and rose to her feet. She swore she could hear him mutter something about her mood under his breath. “Let’s go.” He said finally. “There’s a bank up ahead, should be able to catch some fish there. I wouldn’t want to keep her highness waiting.”

Kagome debated whether she should respond to such obvious sarcasm, but decided not to retort. A princess does not sink to such a low level, even if her feet with splattered with mud.

~.~

He was skilled at fishing, Kagome would give him that. Her captor, however, had taken her to the riverbank as promised, ready to fetch her a meal. He shed his armor- a dangerous move when one was so exposed in the water- and removed his top, leaving his abdomen exposed to the rising moonlight. Kagome had expected to see tanned skin underneath his shirt- not that she was thinking of such indecent things, and certainly not about someone as crass and crude as her captor- but he was surprisingly fair skinned. ‘He must not trust others enough to take his armor off.’ She surmised. ‘This is probably a rarity among his ranks, to see him so vulnerable.’ Though Kagome doubted the metal that weighed him down was just an added layer of protection; he was surely just as immune to a swords edge without his breastplate, the demon blood coursing through his veins weaving its own protections and charms.

He brought her back the fish, and Kagome could have sworn he almost looked proud. For a moment, Kagome began to question her sanity. Had she spent too long with her captor or was he truly so beguiling that she felt drawn to him like a magnet. ‘He will hand you over.’ She reminded herself.   “Don’t suppose you know how to cook these?” He asked, though he did not seem surprised when she shook her head no. “’Course not.” He murmured, making quick work of starting a fire before sitting down to clean the fish. “You went to school, I’ll bet. Probably can name every country and their currency, but didn’t learn basic skills like how to clean game. How educated can you be if you can’t make a damn fire. Isn’t that what separates us from animals?” ‘If only he knew what my education consisted of.’ She thought. Needlework, pleasantries. She was finely molded for a life of leisure, to know enough to be interesting, to exude sophistication. Pointless. “Will you teach me?” She asked, shoulders squared, eyes determined. “Come again?” His eyes widened slightly in disbelief. “Will you teach me to clean the fish, to cook it.” Kagome swallowed down her pride. “You’re right. It’s a valuable life skill, and I seem to have a gap in this area of knowledge.” Reluctantly he nodded and set to work.

Kagome was sure that she was salivating by the time it was nicely roasted and passed to her. She set upon it like a starved woman, making the hanyou grimace. ‘Good. Let him see this unsightly display. I hope it turns his stomach.’ She would have said so, would have bothered to look cross, but the fish seemed to melt in her mouth, and at that moment, that sensation was far more important to focus on. They sat in silence while she ate.

“If your hungry, you should say something.” He said finally, looking off into the distance. “Its not like I can know when a human girl needs to be fed. You have no problem speakin’ up about anything else. Why the hell couldn’t you open your mouth to say you were hungry?”

Kagome paused, raising her eyes from the fish and meeting his and narrowing harshly. Of all the excuses- “I mean, Hell, I knew you needed to eat. I just didn’t realize it was so soon.” He sighed, closing his eyes and he leaned against the trunk of a thick tree. “It’s been a long time since I was around a woman, let alone such a high maintained one. Even longer since I’ve been around a human.” Kagome swallowed and gave a brief nod. It was undignified, and something Kikyou would have never done. However, she was unsure how her sister would react in such a situation. She would have charmed him, of course. Promised him riches beyond his dreams, used her wit to bring him to their side. By the time Kikyou was done, he would be waving their banners, not passing her off. “It’s difficult,” She began, voice low and steady, “to accept the apology of someone who keeps me hostage.” The hanyou laughed momentarily, as if it bubbled out of him by surprise. “I suppose that’s fair. Its… It isn’t personal. Just orders.” The last bit sounded guilty. Almost.

“Whose?” She dared to ask. “Whose orders are you under?”

The hanyou opened his mouth, an answer ready on his tongue, but before a sound could even be uttered, he snapped his jaw closed and spun around.