20 - Mythology // psyche & eros
The female death eater cackled gleefully before shoving Hemione to the floor.
"Your mudblood, Handler.", she told the masked figure in front of them.
Head bowed and hands tied behind her back, Hermione braced for the impact.
Large hands grabbed her middle before she hit the ground, then lowered her to a nearby chair. The death eater clucked her tongue, displeased by being deprived of entertainment, and stormed away.
When she was out of their sight, the masked death eater, the Handler, lowered himself in front of Hermione and gently cleaned her blood-streaked face with a clean handkerchief.
The gentleness caught Hermione off guard, and she slowly tilted her head to meet his eyes. The Handler quickly looked away, but she caught a glimpse of gray that seemed oddly...familiar.
She was escorted by an elf to an empty bedroom. A small feast, she noticed, was sprawled in a small table in front of a warm fireplace. She looked down to where the elf stood but the creature was already gone, and, to her confusion, so were her binds.
Hermione surveyed the room's contents - a large bed, a settee, two doors and a bookshelf. She ran her hands on the spines, finding some of her favorite titles. Her brow crinkled further.
The two other doors lead to a bath and the other a closet full of clean clothes. She ate the food and went to bed, weeks of restlessness finally catching up on her.
It was after she woke up the next day that she realized that, for the first time in months in the confines of this room, she had never felt more safe.
She got up, took a bath, ate the warm food that always replenished, read the books and went to bed. For days, every morning, the routine continued.
And every night, the Handler would visit her. He would sit opposite her, watching her read her books. He never spoke, despite her goading, and he never leaves even after she went to bed.
There was a time when he sat so near, Hermione unconsciously reached out to touch his mask. He caught her wrist before she could go any further and slowly turned his head from side to side.
Then he suddenly left. Hermione didn't attempt to do it again.
At near dawn, Hermione woke up from a fitful sleep. It was the first time in a long time. She was about to get up when she noticed him.
The Handler lay sprawled on the sofa, the mask hanging loosely on his face, revealing a patch of pale skin.
Embolden, Hermione slowly walked to him. She gingerly lowered herself to her knees in front of his sleeping face.
She had a suspicion who it was, but she needed to confirm it. No one else possessed the same intense grey eyes. It had to be him.
With some courage, Hermione removed the mask.
She swallowed her gasp and trembled violently. He was alive. Gods, he was alive! And he was helping her.
Tentatively, Hermione's right hand rose and hovered lightly above his sleeping face -tracing his eyes, his nose, the cupid bow of his lips.
Draco Malfoy stirred and, noticing his mask was off, quickly scrambled to his feet.
He heard her before he saw her.
Hermione looked up at him in wide, tearful eyes.
"Why?" she asked in a small voice.
Draco's jaws clenched and his mouth set on a grim line. Anger and heartbreak... then resignation danced in his features.
His eyes softened and he sighed heavily. Draco took her chin between his fingers and searched her eyes.
prguitarman
kianamaiart
annaxmalina
snowghoul
stormborns
dailybridgerton
